sgafic: the new order sucks

The New Order Sucks, Or, Five Reasons Why Rodney's Not Moving On Very Fast
by jenn (jenn@thegateway.net)
Codes: McKay, McKay/Sheppard, Carter, O'Neill, AU, pre-Atlantis
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none specific, Rising if you squint and check through a quantum mirror
Summary: Five semi-related scenes from a life. This is what Rodney left behind.
Author Notes: Lethal schmoop. I'm so serious here. *Melodramatic* schmoop at that, since it's been a while and well, I can. This is like me on a string of romance novels and LKBVs. And sugar. And caffeine. And *chocolate*.

It could be considered the prequel to The Stranger's Always You and succeeding snippets. And by considered to be, I mean, it really is. Tag for Strangerverse is here.

Thanks to svmadelyn and celli for going over this and nodding appropriately when I explained my inner melodramatist had taken control, offering suggestions and making corrections and adding lines. rageprufrock for one section she double checked for me, since I was worried.

Special thanks to aurora_84 and catmoran for the specific request that started--well, a hell of a lot shorter than this. I'll try the others soon. I just didn't see this one--well, growing.

( the new order sucks )

late afternoon on the ranch

Park

Sometimes, I think, when I was around eight? I think to myself, like this, and sometimes out loud, 'Self, when you were eight? Did you ever see yourself on your hand and knees with a bottle of bleach cleansing spray, a washcloth, a vacuum, a stack of newspapers, a new bag of hay, and a bitter, bitter smile?'

Self answers in the negative. And you might ask yourself, what do these things have in common? They are How To Clean an Epically Messy Rabbit Condo from Hell, Unabridged Version AKA Revenge of the Rabbits for Leaving Them With My Sister While Wandering Off to Chicago.

I spot cleaned most of this week, just not having the energy to tackle the full horror, but I sat down to finally put that thing to rights and be less of a health-hazard and--oh my God, it was even *worse*. I just can't figure out how they did it. It's like--I mean, they don't have opposable thumbs. I just--no. Let's not go there. Anyway, started with Mr. Waffles Who Sprays Me in teh penthouse, cleaned and bleached, worked my way down. I shut down the ground floor--the entire structure is not the most--sound anyway, and closing it off both restricts them from making a huge mess out of th hardest to clean area, but also has the added value of stabilizing the entire cage amazingly. when my sister returns my camera, I'll take pictures, but honestly, it looks just like before, jsut the bottom opening is closed.

After laying down several more layers of newspaper, I decided that what the rabbits need is a shelf, so built that inside, but I'm thinking this entire design is the wrong idea. I'm just not sure what I can put up that will work as well and won't take up more space, which I just don't have. I could build another layer upward, but the damn thing already comes up to my collarbone, and no one wants to hear sad reports of my untimely death due to falling while petting my rabbits. I mean, I know two people who would? But I feel no need to oblige them.

So basically, I have my rabbits back in habitable housing and I still haven't unpacked--I unpack the old fashioned way, by rooting around for things I need and eventually teh suitcase comes clean. You'd think it'd be easier just to unpack? And you'd be right. Sad, that.

Shift

I'm having one of those days where I feel like being very spiteful. I'm pretty sure three quarters of this originates from the fact I sat outside spraying down my rabbits' litter boxes and being up my wrist in rabbit droppings and a--really, I really don't need to relive this.

But yes. Spite. I'm in that place. Or at least low key sarcasm. Maybe not so low key. Maybe blatant.

Drive

And to close.

About five or six years ago, my grandfather was mayor pro-tem of a ridiculously small town in a forgettable part of Texas. He and my grandmother were friends with everyone, belonged to the Church, the various smalltown organizations, the heritage society, the blah blah socialcakes. They were liked. Then during his short time as pro-tem mayor, my grandfather and grandmother were reviled and mutters of outsiders were made, and their social activities in the small town were curtailed sharply. It didn't matter what they did--it mattered who they were, or the position my grandfather held. Short version, they eventually moved and other stuff occurred and they went on with their lives and never spoke of this again. They eventually moved back and started up where they left off. It was surprisingly easy, I think. Or so I have heard.

I think they forgave and forgot. Weirdly, I didn't.

romance

Took a short break from a beta and am currently in tears over...I can't believe I'm actually typing this out, but here we go...a Pride and Prejudice vid. No, I'm not kidding. (Keira Knightley version) And I'm wiping my nose and shaking my fist at the screen and saying things like, "God, Darcy, you love her." There's this entire hand holding sequence? Where he's handing her up into the coach? And they slow down the action. And I'm drooling. And the other one? Has him walking away from that moment and flex his hand. My God.

And seriously, that's just--well, come to think, it's very me. I have this horrible suspicion I'll be pulling out the ultra romantic, ultra OOC Queer As Folk fic I still have saved on my hard-drive--and I gotta tell you, no slash fandom did extreme OOC romance like QaF; there was no shame. It was saccharine-rich, sugary-castle goodness all the way through. You came out of it diabetic and craving deathfic like there was no tomorrow? But while it lasted--whoo and hoo, the rush.

I have my A&E P&P DVDs somewhere here. I may need a course of watching the pining. Darcy was the best piner ever.

You know. I'm far more comfortable talking about fic that broke my heart or creeped me out or made me hate a character enough to feed them a metaphorical lemon or the character-equivalent thereof? I'm so much less comfortable with straight romance. I don't even feel perfectly comfortable writing it unless there's a traumatic background or something twisty inside. Why *is* that? I don't actually hold to the entire darkfic has a higher value or deathfic is more meaningful or blah blah blah, must be serious and say something about the human condition--I have been known to run many miles if someone threatens me with a story with some sort of obscure lesson in it. I read freaking Georgette Heyer and Amanda Quick when I need a fix. There are times I dno't even care if it's perfectly IC. I just need my fix, and if I can't get Godiva, I'll take Dove, and if I can't get Dove, there are M&Ms somewhere in some backpack somewhere. Hmm. Pretend I didn't say that last bit.

Okay. Getting back to beta. I think on my next break, I'll get the last brownie and start going through my folders. I have to have something appropriate for this particular craving.