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Prompt Responses
Several lovely people gave me some great prompts. Here are a couple of the responses. My brain quit on me today, so the rest of them will have to wait. (Sorry!)
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daisycm83 Touching
Each brush of the fingers, each hand placed on a shoulder, each playful shove--they were all thought out well in advance. Duration, kind, location, witnesses, mood--they both calculated their touches using an unspoken formula they knew instinctively.
Sam remembered the last uncalculated touch (though it came after the first calculated one). It had been when she'd pulled Jack out of the cryogenic mist. Her relief at finding him was so strong, and he looked so cold--
Later, she wondered if she should have known. She hadn't thought about their hug at the time, just clung to him as her fear left her in a rush of warmth she was sure he could feel.
She hadn't meant to love him. Not like that, anyway. She struggled against it until his eyes told her everything she never wanted to know from behind a force field.
After that, the calculations of touch got more complicated until, ironically, they got simpler once Everyone Knew.
Touch became too dangerous in public, because eyes were watching. Touch had already been too dangerous in private, where fingers could grasp instead of slide, heads could turn, leading lips to ruin.
They stopped touching at all, for a while, and became used to distance.
Slowly the moments of contact started to seep back in. Time was added to the equation, making it possible to reach out every once in a while.
And maybe, much later, they would find a balance. Maybe their numbers would match, settle, stabilize. Maybe they would no longer think about the seconds, or the people around them, or how the other might take it.
Or maybe they would overbalance, caught in a moment, see some variable they'd missed and scrap the whole thing, letting the pieces of the formula shatter and slide across their skin as they clung to each other. Maybe they would feel as if instead of fighting to push away, they'd been fighting to keep ahold of something this whole time.
*_*_*_*_*
Forcminor131 Guitar, But it can't involve any major character playing a guitar. And it especially can't have Sam pining in a corner marveling over Jack's amazing singing voice as he ministers in song to offworld orphans. Cause that would suck.
It was telling that none of the team was really obsessed with music. The closest they got was Carter's off-hand humming whenever she was happy about something (which meant the rest of them heard it most often when she was getting at a piece of technology, stripping it down or putting it back together after figuring it out).
So it was a surprise to them when they learned that SG-19 routinely took along a guitar on their off-world missions.
It made sense; they were the unofficial cultural exchange team, responsible for maintaining relations on planets where other SG teams just didn't have the time to get to all the relevant details.
Peoples that needed to be won over.
Slowly.
This time, they were coming along with SG-1 because they'd been warned in advance that this culture revered music.
"Lieutenant Astor is an accomplished musician," Hammond said, "And the rest of Colonel Jones' team is quite adept at handling diplomatic situations."
Jack had been skeptical.
As it turned out, they would have been lost without SG-19. The two teams were greeted with thin hospitality, and Jack had already started to think that maybe they should just turn right around. But as soon as the guitar came out, the young lieutenant in charge of it had his hands full explaining how it worked at both Daniel and the linguist on SG-19 took turns fumbling through technical translations that left even Daniel's considerable skills in the dust.
Finally, the crowd around the instrument settled back down, and Astor began to play--and sing.
Jack and Sam shared amused looks at his choice of songs, popular tunes from all over the last few decades, all tending toward the sappy, but his audience ate them up, asking for translations in between.
After about the third song, Jack leaned over and said, "I have to admit, it's a lot better than my singing."
Sam smiled.
Astor played a few more songs then put the guitar away. The village leader stood, made a short speech, and Daniel came back to stand by the others as the whole company migrated to tables that had somehow been set with food.
"I think that'll do it."
At Jack's questioning look, Daniel said, "Oh, their leader said, essentially--'Any people who can make that kind of music can't be all bad.'"
He looked back and forth between Jack and Sam. "Roughly, anyway. And we're invited to their meal, so..."
Sam said, "Maybe we should bring along a guitar on all *our* missions."
Jack pulled on his cap. "Only if you're the one singing, Major."
Daniel said, "In that case, maybe we should leave the music to SG-19."
Sam glared. Teal finally chimed in. "I've been told I have an excellent singing voice."
"Great!" Jack exclaimed. "Now someone just needs to learn how to play the guitar."
*_*_*_*_*
I wrote what she didn't want, too. You can find that here:
http://holdouttrout.livejournal.com/22561.html?thread=196897#t196897
*_*_*_*_*
Thefour five stages of fic in fandom, for geneeste:
The Honeymoon Phase:
Lasts as long as the writers of the show in question remember their canon. Fans gush over their show, proclaiming it to be leagues above the rest in writing, characterization, visuals, and eye candy. Often brought to a screeching halt in the second episode, and by the second season at the latest. (Notable exception: Farscape).
The Shipping Phase:
Well, you can guess. Usually the second longest phase, in which there is a sudden explosion of fic, mostly to correct "canonical errors." Battle lines are drawn around ships (or the lack thereof). There might be several incursions into enemy territory, as fresh blood constantly stirs up old waters.
The We-Just-Want-Good-Writers Phase:
This could alternately be a battle cry in the midst of the Shipping Phase, by a select few individuals who are enlightened past the boundaries of ship. Often heard after unsuspecting victims fall into the Pit of Voles while on a quest for more fic to feed their obsession.
The Good-Writers-Are-All-We-Have-Left Phase:
Either the more lemming-like badfic writers have left the fandom, or the more stable ones have managed to turn themselves into good writers through practice, a willingness to listen to critique, and through avoidance of severe ego-boosting in the Pit of Voles.
The Phase-That-Must-Not-Be-Named:
In this phase tired old ficcers hang out on depleted boards and reminisce about the Good Ole Days while wondering if they can get enough people interested in their show through the re-release of DVD's to spark a revival. If this, in fact, succeeds, the revival is usually temporary and quickly fades away, leaving ghost forums behind, monuments to the Bright and Shining Fandom that Was.
*_*_*_*_*
Several lovely people gave me some great prompts. Here are a couple of the responses. My brain quit on me today, so the rest of them will have to wait. (Sorry!)
For
daisycm83 TouchingEach brush of the fingers, each hand placed on a shoulder, each playful shove--they were all thought out well in advance. Duration, kind, location, witnesses, mood--they both calculated their touches using an unspoken formula they knew instinctively.
Sam remembered the last uncalculated touch (though it came after the first calculated one). It had been when she'd pulled Jack out of the cryogenic mist. Her relief at finding him was so strong, and he looked so cold--
Later, she wondered if she should have known. She hadn't thought about their hug at the time, just clung to him as her fear left her in a rush of warmth she was sure he could feel.
She hadn't meant to love him. Not like that, anyway. She struggled against it until his eyes told her everything she never wanted to know from behind a force field.
After that, the calculations of touch got more complicated until, ironically, they got simpler once Everyone Knew.
Touch became too dangerous in public, because eyes were watching. Touch had already been too dangerous in private, where fingers could grasp instead of slide, heads could turn, leading lips to ruin.
They stopped touching at all, for a while, and became used to distance.
Slowly the moments of contact started to seep back in. Time was added to the equation, making it possible to reach out every once in a while.
And maybe, much later, they would find a balance. Maybe their numbers would match, settle, stabilize. Maybe they would no longer think about the seconds, or the people around them, or how the other might take it.
Or maybe they would overbalance, caught in a moment, see some variable they'd missed and scrap the whole thing, letting the pieces of the formula shatter and slide across their skin as they clung to each other. Maybe they would feel as if instead of fighting to push away, they'd been fighting to keep ahold of something this whole time.
*_*_*_*_*
For
cminor131 Guitar, But it can't involve any major character playing a guitar. And it especially can't have Sam pining in a corner marveling over Jack's amazing singing voice as he ministers in song to offworld orphans. Cause that would suck.It was telling that none of the team was really obsessed with music. The closest they got was Carter's off-hand humming whenever she was happy about something (which meant the rest of them heard it most often when she was getting at a piece of technology, stripping it down or putting it back together after figuring it out).
So it was a surprise to them when they learned that SG-19 routinely took along a guitar on their off-world missions.
It made sense; they were the unofficial cultural exchange team, responsible for maintaining relations on planets where other SG teams just didn't have the time to get to all the relevant details.
Peoples that needed to be won over.
Slowly.
This time, they were coming along with SG-1 because they'd been warned in advance that this culture revered music.
"Lieutenant Astor is an accomplished musician," Hammond said, "And the rest of Colonel Jones' team is quite adept at handling diplomatic situations."
Jack had been skeptical.
As it turned out, they would have been lost without SG-19. The two teams were greeted with thin hospitality, and Jack had already started to think that maybe they should just turn right around. But as soon as the guitar came out, the young lieutenant in charge of it had his hands full explaining how it worked at both Daniel and the linguist on SG-19 took turns fumbling through technical translations that left even Daniel's considerable skills in the dust.
Finally, the crowd around the instrument settled back down, and Astor began to play--and sing.
Jack and Sam shared amused looks at his choice of songs, popular tunes from all over the last few decades, all tending toward the sappy, but his audience ate them up, asking for translations in between.
After about the third song, Jack leaned over and said, "I have to admit, it's a lot better than my singing."
Sam smiled.
Astor played a few more songs then put the guitar away. The village leader stood, made a short speech, and Daniel came back to stand by the others as the whole company migrated to tables that had somehow been set with food.
"I think that'll do it."
At Jack's questioning look, Daniel said, "Oh, their leader said, essentially--'Any people who can make that kind of music can't be all bad.'"
He looked back and forth between Jack and Sam. "Roughly, anyway. And we're invited to their meal, so..."
Sam said, "Maybe we should bring along a guitar on all *our* missions."
Jack pulled on his cap. "Only if you're the one singing, Major."
Daniel said, "In that case, maybe we should leave the music to SG-19."
Sam glared. Teal finally chimed in. "I've been told I have an excellent singing voice."
"Great!" Jack exclaimed. "Now someone just needs to learn how to play the guitar."
*_*_*_*_*
I wrote what she didn't want, too. You can find that here:
http://holdouttrout.livejournal.com/22561.html?thread=196897#t196897
*_*_*_*_*
The
geneeste:The Honeymoon Phase:
Lasts as long as the writers of the show in question remember their canon. Fans gush over their show, proclaiming it to be leagues above the rest in writing, characterization, visuals, and eye candy. Often brought to a screeching halt in the second episode, and by the second season at the latest. (Notable exception: Farscape).
The Shipping Phase:
Well, you can guess. Usually the second longest phase, in which there is a sudden explosion of fic, mostly to correct "canonical errors." Battle lines are drawn around ships (or the lack thereof). There might be several incursions into enemy territory, as fresh blood constantly stirs up old waters.
The We-Just-Want-Good-Writers Phase:
This could alternately be a battle cry in the midst of the Shipping Phase, by a select few individuals who are enlightened past the boundaries of ship. Often heard after unsuspecting victims fall into the Pit of Voles while on a quest for more fic to feed their obsession.
The Good-Writers-Are-All-We-Have-Left Phase:
Either the more lemming-like badfic writers have left the fandom, or the more stable ones have managed to turn themselves into good writers through practice, a willingness to listen to critique, and through avoidance of severe ego-boosting in the Pit of Voles.
The Phase-That-Must-Not-Be-Named:
In this phase tired old ficcers hang out on depleted boards and reminisce about the Good Ole Days while wondering if they can get enough people interested in their show through the re-release of DVD's to spark a revival. If this, in fact, succeeds, the revival is usually temporary and quickly fades away, leaving ghost forums behind, monuments to the Bright and Shining Fandom that Was.
*_*_*_*_*
