(no subject)

My internet is currently the patchiest thing ever to patch.

How will I check to make sure the world's not ending if I can't get to news sites?!

Oh god, I might even have to spend today doing something productive.

*shudders*

(no subject)

I'm a hideous person to be around right now, keep screwing up left right and center. Steenking head, steenking mood, steenking social skills. I'm just gonna hide in bed tonight, I think, and see if I can sort out what the hell I'm doing with this AU I'm writing. 'cos I know that it's not hideously bad and I can remember being excited about writing it, but right now I haaaaate it and don't think it's even remotely worth finishing.

Moods like this are where I decide that the possibility that I could ever matter to people ever is ridiculous, which directly leads to me forgetting that yes, my actions do affect other people, which leads directly to my being Voted Most Likely to be an Accidental Cock. So. Just. Ignore anything I do or say right now, 'k? Oh, apart from apologies. Those I mean.

*sigh*

(no subject)

The weird thing about Stargate: Atlantis is that I have this specific narrative voice in which all the stories start in my head. I have about 13 AUs planned out in a folder on my hard drive; 'planned out' is perhaps overstating it, since a couple of them have outlines and most of them have snippets and dialogue and absolutely no plan whatsoever. This is from none of them, but just popped randomly into my head while I was cleaning.




His apartment smelled of fresh paint and the faint hint of exhaust that floated through open windows, and Rodney growled under his breath, dropping his bag where he stood. The mail, papers and travel mug were deposited on various surfaces as and when he came to them, so by the time he stood in the bedroom doorway he had only a rolled up newspaper and a scowl.

"Aren't you done, yet?"

Lorne turned and grinned at him, a slash of brilliantly white paint across his cheekbone.

"I keep telling you, Dr McKay, I promised to do Sheppard a favour. You'll have to take it up with him if you've got a problem."

"Is he back? Have you seen him?" Lorne shook his head and Rodney's scowl deepened as he turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen for a cup of the wonderful coffee that was the only reason he hadn't set fire to Lorne yet. "He is aware his life is forfeit, yes?"

"He checks his messages, McKay," Lorne's dry voice drifted through. "I'm guessing he knows."




I have no idea what John's done, but I suspect he turns up married and Rodney storms off yelling that he's going to buy some matches.

My brain has to learn that I really don't have time for this.