PFLJ

Gasp! Suprise!

psychofilly — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 20:56:26 GMT

Hey Flist, I'm still alive!

I've decided (for now) to move my fandomy and artwork journalling over to Vox. I'm not sure if I like their community structure, and they don't seem to have the ability to LJ cut that I can find, but I like how easy it is to embed fun stuff into the posts and ontl the journal. That said, http://psychofilly.vox.com/ I committed iconing. It's all fractals, no fandomy stuff, but they are very pretty and spring-like, so mosey over and check them out if you want to. There are a couple of drawings posted too, but nothing too fancy.

Nothing much else is going on, I've been painting, working, watching too much TV and playing bejeweled like a feind because I'm a dork. I hope everybody else is doing swell and hopefully, I'll have some more to post before another six months whizzes by.

Belated Halloween Fic

psychofilly — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 21:43:48 GMT

Belated Halloween ficathon fic-like-thingy
By Psychofilly
Angel, Cordy, Team
PG for creepiness
Based on prompt by mph0506 from Stranger Things. It was great, thanks!
Special thanks to Laurie and Mrs. Fortune. They brought out the paddles and gave me a whuppin. Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

In a House out of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Up there?"

"How the hell should I know?" Cordelia glared at him from behind her hand. She had rubbed her forehead so many times since her vision that it had turned red and blotchy. He knew by now that there was no way for her to bully the pain away. She frowned, forehead crinkling as she concentrated. "I got a vague feeling that it was up. I saw the tops of trees out the window. I think."

"You think?" he mumbled. "Great." The banister under his palm was warm from the LA heat and worn glass smooth with age and use. It had been years though, since children had slid down it, mothers had used it to steady themselves with a load of laundry on their hip, or young women had clutched it, running down the staircase late for a date. The dark patterned carpet was worn in the middle, yet still lush at the edges.

This house, now silent underfoot, had been a home to be proud of back in the day. It was unnatural that it hadn't been bought by some nouveau-rich movie star and renovated. He took the stairs slowly, old bones respecting old bones. He clutched his sword tighter as he reached the landing, hefting it just to feel the weight. "Stay there."

"Shyah, like I'm moving."

"Left or right?" Right took him into impenetrable darkness, left across the balcony which was at least lit by the watery silver light flickering through the window. Stepping onto the balcony was like stepping through a film of spiderwebs. The house no longer felt lived in. Instead it seemed shaded with the sweeping brushstroke of a hundred evil deeds. Cursed ground left to stew until from shingles to foundations, every nail and every board was suffused with blindly spiteful intent. Either way, the house lay in waiting, not sentient exactly, but with a foul, maggot-infested, mouldy malevolence. A low chuckle came from the left, a waft of air, stale as his breath, tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. Dread settled on him as soon as he stepped forward, thick as the dust covering the furniture.

"Never mind," Angel said.

"Angel?"

He stopped, mid-balcony and leaned over the rail. He didn't think the house would let the balustrade break. It was evil, yeah but proud-- it had persevered through the years nearly untouched and unbroken. Cordelia's face was grainy and indistinct like he was peering down through a black cloud of gnats. She'd clutched her own arms, shoulders hunched and her expression pinched tight with exhaustion and worry.

"We don't have much time."

From where he stood, she seemed more ghost than alive, a fading smear of color and heat that would dissapear entirely if he so much as blinked. His throat went dry as he tried to swallow.

"The crew? Hello? We've only got a couple of hours before people start showing up and all hell breaks loose."

Angel blinked and the gnats, the creeping dread, all of it-- dissapated. All he saw was Cordelia, dirty and exasperated, waiting for him to get his ass in gear.

"Time, right, moving," he said as he turned. "Wait for Wes and Gunn."

He could hear her below whispering to herself "Sometimes, he's so weird, I swear." It doesn't bother him any more. She only picks at his carcass because she cares.

Beyond the pale swath of light, Angel saw a white flash of eyes and a snarling glimpse of teeth. A thin slice split his cheek open, a sharp sting like a papercut. It was a clear warning, but it healed almost as soon as it opened. The entity was just fucking with him now. He continued on into the dark.

What he found at the end of the hall was somewhat anticlimactic. There was no snarling otherworldy beast, just a dead plant in a dusty planter and a thick gilt-framed mirror. The glass was intact but the silver backing was clouded and spider cracked. Ghost mirrors, they used to be called. Dru used to swear she could see Abraham Lincon in one. Knowing her, she probably could. She used to dance in circles and sing into the blank and cloudy surface...

"Mirror Mirror on the wall," he murmered. He squinted, and swore to himself that he could see a murcury slide of movement across the surface.

Vertigo griped him and he fell forward while still feeling the wood floor solidly under his toes. Dru spun suspended inside the surface of the mirror, in a jungle somewhere with a Fyaral demon. She was smiling, lips ripe and berry red with blood. A dark skinned woman at her feet stared at the sky, eyes cloudy and dimming. Dru stopped for a heartbeat, head cocking to the side, and he shuddered as her eyes locked with his. Before she could speak he skimmed away, following a spider crack to Darla. She was alone, her pale, frosty beauty thawed by a tender sadness. It's noticeable in that it wasn't an expression he he'd ever seen until near the end... She wasn't here anymore, not on this plain of existence, but she wasn't in hell either.

Before he can wonder he is whisked across cold glass to an opulent office with pictures spread acrosss it's surface. Sun-drenched Italy, Buffy the only constant, some shots with her sister, many with young handsome men, all different, but she looked happier than he'd ever seen her. Spike on a balcony with a cigarette dangling between his lips, was saying, "At least he went quick." Fred, sweet, shy Fred with cold eyes and blue hair...

He's grasped the meaning of the visions now, these are glimpses of the future, a possibility of a future anyway. He pressed forward, surging to catch a glimpse of his three companions, but of Cordy, Wes and Gunn there was only cool, blank, silver. He pushed harder, battering at it with all the force of his will, trying to break the veil. He caught snatches of whispers, then a shout, and the world shattered into technicolor shards as he slammed back into his body.

"All we need is Scooby Doo to show up and say 'Ruh Roh' and this night will have been complete." Cordy said, her loud voice a profanity to the shrouded power of this place.

Gunn loomed next to her looking smug, axe over his shoulder. "Hey man, you okay?"

Angel blinked, still caught in the grip of the visions. "You guys weren't-- you weren't there. I looked, but I--"

"Yes well, the power lurks within the mirrors," and there was Wesley still very much present, as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. "It uses them as access points and like a web to lure its victims. Stare too long and it'll suck you right in."

"As Wes nearly found out," Gunn added. "We've already gone 'Hulk Smash' on all the mirrors downstairs, so once we clear out all the mirrors up here, we should have effectively defanged this bitch."

Cordy rolled her eyes. "We saw you doing your statue impression and figured out the entity must have sucked you in. I thought I saw something weird staring out." She shivered, hand drifting up to cover her neck and hide the jump of her pulse. "Anyway, Hulk over here smashed the mirror and now that we have you up to speed can we finish?" She hefted a steel poker she must have liberated from a fireplace somewhere and started opening doors. "The PTB's have the irony-meter pegged with this job."

She dissapeared and Angel heard glass breaking and then like magic she was back, warm, alive, real and talkative. "I mean, they send us out to get rid of the entity so that those guys from Ghost Hunters don't actually stumble across it and get horribly murdered in the process... but at least they would have had their proof, you know?"

"Yeah," Angel agreed. He found himself following her, keeping Cordelia in sight. The entity had to have been fucking with him, like the cut on the cheek, only deeper. Maybe it couldn't see Cordy because they were already destroying it peice by peice. It had tried to rattle him as a distraction.

It had done a damn good job.

The next room they found, he took great pleasure in battering the mirrors to dust.

</div>

Life, Updated. Again.

psychofilly — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 19:57:18 GMT

Hello all. Someone nudged me a while back to get me to post another update. (::tickles jennem::)

First of all, I now have a loverly new layout thanks to premade_ljs.

Second, I posted about our electricity problems and the repair, but apparently I forgot to mention that about a week after that post our entire house was flooded by a leaky pipe that got blocked by a sewer repair company and back-flowed into our house all friggin day. It was clean water but it flooded all but our two extra bedrooms.

So. We've been dealing with that. Insurance covered the clean up and gave us some for the repairs (not nearly enough, but at least we weren't entirely out of pocket). So all those lovely plans we had to fix up the house-- about half got fast tracked. They pulled up all our carpeting and flooring and took off our baseboards to dry out the sheetrock. They got it in time to prevent molding, but we lived like refugees at David's moms house for a week.

But for all the massive headache its been. It's also kind of fun.

Let's see. We decided to start in the guest bathroom, because my dad plans to visit in October and that way no one would have to treck to our bathroom through our bedroom. We picked out a gorgeous tile combo. Like I said, we didn't have a lot of money and we had to get a new vanity too, so we picked a simple but effective multi color brown porcelain tile with a natural stone listel. The listel is called rain forest and has this green and brown striated color that is just to die for. We just got the tile up and I grouted it yesterday, so now we are waiting for it to cure so I can seal it.

We got brushed nickel matching hardware for both the shower and faucet. They look sort of like old fashioned oriental bamboo hand pumps, and with the earthy tones we picked, it's going to be gorgeous. We found that we overbought on the tile, becuse we planned to build in and tile around the tub (an idea we quickly abandoned) so we have enough to do the floor as well with an accent stripe of the rainforest listel. It's all going to be vaguely oriental and hopefully very pretty. Anything will beat the bottom basement cheapy dirty white first home crap we had in there.

As for the bedroom, I took the opportunity to repaint it yet again. Something I had completed about six months ago, but decided was too dark for my tastes. I was willing to live with it when Dave worked nights and the dark walls were a plus, because it was pretty. But now it's a light-bright caramel color, which is what I plan to paint the majority of the house. (the bathroom got the same treatment, but now I think it needs a light green accent wall to break up the brown. We were going to do slate, but changing to the brown tile made for a lot of brown. Plus I already have the paint.) I left the orange wall up (my bedroom was orange and green, baby! It was prettier than it sounds) and I plan to do a red glaze over that, probably a faux linen finish with a loose layer of gold over the orange and then the red over that. I want it rich and sinful looking.

For the bedroom floor, we decided to do carpet tiles. We found a color and style that we both could agree on, and I bought enough to do the closet as a tester. It was easy to install and we both decided that we love it. It goes great with the brown walls and grey slate, because it's a multi that has both brown and grey in it. Dave authorized me to pull enough money over out of our savings to get the whole room done. These aren't industrial tiles. They are pre padded and look like regular carpet and after living for months on our slab, it feels like heaven. Dave and I keep finidng excuses to go into the closet, and the dog keeps trying to sneak in there to sleep. Once we finish the bedroom and bathroom, we plan to tile our hall and entryway with slate, and repaint and put down new baseboards and then move on to the kitchen and living room. But right now all our bedroom furniture is sitting in my studio, and the entire house feels like chaos.

Did I mention we are still working on redoing all the outside in hardiplank as well?

I know it doesn't feel very personal, but this is our life right now. Every spare moment is figuring out what to do next and how to finance it, and while our house is liveable. We have electricity, water, can still watch TV and surf the web-- it sure as heck doesn't feel like a home right now. Everything is torn up and nothing is as it should be.

Did I say it was kind of fun? It is, kinda. But it sure takes a chunk of my me/creative time, and yet at the same time, it's ultimately satisfying because it is creative. We are sculpting out our space, making it liveable again and bringing it more in line with who we are.

And for those that are wondering Max and Teyla are doing fine. I can't spend the time with her that I want to, but she's coming along. She doesn't jump as much, and she's gotten to where she can sleep in the bedroom with us and not have any accidents, but she wakes me up at three AM regular as clockwork asking to go outside. She's still scared of David, which is funny because it only makes him mad, and only makes her more afraid. Now I understand why Aussies are such a good fit for us. You push and they push back. Teyla runs and hides behind momma, lol. She still hasn't shown much personality and that's a little frustrating because Max and Ash have/had it so effortlessly. She's a good dog, though.

Obviously with all that's going on, I haven't had a chance to do any more painting or drawing (artistically at least) but I have hopes that I can start agin once we get all my bedroom furniture out of there.

So far it looks like we dodged the bullet with Hurricane Dean, but I feel bad for the Mexicans, even though I'm glad it's going to be their problem and not ours.

I'll post pics when one of these projects are actually done.</div>

psychofilly — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 15:03:36 GMT

Not my most inspired set of icons, but here ya go. Misc SGA/Hewlitt, a few other fandom icons.

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Love is Not a Victory March

psychofilly — Fri, 30 Mar 2007 01:59:57 GMT

Love is Not a Victory March
By: Psychofilly
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Non-smutty team OT4, some vague Sam/Rodney and straight McShep.
Spoilers: Vague post show.
Disclaimers: Don't own the characters. If I did, maybe I'd have written a happier fic. Just playing in the sandbox.
Notes: I had four very crisp and clear flashes of character moments and tried to convey them the best that I could. It's John's POV, a little more introspective than usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is a sound like a firecracker popping behind him. Something warm and gelatinous splatters him. Instinctively he reaches back and slaps his hand across the back of his neck. There are flecks of something hard in his hair and his fingers come away red. Ronon is pulling ahead. He whirls around gripping his 9 mill so tight his knuckles hurt, his heart beating to the staccato rhythm of running boots.

He discovers a man standing right behind him, blaster loose in his fingers. There is a surprised expression on his face and a hole between his eyes. He squints, and peers through the hole to see the landing below, the barrel of Rodney's P-90, still smoking and behind it, Rodney's blue eyes. Their gazes connect for one electric moment, before Rodney's are sliding away, scanning the stairwell for more threats. Blood and brains ooze down the back of his shirt and John shudders, turns and runs toward the patch of bright sky at the top of the stairs. Between the four of them, the team kills over thirty Pelari soldiers before escaping.

Afterwards, John doesn't say thank you but he insists Rodney schedule a session with Heitmeyer. Rodney insists he's fine. They never talk about it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six months later, back on Earth for what no one knew would be the final time, he realizes that he's lost his entire team. Ronon is beating the crap out of a gaggle of Marines after spending eight hours straight in a lab with Dr. Lee. They seemed to alternate between careful silence, drafting actual plans for the hybrid blaster that he and McKay have been whispering about for a year now, and arguments that gave Zelenka and McKay a run for their money over load variances, alloys, balance and crystal selection.

Teyla was shopping. The Marines are more afraid of her than Ronon. The scientists assigned PT duty actually call in sick if they think she'll be in the gym.

Rodney had disappeared.

John finds Rodney a half hour later in a deserted area of the convoluted tunnel system that makes up the SGC. Apparently they have a pool. It's in a low, dark, unpainted concrete room. The water lit from below glows like the rippling pool of an event horizon and Rodney is floating on his back in the middle of it. There are running steps and a huge slash that has Rodney jerking reflexively and sputtering water. Samantha Carter swims by in a black one piece looking smug. Rodney glares. They circle each other in the water like sharks on to the scent of blood.

John finds that he doesn't want to watch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rodney always calls it the year of homespun. Eventually Miko and Jenkins discover how to turn on the manufacturing facilities on the south peir which includes a cloth manufacturing plant so whenever Elizabeth or Teyla can secure the raw materials, they have soft warm wool and stretchy soft cotton jersey and silk so soft and raw that it feels wet to the touch. But before that, they made do with leather, rough knobby wool and the thin strips of bark from Je-lan that the Athosians used to make their strange looking patchwork pants and coats. Even now people still the wear bark-pants because as Teyla has always insisted, they really were comfortable, breathable and wore well.

Today, however when Rodney and Teyla come through the gate at 0300AM Lantean standard, they aren't wearing anything.

Three days.

No contact for three days. Five gate teams on the search but there isn't one goddamned clue. Elizabeth grounds them after the first twenty-four hours.

He and Ronon do not talk during the day. John does paperwork with the gusto of a wife cleaning through her grief. Ronon does whatever he does when there isn't anything he can do. He shows up at John's room the first night roughly around bedtime, rips off his shirt and boots and claims the couch without a word. John just shrugs and lets him. The second night he lays a blanket and pillow by the couch. Ronon gives him a long look as John's kicking out of his pants, then bends, grabs the pillow, and beats it into an acceptable shape before laying down and shutting his eyes.

Atlantis herself shunts the gate activation alarm into his bedroom, and they both show up in the gate-room half dressed, boots in hand as the shield lowers and Rodney staggers through with Teyla cradled in his arms.

They look like extras from Dawn of the Dead, covered in dirt and blood and stark naked. Rodney stumbles and goes down, but he and Ronon are there to catch them. He clutches Teyla with a fierce strength. Up close they can tell that most of the blood is hers.

The medics arrive, Teyla is quickly moved to a gurney and a blanket is hastily wrapped around Rodney's shoulders. John recognizes the tremors, the lack of coordination and dazed, glazed look in Rodney's eyes. He turns to yell for someone, Lorne is standing there with a canteen and two power bars. In that moment, John loves him with a pure and perfect love.

"Rodney!" Teyla cries, stricken.

Ronon pulls Rodney up and tugs the blanket back up over his shoulders. John opens a power bar and pries Rodney's fingers apart enough to get it in his hand. As Ronon helps Rodney hobble after the gurney, John sees him lift his arm and shove half the bar into his mouth, biting and chewing mechanically. John stays behind to clean up the mess. His pants keep slipping down his ass and he wishes he'd have taken the time to grab his belt. Then he gets the shakes so bad he has to hide under the stairs for five minutes.

An hour later he slips into the infirmary. Teyla is still in the OR getting stitches. Rodney has been showered and someone got him a pair of boxers and a clean grey tee-shirt. He's laying face down on the bed like he face planted as soon as he was clean and dressed... which he probably did. His legs are a mess of small stark bruises and scratches. John stops in the doorway, unwilling to disturb the scene just yet. Ronon is on the bed with Rodney, propped up on his side. His broad tanned hand palming Rodney's lower back. John is about to turn and leave when Ronon looks up and smiles. It's a gentle one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes him look ten years younger than he really is. Rodney is pale, old looking and miserable next to him and when he whimpers softly, Ronon's thumb sweeps along the fish-belly white strip of skin where his shirt has ridden up above his boxers. "He said she saved his life."

"Looks like he saved hers right back."

John leaves, but only long enough to find one of the comfy chairs and drag it back so they can wait for Teyla together. Ronon doesn't move until the nurse comes in and makes him help her turn Rodney over and set him up on an IV.

Teyla and Rodney never tell them what happened on the mission. They have a four hour meeting with Elizabeth and John knows they have seen Heitmeyer both alone and together. It bugs him that he doesn't know. Especially when Teyla cuts her hair. The bronze shearing off until there is barely enough to form tiny waves along her scalp. It makes her look older, more severe but she finds her calm again and most of the time she looks like she's at peace.

She never grows her hair long again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the five years since being cut off from the Milky Way they've lost things they want but took for granted, but they've managed to make due-- most of the time. John examines the grey at his temples and thinks longingly of Just for Men. The woman have found a henna based dye, but that only works if you want to be a brunette. He misses coffee sometimes but likes what the scientists have dubbed Lava Java from P4X-371, the only planet on which it grows. He shaves carefully, avoiding the fresh scar that starts at his chin and runs half way down his neck.

They've all got plenty of scars now. Ronon has had to do double time on scar collecting after Rodney took the old ones away. Teyla has probably the most impressive one from the mission she won't talk about. It starts under her ribs and runs down her side to just past her knee. Rodney calls it her zipper and he wonders if that's what someone was trying to do... open her up and pull her out of her skin. Rodney has a round raised scar under his ribs that John still feels guilty about, the old silver line down his forearm from a Genii knife and a thumb shaped patch of red high on his inside bicep where someone had dipped a gloved finger in acid and pressed it there. It peeks out from under his short sleeved shirts and sometimes John wants to grab his arm and press his own thumb there when he does to see if it really is as smooth and slick as it looks.

He never does.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John is supremely relieved when the mission to MJ5-36X is over. He somehow ended up babysitting Lorne's team which means that he is completely superfluous, but Rodney had been nowhere to be found and Ronon and Teyla had practically shoved him through the wormhole. He is pretty sure it isn't his birthday. He'll have to kill someone if there are pointy hats.

There are no stupid signs or people singing or pointy hats when they get back to the Atlantis side, and John lets out a long and relieved breath. Maybe he's just been getting on everyone's nerves. He does that sometimes.

He makes it through debrief, checks on his Marines, and drags his ass back to his room. It's empty. He stares dumbly at it for a moment, blinks a couple of times, but it's still empty. He clicks on his radio.

"Rodney!"

The radio chirps and someone chuckles in his ear and then says, "Check the whiteboard."

He turns around, and there on the wall above where his tiny desk used to be is the one thing remaining in his room. He snatches it off the wall, stalks to the transporter and dials the transporter coordinates scrawled on it in Ronon's loopy handwriting.

The stained glass doors open into a rec room. John recognizes the carpets and wall hangings that are Teyla's and some of the tall and dark wood -things- that were apparently priceless works of Satedan art that Ronon has been slowly liberating from his fast deteriorating home world. John thinks they're kinda pretty, but is too macho to actually admit it. There is one wall that was bare of any tapestries containing all of Rodney's various degrees and awards and, he squints, a couple of his own that had been buried in his sock-drawer. "The hell?"

Teyla steps out of a door to his right. "John, you have made it." She smiles, a flash of knowing mischief. "I trust your mission with you XO was..." she cocks her head, "relaxing."

"Cute, Teyla."

She steps forward and grabs his arms, a formal gesture of comfort among her people. "We mean well, John. Surely you understand this by now?"

Ronon and Rodney bustle out of a room to his left before he can answer. As if he had an answer for that.

"Oh," Rodney stops and glances nervously back over his shoulder. "I thought you said he'd be gone another hour at least."

"He's right here, Rodney. Now will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

Ronon claps Rodney on the back, "He will," he says before disappearing next door.

"Right," Rodney says with a sigh. "I should have been the meat-head engineer."

"-heard that."

Rodney smiles softly, Ronon's threats having lost their power years ago. "Okay, so," He snaps his fingers and gestures expansively around the room. "We gave Teyla what amounts to the master bedroom with the private bathroom because she's a girl and we are all sexist pigs who are frightened of dealing with tampons and girl parts, at least according to Cadman." He waves towards the room next to hers. "I took the room with the office and the other private bath because, well, it has an office so it's mine." His chin tilts up as if he is daring John to argue, and he might have if his brain isn't still playing catch-up. Rodney ushers him into the room next to the one Ronon has obviously taken. It is twice the size of his quarters, maybe more, with a wide bank of windows and a balcony. "You'll have to share a bathroom with Ronon, but this room has the biggest balcony and the best view."

John looks around at his half put together new room.

Rodney clears his throat in that nervous way that not even the Pegasus Galaxy has been able to shake. "We were trying to get it set up before you got back, but best laid plans..." He trails off with a shrug, shifts, and cocks his thumbs. It's another one of Rodney's unique tells. "I guess now that you are here you can finish. The kitchen and living room are out there, and the coolest thing you've already seen with the transporter access directly to the room. Zelenka theorized this might have been the Atlantean equivalent of a penthouse, and we liberated a couple more of the big beds and I really think you are going to enjoy the balcony. It connects with Ronon's but you can duct tape a line across it or whatever else you two want to do." He seems to realize that he is rambling and John is staring. "Uh."

"You could have just asked."

Rodney just snorts as if he's trying to cover a smile and walks out the door.

John wanders around for a bit, touching things, putting them up. He sticks his head in the bathroom, sees Ronon through the adjoining door and waves. Ronon doesn't look up from his book but gives him a quick bastardized salute.

Two hours later he wanders out into the central room. He still fighting the urge to simply pack up and move back to the room that he knows, but then Teyla grabs a bowl, and Rodney grabs a remote and Ronon appears out of nowhere to sit on the couch. John's nose twitches at the scent of popcorn, and then he thinks he might be fighting a hard on all night when a ridiculously sized screen slides down from the ceiling and an Atlantean projector starts swirling lights in it's own alien version of a screen-saver.

Teyla sits next to Ronon and as soon as Rodney sits down she turns, pulling her legs up into Ronon's lap and leans back against Rodney's shoulder. They are always so comfortable together and John envies them that. He takes a seat at the end next to Rodney, who smirks, as if he understands that he's basically seducing John into staying with a TV. John lifts an eyebrow and holds out his hand for the bowl. They give it to him and someone pushes play.

Half way through the movie Rodney's fingers brush his as he digs out a fist full of popcorn. He shifts to the right and leans against John so Teyla can pick the kernels out of his hand, one by one, and toss them at Ronon's mouth. Three quarters of the way through John shifts to the side a little himself and puts his arm across the back of the couch. It's that or his arm is going to lose blood-flow, get gangrene and fall off. Rodney settles in jerkily, as if John is putting him out for making him have to move even the tiniest bit. One more shift and Rodney is half reclined, his head resting against the sweet spot between John's shoulder and cheek. The soft greying cap of Teyla's hair brushes his forearm when she laughs. Ronon's thumb slides against his.

John smiles, exhales, and slouches deeper into his seat.

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Everybody, meet Teyla

psychofilly — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 20:41:02 GMT

Srsly, how could you not love this puppy? After dog-sitting for a week, Dave and I finally realized that it was time to find Max a playmate. After Ash died, I vacillated between liking being down to one dog, and jonesing like mad for a new girl. (and missing Ash of course). So, We dog-sat Sheba and the next Friday, I drove up to Brenham where my brother got her and came home with Teyla. She's listed as a Austrailian Sheppard mix, but I'm beginning to think she may actually be a Border Collie mix. They look similar and I've already had three people stop me and ask if she was a Border Collie. She may not be a mix at all.

I realize we've now completed our SGA OT4, with my xB named Rodney, Dave's truck he dubbed Ronon and the hot rod called John. No way was David calling his Nissan beater Teyla.

I actually wanted to call her Lili, Dave wanted Sheila and it came down to Tasha (Yar) or Teyla and I decided Teyla. She is like, the quietest and most well behaved dog ever. I'm used to balls of energy, and she just finds herself a spot and curls up. I brought her to work today, and she's slept most of it and charmed the pants off everybody when she wasn't sleeping. The plan is to socialize her in a way I never did with Ash or had a chance to with Max. Maybe I've been watching too much Dog Whisperer, but this time I want a gentle well adjusted animal that doesn't bite old people and small children.

Max hates her right now, but he's already showing signs of caving. Creepiest thing, we buried Ash in the back yard. As soon as I set the puppy down, Max went and stood on her grave and glared at me. EeeeEeEeEee.



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psychofilly — Sun, 18 Mar 2007 01:19:53 GMT

Courtesy of starlet2367who wants to play.

Post a list of your top five favorite fics you've written, regardless of fandom or the reason you love them. This isn't about the BEST things you've written, but what you LOVE most. Then tag five other people to do the same.

Moira Brown, age 5. I love this because it's my own, and I still have plans to write her story one day.

High Rise because it's probably one of the most polished fics I've written and one that really translated almost completely from what was in my head.

First and Second Date. Yeah, it's two fics, but they go together and this is when Kel and I started what has been a beautiful friendship and I found a beta reader who challenged me and made me better. Plus it's the first time Cordelia's voice really clicked for me.

Tourniquet because it started out, quite literally as a joke, and turned into my own answer to Season five, in which Cordy's back, and there is no such thing as a quick fix or easy redemption.

Transitions because it's Sam/Teal'c and plotty and told from Teal'cs POV, and I don't feel like I embarrassed myself. It felt like going from sticking a toe in the pool to kicking off my pants and jumping in.

I tag anyone who wants to play.

psychofilly — Tue, 06 Mar 2007 19:27:47 GMT

	Texture v3 [final] Third and final repaint, added color depth, another rectangular element. Kanji for "home" unless I screwed it up. Pictures distort the bottom line which is actually straight, I promise.
	Texture v3 [final] Not a clear shot, but you can see the colors better. Given to Lou as housewarming.
	Mandalawallabingboom The real colors are somewhere between this and the next one. To give you an idea, my walls in this room are actually lavender.
	Freehand flower mandala, closeup. I still may play with the center because I'm not 100% happy with it.
	Harmony Freehand design
	Harmony Detail, tweaked to get it closer to original colors and brightness.

</div>
A few posts ago, I posted some crappy pics of a painting in progress. Well, I finished it (for now, maybe) and two others so I thought I'd stick them up and let you guys see them. The first one finally wins. Seems like third time's a charm. I kept painting on it till I was mostly happy with it. The second one, the middle section still bugs me, and it might get tweaked later, but for now it hangs in my funky guest befroom of the purple fur and orange bamboo and fits right in. The third and latest has the middle taken from a design I drew and completely forgot about, and then I futzed around the edges until I was happy. Other than finishing off the sides, I'm content to leave it be. It has a cool swirl pattern stamped into the top clear glaze that doesn't show up in pictures but looks neat in natural light.

psychofilly — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 17:03:02 GMT

I don't like fic where men cry. Manful tearing up, or holding back tears, even wet eyes that men would deny to their dying day or wobbly chins I can handle. Sobbing men, or men that cry at the drop of a hat... no so much. I like hurt/comfort with my slash, but neither Rodney nor John are 14 year old girls. Those that write them like that, please stop.

This letter has been brought to you by the letter "B" as in Becky has been reading entirely too much badfic.

psychofilly — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 14:53:14 GMT

</div>

Also, a couple of links to some Wallpapers.
Ronon: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v314/psychofilly/Wallpapers/SGA307.png
John and Ronon: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v314/psychofilly/Wallpapers/SGA302-00121024.png
John: http://pics.livejournal.com/psychofilly/pic/004q0hrp/g68
John: http://pics.livejournal.com/psychofilly/pic/004f9yx0/g68

GIP!

psychofilly — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 22:14:51 GMT

I so should be working, but instead was iconning David Hewlett's ass. I may pay for it tomorrow, but today, life is sweet. All hail the Hewlettass!

Wednesday Icon Dump

psychofilly — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 18:30:33 GMT

So new icons. I may have went a little nuts with the new round style, but I'm not gonna appologize for that. The bunny ears however? Yeah, I dunno what I was thinking either. There is one icon with a spoiler for Vengance in it, well three from Vengance but one that can be construed as spoiling anything and it's just John, it's the text that's spoilery. There are a couple of DB and ED at the end there. So, on to the icons! Oh and the Kanji actually do have meaning for the icons. The one of Rodney says soft, the one of John says Lucky Guy, and the one of Booth says Hunter. I plan on doing more of those.

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Kinda pointelss rambly art question.

psychofilly — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 18:14:23 GMT

This is more or less an academic question for icon makers and other artists. But is there any one moment where you can track a stylistic jump for you in style and techniques? I mean in hands on media, it could be a tool or a technique, like when I discovered the tortillion and my horses went from this to this in the space of the same year.

I noticed it again, lately with icons. I like my style of icons, and have been making loads with the same basic technique for a while now. Like this with bright saturated color, and bright clear details and some sort of matching texty thing that is hopefully halfway witty. Then suddenly I've jumped to this and once again to this. And I know the roundy things are nothing new, but I think my last spin on it is, if not new, at least rare enough to seem fresh again. And while it might seem like I'm drawing from the many brushes and icons that use the round window with color around it, I know exactly where the leap was born. Which was with this icon.

I guess the point is, do you, my dear flist, have a moment where you went, Hmmm. Hmmm.... and struck off in an entirely different direction than one you were going in before. I guess I find the evolution of art and artistic talent as interesting as the art itself.

Thursday Icon Dump

psychofilly — Fri, 26 Jan 2007 04:41:21 GMT

Another mixed bag. Some in the new roundy style I've been playing with. Some in my more regular style and some older blanks that have been sitting around on my hard drive, and one correction, because I apparently can't spell "dildos." There are one or two from Sunday, but only one could be construed as anywhere approaching spoilery. Some of these I'm rediculously happy with, some are just eh.

</div>

psychofilly — Wed, 24 Jan 2007 05:58:50 GMT

I'm working on a new painting (it's in progress). Here are some spectacularly bad pics of it! I got the idea while painting fake mehndi on my finger in purple glitter pen (which happens far more than it should for someone over thirty). So I freehanded it over a canvas I had already prepared for another painting like this one. But I've started this instead. Once it's done, I'll take a real pic and not just one with my phone.

</div>

I'm over it

psychofilly — Tue, 23 Jan 2007 18:04:39 GMT

You know what. I'm over the icons with the highly saturated colors (tending towards the blues and uber reds) and the white scratchy dust particles.

Don't get me wrong, they are quite gorgeous, and yet-- over it.

Everyone and their dog and their granny and her baby kittens need to branch out a little. /rant

PS: Totally OT but Jason Moma and David Hewlett are so cute together they just about put me into a diabetic coma. So so cute.

psychofilly — Tue, 16 Jan 2007 14:31:20 GMT

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Fic in 2006

psychofilly — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 20:10:42 GMT

Everyone is looking back, so I figured, what the hey.

Angel: 06, was apparently the year I finally moved on. I have a small tryptich of stories that I wrote, and that's about it. I'll always love the show, bittersweet as that is now, so only three short ficlets that really count as one. Three Stories

Sg-1: I had a brief flirtation as a Sam/Teal'c shipper which produced Transitions - Which was basically a big Teal'c POV episode tag for the S9 finale.
Then came Sparring - Which came from one of those icon to fic memes. It's Sam POV with Daniel and Teal'c and it's a little naughty, but mostly nice.

SGA: Atlantis is the fandom that ate my brain. For all that it's popcorn Sci-Fi, I love love love the show. I love McShep and McEverybody and McMe. I love the team, and I love the secondary characters and so much about this show. So I've been knocking around the fandom writing here and there and trying to get a feel for the verse. I don't have the time to write like I used to, but I keep plugging away at it, and the little fics keep getting longer.

Bottom Bitch - It's all about the banter. I can't believe this is my first SGA ficlet. I was just playing at getting the voices down, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I still think this might end up a series where they have to go to this planet and Rodney has to pose as a sex-slave owner at a big interplanetary auction and John and Ronon are the worst sex slaves ever and... well. I don't want to give away the plot.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss - Another silly ficlet. The first time Rodney ever kissed John.

Two Fics - Because it had to be done. PWP crossover with the Buffyverse. I'm sure a died in the wool nitpicker would come up with a million reasons why this is wrong, wrong, wrong, but it was fun yo. John/Buffy and Rodney/Willow and it's all about scratching those itches.

Even - This was just supposed to be some cracked out porn, but lo, an actual emotional throughline came from on high and hijacked the fic. So no porn, but it could easily count as pre-ship. John and Rodney are emotional five year olds for whom hair pulling equals affection, and it gets ugly when they each have an axe to grind. Post ep for Letters to Pegasus and Irresitable.

Blue Skies - Just a quickie Tao of Rodney tag. While I liked how John and Rodney were portrayed in the show. I kinda asked myself what Rodney would do for him if he could. It's pre-slash and short.

WIPS: I do actually have one. It's John/Rodney cassock kink. Sadly, yet again, full on porn may be elusive, but I'm thinking it will allow for some decent priest outfit frottage. There is even a manip already.

</div>

psychofilly — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 03:55:07 GMT

Some new icons some with mild spoilers for new episodes of SGA. Also, nekkid Hewlett. A lot of these are "leftover" icons that have been clutterring my computer from other manic bouts of icon making. Some are brand spanking new.

</div>

Blue Skies

psychofilly — Mon, 18 Dec 2006 20:11:04 GMT

Blue Skies.
Psychofilly
pg
John, Rodney
pre-ship, friendship
Tao of Rodney tag
A/N: Extremely short ficlet. Kinda my way of giving a little more meaning to something Rodney said near the end of Tao.

He found Rodney, not in his labs as expected but down the hall and to the left, out the doors on a narrow balcony that overlooked the west pier.

"Hey, buddy, what'cha doing?" John asked. Rodney didn't startle or act surprised, but he'd probably heard him coming on several different levels. Besides it was obvious even to Rodney levels of obliviousness that Elizabeth and John had been keeping pretty tight tabs on him all day. Not that he'd admit to caring or even have to, given Rodney's new and disturbing mental powers. John had been keeping up a steady subconscious stream of watermeloncantalopelemonslemonslemons, ever since Ronon had radioed him earlier.

"I'm trying to say goodbye to Sam," Rodney replied softly, wistfully, lacking his usual bite. The salted air fluffing what was left of his hair. "I thought I might have a chance to actually, you know," he waved his hands up around his head, "communicate directly some how." He sighed, turning to John and regarded him wearily. "Did Elizabeth send you?"

John shook his head no. Rodney shrugged.

"She left after giving me the ascension 'pep talk'," Rodney air quoted, "Though I have to admit, she actually made some interesting observations."

"She does that," John agreed for lack of anything better to say. "I thought you'd be working. The plan was to drag you off to my quarters and have my meditatey way with you." He wiggled his brows and squinted, trying to lighten Rodney's mood.

"I was, we can, but-- right, release my burdens...." he trailed off, squinting into the pale blue sky. "John, there are things I--"

John tensed, took a step back, and raised his hands in an effort to head Rodney's train of thought off at the pass. "Whoa there, we're a long ways away from that conversation."

"What?" For a moment Rodney looked genuinely confused, then his features smoothed over. "I never said anything about dying, at least not yet anyway."

John nodded, his stomach slowly unknotting. He found it ten kinds of disturbing that Rodney could pick up his thoughts like that, despite the mental blockade. He grimaced and answered with more honesty than usual. "You had me nervous with all the goodbye talk." He knew Rodney was trying to block people's thoughts, which meant he was probably radiating his distress like a damned beacon. He didn't want anyone under his command to die; He'd go down for anyone in Atlantis, but he could count on one hand the people he considered his friends and that list would start with Rodney McKay, who more than anyone else had wormed his way under John's walls and set up camp there.

"Look, I'm just trying to say that there's something I'd like to do with you." Rodney grinned crookedly and reached out, covering John's hand with his own. Woah, John didn't think he'd been sending out those kinds of thoughts. "Provided you don't freak out."

"Rodney, I can't--" He tried to pull away but the other man's hand held fast, fingers laced, sweaty palm to sweaty palm. "I." He stopped, closed his eyes and swallowed hard, some backwater part of his mind rebelling and saying god yes, he could and would, whatever Rodney wanted, but to give in felt too much like giving up. It took a supreme act of will to push past the pounding of his pulse and the roaring sound of the wind in his ears to open up and look at Rodney , a quick denial on the tip of his tongue.

Rodney's eyes twinkled with deep seated mischief and a spark that John was probably never going to be ready to put a name to.

"Wow. That wasn't exactly a no and, well --any other day I'd be more than curious-- but that wasn't what I had in mind."

John quirked a brow, because --jesusfuck-- he'd just basically outed himself, though he wasn't sure what he felt and Rodney still had his hand in a death grip. "Huh?"

"Look down, John."

John did as he was told, and raw gut instinct made him startle, yelp like a girl, and grab for Rodney's neck. They were floating about twenty feet over the top of the main tower, the ocean a sparkling blanket that stretched unbroken as far as they could see. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Batman's my first choice," Rodney was the very definition of smug, his lips grazed John's ear as he spoke and he made no move to pull away. "But I can live with being Superman."

Rodney was the coolest geek, ever.

"Can we--" and before John could finish they were off like a shot.</div>

Wednesday Icon Dump

psychofilly — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 14:46:18 GMT

Today we have Stargate, Atlantis, and Kaliedescopes made from original knotwork and designs I have done over the years, some of which see here if you are so inclined. I should have more coming soon. I had got these ready to post a while back, then forgot them. Word of warning, there is one very NOT worksafe icon at the bottom.

</div>

Thursday Icon Dump

psychofilly — Thu, 16 Nov 2006 22:16:34 GMT







































	These are actually	older icons, but the	post messed up.
<	>

</div>

psychofilly — Tue, 31 Oct 2006 14:49:21 GMT

A variety of icons, including John, Rodney, friendshippy McShep, and McWeir, and Sparky.

</div>

Help!

psychofilly — Mon, 30 Oct 2006 14:37:26 GMT

Does anyone have and might be willing to share ~~"Chaiyya Chaiyya Bollywood Joint" (featuring Punjabi MC)~~ (Thank you, thank you!) and/or the original Chaiyya Chaiyya from A.R. Rahman. We saw "Inside Man" last night and I could swear that we've heard (and liked) the original (I never had any way to find out who it was by because it was on an old AAMCO commercial) but the update was good too. I don't have any downloading software so I can't find it myself. I would be *so* gratefull for this song or any in that style.

Anyone?

From Kane and Ackles to Cain and Able...

psychofilly — Thu, 26 Oct 2006 19:52:16 GMT

Kelly: I just saw the 4th ep of Supes. Jensen Ackles rocks my world. I'm now retroactively digging that bad-boyz pic of him and Chris with the beer.

Me: I would totally slash Kane and Ackles. Mmm, that sounds like Cain and Able, the very first RPF slashable couple in history. *dodges brimstone*

Kelly: Bwah! :falls down laughing:

Result: Caution ~~Wincest,~~ I mean incest, and biblical RPF depicted.

*chip chip chip*

Cain closed his eyes as Able walked by, still wet from his dip in the river, the soft hide draped dangerously low on his tanned hips.

*chip chip*

Cain couldn't take it any more. Able was so perfect, always knowing just the right sacrifice to the creater, always respectfull and pleasing to their parents, and even worse, nice to Cain. Cain secretly wanted to be just like his big brother, but knew in his heart that he'd never measure up.

*chippity chip*

"What?" Able said with a smirk as he glanced back over his shoulder. He looked so innocent that it was indecent.

Cain stared, mesmerized by a stray droplet as it slowly slithered down Able's back to dissapear under his skins. Heat flushed his face, and for the millionth time, Cain wondered if Able was aware of his effect on him. It's not like either of them had many options for release.

"Sometimes, I want to bash your head in with a rock."

"Aw," Able drawled as he unselfconsciously whipped the hide off his hips, showing off his firm brown backside. "You know you love me, bro."

He rolled up the damp skin and snapped it at Cain's head. With a snarl, Cain gave chase. Despite his favored status, Cain had the advantage of rangy legged height. In a few short moments he tackled his brother to the ground, trapping his more compact frame under his, using his weight to press him into the soft grass....

*Chip chip chip*

Adam leaned over Eve's shoulder as she patiently carved symbol's onto the rock beside her.

He cleared his throat, causing her to startle. "Don't you have better things to be doing with your time?"

Eve clutched her growing belly and glared. "What? My feet were swelling and I was bored. It's not I have any other women to talk to, at least not for another ten years or so."

Adam rubbed his temples tiredly and not for the first time apologized to god for eating that damned cursed apple. "You know, I don't even want to know."</div>

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