Ooh, this is an interestingly challenging set! I have to admit defeat on The Good Place; I've written and posted one fic for it, but I've never attempted anything else. (Congratulations; you're the first one to name a fandom I genuinely can't find anything for!)
I can do The Mentalist! Here are some fragments of a Silent Hill crossover in which the town slowly robs Jane of his memories of his family:
He’s talked to his wife in his mind for years, ever since it happened: talking about cases, about their life together; asking her advice (and then mostly ignoring it). It’s a lie, he knows, but it’s a comforting one.
It’s kind of creepy, right? he asks her, as he stands in the middle of the deserted street, and she doesn’t answer. He tries to think of what she’d say, but it won’t come to him. Anything he thinks sounds forced, wrong, like he’s pitched his voice higher in a parody of hers.
He’s lost her voice, and he can feel her absence like a macabre smile painted on the inside of his head.
[...]
“I had a daughter once,” he says, “and if I’d known she was wandering around a place like this I would’ve been terrified.”
“What’s her name?” Laura asks.
He draws breath – and then stops.
Laura snorts. “Guess you can’t’ve loved her very much.”
It hurts. “You’re wrong. I loved her more than anything.”
“Then what’s her name?”
He can’t have forgotten. He can’t. Her and his wife, they were everything to him. Their memories are all he has now; he’s not about to lose them.
“Like I said,” Laura says, kicking her heels against the wall. “You don’t really care about her, do you?”
[...]
All he wants is something of his wife back. This town has crept inside his head and killed her all over again, and without her he feels like he’s losing his mind.
[...]
He stumbles onto the dock, so exhausted he barely registers the way the boards creak dangerously under his feet, and limps through the fog to the hotel.
There’s a red smiling face on the door. He thinks that might have meant something, once.
I definitely have unfinished fanfiction for Scrubs and Doctor Who! But I did most of my writing for those fandoms when I was a teenager, so I suspect most of my unfinished stuff for them is in notebooks at my parents' house. Let's see if I can find anything here.
Okay! Here's a Doctor Who snippet in which the Doctor is talking to Jeremy Clarkson about Sherlock Holmes. Don't ask questions.
“If you’re so worried about people being in the wrong times,” Jeremy said, loudly, “why did you take Sherlock Holmes out of the nineteenth century?”
The Doctor blinked. “That’s different,” he said, evasively.
Jeremy snorted. “How is it different?”
“Well, we needed his help.”
“He can’t help us! How is a Victorian detective supposed to know how to close up a magical time rift?”
“All right,” the Doctor said, losing his patience. “Taking you three with me would be taking you out of your home time as well, so you can stay here and look after the great detective. I’m going to pick up whoever we’ve stranded in 1973. Horrible year.” And he slammed the door of the TARDIS. Richard, startled, ran forward and tried to open it, but it faded away beneath his hands.
They stood for a moment, looking at where the TARDIS had been.
“Did you have to do that?” James asked eventually, breaking the silence. “I was enjoying our time travel.”
“It’s 1973, James,” Jeremy said, in a tone that made it clear that he thought he had just done them all a favour. “He’s right; it’s no great loss.”
“What if he doesn’t come back, though?” Richard asked, with a nervous glance towards the slight haze in the distance; but he had barely finished speaking when the grinding noise of the engines started up, and the TARDIS materialised in front of them again.
The three of them exchanged glances.
“That was quick,” Richard said.
“It’s a time machine, Richard,” James explained, patiently.
And... oh, wow, I actually have managed to unearth a Scrubs snippet! JD/Cox, from Dr Cox's perspective. This is absolutely ancient; it must be from around 2006. I've substantially reduced the use of italics for everyone's sake.
I can’t really stay here with Newbie draped over me like a ragdoll, so I push him up against the wall for support, and then I realise that we’ve got a problem.
You see, Newbie’s got his back pressed against the wall right now, and he can barely move, and I am very, very close to him. This is another dominance thing, I guess – when I’ve got someone cornered like this –
This is one of the things that my ex-wife and I have in common. When we were first going out, sex was like a war, with each of us always trying to be the one to force the other against the wall. It got pretty painful after a while – we’d both be bruised all over by the end of it. Once, during an especially fierce rendezvous, she actually slammed me into a plate-glass window, and we fell three storeys and gave a pack of passing schoolkids an eyeful.
What I’m trying to say here is that, see, having Newbie up against the wall like this is something that cannot end well.
The Mentalist, Doctor Who, Scrubs
I can do The Mentalist! Here are some fragments of a Silent Hill crossover in which the town slowly robs Jane of his memories of his family:
He’s talked to his wife in his mind for years, ever since it happened: talking about cases, about their life together; asking her advice (and then mostly ignoring it). It’s a lie, he knows, but it’s a comforting one.
It’s kind of creepy, right? he asks her, as he stands in the middle of the deserted street, and she doesn’t answer. He tries to think of what she’d say, but it won’t come to him. Anything he thinks sounds forced, wrong, like he’s pitched his voice higher in a parody of hers.
He’s lost her voice, and he can feel her absence like a macabre smile painted on the inside of his head.
[...]
“I had a daughter once,” he says, “and if I’d known she was wandering around a place like this I would’ve been terrified.”
“What’s her name?” Laura asks.
He draws breath – and then stops.
Laura snorts. “Guess you can’t’ve loved her very much.”
It hurts. “You’re wrong. I loved her more than anything.”
“Then what’s her name?”
He can’t have forgotten. He can’t. Her and his wife, they were everything to him. Their memories are all he has now; he’s not about to lose them.
“Like I said,” Laura says, kicking her heels against the wall. “You don’t really care about her, do you?”
[...]
All he wants is something of his wife back. This town has crept inside his head and killed her all over again, and without her he feels like he’s losing his mind.
[...]
He stumbles onto the dock, so exhausted he barely registers the way the boards creak dangerously under his feet, and limps through the fog to the hotel.
There’s a red smiling face on the door. He thinks that might have meant something, once.
I definitely have unfinished fanfiction for Scrubs and Doctor Who! But I did most of my writing for those fandoms when I was a teenager, so I suspect most of my unfinished stuff for them is in notebooks at my parents' house. Let's see if I can find anything here.
Okay! Here's a Doctor Who snippet in which the Doctor is talking to Jeremy Clarkson about Sherlock Holmes. Don't ask questions.
“If you’re so worried about people being in the wrong times,” Jeremy said, loudly, “why did you take Sherlock Holmes out of the nineteenth century?”
The Doctor blinked. “That’s different,” he said, evasively.
Jeremy snorted. “How is it different?”
“Well, we needed his help.”
“He can’t help us! How is a Victorian detective supposed to know how to close up a magical time rift?”
“All right,” the Doctor said, losing his patience. “Taking you three with me would be taking you out of your home time as well, so you can stay here and look after the great detective. I’m going to pick up whoever we’ve stranded in 1973. Horrible year.” And he slammed the door of the TARDIS. Richard, startled, ran forward and tried to open it, but it faded away beneath his hands.
They stood for a moment, looking at where the TARDIS had been.
“Did you have to do that?” James asked eventually, breaking the silence. “I was enjoying our time travel.”
“It’s 1973, James,” Jeremy said, in a tone that made it clear that he thought he had just done them all a favour. “He’s right; it’s no great loss.”
“What if he doesn’t come back, though?” Richard asked, with a nervous glance towards the slight haze in the distance; but he had barely finished speaking when the grinding noise of the engines started up, and the TARDIS materialised in front of them again.
The three of them exchanged glances.
“That was quick,” Richard said.
“It’s a time machine, Richard,” James explained, patiently.
And... oh, wow, I actually have managed to unearth a Scrubs snippet! JD/Cox, from Dr Cox's perspective. This is absolutely ancient; it must be from around 2006. I've substantially reduced the use of italics for everyone's sake.
I can’t really stay here with Newbie draped over me like a ragdoll, so I push him up against the wall for support, and then I realise that we’ve got a problem.
You see, Newbie’s got his back pressed against the wall right now, and he can barely move, and I am very, very close to him. This is another dominance thing, I guess – when I’ve got someone cornered like this –
This is one of the things that my ex-wife and I have in common. When we were first going out, sex was like a war, with each of us always trying to be the one to force the other against the wall. It got pretty painful after a while – we’d both be bruised all over by the end of it. Once, during an especially fierce rendezvous, she actually slammed me into a plate-glass window, and we fell three storeys and gave a pack of passing schoolkids an eyeful.
What I’m trying to say here is that, see, having Newbie up against the wall like this is something that cannot end well.