*verklempt*

[trinityofone]

Oh my God! Not ten minutes after I made that last post, flowers arrived for me! Talk about timing! At first I thought it was from a publisist—the other Associate Editor, who does parties, is always getting gift baskets from club promoters—but it was from John and Rodney! Well, that's what the card said, anyway. ;-)

Whoever you are, thank you so, SO much. I am so touched— I love all of you and I'm so glad I have this place to bitch and squee and mourn and rejoice in. Thank you.

*huge, enveloping hugs*

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

1) At least that's one thing we can agree on.

2) Have you not seen the way he's been glaring at you across the mess? Last night, he actually bit off the tip of his spoon. I swear, it's like you pissed on his territory.

2a) And if I recall correctly, you don't seem to care about anything then beyond "Jesus, Rodney, harder dammit, fuck me!"

3) I say this with affection? But you are such a slut.

[(Anonymous)]

Okay, okay, here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna go find Ronon, talk it out like men, limp back to my quarters after he's done talking to me, take the hottest shower Atlantis will give me, and then fall into bed. And if you were there for any of those last couple parts, well, it'd make me feel better about the fact that I'm not going to be able to walk properly when Ronon's done with me.

And 3) of course I'm a slut. I don't have this hair by accident, you know.

[(Anonymous)]

Try not to get your ass kicked too thoroughly, because I fully intend to impede your ability to walk myself. Over an extended period of time.

Sheppard, everyone knows you don't have that hair by accident. That, that mop is the kind of hair which takes forethought--actually, I'm sure so many chemicals have been applied to it over the years that I wouldn't be surprised if it has evolved enough to be capable of forethought by itself.

[(Anonymous)]

I like your version of not-walking better than his.

See you in my quarters in an hour?

[(Anonymous)]

And that is why I'm the genius, and you're the guy about to be beaten into a sweaty pulp because of your alcohol fuelled indiscretions.

Already there. I'm waiting.