Notice Anything?

glee

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 04:37:00 GMT

Thank you, cookie senders! You know who you are--and you should know that you made me feel all warm and fuzzy and renewed my cheerfulness after a day of fighting with holiday decorations and cleaning. :)

Fic Index Post complete!

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 01:24:45 GMT

Hello, my lovelies!

I've finally completed a fic index post! With everything I've written! You can find it here.

A couple recent SGA fics of note, that I haven't yet posted on this LJ:

For this year's mcshep_match, Team War: Grace, Too 1363 words, PG-13
"One dance, and then we'll talk cease-fire," John promises, using his free hand to carefully slide Rodney's glasses off and fold them into his shirt pocket. "You'll be home in an hour."

For the most recent round of mcsmooch: Not Like I Ever ~560 words, PG-13
"I'm forty-four years old," John grits out, "and I can still move my entire life in a duffel bag."

And an SGA fic from last year that is creepy and appropriate for the season: Stir (co-written as part of the round-robin challenge at artword) 5193 words, PG-13
A reworking of 5.07 "Whispers." John's world is three things: mist, hunger, voice.

What do you get that person? You know, that ONE person who's impossible to shop for?

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 03:26:01 GMT

blackmare_9 is having an Art Sale! Beautiful, custom 5x7 pieces, for an unbeatable price: great for gift-giving or gifting for yourself!

Some examples (most were done for last year's Art Sale) to whet your whistle:

Blackmare also did the piece from whence my icon came. She can do almost anything, from whimsical dragons to sunny daffodils (I highly recommend perusing all of her art).

Meme: The Stories I've Never Written

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 02:49:00 GMT

From all over: my lovelies deelaundry, verbal_kint10, queenzulu, and hannahrorlove.

Give me the title of a story I've never written, and feedback telling me what you liked best about it, and I will tell you any of: the first sentence, the last sentence, the thing that made me want to write it, the biggest problem I had while writing it, why it almost never got posted, the scene that hit the cutting room floor but that I wish I'd been able to salvage, or something else that I want readers to know.

This looks like a whole lot of fun! (And maybe I *will* actually write one of these...)

is rather shy, but also hopeful

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 16:39:24 GMT

Hello!

So, I have an interview up at mcshep_war. If you'd like to see a couple pictures of my quilts, and maybe ask a question or two, come on over.

Something Happy!

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 17:06:33 GMT

Got this from...all over, I guess, but I thought I'd share in case one of y'all hasn't seen it yet:

If you ever wanted to know what a Perspi happy dance looks like... (youtube link)

Fic: The Sixth Way Ronon Loses His Dreads

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 21:01:10 GMT

Title: The Sixth Way Ronon Loses His Dreads
Author: perspi
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1746
Pairing: Gen
Summary: "He got zappy-poofed, duh."
Relates to Episodes: Set sometime mid-season 4, while Teyla is pregnant
Disclaimer: Me, I own nothing.
Warnings: None needed.
Notes: Companion, of sorts, to Five Ways Ronon Loses His Dreads and Five Days After Ronon Loses His Dreads. With everlasting gratitude to my First Readers, for both the nitpicking and the cheerleading. For my cliche_bingo square You're only young twice: Age regression.

Comments and concrit always welcome.

The Sixth Way Ronon Loses His Dreads

Ronon wakes, slowly, to odd sensations across his scalp, like something's tugging at his hair. At sections of his hair.

He's still too far under, though, to be able to do anything about it; he feels leaden and sluggish, like he's finally been hit with a stun weapon that will actually keep him down. He groans softly, just a little exhale. The dread above his ear jerks hard enough to move his head.

"Uh oh, he's wakin' up," a little voice sounds just above him.

"You're almost done," another little voice answers, and if it weren't for their child-voices, Ronon would swear they sound like Sheppard and McKay.

"I wanna go home." the first little voice whines plaintively as Ronon feels fingers combing across his scalp. Combing. He tries to move, but his body's traitorously still.

"It's okay," the other voice says, and there's one last tug behind Ronon's ear. "There. All done!"

Ronon manages to get his eyes open just as he feels one of his knives settle back in its sheath at his belt. He looks up at two naked boys, who are watching him back with fascination: one pale and wide-eyed and sucking his thumb, the other just as wide-eyed and barely keeping himself still. Ronon can feel their warm knees pressing against his arms.

"He's awake!" the squirmy one says, just as the other one pops his thumb out of his mouth and says, "Why were you sleeping?"

"He got zappy-poofed, duh." The squirmy kid's dark, spiky-haired head bobs authoritatively. "Just like us."

"Why'd it take him so long to wake up?" the pale one asks just as Ronon manages to grunt, "Zappy-poofed?"

"'Cuz he's big, that's why," the squirmy one says with great certainty.

The pale one points to something back where Ronon can't see. "There was a big light," he tells Ronon, and his companion can't help but join in, "And a BOOM--" throwing his arms wide, "--and the zappy-poofer hit us."

It still doesn't explain anything to Ronon, especially now that he's starting to get that familiar post-stun pins-and-needles all over his body and he still can't move much to get rid of it. He twitches the few muscles he can, and decides to take a gamble. "John?" he asks, and the squirmy kid perks right up.

"Yeah?" He lands on Ronon rather abruptly, his pointy little elbows digging painfully into Ronon's chest near his collarbone. "You slept a long time."

"Rodney?" Ronon grunts, and the pale kid looks...offended.

"I'm Mer'dith."

"You guys see anyone else while I was sleeping?" Ronon asks them quietly, and they look at each other before shaking their heads. It's been a long time since Ronon has dealt with such young kids, but they've both got half-dried tear-streaks down their faces, so Ronon says, "Musta been scary, huh? Being by yourself?"

Rodney cuddles into Ronon's chest, half-on and half-off, and John digs his elbows into Ronon's ribs. "We fixed it," John tells him.

"I fixed it," Rodney snips.

John pokes him hard. "I said to do it!"

"Yeah, but I did it!" Rodney cries, and Ronon's thankful that he can finally pick his arms up enough to fend off the impending slap fight.

"Guys!" he says sharply, and both of them immediately sit back on their heels, cowed in a way Ronon's never managed when he's come between them before. "What did you fix?"

Rodney holds up one of Ronon's dreadlocks, one end cut cleanly where it once attached itself to Ronon. "Your hair."

John nods, adding seriously, "It was monster hair."

Ronon sits up quickly, anger and adrenaline finally breaking him free of his paralysis. His head feels strange--too small, too light--and his neck is cold. He runs his fingers over his suddenly-too-bare head; they slide easily through what's left of his hair.

His growl dies in his throat, though, when he turns and looks at his teammates--naked and small and sitting close together, Rodney with his thumb back in his mouth. Instead Ronon finds himself inexplicably smiling.

Of course Sheppard would put McKay to work.

Amelia barely blinks when Ronon walks through the 'gate carrying two four-year-olds and dragging a makeshift travois full of SGC gear and a faintly glowing Ancient device. "Two points," he calls to her as he kneels to set his teammates on the floor. "One for each."

"I'm taking three," she calls back, pointedly looking at Ronon's head before turning to her console, and Ronon can't help a little grin.

"Each of us?" Rodney asks.

"Yep," Ronon confirms and shrugs out of the pieces of McKay's tac vest that served as travois straps. "Unflappability contest with Chuck."

Rodney nods like he understands, which Ronon knows he only does when he hasn't a clue.

The rest of the Gateroom crew hangs back, waiting for Ronon to give them the OK to approach--a hard-learned lesson after a refugee child attached herself to Lorne for a week.

John self-consciously tugs at the twice-wound belt of his t-shirt-turned-kilt, and Ronon quietly tells him, "Leave it alone or it'll fall off."

"I told you, only girls wear skirts," John sulks, looking surprisingly like his older self.

"And I told you, it's a kilt," Ronon grumbles back before tapping his earpiece. "Zelenka, to the Gateroom. Keller, I'm coming to you in ten minutes." He turns his radio off before he can hear their replies and stands up. Rodney and John grab hold of his hands and press close to his legs; even though their heads barely reach as high as his hips they're effectively preventing him from going anywhere.

"Do you remember this?" Ronon asks them, "Atlantis?" He's surprised into swaying a little at the force they're using to press into him.

"Kinda," John admits, just as Rodney says, "Not really."

Suddenly Ronon thinks to ask the question he probably should have asked first, or at least before he packed everything up and brought it back to Atlantis. "You guys remember me?"

Their grips tighten on his hands as their little faces squinch up. "Kinda," John admits, just as Rodney says, "Not really."

John is quick to reassure, "We don't have to remember you, though."

"We like you anyway," Rodney adds helpfully.

Zelenka arrives in the Gateroom and visibly recoils, muttering "Jezismarja" and parking himself behind the travios. "This is problem?"

Ronon gives him a look, and says, "Hit us with a stun pulse. When I woke up, we were--" and he waves his hands, John and Rodney's arms waving with him.

"That's the zappy-poofer," John adds helpfully, twitching like he's threatening a full-body squirm.

Unwrapping the device, Zelenka starts clucking and hmming like one of his pigeons. "How long were you unconscious?"

"Long enough for McKay to cut my hair," Ronon grumbles, and Radek looks up fast, startled into noticing Ronon's new haircut and actually looking at the boys.

"Huh," he grunts, and he bends his head back to work.

The boys burst into tears the minute they see Keller, which doesn't exactly help anyone's mood--least of all Ronon's, since he's the one they're sobbing on--but most everyone calms down when Teyla arrives, waddling behind her considerable belly. Suddenly Ronon finds himself with only an armful of John, as Rodney clambers away to hide himself in Teyla's skirt.

"Oh!" she cries, and carefully bends down to hug Rodney back. "Are you well, Rodney?"

He gives her a sour look before throwing his arms around her neck. "I'm Mer'dith."

"Yes, of course you are," she soothes, stroking one hand over Rodney's startlingly blond hair. It's too short to curl, but Ronon thinks it looks like it wants to.

Ronon's own hair gets no more than an appraising glance, and Teyla says, "Sergeant Williams is very good with hair."

"Thanks," Ronon answers sincerely as John's spiky hair tickles his neck and his leg begins to fall asleep.

Somehow, Ronon's not quite sure (although he suspects Teyla's obvious rubbing of her pregnant middle had a lot to do with it), the boys end up with sleeping bags on the floor of Ronon's quarters.

Ronon rolls his head against the pillow, and he decides that for all he misses his dreadlocks, he kind of likes the way he doesn't have to readjust them.

The light's not off for even a minute when Rodney pipes up, "Ronon?"

"Yeah."

"What if we're stuck like this?"

Ronon rolls to his side, looking over the edge of the bed to see the two of them sitting up in their sleeping bags and watching him with anxious faces. He'd really like to have a discussion with whoever talked to them while he was getting his hair fixed. "What do you mean?"

"I know we're not supposed to be little," Rodney says.

"What if Radek can't fix us?" John adds, squirming himself all the way out of his bag. "Are you going to send us away?"

"C'mere," Ronon grumbles, and the boys scramble up to make themselves comfortable on either side of him. Once they're settled, Ronon looks up at the ceiling, amazed at the trust in the press of their bodies against his.

"Let me tell you something. Okay, two things: One, you don't need 'fixing.' And two: When you were big, you guys were my team. You know what that means?"

Two little heads shake against his shoulders.

"We're family. And that means you're stuck with me, no matter what."

"So if they can't make us big again? And if they won't let us stay?" Rodney lifts his head and asks, and he's getting started on another question when Ronon interrupts, "That's a lotta ifs, buddy."

"But what will we do?" John asks, rolling up to join Rodney in looking right at Ronon.

He squeezes them both close (because when they're men they'd never let him) and tells them, "We'll be together, we can do everything."

That seems to satisfy them; Rodney and John grin goofily and settle back against him with a minimum of fuss. It doesn't take them long to go bonelessly, deeply asleep.

He should have felt it coming, the way his purpose--indeed his entire self--shifts from living in spite of to living for. Ronon spans his hands over their backs, his own chest tight with thanks that he can have at least this night spent close with these children, these men, his family.

He falls asleep with a pointy little elbow in his armpit, a wee foot snugged under his butt, and a smile on his face.

SGA Vid Rec: Every Day is Halloween in the Pegasus Galaxy

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 02:51:20 GMT

OMG YOU GUYZ. If you like fanvids--hell, even if you don't currently watch fanvids--you will LOVE this one. This is not your average vid--this is a creepy and darkly funny and simply awesome SGA vid from the POV of the Wraith. Go, see, laugh and be creeped out at the same time!

Every Day is Halloween in the Pegasus Galaxy by bironic. (Link takes you to LJ page with downloads and an embed.)

Morphine and Flowers (Love and War) Drabbles!

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 03:08:23 GMT

I wanted to get them here, so I don't lose them: A pair of McSheppy drabbles written for the mcshep_match Drabble Tree Challenge:

John comes awake slowly, relishing the floaty warmth of Real Morphine for a moment before he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is a bit...surprising.

"Ronon?" he slurs. "Why'ou got flurrs in y'r hair?"

"Tradition," Ronon answers unhelpfully, comfortable and casual under a mane of hot pink.

"Why's Woolsey here?" John murmurs.

Rodney leans in, seriously angry though his hands are gently holding one of John's. "Two words, moron: Medical proxy."

"Shit." Fucking paperwork.

"I told you not to joke about getting married in the infirmary."

"Wha'appnd?"

"Explosion," Ronon offers just as Rodney growls, "You saved me, asshole."

"Dearly beloved," Woolsey begins, only to be cut off by Jennifer saying, "No speeches, please, Mr. Woolsey, I can't keep him awake long."

"Th'hell?" John asks just as Woolsey says, "Very well, do you, Dr. McKay, wish to marry Colonel Sheppard?"

"Yes," Rodney answers without hesitation as John says indignantly, "Whaddya mean, 'keep him awake'?"

"Do you, Col--" Woolsey starts when Ronon interrupts, "Wanna marry McKay?"

"Yeah, bu--"

"Then I now pronounce you--" Woolsey says pompously while Ronon whoops, and John feels the faintest brush of lips against his cheek before Rodney says, "Well, that was romantic. Knock him out."

Fic Rec: The Laundry Ultimatum

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 04:18:13 GMT

You have GOT to read this! The Laundry Ultimatum, by explodedpen. It's an SGA Genficathon story about one of those overlooked-but-essential jobs in Atlantis: The Laundry Guy.

It is hilarious--the OC is fantastically likeable and there's some great observations about Team Sheppard, along with some truly outrageous native Pegasus galaxy fauna. Go, read, laugh your ass off. You can thank me later. :)

Cliché Bingo!

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 02:52:54 GMT

Oh, YOU PEOPLE. I saw many, many of my peeps signing up for and promoting cliche_bingo. And lo, I was drawn, helplessly, to the awesomeness that is playing with fandom tropes.

Anyway. Here's my card; taking the idea from crysothemis to put this in HTML for future linking use.

There's a first time for everything: First times	Drugs	Zombies	Speech deprived	Vacations and holidays
Vulnerability	You're only young twice: Age regression	What is this thing you call love?	Thank God it's Friday--Again: Time Loops	Hypothermia & Extreme Cold
Physical Violence	Five things		Freestyle crossover	Food, cooking and mealtimes
To the highest bidder:Auctions and slavefic	Fork in the Road AU	Voyeurism	Truth Serum	Relative values: Families
Backstory	Darkfic	Woke up gay	Religious and other festivals	Pretending to be married

OK, apparently the layout I've been using doesn't like HTML tables very much. Stupid layout. So I got rid of the custom comment pages, and voilà! My table actually looks DECENT. FINALLY.

Scattergories meme

Sun, 31 May 2009 00:32:12 GMT

deelaundry did this, and I wanted to, too!

Rules:
1. It’s harder than it looks! That's not a rule!
2. Copy to your own post, erase my answers, enter yours.
3. Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions.
4. They have to be real; nothing made up!
5. If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers.
6. You cannot use any word twice and you can’t use your name for the boy/girl name question.

01. What is your name: PERSPI
02. A four letter word: PURE
03. A boy’s name: PERCY
04. A girl’s name: PENELOPE
05. An occupation: PROFESSOR
06. A color: PURPLE
07. Something u wear: PANTS
08. A food: PEPPERS
09. Something found in the bathroom: POOP
10. A place: PHILADELPHIA
11. A reason for being late: PEE BREAK
12. Something u shout: PECKER!
13. A movie title: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
14. Something u drink: PEPSI
15. A musical group: PANTERA
16. An animal: POSSUM
17. A street name: PIKE
18. A type of car: PINTO
19. Title of song: PRETTY WOMAN
20. Something you use in school: PENCIL
21. People I wanna tag: PWCORGIGIRL, ONLY IF SHE WANTS TO

One: It's amazing how many of these I wanted to answer with POOP. Two: Is it cheating if I asked the Mr to help on a couple of these?

Story Sparks Meme

Sun, 17 May 2009 18:55:15 GMT

From nightdog_barks:

List/link to sources of inspiration for 5 fanfics you've written. Sources can be books, articles, films, music, or any other creative endeavor. Then tag 5 others to do the same. (Of course, tagging is optional.) I'm not tagging, but I'd love to see this meme take off!

House Fic:

Pious Profanity, sparked by Hugh Laurie's interview on Inside the Actor's Studio, where he said about the character of House: that the idea of a mean, sarcastic doctor is offensive to people, like a nun swearing.

The Longest Weekend, sparked by conversation with nightdog_barks in the darkest days of House's season 3, when the House/Wilson friendship was at its shakiest and we were worried that Wilson would soon have a breakdown.

SGA Fic:

Soul to Squeeze, sparked in part by the video for the Red Hot Chili Peppers' song, and also by some fanon about John. And every time I hear the song I am reminded of the sequel I've got brewing...

Five Ways Ronon Loses His Dreads and Five Days After Ronon Loses His Dreads, sparked by Jason Momoa's cutting of his dreads after SGA season 4. And I really, really wish they'd let Ronon-the-character cut his hair--any of these scenarios would have been fine. :)

Kiss Your Sassafras (and the larger AU that's still in progress), sparked by chrysothemis' The Trouble with Endothermia and standing in the fancy-chocolate aisle at Target.

I'm not feeling very sparked for anything, lately, probably because I have a lot less time where I can be inside my own head to be thinking about fic. I am hoping that when I get back into quilting I will also be able to write more again, because quilting is great for also daydreaming up fic. :)

Links you're going to want to click

Fri, 15 May 2009 19:22:00 GMT

Two things that have distracted me today, and I'm very glad they did:

A video that will make you SMILE and DANCE: "Stand By Me" recorded with street artists around the world. This is beautiful, and I'm going to go buy the album tonight (link is in the article).

This utter awesomeness from the White House. Read the caption, and I defy you not to *wibble* with the cute and the heart-clenchy.

Fic: A Path of Stars

Mon, 16 Mar 2009 18:57:10 GMT

Title: A Path of Stars
Author: perspi
Rating: R
Word Count: 1000
Pairing: Teyla/Rodney
Summary: She sees how he wants but does not believe he can have, and she aches with more than want.
Relates to Episodes: The Hive/The Lost Boys
Disclaimer: Me, I own nothing.
Notes: For ishie, for sticksandsnark 2009. Her prompt: "Smut! If it's of the fumbling, laughing, joyous kind, I will love you forever." I hope you like it, darling--I really enjoyed writing it! Thanks as always to my First Readers, especially blackmare_9, nightdog_barks, and friendshipper for their most helpful feedback.

Comments and concrit always welcome.

A Path of Stars

Enzyme burning, worst at night, humming through her veins like fire--makes her restless, makes her hungry. But not starved, no, never that; she craves human touch and male scent and clean sweat: she wants, she wants.

She finds him easily, towel-clad and fresh from the washspring he hesitates but he knows, he knows; he feels the same burn--more, without the daily physical training she uses to wear hers away. His hands flutter, as always when he's nervous, but his eyes focus, firelighter-sharp, right where she wants them, his gaze a caress as she thumbs open the tabs of her vest.

She can see how he wants to talk, how much effort it's costing him to keep silent, how he wants but does not believe he can have, and she aches with more than want.

Two steps and it's pale skin to touch, warm and just wet enough to drag under her fingertips, against her nipples--she won't step away while she peels herself naked, it feels too good. With her tongue she chases the salt tang from the spring along his neck, under his jaw, to hear him moan beneath her lips, and pulls at the towel until there's naught between them.

Sparks along skin, electric with heat and power in thigh against thigh, in the intimate curve of belly against belly. Breath eddies behind her ear, down her shoulderblade before he kisses a path of stars into the hollow of her neck.

Air beneath her feet; he is strong and broad and lifts her easily until he can slide inside, solid and thick between her legs. She wraps legs and arms around him, the two of them enzyme-strong and steady, and holds on, short hair prickling her fingertips, foreheads touching, breathing panting breath until he steals it, capturing her with lips and tongue.

Push and pull and grind, heat and sweat and sound slake her thirst, fill her until she's humming with a different need, singing from her spine to her curling toes. Until she lights like tinder, flaring heat and sweat and bearing his name on her breath.

Rodney doesn't meet them when they return to Atlantis. After he crashes their infirmary visit, Teyla allows Rodney several days' space; several conversations with Kate and Elizabeth have revealed that Earthers can be somewhat...awkward regarding sex.

She loses patience, though, when there's an obvious space at the breakfast table for a fourth day. John frowns in a generally confused way but doesn't question it aloud, not yet; Ronon notices and snorts into his coffee. Teyla decides she will mention how she heard Ronon crooning pas-aa during their captivity at their next sparring practice. Perhaps she will even be kind and wait until after she's wiped the floor with his hair.

After the nightfall meal, Teyla ambushes Rodney between the mess hall and the labs, pulling him into a transporter before he can draw breath to argue.

"Teyla!" he exclaims and makes no move to exit the transporter, even though the doors have opened. "Um, hi?"

She slides her hand palm-to-palm with his, and he only needs one tug to get him moving with her down the hall. "I have missed you, Rodney," she says with a smile.

His mouth works open and closed, once, before he stutters to life. "Yes, well, we were gone a long time, you know, I mean, of course you know, you were there, and it really wasn't that long, as these things go, but it was long enough for the labs to get utterly out of control and only reinforces how vital it is that I'm--" he pauses for breath and finally looks where Teyla has led him, "--in your room. This is--"

Teyla doesn't let go of Rodney's hand; it is warm and comforting, curled around her own even as the rest of him radiates distress. "I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable, Rodney," she tells him.

"Uncomfortable?" He pishes softly. "No, no, of course I'm not uncomfortable; why would I be uncomfortable?"

She allows herself to hope, just a little, and says, "Then you do not feel that sex between us is...problematic?"

"No, no," he says quickly, pulling his hand away and shaking his head, "no problem at all, why, what, oh, God, there's a problem, isn't there? I mean, there isn't any logical reason why there should be a problem, we were both drugged so we can just pretend it never happened, and then--"

"So avoiding me is pretending it never happened?" Teyla asks, and he stops up short.

Rodney looks stunned, and for a fleeting moment profoundly hurt, before he ducks his head and looks at the floor. "No, I just needed...I can pr-- I'll be at breakfast tomorrow," he says quietly, and turns toward the door.

She catches his arm easily; the small room has kept them close. "Rodney," she says just as softly, giving his name as much tenderness as she feels. "There was a reason I chose to come to you."

"Yes, well, drugs will do that," he replies sourly. He looks at her, his face hiding nothing. "Look, I know you don't feel the same; let's just put it down to cultural differences and it's back to normal in the morning."

She brings her hands up to hold his face between them and looks him steadily in the eyes. "I know you do not hear this often, so I hope you will listen carefully: You are wrong, Rodney."

Teyla kisses him, short and sharp and intent. He is slack-jawed and speechless for a bare moment, and she allows herself a wide smile.

"You. Really?" At her nod, he grins and bends forward in an attempt to kiss her again, but they tilt at awkward angles and end up bumping noses and foreheads painfully.

She can't stop the giggle that escapes.

He groans a little, and says apologetically, "I was better at this with the drugs."

"No, Rodney," Teyla says happily, "we are better at this now."

A must-read for all fic writers!

Thu, 12 Mar 2009 03:52:18 GMT

We fic writers are also voracious fic readers, yeah?

I'm sure we've all had the experience of clicking to a fic where the only feedback we want to leave is, "Oh, honey. You could be a new Speranza or Pru or Namaste but I'm never going to know it because I can't get past your godawful headers and your novella of author notes."

So then we don't leave any feedback at all, and the authors continue to perpetrate bad fic manners all over the internet?

Fear not, my darlings! pwcorgigirl has offered us a handy guide to headers that will be useful to everyone, everywhere!

(I actually have no idea if something like this exists in SGA fandom, but I'm thinking I will start leaving this link in comments where people perpetrate header abuse.)

New Comm!

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 04:09:45 GMT

Hey, all!

I've just completed the finishing touches on a new community: three_fathers. This comm puts together all the fic in the "Three Fathers" 'verse: From both ladycat777 and me, the 'verse wherein Teyla asks John, Rodney, and Ronon to be fathers to her child (our stories were Inside Your Hands, Beneath Your Heart, and Within Your Arms). We diverge from canon in mid-season 4.

Come, join in--check out the entirety of the 'verse, and feel free to join in and write your own stories!

Morning! And a meme

Wed, 04 Mar 2009 16:16:52 GMT

Hi happy Wednesday!

It's sunny and hovering around freezing, so it's nicely warmish and a lovely day! I have several things on my list this morning, and I have some time this morning which is really quite wonderful.

The meme is to post a sentence from current WsIP, and since I have quite a few with sentences I really adore, here they are (one is co-written with Jadesfire) (and I'm not sorry I'm cheating a little, because I much prefer context and snippetry):

Half-scrambling away along the couch, Rodney gaped. "You used that while you--Oh, God, is that some kind of dagger? Are you knitting on a stiletto? How many people have you killed with that thing?"

Ronon tosses his guitar case into the backseat before turning back to the guy. "You've been at our last three gigs, and now you follow me out here. I don't do guys."

He watches comprehension dawn across the guy's face, chased quickly by consternation. "No, no," the guy says quickly, "that's not-- I'm sorry, but, uh. No. Look, I need a lead guitar. For our band."

She wants a challenge, she wants interesting, she wants, she wants.

"The IOA feels it would be too...expensive to care for John here, in Atlantis?" Teyla asks, incredulity coloring her question. "That is very wrong, to take a man from a place he is needed simply because he needs something in return."

Ronon wakes in a bed, the cool nightlights of the infirmary washing everything in pale green. Somehow he's managed to curl himself onto his side, his toes pushing against a bedrail to keep him in a tight ball.

He hasn't slept this way since he was a child.

Rodney points at one of the labels stuck to the display case. "And I'll take a Chocolate Orgasm."

John shakes his head, the smile coming lazily to his face. "Sorry. No Chocolate Orgasms for you."

"You don't think I can handle a Chocolate Orgasm?" Rodney asks indignantly.

"That's not what I said, McKay," John laughs, "I just don't have any."

Rodney settles back, somewhat mollified (although still irritated at being denied Chocolate Orgasm-y bliss), until John mutters, "But come to think of it, you probably can't handle one of those..."

"Oh-kay," Wilson said. "You're angry because a beautiful woman is following you. I can see how that would be upsetting."

Wilson silently thanks Cuddy again for suggesting the upgrade--he's carried enough in his life that he deserves this comfort.

So that's it--some previews of the stuff I've got percolating. *smiles mischievously*

Pull up a comfy chair! Have some coffee or tea and muffins! We've only got to survive the rest of the week!

Fic: Naturalistic Observation

Mon, 02 Mar 2009 15:55:42 GMT

Title: Naturalistic Observation
Author: perspi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1130 in total
Pairing: none
Summary: This is the story of how the head of Oncology came to occupy an office next to the Department of Diagnostics.
Relates to Episodes: Nope--this is set pre-canon.
Disclaimer: House MD was created by David Shore and not me. Me, I own nothing.
Notes: Thanks as always to my lovely First Readers. Also for the 100_situations challenge.
My prompts were: #37: Office, #56: Smoke, and #31: Business

Comments and concrit always welcome.

Fishbowl

House stops short when they round the corner and he sees where Cuddy is leading him. "You have got to be kidding me. You're pulling my mangled leg."

"You got me. This is an elaborate practical joke, except the part where your old office has a wrecking ball in it." Cuddy lets herself smile--it was no mean feat getting House's belongings moved without his knowledge, which was the only way he'd ever agree to it. She knew this because he'd told her as much during the planning meetings; he'd actually threatened to get a ringbolt and chain himself to the wall. She leans forward with a flourishy little bow. "Your new office."

House stumps forward a few paces, far enough to bang the end of his cane against the 'wall.' The glass dongs and shivers, and Cuddy steps up next to him. "Unacceptable," he pronounces.

"This is one of the best suites in the hospital," Cuddy hisses. "The restrooms are around the corner, the elevators are right there, and you have a balcony."

"It's a fishbowl," House growls back.

"Oh, please, you love having an audience."

"How am I supposed to work like this?"

"The day you actually do any work--"

"Cuddy." House snaps his fingers and looks like he's dying to share some secret, which is just-- "I'm incredibly flattered," he says earnestly.

Cuddy finds herself incredibly discomfited. "House, what are you--"

"You redesigned the entire hospital just so you could keep an eye on me."

"We--what? No!" Cuddy splutters. "There was a--a team of architects and...and--this was not done with-- No one thought of you at all!"

House just grins that grin which she knows he knows sends her into high alert, and pulls open the door where his name is etched tastefully into the glass. "I love it. Just think of all the things I can do now that everybody can see me. I have a balcony, you said?"

Terrarium

"Dr. Cuddy, if I could have a word?"

Cuddy looks up from the latest revision of the promotion policy. "Dr. Adams, welcome," she says with a smile and waves him toward a chair in front of the desk. "What can I do for you today?"

He perches in the chair, leaning forward anxiously. "I would like to request an office transfer. As soon as possible."

"You've only been in your new office two weeks," Cuddy points out, even though she probably should have seen this coming. "After the negotiations--"

Dr. Adams raises both hands in a gesture of supplication. "No, no, see, I appreciate that you got me into one of the non-glass offices. My clients appreciate the privacy." He finally slumps a little into the chair and says, "I just don't think it's possible to practice psychiatry with Dr. House as a neighbor."

Cuddy rubs her hand across her forehead and does her best to stifle a groan.

"He sits outside my office looking like a street bum and calls my clients crazy," Dr. Adams continues, almost like he's checking off items in a list he started two weeks ago. "He pounds something against the wall at the perfect time to interrupt a sensitive session. He heckles my secretary about her lunch and steals all the candy from my desk. He rebuffs all attempts to open a dialogue about his own iss--"

"No kidding," Cuddy can't help herself interrupting.

"I can't help but think Dr. House is engaged in a campaign to drive me out. Yesterday all the pens in my pen cup were glued together. And today is the final straw."

Cuddy laces her fingers together on the desk and marshals all the poise she can manage.

"Dr. House is smoking a cigar on the balcony." Dr. Adams says this like it's the most scandalous thing he's ever seen.

She swallows the laughter that's trying to escape and points out, "Smoking a cigar out-of-doors is hardly against hos--"

"He's wearing chaps. Leather motorcycle chaps, and nothing else. His office is entirely glass, everyone in the hallway can see him sitting there, and I got a full frontal view." Dr. Adams is turning a rather alarming shade of purple.

She wishes House could see the way he's so spectacularly broken the good psychiatrist, but she doesn't want to reinforce his behavior. She ushers Dr. Adams out with promises that she'll fix it, and manages to keep her giggles contained until the outer office door closes.

Cuddy laughs until she cries, and then she goes to grab her camera.

Habitat

"Let me get this straight--you want me to move, again." Wilson is sitting at his desk, leaning his elbows on the blotter like a high school principal prepared to argue his way through a parent-teacher conference.

"Yes," Cuddy answers calmly. She knows full well what she's asking, and it's not going to make Wilson's life any easier.

"You want me, the newly-appointed head of the Oncology Department, to leave the oncology ward entirely. To vacate my spacious and personally-designed suite of brand-new offices. All so I can be a neighbor to House."

"In a nutshell," Cuddy agrees and gives him her most persuasive smile. "You know how hotly contested the non-glass office spaces were."

"He's driven Adams out already?" Wilson asks. "It's only been two weeks."

"He didn't tell you about his campaign?"

"Oh, he did," Wilson says, "but I didn't think he'd escalate so quickly."

"Apparently Dr. Adams annoyed him," she says and hands him her camera. Wilson starts looking through the pictures; he does an admirable job containing his laughter, although he can't prevent the smile.

She sighs loudly. "I can't leave that office vacant, and hell will freeze before I let Diagnostics have it."

"You could always stick the lawyer in there," Wilson muses, tilting his head and turning the camera at the same time. Cuddy giggles inwardly; she knows which picture he's looking at.

"As convenient as that may be, I'm going to have to say . . . no," she replies. "The hospital needs a lawyer who at least marginally wants to help House, not somebody who'll throw him under the bus at the first opportunity just so he can have some peace."

Wilson sets the camera on the desk between them and gives her a shrewd look. "Give oncology a new tenure-track position, and I'll do it."

She frowns her best you're fucking kidding frown. "And my answer is the same as it was last year. Absolutely not."

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and adopting an air of nonchalance. "I know the board approved funding for three new positions. I was also going to offer my services as a successful House-wrangler, which I assume you considered before asking me to move, but if you don't--"

"Dr. Wilson," Cuddy interrupts, "we have a deal."

Meme-ish: Five things

Mon, 02 Mar 2009 04:46:52 GMT

dogeared gave me five things she associates with me:

tea

The first tea I remember having was sips of my mother's--Bigelow's Constant Comment orange and black with milk and sugar. To this day I drink tea with milk and sugar, almost always (sometimes I like to use half-and-half creamer, which causes my English LJ-friends to *gasp*). And I like big giant mugs, too--my current favorites are tall 18- and 20-oz latte-style mugs. I drink peppermint tea at night and decaf in the afternoons and a jug of Earl Grey or peach or chai (something black and caffeinated) in the morning. I take my mug to class. During my first four months of pregnancy I had to give up tea entirely, as the idea of putting milk in it was very offputting and I didn't have the stomach to drink it without, either. Weird, huh?

chocolatier!John

I find it interesting that this one pops up! This is my utterly indulgent Harlequin-style romance fic, begun long ago in the fancy-chocolate aisle of Target not long after reading crysothemis's fic The Trouble With Hypothermia. This is the fic in which John is a chocolatier. I have no idea when it will be finished, but I love coming back to it.

I also love researching this, BTW.

being a mom

Is the most frustrating and unbelievably rewarding thing; it has to be the most difficult thing I've ever attempted. And I know, objectively, that I had a relatively easy pregnancy and delivery and Z has been a Poster Child baby, but I can't help thinking what a long, intense commitment this is.

Then again, my baby Z is the most beautiful and smartest baby EVAR!

grading

I teach at the college level, and that means lots of grading. Which I should be doing now, but whatever. :)

Sometime back I hit upon the idea to use the NaNoWriMo progress bars to post about my grading progress, and it's odd, but I found filling the color on those little bars to be incredibly motivating to slog through the dozens and hundreds of exams and papers I have during finals week. And the cheerleading of the f-list, who don't generally live the academic life, is also wonderful.

writing process

I got the idea from nightdog_barks to write WsIP directly into my LJ, open for a small group of trusted First Readers who serve as a voluntary beta team and cheerleading squad. My writing has improved considerably this way, and I love, love, love the social aspect that comes from creating in a space where people can go, "WOW THAT IS GREAT I WANT MORE" and "WTF ARE YOU DOING NOW?" and "THIS IS INTRIGUING YOU MUST WRITE IT." I think it brings so much more to my fic when I have First Readers who say, "Yes, I've been to Japan and this is what the food is like," or "No, I don't think you should do that" (which makes me say, "Yes, I should, and here's why"). This process has also worked well for me since I use several different computers in a day, so I can always access my fic-writing from anywhere.

This process has also led to me becoming part of a fantastic collective of four writers--we have collaborated on a couple of massive and awesome ficverses and generally write with the closest thing to telepathy I've ever experienced.

Happy Sunday!

Nifty

Wed, 28 Jan 2009 18:20:12 GMT

You just know that there's an SGA story here. Rodney will have plenty to say to Ronon and John about head trauma. Hee.

A non-mcsmooch if ever there was one...

Wed, 14 Jan 2009 20:00:01 GMT

Requested by Nightdog last night, because I was in the mood to write a little smooch:

Sunday morning (well, really Sunday afternoon, but who's counting?), and House is up, awake, sort-of-vertical because it's the only way he's going to get coffee. He watches the essence of life drip into the pot, leaning first on his cane and when that gets too tiring, settling his hips back against the island.

So when warm hands hook around said hips, House is understandably a bit startled and drops his cane.

His exclamation is cut off, swallowed by the warm mouth that's suddenly kissing him. He's warm all over, with those hands pinning his hips and solid legs between his own, a flat plane of chest rucking his t-shirt up. He smells hints of fabric softener and aftershave under the scent of sleep-warm skin. He breaks the kiss, most definitely not sighing as his neck is affectionately nuzzled, and watches his hands slide around broad shoulders until they're splayed across a slightly goose-pimpled back.

"Wilson," House grumbles, still slightly disturbed by the way his hands look like he's grasping air, "what did we say about walking around naked?"

Wilson chuckles dirtily. "It's not like I'm flashing the neighbors."

Not sure if I'm going to post this anywhere; don't even know if it's got a name. Hm.

Fic Rec: Difficulties in Mathematics

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 21:21:32 GMT

Popping in before waking Z with a quick fic rec:

Difficulties in Mathematics, by jadesfire2808.

THIS is what the final episode should have been (even though it's kind of a 'Shrine' tag)--this is TEAM and SCIENCE and ADVENTURE and AWESOMESAUCE. GO AND READ IT AND WALLOW IN TEAM-LOVE. AND MATH. And laugh--it's hilarious.

From Jades' summary:

Rodney paused, trying to think how he was going to explain without causing a general panic. Tact was probably called for and it would be as well to watch his words until he was absolutely sure about what was going on.

Of course, the words that actually came out of his mouth were, "Atlantis is about to be sucked into a black hole."

Question for the SG:A peeps

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 03:33:08 GMT

Hey!

So, Skiffy is FINALLY showing season 3 of SG:A as part of their marathon run-up to the series finale, and my Tivo (and foreseeable free time) is groaning a little with anticipating 20-some new-to-me SG:A eps.

The question, dear peeps, is this: Are there any eps from season 3 that I can safely skip, that I should arduously avoid, that I might simply not record? There are a few that I'm really looking forward to (Tao of Rodney, yay!), but it might be nice to not watch the really bad ones, also.

Thank you for your support!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 05:10:59 GMT

Hey everybody!

Have a happy new year! Z had a much better day today; I feel like my head is stuffed solid with snot and am mildly miserable. BUT! Z has slept as normal, and she is now down for the night, and the Mr. and I celebrated a bit by watching some TV. When I started this post I had a purring cat and a tiny white laptop on my lap, and I was going to have some tea, so, yay?

I am not going to post any resolutions or deep thoughts on the year past or the year approaching (even if I were capable of deep thinking, heh). And while all you wonderful friends are posting year-in-review fic lists, complete with favorite lines and synopses and snippets, I'm going to do the tired-mom-perspi version of fannish-year-in-review:

House: Three little ficlets, totaling 1020 words. This doesn't count the paltry bits I've written for black_cigarette.

SG:A: 26 fics and ficlets and commentsnippets (including four artword round-robin stories), totaling 30,780 words. Holy cow, that's more than I thought. Those little mcsmooches add up.

And now I'm finally posting this, and it's almost three hours after I started it--the laptop battery died, the Mr and I watched our TV, and Z has stirred and been comforted twice now. I'm finally online and all by myself. AAHHHH.