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I want my money back
Fahye: Well, I don't know if I'll be able to write anything for SG:A just yet, but I may as well open a document and see if anything happens.
~ not long afterwards ~
LKJhskjahsas this stupid fandom. Stupid. I have started writing this heartfelt thing about friendship and it's full of sentiment and what the hell, where has my beautiful ruthless cynicism gone?
*disgusted*
~
It takes John a little while to work out how to think of Elizabeth, but one day he’s sitting through one of her long, carefully-thought-out briefings on something unspeakably tedious like humidity regulation or laboratory waste disposal, and he thinks: this must be what having an older sister would have been like. Everything’s easy after that. They argue in the control centre – him shouting, her hissing – and she tells him things that he knows are for his own good which he then proceeds to ignore, and he punctures her authority to her face but upholds it ruthlessly behind her back. They won’t talk anything but shop for days and then he’ll run into her on a balcony and she’ll lean against his side and they still won’t be talking, but it’ll feel almost as though they are. She’s a civilian and an idealist and often she infuriates him. But sometimes he stands with his hands in his pockets and watches her face as she struggles her way towards an impossible decision, clinging to her command and to the railing with thin determined fingers, and then he loves her.
Teyla’s the girl who grew up next door, the girl you ran under sprinklers with and rode bikes with and who’s practically like a sister as well, albeit a sister about whom you have the occasional wildly inappropriate thought. Teyla will mock his taste in weapons and then throw herself in front of blast rays for him; publically humiliate him for not showing a little respect and then let him rest in her lap for a three-hour puddlejumper ride, her hands keeping contant pressure on his wounds and her breasts pressing in a friendly way against the back of his neck. He loves her when they’re circling with sticks, sunlight in her hair and galaxies in her eyes.
He loves Rodney when...well, actually, he has no idea about Rodney, because in his old life guys like him never really had much to do with guys like Rodney until they were being forced to lie very still on flashing dentist’s chairs and babbled at hysterically about genetics, but that was his old life. Apparently in this life guys like him will place their lives in the hands of guys like Rodney on the strength of nothing more than a glance and a tight nod, will feel a white-hot blaze of pride when they solve a problem – no matter how obnoxious they get about it afterwards – and will think nothing of pulling them in tightly with one arm and the girl-next-door with the other. Standing with shaking legs thanking any deities that may be listening that they’re alive, and home, and together. Strange, that he should have to travel so far to find his family, but no stranger than anything else about this stupid, capricious, glorious city.
This is his life. He feels a little like his childhood and his Air Force career had the effect of folding him up tightly, like a piece of origami, and every day he spends in Atlantis another corner of him is untucked from its rigid shape. He is unfolding; he is happier than he’s ever been.
~
What the shit. I think I need to go read some Bret Easton Ellis or Chuck Palahniuk until this passes.
~ not long afterwards ~
LKJhskjahsas this stupid fandom. Stupid. I have started writing this heartfelt thing about friendship and it's full of sentiment and what the hell, where has my beautiful ruthless cynicism gone?
*disgusted*
~
It takes John a little while to work out how to think of Elizabeth, but one day he’s sitting through one of her long, carefully-thought-out briefings on something unspeakably tedious like humidity regulation or laboratory waste disposal, and he thinks: this must be what having an older sister would have been like. Everything’s easy after that. They argue in the control centre – him shouting, her hissing – and she tells him things that he knows are for his own good which he then proceeds to ignore, and he punctures her authority to her face but upholds it ruthlessly behind her back. They won’t talk anything but shop for days and then he’ll run into her on a balcony and she’ll lean against his side and they still won’t be talking, but it’ll feel almost as though they are. She’s a civilian and an idealist and often she infuriates him. But sometimes he stands with his hands in his pockets and watches her face as she struggles her way towards an impossible decision, clinging to her command and to the railing with thin determined fingers, and then he loves her.
Teyla’s the girl who grew up next door, the girl you ran under sprinklers with and rode bikes with and who’s practically like a sister as well, albeit a sister about whom you have the occasional wildly inappropriate thought. Teyla will mock his taste in weapons and then throw herself in front of blast rays for him; publically humiliate him for not showing a little respect and then let him rest in her lap for a three-hour puddlejumper ride, her hands keeping contant pressure on his wounds and her breasts pressing in a friendly way against the back of his neck. He loves her when they’re circling with sticks, sunlight in her hair and galaxies in her eyes.
He loves Rodney when...well, actually, he has no idea about Rodney, because in his old life guys like him never really had much to do with guys like Rodney until they were being forced to lie very still on flashing dentist’s chairs and babbled at hysterically about genetics, but that was his old life. Apparently in this life guys like him will place their lives in the hands of guys like Rodney on the strength of nothing more than a glance and a tight nod, will feel a white-hot blaze of pride when they solve a problem – no matter how obnoxious they get about it afterwards – and will think nothing of pulling them in tightly with one arm and the girl-next-door with the other. Standing with shaking legs thanking any deities that may be listening that they’re alive, and home, and together. Strange, that he should have to travel so far to find his family, but no stranger than anything else about this stupid, capricious, glorious city.
This is his life. He feels a little like his childhood and his Air Force career had the effect of folding him up tightly, like a piece of origami, and every day he spends in Atlantis another corner of him is untucked from its rigid shape. He is unfolding; he is happier than he’s ever been.
~
What the shit. I think I need to go read some Bret Easton Ellis or Chuck Palahniuk until this passes.
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AND IF YOU'RE IN SEASON ONE, WHERE IS MAJOR FORD? Oh how I miss Rainbow. "Hey, Joe! Look at me! *dance dance dance*"
OH SGA I MISS YOU.
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I am only up to 1x16. There was going to be Ford and then I ran out of words and WHO KNOWS, THERE MAY YET BE FORD, but I haven't thought about the dynamic yet. It's very buddycop-cousiny and that's as far as I've for.
Jeez, SOME PEOPLE :P
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(Also, this was really cute. I like the thing about how once upon a time guys like John didn't hang around guys like Rodney, and just, the whole thing for Elizabeth and Teyla. Gooey and sentimental, yes, but nice. ♥
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*loves* (HAHAHA. *SPOILS YOU WITH ZELENKA'S FIRST NAME THAT WAS SUCH A MYSTERY TILL THE FINALE OF S2 HAHA*)
I LOVED FORD SO MUCH. OH FORD. YOU FREAKED JOHN OUT ABOUT THE EVENT HORIZON AND THEN JUMPED BACKWARDS THROUGH IT. *LOVES*
One thing I can say about SGA is that it's fun in s1, you tolerate s2, and s3 is actually brilliant scifi telly. I MISS SEASON THREE I NEED TO FIND A NEW SGA CRACK DEALER.
And whyyyy are all my sga icons baleeted? *needs to find one*
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Aw, Fahye. Don't worry, you can write something soul-rending to make up for it!
(It's lovely and cute, though. I say without knowing the fandom at all except via flist, but even if the cynicism's gone all squishy the writing is still delightfully you.)
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