Love, lift me out of these blues.

[trinityofone]

•I owe several people e-mails, but I'm feeling really icky and anti-social and depressed, so please forgive me for not having gotten back to you yet. However, if you haven't heard from me by tomorrow, please feel free to kick me.

•It's my birthday in 13 days. Ugh.

•I need distraction. Comment with a prompt, and there's a fairly good chance I'll write you a drabble.

•Now to the microwave, away!

Comments

[chopchica.livejournal.com]

I so hear you on the icky and anti-social and depressed. Because I am such a giving person, I will request a drabble! Just for you!

John/Rodney - anything happy - porn is a bonus.

I wish I could offer to drabble in return, but my ickiness totally dries up any desire I have to write. I promise to stare blankly into space and think good thoughts about you though!

Plenty

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

It was so strange: he was happy, and he really didn’t know what to do with that.

What he and Rodney were doing right now could barely qualify as sex: Rodney was stroking a hand over John’s chest; he had his head pressed into John’s shoulder and was...sniffing him, breathing him in, making soft, satisfied sounds. John laid a hand against Rodney’s cheek; he found that he was smiling, awash with silent laughter.

He twisted, pulled Rodney’s mouth up to his, kissed him slow and deep.

He would find plenty of things to do with that, in time. Plenty.

I'm sorry you feel down.

[sheep-gotohell.livejournal.com]

Something with a fairytale in it. (Preferably not Stargate, as I don't watch either show.)

The Old Tales

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Once upon a time, they all lived happily ever after.

(That’s the short version. The long version goes something like this:)

Once, bad things happened to good people. And sometimes (in the old tales) the baddies got away with it. The wolf ate the girl; the princess slept on; the cindermaid never rose above the ashes. That was life.

But we like our endings happy, so we changed all that. Now the huntsman saves the day, or the handsome prince; the glass slipper fits.

(Forget the sisters with their eyes pecked out, their soles bloody. This was never their story.)

[spaggel.livejournal.com]

Comment with a prompt, and there's a fairly good chance I'll write you a drabble.

really truly, even if your feeling icky? :0

I think they should find a land of chocolate, really, and rodney is SO HAPPY. except, you know, it's lemon chocolate. so he can't have any at all :(( but john does something

[chopchica.livejournal.com]

Hee! I really love your brain! Especially the "John does something" part, because now I'm imagining him squeezing all of the chocolate until the lemon juice comes out, and Rodney gets to have his chocolate and the rest of them have chocolate and lemonade.

Planet Irony

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

The shift from elation to despondency made Rodney dizzy.

“But...but...” he said, looking around at the chocolate river, chocolate trees, chocolate buildings—the merrily frolicking chocolate children. He sniffed. “I suppose this is when the Oompa Loompas come make fun of me. In song.”

“There’s chocolate in my room,” John said. “It’s not citrus-tainted.”

“While an improvement over Planet Irony, Colonel, that’s not quite the same as—as—” A chocolate swingset! Rodney thought.

“You can share it,” John continued.

“And what’s so special about your stash, hmm?”

John bent to Rodney’s ear. “It’s chocolate body paint,” he said.

Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Rodney has a dirty little secret. He loves John’s hair.

He loves how it emotes: even when John’s (far too often) stony-faced, Rodney can gather clues from the jumbled strands. He loves that it’s unique: he can always pick John out, even in a crowded room.

He loves how it feels, rough but yielding when he rakes his fingers through, soft when he strokes, holds John’s head against his cheek, chin, mouth.

He loves its color, glossy and black. Not blonde—not blond—but rich, dark, decadent. And below it endless multitudes: like the vast reaches of enduring space.

[whiskeypants.livejournal.com]

*hugs*
love you.

prompt: "cthulhu out of nowhere!"
fandom: NOT stargate (you know what i watch).

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

I LOVE YOU TOO AND WILL RESPOND TO YOUR E-MAIL IN DETAIL LATER!

*now: noodles*

[slodwick.livejournal.com]

"The clutter in the living room; that's another thing we both see, but never touch."

Unspoken

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

“We need to talk about the elephant,” John said.

Rodney slashed his fingers across his throat. “Shh!” he hissed. “The whole point of the elephant in the room is that you can’t talk about it!”

“Rodney.” John sighed—he didn’t want to have this conversation, either. “I’m sorry, but there’s this huge thing between us, and we have to talk about it.”

Rodney lifted his chin. “Well, I don’t think that’s appropriate!”

“I don’t care! We can’t ignore it forever!”

“Yes, we—”

“Excuse me,” said the elephant, staring indignantly down the length of its trunk. “I’m right here, you know.”

***

I'm so sorry! Your prompt was so pretty, and I felt inadequate to it, so my brain went to the crack place. I totally owe you something serious for later!

[20thcenturyvole.livejournal.com]

*hugs you* Gah, icky depression. Get out of the house and do something, like a long walk or flying a kite or getting some icecream.

Birthdays are good! Birthdays are excuses to indulge in things.

Drabbly? Ooh. Lorne/Parrish, slash, pre-slash or gen (as you wish, possibly with a little Sheppard/McKay on the side), a snippet of a day in the life.

At the End of the Day

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Parrish comes home smelling like dirt.

Lorne used to hate that smell. It meant falling, and running, and kneeling in the mud as you waited for the shooting to stop, for the bleeding to stop, for it all to wash away and be clean again. It meant things gone wrong.

Now Parrish comes home, cradling a tiny green seedling. “Look!” he says. “Remember, from M4H-673?” Weeks ago. “It finally sprouted!”

He sets it down, precious, between them on the bed.

He does smell like dirt—but dirt graced with rain. He smells like soil, and other things that grow.

[crownglass39.livejournal.com]

I totally understand depressed and antisocial. Sometimes that's the only way its going to work out...

As for birthdays, just remember:it's better than the alternative (being dead). It's just a number, means nothing and, if you're lucky, there's cake.

Now to cheer you up, I offer you this. If it somehow inspires a drabble, all the better. If not, hopefully it will make you smile just a little.
(http://photobucket.com)

*Very* inspirational!

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Rodney sighed happily as John nibbled at his neck, as John moved a slow hand up under his shirt. His fingers were just brushing Rodney’s nipple when suddenly, John went very still.

“Rodney,” he said, feeling the small metal ring. “What’s this?”

“Oh, that’s just my nipple piercing,” he said, pushing it back into John’s hand. “I save it for special occasions.”

“You have a nipple piercing?” John was incredulous. He was also rock-hard against Rodney’s ass.

“I went through a naughty phase.” He grinned, grinding back against John’s erection. “And I think I feel another one coming on.”

[lillyjk.livejournal.com]

sorry you're so down...I think it's the time of year. (or at least that's part of it with me)

as for a drabble, I would adore something out of your SGA Daemonology universe

Nioke and Tyk

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

“Snakes eat mice,” Tykallita said.

“Yes,” said Nioke. “We do.”

Tyk’s heart pounded: 700 beats per minute.

“You have sharp claws,” Nioke observed. Once, Tyk had overheard her tell John, The sky is very blue—the tone identical.

“I can type,” Tyk said, irrelevantly.

“I know,” said Nioke. Then she said, “I wish I could help John like that.”

“I’m not very good at it,” Tyk admitted, after a minute.

Nioke’s scales glistened: intricate patterns, impossible to follow. “I wouldn’t be very good at eating mice,” she said.

Her tongue darted out, tasting the air between them. Tyk didn’t flinch.

[birdsflying]

:squishes you:

I have plans for those 13 days. Oh yes. :rubs hands, feeds bunnies kwik-gro:

Hrm, John/Rodney, earthside. Happy.

What would you like, dear?

Farmers Market

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

“This is so brilliant,” Rodney said, “I should have invented it.”

John smiled around another mouthful of taco: soft corn tortilla, the subtle bite of onion, the pile of pork, spicy-sweet. Delicious.

“I mean, it’s chocolate and it’s meat. Genius!”

John looked around at the messy assemblage of umbrellas, the clustered metal tables, the bar behind them, strung with colored lights. A warm breeze swept across the market, caressing his bare arms.

“Mole sauce,” Rodney marveled. “I love it.”

John watched Rodney’s tongue slide out, slowly lick stray sauce from his lips. Their eyes met.

“Me, too,” he said.

***

What would you like, dear?

A pony! No, um, I'm okay. Though your kwik-gro hints intrigue me...

Oh, who am I kidding? If you want to write a drabble, then I am so on board. What about something based on this (http://www.sendspace.com/file/bi8yve)?

[notpoetry.livejournal.com]

Cowboy AU.

Cowgirl AU.

[notpoetry.livejournal.com]

also, if you ever want cheering up, I have a folder of pictures called "happiness in photo form" that I am always willing to share. Containing gems such as:

(http://photobucket.com)

And really, what more does anybody need than Statue of Liberty/Justice femslash?

[sonofzeal.livejournal.com]

If my calculatons are correct, your birthday is exactly two weeks prior to mine.

We have no fandoms in common. So I'm afraid I can't give you much of a distraction in that regard. Sorry.

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Indeed; as I recall, you're just barely a March boy.

I can always do an original fic drabble for you, if you like...

[of-evangeline.livejournal.com]

:O! We must remedy this!

*DISTRACTS LIKE WHOA* John finds out that in addition to piano lessons, Rodney also took ballet.

Le premier danseur

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

John choked on the obvious tutu joke when Rodney demonstrated that he could put both his legs behind his head.

“Wow, you’re...” John realized his eyes were bugging out a little. “...Flexible.”

Rodney frowned. “No, I’m out of practice. Here, do me a favor,” he said, and suddenly, John found himself clutching one of Rodney’s ankles as the physicist (and amateur danseur) performed an impossible contortion that was apparently a stretch. Rodney pushed against him and grunted. “Yeah: harder, do it harder—”

Later, sweat-slick and naked, John turned to Rodney hopefully and asked, “So, can you give me lessons?”

so sorry you feel blue

[springwoof.livejournal.com]

chocolate.
chocolate always helps.
unless it makes you break out in hives, but even then--hey! distraction!

and your birthday should be an occasion for International Celebration!

Drabble Prompt:
what ever happened to that puppy that Rodney Healed With His Brain? Did Elizabeth let John keep it?

wags, springwoof

No Good Deed...

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Rodney was remembering there was a reason he didn’t usually heal small furry mammals with his brain.

Namely, once the necessary telepathic link was formed, it stuck.

Not that he was fighting urges to bound across the city after Sheppard, or nibble food from his hand, or bury his nose in the soft hollow of his throat. Nothing like that.

But.

“Yeah, c’mere,” Sheppard said, pulling the little warm body against his own warm chest and stroking its belly with gentle, loving hands.

Rodney didn’t have a tail to wag, but his foot beat a rough tattoo against the floor.

[slodwick.livejournal.com]

*kisses* (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v112/slodwick/art/silence.jpg)

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

I love you. So very, very much.

That's unbelievably gorgeous. The lighting (coloring?) and John's expression, the emotion--you do really amazing work. And it's mine, all mine! *cackles*

Ahh. *somewhat more peaceful, more relaxed sigh* Thank you.

[amireal.livejournal.com]

DH somehow winds up in SGAland.

*is trying to get other people to exorcise this demon for her*

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

!

Or really, I should say:



I will...think on this. But as a means to encourage, not exorcise. *eg*

[desdema.livejournal.com]

I've actually been craving some Sheppard/Lorne if you're feeling up to it.

Sorry things are sucking for you right now. :(

Understanding

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Lorne’s hand hovered above Sheppard’s hair, not touching, not touching.

Sheppard was on his knees. His hands were on Lorne’s hips. His hands on him, where he’d grabbed him, grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. Lorne’d been surprised. He’d hit his head.

Sheppard’s head was bobbing up and down, up and down.

His hand, Sheppard’s hair: and with effort Lorne stopped its downward plunge; fingers formed a fist as his hips thrust forward into Sheppard’s hands, Sheppard’s mouth.

Lorne bit his lip, bloodied it.

Sheppard stood, licking his lips. “I trust we have an understanding,” he said. “Major.”

[aurora]

Sorry you're feeling down. *sends good vibes. or virtual ice cream - your choice*

Distraction aka I'm Listening To Sappy Music Again: You'll be with me, Like a handprint on my heart -- wow, that really gets a creepy vibe in the SGA universe.

Cure

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Sorry, it went both creepy and weird.

***

When Carson finally figures out how to reverse the damage the Wraith do, they’re relieved, of course. They carry the shots with them: like EpiPens, Rodney thinks. Nothing he’s not used to.

But what happens isn’t what he expects: it’s Sheppard who’s attacked, Sheppard’s thigh into which he slams the needle. Sheppard who slumps into his arms, the Wraith dying at their feet.

It’s Sheppard, staring into his face with black eyes. Hand pressed quivering to Rodney’s chest, like Rodney has what he needs to return to himself.

Rodney’s heart thumps: wanting to give it, to give in to him.

The Exposition Song

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

“It’s strange,” Rodney said to himself, “it’s not like anything we’ve faced before. It seems familiar somehow. Of course!”

He picked up his guitar and looked out onto the crowd gathered in Atlantis’ mess, strumming with confidence.

The device we sparked with Sheppard
Must have released
Some evil Ancient that’s come back seeking
I’m not sure what—
Teyla, look through the database
For some reference
To an Ascended beast!
I’ve got to warn Sheppard
There’s every chance he might be next!
Ronon, help Teyla,
And try not to bleed on my screen, I’ve just had it re-wired.
No, wait—

[stillane.livejournal.com]

Sorry you've been experiencing the suck. When you are feeling icky and anti-social and depressed, I could loan you my strategy: I attribute it to undiscovered genius, and declare that Einstein was the same. This argument breaks down when you attempt to apply it to PMS, but still...

May your birthday be much more enjoyable than anticipated.

And because your microwave comment triggered thoughts of a certain Batman-referential commercial: a drabble involving John, Rodney, and S/snickers would be highly adored, if'n you are still taking requests. Whether food staple or cousin of the chuckle is entirely up to you.

(If you would like one, I would also return the drabbling favor, in the fandom of your choice.)

The Best Medicine

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

*nods* I always just tell myself that I have an artistic temperament. (And hells yes, I would love a drabble! SGA, natch. Do you want a prompt?)

Here's yours:

***

“You never laugh,” Rodney says.

John’s mouth: a quirk. “Course I do.”

“No. You smirk. You snicker. You don’t laugh.”

“You want me to guffaw? All right, tell a joke.”

“A joke?”

“Yeah. Make a funny, Rodney.”

Rodney’s eyes narrow. He’s too clever for this.

“Knock knock—” he says, and before John can say, “Who’s there?” he’s tackling him, tickling him. But John’s too clever for that, and a second later, he’s rolled them off the bed: a tangled mess of limbs, panting, on the floor.

“You’re still not laughing!” Rodney complains.

“Oh, I am,” John promises. “On the inside.”