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Saturday, March 4th, 2006 09:56 am
rabbits, pellets, fic
There was a really terrifying moment while talking to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
svmadelyn, sharing bunny stories, where it suddenly hit me--this is the entirety of my current conversational skills! I am one of those people. I have, in fact, become the crazy rabbit lady. Woman. Fangirl. Oh God, I am a rabbit fangirl.
Let's just list this out.
1.) Physically incapable of leaving a pet store without a new rabbit treat and/or toy.
2.) Angsting over vegetable combinations longer than it takes the rabbits to eat them.
3.) Obsessive house rabbit website reading.
4.) Sudden, inexplicable desire to build a small rabbit mansion out of Home Depot items. Like, say, wood. And nails. And hinges.
For those who don't get the absolute terror of this--many have read of me and dissecting the TV, the butterknife and the VCR, and the way I managed to install a DVD writer into Brian. Do any of you really, really think seeming me with a hammer can end any other way than with an ER visit and a cast?
Right.
The biggest issue is the food. Pellets! Evil! Pellets! Good! Lettuce! Evil! Lettuce! Good! Clover! Poison! Clover! Delicious! Never feed your rabbit bananas! Only buy hay from stables! YOU ARE KILLING YOUR FURRY FRIEND YOU ANTI-RABBIT WHORE.
Okay, they didn't say that, but by God, they implied. So I took them off pellets, then read at the official houserabbit website that they should have unlimited supplies and panicked, then there was alfalfa angst, and romaine-lettuce salads only, and frankly, the rabbits eat better than I do. I'm also picking up a wide collection of bunny claw scars, one of which is showing a case of mild infection. First vet appointment for Reggie the Netherlands Dwarf (I want to say Neanderthal *so much*), Bryante the Holland Lop, and Sloppy the Holland Lop (renamed by Sister Who Technically Owns But I Care For) are at teh end of the month. I am not looking forward to this in an epic way, but I do have a rabbit magazine (first joke gets you stepped on, I swear) and have highlighted relevant chapters to discuss.
And the less said about Bryante's hind leg nail clipping the better. Seriously. I'm hyperventilating over my rabbit's pain and terror while my mother stares at me blankly while trying to trance him and asking me if I need medical intervention. The paper bag did nicely.
And so half my flist doesn't defriend me into disgust--you advertised as fannish and now you are Twenty-Four Seven Rabbit!--a snippet from Teacher's Pet 8, still in production on my hard drive. And by production, I mean, it's sitting there, mocking me. This was originally written forsvmadelyn, and--yeah, I'm not even going to try to commentary on this one. I'll just--be over here.
I can honestly state, however, that when I started? This is not where I ever expected to be.
John's still sleeping when Rodney gets back to his quarters, passed out on the cot that matches the ones in Teyla's and Ronon's rooms. Since the last mission, John hasn't been out of sight of any of the team for a second, and if that means none of them sleep well when John sleeps badly, so be it. That's what coffee was invented for.
He's rolled up in his blankets like a small burrito, a tuft of messy dark hair the only part of him visible, not having moved since Rodney left. Glancing at the clock, Rodney thinks about his laptop and new simulations, but he goes straight to his bed, taking just enough time to change into sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, aware that the scent of gun oil will follow him into sleep again tonight, like it does every night, reminding him of the shot he missed and won't ever miss again.
John shifts on his cot, and Rodney raises himself on an elbow, watching John push free of the sheets with one hand, languid and frantic at the same time. Rodney wonders what he's dreaming.
Sometimes, he remembers, and sometimes, he doesn't. John doesn't know that the night before, he'd relived the death of two scientists on a deserted planet; Rodney's blurred memories of sand and fear and the willingness to trade Gaul for Sheppard, even when he hadn't known that was what he wanted to do.
Rodney remembers waking up to John twisting, skin slick with cold sweat, mouth curved in a tight, bitter line as Rodney sat by the bed, stoking the damp dark hair, whispering meaningless reassurance until John sighed and stilled, cheek turning into Rodney's touch before falling into deep sleep, safe from dreams.
John settles with a sigh, though, and Rodney lays back, staring up at the ceiling, and listens to the steady breathing half a room away as John falls back into sleep.
*****
He wakes to the sheet being pulled stealthily away, cool Atlantis air against night-warm skin, and he just barely finds it in him to wonder when a small body insinuates itself onto the bed beside him.
And since Katie hasn't spoken to him since he forgot her again-- "John?"
"Sorry," John says, sounding thick and exhausted. Rolling over, Rodney takes in John, still mummified in his own sheets, trying to pull the blanket back over him. "I just--" In the faint Atlantis light, the hazel eyes are ringed in purple, pupils blown wide and afraid, and even from here, Rodney can feel the trembling, see the sweat-slick skin of John's forehead and cheeks. "Sorry, I--"
"Don't be sorry," Rodney says roughly, because John doesn't take sympathy well and there's no point in making it worse. "Try not to hog the covers."
John relaxes, and Rodney pulls up the blanket around them, thinking irony so isn't his friend right now. "Okay." His voice is almost inaudible, even in the silence. "Thanks."
Rodney shifts over more, trying to give John some space. The beds on Atlantis are ridiculously narrow, though, and every movement just slides John closer until he's pressed against Rodney's side, and a hand comes out to anchor himself, wrapping in the hem of Rodney's t-shirt, face pressing into his shoulder with a tiny, sleepy sigh. After a few long seconds, John's a mostly comfortable ball of prepubescent boy, taking far too much space for someone not yet five feet tall and less than ninety pounds.
"Why don't I remember when I'm awake?" John whispers into the dark, the only place that he can probably ask that, here, and God, does Teyla deal with this? Does Ronon? Licking his lips, Rodney shuts his eyes for a second, imagining it's almost six months ago and turning down that priestess, going back to his team and going home. But no, he hadn't, and he'd come back to an eight year old going on thirty-something, fragile and stubborn and terribly, terribly vulnerable in a way Sheppard's never been before.
"What happened--" Rodney starts, then stops. They'd had the talk, and they'd had the questions, but how the hell did an eight year old comprehend being an adult once upon a time and now not? "I don't know."
John's breath is too fast and too sharp; keeping back tears or anger, Rodney's not sure, isn't sure he even wants to know. "I don't understand," John whispers, and Rodney finally pushes John over, rolling onto his side to look at him, the pale smudge of his face, staring up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and more alone than anyone Rodney has ever seen. "I--I don't want to. To know. I don't want to know any more."
Reaching out, Rodney rubs a thumb under John's eye, finger coming away wet. "John--"
"I kill people, I--the Wraith--" He shudders all over, teeth clenching together. "I don't like him, I don't want to *be him*--"
"John--"
"I don't want that!"
Calm, stay calm, God, how does Teyla deal with this? Looking down at John, watching the way his mouth goes tight and thin, fingers picking at the edge of the blanket, he suddenly wonders if John does this with anyone else. "What does Teyla say?"
His eyes flicker away, and Rodney has his answer, weird and inexplicable though it may be. John goes to Teyla and Elizabeth for scraped knees and bruised chins, cuddling and warm laps, Ronon and Lorne for playtime and weapons and the things that made John Sheppard the Colonel, but he comes to Rodney for this, whatever this is.
And he wants to ask, why and how and what the hell, but John's a terrified eight year old child and wouldn't know the answer anyway, even if Rodney could figure out a way to ask the question. When he touches John's hair, though, John turns into it, and Rodney reads everything in the way John's eyes flicker closed, sighing into the pillow and curling closer, soft and warm. This is safety, and comfort, and the place John trusts when he can't even trust his own mind.
God, it makes him want to pack John up somewhere safe, here, never let him out again to be bruised and scraped, hardened and cut to pieces and put back together again. He wants John to sleep like this, peaceful and quiet and the too-old lines to be erased, take away the memories that John can live without; a Wraith Queen, the death of a commanding officer by his own hand, the people he's watched die and break and betray him. The Pegasus galaxy and how it's rebuilt them all, the past before Antarctica that Rodney thinks John might trade anything to forget. Just keep him safe.
Christ, give him one night that belongs to him and not his past.
"You're extraordinary," Rodney whispers when John moves closer, hair brushing Rodney's chin, and he can almost see Teyla's disapproval and doesn't even care. "When you grow up, you're going to be amazing."
John twitches, just a little. "I--"
"Amazing," Rodney says firmly, breathing in the scent of clean child and night sweat, overriding the smells of gun oil and the metal of the armory levels down. "When you remember, I want you to remember that."
The fingers in his shirt twist tight for a moment, then loosen a little, and Rodney listens as John's breathing evens out, slow and deep as he falls into sleep, finally, quiet and heavy and deep, and please God, please Atlantis, please whoever the fuck watches over children and idiots, no more dreams. Not tonight.
svmadelyn, sharing bunny stories, where it suddenly hit me--this is the entirety of my current conversational skills! I am one of those people. I have, in fact, become the crazy rabbit lady. Woman. Fangirl. Oh God, I am a rabbit fangirl.Let's just list this out.
1.) Physically incapable of leaving a pet store without a new rabbit treat and/or toy.
2.) Angsting over vegetable combinations longer than it takes the rabbits to eat them.
3.) Obsessive house rabbit website reading.
4.) Sudden, inexplicable desire to build a small rabbit mansion out of Home Depot items. Like, say, wood. And nails. And hinges.
For those who don't get the absolute terror of this--many have read of me and dissecting the TV, the butterknife and the VCR, and the way I managed to install a DVD writer into Brian. Do any of you really, really think seeming me with a hammer can end any other way than with an ER visit and a cast?
Right.
The biggest issue is the food. Pellets! Evil! Pellets! Good! Lettuce! Evil! Lettuce! Good! Clover! Poison! Clover! Delicious! Never feed your rabbit bananas! Only buy hay from stables! YOU ARE KILLING YOUR FURRY FRIEND YOU ANTI-RABBIT WHORE.
Okay, they didn't say that, but by God, they implied. So I took them off pellets, then read at the official houserabbit website that they should have unlimited supplies and panicked, then there was alfalfa angst, and romaine-lettuce salads only, and frankly, the rabbits eat better than I do. I'm also picking up a wide collection of bunny claw scars, one of which is showing a case of mild infection. First vet appointment for Reggie the Netherlands Dwarf (I want to say Neanderthal *so much*), Bryante the Holland Lop, and Sloppy the Holland Lop (renamed by Sister Who Technically Owns But I Care For) are at teh end of the month. I am not looking forward to this in an epic way, but I do have a rabbit magazine (first joke gets you stepped on, I swear) and have highlighted relevant chapters to discuss.
And the less said about Bryante's hind leg nail clipping the better. Seriously. I'm hyperventilating over my rabbit's pain and terror while my mother stares at me blankly while trying to trance him and asking me if I need medical intervention. The paper bag did nicely.
And so half my flist doesn't defriend me into disgust--you advertised as fannish and now you are Twenty-Four Seven Rabbit!--a snippet from Teacher's Pet 8, still in production on my hard drive. And by production, I mean, it's sitting there, mocking me. This was originally written for
svmadelyn, and--yeah, I'm not even going to try to commentary on this one. I'll just--be over here.I can honestly state, however, that when I started? This is not where I ever expected to be.
John's still sleeping when Rodney gets back to his quarters, passed out on the cot that matches the ones in Teyla's and Ronon's rooms. Since the last mission, John hasn't been out of sight of any of the team for a second, and if that means none of them sleep well when John sleeps badly, so be it. That's what coffee was invented for.
He's rolled up in his blankets like a small burrito, a tuft of messy dark hair the only part of him visible, not having moved since Rodney left. Glancing at the clock, Rodney thinks about his laptop and new simulations, but he goes straight to his bed, taking just enough time to change into sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, aware that the scent of gun oil will follow him into sleep again tonight, like it does every night, reminding him of the shot he missed and won't ever miss again.
John shifts on his cot, and Rodney raises himself on an elbow, watching John push free of the sheets with one hand, languid and frantic at the same time. Rodney wonders what he's dreaming.
Sometimes, he remembers, and sometimes, he doesn't. John doesn't know that the night before, he'd relived the death of two scientists on a deserted planet; Rodney's blurred memories of sand and fear and the willingness to trade Gaul for Sheppard, even when he hadn't known that was what he wanted to do.
Rodney remembers waking up to John twisting, skin slick with cold sweat, mouth curved in a tight, bitter line as Rodney sat by the bed, stoking the damp dark hair, whispering meaningless reassurance until John sighed and stilled, cheek turning into Rodney's touch before falling into deep sleep, safe from dreams.
John settles with a sigh, though, and Rodney lays back, staring up at the ceiling, and listens to the steady breathing half a room away as John falls back into sleep.
*****
He wakes to the sheet being pulled stealthily away, cool Atlantis air against night-warm skin, and he just barely finds it in him to wonder when a small body insinuates itself onto the bed beside him.
And since Katie hasn't spoken to him since he forgot her again-- "John?"
"Sorry," John says, sounding thick and exhausted. Rolling over, Rodney takes in John, still mummified in his own sheets, trying to pull the blanket back over him. "I just--" In the faint Atlantis light, the hazel eyes are ringed in purple, pupils blown wide and afraid, and even from here, Rodney can feel the trembling, see the sweat-slick skin of John's forehead and cheeks. "Sorry, I--"
"Don't be sorry," Rodney says roughly, because John doesn't take sympathy well and there's no point in making it worse. "Try not to hog the covers."
John relaxes, and Rodney pulls up the blanket around them, thinking irony so isn't his friend right now. "Okay." His voice is almost inaudible, even in the silence. "Thanks."
Rodney shifts over more, trying to give John some space. The beds on Atlantis are ridiculously narrow, though, and every movement just slides John closer until he's pressed against Rodney's side, and a hand comes out to anchor himself, wrapping in the hem of Rodney's t-shirt, face pressing into his shoulder with a tiny, sleepy sigh. After a few long seconds, John's a mostly comfortable ball of prepubescent boy, taking far too much space for someone not yet five feet tall and less than ninety pounds.
"Why don't I remember when I'm awake?" John whispers into the dark, the only place that he can probably ask that, here, and God, does Teyla deal with this? Does Ronon? Licking his lips, Rodney shuts his eyes for a second, imagining it's almost six months ago and turning down that priestess, going back to his team and going home. But no, he hadn't, and he'd come back to an eight year old going on thirty-something, fragile and stubborn and terribly, terribly vulnerable in a way Sheppard's never been before.
"What happened--" Rodney starts, then stops. They'd had the talk, and they'd had the questions, but how the hell did an eight year old comprehend being an adult once upon a time and now not? "I don't know."
John's breath is too fast and too sharp; keeping back tears or anger, Rodney's not sure, isn't sure he even wants to know. "I don't understand," John whispers, and Rodney finally pushes John over, rolling onto his side to look at him, the pale smudge of his face, staring up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and more alone than anyone Rodney has ever seen. "I--I don't want to. To know. I don't want to know any more."
Reaching out, Rodney rubs a thumb under John's eye, finger coming away wet. "John--"
"I kill people, I--the Wraith--" He shudders all over, teeth clenching together. "I don't like him, I don't want to *be him*--"
"John--"
"I don't want that!"
Calm, stay calm, God, how does Teyla deal with this? Looking down at John, watching the way his mouth goes tight and thin, fingers picking at the edge of the blanket, he suddenly wonders if John does this with anyone else. "What does Teyla say?"
His eyes flicker away, and Rodney has his answer, weird and inexplicable though it may be. John goes to Teyla and Elizabeth for scraped knees and bruised chins, cuddling and warm laps, Ronon and Lorne for playtime and weapons and the things that made John Sheppard the Colonel, but he comes to Rodney for this, whatever this is.
And he wants to ask, why and how and what the hell, but John's a terrified eight year old child and wouldn't know the answer anyway, even if Rodney could figure out a way to ask the question. When he touches John's hair, though, John turns into it, and Rodney reads everything in the way John's eyes flicker closed, sighing into the pillow and curling closer, soft and warm. This is safety, and comfort, and the place John trusts when he can't even trust his own mind.
God, it makes him want to pack John up somewhere safe, here, never let him out again to be bruised and scraped, hardened and cut to pieces and put back together again. He wants John to sleep like this, peaceful and quiet and the too-old lines to be erased, take away the memories that John can live without; a Wraith Queen, the death of a commanding officer by his own hand, the people he's watched die and break and betray him. The Pegasus galaxy and how it's rebuilt them all, the past before Antarctica that Rodney thinks John might trade anything to forget. Just keep him safe.
Christ, give him one night that belongs to him and not his past.
"You're extraordinary," Rodney whispers when John moves closer, hair brushing Rodney's chin, and he can almost see Teyla's disapproval and doesn't even care. "When you grow up, you're going to be amazing."
John twitches, just a little. "I--"
"Amazing," Rodney says firmly, breathing in the scent of clean child and night sweat, overriding the smells of gun oil and the metal of the armory levels down. "When you remember, I want you to remember that."
The fingers in his shirt twist tight for a moment, then loosen a little, and Rodney listens as John's breathing evens out, slow and deep as he falls into sleep, finally, quiet and heavy and deep, and please God, please Atlantis, please whoever the fuck watches over children and idiots, no more dreams. Not tonight.
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From:Ooh, you've given us a little bit of a preview - thanks for this. The end is near, I sense... John is going to have the talk and he is scared and doesn't want to know about his other self. I love it that he turns to Rodney for comfort because maybe it reflects that the trust or perhaps comfort that adult John finds in Rodney.
KidJohn is adorable... vulnerable, messy haired, precocious and sweet. Even better, he loves Rodney.
I really can't wait to see how much the adult will retain and how much it will change his perspectives and attitude/interactions with his friends.
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From:About Teacher's Pet, I personally think that's a great section, and probably enough for you to pass the baton back to Mads. *eeeeevil laugh*
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From:Ha. Madelyn and I are sort of working tandem on the next two, sort of, since they follow each other fairly closely. She swore she wouldn't write another one. Then she decided to. Life? Good. I just want to see what she comes up with. She *hints*.
Thanks!
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From:Seriously, just take it. TAKE MY HEART!! DO WITH IT AS YOU WILL!! It's not like you and Mad aren't PLAYING IT LIKE A GODDAMN VIOLIN anyway!!!!
Dude, it's the hair stroking that gets me. Sweaty boy hair stroking. *makes keening noises*
LOVE!
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From:Thanks!
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From:You made my heart burst into wee pieces with that bit of Teacher's Pet. *loves*
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From:Thank you, sweetie!
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From:made me giggle.
Oh God, I am a rabbit fangirl.
can I not be a loser if I think that's cute? anyway, there are spider fangirls out there. spiders=origin of all suffering. rabbits=bitey and snarky and fuzzy. you own Rodney in his most basic form!
and ngh! li'l John is awesome and I worship this series. boy!Sheppard!
oh, and I think your fic is converting me to Smallville. ...yay. =)
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From:And thank you! And for SV--huh, really? *grins hugely* SV is like really crappy heroin. Addictive. Very, very addictive.
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From:*hugs both boys*
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From:Thanks!
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From:Teacher's Pet snippet = awwwwww.
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From:And thanks!
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From:*g* wonderful little snippet. *pets John*
I happen to be a bunny mom myself; Happy just recently turned 7. She's what the house rabbit shelter refered to as "socially retarded" and thus was almost impossible to bond with another bunny - you've been lucky with all of yours, they get vicious. I mean, they try to eviscerate each other over territories - though she did have a big lop friend who hardly moved, so she tolerated him. He was elderly when I adopted him, though, and passed on about two years ago.
Anyway, I was fanatical about getting everything perfect at first. Now I'm much more relaxed :) If you haven't discovered it yet, Oxbow Hay (http://www.oxbowhay.com/link.sp?page=products) is the best place for rabbit food and hay - Western Timothy Hay and Bunny Basics T is the best for adult rabbits who are altered.
And the veggies. There are different schools of thought over how much is too much. Happy is a mini-rex/dwarf mix, so she's pretty small, but I give her a huge pile of veggies each night. usually 3 kinds of lettuces - no iceburg, of course - and a 1/2 a carrot. Just stay away from root veggies and anything with too much calcium. I give her Kale every once and a while, because she loves it, but it is high is calcium, so not very much. I've found that Happy loves: red leaf lettuce, romaine, red leaf romaine, green leaf, kale, endive/chicory, brocolli rabe/rapini, dandelion leaves, cilantro.
Treats are mainly bad. Occasionally I'll give her something, but anything high in sugar should be avoided. I like those dried apple slices they sell, since it's all natural. Yogurt drops are the devil.
The one thing that surprised me the most is the teeth. Not malocusion, but these nasty little things called "spurs" they get on their molars. It's really common, and has nothing to do with misaligned teeth. Happy has to go to the vet every four months to get put under and have them filed down. Make sure your vet is an excellent bunny dentist!
And she's a goat, too. Anything left on the floor will be in her mouth. She now has her own room with the molding covered in planks of wood, because she totally destroyed my last apt *g* Wouldn't change her for anything, though.
Er, yes. Sorry this is so rambling, I just can't help myself when bunnys are involved - it's some sort of bunny owner condition I think *g* Wish you and your buns well :)
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From:*marks down foods*
Hmm. I have--lessee, the altered diet as stands is unlimited Timothy hay and alfalfa at eighty-twenty proportions, two handfuls of parsley, two of lettuce, and one carrot cut into thirds for three bunnies, morning and evening. Also, one half of a banana cut into thirds, one of those thirds for each. And refills on the pellets constantly.
I'm thinking of adding the cilantro next time around and vary their diet every month or so to give them the full range of interesting vegetables so they don't get bored. Oh, and I got celery, they start that tonight, one half stalk split into thirds. But yeah--broccoli is coming up next, and I'm still reading up on some other intersting food combinations so I can have a set list to vary every month for them so they don't get bored with their food. They're luckily not picky eaters, and God, they get along well. I think part of it is that the two lops were togehter when I got them, and Reggie's weirdly independent. Next up--after fixing, litter training. This shall be an experience.
Rabbits are *unique*. It's so--I never knew they were so intense and so utterly *themselves*. It's amazing. And feel free to ramble! Rabbit rambling is *good*.
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From:There is snake fear. I had some bad moments at PetCo with the kingsnakes. That--yeah. No. Luckily, it's huge so it's easy to run, run, run for my life.
*grins*
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From:Re delicate body--yes! Rabbits have insanely complex digestive functions, which you wouldn't think, but there you have it. What do you use for bedding with your rats? *curious* I use aspen bedding because it's biodegradable and they can chew it if they want to, but that's wood or recycled paper based.
And oh God, power cords. *facepalm* Like tiny junkies for them. I totally do not get it. *grins*
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From:But, pets! OMG, pet-obsession I know full well *g*. I'm following your rabbit and reptile saga with wrapt attention.
Me, I just got a new dog, 18 months old, rescue case, cross Pug. Like you, I am reading so many contradictory care guides that I just want to throw up my hands in despair. Go with your guts, I reckon, when you come across stuff that doesn't make sense.
I was horrified today, when my online-grocery shopping was delivered, because they were out of stock of Steak and Kidney. Don't they know I have to feed body organs to my dog??!? What am I going to do now? Dammit, I have to get off my arse and walk down to the local butcher *g*. The bastards.
I gave the dog an extra Schmackos in recompense. It's probably loaded with crack.
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From:Also? Bunnies are always good.
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From:A few folks over on
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From:Secondly:
Christ, give him one night that belongs to him and not his past.
This broke me. Broken, I tell you. Ka-say. Yeee-owch. And yet I want whatever more you'll give me.
::awaits::
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From:and look at what happened to me...::points at icon::
then again, I'm not unhappy this way...
Regarding this Teachers Pet portion: awww! and poor John! poor Rodney and the rest of his friends for having to watch him go through it...
I wonder how this experience of having been a child will affect Adult!John's personality, and I look forward to seeing you portray that....
wags, springwoof
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From:Good luck. Three's a charm. ;-)
2) At first it was cute, now it is so much more. And I hope so much, so very, very much that we get a chapter, a snippet with adult John and Rodney after the things settle back to 'usual'.
Thank you for this update.
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From:*admiring* I learn a little from you every day, you know.
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From:I love this series and grab for every new installment. Like everyone else, I can't wait to see how this very different childhood changes the adult John. And I love the way it is changing Rodney as well. Thanks for the snippet!
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From:The rabbits are out for your mind. I'm convinced.
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