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lierdumoaI have come to the conclusion that all emo bands are trying to be the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and failing more or less spectacularly at it. Or perhaps it is not so much that they are trying to be like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs as that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs saw what they were doing and *fixed* it. The lead singer makes the whiny screechy half yelling thing weirdly melodic and sexy, instead of just making me think, "omg learn to sing skinny little white boy."
And, because I'm in a mood to post but have nothing finished, snippets!
—from the fic w/ the cave porn
The mission started out well enough. They stepped through the gate and into a peaceful forest glade, teeming with vibrant flora and accompanying allergens. Rodney fell into a sneezing fit almost instantaneously and continued for about two solid minutes before John dug a hankerchief out of one of his many military issue pant pockets, tied it over Rodney's nose and mouth, and led him towards a relatively flower free patch of grass.
"Were you actually born," Rodney asked, fiddling with the knot at the back of his head, "or did you just spring fully formed from the pages of a romance novel? Who the hell carries a hankerchief?"
"You carry kleenex."
"I hardly think that's the same thing." Rodney stepped into the shade of a nearby tree and sat, leaning back heavily agains the trunk, rubbing the last of the water from his eyes and clearing his nose with a loud sniff. "It smells like you."
"If you're so unhappy with it I can take it back," John said, reaching for the knot.
Rodney grabbed his wrist and held it. "It's fine."
John paused, then tugged his hand back. "You look like a bandit."
"You think so?"
John nodded.
Rodney was silent for a moment, then, "Uh, yes, I may as well make myself marginally useful." He pulled out a lifesigns detector and identified around himself at least a dozen or so of what were probably, considering his luck, rabid little forest creatures with incongrously long incisors.
John watched him sit, absorbed in his readings, for a long moment before muttering something about setting up a perimeter and taking off to rejoin Ronon and Teyla twenty or so yards away.
—from the fic w/ the Rodney/Jeannie incest
This is what Rodney remembers about Mindy Delaney. She was a very pretty redhead with absent parents and money to burn. Incredibly popular. She wouldn't take a junior to prom, but she would go to third base with one behind the bleachers.
So there he was during lunch break with his left hand fondling her breast and his right sliding up under her impossibly short skirt, trying desperately not to come in his pants and feeling perilously close to fainting, most likely a symptom of hypogylcemic shock from skipping lunch, which he was sure he'd regret later but right now? So worth it.
He glanced up for a second. A precautionary measure. After all he was having sex in public. And there was Jeannie, standing not ten feet away, just beyond Mindy's peripheral vision, watching him with a quirked eyebrow and a bitten lip in a desperate attempt to smother a grin.
Rodney's brain quickly slipped into panic mode but his hands were apparently stuck on autopilot because he was still stroking away and shit, Mindy was totally coming right then, eyes glazed over and moaning as if she were somewhere a lot less public than she actually was and Jeannie was staring so hard she'd stopped blinking and oh my God this was not happening.
—from the fic where Rodney gets turned into a wraith
He loses forty years or so. It's not really an exact science, but then, biology never is. Exact or not, Rodney wakes up in the infirmary old and decrepit, all creaky limbs and saggy skin. He's so very weak. Elizabeth is at his bedside, a pathetic attempt at a reassuring smile plastered across her mouth. She tells him that John got the rest of the team out safely. Not that she needs to tell him—Rodney remembers everything.
He remembers John shooting the wraith in the shoulder. He remembers John grabbing Ronon's gun, destroying the wraith's kneecaps, a shot to the stomach. He remembers the last thing he saw before he passed out, John standing over the prone body, grinding his heel into the wraith's open palm as he emptied eighteen rounds into it's chest. It. John didn't bother giving this one a name.
She tells him that they'll be ready to carry him back to earth on the Daedalus as soon as his strength is up.
"I'd rather die here on Atlantis," he says.
Her face is pinched and pale. "Rodney, we can't care for you properly here."
"Elizabeth, I'm dying. No one can care for me properly."
Carson has an idea.
It's a really terrible idea.
Something about gene treatment and wraith regenerative attributes and a therapy that failed in terms of supressing wraith alleles but showed promise for improved physical—"Carson, for the love of God, let me die in peace. Preferably in my own bed."
"Rodney, you are not walking out of here unless it is under your own power. You said you didn't want to go back to earth. That makes you my patient."
"Being a tad possessive, aren't we?"
"I only want what is in your best interest."
"Carson, you can't possibly think you're going to inject me with that crap and I'm going to magically revert to the age of thirty-seven."
"Of course not"
"Well then why are you—"
"You're thirty-eight."
Rodney tells him no. He tells Elizabeth no. He tells Teyla no. He stares at Ronon for a good three minutes. Ronon blinks first. He tells John no again and again, twelve different times in twelve different ways, and is gathering the strength to throw his hospital jello at John's head if only to make him leave when John....
When John says please.
And really, that just isn't fair.
Carson injects him with the treatment, mixed in with a sedative, and that right there is enough to tell him this is a bad idea. He's about to tell Carson so for the hundredth time but he's already made his decision and besides, he's kind of falling asleep.
He wakes up the next day feeling just a little stronger than before. He finishes all three of his meals. "I still don't think this is going to work," he says.
The next day he walks out of the infirmary under his own power, down the hall to the transporter, and all the way back to his room, his prescription matress, and his luxuriously high threadcount sheets. He sleeps like the dead.
One week later John points out that the wrinkles are smoothing out around his eyes. Ronon claps him on the back. Teyla bends her forehead to his. John shares his potato salad. Rodney eats heartily and heads back to his labs, does catch-up for ten hours before heading back into his room with a strange spring in his step. A song in his heart even. He passes Carson in the hallway and says, "Hey, maybe it's not all voodoo after all," and the smile he gives him is all relief.
Carson smiles and tells him he's glad to hear it, and Rodney should drop by the infirmary tomorrow to do some follow up tests.
Three days later Rodney walks into the cafeteria looking no older than fifty and eats his way through two breakfast trays. John joins him at the table as he's finishing up the second and gives him a wide open grin. "Appetite's all back to normal, I see."
"Not quite," Rodney says, a slight frown on his face. He places his fork down and folds his hands in his lap. "I'm still hungry," he says, and the frown starts to deepen.
John's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "And that's ... bad?"
Rodney's lips quirk into something between a grimace and a sneer. "Yes, Colonel. That's bad.
—from the gratuitous Christmas fic, where Rodney builds John a -working- model DeLorean
They split up at the mall entrance. John heads back towards the electronics store he found the day before. Rodney goes into the first toy store he finds and searches the aisles for a good half hour before pulling a rather ridiculously overpriced remote controlled Barbie Dream Car™ off the shelf. The line is obnoxiously long, and by the time he reaches the front of it, John is standing at the entrance waiting for him. He quickly makes his payment, not bothering with a bag, though he finds himself wishing he'd sprung for both a bag and gift wrap when John turns a curious eye to the neon pink box and asks him who it's for.
Rodney blurts out something about his sister Jeannie's daughter, who doesn't actually exist, remembering only afterwards that he really is an exceptionally bad liar when John's eyebrows attempt to climb up his forehead and into his hair.
"Okay, so I need a small engine and I don't have time to make one from scratch."
"For what?"
Rodney gives him what is probably an extremely shifty look. "Can't say. You'll find out later.
He ushers John off to get lunch while he runs one more errand, slipping into one of the larger DVD selling stores. He gets the kid at the register to point him towards the science fiction section and skims the aisles till he finds them. All three Back to the Future movies. Fifteen minutes later he's back at the register listening to the kid making approving noises at his film choices and manfully supressing the urge to sneer.
Walking back to the car, he feels almost exactly like he did the last time he bought tampons for a girlfriend only kind of better since this time he's doing it by choice, which is to say, he's not being bribed with sex, which come to think of it doesn't really make it any better at all.
ETA: Okay, guys, you really don't want me writing the rest of that wraith!Rodney fic. There might be a baby involved. I'm just sayin'.
And, because I'm in a mood to post but have nothing finished, snippets!
—from the fic w/ the cave porn
The mission started out well enough. They stepped through the gate and into a peaceful forest glade, teeming with vibrant flora and accompanying allergens. Rodney fell into a sneezing fit almost instantaneously and continued for about two solid minutes before John dug a hankerchief out of one of his many military issue pant pockets, tied it over Rodney's nose and mouth, and led him towards a relatively flower free patch of grass.
"Were you actually born," Rodney asked, fiddling with the knot at the back of his head, "or did you just spring fully formed from the pages of a romance novel? Who the hell carries a hankerchief?"
"You carry kleenex."
"I hardly think that's the same thing." Rodney stepped into the shade of a nearby tree and sat, leaning back heavily agains the trunk, rubbing the last of the water from his eyes and clearing his nose with a loud sniff. "It smells like you."
"If you're so unhappy with it I can take it back," John said, reaching for the knot.
Rodney grabbed his wrist and held it. "It's fine."
John paused, then tugged his hand back. "You look like a bandit."
"You think so?"
John nodded.
Rodney was silent for a moment, then, "Uh, yes, I may as well make myself marginally useful." He pulled out a lifesigns detector and identified around himself at least a dozen or so of what were probably, considering his luck, rabid little forest creatures with incongrously long incisors.
John watched him sit, absorbed in his readings, for a long moment before muttering something about setting up a perimeter and taking off to rejoin Ronon and Teyla twenty or so yards away.
—from the fic w/ the Rodney/Jeannie incest
This is what Rodney remembers about Mindy Delaney. She was a very pretty redhead with absent parents and money to burn. Incredibly popular. She wouldn't take a junior to prom, but she would go to third base with one behind the bleachers.
So there he was during lunch break with his left hand fondling her breast and his right sliding up under her impossibly short skirt, trying desperately not to come in his pants and feeling perilously close to fainting, most likely a symptom of hypogylcemic shock from skipping lunch, which he was sure he'd regret later but right now? So worth it.
He glanced up for a second. A precautionary measure. After all he was having sex in public. And there was Jeannie, standing not ten feet away, just beyond Mindy's peripheral vision, watching him with a quirked eyebrow and a bitten lip in a desperate attempt to smother a grin.
Rodney's brain quickly slipped into panic mode but his hands were apparently stuck on autopilot because he was still stroking away and shit, Mindy was totally coming right then, eyes glazed over and moaning as if she were somewhere a lot less public than she actually was and Jeannie was staring so hard she'd stopped blinking and oh my God this was not happening.
—from the fic where Rodney gets turned into a wraith
He loses forty years or so. It's not really an exact science, but then, biology never is. Exact or not, Rodney wakes up in the infirmary old and decrepit, all creaky limbs and saggy skin. He's so very weak. Elizabeth is at his bedside, a pathetic attempt at a reassuring smile plastered across her mouth. She tells him that John got the rest of the team out safely. Not that she needs to tell him—Rodney remembers everything.
He remembers John shooting the wraith in the shoulder. He remembers John grabbing Ronon's gun, destroying the wraith's kneecaps, a shot to the stomach. He remembers the last thing he saw before he passed out, John standing over the prone body, grinding his heel into the wraith's open palm as he emptied eighteen rounds into it's chest. It. John didn't bother giving this one a name.
She tells him that they'll be ready to carry him back to earth on the Daedalus as soon as his strength is up.
"I'd rather die here on Atlantis," he says.
Her face is pinched and pale. "Rodney, we can't care for you properly here."
"Elizabeth, I'm dying. No one can care for me properly."
- + - + -
Carson has an idea.
It's a really terrible idea.
Something about gene treatment and wraith regenerative attributes and a therapy that failed in terms of supressing wraith alleles but showed promise for improved physical—"Carson, for the love of God, let me die in peace. Preferably in my own bed."
"Rodney, you are not walking out of here unless it is under your own power. You said you didn't want to go back to earth. That makes you my patient."
"Being a tad possessive, aren't we?"
"I only want what is in your best interest."
"Carson, you can't possibly think you're going to inject me with that crap and I'm going to magically revert to the age of thirty-seven."
"Of course not"
"Well then why are you—"
"You're thirty-eight."
Rodney tells him no. He tells Elizabeth no. He tells Teyla no. He stares at Ronon for a good three minutes. Ronon blinks first. He tells John no again and again, twelve different times in twelve different ways, and is gathering the strength to throw his hospital jello at John's head if only to make him leave when John....
When John says please.
And really, that just isn't fair.
Carson injects him with the treatment, mixed in with a sedative, and that right there is enough to tell him this is a bad idea. He's about to tell Carson so for the hundredth time but he's already made his decision and besides, he's kind of falling asleep.
He wakes up the next day feeling just a little stronger than before. He finishes all three of his meals. "I still don't think this is going to work," he says.
The next day he walks out of the infirmary under his own power, down the hall to the transporter, and all the way back to his room, his prescription matress, and his luxuriously high threadcount sheets. He sleeps like the dead.
One week later John points out that the wrinkles are smoothing out around his eyes. Ronon claps him on the back. Teyla bends her forehead to his. John shares his potato salad. Rodney eats heartily and heads back to his labs, does catch-up for ten hours before heading back into his room with a strange spring in his step. A song in his heart even. He passes Carson in the hallway and says, "Hey, maybe it's not all voodoo after all," and the smile he gives him is all relief.
Carson smiles and tells him he's glad to hear it, and Rodney should drop by the infirmary tomorrow to do some follow up tests.
Three days later Rodney walks into the cafeteria looking no older than fifty and eats his way through two breakfast trays. John joins him at the table as he's finishing up the second and gives him a wide open grin. "Appetite's all back to normal, I see."
"Not quite," Rodney says, a slight frown on his face. He places his fork down and folds his hands in his lap. "I'm still hungry," he says, and the frown starts to deepen.
John's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "And that's ... bad?"
Rodney's lips quirk into something between a grimace and a sneer. "Yes, Colonel. That's bad.
—from the gratuitous Christmas fic, where Rodney builds John a -working- model DeLorean
They split up at the mall entrance. John heads back towards the electronics store he found the day before. Rodney goes into the first toy store he finds and searches the aisles for a good half hour before pulling a rather ridiculously overpriced remote controlled Barbie Dream Car™ off the shelf. The line is obnoxiously long, and by the time he reaches the front of it, John is standing at the entrance waiting for him. He quickly makes his payment, not bothering with a bag, though he finds himself wishing he'd sprung for both a bag and gift wrap when John turns a curious eye to the neon pink box and asks him who it's for.
Rodney blurts out something about his sister Jeannie's daughter, who doesn't actually exist, remembering only afterwards that he really is an exceptionally bad liar when John's eyebrows attempt to climb up his forehead and into his hair.
"Okay, so I need a small engine and I don't have time to make one from scratch."
"For what?"
Rodney gives him what is probably an extremely shifty look. "Can't say. You'll find out later.
He ushers John off to get lunch while he runs one more errand, slipping into one of the larger DVD selling stores. He gets the kid at the register to point him towards the science fiction section and skims the aisles till he finds them. All three Back to the Future movies. Fifteen minutes later he's back at the register listening to the kid making approving noises at his film choices and manfully supressing the urge to sneer.
Walking back to the car, he feels almost exactly like he did the last time he bought tampons for a girlfriend only kind of better since this time he's doing it by choice, which is to say, he's not being bribed with sex, which come to think of it doesn't really make it any better at all.
ETA: Okay, guys, you really don't want me writing the rest of that wraith!Rodney fic. There might be a baby involved. I'm just sayin'.
