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sga_flashficTitle: In the Despairing Posture of His Fall
Author: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Rating: R
Pairing: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir
Challenge: Amnesty 2007, Ways To Die
Warnings: Character death. Cannibalism. Ickiness of the sort that involves the living dead.
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thank God for the Amnesty challenge at the end of every year, or I'd never get anything posted to this comm. This story's title is from The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe. ETA: Oh! Frell! I totally forgot to thank [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] and [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] for being their awesome betareading selves.
Summary: It was just a bite from some kind of Pegasus mosquito. How much harm could it do?
***
She's hungry. She's always hungry. This gnawing emptiness in her stomach has become all she can think about. The bright lights of Atlantis show how pale her skin has become in the reflection of its metal walls. The delicate tracework of blood vessels are bluish-purple underneath her skin.
Sometimes she wonders what would happen if she were to cut into a vein. The thought is gone almost as soon as it forms, fleeing under the weight of her hunger.
Nothing in the kitchens can satisfy her. She tore through them the night she came back from offworld negotiations. Sometimes the memory of Ronon finding her huddled in the corner desperately biting into an uncooked steak flashes through her mind.
She remembers the infirmary. She thinks that Carson was concerned, even if it was just an insect bite from something that was almost a mosquito.
The image of Teyla backing up, her eyes widening in horror, sweeps Elizabeth away for just a moment. She thinks that the spiderweb pattern that spread from the veins of her inner arm to the rest of her body was very, very wrong, but she doesn't remember now.
The rest of them leave her alone. They're hungry; they're too consumed in it to know her.
Elizabeth walks the corridors of Atlantis. There's nothing in her office for her. The balcony opens over the ocean still, but there's nothing there that will satisfy her. Sometimes, though, she remembers just enough to want to look out at the waves.
They all hear the sirens; they all know what it means. Elizabeth makes her way toward the 'gate. She's slow-moving and careful.
John is in the control tower. He's standing in front of the stargate, a vial in one hand, and his sidearm in the other.
She loves the way he smells. His eyes are wide, and she shakes her head in frustration as his lips move.
"This isn't you, Elizabeth," he says. His voice is low. She struggles to move closer, one hesitant, cautious step at a time, so she can understand him. "You aren't like this. You don't have to stay like this."
She's silent. Her eyes are dull and her mouth is closed. She doesn't draw a deep breath. When she remembers what breathing is, she wonders idly why she doesn't do it any more. Whether she breathes or not, she can smell that John has food with him.
Her mouth curves up just slightly when she remembers that he is food. He's here so she won't be hungry any more. He's here for her.
"Something in you has to remember me," says John. "Elizabeth. It's me. It's John Sheppard."
Elizabeth licks her lips. She knows him.
His eyes dart to the side when they hear shuffling at the side doors. The others are coming. She won't share him with them. He's hers.
She abandons caution. John fires his sidearm at her, but the sudden twinge in her skull doesn't matter. She grabs him around the throat and pulls him away. He pulls a knife, slices deep into her arm, but she doesn't let go.
Ronon howls in frustration as he leads the pack into the control tower, but Elizabeth is already gone. John isn't struggling any more.
***
Some days, she knows which room is hers. Today, she remembers John's room. There's a man on the wall, but his smell is flat and unappealing, so she ignores him.
She drops John onto the bed. His eyes are open. He stares at her, and Elizabeth meets his empty eyes as she leans down over him. He's so warm. Delicious, and even in the constant haze that she exists in, she can taste him, sweet and hot as she bites into the soft flesh of his belly.
She wants to devour him entirely, but she knows that food doesn't often come through the stargate now, and they don't leave their home. They never leave what they know. They're comfortable here.
So she only takes a few bites, and then a few more. Then she leaves him. Saves him. She can never have enough of John, so she licks delicately at her fingertips and worries at tiny slivers of flesh left behind.
When he moves, she doesn't know how long it's been. She doesn't keep track of time any more. He stares at her, his eyes still unseeing, and she watches as shreds of her memory slip farther away.
--end--
Author: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Rating: R
Pairing: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir
Challenge: Amnesty 2007, Ways To Die
Warnings: Character death. Cannibalism. Ickiness of the sort that involves the living dead.
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thank God for the Amnesty challenge at the end of every year, or I'd never get anything posted to this comm. This story's title is from The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe. ETA: Oh! Frell! I totally forgot to thank [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] and [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] for being their awesome betareading selves.
Summary: It was just a bite from some kind of Pegasus mosquito. How much harm could it do?
***
She's hungry. She's always hungry. This gnawing emptiness in her stomach has become all she can think about. The bright lights of Atlantis show how pale her skin has become in the reflection of its metal walls. The delicate tracework of blood vessels are bluish-purple underneath her skin.
Sometimes she wonders what would happen if she were to cut into a vein. The thought is gone almost as soon as it forms, fleeing under the weight of her hunger.
Nothing in the kitchens can satisfy her. She tore through them the night she came back from offworld negotiations. Sometimes the memory of Ronon finding her huddled in the corner desperately biting into an uncooked steak flashes through her mind.
She remembers the infirmary. She thinks that Carson was concerned, even if it was just an insect bite from something that was almost a mosquito.
The image of Teyla backing up, her eyes widening in horror, sweeps Elizabeth away for just a moment. She thinks that the spiderweb pattern that spread from the veins of her inner arm to the rest of her body was very, very wrong, but she doesn't remember now.
The rest of them leave her alone. They're hungry; they're too consumed in it to know her.
Elizabeth walks the corridors of Atlantis. There's nothing in her office for her. The balcony opens over the ocean still, but there's nothing there that will satisfy her. Sometimes, though, she remembers just enough to want to look out at the waves.
They all hear the sirens; they all know what it means. Elizabeth makes her way toward the 'gate. She's slow-moving and careful.
John is in the control tower. He's standing in front of the stargate, a vial in one hand, and his sidearm in the other.
She loves the way he smells. His eyes are wide, and she shakes her head in frustration as his lips move.
"This isn't you, Elizabeth," he says. His voice is low. She struggles to move closer, one hesitant, cautious step at a time, so she can understand him. "You aren't like this. You don't have to stay like this."
She's silent. Her eyes are dull and her mouth is closed. She doesn't draw a deep breath. When she remembers what breathing is, she wonders idly why she doesn't do it any more. Whether she breathes or not, she can smell that John has food with him.
Her mouth curves up just slightly when she remembers that he is food. He's here so she won't be hungry any more. He's here for her.
"Something in you has to remember me," says John. "Elizabeth. It's me. It's John Sheppard."
Elizabeth licks her lips. She knows him.
His eyes dart to the side when they hear shuffling at the side doors. The others are coming. She won't share him with them. He's hers.
She abandons caution. John fires his sidearm at her, but the sudden twinge in her skull doesn't matter. She grabs him around the throat and pulls him away. He pulls a knife, slices deep into her arm, but she doesn't let go.
Ronon howls in frustration as he leads the pack into the control tower, but Elizabeth is already gone. John isn't struggling any more.
***
Some days, she knows which room is hers. Today, she remembers John's room. There's a man on the wall, but his smell is flat and unappealing, so she ignores him.
She drops John onto the bed. His eyes are open. He stares at her, and Elizabeth meets his empty eyes as she leans down over him. He's so warm. Delicious, and even in the constant haze that she exists in, she can taste him, sweet and hot as she bites into the soft flesh of his belly.
She wants to devour him entirely, but she knows that food doesn't often come through the stargate now, and they don't leave their home. They never leave what they know. They're comfortable here.
So she only takes a few bites, and then a few more. Then she leaves him. Saves him. She can never have enough of John, so she licks delicately at her fingertips and worries at tiny slivers of flesh left behind.
When he moves, she doesn't know how long it's been. She doesn't keep track of time any more. He stares at her, his eyes still unseeing, and she watches as shreds of her memory slip farther away.
--end--
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-12 08:49 pm (UTC)and this is totally good. like, really.
though, I think you're missing a "what" here: When she remembers breathing is.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-12 09:01 pm (UTC)Thank you! *gleefully uses the zombie!Lizzie icon that's been held in abeyance forever before now* Oh, God, I just. This story? In my head, and I had to get it out, no matter the level of creepy.
Also: OMG, you're alive! It's nice to see you out and about online! How have things been?
and this is totally good. like, really.
Thank you! Again! *twirls* I'm so very glad you like it!
though, I think you're missing a "what" here:
*frowns at story* I am missing a "what" there. *fixes* This is what I get for adding a line five minutes before I post, I guess. :) Thanks for catching that for me!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-12 09:52 pm (UTC)and. things have been, you know, things. I've been around, but just lurking so as to keep some sanity. but I figured I could speak up for good fic, you know? :)
love the icon!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 02:41 am (UTC)And I understand the attempts to preserve sanity. I so understand that.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 08:05 pm (UTC)and, hmm. it's probably not so much creepybadwrong as it is... long and dark and depressing as all hell. yay?
(I will most certainly take you up on that, thank you. it'll be a while, though, as it's already surprisingly long and I've only got the bare bones of 5-6 scenes down.)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-14 03:12 pm (UTC)*frowns* We'll pretend that that last sentence was vaguely grammatical.
(Cool! And take as long as you need; the offer will stay open.)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-12 11:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 02:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 01:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 02:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 01:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-13 02:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-14 03:28 am (UTC)poor john. but being eaten by elizabeth? not a bad way to go...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-14 02:54 pm (UTC)Thank you! *glees* And yes, very freaky. This is the problem with me saying "I wonder if I can write this and do it well?" I inevitably try to do stuff like write zombie fic from the zombie POV. And also make it shipper fic.
zombie!lizzie is still all possessive and "john is mine damn it!" and how much do I love that?
She really is! He's totally hers. In all kinds of different ways, apparently. *pats them gingerly and from a distance*
poor john. but being eaten by elizabeth? not a bad way to go...
*snicker* I was telling someone what I was writing, and said, "When I say 'Elizabeth eats John,' I don't mean it in a dirty way for this fic." *facepalms at self* God. What did I ever do in a past life to get a twisted brain inflicted on me?
(BTW, you writing anything right now? I saw your email too late to hop on IM and ask you there.)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-24 04:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-24 01:39 pm (UTC)But OMG, it's freaky, isn't it? It was freaky to write! And it wouldn't get out of my head.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-31 09:36 pm (UTC)