(Shh. This isn't actually a ficlet. This is just a rejected little slice of something from the 'verse where John's a reluctant poet. It doesn't even have a title. Or a point, really. It's just what I think is going on in the background, behind the poetry.)
Most days begin something like this: John wakes up, and he keeps his eyes closed. The
(
Read more... )
Comments 8
Love, max
Reply
Reply
WP
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
John usually manages to sneak a few hours of work in between his obsessive refreshing of I Can Has Cheezburger and Go Fug Yourself,
Ahhahahhaha! John is me!!!
Reply
And also me. This is because (a) I am firmly committed to the idea of Sheppard being a fifteen year old girl and (b) the idea of him reeling away from his laptop in utter horror when he goes to get his daily dose of the Fug Girls and sees Victoria Beckham in banana yellow formal shorts and and a sleeveless ruffled tuxedo shirt is just too funny.
(And: If I didn't say so last Friday, it was a pleasure meeting you. It's always lovely to run into another fannishly-inclined person in the flesh.)
Reply
Leave a comment