At least the scarecrow had straw

[trinityofone]

I suck. Like, a lot. I know I owe people comments and e-mails (blueandomlettes! God, I am so sorry); I also have three essays due increasingly soon, and all I have managed are crappy, not-even-outlines for two of them. But my brain is mush. Babyfood. Strained beets.

Some things that have managed to make me happy? Well, over at artword, the current challenge for artists is based on my fic Realm of Dryads, and slodwick and tardis80 have already made gorgeous posters/covers which you can see here and here. Guh. They're both amazingly-shivery-good. (Plus, the current artword challenge for writers is awesome, too. If I ever get my brain back, I must work on the little kernel of an idea I have for it.)

Also, cynicatlantis made this fabulous little comic that combines two of my favorite things and is adorable to boot. *happy sigh* I think I'll be clicking back to that a lot today.

Finally, because I seriously doubt that I will get anything useful done today, and because I've been boring-as-hell lately (I like to think that I'm boring when I don't post, and not the other way around. No need to shatter my illusions, mmkay?), I figure I'll offer to do comment drabbles again. Comment with a prompt, and I'll write you a drabble. Eventually. (Hey, I did ALL of them last time! I totally win!) And, er, I'm gonna limit it to SGA this time, 'cause I don't really feel like writing anything else.

Now back to pondering boysex...er, "The Rape of the Lock" and Joycean epiphanies.

Comments

[notpoetry.livejournal.com]

Ooo. Drabbles from you, joy! How about something in the "Human Vacillation" universe? I keep on reading that fic and constantly wanting more.

Good luck with your essays!

[siria]

Oh, the strained beets feeling is never fun. I can sympathise. *hugs*

As for a drabble. Um. Um. John and Rodney, maybe something to do with these lyrics, something happy and warm? Or at least happy-ish? I need the happy right now. Oh yes.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

Ooh, how about a little more Billy Collins? :D And later, when I say it to you in the dark,/ you are the bell,/ and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you

[slodwick.livejournal.com]

Will you say when I’m gone away
"My lover came to me and we'd lay
In rooms unfamiliar but until now"

Will you say to them when I’m gone
"I loved your son for his sturdy arms
We both learned to cradle then live without"

Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

John likes numbers because numbers never lie. In the hospital, after blood and sand are washed away, after tests, after his name and face (his old name and face) vanish into a folder marked CLASSIFIED, he weighs and measures himself, comparing the figures to what he knew from before. It doesn’t make sense, these disparate totals of pounds and inches. Like everything else, it should be impossible, a grand, universal lie.

But numbers don’t. Neither does science. He knows the law of conservation of matter; he thinks about what he gave up for each new ounce, for every added inch.

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[notpoetry.livejournal.com]

*shivers* Oh, wow. That's lovely, and edgy.

I love this universe so much.

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[notpoetry.livejournal.com]

also: your ICON.

i am dead.

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I love the universe, too, and I wish I could write more in it; I just need to get over the hump of both John and Lorne really not wanting to have the conversation they NEED to have. But I'm not abandoning it. Not at all. I'm glad you asked me to play.

Re: the icon, ciderpress made it for me. *loves it to pieces*

Glass, Half—

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

John didn’t discover he was a pessimist until he realized that Rodney was an optimist, convinced that since they were now together, everything would be all right. He made allusions to things they would do ten, twenty, forty years from now as he curled into John’s sturdy arms, like the choice to hold on or let go was entirely theirs to make.

John’s own optimism stretches enough to imagine Rodney saying nice things about him when he’s gone; to look ten, twenty, forty years into the future and pretend Rodney will still be able to think of him and smile.

Re: Glass, Half—

[farwing.livejournal.com]

This is heartbreaking. And lovely. *sniffles*

Re: Glass, Half—

[slodwick.livejournal.com]

AUGH! As soon as I posted this, I started getting my own ideas for what it meant, and it was so different from what you gave me... I love this! I've alwasy thought Rodney was a sort of closet optimist in some ways, and I love that it's John that brings it out, and I love that that John's a closet pessimist, at least in this, and... *flail*

This is wonderful, sharp and achey... thank you, hon!

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[farwing.livejournal.com]

You have plans for more? Because this universe is fascinating and awesome. (And I just had a really awful thought- what if someone with the gene tried to commit suicide? Also, is there a limit to how many times the 'reboot' works?)

The Good Hurt

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

He never knew that happiness could be physically painful, but it’s a delicious sort of irony, and he can’t bring himself to mind. Here in the dark with his arms a white ring around Rodney’s neck, but he’s the one that’s trapped, frozen in amber-ecstasy. The moment stretches, like melted amber, like taffy, so sweet it hurts him: shakes his teeth and his spine so that even though he can’t say it back (not yet, not yet, but someday, soon) he knows Rodney can see it, hear it, ringing out from his pores like the wild bells of heaven.

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Thank you! And yeah, I do have plans for more--lots more, actually--but *flails* Stuff! Lots of stuff! In my way! Grr.

I hadn't really thought about the suicide thing, and, uh, probably should. I think it would depend on how they tried to do it. Not to get too graphic, but I think if someone went splat off the top of a tall building, the gene wouldn't do any good.

is there a limit to how many times the 'reboot' works?

No. But there are...side-effects. *is coy*

Re: Glass, Half—

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

You're welcome! And thank you--it was a really cool prompt, and there were lots of ways I could have gone with it. (Probably the fact that I'm leaning more towards John's interpretation of the glass today was influential in my eventual decision.) I'd love to hear what you were thinking.

Re: Glass, Half—

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Thank you! *loves poor, messed-up John*

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[farwing.livejournal.com]

but I think if someone went splat off the top of a tall building, the gene wouldn't do any good.

Well, naturally. And if John had been blown to smithereens by the bomb in The Siege III his gene would have been pretty much useless.

Side effects? That sounds interesting

No. 297

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

He could write a long list of ways Rodney is and has never been his type, starting with #1—has penis. Somewhere around #297 would be the fact that he is big and broad and, despite the height differential, makes John feel small sometimes, in comparison.

Yet #1 has switched to heading another list; and now, sprawled out across Rodney’s back, tracing patterns down his spine, John realizes that ol’ 297 isn’t what he thought, either. He can’t shelter Rodney’s body with his own, but he can rub the soreness out of tired shoulders, and let the comfort carry them.

Re: No. 297

[siria]

Oh, oh. *claps hands* This is so lovely, honey, thank you. The image of Rodney's back and shoulders is always such a nice one.

Pee Ess: Do you want me to bring you out to lunch on Monday? My treat, to cheer you up?

Re: Glass, Half—

[slodwick.livejournal.com]

Live Without (http://slodwick.livejournal.com/639038.html).

[svmadelyn.livejournal.com]

This is one of my two favorite poems in the world. I'd be curious to see what you'd do with it if it calls in any way. *G*

LXXIV (Michael Kadela)

there are ten thousand forfeit heartbeats
I have placed aside
for safekeeping

just in case you change your mind
and if by that the sun were then to rise
with meaning
I might take them out
and sweetly suffer them
to sight
and breath
with you

by my forfeit hearts which beat I swear this true
that you
that you, you are a blood
that runs
so and swiftly through
my what and ever what
my ever
my
my what
my every my is you

there are palaces wherein there I have wept
where I have wondered of your lips
where I have crept upon the dirty floors of if
and licked the bruises of my knees there into peaches

into paradigms

I do not give one single shit
for anything less
than my happiest thought

a truer me to see me through
sees this:

your eyes are closed
and you love me

Re: Lomonosov-Lavoisier

[adannu.livejournal.com]

*shiver* And your icon... *more shivers* I'm glad to know that you're still trying to push John and Lorne into having the conversation -- this is a lovely universe.

Re: Glass, Half—

[adannu.livejournal.com]

Oh, now. This one makes me sad - John finding out that he's got more issues than he thought. And the last part, pretending that Rodney... *hugs John tight*

The Switch

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

He turns his head and John sees them: little plum-colored bruises dotting Rodney’s neck. “God,” he says, shuddering. “Did I do that?”

“Yes,” says Rodney, happily. He kneels, laying his head on John’s thigh. John wants to jerk back, but there isn’t enough room in here. Not enough.

Twelve hours, John thinks, not knowing whether he wants time to move faster or slower. Twelve hours until the switch, until Rodney remembers who he is again: so much more than anybody’s slave. Until John forgets he’s anything other than Rodney’s master.

Maybe this time, Rodney too can leave a mark.

[adannu.livejournal.com]

Eeep! I hope the strained beets thing improves really soon.

How about:

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.