shots in the dark

Back in action, round ??

Fri, 02 May 2008 16:55:14 GMT

One thing I do like about my school is that we get out fairly early. Which is to say that, excepting finals next week (which, thanks to being in a lot of research-project oriented classes this semester, I only have one and a half-ish of) I'm doooone. For the semester, anyway. Which means I get to finally end my self-imposed LJ exile, admittedly a little early, since I believe my words to myself were " - and no playing until finals are over, no, not even a little." I hate having to go on LJ hiatus, especially as I feel like I've been more than I haven't this school year, but about this time last year, as I recall, I was cramming frantically for an exam that I didn't study enough for AT ALL because A million years into the sky had eaten my brain. No good. My professor, not so interested in my (quite elaborate, might I add) timeline for that story. Huh.

So now the biggest catchup ever begins. If you've posted fic or something cool in the last...uh, three months (?!), I'm not only encouraging self-pimp, but actually asking. Let's see the goods! Other-people-pimp is also wonderful, natch. And, because this has been floating around in my head for about two weeks and I haven't allowed myself to go looking: there must be either some SG-1 or J/D as detectives/police officers AR-fics out there, right? That just has to have been done. I would like to read it. Usually starting_gate and green_grrl are my go-to ladies on the awesome rec compilations, but if the AU/AR theme lists exists on either of those two journals I've somehow stupidly managed to miss them. So! Anybody?

Wait, now...I've seen this somewhere before...

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 00:54:35 GMT

My Ark of Truth related question of the moment is:

So, how long is it, do we think, before someone cuts together Teal'c's little stroll through scenic Celestis with footage and music from The Fellowship of the Ring?

P.S. Morgan is totally Gandalf.
P.P.S. So I guess Daniel is Frodo?
P.P.P.S Hee!

Because someone really needs to get on that.

It's a BOX full of TRUTHINESS.

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 03:52:02 GMT

I have to offer up so many thanks unto the gods of fandom for having the AoT release happen the week of my spring break, making it possible for me to actually watch it the day I got it and have time to spend on LJ reading reactions and putting mine up. (I'm still alive, by the way! Although I'm coming to terms with the fact that this year of school is just not kind to my prospects of being very fannishly active on a reliable basis.)

So! Ark of Truth, my reaction to which was basically squeeful. I shall proceeded to ramble, in an only semi-particular order.

The Good:

1. I've seen people mentioning that this felt like a big episode to them - ditto. That's actually a positive for me, though. This felt like real SG-1 to me, and I'm not going to lie, I was a little giddy in points. It definitely wasn't perfect, but...oh, show! I've missed you! I'm so glad we're not fighting anymore. ~~Unending, what?~~

2. Teal'c. TEAL'C! I don't even know where to start with him. Everything with Teal'c was just so so so good (except for his magical three day/ten minute hike, which was stupid, but not his fault). The talk with Tomin! C4! Rescuing Daniel! The talk with Tomin! Solid Teal'c & Daniel friendship that was fantastic! I can't wait to see what sgfignewton has to say, because I loved them in this.

2b. I wonder how hard it was for him to get back on the Odyssey after 'Unending'. Go go gadget ficcers! Someone should write this. Someone better than me. Please?

In fact, if I have one fault with Teal'c in this (and it's more with the writers than it was with him) it's that I didn't really feel the weight of 'Unending' besides for the hair.

3. Oh, Daniel, Oma didn't rob you of the woobie gene after all, did she? I loved him straight through this - Shanks was excellent without chewing too much scenery and I felt like what they had him doing (pretend archeology, eee!) was actually appropriate to the character and the story, which I haven't always felt the last few seasons. Some moments really felt like Daniel of old, too, who I've missed.

The whole scene in the cell was lovely...I've been waiting for that breaking point with the Ancients for a long, long time. He tends to swing to angry as far as they're concerned, it seems...this was a nice approach. (I will confess, though, to a part of me wishing that it was going to turn out to be Oma rather than Morgan, even though I knew it wasn't going to happen. I kind of miss Daniel & Oma. And, sidebar: he really is quite the pimp with the ascended ladies, isn't he?) Also, so many super quotable lines from him in this one. On we go, then! Did you just say 'replicators'? Oh, Daniel. I'm glad that we've made up, too.

3b. I'm glad that if they were going to do Daniel and His Wacky Mystical Visions route - which, whatever, ok - we got to skip the whole part where he spends ages very earnestly convincing everyone else that he's not crazy and the visions are real and important and we should follow them, no, REALLY guys, I SWEAR, it's IMPORTANT. Seen it, been there, got over it, let's move on. And we did! Yay.

3c. They have finally, finally nailed the Daniel & Vala dynamic for me - now it get it. This was exactly the balance I've been wanting...not hostile, sniping but not mean (him) or over the top (her) , clearly affectionate, noooo blatant ship.... Finally! They couldn't have done this a while ago?

3d. Daniel, Teal'c, and Vala are a very fun trio who should have gotten a lot more time together in the show.

4. Sam/Cam. I love them. I'm sure it can read as friendship, but I found them shippy-like-whoa for almost the whole movie, and I maintain that the big sigh at the end there was over Sam, not the cookie. Cheek kissing! She has his back! Adorable. I'm refitting any references to some unspecified relationship that she makes from now until the end of the time to be referring to Cam because I loooooove them omg.

4b. Poor Cam. Getting his ass kicked AND getting stuck with the chair.

5. That guy with his little Stargate drawing. Very cool little moment. Thanks for making the show possible, that guy!

ETA 6. AH! The shot on the bridge of the Odyssey, going into the wormhole, with the original movie James Spader face dissolving business just...glee! Veeeerry nice recall.

The 'Eh':

1. Adria. Limited screen time thank goodness. I was so done with her about halfway through S10 and she was reasonably inoffensive I guess, but still super, super annoying.

2. Would have liked a little more Daniel and Sam interaction, and a little more Cam and Teal'c... obviously there's only so much time and they were split up, so not every relationship can get it's moments, but I missed these two aspects.

2b. I wish they hadn't split the team up. Writers! Stop splitting the team up! Did anything actually important happen on the Odyssey anyway?

3. Landry. I am just never going to really like this man.

4. The Ancients. My beefs with them are thus:

a) The Ori are mean and nasty and evil, pushing religion onto all these unwashed mashes and we hate them! The Ancients are awesome super empirical evidence, scientific method following badasses! We get it. Memo to the writers, religion is not inherently evil, please and thank you.

b) I was really, really hoping that we were going to see the Ancients step up and deal with their own mess, for once, finally, and I was a little disappointed that they didn't. I always like individual Ancients...I like Oma, I like Morgan, I even like Orlin when he isn't being creepy... but I wish we could have seen something from them as a group other than utter cowardice and/or apathy. I appreciated Morgan stepping up, but come on, folks, do something already. And how cool would that have been, a great big flock of Ancients descending all at once and kicking Adria's ass. Filling the sky! Ancients everywhere! Woulda been great. Sigh.

5. How is Cam still breathing?

6. Jack. Or, rather, lack of Jack. I was talking to starting_gate about missing him, and to a point I always miss him, so of course I missed him here. BUT. There is a point at which this is really not his story (I think it ended up being, if anyone, Daniel's) and I don't know what he possibly would have gotten up to in this film. So I was actually pretty neutral on him not being here.

I expect some awesome original teaminess happening in Continuum, though.

The Ugly:

1. The IOA (slash Samuels/Simmons/Kinsey/the NID/whoever) are incompetent morons thing needs to die. Let it go, writers. Stargate Command is awesome and never does bad things and the rest of the US Government and the rest of the world, even, is comprised of idiots and should not be allowed to decide what tie to wear, let alone make decisions about missions or really anything to do with the SGC. We. Get. It.

2. Replicators! The baddie I never ever wanted to see again ever in a million billion years! Now with 50% more Terminator in every box! Faaaabulous.

I'm going to process for a day or two and then rewatch, I think, and eventually dig into all the bonus stuff. Overall, I'm really happy with the movie and hope it sells very well, so we get more. Oh, show. I do have two questions though.

Can anyone explain to me when exactly this takes place, especially in relation to SGA? Teal'd did not have Atlantis hair but Sam did and there was no mention of why she was here and not there and, really, I'm just quite confused.

Also, I recall when the torrent leaked in December there was a video by someone set to 'outer space' by Freezepop that was apparently just fantastic but spoilerific, and so I didn't watch it at the time. I'd like to now. ~~Anybody know what that was?~~ Thank you, magnavox_23!

Also, when Daniel was trying to get the not-ark open in the very beginning, was I the only one going "Don't look upon it, Daniel, it'll melt your face off!" Yes? No? Okay then.

Wow, that got long. Stargate. Yaaaay, Stargate! My status as squeeing fangirl is thus restored.

Thinky thinky thinky.

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 04:10:03 GMT

First of all, for starting_gate, princessofg, redbyrd_sgcfic, and zats_clear: as the fic currently NOT in your inbox will attest to, I will apparently be belaying that call for hand-holding, as upon review I have discovered that I am still at the 'aiiiiiiiieeee, this story is the devil!' stage. I will check back in with you guys when I upgrade to 'I do not currently want to kill this story and everyone in it' status and see if you are still available/willing, if that's okay? Which leads me to...

I have been having, thoughts, people. Thoughts! Vaguely internal-metaish thoughts, in fact, which is somewhat rare for me, as my thought process usually involves trying to decide how best to insert myself into the entertainment industry for the express purposes of getting someone to write me a Die Hard-esque action movie to blow stuff up in, or contemplating whether or not my favorite Sim family should get a puppy. (One of those things is 100% true and the other, about half. I withhold comment on which is which.) Lately, though... contemplative. Mostly about writing.

There's a level on which I think I wasn't able to finish this apocafic story last time for a reason (or several, one being that I'm not really sure I want to end the world, actually. I like the world! But then, I'm also the girl who wrote a whole story about everybody dying just so I could go butwaitnotreaaaaally! at the end, so clearly I have commitment issues when it comes to ending anything). But I also have been thinking, lately, about my writing process. Or, uh, lack of, which I think is a big part of the problem.

I write, but I don't know how to write, if that makes any sense whatsoever. Or, I often feel that I have very little agency in the mater. I'm always fascinated by writing meta posts, when people post them, or general musing on the writing process, but often I find myself reading people writing about their choices in a story or how they structured things or tried to hint at this or that, and I get it, but... I don't know how to do that kind of self-awareness while writing, really. If I write something, it's generally because it's already more or less formed in my head, and I'm just typing it. And when it's not in my head, it's just not, and it's totally beyond me how to put something on the page. On those days, which are significantly more frequent, I will maybe write... oh, a sentence, if anything at all. On a day where I have something, though, I will sometimes write a complete story in a sitting - 'A million years...', for instance, went from start to pre-beta finish in about 24 hours. I still have no idea to switch back and forth between the two, or even find some kind of middle ground, which is frustrating. And it's frustrating to feel like I don't really know what I'm doing as I'm doing it, and only go back to find themes or ideas that are trying to come across on later read-throughs.

All that considered, I've made it my goal to try and take little more ownership of my own writing process. It's not really something I'm entirely sure how to go about, though, which makes it an... interesting exercise. But as I've clearly learned with this ficathon debacle, sitting around and waiting for a story to form itself will not always do it. So I've been kind of experimenting. I've started playing around with writing some director's commentaries on a couple stories just to see for myself what I would say - I don't expect I'll ever post them, especially since I try to limit the amount of my rambling I inflict on the public at large, but it's been interesting to look at finished fic again with an eye specifically tuned towards why I did things or what purpose in the story something serves. I'm quite bad at it, but maybe it takes practice.

But that's not so useful on stretching myself much on the writing front, so, my lovely flist, if anybody has made it this far through all this prattling: consider this an open invitation, if you ever feel the urge, or are bored, or just want to watch me flail (hey, it could be amusing), to challenge me with whatever. (I mean it, prompts, drabbles, whacked out dares, doesn't even have to be fandom if you don't want.) Here, somewhere else, the comments of an unrelated post a month from now if the mood strikes you - seriously. I am a lazy, lazy writer, basically, so I'm enrolling myself in weird free-form bootcamp. Now, I will tack on a disclaimer there that I make no promises as to the quality or the success of any of these endeavors, but I will at least give anything someone throws at me a fighting shot, and if I fail spectacularly I'll at least give you a summation of why and how much I suck and how I will try to suck less in the future. (I shall call this Project Suck Less.)

Whew. That was long. I dunno how I feel about this thinking thing.

I watch it for the big round thing, mostly

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 07:46:31 GMT

Okay, a couple things:

1. This is a legitimate question, not a complaint, because I maybe am just overlooking the obvious (or looked away for a second) - but how did Teyla, Lorne & co. get onto the jumper?

2. Am I to understand that Sheppard, completely of his own accord, decided to not only take his team out on a mission into enemy territory, but also Lorne's, and their newly acquired (and, I imagine, scientifically very valuable) wraith ship which he proceeds to blow up, without, say... checking in with Sam first? At all? Shouldn't that maybe be a first step? How is this okay?

3. I was so, so on board with the Teyla storyline up until about the last 15 minutes of this episode. I really was. John was being a dick, and making an okay point in a spectacularly bad way, and Teyla was not suddenly overwrought or irrational or a liability because she's pregnant. And John was absolutely within his rights to pull her off of missions, and she was absolutely within her rights to be pissed as hell about it, and - yay! You tell'm, Teyla! And hurrah for John, in a very warped kind of way, because I'm so happy when writers let characters be wrong once in a while and get a little verbal smack down for it and for a minute, I really thought it was coming.

...except apparently that's not how this story goes, and Teyla is suddenly an irrational liability and incapable of accurately assessing what she can and can't do. Because, as we know, being pregnant makes you weak and stupid. Thank God she has all these men in her life to tell her what to do and hug her when she cries over her terrible decisions. Get this woman a tissue and some ice cream!

Seriously, really, writers? Because while I get the point, and Teyla not being in the field seems completely rational to me, this was not the way to do it. Teyla could have wrestled with the issue herself. She could have talked to Keller, or Sam, or John, or Ronon, or anyone about it and come to her own conclusions. She could have been benched by John and been pissed as hell for a really long time. Or anything else. But tonight read to be as Teyla defying the wisdom of cooler and more rational (male, I am looking at you John and also kinda Ronon) heads and being punished for it with a near miscarriage and no. Fail. Do not want, ever again, thank you very much.

4. Lorne is cute. If we can now progress directly to the Lorne & Zelenka show, that would be lovely.

I really do want to like this show but... gah!

No one on this show is Hamlet, so let it go.

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 00:49:52 GMT

SGA 4x11, 'Be all my sins remember'd'...or, my teal deer beef with SGA, let me show you it.

Be all my sins remember'd

I only watched this yesterday, so clearly I'm running a bit behind, and I haven't gotten a chance to read anybody else's thoughts on it yet. Please forgive if there's some great big rehashiness happening.

Someone on this show needs to step into the role of the character who will point out that some things are morally-iffy to just plain not okay, even if it's inconvenient to the crisis of the day. It used to be Elizabeth's role, early on, but she stopped doing that after a while for reasons I'm not terribly clear on, and now Sam is continuing to not do that in her place. (For the record, I think that's kind of understandable from an outside-the-universe standpoint. That was never Sam's role on either show, really, and I wasn't expecting her to suddenly start doing it now.) This show needs a Daniel. Early-Daniel, I mean, when he was a little more reliable as an ethical advocate.

Carson did it, sometimes, when the crisis of the week rolled on through the infirmary. But now there's no voice of 'Uh, about this whole medical experimentation on prisoners/creating our own kamikazi robots/whatever...' anywhere on Atlantis anymore, and so they keep doing things like... medically experimenting on prisoners (and I maintain that they deserved every ounce of grief Michael brought back on them) or making their own kamikaze robots. Because that is not on, Atlantis. The Fran thing? Sketchy. And they knew it was sketchy and they did it anyway, which somehow makes it worse.

Her spiel about fulfilling her purpose doesn't comfort me all that much, either, since Rodney disabled every bit of programing he could in her and I'm not altogether convinced she had the capacity to reason it out, the way she otherwise would have had if Rodney had left her protocols alone. (RepliKeller's splinter group was capable of evolving past their programing to reach an ideology at odds with their starting point, so as far as I'm concerned, now, Replicators are conscious and individual entities, not "props". But that's a whole other can of worms.)

I mean...look, okay, I know what show I'm watching. If I want an intelligent and thought provoking discourse on the qualities of life and existence, I'll read Asimov. If I want a bunch of people talking about it ad nauseam for years without reaching any consensus (but at least still talking about it) I'll watch Battlestar. I'm not going to Stargate for my philosophical issues with the universe. But this is, in practice if not name, a functioning US military base, and the response to creating a sentient life hard wired to destroy itself and everything around it cannot be "Huh, that's kind of weird." If the writers don't want to address the issues they bring up and their own characters remark on and then dismiss, then they need to stop writing these kind of scripts.

Atlantis is not the city on the edge of the universe anymore. There's potential for a story - a very good story - somewhere about people cut off from their civilization having to fight to stay alive and making some really hard, unethical, repellant choices to do it. But Atlantis can't tell it.

In non-why-SGA-is-bugging-the-crap-out-of-me related news, I think I need some hand-holding on this apocafic, loathe as I am to admit it. I'm stalling out in the very middle of the story and could probably use some eyes that aren't mine on it, because something's broken and I don't know what it is. It's Jack & Daniel (but gen) and if anyone's willing to have a look once I get a functioning draft of the third section down, I will owe you forever.

My favorite track is 'Bland Pop Anthem no.6'

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 07:08:58 GMT

I work at a childrens' theater. This can be either a lot more or lot less fun than it sounds, depending on the day or, in some cases, the ten minutes in which you ask me about it. Our kids are mostly all somewhere between 7 and 15, but the vast majority are 9-13ish (and let me tell you, you want good times? Middle school girls, my friends. Nothing says shrieking dramarama to me like a bunch of 13 year-olds with theatrical tendencies locked in a rehearsal room together.)

So, of course, we're doing High School Musical right now. I say 'of course' because every youth theater in the country has done this show sometime in the last year, I think. (And if someone knows of one that hasn't please let me know, because that executive director deserves a friggin' parade. I do not, for the record, welcome Zac Effron as my new floppy-haired overlord. Or any of the rest of the cast, for that matter. Not even the boy with the awesome hair and the balls to bill himself as Cordon Bleu with a straight face. (Well, Corbin, but whatever.) Although he is adorable and I hope he can buy his soul back from Disney one day. Or at least manage to extricate himself from the franchise, because it has to be the worst piece of crap movie I've ever had to sit through. But today I found out that besides having an absolutely ridonkulous plot and about the least accurate portrayal of high school life ever (I mean, in my school we would do all of our lunchroom song-and-dance breaks in four-part harmony at least, for one thing), it also has fandom. Fandom! That my kids at work are actively participating in!

I'm torn. On the one hand: yes! Grow, my wee fanbrats, grow! On the other hand: we need to talk about your source material.

I only discovered all this today because a bunch of the girls were all talking about their very own High School Musical stories. I'm sorry -- ahahahahahaha! I love it. Apparently one is working on one where a new girl transfers to Whatchamacallit High and even though girls aren't allowed on the basketball team zomg!!! she is determined to play and she's actually Gabriella's best friend from elementary school and she and Chad fall in love forever, hurrah! (If this girl's name is not [First name of author] Crystal Jennifer Moonbeam Serenity [Last name of author], I will be sorely disappointed. And I hope her eyes are purple. The author is 12. Mary Sue your heart out, girl.) Another one is apparently writing one where Gabriella gets into a car crash right before prom. Oh noes! Adorable.

Now I just need to get them some better canon to work with. (I think I'm going to see if the girl writing the Mary Sue story has read the Alanna books...I think she'd dig 'em.)

Apocalypse, uh...sooner or later.

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 06:36:23 GMT

Sigh. My love for Jon Stewart is endless, yes, but Comedy Central needs to get him his writers back. Make a deal, Comedy Central. Maaaaake a deaaaaaaal, ooooOOOooooOOOooo.

/voodoo.

So here's the problem: I'm trying very hard to end the world for abyssinia4077's finish-a-thon but, surprisingly, the apocalypse is rather resistant to being brought about. Who knew? I'm up to three completely different (partial) scenarios, none of which I can actually write. Feh! There's the one with a big empty hotel, and Jack and Daniel broooooding for a long ass time, but that's stalled out in a middle section that I can't get past. There's the one with the Ori plague that has no plot except Daniel Angsts A Lot and The Tok'ra Suck. And there's the one that I wanted to write before and then I talked to surreallis about abandoned cities and now I really want to write it except for that one, SG-1 can't figure out how the world ended and, uh...neither can I.

Stubborn old world -- I'm so gonna end up getting beaten with shoelaces.

If my mother was in fandom...

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 03:00:03 GMT

...I think she might be a slasher.

We're on the couch, gleefully playing 'solve the crime before Gil Grissom does.' George Eads is being George Eads (and it's even one of the good hair seasons), so I'm pretty much set. Then this conversation happens.

Mom: *sigh* Oh, Nick.
Me: Uh-huh.
Mom: I mean, this should be really boring. What's he doing, wandering around opening and closing trash can lids?
Me: And yet, I'm fascinated.
Mom: I know! He's my favorite TV cop.
Me: Me too! Him and Derek Morgan.
Mom: Oh...yes. I like him.
Me: *sigh*
Mom: *sigh...long pause...* I think they should do a crossover with them.
Me: ...yes. Yes, they should.

The family that pervs together....

Also, a big belated thank you to ivory_gates for the fireworks! Pretty! (Slightly mesmerizing, in fact.) My first vgift and it's so sparkly.

(And seriously, folks. There have got to be some CSI/Criminal Minds people on my flist. Nick and Derek? That's a story that needs to exist.)

ETA: Okay, maybe this is a deliberate costuming decision (I have not seen the torrent so I don't know what happens -- and please don't tell me!) but I was just looking at the Ark of Truth DVD cover art and, come on Bridge/MGM/wardrobe people/design folks/whoever decides these things. I think Vala rates a uniform. Teal'c's promo shot got updated -- fix Claudia Black's shirt, please.

I am, as always, entertained by the Daniel Jackson Slight-Upwards-Squint of Righteousness, though.

2007 Fic Roundup

Tue, 01 Jan 2008 02:50:03 GMT

Almost didn't do one of these, since the answer to the question "What fics did you write in 2007?" -- with the exception of one or two five things pieces -- is, "Um, all of them." The questions I've stolen from surreallis because I really enjoyed reading her answers, and I've never particularly reflected back or done commentaries on any of my stuff, which is...lazy.

Stats
Actual stories: 12
...Including meme responses, five things, amnesty pieces, etc: 37
(I don't really count a lot of the shorter stuff, and this number pales in comparison to some, but I'm actually pretty surprised that there are 12 pieces that stand on their own as stories, especially considering I don't felt like I've written much this year. Huh!)

Gen Stories
Ithaca Daniel & Teal'c, PG, futurefic
Taking Leave Daniel & Sam, PG, for the sg1_ever_after last line challenge
A million years into the sky Team, PG, futurefic; peripheral Sam/Cam
Tho' always under alter'd skies PG, Daniel & Sam, for the sd_ficathon
Mission: Improbable Team, PG, 4 worst plans ever, for the sg1_ever_after Keep the Gate Open challenge
Down Time With a Vengeance Cam & Teal'c, PG, move night
And You Can Go Home Again Jonas, PG, apocafic (and/or "kind of turns into Laura Roslin"), meme response
Traditionally Speaking Team, PG, for holdouttrout's holiday prompt list
Year in Review Team, PG, for holdouttrout's holiday prompt list, (least Christmasy Christmas fic ever.)

Pairing Stories
Getting Closer J/D, PG, preslash, season 7
The Worth of Things Not Said J/D, NC-17, for merryish for the Jack/Daniel Ficathon
Wildly Improbable Probabilities Cam/Teal'c, PG-13, meme response (maybe timestamp?)

Drabbles, Amnesty, Short Meme Responses
Waiting on the Weekend Jack & team, PG, 5 drabbles
"Try to get used to it," Jack said. Jack & Vala, PG, for paian's Shroud prompt
"It takes Sam ten years to find Daniel." Sam/Daniel (kinda), PG, last line meme response
Sam & Jack get married Sam & Jack, PG, for the 'three fics I will never write' meme
"'This is boring' Jack grumbled." Jack & Daniel, PG, last line meme response
"Jack snatched irritably at the bedside phone. 'Yeah'" Team, PG, last line meme response
5 minutes post the above Team, PG, timestamp meme response
Rebooted Team, PG
"The Stargate went public on a Tuesday night in January."Daniel & Sam, last line challenge amnesty opening
14 months pre-Ithaca Daniel & Teal'c, PG, timestamp meme response
6 months post-And You Can Go Home Again Jonas, PG, timestamp meme response
However long the season hiatus was post-Getting Closer Jack/Daniel, PG, timestamp meme response
The ghost on level 13 Daniel & OC, PG, cracky
Apocafic Amnesty Opening 1 Daniel & Jack, PG, at the foot of the mountain
Apocafic Amnesty Opening 2 Daniel, PG, ???
Team Building for Komos' Next Steps Cassie, PG, fic-snippet for the 'Next Steps'-verse
Melancholy Sam/Jack (/Daniel), R, Pornucopia reponse

Five Things
Five children never born to members of SG-1 PG, OCs (& team)
Five alternate universes SG-1 has visited through the quantum mirror (warnings for...everything.)
Five laws Daniel broke PG-13
Five things Daniel does when he can't sleep PG
Five ways Daniel Jackson didn't die PG
Five planets Jack wants to retire to PG, implied Sam/Cam, J/D, briefly
Five missions Jack fantasizes about PG
Five things Sam wishes Jack had never said in bed PG-13, Sam/Jack/Daniel, Jack/Daniel
Five things Sam regrets about getting involved in a threesome with Jack and Daniel PG-13, Sam/Jack/Daniel

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?
I didn't really have a prediction for what I thought I was going to write, as such, but I definitely didn't forsee some of the longer (for me) stuff, or the ficathon stories. I think I generally tend to be better on concepts than on following through, so short meme-responses are great, and I might have expected that. The full length, definitely more than I thought I would.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January 2006?
Anything involving Sam/Jack, whether Daniel's in there with them or not. Neeeeever. I don't think I've ever particularly hidden that I get this pairing, but it just doesn't do it for me, so I would never have expected myself to have written it in any form, let alone (briefly) 3 times. (I'm not counting 'Sam & Jack got married' because I totally bent over backwards to get out of that one, heh, sorry Pepper.)

What's your favourite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest?
Yikes, very tough call. I can go several ways on this one - "Five Children Never Born to Members of SG-1" is flawed in some ways, but it was the first time I ever found myself writing OCs with the same attention that I write regular characters, and liking them, and I've always enjoyed writing children. "Ithaca" is silly and unlikely (so are most of them, actually), but makes me smile. And "A million years into the sky" probably is the most popular, but it's also what I'm proudest of.

Did you take any writing risks this year? (See above for unexpected pairings, etc.) What did you learn from them?
A lot. Posting was a risk. Putting things I write places for other people to see is always nerve-wracking, and I read so much SG-1 fic before I came around to writing some of it that this fandom intimidated the hell out of me, much moreso than past ones did. "The Worth of Things Not Said" felt very risky, writing it, because I'd never written sex before and it's very much not in my comfort zone to do so, and because so much in J/D fic has just been done already, and because I was writing for an author whose work I loved, so I was very anxious about the whole thing. My many, many, many drafts of this story show this, I think, but hopefully the story itself doesn't. (If there were beta awards, mine would get a nom for this one. Srsly, SG!) "A million years into the sky" was very very easy to write and very very hard to post. They tell you to kill your babies and I almost did, because I kind of figured...who would want to read the whole cast getting killed off? "Melancholy" was way out of my usual area: different pairing, atypical POV, tetchy subject matter. Oh, and porn, kinda.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?
I want to finish my apocalypse_kree story (and get my piece-o-soul back, hopefully). This story has been frustrating the hell out of me for months, because I have it in my head, but I can't get it to translate into words. I do want to finish it, though. I'd like to do something completely new, no prompts or ficathons, just to write it. I'd, in general, like to challenge myself with longer stories. Also, there are a couple WIPs I want to finish, including:
- The big stinky AU fic, where Earth was taken by Apophis years before and SG-1 doesn't exist as such
- The mission fic in the cave (an attempt at a mystery fic)
- The mission fic with the hologram (an attempt at writing mission fic...maybe I should try this one first.)

My Best Story of the Year
"A million years into the sky", definitely.

Story Most Under appreciated by the Universe in My Opinion
Hmm...honestly, I've felt very, very lucky with the amount of feedback I've gotten on stuff this year. I'm always a little surprised when I find out people read this stuff. I guess if I had to answer I'd say "And You Can Go Home Again" only because I think Jonas, in general, is under appreciated by the universe (and I include myself in that), but really, I've been blown away by the response all year, so there's no answer to this.

Most Fun Story
"Mission: Improbable" is so cracked out and whacky I don't know what to do with it. The way that one panned out was paian and I issued the challenge, and I felt kind of bad putting it out there and not trying it myself. I have found memories of frantically typing anything to try and wrap everything up before the time limit. The result was what had to be the year's biggest handwave. 'Uh, and then, three days later, the Ori were gone and everyone was okay! Hurrah! Moving on.'

Most Sexy Story
Er...I only have the one, so I guess by default that goes to "The Worth of Things Not Said"? You know, for someone who reads porn as often as I do, I would really expect that the R/NC-17 to PG fic ration would be quite different than it actually is.

Story With the Single Sexiest Moment
Actually, I think I'm more fond of the moment in "Getting Closer" when Jack reaches out than I am of anything in "The Worth of Things Not Said" and I don't know why -- something about the unexpectedness of the connection, maybe? In "The Worth of Things Not Said" they're starting from a very different emotional point, and are in some ways very much on the same page; the challenge there is different, and the sex, when it happens, isn't as big a step as a very little touch is, in "Getting Closer". Should I be embarrassed that my 'sexiest moment' is pretty squeaky clean, comparatively?

"Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story
For other people, I don't know if anything hit that point. There's really lot a lot going on that's especially edgy, I don't think. For me personally, "Melancholy" is much more broken than I tend to like any of my characters to be, and I like it, but I'm still a little baffled by it.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters
"Five Children Never Born to Members of SG-1" necessitated looking at the characters through very different eyes. Ben, Anne, and Claire all look at their parents as superheroes, in a way, I think, and it was kind of interesting trying to figure out how Sam or Daniel or Cam would be perceived by someone who worships them like that. Masi, it's more fond exasperation, although I think that's probably more Sha're's influence than anyone else's.

Hardest Story to Write
Definitely "The Worth of Things Not Said" or "Tho' always under alter'd skies" -- largely, I think, because I was very very preoccupied, writing both, with thoughts of "Oh, what if the person hates it, I can't write for other people, this is a disaster, woe is meeeeeeeeee!" (And starting_gate, who was remarkably patient with me both times, would be like, "Knock it off. Now, about your pronouns." Oh, god, the PRONOUNS.) Also: "Year in Review" was just a pain in the ass -- I liked it conceptually, but I had to reach for some of those middle numbers, there. (Geese-a-laying? Swans-a-swimming? Goddamn.) And then I realized it was for a Christmas prompt and it wasn't remotely Christmasy at all! Feh.

Biggest Disappointment
Not writing much J/D, which is still my favorite pairing at the end of the day, however much I love some others. Not challenging myself to write some actual Sam/Daniel, because I do think they're a very sweet couple. Not following through and finishing that big stinky AU fic yet, because it's been in my head since February. Spending too much time being intimidated by fandom/other authors, even (especially) the ones I know/whatever.

Biggest Surprise
Learning to like Vala -- I did not enjoy her in season 9 and for parts of season 10, and I think she grew on me more in her (brief) fic appearances than she ever did on the show, at least until the end there. Also, the last line meme response, "It takes Sam ten years to find Daniel." I don't know where that one came from.

Also, as an aside, I think the biggest surprise character I wrote all year was me, in those fashion posts. I definitely don't count them as fic, but I definitely do count that narrator as a character. A very, very strange one.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story
You tell me! Although I think probably "A million years into the sky" and "Five Children Never Born to SG-1" together reveal my no-longer-so-secret luuurve for kidfic. It's a guilty pleasure! So bring on the assbabies in 2008. More assbabies, I say!

FIC: Year in Review

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 01:10:22 GMT

A late one for houldouttrout's Christmas prompts, except I started writing them and realized that, headers notwithstanding, they were not at all Christmasy. Er...oops? So I guess I'll just keep it here, instead of there. Also, I totally stole the format from sidlj, unintentionally, but credit where it is due.

The original prompt was "Original Team: Twelve Days of Christmas, SG-1 style." I have to say, some of those days in the middle were a streeeetch. ('Maids-a-milking'? Come on.) And for some reason, when I do related drabbles, I tend to torture Jack. What's up with that? I tried to spread it around a little this go, but...eh. Poor Jack. Always gets the worst of it.

Year In Review

January … twelve drummers drumming

They were still two klicks from the gate, huddled beneath a huge fallen tree as Daniel rewrapped Carter’s ankle, when the noise started, far off. It sounded… like thunder almost, low and rolling, with shorter, sharper snaps every few seconds. Everyone froze; Daniel squinted through branches and fog. “What…?”

“War drums,” said Teal’c, scanning the brush behind them. “We must depart.”

Daniel bent back over Carter’s leg, and helped her up when he was done, her arm over his shoulders and his around her waist as they hobbled along.

The drums were still sounding when they finally reached the gate.

February … eleven pipers piping

“I’m told it’s ceremonial,” Daniel shouted over the racket, his admirable efforts not to wince or plug his ears just making him look twitchy.

“Nice ceremony,” Jack yelled back. “Are they gonna follow us the whole time we’re here?”

“What?”

“I said are they gonna follow us the whole time?”

“What?”

“Them!” Jack pointed to their escort. “Us! Follow! Yes?”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Till When?”

“What?”

Carter and Teal’c caught up with them, both looking pained. “What’s the deal with these guys?” she yelled.

Jack jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from putting them over his ears. “Ceremonial!”

“What?”

March … ten lords a-leaping

“Look, I agree with you, Jack, I’m just saying, we do this, or leave.”

“This isn’t a test of bravery, it’s a test of stupidity,” Jack snapped.

“It is not far,” said Teal’c.

“I mean, the ones for wisdom and strength, I got. But this? Come on, Daniel.”

“I didn’t make it up! Look, they all did it, they’re not trying to screw with us.”

“I said,” Teal’c repeated, “It is not far.”

Carter looked skeptically at the chasm. “I don’t know, Teal’c. It’s a long way down.”

Teal’c handed her his pack and, before Jack could protest, started running.

April … nine ladies dancing

One of the Chief’s daughters – and he had a lot, so Jack really had no idea which one it was – ran over and grabbed his hand. “Come, dance with us.”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Daniel shot Jack a deceptively bland look. “You should dance, Jack. It’s in your honor.”

The girl beamed at Daniel. “You must all dance. My sisters…come, come!”

“Oh, uh,” said Daniel, with the look of a man about to furiously backpedal, but three more daughters appeared from nowhere and started pulling them towards the other five.

“At least they’re equal op,” Carter muttered.

May … eight maids a-milking

“It could be worse,” Carter said. “We’re not stuck in a mine.”

Jack stood and peered over the railing into the next stall; Carter blinked up at him, hay sticking out of her hair at weird angles. She shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feretti’s voice, drifting from somewhere further down the row. “Have I mentioned how much I don’t like cows?”

A sigh from one of Feretti’s guys. “Repeatedly, sir.”

“Just checking.”

“Cows above ground,” Daniel offered, from the stall across from Jack’s.

“Cows.”

Jack’s cow looked at him with big, reproachful eyes. He went back to his bucket.

June … seven swans a-swimming

“Daniel, move!” But either he didn’t hear him or deliberately ignored him, and Jack could only watch as the bridge shook and tumbled down, dropping Daniel and three of the kids from the village into the water.

On the opposite bank, Carter was yelling something over the roar. She and Teal’c started loosing gear almost in unison: packs off, vests off, boots off. By the time Jack had radioed SG-9 for backup, Teal’c was in the water, closing in on one of the kids, and Carter was chasing Daniel downstream.

Another kid surfaced briefly; Jack dropped his vest and dove.

July … six geese a-laying

Jack woke to what sounded like clucking, and stepped out of his tent to find their camp besieged by several fat, waddling birds. Teal’c sat in the middle of it, completely unperturbed.

“O’Neill,” he said, nodding. “I have prepared the coffee.”

“Uh…huh.”

Teal’c raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the nearest bird as if just noticing it. “These animals approached the camp approximately halfway through my watch. They do not appear to be dangerous.”

Jack sat slowly by the fire. The nearest bird wandered over, examined him briefly, and then started pecking sharply at his boot.

“Annoying, yes,” Teal’c allowed.

August … five golden rings

Jack hated these planets. Quiet, apparently abandoned, nothing to look at but carvings for Daniel and doohickies for Carter and wide open perimeters for him and Teal’c, but for some reason, he’d spend the whole time edgy and waiting for a shoe to drop. Or a bomb.

He glanced over his shoulder. Daniel was oohing over some kind of religious inscriptions on the walls, and Carter was aahing over her energy readings. Teal’c was… Teal’c, but enjoying the sunshine.

Jack rolled his eyes at himself. Then rings burst from the floor and surrounded him, too fast to avoid. “Oh, fu–”

September … four calling birds

A light flashed three times in the darkness, on the opposite side of the valley. Jack lowered them briefly and keyed his radio. “Okay, kids, SG-3 is good to go. Are we?”

Teal’c first. “I am prepared.”

“Good here.” Daniel.

A pause. Then, “Force field is set.”

“And that makes four.” Jack reached for the radio again with one hand, flashed his own light in reply with the other. “Wait for Reynolds’ signal. He says we’ll know it when we see it.”

Not a minute later, on the opposite hill, a huge explosion sent flames billowing up into the sky.

October … three French hens

By the time the locals let Carter in, the damage had been done. She took one look at them, and turned away, hand flying to her mouth. Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, Carter, laugh it up.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I just…you know, anthropologists do this all the time.”

“Hey!” Daniel protested.

She took a deep breath and turned back. “For what’s it worth, you all look very – ”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Major.”

“I do not find these ensembles disturbing,” said Teal’c, solemnly. “They are more comfortable in this climate. Greater circulation.”

“Oh, God,” said Carter, choking on her laughter.

November … two turtledoves

“Whoops,” said Daniel. “Code red.”

Jack looked up from his MRE and followed Daniel’s line of sight. Across the fire, the same kid that had been dogging them all day was slowly closing in on Carter. Jack saw the exact second she noticed him and started looking around for help with wide, panicked eyes.

“Ah, young love.”

“Can’t really blame him for trying,” Daniel agreed, and stood up for his turn to rescue Carter from her admirer’s adoring teenaged clutches.

Teal’c appeared before he got there, looming up behind Carter and sending the kid scurrying off to a safe distance.

December … and a partridge in a pear tree

“Whenever you all feel like getting me down….” Jack called.

A good forty feet below, Carter and Daniel shot him identical warning looks. “Right now Plan A is to cut the rope and drop you, sir. Anytime you’re ready.”

“Oh the other hand, take your time. I’ve got nowhere to be.” Another gust of wind blew, and Jack tried to ignore the rocking. Indistinct chatter drifted up from the forest floor. After a few minutes, he called down again. “Who still uses nets, anyway?”

Teal’c’s looked up at him with a long-suffering stare. Jack quit while he was ahead.

--

Whew, okay. That's it. No more fic this year. Happy New Year, everybody!

Housekeeping 07

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 04:52:21 GMT

Here we go, another one of those posts for compiling some of the random bits and pieces that I haven't done anything with. Not a lot, this go, since mostly what's cluttering up my hard drive at the moment are WIPs (apocafic, I'm looking at you), although next time that 'post pieces of your WIP-fic' meme goes around, I am so there.

Anyway. This one happened -- I think -- after some chatter in someone else's journal about the SGC being haunted. I want to say it was paian, and not just because I tend to blame everything on her, as she's a sneaky little enabler. (ps, Komos, remind me to post pictures of those cookies.) It also has to have the crackiest OC I've written in any fandom, ever. Not the crackiest scenario, but up there. Just, cracky, in general.

--

The first time they actually meet, he feels it immediately, the first time he goes back to the SGC, an indistinct feeling of another somewhere very nearby. Not Oma, Daniel’s learned what she feels like, knows it without thinking, but there is a sense of likeness that piques his interest. He waits as Jack and Sam and Teal’c step into the elevator and rise towards the surface, as General Hammond turns to make his way down the corridor, and then lets himself drift without intent. The other will find him, if they want to.

And she does. He’s not too far from the elevator switch when the presence blooms beside him and he can feel the other reaching towards him. Daniel’s not very good at sensing yet – he still misses a good half of what Oma sends him and he’s used to her – and so he falls back to what he started with and projects a body. Soon after the other detangles slightly and does the same, and suddenly Daniel is standing in a hallway of the SGC with the illusion of a girl, maybe 10, in a red sundress and high-tops, as airmen pass through them without notice.

“Not bad,” she says, looking him over. “Little fuzzy around the edges, though.”

He knows. Oma doesn’t particularly encourage projecting, and he’s had to practice on his own. “...Thanks?”

She grins, sends a flash of amusement back at the confusion he’s not quite able to block. “Sorry. I’m Poe.”

“Daniel,” he says, and she just smiles, flickers the impression of waiting, and when the penny drops Daniel is distracted enough that he briefly loses hold on the projection, has to refocus to smooth it out again. “Poe as in….”

“That’s me.” More amusement, a vague gesture towards the floor. “I’m not usually up this high, but I felt you around. Wasn’t expecting you’d be back so soon, by the way.”

“I’m – confused.”

“Yes, I’m getting that.”

He blinks at her, reflexively moves out of the path of a member of SG-11 on his way past. “You’re the ghost on 13.”

“Well, not a ghost. And I’m not actually on level 13 that often, although as I understand it there’s some kind of dogmatic significance to the number?”

“Uh, a superstition.” Daniel hesitates, cautiously reaches out to see if he’s missing something, but all she’s giving is the same sense of something like mirth and the projection of a sly smile. “Can I ask why?”

Poe shrugs. “Actually, now that you’re one of us, no reason, really.”

Now that he… “You were watching me?”

“Well, not all the time. I like the – security monitoring station? Yes. Nice men.” She must pick up on the wave of irritation that slips out, because she sighs, or – no, just gives the feel of one. “I owed a favor.”

“To Oma?”

“She had an interest,” Poe says. And it’s weird, it’s still very weird, but if that’s the case Daniel supposes he can’t exactly complain about the…observation. All things considering. Poe appears to lean back against the wall, looks on almost fondly as a few of the infirmary staff wait for the elevator. “I’ve rather enjoyed myself, actually. Never been to this planet before. I think I might stay a little longer.”

The last time they actually meet it’s in Jack’s office and she’s being absolutely no help at all. “I think your nose is crooked,” she says, lurking in the corner. Daniel ignores her. (He has to ignore pretty much everything unless he wants to come out missing something vital. Like, say, his memory.) “Honestly, that’s not where I remember it being.”

He loses his hold and everything unravels. If there’s a trick to this descension thing, he can’t figure it out. “Don’t you have some hallway you’re supposed to be screwing with the temperature in?”

“Jesus, chill.”

“You are spending way too much time here.” Between the waffles and Poe, who’s spent a considerable portion of the last hour humming something disturbingly rock & rollish, Daniel is starting to suspect that there’s something viral about the SGC and American pop culture. Corrupting higher planes one ascended being at a time; he wonders if this is all somehow his fault. “You know, I don’t get it. Oma leads you to complete enlightenment and you do is haunt the SGC.”

“Backatcha,” she says. “And anyway, if Oma’s out of the game, someone has to keep an eye on things around here.” Her presence starts to drift off, then returns, briefly. “Project what you’re going for first and fill it out from there.” And then Poe’s gone, presumably up to play with someone’s computer monitor or rescue some lost car keys, as usual.

Her advice works, except later Daniel is pretty sure he was projecting with clothes on.

After that they never speak again, although Daniel does notice a significant increase in the amount of random objects that go spontaneously missing from his office or his locker, only to reappear somewhere else entirely a week later. And random audio files on his computer play as ‘All Along the Watchtower’ for years.

--

Opening to an attempt at an apocalpyse_kree fic that didn't end up going anywhere.

--

The first time Jack saw Daniel, it was in a field of rubble and twisted metal that used to be a parking lot, and it was long before Daniel saw him. Daniel saw kneeling beside the twisted column of a light post and staring up at the sky in profile, and Jack moved towards him in near silence. The sky was near silent too, cut only with a faint underlying roar, far off, like a passing jet. There were no sirens. Jack thought there should be sirens.

There was no ship, either, and Daniel stared up at perfect, puffy white clouds and didn’t move.

Jack was almost on top of him, just about within arms reach, just about to whisper for him, when Daniel turned and lunged at Jack with a piece of something in his hand that glinted in the sun. He was overbalanced, though, and missed even as Jack snapped a hand out to deflect the hit, and they both went toppling over into the dust. Something nearby fell with them, and pebbles and small bits of debris rained down and scattered.

It was too easy for Jack to pin him, to get a hand over his mouth; he waited until the wild stare softened into recognition, and then eased off and sat back, slowly. Daniel sat up slowly, still looking a bit like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was seeing. He was streaked with dirt, and with blood.

“Hey,” Jack said, and reached out, very slowly, to unwrap resisting fingers from around the shard of metal, which turned out to be thin and cobalt blue and dangerously jagged along the edges. Jack thought it probably used to be a car door. “How much of this is yours?”

Daniel didn’t answer. He reached up to scrub at his face with his hands, and then stilled and left them there, heels of his palm pressed into his eyes. “I thought –”

“Daniel.” A little too loud, a bit over sharp. Daniel always needed an edge when he was shocky, the way that some people needed orders and others needed kid gloves – someone outside of his head to argue with. “Were you in the explosion?”

“No.” And then, detached and perfectly clear from behind his arms, “Sam’s not answering her phone.”

Jack sucked in a breath, took a second, put that away, and looked again. Daniel was streaked with dirt and blood but was mostly intact underneath. One cut high on his forehead, a thin line low on his neck, almost a scratch, but his hands and forearms were torn all to hell. The cuts on his right palm were the deepest, where the edge of the car-door-cum-dagger had bit in. He was missing a few fingernails.

Jack started the mental inventory. Water. Bandages. Antibacterials. Pain killers wouldn’t be bad, either.

“How long have you been digging?” he asked, but Daniel wasn’t listening.

Daniel stared back up at the sky, and for a moment Jack thought he was slipping out of it again. “Daniel –” he started to snap.

But Daniel reached out and muffled the sound beneath his palm, pressing his hand across Jack’s face as Jack had just done a minute before. Not ten seconds after the distant roar got very loud, very fast. They duck beneath the toppled lamppost and a large piece of asphalt that had been ripped up and stuck out from the ground at a weird angle, and pair of death gliders circled the sky where the top of Cheyenne Mountain should be.

“The mothership moved on, but there are still patrols every once in a while.” Daniel breathed the words into the space by Jack’s ear. Jack nodded, and waited for the gliders to pass, and ignored the taste copper and dust on his lips.

--

Another abandoned story-that-wasn't for apocalypse_kree, this time for a prompt that I didn't even claim -- which is good, since, abandoned. If you're sensing that apocafic problems are a theme for me this time, you would be correct.

--

Daniel forces himself to look until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Then they slide shut. He thinks, finally.

Daniel opens his eyes. Everything is cool and blue. He can’t feel anything, not even the familiar sense of his own limbs. But it’s cold, and that surprises him; he doesn’t remember it being cold, before. He thinks, huh. He closes his eyes.

Daniel opens his eyes. It’s still blue, and still cold, but there’s something else. He feels – heavy. As if, if he wanted to move – he doesn’t – it would be beyond him. He closes his eyes. He thinks, please, try to stay awake. He thinks, but I’m not sleeping. He keeps them closed.

Daniel’s eyes open. He looks uncomprehendingly at the featureless blue in front of him and tries to close his them again, but the movement won’t come; the blue resolves itself into a wall, laced with veins of rock and glowing crystal. He thinks, not what I was expecting, and then realizes too late what he’s looking at and thinks that he’s going to be sick.

He thinks, lay still, you’re not strong enough for much exertion, yet, and then he rolls suddenly off the platform and falls to the floor, where he is sick, all over the smooth stone.

Or do that, he thinks. No, he doesn’t. “Please let me have gone crazy.” In the small, silent room, the murmur is inordinately loud and echoes in his ears, and there’s a moment where Daniel almost thinks he’s about to get very lucky.

But then the voice in his head that doesn’t belong to him says breath deeply, the nausea should pass.

“No,” Daniel says. And then, clinging to the edge of the platform, pulling himself gracelessly to his knees, again, louder, “No.”

Try to stay calm, you’re still –

He realizes for the first time that his BDUs are gone, replaced by clothing that’s shapeless and off-white and reminds him vaguely of hospital scrubs.

– weak, I haven’t finished –

Everything starts to tip just a little off-center, and Daniel has to dig his fingernails in to keep his grip on the platform. Even it doesn’t feel steady. It’s not supposed to be like this. There was… he remembers a room. Not like this one. Darker, and warmer; someone else’s breath, faint on his shoulder. This is wrong. He doesn’t –

– oh, please don’t –

Daniel’s eyes close. He doesn’t feel it when he hits the floor.

When Daniel next wakes up, the disorientation only lasts a moment before everything rushes back. He’s on the platform again, exactly as he’d been before. The floor’s been cleaned. There’s some vertigo when he pushes himself up until he’s sitting with his legs over the side, but not nearly as much as there had been before, and what little there is passes quickly.

Daniel looks down at his hands and forces himself to silently count to some very high numbers in some very difficult languages, and the inside of his head is otherwise very, very quiet for a long time.

Time passes. He’s not sure how much – but he’s not sure what language he’s on anymore, either, and it usually takes him a while to lose track like that. His headache is gone; he’s not dizzy. He feels… normal. In control of himself.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Now we can’t talk.”

There’s a pause, and then, running through his mind like words read off a page, It’s not necessary for you to speak aloud.

Interesting, Daniel thinks, although he has no idea if it’s a thought he’s kept to himself or not. So this is what it’s like. “I’d prefer it, for now, if you don’t mind.”

It is possible to isolate your thoughts, says the other, but it takes a conscious effort and a knowledge of how to accomplish it. Most of my thoughts are closed to you now. I’m sure you’d find the alternative unpleasant, at the moment.

“I’m finding a lot of things unpleasant lately,” says Daniel.

--

Apparently at some point I was planning to put an apocalypse in there.

Aaand, a piece of something or other I was playing with for paian's Next Steps verse (See? Blame everyone on Komos), because she very kindly said people could play and no one did, which is just a travesty. A travesty I assisted, because neither did I. This would have been a story called 'Things They Don't Teach You In Basic' and would have had section headers like 'gruel: it's what's for dinner. and breakfast. and lunch.' and 'getting thrown in jail is easy; getting out, slightly less so.' and have had lots of off-world exploration and wacky hijinx and fun with Cassie. If I had written it. Which I didn't.

--

It takes her a few days to figure it out, and after that Cassie is mildly disturbed to realize that the commanders are spending the three-week training run trading personnel like baseball cards. It’s not exactly how she imagined team assignments would work. It does sound like Jack, though.

Day one, she’s with Puigh, a marine who doesn’t seem to speak, and three civilians, out in the middle of the woods chasing down another team. War games, allegedly, but after a couple of hours she’s pretty sure the point was to deliberately get them completely lost. They find their way back before the dinner call, but Puigh puts all four of them back into the pool.

Days two, three, and four. Colonel Ramirez isn’t bad, but there’s another lieutenant in the group, about the same age as Cassie, Army instead of Air Force but basically the same cultural and diplomacy training that Cassie’s had. Nice guy. Eventually, he stays, she goes. Ramirez swaps her for a field medic.

Days five and six. Cassie and Scott Pressman smile through gritted teeth and very politely go through exercises and try to pretend they don’t remember all the shit they both gave each other for years at the Academy, and then both ask to be traded within twenty minutes of one another. Pressman goes to Puigh, Cassie goes to Lieutenant Colonel Michalski, and everyone goes to bed happy.

Day seven. They’re supposed to be running an invasion scenario. Cassie’s group is on the offensive, and don't seem about to get too worked up over the whole thing. No one’s been traded in three days. “Captain Emma Zhao, demolitions,” says the tiniest woman Cassie has ever seen in her life, snapping her gun and leaning against a tree, and then, “Let’s blow up one of the empty tents.”

“Yeah, I think the colonel might have a problem with that,” says Michalski.

Zhao shrugs. “Creating a strategic diversion.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Guys?”

Birnbaum looks down at the distant encampment for a long time. “It’s all gravel and uphill. Sneaking anywhere is gonna be a real pain in the ass.”

Cassie glances over at West, who seems fairly content to leave the strategizing to everyone else, and is rechecking his kit. She’d know the medic patch from a hundred paces. “We could fake an injury,” she says. Everyone looks at her. “On the gravel. Have Captain West bring them up to camp and pretend to break scenario.”

“What, and foothold it?” asks Zhao.

Birnbaum fowns. “I dunno, who’s commanding the other team? Would they go for it?”

Cassie and West check eyeball each other for a minute, and then he shrugs minutely, and she says, “Everyone trusts the doctor.”

Michalski gives them both a long look, and squints down at the camp, and scrubs thoughtfully at his hair. “It’s Pierce’s team. He’d go for it.”

They send West and Birnbaum, because everyone trusts the doctor and nobody blinks when a civilian does dumb shit like trip over a root and sprain something. That only flies because no one on Pierce’s team knows that Birnbaum had a year at the SGC, but it flies. Cassie spends lunch guarding the prisoners and eating MREs with Zhao.

Day eight, Michalski. Same scenario, defense. Day nine, Michalski. She and West have to deal with a bunch of “natives” babbling in another language and refusing medical treatment to plague victims. Days ten and eleven, Michalski, overnight in some cave.

Day twelve, Michalski submits his team roster, and they all play basketball.

--

Okay! Clean house. New stuff for 2008. That is not bad apocafic. I really hope.

Suitably misty and watercolored

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 17:46:19 GMT

Last night I had the very weird fandom deja-vu experience of recognizing a name from an older fandom that I used to be active in (before I was dragged - kicking and screaming, I tell you! - into SG-1. Or at least, dragged gesturing empathetically and speaking loudly into watching an episode, and then I was good to go). I'm weird like this: if I'm inactive for a while online, I'm always really sheepish about coming back (see: last post). Don't ask me, I dunno. After a particularly long absense from the old journal, which involved, among other things, hospitalization, I just...didn't post anymore. Err. Which kind of sucked, since there were some very cool people in that (very small) fandom.

And then yesterday! So I went cruising through the journal of yesteryear, and I had totally forgotten that there had been a little preliminary SG-1 chatter with the one other girl I knew watched it. Best entry?

"Ew, Sam and Jack are so gross....I'm so disturbed by my own crush on Ba'al." (And in comments, "He's an evil little dreamboat.")

I think I was somewhere in season six (?) at the time, after having mainlined everything else in about a month. Clearly my predilections were apparent early. Although IIRC this was before I stumbled onto SG-1 slash. "Jack and Daniel together? Ho ho! I see what you did there."

ETA: No offense intended to my J/S friends, of course. You know I'm all about the great and tooby (thanks kalquessa!) multishipping love now.

But what is this buried beneath a layer of dust? (+ fic)

Sat, 22 Dec 2007 06:17:55 GMT

Okay, boys and girls, be sure to study this, because there will be a quiz. To review...

Things That Are Good:
Semesters ending
Getting to take a break from living with your roommates for a while, before any inconvenient murder occurs
The apples you get in holiday gift baskets. Where are these the rest of the year? Seriously.
24-hour Christmas music radio stations...whee!
Fandom. OH, Fandom, I've missed yooooooou.
Christmaaaaaas.

Things That Are NOT Good:
Finals. Good Lord, Professor, who pissed in your Cheerios the day you drafted that mother up?
Registering for classes. ("What do you mean our program can't possibly prepare you for any of the graduate programs you're interested in. Why, look at all of our classes, however can this be?" Uh, I dunno, you tell me.)
Psychology of Perception. Just don't, folks.
/friends?skip=10000. *weeps*
My car's lack of four wheel drive. Ow.
Brussel sprouts... don't ask.

No explanation for my prolonged absence at the moment, because honestly, I could tell you guys, and you'd never believe me. Endless. So lets skip it.

Now I'm back home. Yay! And I'm come bearing fic. Gasp! Well, kind of silly Christmas-prompty nonsense, but it's written down and it's fictional, so...fic! Also known as "Why peeking at the flist when I was supposed to be still studying was a bad idea." Or alternatively, "Oooh, lookit all of holdouttrout's pretty prompts!"

Title: Traditionally Speaking
Rating: G
Word Count: 1500-ish
Warnings: Cookies in places they don't belong; vague Christmas sappiness; convenient plot devices; one totally made up Goa'uld word (extraneous apostrophe included); inexcusable silliness; the phrase 'merry elves'; an element of, 'Uh, does probability work that way?' Probably not. Oh, just go with it.
Summary: "I don’t think this was quite how we all planned to spend the holiday.”

The little green LED display clicked over from 11:59 to 12:00. Jack sighed, stretched his back out till his shoulder popped, and said, “Well, Merry Christmas, kids. Hope you’ve all been very good, because it’s gonna be a bit of a haul getting out here for the big guy.”

“Hammond?” Daniel asked, not shifting from his sprawl on the floor of the opposite corner, one arm draped over his eyes.

Carter opened her eyes but didn’t move either, apparently happy to go on using Teal’c’s crossed legs as a pillow. “Great,” she sighed. “When we get back, I’m definitely going to end up picturing him in the suit.”

“You’re welcome,” said Daniel.

Teal’c’s head dipped, the only indication in hours that he wasn’t so deep into medication that he’d heard them at all. “Would that not then make us merry elves?” he asked, all innocuous deadpan.

Carter grinned. “Ho ho ho.”

“You’re all remarkably…peppy about this,” Jack said. He tipped his head back to consider their cell’s smooth stone walls.

“Call it Christmas spirit,” Daniel offered. “Besides, at least they moved us inside today.”

“True.” It wasn’t winter on P2J-whatever-the-hell, so that was something, but the torrential downpour the day before – yeah, Jack didn’t mind opting out of the big uncovered pen in the middle of the village. “Still. I don’t think this was quite how we all planned to spend the holiday.”

“Uh,” Carter said, the way she usually did right before continuing with something like, ‘we might need to rethink this plan,’ or ‘actually, the laws of physics don’t work that way, sir.’ “Actually…”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Something to add, Carter?”

She sat up slowly, looking around with an expression that could only be described as sheepish; Daniel, his interest apparently finally piqued, shifted his arm aside and squinted at her. “It’s just – well, I figured, just in case, you know?”

“No,” said Teal’c. “We do not know.”

The locals had taken their weapons, but let them keep their packs once they’d dug through them and thrown out anything sharp – apparently part of kind of prisoner-of-war code that Daniel thought was fascinating and Jack thought was kind of stupid on their part, but a pretty nice unexpected bonus for his team. The dry clothes had definitely come in handy.

Carter eased herself up, wincing against stiff muscles, and crossed over to where the packs were piled against a wall. “I mean… well, normally I wouldn’t have thought of it, but considering the date, and our history…” she began, fishing into her bag.

“Yeah,” Jack said slowly, eyeing her. “I guess, with some of our luck….”

“Our odds, actually,” she corrected, pulling a wrapped bundle out and setting it on the ground. “You know, considering the number of times we’ve been stuck off world or thrown in prison or…something at the least convenient times – ”

“There was math involved in this decision?”

“There’s always math, sir.”

“Figures.”

Carter finished unfolding the knot of what looked like a spare shirt or two, and held up what turned out to be a big zip-lock bag. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

Daniel sat up slowly, mouth twitching. “You brought gingerbread.”

“Made it myself. Carter family tradition, actually. My mom always made them, and then me.” She pulled out one of the little men and passed it over to Jack. “We had rules about the whole thing, actually.”

Jack had to admit – it smelled pretty good, especially after nothing but MREs for days. He took in the little iced face and careful buttons and decided that he was never going to figure Carter out. “Gingerbread rules.”

“Yeah. When we’d make them, the recipe, and – well. Mark started it. He convinced me that you always had to eat the head first with gingerbread men. Or else they’d feel it.”

“Logical,” said Teal’c, as Daniel’s lips thinned to almost invisibility against the looming smile. “If one must be eaten, it would be wise hope for a quick death.”

“Exactly! Stop laughing, Daniel. Here.”

He took the proffered cookie and somehow managed to get his expression under control. Even from across the cell, Jack could see it was a struggle. “Thank you. Headfirst, I swear.”

“I was eight,” Carter sniffed. She consoled herself with a bite of cookie. The head, Jack noticed.

Jack turned his cookie over in his hand. “ So let me get this straight. You were so convinced we were gonna get stuck off-world on Christmas that you smuggled baked goods.”

“Basically.”

“I’m not surprised,” Daniel said. He held up a hand at Carter’s surprised glance. “That we’re here, I mean. Like you said, our luck.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Seriously. Some team always gets stuck on a major holiday, we were practically due.”

“This was supposed to be a cakewalk,” Jack protested.

“Yup.”

“We left on the twentieth.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“We were only staying one night!”

“Yes, Jack. And the Idrians were supposed to be agrarian. But look! A Christmas miracle.”

Carter sighed loudly and made a show of rolling her eyes. “Oh, quit bitching and eat your cookies.” A pause, and then, slowly, “…Sir.”

The laughter Daniel had been fighting finally escaped in a short burst, and Teal’c shifted and opened his eyes. “Thank you, Major Carter.”

“You’re welcome, Teal’c,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Cookie?”

He unfolded his legs and leaned forward to carefully select one from the bag. “Indeed, I will.”

“Eye rolling at a superior officer,” Jack huffed, vindictively biting his cookie’s left leg off. “It’s going on your evaluation. See if it doesn’t.”

“I’m sure it will, sir.”

Jack took another bite – which, okay, was pretty damn good, so maybe he’d let the ‘probable odds of disaster’ thing go. “What about you, Daniel. Smuggle a Santa hat in with your journals?”

“Ah, no.”

“No fond Christmas memories to share?”

“You mean, with my foster parents?” Daniel asked, pointedly. “The Cohens?”

“…Right….” Jack, quite magnanimously, ignored Carter smirking behind her palm.

“No, actually, it was kind of nice. It was a pretty mixed bag, who was living with them any particular year, so they always had a little bit of everything going on. Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa…”

“Merry Festivus?”

A grin flickered briefly across Daniel’s face. “Something like that.”

“My mom used to have us do the whole popcorn and cranberry string thing.” Jack finished off his cookie and reached to take another. Yeah, he’d let Carter keep right on ribbing him. “New ones every year. Took for-friggin-ever.”

“On Chulak,” Teal’c offered, “At the conclusion of every winter festival, several painted lac’ten were released into the city center and the youngest of the Jaffa would attempt to chase them all down.”

“’Lockten’?” Carter asked, the corners of her mouth turning up in anticipation of the answer

“Similar to large hares.”

“And, uh, what was that supposed to represent?” asked Daniel.

Teal’c looked at him. “It was amusing,” he said, and Carter’s straight face dissolved.

“And here’s a new one for the list,” Jack said, once her laughter had died down to occasional snickering. “The Christmas jail.”

“It could be worse,” said Daniel. “Could be that one on – what was it, P49…right, 211, thanks Sam. The one with those huge rats?”

Carter wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Or the one with the spikes in the floor.”

“Or the one that turned out to be a zoo.”

“P17-N39,” Teal’c said. “The swamp.”

They all grimaced. “Actually, I think the Christmas jail is growing on me,” Jack decided.
Carter smiled brilliantly. “Can’t beat the company.”

“Or the cookies,” said Daniel, toasting her with one.

“Or the cookies.” Jack raised his in turn. “Next year, someone smuggle in some egg nog.”

Daniel shot him an arch look over the tops of his glasses. “I’ll bring some popcorn and thread. Keep you busy.”

“Perhaps tinsel,” Teal’c suggested.

“I’ve always been a lights person,” said Carter.

Jack sat back and let them go; Carter working up increasingly elaborate lighting designs, Daniel alternating between egging her on and accusing her being one of those houses that blew the city’s power grid with the Christmas lights every year, Teal’c steadfastly insisting that the light up plastic soldiers and candy canes were essential.

Yeah – cold cell with nothing but MREs and the mushy crap they got once a day, and a warden who would probably stick them back outside in the rain in the morning… it wasn’t the Christmas Jack would have picked.

But – well…hell…Carter brought cookies. He guessed it wasn’t all bad.

“Quiet,” Teal’c said suddenly, halting an increasingly complicated debate between Daniel and Carter on the merits of colored versus white lights. There was a long silence as they all froze, Jack with a mouth full of gingerbread. And then, distantly –

“Well, hark,” Jack said over the familiar sounds of P-90s rapidly growing closer. He hauled himself to his feet and over to the cell door. “Christmas is getting merrier every minute.”

“I thought the Christmas jail had grown on you,” said Daniel, passing out the packs.

“Yeah, you know, now I’m thinking Christmas Waffle House.”

Carter had shoved what was left of the cookies back into her pack and clipped it in place. “You’re buying, sir.” Off his look, she shrugged. “Hey, I baked.”

The gunfire in the hall beyond the door stopped abruptly, and through the stone Jack could make out a voice barking orders. English. And sounding suspiciously like Dave Dixon. Well, then. “Fair enough. But the egg nog’s on Teal’c.”

The door swung open.

"Merry Christmas!" said Jack. "Cookie?"