Oh my head, Oh my head, please disregard what I just said.
Title: Shapes in the Clouds.
Fandom: Stargate SG1.
Rating: Teen.
Warning: Character death
Summary: Just a little stream of Carter's conscience whilst lying on the ground mid-battle.
Author notes: Am breaking all the rules of presentation on this one...
The ground slams into her back with uncompromising speed as she falls, propelled by the force of the blast. For an infinite second she thinks she’s just been winded, the air squeezed out of her lungs, pressure on her ribcage. She feels faintly ridiculous, blinking up at the sky. What a time to choose to go cloud watching eh Carter? Just lay down in the middle of a battle why don’t you, that’s fine, not a problem. I’ll just ask the jaffa for a time out. She giggles, the sound bubbling out from between her lips in a sticky coughing whimper. She tastes iron. Someone turns the volume back up on the muted sounds around her, gunfire, running, shouts. Her name, she realises, unconsciously craning her head towards his cry. Ow. Why hasn’t she stood up? She pushes ineffectually at the ground with her left hand, fingers sinking into warm mud. Warm mud? Her arm feels heavy. Fingers tingling with pinpricks. That cloud looks like a naquada reactor hooked up to the engine of an alkesh. Boots slamming into the ground by her ear, echoing, the tremors spreading down her side. “Carter.” There’s something wrong with the Colonel’s voice. She peers up at him, frowning. Fear. Well of course, they are in the middle of running for their lives here. Silly of her to stop. She notices with a ghosting flash of embarrassment (which under any other circumstance would have stained her cheeks red), that his hand is pressed firmly against her breast, his fingers pushing hard against her skin. Rough fingertips skimming so fleetingly over an even rougher edge. Ow. He shouldn’t be able to touch her. But the material which had covered her has been burnt away, melted into the bloody mess of her flesh. She feels her heartbeat against his palm. Sticky itchy she wants to move, but her head is filling up with flies. “Sir.” She tries to lift her hand, her eyes fixed on the cloud as it floats overhead stark white against the blue alien sky. Jack is saying something, she can hear him, the dips and peaks and furrows of his voice, cutting sharp against her skin. She looks at him, face upside down, hands and neck and chin, dark eyes bright with some signal she’s missing. His hair is always so messy, tufts of iron filings curling into matted sweaty clumps, which he pushes his fingers through frantically, making it stick up and staining the silver red. That’s odd. His lips are moving and there’s something glinting on his cheek. The battle noise is filtering in and out interspersed with static. Jack, Jack why are you lookingatmelikethat…don’t… it’s cold. Oh. The clouds have stopped moving. I…
Fandom: Stargate SG1.
Rating: Teen.
Warning: Character death
Summary: Just a little stream of Carter's conscience whilst lying on the ground mid-battle.
Author notes: Am breaking all the rules of presentation on this one...
The ground slams into her back with uncompromising speed as she falls, propelled by the force of the blast. For an infinite second she thinks she’s just been winded, the air squeezed out of her lungs, pressure on her ribcage. She feels faintly ridiculous, blinking up at the sky. What a time to choose to go cloud watching eh Carter? Just lay down in the middle of a battle why don’t you, that’s fine, not a problem. I’ll just ask the jaffa for a time out. She giggles, the sound bubbling out from between her lips in a sticky coughing whimper. She tastes iron. Someone turns the volume back up on the muted sounds around her, gunfire, running, shouts. Her name, she realises, unconsciously craning her head towards his cry. Ow. Why hasn’t she stood up? She pushes ineffectually at the ground with her left hand, fingers sinking into warm mud. Warm mud? Her arm feels heavy. Fingers tingling with pinpricks. That cloud looks like a naquada reactor hooked up to the engine of an alkesh. Boots slamming into the ground by her ear, echoing, the tremors spreading down her side. “Carter.” There’s something wrong with the Colonel’s voice. She peers up at him, frowning. Fear. Well of course, they are in the middle of running for their lives here. Silly of her to stop. She notices with a ghosting flash of embarrassment (which under any other circumstance would have stained her cheeks red), that his hand is pressed firmly against her breast, his fingers pushing hard against her skin. Rough fingertips skimming so fleetingly over an even rougher edge. Ow. He shouldn’t be able to touch her. But the material which had covered her has been burnt away, melted into the bloody mess of her flesh. She feels her heartbeat against his palm. Sticky itchy she wants to move, but her head is filling up with flies. “Sir.” She tries to lift her hand, her eyes fixed on the cloud as it floats overhead stark white against the blue alien sky. Jack is saying something, she can hear him, the dips and peaks and furrows of his voice, cutting sharp against her skin. She looks at him, face upside down, hands and neck and chin, dark eyes bright with some signal she’s missing. His hair is always so messy, tufts of iron filings curling into matted sweaty clumps, which he pushes his fingers through frantically, making it stick up and staining the silver red. That’s odd. His lips are moving and there’s something glinting on his cheek. The battle noise is filtering in and out interspersed with static. Jack, Jack why are you lookingatmelikethat…don’t… it’s cold. Oh. The clouds have stopped moving. I…