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.meme and crackish ficlet: If Wishes Were Fishcats - John/Rodneyish (PG)
1. Totally stolen from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
telesilla and slian_martreb: The thing is, when people look for stories, they always make it sound like badfic. Now, often that's because it really is badfic, but sometimes it's good and they just suck at describing the story.
So, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to summarize badly any one (or more!) of my stories and I'll try to guess which it is. You could even pretend you don't remember the pairing or fandom to make it harder to guess. [links to various fics are in tags or linked from here]
2. Apparently there's been something like crack in the air, becauseamberlynne and I were talking about this very thing today, and crack combined with my very great desire not to do work produced this.
... yes. And then there's this. Mercifully short (~880 words); vaguely John/Rodney, but in a disturbing way
If Wishes Were Fishcats
"Many people believe the fishcat of MX4-800 possesses magical properties; it is a legend on many worlds," Teyla said. "I have never seen the fishcat myself, but according to the people of MX1-458, who got it from MX3-144, who learned of it from MX3-90210, it has the property of granting one wish to those who ask it."
"That sounds like a reasonable mission to me," said Sam. "You leave tomorrow."
---
It was a long walk from the gate to the fishcat's shrine; John seriously doubted that there was a fishcat, and he was pretty sure Teyla was laughing at them all. Rodney had brought along a ton of equipment, operating under the hypothesis that the fishcat was an Ancient device, and he'd roped John into lugging two spare laptops, extra batteries, and MREs.
"You should carry your own damn crap," John said to Rodney, and tried to readjust the laptops without making the MREs slide off.
"It's hard to breathe in these things," Rodney said from behind his gas mask.
MX4-800 had purple clouds and the grass was orange, and until they came into the fishcat's presence, John couldn't get Rodney to take off his gas mask, and that was only because Rodney wanted to get a better look at the fishcat.
It really did look like a fishcat, or what John supposed one would look like, with a catlike face but a fish's huge, unblinking eyes. It started out with blue fur running down its neck, chest, and shoulders, but eventually the fur blended into shiny blue scales. What looked like a bowl of milk and plankton sat next to it.
"What do you wish?" asked the fishcat.
They'd decided on their wishes ahead of time. Ronon would ask for another gun. Teyla would wish to find her people again. Rodney would wish for a lifetime supply of ZPMs. ("That's technically more than one wish," said John. "Not if it's multiples of the same thing!" said Rodney, and they'd argued about that for a while.) John would wish for a way to defeat the Wraith.
Right now, though, John's arms were killing him and Rodney had been completely recalcitrant, and the purple clouds had been freaking him out all day, and his arms were seriously about to fall off.
"I'd like you to turn Rodney into a backpack so maybe he'll carry his own stuff from now on." John ignored the small voice of responsibility reminding him of why they were here and what he was supposed to wish for.
"What? WHAT?" Rodney shouted. "Absolutely not."
"What is your wish?" the fishcat demanded. Its claws extended and retracted, and its dorsal fin twitched.
"I refuse to be a backpack," Rodney said. "However, in the interest of not having to walk back to the gate, I'd agree to be a laptop case."
"No way," John said. "A purse. A purse would be okay. Leather, with a lot of compartments."
"Again, no way in hell." Rodney scowled. "Laptop bag."
The fishcat scowled.
"In exchange for your wish, I'll let you be a messenger bag," John said.
"Oh, fine. On condition I turn back when we get home."
...
The fishcat let them go. Ronon had a new gun, and Teyla had a promising lead on her people. John had a cool canvas messenger bag, sturdy and warm and bumping against his thigh.
The second they stepped through to the Atlantis side of the horizon, Rodney transformed back to himself and hit the floor. One of the spare batteries hit him on the head. He glared up at John.
"Ow!"
"Thanks for helping, McKay." John waited until Rodney had fussed over his laptops and MREs before hauling him to his feet. Rodney brushed himself off, sniffed his sleeve, and muttered something about canvas. John tried not to think about how nice it had been to wear Rodney, his strap positioned comfortably on John's shoulder, brushing with a reassuring wiss-wiss against John's BDUs. John had played with the cool brass snaps for a while, snapping and unsnapping them, and stroking one finger against the fabric.
"While you were gone," Sam said, striving to look as though she saw this sort of thing every day (John was willing to bet even Sam had never seen something this weird<), "I recieved a communication from the SGC specifically for you, Colonel Sheppard."
John beamed.
...
The French guy was running through "Like a Virgin" for the twentieth time, and not even that could dim John's good mood. The fishcat had really come through for him.
"I can't believe I gave up my wish for this," Rodney moaned. He buried his face in his hands as Ralph from Happy Days came up. "And stop smiling. You haven't smiled that much in four years total. It's unnerving. And you can't even sing... Not like that hasn't stopped most people from trying out for this." He looked up briefly to scowl at the other contestants.
"So you're one of the finalists!" Ralph said, shaking John's hand.
"Ralph!" John said happily.
"I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised you made it to the finals," Ralph said, "But hey, it's American Idol. Anything can happen."
Rodney moaned again and said something about seppuku with plastic cutlery. John smiled even more.
He was on his way.
-end...?-
*= I would never actually do this, even if drunk. I'm nowhere near coordinated enough to manage the keyboard and mouse, much less post anything.
telesilla and slian_martreb: The thing is, when people look for stories, they always make it sound like badfic. Now, often that's because it really is badfic, but sometimes it's good and they just suck at describing the story.So, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to summarize badly any one (or more!) of my stories and I'll try to guess which it is. You could even pretend you don't remember the pairing or fandom to make it harder to guess. [links to various fics are in tags or linked from here]
2. Apparently there's been something like crack in the air, because
amberlynne and I were talking about this very thing today, and crack combined with my very great desire not to do work produced this.
I would not be surprised at all if someone did.
... yes. And then there's this. Mercifully short (~880 words); vaguely John/Rodney, but in a disturbing way
If Wishes Were Fishcats
"Many people believe the fishcat of MX4-800 possesses magical properties; it is a legend on many worlds," Teyla said. "I have never seen the fishcat myself, but according to the people of MX1-458, who got it from MX3-144, who learned of it from MX3-90210, it has the property of granting one wish to those who ask it."
"That sounds like a reasonable mission to me," said Sam. "You leave tomorrow."
---
It was a long walk from the gate to the fishcat's shrine; John seriously doubted that there was a fishcat, and he was pretty sure Teyla was laughing at them all. Rodney had brought along a ton of equipment, operating under the hypothesis that the fishcat was an Ancient device, and he'd roped John into lugging two spare laptops, extra batteries, and MREs.
"You should carry your own damn crap," John said to Rodney, and tried to readjust the laptops without making the MREs slide off.
"It's hard to breathe in these things," Rodney said from behind his gas mask.
MX4-800 had purple clouds and the grass was orange, and until they came into the fishcat's presence, John couldn't get Rodney to take off his gas mask, and that was only because Rodney wanted to get a better look at the fishcat.
It really did look like a fishcat, or what John supposed one would look like, with a catlike face but a fish's huge, unblinking eyes. It started out with blue fur running down its neck, chest, and shoulders, but eventually the fur blended into shiny blue scales. What looked like a bowl of milk and plankton sat next to it.
"What do you wish?" asked the fishcat.
They'd decided on their wishes ahead of time. Ronon would ask for another gun. Teyla would wish to find her people again. Rodney would wish for a lifetime supply of ZPMs. ("That's technically more than one wish," said John. "Not if it's multiples of the same thing!" said Rodney, and they'd argued about that for a while.) John would wish for a way to defeat the Wraith.
Right now, though, John's arms were killing him and Rodney had been completely recalcitrant, and the purple clouds had been freaking him out all day, and his arms were seriously about to fall off.
"I'd like you to turn Rodney into a backpack so maybe he'll carry his own stuff from now on." John ignored the small voice of responsibility reminding him of why they were here and what he was supposed to wish for.
"What? WHAT?" Rodney shouted. "Absolutely not."
"What is your wish?" the fishcat demanded. Its claws extended and retracted, and its dorsal fin twitched.
"I refuse to be a backpack," Rodney said. "However, in the interest of not having to walk back to the gate, I'd agree to be a laptop case."
"No way," John said. "A purse. A purse would be okay. Leather, with a lot of compartments."
"Again, no way in hell." Rodney scowled. "Laptop bag."
The fishcat scowled.
"In exchange for your wish, I'll let you be a messenger bag," John said.
"Oh, fine. On condition I turn back when we get home."
...
The fishcat let them go. Ronon had a new gun, and Teyla had a promising lead on her people. John had a cool canvas messenger bag, sturdy and warm and bumping against his thigh.
The second they stepped through to the Atlantis side of the horizon, Rodney transformed back to himself and hit the floor. One of the spare batteries hit him on the head. He glared up at John.
"Ow!"
"Thanks for helping, McKay." John waited until Rodney had fussed over his laptops and MREs before hauling him to his feet. Rodney brushed himself off, sniffed his sleeve, and muttered something about canvas. John tried not to think about how nice it had been to wear Rodney, his strap positioned comfortably on John's shoulder, brushing with a reassuring wiss-wiss against John's BDUs. John had played with the cool brass snaps for a while, snapping and unsnapping them, and stroking one finger against the fabric.
"While you were gone," Sam said, striving to look as though she saw this sort of thing every day (John was willing to bet even Sam had never seen something this weird<), "I recieved a communication from the SGC specifically for you, Colonel Sheppard."
John beamed.
...
The French guy was running through "Like a Virgin" for the twentieth time, and not even that could dim John's good mood. The fishcat had really come through for him.
"I can't believe I gave up my wish for this," Rodney moaned. He buried his face in his hands as Ralph from Happy Days came up. "And stop smiling. You haven't smiled that much in four years total. It's unnerving. And you can't even sing... Not like that hasn't stopped most people from trying out for this." He looked up briefly to scowl at the other contestants.
"So you're one of the finalists!" Ralph said, shaking John's hand.
"Ralph!" John said happily.
"I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised you made it to the finals," Ralph said, "But hey, it's American Idol. Anything can happen."
Rodney moaned again and said something about seppuku with plastic cutlery. John smiled even more.
He was on his way.
-end...?-
*= I would never actually do this, even if drunk. I'm nowhere near coordinated enough to manage the keyboard and mouse, much less post anything.
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