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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation

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amireal et al and meme
We're just goign to up and call this amireal day. Two stories, both rib-breakingly funny.

Coping Mechanisms, a fantastic AUish departure from post-Duet. It starts with a bang, which always pleases, and it carries on with fantastic humor. I think my favorite part of Amireal is she *does* have a sense of humor and it shows through in all her fic. She totally knows how to make me giggle in a serious story in all the right ways. Nicely long--really, she's becoming a favorite, it's like I'm guaranteed at least an hour of immersion. I'm easy like that.


Where Did All the Physics Go?, which is one of those times I'm calling down a Required Reading Moment, because pretty much everyone needs to read this. It's a crossover, and I rarely like crossovers, and it's an *insane* crossover that doesn't work at all, but it just *does*, and Sheppard's ears have their own character moment, so not kidding. I'm not spoiling this--I read it completely without a clue what ti was crossing over and just--wow. It's *hysterical*, it's smart, it's funny, and oh my *God*, that was a blast.

No, seriously. It's *that good*.

I've been pretty steadily trying to think of updating my recs page, and I brought it up to semi-current, give or take about thirty storis that I couldn't find. So now that I'm no longer twitching over how many stories I've missed, I'll start actually telling people when I update.

Anyway, rec page, current enough for now, added about fifty-six stories to SGA, one Brother's Grimm. I'm pretty short on recs of *why*, but just take it for granted that these are ones I really, really loved, or really, really re-read a lot.


Last night talking to girlinthetrilby about a proposed expedition in Vancouver, she commented that she didn't get that I could almost memorize fanfic stories and not remember conversations. Which is probably pretty true. I remember maybe ten percent of what's said or texted to me in any meaningful way. I can, however, identify by plotline about three quarters of readable fic posted in SV before 2003 and my working memory of SGA is running at about seventy percent. It's kind of weird now that she said that, because I've always taken for granted I have a bad memory, but I've never had a problem with ultra complex stories and remembering them, or being able to organize them in my head by plotline and *remember* them. It's got to be some kind of weird associative memory thing going on. I'm just wondering how it's associated exactly, and why.

Oh yes, it was a long, boring day at work. I had way too much tiem to think.

Okay, that meme, finally.

Gakked from rageprufrock:

Ask me what happens after the end of any of my stories. (Or tell me what you think.)

The only ones I won't answer are the ones I'm actually currently working on, and only then because I'm scared I'll get a fit of nervousness and erase the whole thing.

I'm thinking that this meme has passed enough people now that it won't be very noticed here. *grins* I like doing my memes when they are Very, Very Old News.

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OMG *passes out*


Also, your rec page link is wrong, it's got a slash instead of a dot before html.






*grins* I just--that was--the *crossover*. It *should not have worked*. But it did. It just--did.

That's a *hell* of a thing.


Is it wrong to ask you to add the question mark back into the title of "Where Did all the Physics Go?"

Some of the best recs ever. Thank you! *now feels bad at her crappy fb*

Thanks again!

*grins* And fixed, chica. Anythign else?

*fingers at the ready*


No, we're good for now. You may rest. :)

Three Impossible Things! A Life More Ordinary! How's life at the penthouse? Weirdly, the question applies to both of the stories.


Three Impossible Things:

Clark is moved in. Chloe comes to visit and hang out, which is not comfortalbe for anyone. Later, Clark discovers Lex wants a child, but Lex never tells him that. Clark's not sure he can handle that, but he knows Lex wants it, so--there's like, an entire almost-story for this one, with drama. Eventually, there's a child and a nanny and happy ever after. *grins*


You can read it here. It's very unfinished, and I swear, ,I might ahve posted this before, so if I have? That's it.

Ee! *covers eyes* *peeks* *pets Clark*

Thank you for answering. I enjoy having a peek into life after 3IT. I just can't believe that Clark had suggested what he had suggested.

Ask me what happens after the end of any of my stories. (Or tell me what you think.)

That's a tough choice, but I think I'll have to go with asking what happens after the end of "Instructional".


John and Rodney go flying. I like to think that Rodney accidentally flies into a planet, trapping them there for *days* since a mysterious radio probelm and some kind of graviton particles make it so Atlantis can't contact them. Eventually, they have sex.

Alternately, Lorne chases down Sheppard and they bond over various equiptment and then Lorne gives him an apologetic blowjob. Either scenario works.

Thanks! That's good fun either way.

Oooh. Umm... I'll pick "Something More," please!

Give me a sec. I need to mull it.

What happens after Puerto Vallarta??

(Actually I'm hoping you're still working on this one. :))

."So," Rodney says, trying not to swallow when he stares at the nightmare in front of them, in all its rusty, made in the *nineteenth century* glory. "Let's walk."


"Seriously. It's good exercise." And walking the entirety of central America doesn't sound so bad. "That can't possibly fly." It breaks the laws of god, man, and thermodynamics. "We're going to die."

John's hand brushes the small of his back on his way to what appears to be a plane. A very, very old and very, very rusted, and no-way-are-they-stepping-foot-in-that plane. "It's airworthy. She's just a little battered. Aren't you, sweetheart?" And he sounds like he does when Rodney's going down on him, but to a *plane*. One hand runs affectionately over her, not unlike the way he touches Rodney.

This does not make Rodney like her--it!--more. "We're not flying in that."

John turns enough to give him a bright smile. Like those work. Which they do. Except for now. "It'll be fine. What did you expect, a Boeing? Relax." John walks the length of the body, and Rodney swears he's crooning at the thing.

My God. "You're scaring me."

John glances back over his shoulder and smirks, then ducks under a wing, catching up with Lorne, who seems almost as entranced as John is. It's got to be a military thing. Or maybe a pilot thing.

Rodney pulls out a tortilla and looked around the airfield again, the tiny, dilapidated hangar, the cracked pavement and huge, waving trees beneath a dangerously bright sun. A airfield, he thinks, that would not be out of place running, say, drugs, and this, this is the life he leads. Following around a competent not-assassin, avoiding capture or messy, messy death, sleeping in *cantinas*, eating not-goat, and possibly negotiating with *drug lords* (well, drug *flunkies*) for the use of their dilapidated planes and airfields.

Reaching for the bottle of water on his backpack, Rodney tries not to imagine his fiery aerial death, preferring to dwell on the very real possibility of good coffee--not the shit he's been drinking, but something in double espresso, hell, he'd take the raw *beans* at this point. South America might have a reputation for excessive numbers of drug lords, a lower standard of living, and perhaps some scary police, but they're also the home of the best coffee in the world.

God, *coffee*.

John swings back under the wing, looking happier than Rodney's ever seen him, and it only takes a second for Rodney to realize why. "Oh my God. He gave you a new gun."

"Not just any gun." Swinging it down from his shoulder, John holds it reverently in both hands, eyes soft and warm and damned if he isn't glowing. "P-90. Beautiful, isn't she?"

Rodney stares, then take a bite of tortilla. "Did you name her?"

John flushes. "…no."


This is why John should be supervised when playing with other former military boys. Next thing Rodney knows, he'll wake up and John will have bazookas and crates of grenades and God help them all, nuclear weaponry stacked around him, and then Rodney will have to exile him to the floor, which will suck for their sex life so much. "All right, that's it. No more playdates with Lorne for you."

Glancing back, Rodney spots their disturbingly well-dressed rental guy, gesturing happily as he talks to Lorne. Huh. "Question."

"Shoot," John says, and Rodney catches his face soften from the corner of his eye. The expression, disturbingly, is aimed at the gun.

"Right. Listen. Are we going to be, I don't know, *drug running* or something with this?"

John's head twists around, giving him his special reserved look of utter disbelief. "Yes. What, you didn't know my second job, you know, during my off hours, was the narcotics trade?" Rolling his eyes, he gets a none-too-gentle elbow in the ribs. "No. Jesus no. And hey, guess what? No more bad action/adventure movies for you."

"I'm just saying--"

John rolls his eyes, swinging the P-90 back up, then, under Rodney's amazed eyes, *patting it*, before reaching for Rodney's arm and pulling him along. "We're meeting Lorne back at Fortunato's later. Anything you need?" John's eyes flicker as they walk off the small private airfield, approaching the latest in John's string of cars with, what Rodney suspects are deliberately broken odometers.

"Just sleep." Rodney's lived in an cashless economy too long, characterized by online transactions, credit cards, and ATMs. He still twitches every time he sees the cash John casually tosses into their bags, because there's just something about seeing paper money that feels wrong. "Though coffee would be good. And hey, could we stay somewhere soon that actually *has* a star rating, or is the entire slumming thing really working for you?"

John's arm settles over his shoulders as they come in view of the car. "You're spoiled. Do the words low-profile mean anything to you?" But it's chased with a kiss, casual and friendly and utterly, utterly John. "And no, but I promise clean sheets and drinkable water."

John opens Rodney's door, ushering him inside, before circling the car, and it never stops being interesting, never stops fascinating Rodney--no matter how nonchalant John appears, he's always watching, even now, the hand that had been around Rodney's shoulder hovering over his gun. He made it seem natural, like a normal part of living. Putting his bag on the floorboard, Rodney pulls out the bag of remaining tortillas and does a quick count.

Sliding into the driver's seat, John reaches for the ignition. The engine stutters, refusing to turn over. It's a little jarring. "Rodney?"

"Hmm?" He only has a half a dozen tortillas left from Concepcion and part of him wants to space them out, but mostly, he's just hungry and they're extremely portable.

"Question." John's slowly leaning back, and there's an indefinable change in the air, making the hair rise on the back of Rodney's neck. "How fast can you move?"

Rodney doesn't even bother asking why. Grabbing his backpack, he clutches it to his chest, then pauses to pull a tortilla from the baggie. If he's going to die, he won't be hungry while he does it. "Fast enough."

"Count of three." John slowly reaches for the door handle. "Don't open until you jump, and keep running until you fall over, got it?"

Rodney bites off half the tortilla. "Got it." Door trigger, in case the person driving is experienced, like John. It's almost poetic. Better would be an explosion on initially opening the door, but maybe whoever it was worried that it wouldn't get them both. "Ready."

John nods, hand on the door. "One. Two. *Three*."

Later, Rodney's only stopped by the wheezing from telling John that they really need more tortillas.

*flails like the fangirl she is*

This was...interesting to say the least :)

I guess wanting to know what happens after all your stories is out of the question. :) I'm most curious about The Wasteland (it ends kinda hopeful, but I like confirmation about these things) and Handful of Dust (I know there's Calm in the House, but how's the world domination/alien overlord/branding thing work out for them in the long run?).

I know you said no wips, but are you still working on sv ones or are those dead now? If so, then The Yard, please. These are like quasi sequels. How exciting. lol


Okay, on The Wasteland: It'll be rough going for the boys. Lex will come over to have dinner occasionally with Clark and Martha, and Clark will get some flack at school for the thing with Lex. But it goes well, adn eventually, they are very happily ever after.

Dust--oh God. Seriously. Make your own apocalyptic ending up on that one. I seriously ahve no idea. IT's just--*blank*. I mean, freaking *jihad* on earth is--*shocky*. I wrote a holy war. Dearest God.

Well. They have taken over the world. Clark rules as--I can't even say thsi witha straight face--God Emperor or something. Everyone is scary and happy. Eventually, they travel space to spread his word.

See? Isn't that *disturbing*?

Yay for The Wasteland being happy! And yeah, the traveling through space and the God Emperor thing is totally cracked out, but I love it. lol. Thank you!

My God,
Best. Meme. Ever. The sheer amount of closure this one meme has offered throughout SV fandom is incredible. And the Three Impossible Things sequel you linked to made me literally bounce up and down on my chair squeeing. My roommate looked at me funny.

Only Sometimes and Looking-Glass pretty pretty please. ^_^

I tend to have one feelgood fic in everfandom I read. In Smallville that is A Life More Ordinary, so what happens?

I'd really like to ask about Somewhere I have never travelled, but I don't think I will. :) Hopefully I'll write more of that when the mood srikes you, so I'm gonna go with Sleep while I drive. What happens?

Oh good, someone else asked about A Handful of Dust, so I can ask about Jus Ad Bellum.

Sleep While I Drive. Oh, for the Love of GOD Sleep While I Drive, with the pretty and the woobie and Chloe nearly getting an ulcer from the whafuck?! as Clark tries to explain it all to her in ways that don't involve too much squee and Pete with the spazzing and Bo Kent trying to find the rifle that Martha's very very carefully hidden somewhere in a random pasture another county over and pleasepleaseplease just a few more lines of Sappy-go-Snark.

That is all.

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