Fic dump: Heroes
I have found various bits of fic lying around on my hard drive, and since I don't want to do the things I actually need to do today, I thought I'd post them instead. \o/
First, a portion of a fic I never finished. Back before season 3 started, I had begun writing a long chapter fic involving Peter, Nathan, Claire, various other characters, a female OC, and Arthur Petrelli. The events in the fic relied very heavily on how I pictured Arthur--but once Arthur actually appeared onscreen, he turned out to be completely different than how I imagined. As such, I got discouraged and lost interest in the fic. :( While I was still working on it, though, I also started up a 5 Things fic that was meant to flesh out the characterizations of Nathan and Peter in the context of the chapter fic. Below is the first of five childhood moments for Nathan and Peter--the only moment I actually wrote. This was written in November 2008.
By the end of November, Nathan had compiled a sizable Christmas list. His own Walkman. A book on aviation. A bicycle like the one Trent Masterson rode to school-one with wide, curved handlebars that Missy Ferris liked to wiggle onto, her toes pointed forward.
What Nathan did not want was a baby brother, but that’s what Santa ultimately brought to the Petrelli family two days before Christmas. The thing wasn’t supposed to arrive until late January, leaving room, Nathan reasoned, for one last Christmas all to himself. He would get his bike and his book and a nice, crisp check from Gran, and for a full month he could relish in his status as the Petrelli child, not the oldest or the first but the only.
In the late evening hours of December 23rd, 1979, Nathan watched the baby with a squished face and squinty eyes fidget in its blue-lined cradle and sighed.
Eight months ago, Nathan had asked Nick Bradley, who had a 2-year-old sister, what it was like to have a sibling. “She’s loud, annoying, and smells,” he had said. Peter managed to exhibit all three of these qualities before leaving the hospital on Christmas Day, a pale blue cap pulled over his dark fuzz of hair and his little feet kicking. Once home, Nathan sorted through the presents that the maids had put out under the tree while the family was at the hospital, picking out his treasures as the baby screamed. They didn’t lounge about the tree and open presents, as had been their tradition as long as Nathan could remember, nor did Nathan’s father bring the bicycle out from the garage where Nathan knew it was hidden. The baby whined and Angela cooed, and the baby gurgled and Angela chuckled, and the baby cried and Arthur hovered about uselessly, his face a muddled display of exasperation and reluctant happiness.
Nathan put on his hat and gloves and trudged to the garage, ripping off the bright red bow tied to his bike. Puffing white breath into the sky, he circled the shoveled driveway until Arthur barked for him to come in out of the cold.
---
Next are the two one-sentence ficlets I wrote for a meme way back in January. I had meant to do more of these and then post them all together, but I lost interest and forgot about the meme until after it had died. Spoilers for the first season, I suppose.
- Heidi/Nathan
She wears a strong face for the boys as they watch Nathan’s swearing-in on television, her eyes never wavering, her hands clasped calmly in her lap; but that night, Simon still hears her crying beyond the bedroom door.
- Noah/Sandra
For the fifth time, Noah asks if she trusts him; and for the fifth time, with the Haitian poised beside her, she says, “Yes.”
---
I also attempted to do one of those memes where you put your iTunes on shuffle and write a fic for each song, in the amount of time it takes for the song to finish. I cheated heavily--skipped some songs, definitely wrote for more than a few minutes for each one--and I can't find the wording of the original meme, but, well. Here they are anyway. These I wrote in April. Spoilers through volume 4's "Cold Snap."
1. Stuart Murdoch - Another Saturday
Mohinder/Peter
Their meetings are always like this-swift, secret, a flush of heat and old memories. In the dark, he feels Peter’s hands undo his tie with rushed precision, Peter’s tongue rough against his teeth. The sun is trying to break above the horizon, but Mohinder wills it to stay hidden, to give them more time. His body aches with the loneliness he knows is coming.
“Don’t go,” he says when he feels Peter pulling away. He can’t see Peter in the shadow of the alley, not his hardened eyes nor the scar nor the lilt of his mouth, even as a dull light begins to settle in the air. A thumb brushes over Mohinder’s lip, and then he’s gone.
Mohinder leans against the wall, closing his eyes, and feels the day creep over his skin.
2. Travis - My Eyes
Peter, Nathan, Claire
They watch Claire slam the door behind her as she disappears into the house. Nathan crosses his arms, eyes narrowed, and turns to Peter accusingly. “She’s as stubborn as you are.”
Peter thinks of the moment earlier that day when Claire’s jaw was set as firmly as Nathan’s is now and says, “Maybe,” smiling to himself.
3. Brandi Carlile - Late Morning Lullaby
Peter, Hesam
For once, his dreams aren’t apocalyptic. He spends his mornings with his eyes closed, clinging to the softness of sleep until the snooze goes off for the fourth time. When he finally gets out of bed and looks outside, sirens whirring along some distant street, all he remembers is the weight of yesterday, and of the day before, and of all the days before.
“You alright, Peter?” Hesam will ask him, and Peter will say, “Sure,” putting on a smile. A call will come in, and sometimes they’ll be saviors, and sometimes Peter will watch a life bleed out in his arms.
He goes home to an empty apartment, the mirror above the mantel threaded with cracks. Under the covers, he waits for the escape of his dreams.
4. U2 - Sweetest Thing
Matt/Daphne
He loved her because he was supposed to, because he had seen what it felt like to be with her forever. He would take her hands in his, pull her white-blonde head to his chest, and remember the future with a slow smile.
But, this was Daphne. Her smiles were quick; she stood with her hands on her hips and one leg bent, ready to run. “I’m here,” she said, “now,” raising an eyebrow, “so stop talking about later, okay?”
He wishes now, as the present slips through his fingers, that he had listened.
5. Fuel - Hemorrhage (In My Hands)
Heidi, Nathan, Simon, Monty
When he calls, his face is still plastered across the TV screen, his name crawling on a news ticker below. “I have nothing to say to you,” she says coolly.
“Heidi, please.”
“Don’t.” She’s thousands of miles away from him now; the distance is palpable. “You closed this door a long time ago, Nathan.”
She senses him bracing himself on the other end of the line. The words come slowly, as if he is choosing them carefully. “This is my last chance, for I don’t know how long, to contact you. Things have changed in Washington.” He pauses. “Are the boys there?”
She glances across the kitchen. Simon and Monty are hovering in the doorframe, Simon’s face dark with knowing. “Yes.”
“Tell them I love them. I’ve done my best to keep all three of you from this.”
“From what?”
He sighs, a heavy, inevitable sound. “Everything. Stay safe, Heidi.”
The phone clicks.
---
And finally, because I can: a short excerpt from the Simon and Monty fic I'm writing currently, in the hopes that sharing part of it will give me motivation to keep going.
Simon pulls his phone out of his pocket, and at the sight of the text message on the screen, his stomach turns cold.
THEY’RE COMING. YOU’RE IN DANGER. LEAVE NOW.
- REBEL
He stares at it. Reads it twice, three times. He texts back, “How did you get this number?” Before he has even flipped the phone closed, it vibrates again.
NO TIME. YOUR NEIGHBOR CALLED THE POLICE. GET OUT NOW.
- REBEL
Snatching the ice pack and dishrag, he runs back into the family room.
“Mom,” he says between shallow breaths. She takes the bag of ice from him and wraps it in the rag, kneeling next to Monty and gently pressing it to his eye. Monty takes hold of it, face flushed with embarrassment. Their mother’s face is still ghostly white, lips drawn tightly together, and when she grips Simon’s forearm for balance to stand, her skin feels clammy against his.
“Mom,” Simon tries again. “Look at this.”
He brings up the texts on his cell phone, thrusting the screen at her. As she reads, her eyebrows slowly knit together.
“What is this? Who’s Rebel?”
Monty draws a sharp breath from the couch. In seconds he is beside them, on his tiptoes to read over Simon’s shoulder. The one eye visible from behind the ice pack widens and throws a frantic glance at Simon.
“We have to get out of here,” Simon says to their mother. “The police are coming.”
First, a portion of a fic I never finished. Back before season 3 started, I had begun writing a long chapter fic involving Peter, Nathan, Claire, various other characters, a female OC, and Arthur Petrelli. The events in the fic relied very heavily on how I pictured Arthur--but once Arthur actually appeared onscreen, he turned out to be completely different than how I imagined. As such, I got discouraged and lost interest in the fic. :( While I was still working on it, though, I also started up a 5 Things fic that was meant to flesh out the characterizations of Nathan and Peter in the context of the chapter fic. Below is the first of five childhood moments for Nathan and Peter--the only moment I actually wrote. This was written in November 2008.
By the end of November, Nathan had compiled a sizable Christmas list. His own Walkman. A book on aviation. A bicycle like the one Trent Masterson rode to school-one with wide, curved handlebars that Missy Ferris liked to wiggle onto, her toes pointed forward.
What Nathan did not want was a baby brother, but that’s what Santa ultimately brought to the Petrelli family two days before Christmas. The thing wasn’t supposed to arrive until late January, leaving room, Nathan reasoned, for one last Christmas all to himself. He would get his bike and his book and a nice, crisp check from Gran, and for a full month he could relish in his status as the Petrelli child, not the oldest or the first but the only.
In the late evening hours of December 23rd, 1979, Nathan watched the baby with a squished face and squinty eyes fidget in its blue-lined cradle and sighed.
Eight months ago, Nathan had asked Nick Bradley, who had a 2-year-old sister, what it was like to have a sibling. “She’s loud, annoying, and smells,” he had said. Peter managed to exhibit all three of these qualities before leaving the hospital on Christmas Day, a pale blue cap pulled over his dark fuzz of hair and his little feet kicking. Once home, Nathan sorted through the presents that the maids had put out under the tree while the family was at the hospital, picking out his treasures as the baby screamed. They didn’t lounge about the tree and open presents, as had been their tradition as long as Nathan could remember, nor did Nathan’s father bring the bicycle out from the garage where Nathan knew it was hidden. The baby whined and Angela cooed, and the baby gurgled and Angela chuckled, and the baby cried and Arthur hovered about uselessly, his face a muddled display of exasperation and reluctant happiness.
Nathan put on his hat and gloves and trudged to the garage, ripping off the bright red bow tied to his bike. Puffing white breath into the sky, he circled the shoveled driveway until Arthur barked for him to come in out of the cold.
---
Next are the two one-sentence ficlets I wrote for a meme way back in January. I had meant to do more of these and then post them all together, but I lost interest and forgot about the meme until after it had died. Spoilers for the first season, I suppose.
- Heidi/Nathan
She wears a strong face for the boys as they watch Nathan’s swearing-in on television, her eyes never wavering, her hands clasped calmly in her lap; but that night, Simon still hears her crying beyond the bedroom door.
- Noah/Sandra
For the fifth time, Noah asks if she trusts him; and for the fifth time, with the Haitian poised beside her, she says, “Yes.”
---
I also attempted to do one of those memes where you put your iTunes on shuffle and write a fic for each song, in the amount of time it takes for the song to finish. I cheated heavily--skipped some songs, definitely wrote for more than a few minutes for each one--and I can't find the wording of the original meme, but, well. Here they are anyway. These I wrote in April. Spoilers through volume 4's "Cold Snap."
1. Stuart Murdoch - Another Saturday
Mohinder/Peter
Their meetings are always like this-swift, secret, a flush of heat and old memories. In the dark, he feels Peter’s hands undo his tie with rushed precision, Peter’s tongue rough against his teeth. The sun is trying to break above the horizon, but Mohinder wills it to stay hidden, to give them more time. His body aches with the loneliness he knows is coming.
“Don’t go,” he says when he feels Peter pulling away. He can’t see Peter in the shadow of the alley, not his hardened eyes nor the scar nor the lilt of his mouth, even as a dull light begins to settle in the air. A thumb brushes over Mohinder’s lip, and then he’s gone.
Mohinder leans against the wall, closing his eyes, and feels the day creep over his skin.
2. Travis - My Eyes
Peter, Nathan, Claire
They watch Claire slam the door behind her as she disappears into the house. Nathan crosses his arms, eyes narrowed, and turns to Peter accusingly. “She’s as stubborn as you are.”
Peter thinks of the moment earlier that day when Claire’s jaw was set as firmly as Nathan’s is now and says, “Maybe,” smiling to himself.
3. Brandi Carlile - Late Morning Lullaby
Peter, Hesam
For once, his dreams aren’t apocalyptic. He spends his mornings with his eyes closed, clinging to the softness of sleep until the snooze goes off for the fourth time. When he finally gets out of bed and looks outside, sirens whirring along some distant street, all he remembers is the weight of yesterday, and of the day before, and of all the days before.
“You alright, Peter?” Hesam will ask him, and Peter will say, “Sure,” putting on a smile. A call will come in, and sometimes they’ll be saviors, and sometimes Peter will watch a life bleed out in his arms.
He goes home to an empty apartment, the mirror above the mantel threaded with cracks. Under the covers, he waits for the escape of his dreams.
4. U2 - Sweetest Thing
Matt/Daphne
He loved her because he was supposed to, because he had seen what it felt like to be with her forever. He would take her hands in his, pull her white-blonde head to his chest, and remember the future with a slow smile.
But, this was Daphne. Her smiles were quick; she stood with her hands on her hips and one leg bent, ready to run. “I’m here,” she said, “now,” raising an eyebrow, “so stop talking about later, okay?”
He wishes now, as the present slips through his fingers, that he had listened.
5. Fuel - Hemorrhage (In My Hands)
Heidi, Nathan, Simon, Monty
When he calls, his face is still plastered across the TV screen, his name crawling on a news ticker below. “I have nothing to say to you,” she says coolly.
“Heidi, please.”
“Don’t.” She’s thousands of miles away from him now; the distance is palpable. “You closed this door a long time ago, Nathan.”
She senses him bracing himself on the other end of the line. The words come slowly, as if he is choosing them carefully. “This is my last chance, for I don’t know how long, to contact you. Things have changed in Washington.” He pauses. “Are the boys there?”
She glances across the kitchen. Simon and Monty are hovering in the doorframe, Simon’s face dark with knowing. “Yes.”
“Tell them I love them. I’ve done my best to keep all three of you from this.”
“From what?”
He sighs, a heavy, inevitable sound. “Everything. Stay safe, Heidi.”
The phone clicks.
---
And finally, because I can: a short excerpt from the Simon and Monty fic I'm writing currently, in the hopes that sharing part of it will give me motivation to keep going.
Simon pulls his phone out of his pocket, and at the sight of the text message on the screen, his stomach turns cold.
THEY’RE COMING. YOU’RE IN DANGER. LEAVE NOW.
- REBEL
He stares at it. Reads it twice, three times. He texts back, “How did you get this number?” Before he has even flipped the phone closed, it vibrates again.
NO TIME. YOUR NEIGHBOR CALLED THE POLICE. GET OUT NOW.
- REBEL
Snatching the ice pack and dishrag, he runs back into the family room.
“Mom,” he says between shallow breaths. She takes the bag of ice from him and wraps it in the rag, kneeling next to Monty and gently pressing it to his eye. Monty takes hold of it, face flushed with embarrassment. Their mother’s face is still ghostly white, lips drawn tightly together, and when she grips Simon’s forearm for balance to stand, her skin feels clammy against his.
“Mom,” Simon tries again. “Look at this.”
He brings up the texts on his cell phone, thrusting the screen at her. As she reads, her eyebrows slowly knit together.
“What is this? Who’s Rebel?”
Monty draws a sharp breath from the couch. In seconds he is beside them, on his tiptoes to read over Simon’s shoulder. The one eye visible from behind the ice pack widens and throws a frantic glance at Simon.
“We have to get out of here,” Simon says to their mother. “The police are coming.”