The Bead Box

beadattitude — Sun, 23 Feb 2014 00:42:22 GMT

One of the annoying things about writing fan fiction is that people keep asking, "Why don't you write a story of your own? You're so good, you could be published!!"
One, thank you very much, that's very kind of you to say.

Two, I'm HAPPY, just like this. And they can't seem to understand why I'm happy rewriting/revamping/putting my own spin on someone else's work that happens to be under copyright.

Uh, ever hear of jazz? Ever hear of improv? Two of my favorite things, and I can do it with fiction.

Also? I don't have a full story to tell yet. I just don't. I don't know why yet, quit making me feel icky and less than about it. The spark hasn't struck yet. I just broke out 5000K short stories this past year, and have begun to do my own world building. Stahp. I am developing my craft. Stoooop. I'm happy.

This has happened with several different creative endeavors, and truly it s humbling and flattering, but jeez, stop trying to weaponize me.

ETA: I have such smart, wonderful friends. There are MANY MANY responses worth reading.

Dream Report

beadattitude — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 15:45:42 GMT

Dream Report:
Before a medieval battle, at night and backlit by a fire, my companion (played by Richard Armitage a la Thorin) haltingly declares his wish to formally court me after the battle is over.

"So, this waiting in a freezing muddy ditch for six hours; is this a test for a patient wife?" I ask shakily.

He's horrified. "I would NEVER..."

"Call me patient? Good. Don't have me on a pedestal. That's very good."

"Putting you on a shelf when it was walking, living, fighting beside you that caused me to love you seems......remarkably stupid."

"Practical. I like that. You realize you just eliminated about two years of marital arguments, yes?" I wipe a smudge of mud off his cheek. "Very efficient."

His face begins to relax into a smile as he catches my muddy hand to kiss. "*Marital?* not just...your answer, then, is yes?"

I laugh shakily, glad he's not teasing me about skipping straight from "court" to "marriage", "Of course it's yes, you silly clot -"

I am jerked, literally, out of his hands, the image of his stricken face and wide eyes seared into my mind. Something large and smelly roars, and I am cast down into a narrow, deep hole, continuing to fall and fall and fall for ages, until suddenly the tunnel becomes a clear tube, the surroundings blindingly white, and I am dumped onto the floor of a modern house. A plump, pleasant-faced woman and a tall, thin, Sherlockish man, worried instead of haughty, stand, watching me.

"WHAT. THE. HELL?" I roar, jumping to my feet and drawing my sword.

"Oh dear," the woman grimaces, flapping her hands in distress, "oh dear, dear, that's just not necessary, we're friends here!"

Sherlockish rolls his eyes and smirks. "I believe she will want to know 'friends of whom?'"he says silkily.

"Damn right," I reply, still battle-ready, willing my voice not to shake, this time from fear. A large clump of mud falls off my elbow and plops onto the perfectly shiny white floor.

Dream Report!

beadattitude — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 12:32:00 GMT

1. One of you lovely peeps had emergency heart surgery, and many friends were waiting behind a curtain in the operating room. When we were allowed to visit, the curtain was drawn back and the patient was there, dressed in street clothes, festooned with the regular monitors and IVs.

"Oh thank God," her mother said, "we can go to yoga."

"She just had HEART SURGERY," I said.

The mom gestured impatiently; "But she's DRESSED!"

2. Tony Stark was enumerating his various attributes as a suitor. "Genius, billionaire philanthropist, no longer a playboy, privatized world peace, invented a clean energy source and I made this teeny tiny robot that cracks nuts."

Sure enough, he'd made a four-inch-tall teeny tiny Iron Man who would select a nut for you, fire his teeny tiny repulsors at it, and if that didn't completely crack it, would pick it up and bash it against the coffee table. Then it would brush away the shells and fly you the completed cracked nut.

"Incredibly charming," I said. "I'd be sold."

Tony did a double fist pump of victory. "Great! I just gotta get this wrapped."

The teeny tiny robot was flying me another walnut, and I curled my hand around it protectively, keeping it close. "Noooooo, my teeny robot, mine."

"But.."

"Miiiiiiiine. No. I love him."

The teeny tiny robot turned in mid air and pointed his hand repulsors at Tony, ready to fire.

"Dammit," said Tony.

~~~~~~~~

ETA: TEENY TINY ROBOT, EEEEE. He makes me so happy. I have smiled about him all day.m his tiny repulsor noises are SO CUTE.

Dream Report

beadattitude — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 23:59:52 GMT

Nap Dream Report: BBC's John Watson, attending to patients at St. Bart's hospital, is a bit taken aback when equipment in the ICU begins to communicate with him, as if he's some sort of mechanical Dr. Doolittle.

Dr. Watson learns which nurses are excellent, and which sneak a few pain pills for themselves. They also have opinions on the other doctors, too.

They also know of his association with Sherlock Holmes, since both John and Sherlock have been treated there, they always enjoyed watching Sherlock's experiments, and of course, they are able to monitor the TV news and have befriended the CCTV network. In other words, they've done their research.

They've made themselves known to Dr Watson because they think he's very decent for a human, and, well, they think some of the patients have been dying before their time. That someone is using them (the machines) to commit murder, but they're not always completely sure, because something mechanically mystifying happens. Not that they've had memory wipes or been turned off, but they record things in their secret memories during these suspicious deaths that they themselves were not programmed to do, and that cannot categorize or comprehend.

John, of course, thinks he's going mad, or perhaps that curry at lunch was a bit dodgy.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Dr. Watson, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

".........and a heart monitor quotes Hamlet, of course." John presses his back against the wall and looks at the ceiling. " Someone's having me on. Must be."

"We saw Doctor Who playing Hamlet on the television," Heart Monitor says with what John can only imagine is shy pride.

(David Tennant, shortly after leaving Doctor Who, played Hamlet. Patrick Stewart played Hamlet, Sr.)

"Ah, right, well, actually the actor who..."

"The heart monitor interrupted him. " Doctor Who. Hamlet. We have discussed it much."

"Really."

"The play centers around The Doctor Hamlet's father being terminated wrongly."

"Yes, yes that's right."

"The Doctor is a Time Lord. His father was a king. Higher than a lord. Why did not the Doctor Hamlet's father regenerate when poisoned?"

~~~

Sorry to say that I wasn't asleep enough to get the explanation.

Wow, I thought I'd COMPLETELY lost it. (I wrote something! Fic! Sherlock!)

beadattitude — Sat, 16 Feb 2013 19:05:50 GMT

I haven't written a fic since.....April 27, 2010. Between my bipolar meds damping down my creativity, writer's block, beta phobia and losing confidence, it just....stopped.

This morning I was reflecting on my nearly nine years in fandom, and wondered if in a year's time I'd be able to have a ficathon, or take requests without freezing into a little ball of self-recrimination.

A tiny, tiny window opened in my brain. Through it, I could see BBC's Sherlock Holmes and John Watson locked inside their flat, John about to throw himself against the door. He stops before his shoulder connects, reorientes himself, and begins to methodically kick near the lock.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Surely you jest," Sherlock scoffs silkily.

A vein stands out on John's forehead. "Stop. (Kick) Calling. (Kick) Me. (Kick) Shirley. (Kick)"

Sherlock snorts and pulls out his BlackBerry. "Nice to see you enjoying yourself."

John stops, the set of his feet, tilt of his chin, and clenched hands betraying his irritation. "En-joy? EnJOY. Locked inside our flat, our fire escape unusable because someone dropped acid on it and you think I'm enjoying myself?

Sherlock points. "Kicking with your 'bad' leg."

John tips his head back and regards the ceiling. He seems to be counting. "So!" he says with false cheer. "Lockpicks? Secret passages? Explosives?"

"Tonic water. Damsel fly. Yurt."

John blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"Not doing word association?"

"Noooo," John growls.

Sherlock smirks. "Neither was I. However, someone's put methyl cyanoacrylate in the lock."

" Can't you say superglue like a normal person?"

"Why on earth would I want to be normal?"

"Why indeed," John sighs, resettles his shoulders and looks about the room. After a moment, he strides over to a framed engraving of insects, then looks about for a few more moments and digs out a book about Attia the Hun from the floor. He opens it. Inside is a set of lock picks. He looks at them. Looks at Sherlock.

"Tonic water?"

"Red herring," Sherlock shrugs.

John looks at him.

"It was already incredibly easy!"

John slumps into a chair, "And yet still no further, thanks to the superglue. Sure you can't use that great billowing coat of yours to, I don't know, hang glide out of here?"

Sherlock frowns, "Hardly the kind of height or prevailing winds to even consider...."

"Sherlock," John stops him, weary. "Joking."

"I knew that." Sherlock clears his throat awkwardly. John tilts his head toward the ceiling again, this time, smiling.

"Occam's Razor," Sherlock blurts.

John's head pops up, his expression puzzled.

"Postulates the simplest answer..."

"Is often the best, yes, Sherlock, I AM familiar with it..what..?"

Sherlock holds up his BlackBerry, wiggles it. "Texted the locksmith."

John starts laughing. "Oh my god. What have you done to me that my FIRST inclination is to kick down the door and then ask for a secret passage or explosives?"

"I'd be delighted to indulge you but Mrs. Hudson gets really cross." He slants his eyes toward John, bites his lip and his expression is very, very contrite. He looks about twelve.

John cracks up again. "That look would never work on her. Ever."

Sherlock huffs and burrows into his coat.

John grins, kicks his feet up on an ottoman, and thumbs through the ruined book. He jingles the lock picks in his hand. "Invading hordes, really?"

"Mmm," Sherlock studies his phone.

"Or I suppose, invading a horde." He contemplates the book and picks a moment. "Sherlock," he asks pleasantly," who do you suppose put the superglue in our lock?"

Sherlock inhales, opens his mouth to speak, only to have John clear his throat loudly.

"Sherlock," he says, a hint of Captain Watson in his tone, "Who would think I needed an 'incredibly easy' puzzle to distract me while waiting for the locksmith?"

Sherlock slants him a sideways look, bites his lip, and looks about twelve.

~~~

I have to go sit in the corner, hands over my mouth, wide-eyed, because I WROTE SOMETHING, now.

What to do, what to doooooo

beadattitude — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 20:08:33 GMT

I'm very slowly putting my stuff up on Archive of Our Own, mainly because I'm giving it another once over for Crimes Against Grammar and Tight Story Telling and mainly because, YAY MORE FEEDBACK if I slooowly do it over time. Because I'm needy like that. And because too much editing/coding makes Bead's wrists/shoulders NOT HAPPY. So. Help me choose what's next!

View Poll: What Should I Put Up Next on AO3?

Policies

beadattitude — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 22:04:28 GMT

Hi! Welcome! This journal is friends only for personal posts, public for fanfic and when-I-remember-to-fix-the-default-random-comment. Also, I like hyphens.

No need to ask to friend me, friend away!

I've had some recent very flattering requests to archive or podfic my work, so perhaps it would be helpful to post my policies.

1) Podficcing, especially Checkmate: No. I've turned down many, many friends and podficcers over the years. I am doing it, I will do it. I am very flattered, but no. No exceptions.

(I think there's ONE non-Checkmate McSmooch out there that the_oscar_cat did forever ago; that's obviously grandfathered)

2) Archiving; Would rather you link to here. I will eventually have everything up on Archive of Our Own, but here is good for now. I've been having to chase down fics under an old handle and it's a bitch. I am trying to lock down things under one roof; please respect that.

3)Remix: I'm okay with that, just don't forget to link back to the source.

4)Again, fic posts are public, all(most all) personal posts are private.

5)Beta requests: As I am currently not pursuing writing, I have time! I am most familiar with All Jossverse but Dollhouse, All Stargate franchises but SGU (I even forget what the U stands for. Ungrateful for your fans? Unholy mess? I forget.), and am willing to give White Collar, H5O, Sherlock BBC and Star Trek reboot a shot. Caveat: I am a multiple assault survivor with PTSD, no non-con, dub-con, coercion or humiliation, period.

But seriously, no podficcing, y'all. Control freak actor-director-author, here.

THIS JUST IN

beadattitude — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 20:29:45 GMT

from the Fake AP Style Book

Replace the Oxford comma with the Yale comma. It's not as prestigious but still gets the job done.

Ha! Take that, former betas, oxford comma hatorz, and other group unspecified but used in order to be able to use Oxford comma here.

Please don't cross the streams, man

beadattitude — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 14:01:33 GMT

Please don't link any comments to Facebook. I'd like this world and that world - the world full of people who haven't a clue I write slash fanfiction - not to collide. :)

Thank you, Oh Anonymous Gifter!

beadattitude — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 17:19:33 GMT

For the bear hug. :)

:;facepalms::

beadattitude — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 14:21:21 GMT

I kept thinking "Hey, it's that GUY!" about Dr. Grant from 1947 swanned about Eureka in his extremely suave and slightly sinister way, NEVER putting two and two together that he played ANOTHER suave/sinister guy Gaius Baltar in Battlestar Galactica until I looked up the actor. DUH.

Well, I do admit that I stopped watching BG early on because it was so terribly depressing and at the time, I didn't need the extra help.

I was catching up on White Collar the other day (OMG, guys you HAVE to watch it. I don't particularly feel the slash there, but I see the POTENTIAL for the slash, but to me, Peter is so palpably in love with Elizabeth. And Neal had that whole Kate obsession. I see it as just a really gorgeous unabashed deep bromance. I'm cool with that. Because they are both clearly having so much fun. Also, whoever thought of putting Neal in classic Ratpack vintage clothing? To show that he's slightly apart and slightly out of step in a fabulous way to Peter's world of suits? SOOO brilliant.

Let's also remember that I wasn't going to watch Merlin, either, because OMG, Merlin looked a bit like my nephew, so eww, but I quickly got over that because my nephew is not Irish a wizard and certainly wouldn't wear those neckerchiefs, so, you know, I might come over to the other side.)

What was I walking about? Oh. Eureka. Which, I think, is having it's best season yet.

No, wait, I was going to make a point about White Collar! The other day I was watching "By the Book" the episode where Mozzie's favorite waitress/potential love interest/stalkee is kidnapped, and she's played by the lady who was the psychologist on Numb3rs and a krav maga expert. I was having a hard time not thinking, "come on! you can kick their asses SO easily! There's an opening right there! And there!"

Don't use I Write Like

beadattitude — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 16:45:01 GMT

Point's to mecurtin's post.

Also, via nwhepcat, This excellent piece.

Sheesh, I KNEW there was something fishy about that thing. NO WAY do I write like Arthur Conon Doyle, Stephen King AND Douglas Adams.

Happy Saturday everybody.

ETA: To be clear, what I'm skeeved about is that
1)SUCH an incredibly poorly done quiz
2)Which is set up to lure people to a vanity press with skanky tactics.

::shakes fist at Tony DiNozzo::

beadattitude — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 22:34:20 GMT

Because of a stray remark in 's LJ, I am now singing Tony's surveillance song. You know, the reggae one that includes the line, "Oh, Jenny, I think I've been made..."

HOW IS IT SO CATCHY? Also, I think I might need to invest in some NCIS icons.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YIN!

beadattitude — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 17:38:37 GMT

I'm trying to work up to some birthday porn, but this is what I've got so far, based on a prompt by perspi of "the last cherry cordial kisses in the city."

Title: More than Cordial
Author: Beadattitude
Rating: For all audiences
Spoilers/Warnings: None. Except for super-sweetness.

~~~

Rodney dug through his drawer, dejected. "Dammit," he said, and heaved a mighty sigh.

"What?"

"The Hershey's Kisses are gone."

John took a second to imagine Rodney without a steady chocolate supply, shuddered internally and peeked over Rodney's shoulder. "Those little silver things, Rodney? Those are Kisses."

Rodney snorted, "I mean the cherry cordial ones."

"Cherry cordial? That slick syrupy stuff?"

"Mmm hmm," Rodney hummed deep in his chest, eyes glassy and face a little pink. "They're awesome." With another sigh, he turned back to his work." I should have this ready for testing in a couple of hours," he said, and heaved another sigh. It did kind of nice things to his upper body.

Feeling a little strangely pink himself, John said, "Right."

It took John a couple of hours to track down his prey and he carefully did not think about why he went on a wild Cordial Kiss Hunt, but decided that the way to go was that he was procuring important resources for his scientist. A scientist. Dr. McKay.

"How's it - " John stopped and cleared his throat. "How's it going?"

"Fine, fine," Rodney said distractedly, "There's just this one tricky bit."

"Maybe this'll help." And he put his treasure down next to Rodney's hand. Three little foil-wrapped chocolates. "Last in the city."

Rodney gaped, not the greatest look for him, but it gave John an up-close look at how blue his eyes were. "You? How?"

John shrugged.

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Oh, this isn't over, Colonel, but I have important things to attend to."

John watched as Rodney unwrapped a Kiss and popped it in his mouth, seeming to get his whole body into savoring the sweet. He made that low, deep hum of pleasure again and John had to look away for a moment, swallowing hard. Yeah, this was one of his more stupid ideas.

When he looked back, Rodney was staring at him, eyes narrowed. "You're doing that shy thing."

"Huh?"

"That thing where you duck your head and palm the back of your neck and look about twelve and oh my god are you blushing?"

Shit. John scoffed and took at step backwards.

"Oh no no no," Rodney said, and his hand darted out to close tight around John's wrist. "First; thank you. Second; why?"

"You like them?"

"Yes, yes, but why?"

"You like them!"

"Mmm-hmm," he said, low and deep again, and John tried not to react but he could feel the blood heating his face. "Right."

And suddenly John had his arms full of Rodney. "Want a taste?" he whispered in that voice, Jesus that voice, looked John right in the eye, then tilted his head to brush his lips softly across John's. "Hmmm?"

John groaned, leaned forward, and licked into Rodney's mouth and Rodney pulled him closer, inviting John to taste as deeply as he liked, and John did, chasing the chocolate and the sweetness and then there was Rodney, just as heady, just as lush as chocolate and twice as good.

```

Many thanks, everybody!

beadattitude — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 00:32:48 GMT

Thank you for the lovely birthday wishes and prezzies, very kind of you all. ::big love and hugs::

Checkmate 'Verse: Body Language: Interpretive Dance

beadattitude — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 18:50:21 GMT

Title: Body Language: Interpretive Dance
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Author: Beadattitude
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Animal Transformation, eventual slash (John/Rodney)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Beta: None, written on the fly in LJ, so, you know, if there's anything huge I missed, let me know.

Summary: Sometimes the best part of friendship is that you don't always have to spell everything out. Particularly when, at the moment, you don't have thumbs or a larynx that works the right way.

Author's note for Body Language: This is a series of vignettes, scattered throughout the story.

Author's note for this story: Wait for it. There's necessary build-up.

~~~~

Dateline:That handy grey area of days 18-23.

~~~~

Rodney was aware of John just on the edges of his peripheral vision, marching around the perimeter of his office. He'd slunk in about ten minutes ago and ignored Rodney's greeting.

Finally, John jumped up on Rodney's table and meowed so hard his muzzle wrinkled up and his ears flattened sideways.

Rodney winced sympathetically. "Okay. Yelling. Why is there yelling?"

John complained just as emphatically and kept on complaining, pacing back and forth across the table. Rodney leaned back to avoid John's lashing tail.

"Hmmm, Lorne?"

John sat, wrapped his tail around his feet and gave Rodney a flat look.

"Okay. Not Lorne. Or your Marines. Or me?" John twitched his ears impatiently. "Well, I had to ask! You and Ronon didn't have another breakfast standoff, did you? That never ends well..." under John's glare he added, "usually for Ronon."

Unfurling his tail and re-wrapping it around himself, John gave him another look. Apparently the last match, which ended with gravy in John's tail, had tempered John's interest in getting Ronon's goat. Thank. God.

"Jensen and Ackles...didn't..."

"Rrrrrowr!" John complained again, and wow, that with the ears and the muzzle...that was really kind of hilariously adorable. Best not to mention it.

John leaned forward and butted Rodney in the shoulder with his head, then looked at Rodney with the big tragic eyes. Rodney thought hard for a moment, Tuesday, what happened on Tuesdays and....

"Oh," he said softly, stricken. "The 'jumpers. I-I'll ask Radek to find someone else to help with the repai...."

John hissed.

"O-kay," Rodney said slowly. "I won't."

John stared at him, hard.

"I promise!"

John leaned forward and pressed his head against Rodney's shoulder. "Aowr," he replied in a tiny, voice.

Rodney swallowed hard. "I can only imagine," he said, and stroked one hand down John's back.

After a minute, John gave Rodney one last headbutt and sat to give his paw a few nervous licks. He glanced at Rodney and plunked down, paws underneath his chest. Rodney glanced over at John's box, then back at John. Didn't say anything, just went back to work.

Several long moments later, John silently reached out, brushed Rodney's arm with his paw and tucked it back under his chest, his eyes downcast.

"John." Rodney said softly. "Anytime."

John didn't look at him, but after a minute or so, he started to purr.

~~~~~

The next time John appeared after playing lightswitch for Radek, he hunched miserably next to Rodney's laptop. Rodney stretched and drank a swig of coffee, contemplating this, then, reached out and slid John across the stainless steel table until he rested between Rodney's arms and the laptop. John remained stiff with surprise for a long, long moment while Rodney began typing again. Eventually the line of his back softened as he relaxed little by little. Eventually, John rested his chin on Rodney's arm and purred until he fell asleep.

~~~~

And about twenty minutes after that, Rodney's eyes watered while he tried not to laugh at John's tiny kitty snores. It might wake him up.

~~~

When John woke up, he stretched until his feet were planted in Rodney's belly and the laptop had slid forward a few millimeters. He rolled to his side - halfway on the keyboard - and blinked up at Rodney sleepily. "Brrr?"

"Yeah, I could eat," Rodney replied, wiggled one arm free enough to hit "save," scooped a mostly-boneless John up onto his shoulders and headed for the mess, whistling.
~~~

So, you know. Thingy.

beadattitude — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 16:18:21 GMT

Boy, I'm really tired.

I am
1) going to physical therapy for my arm 3x week. It's getting worse before it gets better and oddly wears the crap out of me.

2) Doing my Wii fit stuff with dedication. Also weary-making, but feeling strong and purposeful.

3) When I can, doing major reorganizing, cleaning of my house as I can, now that I have help for my various joint problems. There's stuff piled up in nearly every room, from the Great Office Move and from five years of declining mobility. It's going to take me a while, but I can do it. Finally.

4) Cooking more than I have in a long time, 'cause I can stand at the stove more.

5) Trying to get some earrings together to put up at the Haiti bid place when my shoulders are not so stiff. I'll get those up as soon as I can.

I was on a mission trip to Leogane, a villiage about a half-hour outside of Port Au Prince when I was sixteen. I was appalled at the level of poverty and malnuntrition and lack of basic medicines and health care. I saw some things - goiters and eleplantitis - that were straight from horror shows. We worked at the Methodist missionary compound surrounding a small hospital, painting and delivering medicines upcountry. I didn't eat a lot that week, once I found out the men and women cooking and serving us were taking the leftover food back to their families. None of us did. And we sang with the families who were waiting with their loved ones at the hospital. So I remember heat and hunger and joy and people who were almost afraid to hope.

So, I'm doing what I can. These are people who do not have much at all.

Best Fake Mic: Hairbrush or Lint roller?

beadattitude — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 19:08:31 GMT

So, I'm desperately trying to reboot myself after the holidays - coming home after a good time down home is more depression causing than a bad time, for some reason - so I'm listening to my sure-fire good mood lemmehearyousayyeah! (yeah!) play list and am currently stuck comparing Otis Redding's "Hard to Handle" vs. the same of the Black Crows.

What songs are sure-cures for the blues for you?

Oh, and here's the top ~~ten twelve~~ twenty of my currently ::checks:: 53-song, 3.3 hour playlist.

1) Black Sweat - Prince (2006)
2) Lady Marmalade - Moulin Rouge Soundtrack
3) Signed Sealed Delivered - Stevie Wonder
4) Rehab - Amy Winehouse, bless her heart
5) I Want You Back - Jackson 5 (on reflection a lot of early Jackson 5 songs are pretty damn sexist, and, some, in fact, don't make a lot sense in spots, but I feel I can rock out happily while being aware of that. And yes, I do what choreography that I remember, especially the side kick thing they do at the beginning)
6) Mustang Sally - The Commitments
7) Harder to Breathe - Maroon 5
8) A Hard Day's Night - The Beatles
9) Baby I Love You - Aretha Franklin
10) Somebody to Love - Queen
11) Only - Nine Inch Nails (Have you seen the video for this? so cool? Anyway, I adore opening instrumental section)
12) Bang a Gong - T. Rex
13) Free Your Mind - En Vogue
14) Do Like You - Stevie Wonder
15) Ain't No Other Man - Christina Aguilera
16) Iko, Iko - Dr. John
17) Start Me Up - The Rolling Stones
18) Dancing in the Strees - David Bowie and Mick Jagger
19) Tipatina - Dr. Professor Longhair
20) Code Monkey - Jonathan Coulton

Bonus track: 21) Smooth - Santana and Rob Thomas

I simply do not know how to even begin catching up on eleven days of LJ

beadattitude — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 04:53:44 GMT

So, please forgive me if, in the coming days, I don't know what's going on. I'm going to do the best I can.

Also, wow, I'd forgotten how lovely it is to sleep in my own bed.

Look Ma, I did a recording of Checkmate, the original story

beadattitude — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 07:08:49 GMT

SGA: Checkmate 'Verse: Body Language, Part 1

beadattitude — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 05:41:26 GMT

Title: Body Language, Part 1
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Author: Beadattitude
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Animal Transformation, eventual slash (John/Rodney)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None

Summary: John doesn't have to speak, or need to, get his point across. Well, none of them do, actually.

Author's note: This is to be a series of vignettes, scattered throughout the story, and this is the easiest one. The rest are kicking my fanny, dang it.

Day 20 – A remote corner of the mess hall

Rodney glanced up at the shadow falling across his keyboard and rolled his eyes. John flicked his ears in agreement and studiously avoided looking up at Ronon’s hand, which was hovering over his head, fingers flexing in a taunting manner.

Rodney tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. John shut his eyes tightly. Ronon’s hand remained where it was. Rodney moved his coffee to the other side of his laptop.

Slowly lowering one finger, Ronon poked John, once, in the head. John hunched, muscles under his skin twitching in exasperation. Ronon began another slow descent, finger extended. In the blink of an eye, John ducked under the questing hand, rolled, and stole the last sausage off Ronon's plate.

He dropped the sausage, planted one foot on it, bent his head and licked it. He finished this display with a death glare. Ronon glared back, picked up his knife and fork, twiddled his thumbs ostentatiously and began cutting up his melon and stuffing it in his mouth.

Rodney pointed to the hashed tubers stuck on John’s paw. John licked at it, made a face, licked at it again. He held out his paw toward Rodney to wipe off, glared at Ronon and gave Rodney a grateful glance when his paw was clean. Rodney pointed at John’s sausage with his knife, fork poised, ready to cut. John bit off a chunk and chewed it energetically, little bits of sausage falling from his mouth to the table.

Ronon scowled and cut his melon, his toast, his eggs, and his tubers, letting the cutlery clink loudly on his plate. He made a neat pile of food on his fork, speared it, dangled it elegantly between thumb and forefinger right in front of John’s nose, then popped it in his mouth. John took another messy, glaring bite of his sausage and smacked his lips loudly.

Rodney covered his eyes with his hand and sighed.

Bwahahahaha! ::snort::

beadattitude — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 01:47:15 GMT

I mentioned I'd need something to wash down all my snowflake cookies and someone sent me some cocoa. Heee. Thanks!

Let it Snow Baked Goods!

beadattitude — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 19:21:07 GMT

At this point, if those virtual snowflake cookies were actually real cookies, I'd need a quart or two of milk and a couple of bags of lettuce and a walk around town to counteract the carbs. Because you know I'd eat them. All of them. And crack the little sugar bee bees/ball bearings in my teeth.

It's gotten way too out of hand for me to respond individually, so THANK YOU VERY MUCH, EVERYBODY ::smooch, smooch, smooch::

Really, seriously, having a mumphy few days with J pulling two all nighters, or was it three? (He's only been home twice in the last five days, and man, when he comes home, he's very stinky and not very cogent. Deadline + ad guy no call/no showing = very bad week for newspaper editor.

So, thanks. Y'all are awesome.

Oh my goodness!

beadattitude — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 21:49:33 GMT

Many thanks to sterlingirl, geeklite, bitter_crimson, frantic_allonsy and a couple of anonymice, for the gorgeous LJ gift cookies. I dunno what prompted you, but I'm very touched and grateful. Thanks, y'all. ::blushes::

Ummmm. That fanfic love meme.

beadattitude — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 04:37:04 GMT

Okay, yes, I'm having a pretty crappy nearly crazy with hormones and stress week, so you know, little boost? Maybe it'll spark a plot bunny? You're 'sposta talk about which fics you enjoy or what parts of the stuff wot I wrote you like or maybe how I did the thing with the.... ::toes ground shyly:: thing.

Thanks, guys.