drabble requests
To stave off the growing madness and give me something creative to do that distracts me from the other creative thing I'm supposed to be doing...
Give me prompts and I will attempt to write you drabbles. Themes, quotes, items, ideas, timeframes ( Read more... )
Give me prompts and I will attempt to write you drabbles. Themes, quotes, items, ideas, timeframes ( Read more... )
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life lessonsIt's impossible to avoid Lee Adama, Acting President of the Twelve Colonies. Zarek's pretty surprised about it. While Lee's politic enough to keep up-- at least in a perfunctory way-- with his official public relations duties, Zarek had thought that the press of a crisis would trigger all the Adama military tendencies in the boy. It does of course: a sudden spike in secret meetings, armed guards trailing the President at decreasingly discreet distances, and eyes that are glassy from lack of sleep, but there is no point that Lee Adama stops being a President. He still meets with trade delegations and does press-the-flesh events, smiles at press conferences and trades the ocassional joke with a reporter (who used to be some kind of grunt aboard the Galactica but switched out when it became an option about a year and a half ago). Lee Adama fake-smiles and uses his tired eyes & hollow cheeks as a weapon, just as surely as Roslin used her cancer. Lee Adama isn't a seer or prophet, but he leans against ( ... )
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BSG, Bill Adama, mistakes
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I will have a think about the BSG request (damn, the fandom is difficult to write-- which I take as an indice of how good it is...) but in the meanwhile would you like to request some SGA? Or SGA/SG1 crossover? My brain has been taken over by SGA, you see, so I'm offering it as stopgap bribes. :D
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Hmm. :P
I completely understand what you mean by SGA taking over your brain. I've had it happen to me too.
So, what with 4x10 pissing you off, and in retrospect, once I thought about it, it pissed me off too, maybe some parallel!team drabble, or just real!John's and real!Rodney's reactions to all of it.
No worries, since I happen to love Atlantis and SG-1 even more than I do BSG, it's just that BSG is damn harder to write (though in Stargate, there are also so many issues and dark stuff to deal with, but the writers tend to leave it to fandom most of the time).
Thanks anyways.
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I love how so many escapees from HP fandom have ended up in Atlantis, man, it warms my heart. :D
SGA & SG1 is great to write in because it's a brilliant sandbox where a lot is left unsaid and unexplored, BSG is difficult because the stuff that's unsaid is kind of...better left unsaid, you know?
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or or or "three doctors walk into a bar". (McKay, House, Baltar) -- because crack is occasionally delicious.
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three doctorsThree Doctors walk into a bar, and by 10:55pm they are the only ones drinking. So it sort of makes sense that they end up drinking together. Sort of. At least, in the same vicinity as each other. Quite studiously drinking and not talking until the long-haired, slightly unwashed looking one in the corner introduces himself, Gaius Baltar, some sort of minor television celebrity and erstwhile cult leader, really well known amongst some circles. And that generates a chain reaction of terse introductions and drinks buying and making small talk about single-malt. It's all going surprisingly, shockingly well until there's a silence, and Baltar fills it with: "I-- betrayed the entire human race ( ... )
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“That's no reason to malign my doctorates,” McKay says, the sound muffled because his face is pressed between his knees and he's doing either some heavy breathing or some quite delicate gagging.
“You're not going to get mysteriously and improbably ill are you?” House smacks him on the back a couple fo times and McKay rewards him with a searing glare.
“No. Why would I?”
House tilts his head. “Well, that sort of thing tends to happen to me with greater frequency than is strictly probable. And I really don't like getting to know my patients.”
“You're a Doctor too.” Baltar looks reasonably impressed.
“Too? Too? There is no 'too'. You,” McKay straightens up enough to point a finger at each of the other men in turn. “I am a doctor. You are a faux-doctor, a practitioner of the voodoo arts of medicine. And you...are an actual practitioner of the voodoo arts. If your alma mater had any integrity they would have revoked your degree ( ... )
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Which is of course when the door opens, letting in a breeze and a pair of military-issue boots topped with jeans, a white shirt and a not even remotely regulation haircut.
“I leave you alone for one evening, McKay,” Military Boots remonstrates ( ... )
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