Meme Time

[kristen999]

This looked like fun for over the weekend: Snagged from penknife.

Pick a paragraph (or any passage 500-1000 words) from anything I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you'd expect to find on a DVD commentary.


My Master list.

My 2011 fanfic in review list.

Comments

[black-raven135.livejournal.com]

Of course you KNOW it will be Sheppard.......
;-)
Don't say it...I am well aware of my obsession...
((sighs))

[susnn.livejournal.com]

By the time they rounded the corner, Rodney was ahead of the marine and outside the electromagnetic field. Ten sat on the floor, but as soon as it saw him, he sprung up, feet loudly clanking on the cement floor. “You came,” his voice reverberated loudly.

“Yes, I am here. Um...you need something?”

The field crackled from the android's proximity to it and for a second, Rodney thought Ten would walk right through it. “It is Fur.”

“Fur?” Rodney searched for the android's furry companion, spotting a lump where Ten had been sitting.

“He has eaten very little the last few days and now he will not get up.”

[parisindy.livejournal.com]

yeah fun! plus apparently i have missed a few of your stories!! yeahhhh! more fanfic to read!

[sgafan.livejournal.com]

OMG! That's a cool meme! I'm going to have to swipe this one and do it too! :D

[tari-roo.livejournal.com]

From Exhuming McCarthy:

Biting back an extremely childish ‘whatever’ he just closed his eyes and turned his head away. When he heard her leave a moment later he let out a long breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He was angry. Angry at himself. Pissed as hell at his team. They’d kept Fahd’s death from him, and even the allowance he made that they probably did it out of concern for him barely eased his resentment. That he needed to be protected rankled. He was supposed to be the protector. And yet he was too fragile to even be told the truth. One lousy confrontation with an IOA asshole had been enough to send him into convulsions, for Pete’s sake. Morosely, he considered the fact that he hadn’t pissed himself a sorry reason to be thankful for a Foley.
Then voices outside his room broke into his gloomy thoughts; he could hear Rodney and the man was clearly launching into one of his rants.
“Can someone please explain to me how that man got in there in the first place?”
“Rodney, keep your voice down.” It was Keller, her voice a harsh stage whisper.
“Why? It’s not like the damage hasn’t already been done. What kind of place is this that strangers can just freely enter patient areas and torture them?”
“He didn’t -- he must have gotten into the room during the crisis in the lab, Rodney. And he’s not some stranger- he’s a member of the IOA, here on SGC business.”
“My point exactly! He’s IOA. Half of them are Goa’uld, for god’s sake. You have heard of The Trust, I assume? They cover that in your orientation?”
“Rodney…” She sighed loudly. “He’s not Trust, he’s here on official business. And I’m sorry that this happened, but--”
“No. No buts. You’re CMO around here, you should start acting like it. Carson never would have let that man within ten kilometers of Sheppard.”
The next time Keller spoke, her voice was so low John missed most of her reply. “… mood… depressed… … sorry…”
Then both voices became too quiet for John to hear, but he figured he knew the gist of it. Carson’s shadow loomed large over everything that Keller did; they all saw it, even if Rodney’s bluster hadn’t brought it out into the open.
Thoughts of the Scot, memories, regrets, flashes back to that Sunday ran through John’s head. Carson was soon joined by Elizabeth. They weren’t the only good people that had been lost but their deaths hurt the most. His father, a loss so recent and so raw he still hadn’t really accepted it. And he couldn’t help but feel guilt for all of them. Feel responsible for failing them, for failing to keep them safe. Like the way he’d allowed Fahd to be killed, Teyla to be so horribly wounded.
It was during this morbid accounting that he heard the curtain get pushed back. He peeled open his eyes to see Rodney standing at his bedside.
“You could try knocking, McKay.”
“Knocking on what? You have no door!”
“It’s courtesy, McKay! Before you enter, you knock, not barge in.”
“Since when did you become Les Nessman? You have no door! You have movable fabric walls and no door. Besides, I asked to make sure they weren’t… washing… or changing… anything.”
He pulled over a chair and sat down, cocked his head to the side and stared at John. “Keller said you were a bear. I’d say more grizzly, or maybe that bear from Prophecy? Twenty feet tall and mutated by mercury poisoning?”
“Not funny, Rodney,” John grumbled.
“No, the movie was actually kind of sad,” Rodney continued unfazed. “You know Talia Shire is carrying Robert Foxworth’s mutant spawn in her belly.”
“Still not funny, Rodney. Why are you here?”
“Why am I - I’m visiting. I would’ve thought that pretty obvious, even for the recently brain damaged.”
“Well, I’m not in the mood for visitors. So consider this crossed off your list of duties for the day and leave.”
“Duty? Where the hell did that come from? Look, Sheppard, I know you’ve been through a rough time but--”
“--Not been, McKay. Am having. Still. No past tense about it.”

:)

[sgafan.livejournal.com]

From Red Sands (Which I LOVE by the way...)

Ronon put up a token resistance, mumbling about staying awake before his eyes drifted closed. Confidence was one of John's pillars of strength and it lay crumbled beneath him.

Lay down. Sleep. Take the simple way out and wallow in the darkness. It'd be easy. But the transport would come tomorrow. Could he carry the water this time? Would be able to fight to get it?

The dunka was still stored away in his knapsack and the last thing he wanted to do was rifle through it. John slipped his hand inside, pulled out the precious water, but his fingers brushed against something that didn't belong there. Many thin sharp somethings. Barbed. Like pine needles.

They crushed easily between his fingers, producing a slight oily film and a strong scent. That skinny rat bastard!

John was seconds from grinding the orris into dust, but he hesitated, caught between principles and a ravenous stomach. If he owned a rabbit's foot and had a pet leprechaun, his chances at getting a decent amount of water were slim to none.

Not to mention the limited food supply or the mortgage on his life. Bottom line, Ronon would require more food, more water to have a fighting chance. John glared at the orris. How many times had McKay drunk pots of coffee to keep working? How many times had John used stimulants on duty during an emergency, logging countless hours in the sky or fighting on the ground?

When did the line start to blur?

If a small amount kept the hunger at bay until Ronon could get a fighting chance, then so be it. Counting out a hundred tiny needles, he pinched away ten, slipping the rest inside the thin piece of cloth. Smoking it was out of the question and it wasn't like he had a lighter handy, so lacking another avenue he popped them into his mouth.

They were bitter tasting; he chewed them quickly and washed things down with a swig of lukewarm water.

Nothing happened. Not that he expected a magical chemical reaction. His head throbbed, every inch of his body felt like a piece of roadkill. The cave granted a certain amount of mercy from the ugliness of outside, and John curled up on his side, the heat lulling him to sleep.

[saphirablue]

from Distant Shores

"Let me go out there, sir?" Hickman asks for the third time.

Chin is wrapped in a blanket tighter than a burrito. While he's still trembling, his words are crystal clear. "No…I can't let you risk further exposure."

"The LT would go back out there for us," another voice shouts over the bombardment.

Chin scowls, and Danny does not envy his burden of leadership. The team's safety comes first and Danny can see the struggle in Chin's eyes, the way he bites his bottom lip.

"Time?" Chin asks.

Danny might throw up. "Ninety-three minutes."

"Gimme a flashlight," Chin demands.

Using flashlight for more than signaling is dangerous, even this far from shore. But Chin takes the light and clicks it off and on every twenty seconds.

The big hand goes around four times on Danny's watch and there's this part of him that says, stop flashing that damn light! But the other, louder voice hopes the signal will work.

It's been ninety-eight minutes.

"There!" someone shouts.

Chin pans the light over the waves.

"Steve!" Danny yells.

Hickman jumps into the water just as Chin yells at the man for doing it.

The petty officer beats Danny to it, which is probably a good thing in retrospect. The whole team reaches over to help and Danny yells at them about tipping over the boat.

Hickman has his hands full of his CO, and Chin and Danny help hoist Steve inside. Some of the others aid the petty officer as he clambers back.

Steve is ice cold and listless. Danny takes all his weight and settles him down on the floor with him. "Steve? Are you with me, babe?"

"The...harbor...it...it's been hit...everything's...on fire."

Danny's heart aches at the confused words, but Chin's there, grabbing Steve's shoulder. "It's okay, Steve. We're not at Pearl anymore."

Danny bites his knuckles, wishing for a world before war. Gathering his wits, he blows on his whistle. "Hoist away! Out oars! Give way for the Barr."

But he doesn't get up because Steve's in trouble. He's not shivering, which is bad. Really bad. "Grab me the driest blanket we have," he yells out.

Then he starts unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt and shucks the tee underneath it. Chin helps lean Steve against Danny's chest. And oh my God, is the man cold. Danny wrap his arms around Steve, holding him close, the back of Steve's head lolling under Danny's jaw. Chin then encases them both with a heavy wool blanket.

"What the hell were you doing out there?" Danny rants, trying to get Steve's attention.

He doesn't get a response and Danny presses his lips to the top of Steve's head. "You're an idiot. A stupid, crazy idiot." When that doesn't elicit a retort, Danny presses Steve's body as close to his as possible.

Danny's shaking from the cold, but he doesn't really care because he feels Steve's heart fluttering under his palm. "You're a mess," he says, laughing bitterly.

Blood trickles down Steve's bruised face from a head wound and Danny squeezes him hard. "Don't you dare die on me. So help me, I'll kick your frogman ass."

"D-danny?"

"There you go," Danny coaxes at seeing a slit of hazel eyes.

"What...what are you doing here?" Steve stutters.

Danny wipes at Steve's blood stained hair. "My job. Someone has to keep Curious George out of trouble."

Steve's confused grin is enough to allow Danny to breathe again.