Dissenter said this:

Slash: Workin' for The Man Every Night And Day

I said:

I don't buy your equation of homosocial and homosexual behavior, nor the conclusions that you draw from it. The Patriarchy regularly gags on homosexual identity - the repeated (institutionalized!) criminalization of gay behavior all over the world makes that clear. Even if you base your argument on a subconscious or subsocial link between the two, you'd have to grant the that by willfully ignoring vast swaths of negative cultural presentation on the subject, slash writers have seized (and colonized) ground that the Patriarchy labeled taboo.

In what way is that not feminist, and, indeed, radical?

Is it because slash is - as you say - so phallocentric? But why is the appropriation of male sexual identity in the service of female pleasure not - at least - an upending of the Patriarchy's dominance over the erotic sphere?

The source material itself is often witlessly misogynist - granted. And maybe there is a thread to be pursued here re: why and how slash/fanfic writers identify the source texts that interest them...

But I believe that by co-opting the male leads in a pop-culture narrative, and portraying them as sexually attracted to and pleasured by the same attributes and behaviors that attract and pleasure the (as you say) heterosexual female author - slash as a genre is tremendously (and subversively) feminist.

Also - as I may have mentioned here before: I'm pretty confident about my feminist street cred, I am consciously and enthusiastically engaging in a network of cyber-sexual relationships with other women, and yes, I also like dick.

ETA: AWESOME. She just deleted my comment.

I find the "This content is for adults!" cut-tag thing deeply creepy.

Or rather - I found it slightly bizarre and off-putting, until I went looking for an awesome SGA story in which the central conflict was built around government control and invasion of the private lives of our boys...and discovered that it was behind one of those self-censoring tags.

The fine taste of irony that flavored my subsequent reading of the story didn't ruin it (it was too good for that), but it sure did shake up my sense of the author's relationship to her text. And the more I thought about it...well - that's when I started being creeped out by a system in which we self-identify as pornographers.

I do recognize that MAYBE the intent is to give LJ a way to say - we warned you! to anyone who complains about content, AND at best it would give the owner of an individual journal the same line of defense...but I don't see how that defense is going to be any stronger then the current MPAA ratings system which is already commonly used, and which utilizes an existing cultural vocabulary.

And on the other hand...it's sure going to make targets for future purges a little easier to identify, isn't it?

Continuing along those lines, I looked around the community which searches LJ for journals, content, keywords and what have you, and THAT was WAY creepy, because of course I searched for myself immediately, and found a bunch of people I've never met quoting a snotty question I asked in an admin journal, back during Strike Through.

I am pretty careful about not writing things in LJ which connect too solidly to my real identity - but I realized that I have also been counting quite heavily on the anonymity of volume.

Back when the internets first burst into my life, the false sense of safety came from the organic cultural limitations on its use. (Circular logic at best, but - I was an un-threatening smart, geeky girl - just like the other people who were attracted to and had access to the places I frequented - so the people reading the things I wrote self-limited themselves into a sympathetic jury of my peers).

Now the net is so big that it seems that no one could ever possibly find me except by accident - so the chances of trouble coming from this journal are no greater than the daily risk I run of getting mugged on the street. Sure, it could happen - but probably not - and if it did, it would have very little to do with me as Me.

I was talking to glendaglamazon the other day, and I told her that I very much feel that LiveJournal is a big dark empty cave, and when I post things, I am scrawling on the walls, writing ideas and stories that only an imaginary audience will see. She gently suggested that if I wasn't such a freakshow, her introducing me to a number of LJ friends live and in person would have shaken that up - and she's not wrong - but my id just hasn't made the leap.

See, although as time has gone on, I have done a tiny bit of social networking here, I still mostly show up for the fic. And by fic I mean porn. Or sometimes, just discussion about porn/fic/SGA. So my sex drive is what powers my relationship to LJ, to fic, and to all you ladies (and let me tell you just how pleased Sanboy was when I meta-ed myself to the statement that I am involved in a vast, spiraling - international! - network of cyber-sexual relationships with a bunch of smart chicks. It's like all his lesbian dreams have almost come true!) And my sex drive feels private - a feeling which colors what I think about the content of this journal - even though I am not locking or guarding the content in any way. Presumably, if you find your way here, you are interested in the same kind of things that I dig - if you're not, you'll never show (or if you do pop your head in for a minute, you won't stick around long enough to matter).

Posting and public discussions of sex-stories aside...(and when I say "aside" I mean I think I will return later to wonder aloud if part of our interest in slash comes from the way it is sexy and intimate yet distanced in some way from what most of us have personally experienced - and so allows us to maintain a shield of privacy over our actual sex-lives) - I also discovered something else!

I have been working hard to remain unspoiled for this season of SGA. I'm not really sure why - I was a GIGANTIC spoiler whore when I watched the X-Files... Maybe there is something about the delighted surprise that Space Gays on Crack often inspires in me...it's like I want it to remain pure. I want to be surprised right along with John when Caldwell and Ellis tell him that all he has to do to be promoted to full-bird is shave his head.

Anyway - I didn't read some of helenish's posts earlier in the season, because her cut-tags were all "Get Your Red Hot Spoilers Here" - but one of the links on the creepy search site showed me this!

The answer to the implicit question in her post, and, indeed, the actual point of this one is:

The pre-blowjob growl came at 24:20, and the other thing came at 26:46.

So - censorship, stalking and invasion of privacy FTW! The tools of oppression have just served to enable my big gay love for John and Rodney, and my ability to share that love with others! Hooray! Now lets get back to the porn.

Let it be said and acknowledged freely: I mock where I love.

I hereby admit that I Love and often Mock my weekly dose of Space Opera (especially the often questionable writing and The Flannigan's Very Special Acting Choices.)

But this! THIS! I think it's fair to say that the SGA writers, the entire ensemble, and Joe in particular, suddenly busted out the Sekrit Stash of SKillz with ( Common Ground )

In other news...

The 129 word limit still stands on my primary computer, I am borrowing one at the moment, just to get my LJ fix.

Also - I meant to record Counterstrike as well, because I wanted to see ( slight spoiler ), but I had to work all night and messed it up.  Did anyone see it?  If so, what did you think?

So, Runners, man. What's up with them?

When I was thinking my thoughts about Sateda here, I was mostly caught in a "yum! yum!" zone.

( Delicious Treats for All )( ! )( ! )

Also! Two lovely people made me things!

The first is here. melagan made a beautiful picture of Ronon holding a baby, the way he imagines himself doing in that latest little bit of The Last Home Season.

It's beautiful! There is something about a man with a baby in his arms...hmmm. Thank you melagan!

The second is a hot! porny! story! by neery here which stemmed from this delightful conversation. Hooray! What a nice present to wake up to!

Some passing thoughts ( about Sateda )

Tomorrow, when I get home, I can't wait to feedback my feedback from yesterday, because it's VERY IMPORTANT to sort these things out re: Ronon & Rodney and the Aliens and Who's on Top. And I am very glad that you ladies have Seen the Truth about these Issues.

But right now, I would like to share with my Harem (of Ninety-plus! - What up new friends?) that I am back in Connecticut, in a hotel room, eating triscuits for dinner, BUT -

The bad hotel was sold out tonight. So I am in a NICE hotel, with a King Sized bed, and a glass of wine, and I am reading all my favorite SGA porn, on my crazy high-speed connection, and I am NOT re-reading the ridiculous SHITE that was sent to me to be my summer project.

Because in a moment like this, with a nice firm mattress just a' waitin for me, I can ignore the way that I perhaps cannot actually let my Standards get between me and a paying (high-profile) gig. Instead, I can pretend that my genius is in high demand (as It Should Be), and that there are some projects that I am just Too Good For. Goodbye, bad summer project.

After all, I can temp, and write porn for my Harem with my time. I don't need that trashy trashy gig to exercise my brain.

I got me a room in a hotel with a pool tonight. That's right. Step off, bad hotel. STEP!OFF! BAD GIG! I may be a freelancer, but I am not a whore!

Pretty soon I am going to be off in dream-land, thinking about how (while I was watching the late re-run of SGA tonight, before I did all my post-game work) Ronon took the order to torture Kavanaugh from Weir, but he looked to Sheppard for the nod before he actually went to do it.

Mmm mmm Ronon, always looking to John...

It makes me sad the way Elizabeth never gets laid though, you know?

Now it's true that I spend all my time thinking obsessively about Rodney's mouth, or sometimes John's chest (I know, weird, right? It's not his eyes or his hair or his thigh with the holster strapped across it), or, of course, about Ronon and his strong strong arms, flexing helplessly against the Knot of the Ancestors, squeezing his eyes tight shut while he thinks of Atlantis and lets another scientist take him for a ride.

But Elizabeth...

She can't sleep with any of them, can she? I mean whatever frat regs or sexual harassment guidelines actually exist...there's literally Not One Single Person on Atlantis that she can screw. They are all under her command.

So I was thinking about Elizabeth's fantasies. And I came up with a story, but I am only halfway through it, and now it is 4:19 am - so here is part one (and you should know, oh Harem, that although it fits into the ring-verse just after Sexual Healing, it cuts off just before I get to the good part, because I can't keep my eyes open any more. But I do know how it ends, so there is more to come.

In any case, for those not afraid of the incomplete I present the utterly un-proofread, NC-17 (because of a NAUGHTY word), slight spoilers for um. Up through season 2

( Personal Obligations )

And now Rodney is resisting me.

People: (and I address this to the inhabitants of Atlantis who have not just rolled over and given it up to my brain - unlike Ronon - who is a good boy and does what all the ladies tell him) - am I asking so much? All I want to do is get the story out of my head and on to the computer, so I will not think about it obsessively when I am supposed to be doing other things, like, I don't know working. Must we drag this process out? Just...just...you know...take off your clothes and get on the page. God. How hard is that?

Rodney (not unreasonably) feels that there is not enough a)porn, or b)science in his bit. So far there's just all this sociology and anthropology and manly repression. None of those things are Rodney's cup of tea.

I'm trying to bribe him by talking about how rewarding it's going to be when he realizes that Ronon keeps Throwing Him to the Ground and Protecting Him with His Body because he can't help liking the little noises Rodney makes when he's struggling to breathe against the side of Ronon's face. I keep hoping that once Rodney realizes what a very Superior thing it is to be a Ring-Eye, he will be having too much fun gloating about Sheppard's inferior green-hazel mix, to be put out about the "pretty-but-dumb" thing.

Also, I am having a hard time deciding whether Rodney would imagine himself as a top or a bottom. Most of my mental images of him and John (and they are legion) short out right around the point when they are gasping half-heard words against each other's mouths, frantically rubbing off against each other's bodies while they are scared-angry-drunk-in peril-wet or...well, wet. mmmm.

I mean, Ronon's whole societal bias towards bondage seems like it would make him a bottom, because he's used to a somewhat passive sexual role. But maybe after all these years of Struggling against what He Knows is Wrong, he will be Overcome by his Longing, and become quite grabby.

As much as I feel for John's DADT repression, I wish that Aliens would make Rodney and Ronon do it.

Rodney would be nattering on about personal space, and respecting other cultures being all very well in Theory, but in practice he likes to conduct this kind of business in private. John could be tied up to watch. And gagged, probably. Yeah, definitely gagged. And he could be looking at Ronon significantly, trying to communicate his orders with his eyes alone, and Ronon would be trying so hard to understand, but his head would be spinning a bit and he wouldn't be able to breathe quite right, and just as Rodney sort of sighs resignedly, and says something about how they better get on with it if they want the Colonel back, Ronon would have a sudden moment of utter clarity.

He isn't quite sure what John is trying to tell him - although even John's hair seems to be attempting desperately to communicate something - but he does know what his primary responsibility to the team is. So he seizes Rodney's hips, and pushes him against the altar and...

See! What happens?! I don't know! Does Rodney just let Ronon push him back against the altar and start awkwardly mouthing him through his pants? I sort of don't think so, but I can't really see the opposite happening either.

I can totally see John, whatever happens, moving his own mouth desperately against his gag...and it starts out because he is trying to shout orders, and then it turns into just a desperate need to have something against his tongue while he watches Ronon (Rodney?) do what the Aliens want.

Poor John. Poor pretty pretty John.

I watched a little bit of "The Eye" last night before I went to sleep - mostly just the Glorious!HOT!ness! that is John Sheppard stalking through Atlantis with a gun, killing people. It's possibly a tiny bit sick, the little shiver I get when Ford says, "He'll be the dot getting rid of the other dots", or when he nods at Ford and tells him he won't need the Wraith Stunner, and says "Shoot to Kill". (I've skipped so many moments here - like when he's streaming with rain thinking that Elizabeth has been killed, with his fist white-knuckled around the communicator, and grits out to Kolya "I am going to kill you." Even Kolya can't help but acknowledge the power of SHEP at that moment, with his "Maybe".)

I wonder what it is that makes him so transcendentally hot in that episode... I mean, apart from the obvious good looking boy streaming with water, all worked up and ready to explode...hmm. Well that's half of it.

But the other half is...

There is something about a man in uniform. With a gun. And I don't think this is Hollywood successfully brainwashing me - I think it is possible and reasonable that I would have a basic biological response to the image of a nice strong man all suited up and ready to defend me. (I'm Elizabeth in this story I guess...or - even better, I am Atlantis.)

And when I say "basic biological" I mean basic. John Sheppard is a man who could protect me and our babies from harm. (John Sheppard and I have babies, btw. Maybe that's why Rodney won't talk to me.)

( Tangent tanget personal anecdotal tangent )

A gold star to any who can identify the above (not you booklady) - my favorite bit of sci-fi-blather of all time.

I have figured out that writing porn on the train is pointless. I mean, it's totally delightful for me and my seatmate, and the beautiful new relationship that we now share, but it turns out that once I write it out, the impulse to clean it up and type it in and post it is ZERO. It's like when we were little and booklady, who has been a writer all her life, would tell me stories...she always said that once she told the story it was over, and there was no reason to write it down.

I have nigh on 20 pages of various ring-bits written out in long-hand, but I just can't make myself type them. And it's not that much porn, really - it took me so long to work up to being brave enough to write the nookie that there are pages of senseless yammering about the damn ladies-poker-night before I get to anything good. The better writing plan - the plan which resulted in Sense and Sensibilty - is to think up the first line and then sort of daydream an outline while on the train, and then write it out frantically when I get home.

Using that method (which also results in serious sleep deprivation) I got about 2 pages of Rodney's bit done. His is the bit that will complete the fics that have a one-for-one correspondence with my original comment-thing to helenish.

(In case you are curious, the first line is: "Contrary to the expectations of friends and foes alike, Dr. Rodney McKay loves staff meetings.")

But then I started thinking about the stuff I am going to put into the wedding-fic - all like mad Traditional Rhythmic Dancing, which Ronon participates in - because he knows his shit on a level that the Athosians are awed and honored to have be a part of their thing. I'm thinking drums (played by the Athosian women) and long thin ropes of the finest silk, weighted with jewels on the ends.

( in case you care, this might include spoilers for some hot sexy thing I haven't finished yet )

And THEN I started thinking about what the wedding should be like in general - and in specific, what the relationship with ritual is for the Athosians. Like, is a wedding a civil/community matter? A genetics/breeding matter? A religious thing? All about Wuv, Trwu Wuv?

I've sort of thoughtlessly built a life-philosophy for Ronon that treats his relationship with the Ancestors as his religion. And I think that's right. I mean, I think that's cannon-supported in that we hear (on the show) inhabitants of the Pegasus Galaxy talking about the Ancestors in a way that approaches - at least - the Ancestor worship that some of our (Earth's - heh) Asian societies practice(d).

But it occurred to me that when I got married, my religion was a very important part of the whole thing. Part of that was, in a sense, my version of Ancestor worship - my family has practiced my religion for generations, so by marrying within my faith, Sanboy and I were honoring and remembering them, as well as making a choice for ourselves. But part of it was, of course, dictated by the way my religion is part of my every day life - and I started thinking about it in relationship to the story I am working out for Ronon.

( Cut for nattering on about GOD )

Ahh - Yeah.

(the quote above from Waiting for Guffman which Sanboy and I watched - again- last night. Sheer genius)

I'm now sitting in possibly the crappiest hotel room in Connecticut, cursing my independent contractor life-style for all it's worth.

There is a DIP in the bed. And when I say that, I mean the mattress is CONCAVE. Also, ONE lightbulb. ALSO, insane old man running the elevator. It's hand operated - which would qualify this place for "old world charm" if I didn't have the Boys Bathroom right across from me - for the rooms without baths - with the door propped open so I can see the urinal when I open my door. Good times. At least my room has a private bath. It makes me sad that that makes me happy.

Also, I had pringles for dinner, which I don't mind doing occasionally by choice, but which is tough when it is thrust upon one by a town with nothing but Thai food available late at night. (Tremendously allergic to peanuts am I. Love the Rodney/anaphylactic shock fics do I. Because every time it happens to me, no one shows up to fuck me in my hospital bed. My husband just gets stressed out and tries not to yell at the nurses. But it's nice to dream.)

Also, right now, I should be doing the data-entry side of my taxes. Like creating a spreadsheet with a bazillion $5 meal receipts (for which, btw - you only receive $2.50 in deduction). That's why I brought the computer.

Instead I am surfing (by the most generous definition of the term) on a slow slow dial-up. Lookin' for porn in all the wrong places.

I had a plan that I might type out the Heightmeier/therapy bit. Or even better, the Elizabeth-centric quite quite porny thing that I thought out over the last 4 train rides (resolutely REFUSING to write anything down, for fear of stalkers). But man, work really took it out of me today. It occurs to me that there is, in fact, a finite amount of creative energy in my body, and if I use it up during the day, it is GONE. And so, no porn, or even slightly interesting narrative this night.

I have been overwhelmed and delighted by the way 80 (whoa, now 82) COMPLETE STRANGERS have "friended" me. My little sister called me the other day and I was all, hey - I have 69 friends! 69 dude! My delight knew no bounds. And really - I actually know 3 of you - and am one degree of separation from 2 others - and have now had enough net exchange with like 10 or so more that I have started to make up identities for you. But it is STRANGE.

I was telling one of my crossover buds (Net to RL) that in fact, I make up characters, full identities for the people I haven't met. You're my imaginary friends - and better, I expect, than my imagination can sometimes supply, because you share some key interests, and lets face it, some key kinks, or you wouldn't be here - and yet, you have your own opinions/thoughts/disagreements with me, etc.

Rambling, rambling... I wonder if I should cut this, because I expect it will come out QUITE long, on the pages of my Army of 82.

One time, I had a job (I kid you not) where, as part of the job, I went to an S&M club. The real thing. Chains on the walls. People being hit, spanked, felt up, fucked. (The evening as a whole makes a long long tale, and maybe I will come back to it some day in greater detail, because it had many narrative tributaries in my life). But the thing that struck me (ha!) most about it was the way that something private - intimate - became public.

When we get down to it, I read fic for the sex. I am not above a good gen story now and then - because, in fact, I read as recreation much more than I do anything else (like watch TV or go dancing or whatnot). But I like fic for the way it pushes past the civilized boundaries of the source material. I'll re-read The Jenny Code or Retrograde or (I'm not ashamed to admit it) After the End a hundred times, but they are not primarily what I am looking for when I go looking for fic.

I'm married to someone who (AVERT YOUR EYES RL FRIENDS) doesn't mind (hee! hee! SO GENEROUS) the blow-job fetish which is an accidental recent result of all this slash I'm reading. Who I am quite crazy about. Who provides le' nookie on command, and sometimes commands it back. (And is, you know, annoying beyond all sense sometimes, as boys are - but what can you do? I'm annoying too.) But here I am, reading what ammounts to other women's fantasies, and, also, sharing mine in return. It's insanely intimate. And, btw, makes one half want to say "who ARE you people", and the other half want to say "Oh I KNOW, you're my sisters." Or my imaginary friends. Or me.

I've been a bad bad fangirl for so long - lackadaisical about feedback, even the for stories I've loved enough to read repeatedly. (resonant8, if you are reading this, I want you to know - Advantage and Abstain are two of my favorite stories of all time). Part of that is my natural laziness, but part of that is a degree of reticence to say (out loud) "My God. You turned me on."

The last person I said that to (out loud), I married. Now I want to say it REPEATEDLY to a startlingly large number of other WOMEN who I have never met. And also? Let's not kid ourselves, the buzz from writing porn isn't the same buzz that you get from reading porn. At least for me it's not. Maybe it's that when you read, as you read, you are surprised (the way you are, inevitably, when being intimate with a real live other person). But when you write, you know what's coming next, so the buzz is more just the general creative buzz (which, quite frankly, is my daily drug in general, but whatever), combined with the visceral feedback-loop of imagining other faceless imaginary friends reading and getting turned on. It's a huge buzz, that feedback loop. And, specifically, the buzz from actual WRITTEN feedback? Even better.

And all from virtual strangers. With whom I am sharing something intimate. And we are, I think, in SGA at least, all girls. (Please, God, tell me if one of you is a boy. I am sort of dying to know.)

Have I accidentally discovered my inner lesbian? My husband will be so thrilled.

Is this too analytical? Maybe. For all I've lurked in LJ - I really was basically reading fic for years, not meta, and not community-meta. Magic can be destroyed by observation (a key difference between magic and science), and I sure don't want to destroy this.

And I feel a little anxious, maybe, to keep my 82 new partners enthralled. I didn't shave my legs today, but I did mentally outline a story where Elizabeth hears that Ronon has a thing for rope/bondage, but doesn't hear quite enough, and has a fantasy that explores the flipside of the dynamic he is pursuing.

Still love me? Are you going to call again? Keep reading? My 82 new girlfriends, I am trying to follow The Rules - play it coy, lead you on. But I am too tired to put out tonight.

Will you still love me tomorrow?

helenish said a lot of very important things yesterday in her entry entitled Lube Eyes. These are KEEN SOCIOLOGICAL INSIGHTS, people. Go read them in the original.

However, for my own crafty purposes, I will here restate, freely adapt, plagiarize and embroider upon what she said, because reading her journal caused me to write a comment fic that maybe I will work on some more. And we wouldn’t want to loose track of the research. I may need footnotes later on.

To sum up the salient points:

1) Ronon Dex is very possibly a virgin, deprived of the complicated Setadan coming of age sex-ritual that he should have had because he was captured by the Wraith, and there was never enough time or enough people around for him to find three Guides, and the requisite oils or kinds of rope. He cheats though, because traveling through the galaxy alone is tough enough without still being considered a child, and he laces up the front of his pants the way that the adult Citizens did. Which he learned from watching Kell. Closely. As any soldier should watch his task-master. Nothing abnormal about that.

2) On Sateda Blue Eyed people are kind of rare and considered very beautiful and are usually not quite bright. They are trophy spouses and movie stars. Everyone Ronon knew before Atlantis called blue eyed people Ring-Eyes, because of the color of the water in the Pegasus Stargates. When Ronon first met Rodney McKay(read: saw him caught by the ankle hanging from a tree in a trap Ronon had set), his first thought was, “WOW!”. His second was the Setadan equivalent of “Oh Shit!”, because he was starting to like the Atlanteans, especially the one called Sheppard, and he recognized Rodney’s uniform, and thought to himself that if he had killed or hurt an Atlantean Ring-Eye of such beauty, they’d probably stick the wraith tracking device right back inside him.

2) a) – To this day, Ronon can’t quite take Rodney’s claims of being a genius seriously, because, hello, RING-EYE! But he likes Rodney’s wild gestures and sound of his voice when he talks, and sometimes Ronon likes to watch the way Rodney’s crooked mouth curves down at the corner when he takes it into his pretty little Ring-Eyed-head to be scared of something that’s not dangerous at all, like sunlight or food. (Really! Sunlight! Food! Rodney’s always babbling on about a flavor called citrus and lotion called SPF. How silly is that?)

3) Ronon doesn’t think too much about Rodney’s eyes, or about the fine dark hair on John’s arms and chest which makes a whispery noise against the smooth cotton of his shirt when Ronon turns his back in the locker room so that John can get undressed in decent privacy after they go running together. Ronon also doesn’t use the communal shower in the men’s locker room on Atlantis, because he can’t decide if it would be worse on the days when he and John are the only ones around, or when there is a squad of marines coming off duty all at once, and there is not enough steam in the world to conceal the way that men from the planet Earth all cut their hair so short that the backs of their necks are left all vulnerable and naked, where anyone could just bite them. Or look at them, even, because of course no one would bite them. That would be weird.

4) Ronon is possibly not a virgin, with women at least, because repeated Wraith cullings have caused Setadan society to prize reproduction. Women are encouraged to have as many babies as possible. Men, especially talented, intelligent or strong men, are encouraged to impregnate as many different women as possible, to keep the gene pool healthy. Back in the day, no one really had any hobbies on Sateda. There was too much sex that had to get done.

5) Ronon is a Citizen-Guest of Atlantis now, and he has obligations to fulfill. He trains with John, and reports to Elizabeth, and protects Ring-Eyed McKay, and every night that he doesn’t spend off world, he dutifully beds a new Atlantean woman. He’s glad that they just show up at his quarters or touch his arm in the mess hall, because he was a little shy of having to ask how they worked the schedule out. He did spend seven years Running, and he is embarrassed about forgetting some of the trappings of civilization. After all, the first night, when Ronon awkwardly crossed his wrists above his head (in what he was pretty sure was the right position) and waited for the scientist named Simpson to bind them to the bed in the knot of the Ancestors, she had flushed bright red and had pulled ineffectually at his arms. Ronon was worried that she was angry, and hurriedly started kissing her, without even asking for permission, even though his hands felt big and floppy and stupid and he was worried that he might hurt her.

6) Ronon has seen – with his very own eyes – at least four separate people in Atlantis who are clearly…well, who seem to be…who might very well be…NOT EVER GOING TO MAKE BABIES. It’s wrong is what it is. Just wrong. Every time Ronon sees those two chemists touch each other’s hands in the mess hall, (two rough male hands wrapped around each other) his throat feels tight. When he sees the botanist named Parrish looking at Major Lorne and smiling shyly, Ronon’s chest fills up with air that tastes funny, and he gets a little dizzy with rage. It’s only the scientists, of course, because any soldier who did not fulfill the duties of a Citizen would be long since dead. Sometimes he can’t help but worry though, because Rodney is a scientist too, and he might say something someday that Ronon would have to be angry about.

Of course, even though Rodney is Ring-Eyed, Ronon would turn aside from him. But he wouldn’t want to have to kill Rodney. Maybe Ronon could put his hand over Rodney’s mouth, just to shut him up, instead. He would have to be very careful to catch Rodney at the rare end of sentence, with his mouth closed. Because otherwise, Rodney might accidentally touch the center of Ronon’s palm with his tongue. Which would be disgusting in a way that makes Ronon shiver just to think about it.

7) It’s not just Setada that had a population that’s desperate for growth and new genes. In fact, the ENTIRE PEGASUS GALAXY IS OBSESSED WITH SEX.

…and that led me to the beginning of an unconscionably long comment fic, which I will eventually pull together and post here, possibly titled “Safety –Mandated Circle Jerk”.

I am thinking some things about my fanfic addiction, and about the fic community at large -

This is something I posted in auburnnothenna 's journal in response to a bit of her fic "In The City of The Seven Walls" - and I feel like my brain is going to build on it, so I am putting it here to remember:

(and BTW, I whole-heartedly rec "Seven Walls" as a fantastic read)

( Read more... )

So I've been thinking about chemistry and Sheppard/Joe Flanigan (that slash, btw, is an "and or" kind of slash, not a slashy slash. Although wouldn't that be something.)

Anyway - the thing is - he really really doesn't have chemistry with any of the women on the show.

The closest he comes is when he first meets Teyla (and maybe a little bit when they are stick fighting).

I don't think his kiss with her in Conversion was much of anything exciting. His hot astral projection of love with Chaya was anything but hot. The chick in The Tower seemed more of an annoyance than a delight. And even when he had another consciousness in his brain, kissing Weir couldn't get his motor running.

Now, OBVIOUSLY, this is because Rodney McKay is his one true love, and no girl is ever going to get a real, um, rise out of him -

And OBVIOUSLY the writers keep writing het scenes for Flanigan because he is cute as a button, and it SEEMS like it should work.

But this leaves the question of WHY Sheppard is constantly hooking up with Alien Babes.

It can't be good policy, right? From a diplomatic point of view, I mean.
Weir's got to be pissed off every time he comes back and Rodney spills all about how Captain Kirk's over active libido got into it again.
Sooner or later the village elders (or one of the ladies themselves) is going to object to the one night stand version of "we come in peace".

Of course since he is gay gay gay like a man in a leather skirt(tm TROY), he's possibly miserably closeted or unaware, or desperate to prove his manliness in general or whatever, but that's a lot of nookie to prove a point that he hasn't actually been challenged on.

So I have decided that the chick in The Tower had it right. It's his genes that everyone is interested in.

And probably it works both ways! Atlantis is pimping him out! The shower in his quarters has a pheromone in the spray - 'cause Atlantis, she is desperate for some little Ancient Gene Babies.

It's why he never sees it coming. Cause he just showers and goes -
(forth to multiply).

Am I the only person who thinks that Joe Flanigan looks like David Duchovny?

Just a little bit? His mouth, his hair, his slouching...

I haven't actually been loyal to the X-files all these years, it was just the only writing I ever did. I definitely lurked all over BTVS, ATS, HP, SV and all kinds of Random Fandom. But now, as required by law, I am obsessively into SGA.

I got into it the same way I got in to XF, actually, by reading the fic first, and then needing to see what these people looked like.

Soon I will write a sonnet about David Hewlett's crooked mouth, and Rodney McKay's Cranky Brain.

In the meantime, I will continue to be delighted by the way SGA gave me a sweet spoonful of Colonel Skinner and Colonel Doggett to fill my transition with nostalgia.

And I will pretend that I am actually going to write the crossover AU where Sheppard sends his cousin Mulder a polaroid of Hermiod and one of Steve the Wraith, with a note telling him that it's not the "greys" he should be worried about.