I've been promising a Rec-list of sorts to Cyanei. These stories vary from outstanding to mediocre, with one thing in common: I enjoyed them all. I've included a little quote/sample, and eventually I'll do a real rec and discription. But the sample should give you a feel for the writer and the story.
I'm still hunting down good stories, so if you have any recs for me, comment and share. This is saved in my memories, and will be linked to my website.
What I look for in Stargate fanfic:
- Jack-dialogue that has the appropriate snap; Jack has to be dead on.
- a Daniel that's brilliant, solid, and not remotely feminized
- storylines that have at least some probability in the series (unless it's a farce), and deal with the Don't Ask, Don't Tell and Chain of Command issues
- Humor, dammit! At least a wry edge to the angst.
- Jack/Daniel, and a little Gen. Usually.
- Hot, believable (and usually that means awkward) sex. (The Steak Series is the best for this.)
- Plot is nice, though not required. A believable alien race is even better.
- No Sam-Abuse, and I prefer the other characters be well-rounded.
Bet you didn't think I could find over 100 stories to fit my criteria.
FYI: As of February 6th, 2006 my recs-page was corrupted. I was able to piece it back together but there is missing information, especially in the earlier recs. I'll fix it as soon as I can.
Recently rec'd (sorry, I try to avoid that) but it's so rare that I enjoy Daniel/Jonas I have to mention it here. There's never a mystery where this story is headed, but we have such beautiful scenery... the details of Arrom's world, and two lovely, lovely boys.
Every day, he woke up, and the people that had initially seemed so unfamiliar became more familiar. The strange smells had become comforting. Even the food, some of which he had initially perceived as unpalatably bitter, had become acceptable. He could become one of them, one of the people of this small nomad village, going to school with the children and helping Alla and Solah in their tent. Life had just settled into a comfortable rhythm when the strangers came.
I'm starting to like Otter's fics more and more. Instead of unpredictable twists revealed at the last second, Otter spreads the unpredictability across the entire story. You have no idea where it's going but you know that you don't know. Yes. And I can see this reaction from Jack, I really can.
Daniel supposed that there were some things which, once begun, could not be taken back. An artifact unearthed, no matter how carefully excavated and preserved, was changed forever by the disturbance; uncovering something hidden and buried was like digging through the flesh of time and cutting a thing away from the past.
Fun Daniel-voice and hot sex. What more could you want?
Eighteen Body Language Clues That Say He's Interested - Definitely. What sort of title was that anyway? Sam was just having a laugh at his expense. So the statesman had been a little enthusiastic with the hugging and shoulder rubbing, and butt squeezing… Stupid, it was all stupid, and Daniel knew full well what the next logical conclusion to make was. Jack was interested in him. As a potential sexual partner. And that was just so far beyond the realms of possibility as to be laughable.
This is the story I wanted to write after I saw "Tin Man." Thank you, Galasius. Now I've no need because this is funny, sexy and perfect. Now where can I find more Galasius' stuff?
"What exactly are you trying to get at, Jack?"
It had been two and a half days since SG1's real.. well, flesh and blood, counterparts had left them on PX3 989 to eke out what existence they could. Daniel missed himself - his other one - the other him - the... whatever. The half hour they'd talked had been the most fascinating conversation of his entire life, and both of him had been reluctant to end it. And now there was just Jack, even surlier than usual, though tonight oddly fascinated by a new idea. Lying on his back, head two feet from Jack's, Daniel tried to focus on his friend's words to distract himself from Harlan's chatter that still rang in his ears.
A Gen story where the custom of wearing clothes at all causes a great deal of consternation for the natives. But Daniel has a solution!
"Uhhh… Sir? They’re all, umm, unclothed…"
"I can see that, Carter. I’m not sure I like the way they’re looking at us. Daniel? It’s your show…"
The only thing worn by the members of the large group of people encircling SG1 were their identical facial expressions of intense consternation. While they were not making any aggressive or unfriendly moves, the dark-skinned natives nevertheless were not exactly welcoming the newcomers, either.
Fucked by Unseen (yay! I now have the writer's name.) - so NC-17
I'm very impressed with this story. It is completely unexpected, uncliched, and fascinating. I find here in Stargate what I've found in the Harry Potter fandom: the characters taken outside canon without violating it, to explore issues the author wants to confront. While the author lists it as Non-Con it is in fact excellent Dubious Consent.
Out on my balcony the night chill condenses on me like a cold sweat, but I can’t go back inside. Not until my mind stops spinning. Not until I figure out how I let Jack fuck me.
Hands by Apocrypha (yay! found her name this time) - I don't recall the rating, sorry
There's a quality to Stargate Gen fics. They seem to really take in the details, describe the scene, flesh it out the way you'd see it in original fiction. Here is a rare slash story that does the same.
Daniel can talk without his hands, but not about anything important. His hands always surprise me; they're always stronger than I think they should be. There's a faint tracery of scar lines over the palms and the backs, the text of time spent working outdoors in stone and rubble. He doesn't have the cluster of scars framing his knuckles that I do. My hands are clearly the hands of a man that had to learn to think before acting.
And I did learn, mostly. So I backslide, sometimes. Sheesh.
This has been rec'd elsewhere recently (I try to avoid that), but I agree with that rec'er -- it is startlingly refreshing to read a Jack/Daniel story that doesn't just brush off Jack's canon attraction to Sam (though Rick Anderson and Amanda Tapping have the most tepid chemistry I've seen in a while). This made me go hunting for more Pares fic.
"Well, she is finally getting laid. Regularly." He looked up and closed his book with a crisp little clap of paper. "And not by you." He finished with a slight head tilt and that prim eyebrow-hunching not-smile that meant he was enjoying himself.
Jack found he didn't know what to say to that. Daniel's rare displays of meanness were generally reserved for when Jack had actively pissed him off. Jack thought a moment, and decided he hadn't done anything to warrant such an attitude. Recently, anyway.
Jack cloaked the sting he really felt with one cocked eyebrow. "That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"
Sometimes I like a story on the first read-through. Then on the second I'm not sure. Then on the third I like it again. I'll leave the final judgement up to you.
Daniel remembered the first time a professor had used an exaggeratedly patient tone with him. It had taken him all year to prove the man wrong, and he'd almost failed the exam in doing it. But he had learnt one thing from that piece of academic deadwood - how to talk down to someone, and piss them off while doing so.
Oh holy hell this is hot, and a little bit more than a PWP, though really, any PWP worth its salt has a rich emotional background like this.
Daniel's eyes are closed when he slides his ass down on my cock. His hands push hard against my shoulders as he squats down on me, his knees going up against my armpits. It's good. He's good. Hot and dripping with lube and enclosing and throbbing with his own heartbeat. A beautiful, muscled man slipping down, impaling himself on my cock, eyes screwed tightly shut, mouth twisted with intense concentration and anticipation. It's the face of a kid on a roller coaster, afraid to look, knowing the thrill that will come once the car starts down the hill.
I resisted this story for a while. The one sentence per line fanfic trick has always annoyed me and I generally want the setting described more than this. But when I finally gave the story a chance, I really liked watching the emotional barriers.
It was him and me and a game of chess. That’s all. Him winning. Me losing. Just like a thousand other times. Him scrunching up his face and wondering if I made the stupid move on purpose to confuse him, or if I really AM that stupid.
Xochi wins a special award for the word "pseudopatience" which I demand be added to O.E.D. right now. The characterization and character voices here are perfect, though I qualify this rec slightly because the punctuation used to demonstrate the different characters' thoughts is distracting. But oh, how I love the aliens-made-them-telepathic cliche, and this is chipper and amusing.
"What does it say?" Jack asked, voice full of sarcastic pseudopatience.
"Um, it says that the people of this world want to know what kind of people we are before they greet us, so they have given us a gift." He scowled, and leaned even closer, kneeling, fingers brushing the metal of the plaque. "Something about getting us in touch with our thoughts?"
"An alien encounter group? I am NOT going to sit around telling you guys about my toilet training!"
"Thank Goodness," Daniel commented blandly, leaning over further. He was reading the text at the bottom of the plaque now. "Um, I don't think they mean 'our thoughts' as in our individual thoughts."
I've read this Gen fic many, many times. Daniel wanders the SGC halls in search of coffeeeee....
The military clocks read 0400, which can't be mistaken for 1600, which is simultaneously really early in the morning and really late at night (except in Bangkok, it's happy hour in Bangkok). But the SGC never sleeps. It takes a nap, lies down for a little rest at 0300, but it doesn't sleep. Always alert and awake and aware, on guard against the enemy, ever ready, adeste fidelis, semper fi.
Once again, Komos does the completely unexpected -- and what an astounding take on Sara and her reaction to finding about Jack and Daniel's relationship. Really, I respect this woman.
Daniel was working at the dining-room table, barefoot in sweats and an ancient, faded T-shirt, when the doorbell rang. It startled him; he'd been listening to an alien language at half speed through his laptop's speakers, his mind trying to make a connection between the birdsong outside and the phonetics of the language, so the foreign chime was an intrusion, but no one ever rang Jack's doorbell; anyone who knew him knocked. He considered not going to answer it, but deep-seated fears that it might be a cop or an airman come in an emergency won out over irritation that it might be a salesman or a canvasser.
When he checked through the side window as he came around through the hall, he recognized Sara O'Neill immediately, and then he really considered not answering it.
The problem with Destina's stories is that she is such a consistently excellent writer it's nearly impossible to recommend one story of hers over another. This one is parody, and both funny and warm with an unexpected twist.
Daniel sighed; there were only so many angles from which he could sketch a penis. The little phallus sat proudly erect on his lab table, surrounded by books about ancient cults and fertility symbols in mythology.
He’d begun to think of P96-2114 as Planet Dick, mostly because Jack refused to refer to it as anything else.
Actually quite funny, but is it hypocritical of me to more impressed with fanfic based on original fiction than fanfic written based on another fanfic? This is based on Anais' "Dr. Jackson's Diary" and most of the jokes don't make sense unless you read that first.
(translated from the Goa’uld)
(by Dr. Daniel Jackson)
(please don’t tell anyone, he would kill me)
(but it was *right* *there* underneath his bed)
(well, in a box…under some old papers…wrapped in duct tape…sealed with an alien device (v. interesting))
(and can you honestly expect an archaeologist not to dig through your stuff?)
Thank you! Finally someone else wondered why they didn't pad the ramp. In this nifty twist on the slave-fic, Daniel returns from an alternate reality where he learned a little more than he expected about Jack. But it wasn't really His Jack... was it?
Daniel burst through the gate shirtless and barefoot, executing a clumsy somersault down the ramp and ending up flat on his back. While he lay there trying to coax the oxygen back into his lungs, wondering why they didn't at least put a few gym mats down on the bare metal mesh, Jack's head floated into view. Daniel blinked, and kept blinking, but his eyes refused to focus on Jack's face. Oh yes. He'd lost his glasses, too.
"That's a new look for you," Jack commented, eyeing Daniel's loose silk pajama bottoms and offering Daniel a hand.
Complex and angsty, you'll need to have your wits about you to navigate this story. But sometimes I like to be challenged and I'd never considered that of course the SGC would have these letters, written in case someone died. This is Daniel's letter.
So here I am.
I always said that pen would never meet paper to write this particular letter. But like everything else in my life, time has changed this opinion as well.
I remember the first time I saw your letter. It was in a plain manila envelope, just thick enough to hold a few papers. From across the room, I could see the outline of some strange, irregularly shaped object that tented the envelope in the middle. Even after all these years, I have no idea what it was in there. I don't believe I'll be asking you anytime soon.
I think we've all experienced this sort of "shrinkage" as a relationship takes over your life, and it is rather irritating and mysterious in a heart-warming way.
This was impossible. Jack was seriously contemplating calling up Carter and plying her with nonsensical questions about the ever-elusive time/space continuum. There had to be a logical explanation as to why his king-sized bed had shrunk in the past six months. Okay, the shrinkage had been gradual, but he fought the urge to pull out the sales receipt and call the company, demanding a refund, or at least an explanation as to why he was stuck with one incredibly shrinking bed.
It wasn't only the bed that seemed to be slowly disappearing. The sheets and blankets also had begun to wither into nothingness.
I have this marked as a qualified rec. It's a combination of PWP and fluff, a domestic sex scene I enjoyed except the word "slut" is so gay-queen it yanks me out of the story. The writing is okay, not great, but I enjoyed it regardless.
He woke up to the sound of a key in his front door. Jack turned over onto his side, and listened to the noises of a slamming door, followed by footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom floorboards creaked, and then his mattress dipped underneath a sudden weight.
He made a sound of protest, as cold hands bumped him gently. "Jack."
Jack is both sneaky and brilliant in this fic, and he knows his team well: certainly well enough to get some much needed Daniel-time. The pacing is slow and Jack's inner dialogue rambles a bit, but if you have a kink for off-world sex, this was written for you.
Desert missions sucked, because every time they gated to a world with sand, the same thing happened. He got stuck outside some honking big pyramid, sitting on a jagged broken-off column, while everyone else had something to do. It never failed. The sand wavered in the distance, the sweat burned his eyes, and he was left staring at a plane of nothing, where the only thing that moved was the skyline. All he had to do was think.
I don't remember this one but I'm skimming it now. Oh, fantastic Hammond, great snark from SG-9 - hooray! A fanfic writer who can handle OCs! Oh, oh, now I remember this. It wanders through a lot of unusual territory with a believable if surprising background on Jack in his time off. Jack and Daniel slowly come to their decision. Oh yes, I remember the sultry, romantic sex.
"Open the iris," Hammond said. He watched as the giant metallic shield slid open. A few moments later, SG-1 walked leisurely through, although three of them were looking disgusted with their fourth. He wondered what Doctor Jackson had done this time. He suddenly noticed the reaction of the SFs in the gate room, and the disheveled appearance of his premiere team. The men and women who stood guard stolidly around the gate each time it was opened were now acting as though they couldn't get far enough away from the returning team. Hammond made his way down to the gate room.
". . . take me a week to wash the stink off," Jack was growling in Daniel's direction as he handed over his weapons.
A recently descended Daniel helps out an injured Jack. This one balances between slash and gen, and I think I'm going to float away on Jack's endorphins here.
Jonas had returned to help his home world. Daniel hadn't had a great deal of time to get to know him, but he'd felt a kinship with the man. It might have been nice to have another archaeologist/linguist around. There hadn't been anyone that he'd clicked with since...Rothman. Okay, that was another disturbing memory popping up out of nowhere. Too bad he couldn't seem to pick and choose what to remember.
I have this down as a qualified rec. Darn. I feel like Daniel staring at his notes after being descended, with no clue what I meant. This story has Jack and Daniel stranded in paradise. But now that I've re-read it I don't recall why it was qualified, only that I enjoyed the nudity immensely. Maybe I didn't believe the scenario? Still, sex in front of the Stargate was awfully ballsy.
Daniel was naked by the fifth day.
"Where are your clothes?" Jack blinked down at him, a little thrown. A lot of white Daniel-skin glowed softly in the shade of the palm-like tree he was sitting under, his back against its corrugated bark.
"In the tent." Daniel nodded toward the tent, his hands busy peeling the juicy, sticky fruit of that same tree.
A jealous Jack is an interested Jack, and oh, he is so very jealous here. But it doesn't mean anything. Of course not. Hmm. I enjoy the Roman theme as well.
Jack was beginning to entertain high hopes that this mission would manage to avoid any hair-raising moments. It was true that until he had gotten the hang of the whole servant thing he had felt a little apprehensive about being helped to undress and bathe, but it had actually worked out pretty well. There was, after all, nothing like sitting back and letting your feet be rubbed and your beard be shaved. The whole thing was blissfully decadent. In fact, amidst all this luxury there was only one minor thing bothering Jack. And that was that he couldn't work out what the kid was here for. The boy had arrived just after the bath, while Jack was still drowsy and content, so if there had been some cue about the boy's job, Jack had missed it. The kid was standing just inside the doorway, staring at him with big, brown, curious eyes.
I avoided this story because of the syrupy title, and what a mistake that was. This is graceful, understated, and fond in that frustrated way. Jack and Daniel understand each other yet find it difficult to communicate. Jack ponders as he dials again and again following Nemesis.
The thing that Jack missed most was the sound of Daniel's pen. Every night, for the last six months, the faint slur of ball-point over paper had been a constant, the sound more often than not the last thing he heard before falling asleep. Lying there in the big, soft bed, being with Daniel, sleeping next to him, waking up with him, it was all wrapped up in that one little--very irritating--sound.
A tale told in small details, leaving you warm and happy.
It started off with a pound of Jamaican Blue and a coffee cup stating that Linguists do it with tongue. There was no card or explanation, but Daniel had his suspicions and always used that cup at briefings.
Warning: Daniel rambles in his journal and you're overwhelmed with a Jack-like urge to gag him or take away his pen. But that, irritating as it may be, is completely in character and this story has a fantastic plot. Yes, oh rarity of rarities, this is a fine slash story that's both highly original and Stargate-compliant.
"I do." But Hammond's face remained grave, and he made no move towards the map that usually indicated the team's next destination. Jack began to have a bad feeling. "But I'll tell you right away, this will be a different kind of mission." He took a deep breath. "It has to do with the quantum mirror."
Jack felt a definite twinge of pain. And it had started out to be such a promising day. "I thought we were going to destroy that thing," he said. "I mean, it was one thing having two Carters underfoot, but what if something really screws up and we get two Maybournes?"
Who is Sid, and can we draft Sid into writing slash? This is brilliantly characterised Jack/Daniel with some of the best Gen dialogue out there. Jack takes Daniel out to dinner and it is, er, badly misconstrued. Gently funny with a slashy vibe although it really isn't slash.
“Hey, Jack,” Daniel replied, shuffling some papers off to one side, and marking his place in one of the books in front of him. “How’s the whole General thing going?”
“Eh,” Jack screwed up his face. “Survived nearly a week of it. Must be doing something right.”
“Well, yes, I suppose that’s possible,” Daniel said dryly.
“Sure wish I knew what it was, though,” Jack sighed.
Daniel looked at him fondly over the top of his glasses. “You’ll figure it out."
Ah, strange aliens. You just can't get enough of them. This is a meaty sci-fi piece with a wholesome Jack/Daniel center. Once again, Daniel walks right into trouble, and once again, it looks like he's gone for good.
"The device has some sort of proximity sensor, sir. I think that Daniel coded it to recognize us somehow-- as near as I can tell, after the initial contact, the message won't play if there's anyone in the room with you. I mean, I haven't had the opportunity to measure its range, but--"
I love Daniel's shamelessness in this story, so much so that when I lost the link in my computer meltdown I went hunting for it. Took six months, but I finally stumbled across it again. Roxie is a quality writer who takes time to flesh out scenes (cough, cough pun intended) and her minor SGC characters also ring true. Visiting Daniel's off-world dig, Jack notices a suspicious lack of tan lines.
"There are actually three natural pools along the riverbed. Although it’s a bit of a climb to the second, and the third is more than a mile back, the first one is right in our backyard, so to speak. Who knows how many more there are farther into the hills. The water is so clear and cool. You’re gonna love it, Jack." He continues to talk, holding his shorts in one hand; blonde, buff, tanned and totally naked save for his glasses. He’s killing me and doesn’t even know it. Naïve little bastard.
This scenario could come straight out of an SG-1 episode -- minus the slash of course. It has the what-the-hell-is-going-on helpless feeling of "Foothold" with the embarrassing realizations that come after memory loss.
He put down the pie, looking around suspiciously to meet several equally confused glances. Well this was odd. His reason for being here had completely slipped his mind, and more to the point, he was equally clueless about where here was. Equally worrying was the fact that, at present, his own name escaped him.
Lifting the two metal tags, he examined them carefully, then reviewed all he now knew about himself: He was O'Neill Jonathan C, his social security number was 824-93-9283, he had O Positive blood, he was catholic, and he liked pie.
Ta-da! More fic from Stellahobbit, unconnected pretty drabbles like a scattering of gems.
"Ah, but," Daniel replied, sitting up straight and gesticulating expansively. "You were the one that said we needed a set of ground rules. I agree. Rules are good. Rules are something I can work with."
Did I say Komos could do no wrong? Let me just second myself on that. This hasn't the angst I've grown to expect from Komos, but instead is playful pornographic fluff. Jack gets distracted in packing during The Lost City. Yes, yes, on the verge of possibly dying -- I didn't say was angst-free. This is Komos after all.
"You really have to do that?" Daniel said, coming into the bedroom, where Jack was packing the last of his porn collection into a cardboard box around the smaller box he'd pulled out of the back of the closet.
I'm fast becoming a Dorothy Marley fan, enjoying her gently observant stories, rich with meaning packed into simple every-day actions. This one's Gen: an exhausted Jack gets some well-deserved TLC.
"Hey, Jack." The bench vibrated slightly with the sudden addition of Daniel's weight, and Jack closed his eyes. Great. Just when he really, really wanted to be by himself, to haul his own sorry, tired, aging ass into the shower and stand there for about an hour. Alone. In silence.
Add another one to the "Aliens Made Them Do It" stack. Very believable attitudes and reactions from Jack and Daniel, with an interesting and unusual setting. I never believe the sex-as-native-spiritual-tradition cliche, but this one comes close to convincing me. Oh -- and an added benefit. She's obviously been climbing in the mountains before; even gets the sound right.
"This treaty had better be worth it," he grumbled before yelling up at his teammate. "Daniel, are we there yet?"
One hand on the rock to keep his balance, Daniel glanced behind him. His legs were steady despite the steep incline. There was a smile on his lips that spoke of the thrill he felt at challenging the mountain, a change from the archaeologist who had a problem with heights just a few years ago. Go figure.
"We don’t have far to go," Daniel said, pitching his voice a bit louder to make it carry on the wind.
This isn't usually my style. It's artsy and disconnected, bouncing back and forth in time in a way that's not easy to follow. Also, it's a threesome fic: Jack/Daniel/Sam. But the atmosphere and unique setting plus the genuinely exhausted and... old... characterisation of Jack impressed me, along with the physical descriptions of illness and all the different to-be-expected effects of their tough situation. Kres makes this story credible and real, though life there isn't pretty and boy, I hate being cold.
When the sun sets in this place, you could almost believe that the world is flat.
Cutting into the white of the ice, the patches of pine forests are nearly black in the sleepy landscape. The sky is hanging low above them, the clouds heavy with a promise of snow. Monochromatic against the pale, foggy blue - the beauty of this land is unexpected in its simplicity.
Most of the Stargate classics I read first, so they appear at the bottom of this list. I've held this classic in abeyance because there's one part of the story that frustrates me and yet... I've read the story several times now. That tells me all I need to know. I've decided that few have written the Jack-and-Daniel-are-telepathically-linked storyline as well as this. Jack's reactions to the lack of privacy are priceless.
"There, you see?" Jack was looking guilty and frowning. Then he sighed heavily. "I didn't speak it."
"But you thought it?" //Can you hear me?// Daniel thought at him.
"Yes. I can hear you just fine. You don't need to yell." Wincing, Jack touched his head, and then shook it as if to clear it.
"I didn't speak."
Jack looked at Sam again. "He didn't, sir."
"Daniel Jackson said nothing," Teal'c confirmed, looking from one to the other, his frown more pronounced than usual.
"Houston, we have a problem." Despite the joking words, Jack looked grim, frightened almost. //Big honking problem.//
I still poke Otter's stories with a stick warily because, although Otter is a reliably excellent writer, she has a tendency to pull the run out from under you -- soo-prise! Some people like that. I hate being tricked. But there's no trickery here. Sam gets Daniel drunk at a get-together and gains a little more insight into Jack. Otter's unpredictability comes in handy with completely unique discription... Daniel's foot, Sam's bleary worries. You'll see.
By the time Sam got back out to the porch, with four sweaty-cold beers dangling from her hands, Daniel was the only one still out there. He smiled at her, the endearingly ingenuous smile that only graced his lips when he had a nice buzz going, and took two of the bottles from her hand. He twisted the top off of one of them, and drew a long, deep pull from the bottle as Sam was straddling her chair and asking, "Where did the General and Pete go?"
What is it about Quercus that makes you feel like you've stepped into a Russian novel? Like the Russians, Quercus takes her time to draw you into the scene, never explaining what or why until much later. The worlds are always vivid, stark, and described in intimate detail and you learn, learn, learn a great deal about your hosts, invariably feeling in-over-your-head. (I have a theory that Quercus wrote the episode "2010.") Here, the hosts are more benign than usual and ease Jack and Daniel into new layers of their friendship.
The MALP had rolled a few feet from the stargate and appeared to be sitting in an open-air Grand Central Station. It was late afternoon on planet PX-whatever, the sun's rays a mellow red-gold as they slanted across the tall grasses immediately around the stargate. That wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the number of people striding purposefully past the MALP, glancing at it with small curiosity. A group of kids bounced by and one ran up and apparently hugged it, then dashed back laughing as some adult gestured and called to her.
You have to admire the glee with which Jack and Ba'al hate each other. Yes, this is Jack/Ba'al slash, don't look so shocked.
When they are captured, they first try to kill each other.
The fight doesn't last very long, even though it should have. On the field, they're pretty much even stevens--Baal is much stronger than Jack, but Jack is quicker and used to fighting his own battles--and Jack's been wanting to do this for ages. He wants to take his time. Baal, he thinks, does the same thing for the same reason.
Daniel takes a military typo at its word and writes the ASS Recognition Guide. Who says the military doesn't have a sense of humor?
Daniel looked down at the memo in his hands with amusement. He'd been expecting an order any day now for the ASR (Archaeological Specimen and Relic) Recognition Guide; the Pentagon had been making noises about having a hardcopy list of the most significant finds he'd come across in the Gate worlds and he'd had a rough copy of it ready for weeks.
This? This was a polite request for the ASS Recognition Guide.
It's slash, but that an aside. It's mostly Gen, and a team-fic at that. SG-1 returns from a mission after having seen the absolute worst each one of them is capable of. Now they have to deal with it.
Last night they'd lain in Daniel's bed without touching. When Daniel had finally fallen asleep, he had not curled automatically against Jack as he normally did, but stayed carefully on his own side. Although he'd known it was foolish, Jack couldn't stop watching the rise and fall of Daniel's chest, couldn't stop himself from making absolutely sure that Daniel was breathing.
Post-Evolution episode tag. How descended is Daniel, anyway? Angsty, yet gentle, with Jack at his mother-hen best.
The only bright spot in the whole miserable trip was the flight attendant who was more than happy to bring Jack water or soda as long as her gaze could linger on Daniel's sweet, unaware face.
Asleep, unconscious or awake, Daniel often had that effect on women.
And the trouble with booking last-minute flights on low-budget airlines, all in keeping with Hammond's order to "Keep everything under the radar, Jack," was that the seats tended to be the less desirable ones in the rear of the cabin, right next to the lavatories. Every time a door swung open Jack got a noseful of chemical sanitizers and less savory odors, and if one more person banged into his arm on the journey back up the aisle, he was going to roll up his Spanish magazine and throw it at them.
Jack, a teasing Daniel, and a strategically placed security camera. You do the math. Hee.
"I'm thinking about your cock," Daniel said.
He leaned his head on a hand and watched. It was maybe a second's reaction, nothing more, but it was there: Jack froze. Daniel suppressed a smile. Then Jack, eyes still on the document he was reviewing, deliberately turned a page over.
"Are you now," Jack said. He didn't look up.
Camping Out by Gigi Sinclair (I can't remember - it's either R or NC-17)
Perfectly turned Jack/Daniel dialogue, and Gigi really understands the silly concerns we have about the ones we love. As well as the fact that a well-established relationship doesn't necessarily mean you communicate all that well.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Hmm." Maybe, Daniel thought as he flipped onto his stomach and propped the journal up on the bedroll, he could get a whole package of the pens. After all, it was a justifiable expense. A hell of a lot more justifiable than the fussball table in the commissary, anyway. "Recreational stress therapy" my ass, Daniel thought scornfully. He'd always been skeptical about that, and not just because he was at the bottom of the carefully organized in-house league. Mostly because he'd been paired with Teal'c, who refused to make a decent effort when it was their turn to play because he saw the plastic figures as indentured servants. "'Chained together like slaves,'" he muttered, "Right. He didn't have that problem when he and Sam were in the shuffleboard pyramid."
I don't actually believe this scenario, the set-up is all-too-convenient. But who cares? Great porn is great porn, and Jack and Daniel in the shower is too pretty a picture to pass up.
The water ran down Jack's body, soothing, relaxing. It had been quite a trip and he felt he deserved every ounce of the pleasure the warm drops caressing his skin had to offer enjoying this solitary refinement to the fullest. Hey, they did save the world today, after all, who could have asked for more?
He'd truly earned a long, hot shower and with a laugh he ignored the 'save water - save the planet' -sign on the wall. 'Been there, done that, taking this shower to get over it,' he thought and turned the water even hotter. It was time for the planet to do something for him.
Komos, a.k.a. Paian, can do no wrong. Komos does what Anna did in "Out of Season," tracing the slash where it could have plausibly occurred in canon. "Out of Season" traces it from "One Hundred Days" to "Shades of Grey" whereas Komos traces it to "Heroes." The minus to this approach is that you really believe it, and yes, it's always angst-filled. The plus is - you believe it. Especially with Komos' expert Jack-voice and direct, very male dialogue.
That Saturday night Jack dug out a few favorite old videos. Interest had waned a while ago, hadn't added anything new in even longer, but what the hell. Oldies but goodies.
He popped one into the bedroom VCR. After five minutes, he thought, I can't believe I ever got off on this stuff. He clicked the tube off and just lay back to enjoy the feel of his own hand.
Out of nowhere, right before he shot, came the thought of Daniel close against him, and he said his name -- a surprised question, almost like what are you doing here? -- and he came so hard he arched off the bed and tasted come on his own lips.
It stunned him.
The word for this story is atmosphere. You feel the sweat, the heat, and the throbbing drums. This is slightly qualified, there's something about the denouement that I don't quite believe, but you read this for the sheer sensuality of it. Then, you go back to the beginning and read it again. Er. Just in case you missed anything. *cough*
The air on this world was sweet and heavy. Luxuriant. The word rolled around in his mind, evidence, if any had been needed, at just how long he'd spent with his... their linguist. Luxuriant - a word that would have never occurred to him two, three years ago. Apt, though, to describe this place. It drugged his senses with the scent of the foliage growing abundantly around this crude encampment, now bruised and battered from their boot-clad feet trampling through it in the wake of their barefoot hosts. Heady and strong, that scent, sweet, making his head swim. A low rumble rolled through the night, finding an echo in the rapid pounding of his heart.
...thudda... da... da... thudda.. thudda... da...
His breathing was unconsciously picking up the same rhythm, catching in his throat, his lips parted as he struggled to pull in enough of that fragrant air. He'd like to blame the current light-headedness he was feeling on the humidity, on that strong, demanding scent, on the harsh, bitter hooch he'd been served but Jack O'Neill had never been one for self-delusion, not in the long term.
More humor: give Jack a census form and arm him with a pencil and boredom, and what do think the results will be? His response is exactly what you'd think. Don't miss the Census Bureau's follow-up phone call to Daniel, consumate liar extraordinaire.
Jack picked up the booklet and flipped through it again, scowling at the cheerful yellow borders and helpful arrows. The long form, too, just his luck. Twice the questions, half the fun. He put it down, then scowled even more at the envelope it had all come in, the words "Your Response Is Required By Law" stamped in big bold letters near the bottom.
An episode tag to "The Gamekeeper." After what they witnessing their worst memories (over and over again) Jack and Daniel get solidly drunk. The kind of drunk where Jack "alternates between drinking and breathing, trying not to confuse the two." Sloppy drunk. Miserable, unhappy drunk. The ending is what we'd expect, but Jack and Daniel manage to surprise us anyway.
"Hey." I hold up one of the six-packs. "Thought maybe you could use one of these."
Daniel snatches at something just next to the door. He dangles a glass with about a finger of amber liquid. I had no idea Daniel would hit the hard liquor. "Got a head start." He smiles sardonically.
Episode tag for "Evolution: Part 2." Now that I've seen all the way through season seven I can start reading episode tags. The way Jack is written here... strong, angry... is how he should always be written.
The world tilted. He raised his eyes to Jack's, from his new skewed perspective, and blinked. Almost, but not quite, uncomprehending.
"This is something you want?" Jack said. Low. Steady.
His body gave a minute jerk, as from a very tiny electric shock. He could feel his pupils dilate; he knew that Jack could see it. Very slowly, he nodded.
Jack rolled onto his side. Came up and in behind his hand, not moving it. Not jouncing the bed, not sending a jolt of agony through Daniel's right thigh, Daniel's tortured body. He turned his pillow, folding it to support his head. His eyes didn't leave Daniel's.
Very fun, very playful Gen bordering so closely on slash. Just like the show. *wink* Who can resist a fic with tickling?
Several minutes of squabbling later, they reached the edge of the flowers. As Daniel had observed earlier, the sea of flowers ended abruptly, the border so consistent as to be almost certainly unnatural. The team, at Jack's command, halted about thirty feet away.
"The plants are so close together, the effect is almost like a carpet," Sam marvelled.
"Bad seventies carpet," said Jack. "Don't tell me, this planet was terra-formed by the Goa'uld Donny Osmond."
"Actually, sir, this is one of those planets not on the Abydos cartouche --"
"Yes, Carter, I know. I do occasionally listen in the briefings."
More fun: Jack and Daniel flirt and spout Ancient at each other. It's annoying that some of the translations are at the bottom of the page, but you'll splutter when you read them. Oh, what I wouldn't give to read this first time.
"Vah! Denuone Latine loquebar? Me ineptum. Interdum modo elabitur."
The look of a stunned, completely speechless linguist was worth every agonizing ever-repeating minute in which Jack had not fulfilled his fantasy of throwing Dr. Mallozzi’s book (and Dr. Mallozzi if the bastard turned out to still be alive and kicking) through an open ‘gate.
"Okay ..." Well, almost completely speechless, as complete speechlessness was a Daniel-impossibility. "What do you mean ‘it just sort of slips out’?"
More humor (whee! I seem to be on a humor kick, eh?). Jack is the man with the plan: just how to drive Daniel supremely up the wall.
Daniel's frowning slightly at me, whether from the headache I'm sure he's starting to get from working too long without a break or from suspicion that my intentions are somewhat less than pure. I'd be offended by that if it weren't absolutely true.
"Hey, Jack," he responds, rubbing his forehead. Yep, headache. I'll go easy on him then.
He squints curiously at me. "What's that you got in your mouth?"
"Tootsie Pop," I reply breezily pulling the lollipop from my mouth. "Grape. Wanna lick?" I ask, extending it in his direction.
Daniel hates when I play dumb and act like a snotty teenager rather than a highly decorated and extremely competent officer of the USAF. Consequently, it has become requisite behavior for whenever I'm planning on yanking Daniel's chain, which is pretty much my plan right about now.
Holy cow. An 'Aliens Made Them Do It' story that's not a cliche, with depth and real plot. Beware. This is painful, angst-ridden, if very hot. Intense. That's the word for it. Intense. And amazingly, in addition to Jack/Daniel, Paian has made Daniel/Sam gorgeous.
Sam shut the handheld off and went out to deliver the bad news. "Janet won't have an antidote for us in time," she said. "She's hampered by the degradation of the physical samples we send; she's had to work by simulation, she's doing it herself to keep the situation confidential, and ... " She ground her teeth at the patented cut-to-the-chase expression on the colonel's face. "We're shit outta luck, sir."
"As I was saying," Daniel said, resuming what had become a really tedious argument between himself and the colonel, "it's just sex. Our lives are at stake. In light of that, it's just not that big a deal."
The colonel's back was turned. "Find another way."
Episode tag for The Torment Of Tantalus. Gen. A beautifully written and powerful character study: Jack and Daniel have it out over Daniel's attempt to stay behind (again), and Jack forces him to choose.
The race to the stargate gave Jack O'Neill very little time to collect his thoughts on the utter idiocy Daniel had been embracing with academic fervor just moments ago, but the thoughts seemed willing to collect themselves. They boiled into the forefront of his mind as his legs pumped and sweat flowed from his brow into his eyes. There should've been nothing distracting him from the utter necessity of pushing his body to its limits and beyond.
Hee. Daniel catches on a little too late just what these aliens want to watch.
"We are big or major fanatics of your Earthian artistes," eight-eyes said. "We would so like to view a skilled performance of your great Earthian art in person. In fact, it is why we have contactualized you."
Jack squinted at eight-eyes. Which great Earthian art?
The fact that this was on a humor list tells you just how much angst there is in the Stargate fandom. Wonderful Jack-voice, painful, awful situation, wonderful plot, characterization. Oh. Right. And this is Gen.
I think I flipped over about twice; it couldn't have been more than that;I was wearing a pack, and that stopped the rolling within the space of a few bounces once I was on the ground which, incidentally, was hard and cold, thank you for asking. I lay on my side, mentally running through the satisfying list of obscenities I keep on hand for these occasions. When they were done, I made a brief pass through the reserve list too.
Gen and friendship, but wow, Shoshone has captured the unquestioning devotion and courage of that friendship when Jack steps on a Goa'uld mine. Throw in excellent characterization and Jack's ability to make light of any situation, and you have a damned fine story.
But this time...like I said, ever do something that is so beyond stupid that you sort of freeze on a dime because you know you've just done a really, REALLY bad thing. And that if you hold very still maybe Murphy and all the laws of physics will immediately cease moving time forward so you can rethink this one.
You know what I'm talking about. It's that click. Oh, yeah, so quiet, and yet somehow it manages to vibrate all the way up your leg. A truly precious sound. There's certainly nothing quite like it. That "oh, I am so fucked" triggering hum of a pressure sensitive mine going live beneath your foot.
This is a qualified rec. It's pure fluff, which I love, and it's great how Daniel drives Jack absolutely bonkers. But the writing is not top notch. Still, I enjoyed it.
Daniel glanced over at his companion, who had his nose buried in a book, and gave an exasperated shake of his head. Exactly when had he and Jack traded personalities? He tweaked the tome in Jack's hand and said, "Good?"
"You know, you really need to learn about line etiquette, Jack."
Daniel made a fist and 'knocked' on the underside of the hardcover. "Jack? Line etiquette?"
This is Gen, and it's angsty, powerful and brilliant. Tallulah Rasa is a hell of a writer. What it was really like for Jack in Window of Opportunity.
There are two things Jack doesn't mind re-living over and over. One is the moment when Daniel believes him; the relief and hope of that moment is still sweet. The other is when Daniel first offers to help. Jack thinks it might be Daniel's peculiar genius, rather than Carter's scientific brilliance, that will get him out of this. And Daniel's so heartfelt, so willing, and there's always something surprising about that kind of generosity. He'd miss that, if he had to go through a loop without it; he'd realized that when he was dangling Daniel out of the Hilton window.
Otter is an author I don't trust. Oh sure, yeah, Otter's characterizations are spot on and she's a hell of a story-teller. But she has a tendency to pull the rug out from under you at the last second, i.e., the last paragraph informs you, "oh yeah, by the way, the characters in this story are all dead." I would never rec a story that did that to you, however, and this piece is outstanding. You will not find a more masculine Jack and Daniel as soldiers story anywhere. I dare you to locate one (and if you find it, let me know, all right?).
Their clothes are strewn across the floor like debris in the wake of an explosion. Daniel's pants are across the room, a boobytrap waiting to ensnare the feet of anyone who tries to make it to the bathroom. Jack's shirt is MIA, and is likely hidden in the dark somewhere; the little medals and decorations pinned to the chest are caltrops, waiting for someone to tread on them.
Taking this into consideration, Jack thinks that it's probably safest for them both to stay in bed.
It's Gen, but it explains so much about the slashy undercurrents in Jack and Daniel's relationship. A well-characterized, funny and observant story. Jack and Daniel are not gay, but everyone thinks they are. The lines here sparkle with wit.
"Perhaps it would interest you to know that we analyzed thirty six point five hours and twenty-three seconds of security footage of you and Colonel O'Neill, and do you know what we found?" Simmons leaned forward, resting an arm on the table.
I must be on a Gen kick. Despite the very slashy opening paragraph, this story is really a powerful look at the confusion Daniel feels just after he descended. Padawan Alli's experience as a writer shows in her careful word choices, excellent character voice, but what really makes this vignette such a good read is how Daniel understands those around him better than he understands himself.
I fumble with the glasses Sam gave me. I don’t really know what to do with them. She seemed so proud when she gave them to me. Like giving me-apparently-my glasses would somehow make “Daniel” come back.
Hot Jack/Daniel PWP. It has no socially redeeming value whatsoever, nor does it need it. I confess to a kink for "almost caught" Jack/Daniel stories. This fulfills that nicely. I like the Jack characterization better the Daniel, but… oh… who cares?
Jack's hand slid through Daniel's hair, crown to nape, then tilted Daniel's head back against the pillow they were sharing. His mouth pressed damp kisses down Daniel's neck. Daniel kept his eyes shut, but he sighed with enjoyment, sleep now beyond his grasp. "You didn't get enough yesterday?"
More Gen. This one is a character study, and a Jack and Daniel friendship story. Jack's world is slowly righted and pieced back together after witnessing Daniel's death - not 'his' Daniel's death, but the robot Daniel. But still… witnessing that….
When the shooting on P3X-722 finally stops, Jack inches his head over the ridge and counts. There are five bodies scattered around the clearing, two close in and three farther back, by a stone outcropping. One of the dead guys lost his head, literally, during the fighting; an energy blast from one of his own men must have gone wide. Even at this distance Jack can tell it's no one he knows lying there, but the memory from Juna lingers, and it's hard not to see the headless body as Daniel's. The other Daniel's. The Daniel from PX3-989, who probably drove his Jack crazy analyzing the possible derivations of Harlan's incessant "comtraya!" But still, Daniel.
This is a three-part series with a fun Jack-voice and a situation that leaves me with a warm, pleasant buzz. The other parts were too syrupy for me, but you might want to look them up. The best part: the bookstore clerk. Oh, I know people like this!
The night had been normal, great and confusing all together. Dinner, meat grilled by yours truly out back and veggies done by Daniel, had been very good. Jack had been leery of the eggplant stuff Daniel had made but it was pretty good. Regular dinner conversation and then cleaning up. Afterwards a game on tv for Jack and a book to read for Daniel. Jack was amazed at how much like an old married couple they were, even after six months together. How absolutely normal this felt and was.
A slow ride to an even more slowly burgeoning relationship the two of them fall into effortlessly. You need to be in the right mood for this fic. Put on a little jazzy Shade. Pour a glass of wine. Light a candle. And enjoy the ride.
Jack took another look out of from behind the curtains and sighed. What a way to spend his downtime. He still had no idea why he had not simply gone to the cabin to get away, but with the reporters currently parked outside his door it no longer seemed a viable option.
Doesn't have the punch of Xochiquetzl's I Never, but a good, light-hearted laugh.
Subject: Usenet information errors
Major Carter, I regret to inform you that several persons have placed false information in the area of the usenet information server called alt.sex.with.aliens.true.confessions. I have never, on any occasion, had sexual relations with any of the nurses in the infirmary.
Please correct this information immediately.
Xochiquetzl has the team dynamics down, and this story would work without the slash elements. It has the best ping-ponging conversational snap I've read since Bill The Pony's Foolish Games.
"It's a drinking game," Jack explained, placing a tray loaded with beers, mugs, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a stack of shot glasses in the center of the table. "The point is that you get really drunk really fast." He sat and started pouring shots.
"It's not the getting drunk part to which I object," Daniel said, and sighed. "The game works like this, Teal'c: We take turns telling everyone something we've never done before. For example, I dunno, I could say, 'I've never had sex on a plane.'"
What impresses me about this intense, rather disturbing story is that the structure of the tale matches the subject matter. Jack is bounced between realities, and we bounce with him, only slowly finding out what's going on. I didn't want to rec this fic: too much angst for me, but it just stuck with me and I was thinking about it weeks later.
The six days had taken its toll on them. Jack was slouching in his chair, drumming his fingers restlessly against the table. Daniel looked like the only reason he was still sitting upright was sheer force of will, the lack of sleep finally having caught up with him. Carter had the measured expression of someone who’d just missed Christmas, but was determined not to look disappointed. As some sort of comfort, Teal’c looked faintly unperturbed about the whole thing.
This is considered to be a bit of a Sam-bashing story, but I didn't see it that way at all. Perhaps because I've never been convinced that her crush on Jack was ever that deep, perhaps because it's just so much fun to play voyeur over her shoulder.
Sam moved silently through the trees. It was training, she supposed, since there was no need for silence. They were the second team to visit the planet, brought in when the writing on the nearby ruins had eluded SG-6's linguist. Daniel had, of course, been sent to figure it out. Daniel Jackson, Super Linguist. Smiling, she made a mental note to buy him a red cape for his next birthday or maybe just for fun.
I roared with laughter. This is a story you'll want to read over and over again. Pough's rambling Jack-voice is terrific, the situation… haaahahahaaaha! Best of all, the relationship between Jack and Daniel really portrayed through a guy's unvarnished perspective.
Here's just a helpful hint from your Uncle Jack-when it's the middle of the night and you're on a light muscle relaxant and your knees are basically shot anyhow, that is not the time to bring a new move to the mat. Sooooo not the right time.
Which is why I find myself driving to the Academy Hospital at 0320. Oh, and just so we're crystal, no matter how many times you try it, driving with your left foot is never an easy thing.
Lushly described, warm, sexy and romantic, without falling into the trap of losing that masculine edge. Mmm. Just right. Jack and Daniel at Jack's cabin.
Daniel, wiping water out of his eyes, felt mud squish around his toes as he settled to the bottom of the lake, just off the dock. He watched as Teal'c folded his arms. Teal'c wore a ratty sleeveless T-shirt, baggy shorts that came to his knees, and Tevas. He also wore a hat to cover Apophis's symbol on his forehead. Despite his casual attire, he still looked large-large and formidable.
Post-ascension, introspective perspective on Daniel and memory. As Daniel recovers his memories, he understands more and more about his relationship with Jack. This neatly fits into Fallen with barely a click.
His name is Daniel.
At least, that is what he has been told by these people in whose company he now finds himself. He repeatedly rolls the name around in his mind, silently formulating the individual sounds of which it is composed. The name feels…odd, like an ill-fitting garment, simultaneously constraining and amorphous. The name is a bit like the clothing they have given him to wear; he decides. It doesn’t seem to fit properly either.
Funny, frustrating. I wanted to wring Daniel's neck, Jack's neck, and the necks of anyone and anything who came between them - including and especially Daniel's neurosis! This was a job well done, writers. Annie D. and Katryne clearly understand that being gay or bisexual does not make a guy any less a guy. This was so perfectly executed.
“Hey kids!” he greeted cheerfully as he strolled in, effortlessly filling up the room with his presence.
Daniel looked at him. It was the same Jack. Colonel. Team leader. Friend. Hero. Pain in the ass.
Okay. It was obvious his brain still needed some time to recover.
I'm lukewarm about this story, but the fine characterizations and gentle, slow sensuality of it just lured me in.
Daniel nodded. They'd just had their first team night since his return. It had been shockingly close to old times. Jack still played the buffoon to Teal'c's straight man, and Daniel still brought out his friend's inner nine-year-old. Sam still watched them all with an amused grin. It had been a good night. "I can't believe you kept it."
This is my all-time favorite Jack/Daniel porn fic thus far. Jack's nosiness is so perfectly characterized, as is Daniel's smirking, rather challenging manner. Their looping arguments, where somehow Daniel turns Jack's words inside-out are an absolute hoot - and Daniel's brilliant here, he really is. But the best part is the sex and their emotional state. Wow.
Inserting the key into Daniel’s mailbox, Jack turned it to the right and pulled. To his surprise, it opened easily. The last time Jack had retrieved Daniel’s mail it had stuck and Daniel’s downstairs neighbor had given him suspicious looks for a month. Reaching inside he pulled out the mail and flipped through it. Electric bill, credit card offer, credit card offer, credit card statement, Jack considered opening that one for half a second before tucking the envelopes under his arm and heading for the elevator.
If you'd told me two weeks ago that I'd read a Jack/Jonas fic, I would've laughed in your face. This scenario, however, was fun. It's not a strong story, there's some implausibility that makes me wince and the writing's not outstanding. But Jack's straight lines make it all worthwhile.
"We'll be *fine*, Carter." Jack appreciated it, but she did worry too much sometimes. "I promise I won't try to throttle him at least until we get back, okay? And now he can stop complaining that he never gets to go anywhere off base that isn't related to work. You know this'll be his first commercial flight?"
Very silly. I loved it. A conversation-only piece that gets the character voices perfect. But it's the situation and the SGC's (cough, cough) generosity that will crack you up.
"Well, now here's the thing. The difference in our physiognomy to that of the Poolegien people means that instead of making Daniel simply amenable to sexual intimacy, his body actually craves it like a drug. What you're seeing from him now is an extreme form of withdrawal."
"And once again Daniel is addicted to some alien hoodoo. Peachy."
Very hot, very male, quite pissed off sex following Scorched Earth. But what could have been a PWP gives us instead a very three-dimensional picture of Jack and Daniel's relationship. Padawan's characters come to vivid life: their gestures, their tone, their banter. This really is Jack and Daniel here. Watch this author. She's new to Stargate, but clearly not to fanfic.
Jack managed to hold his tongue during the debriefing. Carter and Daniel discussed the simple solution to the Enkaran's problem with the Gadmeer ship, and Jack kept to the facts. He refused to think about giving the order to detonate the naquadah reactor while Daniel was on the ship. He wasn't going to think about it. Not now and not later. Nope, wasn't thinking about it.
Hammond stood up. "SG-1, you are dismissed."
Jack shot up out of his chair and stood at Daniel's elbow. He wasn't thinking about it. "Daniel? A word?" Jack said evenly. Okay, maybe he was thinking about it. A little.
Daniel shut his folder. "Yeah, Jack?" He flinched when he looked up at Jack, then leaned back in the chair, licking his lips.
Two things about ELG: 1) she really needs meaner, leaner betas who'll cut the verbosity and, 2) her insights are right on, lightning strike between the eyes accurate. This story is supposedly Gen, but Jack watching Daniel shower in a waterfall? You be the judge. What I love most here is ELG's vivid descriptions and winking observations of human nature.
The first was Harlan crying over the remains of their dead robotic doubles. Seeing that annoying little fat guy stroking the hair of a robot Daniel's severed head had weirded O'Neill out so much he'd practically sprinted from the 'gateroom. He'd covered by saying he just wanted to check on Teal'c in the infirmary, but the fact was he hadn't even begun to deal with the reality of their android selves having been out there all that time. He'd schooled himself to forget about them in the years since they'd left them behind on P3X-989 with explicit instructions to bury the 'gate after them. He dealt with the thought of them the same way he dealt with thoughts of those alternate universes that apparently existed on the other side of that crated up quantum mirror - by not thinking about them. As far as he was concerned he was the only Jack O'Neill the universe needed and he wasn't thinking about any replicas of himself or any other members of his team, thank you.
Consequently, looking into the eyes of a robot double who had obviously been kidding himself along exactly the same lines, had been a disconcerting experience.
March 6th, 2005 Recs: Sorry guys, I was lazy in this first batch. I will get to giving a review of each story soon. I'm catching up on reviews, almost done.
This is a long, slow ride of gentle attraction and building warmth, very subtle. Plus there's a plot: it turns out Loki made more than one copy of an SGC member, and mini-Jack is in trouble. What's so clever is that the plot mirrors and amplifies the unspoken bond between Jack and Daniel, so that it weaves together seamlessly. I can't say enough good things about Loki's Curse.
"I may not remember everything, but I remember enough."
So Daniel had said to Jack, just before they packed him and Jonas off to Anubis' mothership.
At the time Jack had appreciated the sentiment, and distrusted the words themselves. How could Daniel, who had forgotten nearly everything anyone tried to remind him of, think he remembered enough? Remembering the concept of being on a team, remembering how to use a weapon, how to watch his own back, how to react under fire--that was what Daniel had meant by "I remember enough"; and maybe that was the kind of reassurance he thought Jack had needed, in order to have confidence in him to carry out the almost-suicide mission. Sure, it had been great that Daniel had gotten all that stuff back so quickly. Muscle-memory. Instinct and reaction. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't anything like enough.
Three months on, and Jack still wasn't certain that Daniel remembered 'enough'.
Danvers always has well-rounded supporting characters and a real sense of the SGC. This is no exception. Jack and Daniel and Christmas, this story delivers exactly what you want.
George Hammond was a very relaxed man today as he watched his nearest and dearest with smiles on their faces and without a care in the world. It wasn't the fact that they suddenly didn't have a care, it was more the fact that for maybe a few days some of them could forget that the Goa'uld were out there making people kneel before their gods.
Hammond turned his head when a rowdy laugh erupted somewhere behind him. It wasn't a surprise that the source of the rowdiness was Jack O'Neill. He stood in his element, a crowd around him as he told one of his terrible jokes.
This is a very strange story, and yet I like it. Gen, General Hammond has one of his more bizarre days at the SGC.
George Hammond spent the better part of the morning cleaning up after his 'wife's cat' before hurrying off to work, without coffee, only to arrive ten minutes late anyhow. What a morning. Well, at least SG-1's due back this afternoon. Wait a minute, who said that was a good thing?
Ooo. This has a fascinating plot. Daniel runs into some abandoned off-world technology resulting in synaesthesia. I read this, forgot where I saw it, and am so glad to find it again.
"Can you see anything?" Carter asked. She craned her neck, trying to see around Daniel's shoulders as he wriggled into the small aperture, but there wasn't room. A small ground tremor caused her to sway back and forth; she steadied herself with a hand on Daniel's thigh.
"There's some kind of writing down here," Daniel answered. His voice was muffled, absorbed by the open space below and stopped by his shoulders, which were blocking the hole. "I'd love to get a look at it."
This is Gen, and I believe this ridiculous bet, oh yes I do. If I visualize them at the end of the week taking out their frustrations on each other in Daniel's bedroom, well, that's my prerogative. Says General Hammond, "I must not be keeping you people busy enough."
"Done," Jack and Daniel said in unison, shaking hands as Sam, Teal'c and General Hammond joined them in the conference room. They sat down without explanation, and Sam decided she had to ask.
"Done?" she said, looking at them expectantly. "Don't tell me this is another bet."
General Jack O'Neill, entombed at the SGC, finally loses it. And there is jealousy! Yes! And steamy sex.
"The Secretary of Defense left a non-urgent request that you call him as soon as possible, General. Also, you have a briefing with SG-9 at 1400 to discuss the possible ramifications of modifying the trade agreement with the Salish, and you are scheduled to attend Dr. Lee's demonstration of the technology retrieved from PR4-7782."
Jack roused himself from thoughts of napping on the couch while the Simpsons droned on in the background, and asked, "Is that all, Walter?"
An unusual start to their relationship, pristine characterization, and very real, very adult sex.
Mexico - April 2, 2010
Daniel emerged from one of the areas closed to the public, and went to the cafeteria built for the many tourists that invaded the ruins every day. It was so easy to blend with all the Americans trampling around the Great Pyramid, and Daniel didn't disdain the opportunity to work, for once, in a place where hamburgers, coke and coffee were served in an air-conditioned room.
A warm, real, and comforting look at Daniel's return after "The Crystal Scull," what gets me here is the absolutely accurate unspoken understanding between the two of them. Jack knows exactly what's going on and they speak in that broken code of theirs, that's half words and mostly just each other's presence.
Jack took a sip from his beer and watched Daniel paw through the contents of his refrigerator. From the way Daniel was tossing stuff into the waste bin by the sink, it looked to be a prime night for takeout.
PG-13, basically Gen with a slightly undefinable slashy undertone, Jack teaches Daniel a thing or two about leadership and team-building.
J. J. Ruadh stared up at Daniel, her long braid coiled around her shoulder like a snake. He stared back, feeling his lip curl in frustration with her. "Doctor Jackson," she said coldly, and turned.
She turned back, sighing with impatience. "J. J., you need to remember that SG-1 is a field unit." He couldn't believe he was parroting Jack back to her. "That means I won't be here. I need to be able to rely on the department to function in my absence."
SG-1 is imprisoned in an alien culture, trapped in dreams. This is both sweet, painful and lovely, with a very believable, strange alien culture.
I'd been negotiating with the Rahimans for over a week now, on behalf of the Chhira. We'd gone to P5X-699 only to discover a cold war between the two countries that was quickly escalating into outright warfare. For reasons I still didn't understand, both sides had asked SG-1 to intervene, and General Hammond had asked me, as earth's cultural liaison, to work with them to avoid the coming war.
How an archaeologist and linguist became a diplomat, I never knew.
Warning: This is the most depressing story I've ever read. It's Gen, flavored slightly with hints of Jack/Daniel (the attraction/admiration is there). This story, this world, I loathe to say it, but the plot is too depressingly possible. Human beings have historically been this horrible, and you will probably want something to follow this story to scrub the images out of your mind. I would never recommend something that was unredeemably depressing, but Daniel's courage and altruism makes this story worth reading. Oh. And it's beautifully written and the characterization's note perfect, but with Quercus that's a given.
Jack bent over Daniel, keeping the sun out of his face, trying to cushion his ride in the uncomfortable cart. Sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped onto Daniel, joining his sweat, smudging the dust that had settled over them all. He gently wiped Daniel's face, who opened his eyes to smile up at Jack.
"Thank you," he whispered, and Jack smiled back at him, nearly overwhelmed by the tenderness he felt. "Really, I'm all right, Jack."
I'm getting tired, so forgive my short description of a long, lushly described story on an Asgard-protected planet. It has a happy ending, too.
Jack watched Daniel closely as he followed him tramping through the countryside on P2X-whatever-Carter-called-it. Beautiful man, he thought, no longer embarrassed that he so considered Daniel. Beautiful country, too, Jack supposed, although he missed the desert sometimes. But the stargate here was near the sea, or an enormous lake, hard to tell until they reached it, and he liked being near water. Behind them and around the lake were jagged peaks covered in what looked like redwoods. At the highest points, snow -- a lot of snow. It couldn't be more than five Celsius. At least they were up high; the gate had a good view of the beach curling off in either direction, disappearing into a misty horizon, through which the sun couldn't penetrate.
Teal'c was on point, with Carter next, and then Daniel, where Jack could keep an eye on him.
Five Moons by Destina Fortunato - R, if I remember correctly
Razor-sharp Jack/Daniel banter that could have been lifted from the show would make this fic, even without the excellent interesting plot, believable alien technology, and unique method of bringing Jack and Daniel together. Oh yeah, sure, I'd love to have a little sex here, too, but that would be greedy.
"Making progress, are we?" Jack lounged against a steep white pillar and watched Daniel as he worked. The mellow sunshine of P4C-282 was a pleasant change from the dark interior of Cheyenne Mountain.
Daniel squinted up at him. "Trying to, yes."
"Am I distracting you?"
"What if I said yes?" It was a game they played, the game that kept Jack focused, kept him from becoming too bored while Daniel did his scientist-thing.
It's not a perfect story, and James' more recent work has more emotional impact. But James has that special ability to find the bizarre and funny in the very ordinary. Here, Jack goes shopping for Daniel, and Daniel's tape-recorded list will crack you up.
Jack stood in the infirmary, watching the nurse at Daniel's bedside. Daniel was being quiet and cooperative -- a sharp contrast from two hours ago when they'd brought him in here. Jack figured it was the cast that made the difference. Now that every jostle and movement wasn't causing excruciating pain, Daniel could relax and stop yelling at the medical staff.
Jack hoped that was the case -- he didn't want to find out that Daniel was merely being polite so Dr. Fraiser would release him early. As the nurse walked away, Jack moved forward. Daniel saw him, and smiled. Jack loved that smile. He couldn't help but return it.
"So. They tell me you're outta here tomorrow?" Jack said.
Cloudwork by James Walkswithwind - PG-13, I think. I'm writing these waaaay after the fact.
A lazy, peaceful vignette.
There were clouds covering the sky: large, billowy clouds which had a technical name that meant they looked like large cotton balls spilled across the floor of the sky. Daniel knew the names for them in a dozen languages, but the English technical term escaped him. They were cloud-watching clouds, the kind you found pictures in on long, hot days spent doing nothing but lying in the grass and thinking deep thoughts. Popsicles, or ice cream. Baseball, or swimming. Stay where you were, or move a fraction of an inch to get away from the ant trail. Philosophical thoughts.
Daniel was... doodling. Jack was pretty sure that the sketches marching across Daniel's notepad were not the glyphs of some alien language. Except for the parts that were.
It wasn't like Daniel not to pay attention at a debriefing, but then, if Jack himself had been paying as much attention as he was supposed to, he wouldn' t have noticed that Daniel was drawing long necked birds-- cranes maybe, or egrets, and diamond-backed snakes in his margins.
When Hammond sent them on their way with a tasty 48 hours of leave, Daniel looked up at nothing in particular, but remained in his chair, idly drumming his fingers on the table.
Okay, I confess, I don't for one millisecond believe the action sequence at the end, but with spot-on characterization, great one-liners that could've been lifted from the show, I don't care. Who can resist a slave-fic where Jack is the slave?
"And once again, trees."
Daniel ran his hand through his hair and resettled his boonie. "These are different than what we usually gate into." He took two steps forward, toward the edge of clearing, and stopped at Jack's unmistakable gesture. "They're more Mediterranean, less lower British Columbia."
He shrugged and returned to Jack's side. "Just making an observation."
Jack and Daniel are stuck on base in quarantine, and are desperately furious with each other… and desperate for each other. Who cracks first?
"Welcome back SG-1, your timing is impeccable."
"Thank you, General." Coming to a stop halfway down the ramp, Colonel Jack O'Neill rested both arms on his P-90 and grinned. "I've always prided myself on my tidy timing."
"Impeccable means *exact*, Jack, not tidy."
The grin twisted as he glared at the man to his left. "I know that, Daniel."
"Really? Then I guess I'm just being deliberately annoying." Dr. Jackson's expressive brows rose above the upper edge of his glasses. "Again."
Jack's lip curled. "Always smart to play to your strengths."
Safely behind the two men, Major Samantha Carter and Teal'c rolled their eyes, the movement so perfectly synchronized General Hammond suspected they'd had a lot of practice over the last two days. It had clearly been one of *those* missions. Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Jackson had found something fundamental to disagree about, had fortified their positions, and the slightest compromise was now perceived as total surrender.
The nature of his Jack's family comes as such a surprise, and yet it's so real. I believed it, I've seen this too often not to. It's only sort of slash, and yes, it doesn't take the expected route - anywhere. That, the vivid description and the emotions that ring so true makes this a painfully real gem.
Time got lost at the SGC. Sometimes they went for weeks without seeing the daylight, or starlight, of Earth.
P6R525 was a dry, barren, intermittently sandy planet, that is to say, a desert. At least that part of it where the Stargate was located. There were some nice ruins beyond the gate, recent enough and anomalous enough to intrigue everybody into puzzling out who and what could have built them and destroyed them and why, and where did they come from and where did they go. There was plenty to keep everyone busy, which was good. Lots of hard work, and hard thought, and nights of pleasant exhausted oblivion. Memories had no chance against the lures of new discovery. Even so, Daniel had caught Jack watching him every now and then, which bugged him, because he was fine. Just because it was a desert didn't mean anything. It wasn't anything like Abydos. Not enough sand. No people. No dreams.
But this time, when they came back home through the Stargate, and surfaced at last like moles up out of the mountain, it was suddenly December, and Christmas in the outside world.
The acrid smoke stung Daniel Jackson's eyes, and he wiped them with the bloodied sleeve of his jacket. It was no good. He'd lost his glasses and his sight when the Goa'uld stun grenade landed too close to him. When he came to he was alone, and he'd been dazedly stumbling along since then, trying to find his team. His vision was coming back, but the landscape was a blur, whether from the effects of the grenade or his likely concussion he didn't know. He remembered the four of them and SG3 running from the contingent of Jaffa pursuing them, lungs burning, legs straining, Jack at his side urging him on. Then he heard a warning shout in his ear, saw the bright, blinding flash of the Goa'uld device, then the sudden sensation of falling. A long, long way. Then nothing.
P4X-229 was very Earth-like, and they were in the foothills of a larger mountain range. He must've rolled down a hillside when the grenade hit.
Guh. Great, very masculine characterizations of both Jack and Daniel, great, very masculine hot and sweaty sex. I'm starting to note there are a Lot of NC-17 stories on my list, hmm.
Trust Daniel to be the one guy on the face of Planet America who didn't have a church key somewhere in his kitchen. It didn't go a long way towards validating the barely-there effort at masculinity that was Daniel even having beer in the fridge, and so maybe it was lucky that Jack just happened to be a resourceful kind of guy. Good with his hands and nifty in times of peril; just generally the kind of person you'd want around when faced with unopenable beer on the one Earth day that wound up being hotter than an Abydonian spring break.
Jack dealt the crowns of the bottles a neat blow on the edge of the kitchen island.
One of my all-time favorite stories. Anais manages to blend slash, hot sex, and a sense of glorious wonder that, yes, we can go anywhere in the universe with the stargate. It's that wonder that I love most about some of my favorite episodes, "The Nox," "The Torment of Tantalus" and "The Fifth Race," and it's rarely found in fanfiction, let alone fanfiction with steamy realistic sex.
A body can get used to anything, even being hung. So my grandmother used to say when I bitched about how cold the bathroom was in winter. I guess she was right again. A body can get used to anything. Amazing how we take stuff for granted really.
I said that to Daniel, not looking up from my newspaper. We were hanging out waiting for General Hammond to get the de-brief together - just the two of us. Carter and Teal'c were running late and Daniel and I thought we might get there first, just to bug the Punctuality Twins for once. Daniel was sitting on the edge of the briefing room table, scratching his nose and skimming through his notes. I was checking out the sports section.
I heard the gate clunk and hiss into life and checked my watch. "SG3?"
"Yeah. Think so..." Daniel said. "My God...isn't this just bizarre?"
There is no describing this absolutely rib-crackingly funny 12-month daily journey through Dr. Jackson's neurotic mind and even stranger life. All I can do is promise you: this story (and it's gloriously looooong) is the reason many have started reading Jack/Daniel slash. This story is the reason I started reading Jack/Daniel started reading Jack/Daniel slash. And it is… I can't do it. I can't describe it. Sex has never been funnier than this. Never. Ever.
Monday January 1st
Alcohol units 18 (hideous) Chocolate chip cookies 13 (ugh) Coffee (lost count around 3pm) Time spent drunkenly badmouthing Wallace Budge - total of 86 minutes and 22 seconds. Visits to infirmary 0 (v.good)
This feels unfinished, but holy hell hot. And Anais lush descriptions are as welcome as ever.
"Would someone like to tell me why my inbox is full of Nostradamus and why this coffee tastes like shit?"
He hated himself the second the words were out of his mouth. It was the whiny, sarcastic teacher-tone that had made numerous dumb Ivy-Leaguers curse the name of Dr. Jackson when he was a TA at Chicago. It had been a bitch of a day - a bitch of a week, in fact - no make that a bitch of a month, and the last thing he needed was a cup of instant to add the crowning insult of having to listen to the so called prophecies of that Provencal doomvendor for the nth time.
If you knew in advance that everything is always going to go back to the way it was, you could do anything, for as long as you want, without having to worry about consequences.
Way to go, Danny. You had to go and put that thought into my head, didn't you? I was willing to sit here day after day like a good colonel and learn Latin and have the Ancients' language crammed into my brain again, but you had to bring up the idea of 'no consequences.' Could do whatever I want. For as long as I want. No consequences.
The writing blurred in front of Daniel's gaze again, the tantalizingly familiar hieratic characters swirling into gibberish for what seemed like the hundredth time. He squeezed his eyes shut, making a vain attempt to clear his vision, then took off his glasses to rub his aching eye sockets, tossing the glasses onto the cluttered surface of his desk. It was no use. Normally, this was the kind of linguistic puzzle that would keep him occupied for days on end, but this time, it wasn't working. He'd been sitting here staring at the photographs from P9R-475 for an hour, and he'd been aware of every minute of that hour, all but counting off each second as it ticked by.
At least, that is what he has been told by these people in whose company he now finds himself. He repeatedly rolls the name around in his mind, silently formulating the individual sounds of which it is composed. The name feels…odd, like an ill-fitting garment, simultaneously constraining and amorphous.
This is very short, yet the image of Daniel and Sam's reason for inviting him over lingers, and I find myself revisiting the vignette. It's not romantic, but it is intensely emotional in an understated, contained way.
Sam had decided Sunday afternoons shouldn't be spent alone. They were better spent in the company of a friend -- especially a friend who was willing to help her mount shelves and chip away old bathroom tile.
"Almost," Daniel said. He motioned to Sam to lift her end of the shelf, and she did, hoisting it a fraction of an inch. Daniel situated the level; the shelf was centered. "You have the pencil?"
Utterly unique alien culture (if you can call it a 'culture'), utterly familiar situation (no guns, locked up), this is the most convincing Aliens-Made-Them-Do-It story I've seen in this fandom. The concept is a cliché, the execution here? Definitely not. Jack would be pleased.
"Well, this is a cliché," Jack said, peering up at the blank white ceiling, his hands patting across his chest for a weapon that was no longer there.
Daniel turned from his examination of the plates of food laid out at one end of the room. He followed Jack's gaze to the featureless walls and a small line appeared between his eyebrows. "It is?"
"Well, yeah." Jack waved, as if his meaning should be obvious. "Here we are, trapped in a little room, all our gear gone and no way out. Haven't we done this, oh, a few hundred timed already?" He leaned forward slightly, tilting his head to one side, fixing Daniel with an irritated stare.
A playful bit of absurdity: Teal'c gets a makeover courtesy of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
THEME SONG! As some chick sings about "all things keep getting better," the Fab Five each pick up their chosen implements of destruction and march down some New York City boulevard that is miraculously free of traffic. Obviously, this is some special Alternate Gay Universe
The person next to him had been tossing and turning for at least half an hour now and it was starting to become annoying. Jack turned onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin, ignoring the shifting body next to his.
Shift, shift. Toss. Turn. On and on it went. Jack tried not to grunt when he felt a knee in the back. Toss. Turn. Sigh. Cough. Scratch. It finally got too much when the constant shifting became accompanied by under the breath muttering.
Pure silliness, Danvers takes us on a oddball ride that somehow reminds me of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy crossed with Monty Python.
The canteen was bustling as usual and Ba'al couldn't help but sneer at the way some Goa'uld always sat at the same table, giving funny looks to the rest of the people on the ship. They totally had this 'we are more beloved of Anubis' thing going on. Of course, Ba'al didn't care. He was a bit of a loner anyway and spent most of his time in his candle-lit, black wall-papered chambers listening to some heavy-iron melodies.
I have read and re-read this one soooo many times. Jack and Daniel wake up in bed together, foggy about wha-what happened? Then they discover they can hear each other's thoughts. Shalott doesn't stop there, and what we have is a team fic, where a very snarky Jack and Daniel try to deal with their new-found ability with the handicaps it brings. No, they are not happy about it at all.
Wow. Did his head hurt.
On the bright side, he was lying on something soft, and he didn't seem to be tied up or injured or dead, and he had the vague sense that he'd had a really good time last night. So all in all, nothing much to complain about. All he needed was about another twenty-four hours of sleep. He rolled onto his side and tried to shove his head into the pillow.
A glimpse into what the lives our favorite team members were like, right before they got their new assignments and had their worlds turned upside-down by the Stargate. Gen, excellent characterization and quite believable. I particularly like Danvers' take on Carter.
Sam stood by the window and sighed. The room was stuffy and the AC seemed to have stopped working eons ago. Her uniform made her feel like a turkey wrapped in foil ready for some serious roasting. Irritated and not sweating only because she had an efficient pore-blocking roll-on applied to her underarm area, Sam sat down back in her chair facing the desk of one General Marshall Majors. For a man who was known for discipline, his tardiness was something Sam didn't appreciate. Especially since she had been ten minutes late and he still hadn't arrived.
The reason why I don't usually like non-con is because most people eroticise it. Martha writes the real thing, and somehow builds a truly powerful and real relationship around this trauma. Fabulous story.
Although the room was warmed by a charcoal fire, Daniel couldn't stop trembling.
Cushions were scattered across the floor, and the low table nearby was set with glazed earthenware plates and cups. One wall was open to the courtyard garden. Even without turning his head, Daniel could smell the sweetness of flowering plants, hear the trickling patter of a fountain. When he finally did look, he saw a creature with dull, dun-colored plumage making its way across the lintel, trilling and chirping at every step. Before it hopped down into the garden, it looked at him, its gaze pitiless and utterly without curiosity. Daniel was convinced the servants who came through the room from time to time would have looked at him with the same blank avian stare, if only they'd had eyes.
Hah. The real version of an "Aliens made us do it" story.
It was 0600, and already the apartment smelled like a hot day. Dry and airless, tainted with car exhaust fumes and a whiff of burnt coffee.
The doors to the balcony were open wide, and the sky beyond was faintly pink, but mostly gray. Daniel was sitting at the piano in his boxer shorts, his left hand hovering over the keys. He didn't seem to be playing anything in particular, just touching random notes at long intervals, head cocked to listen as the sound dispersed like ripples in a pond through the apartment. Daniel's right hand was in a sling strapped tightly to his chest.
You can probably tell I'm getting a little tired again. I like Martha's other fics much better, but I really, really enjoyed Jack's bitter complaining. It was just… so Jack.
Jack wondered if being damned near naked was the real problem here, or if he would have been just as angry in the relative comfort of his BDUs.
"So, Daniel," he said, hearing the snarl in his tone and deciding he was more than justified in snarling a bit, "learning a whole lot about the development of Bosavi language and culture in isolation, are we?"
This is the best slave story I've ever read. Jack is given a gift, one that he is reluctant to give up.
I don't consider myself a hard-ass. Smart-ass, yeah, okay, but not a hard-ass. In fact, if there was such a thing as a soft-ass, that'd be me.
Okay, forget I said that.
The point is, I'm an easygoing guy, really. I've been in the United States Air Force for twenty-six years and I've been an officer almost the entire tour. There's been only one time in my life during all those years when I buttoned myself up in a full-metal jacket and exercised my right to be a ranking asshole. That was after Charlie died, when I came on to the Stargate project. I had no interest then in making myself liked. I was plotting a course from one death to another. There were no points along the way.
Complex and impactful, you will see bits of this story scattered throughout the fandom. I discovered after the fact how much of this story wound its way into my subconscious, with lines and insights ringing so true, I didn't know later if they'd come from this story or from an episode on the show. The slash in this story fits effortlessly into canon, an "of course, why didn't I see that before?" This is the story I could give to doubting Thomas's who think that slash is unlikely between these two. Fair warning: to say "Out of Season" contains spoilers is to vastly understate the case: it tells you the entire plot of "Shades of Grey," and a great deal of "One Hundred Days." But unlike some stories, it's not pointless retelling but the means by which Anna draws you into canon.
When he stepped through into the gateroom, the air became cool. Air conditioning. Oh hell, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about air conditioning. He paused a few steps past the gate and closed his eyes and breathed, while bootsteps clattered slowly past him.
He heard Hammond say, "Welcome home, Colonel," in a warm voice. "We're glad to have you back, even if a bit overdue." A gentle joke.
He opened his eyes, nodded at the general from a careful distance, then descended to meet him. "I'm glad to be back, sir." His voice sounded stiff to his ears, and a softer voice than his own echoed in his mind.
We tripped out of the gate onto P5C-421. The sun was shining, grass was green--always nice to see--and there were a lot of frogs.
"There are a lot of...frogs," said Daniel, off to my right. And then: "Oh god."
I looked over, then down at his boots where he was staring. "I'm sure it was over quick," I said. I decided then not to point out the frog-free zone that ran like a smoking stripe down the center of the steps. I'm a kind man when I want to be. Thoughtful, even.
My all-time favorite Jack/Daniel series. It has awkward unromanticized sex. Conversations where Jack and Daniel confuse each other. Plot. Peaceful down time together. Hilarious, absurd moments. More plot. And more hot sex. What I like is that although the missions appear to be disconnected from each other, they eventually develop into a larger picture which ties back to the Jack/Daniel storyline. Very long, very rich satisfying read.
The landscape around the stargate was dull, flat, dusty. Far in the hazy distance were mountains. No signs of habitation, except for the gate and four low, stone platforms near it. As the SG-1 team fanned out from the gate, Colonel Jack O'Neill scanned the horizon.
"Looks pretty dead to me. What do you think, Carter?"
"It's hard to say."
O'Neill took another look at the empty landscape. "Come on, kids. Let's pack it in."
Teal'c and Carter slowly headed back to the gate. Daniel, however, was hunched over one of the platforms, brushing away sand and dirt from the top.
"Come on, Daniel," Jack called. "We're going home."
Brilliant characterization of Jack in particular, this is hot, angst-ridden, and rather funny too, in a sick sort of way. (I love it.) A Daniel still hopped-up on sarcophagus use after "Need" has a few more 'needs' in mind.
He wasn't looking at Daniel, who was sitting on a table across from him, grinning, kicking his heels, and not looking tired and sore and dirty at all.
Frasier slapped her cold stethoscope on Jack's chest. "Cough."
"Black Lung?" Jack said. "I've heard that you can get that when you're forced to work in a mine." Since he wasn't looking at Daniel, he couldn't tell if that fatuous grin had wavered at all. Probably not, though, the bastard.
This is my favorite story by The Grrrl. Funny, light -- and quite hot. Jack and Daniel meet at hotel for their first tryst, only Jack is lacking, hmm, enthusiasm.
Jack opened the door before Daniel even finished knocking. "Daniel," Jack said, backing away, his eyes wary. "You're here. How very prompt of you." He moved further than was actually necessary to let Daniel in, and continued backing away.
An ordinary day in an ordinary mission, but oh-so-much-more. Tent-sex, and the essence of Jack/Daniel and the team dynamic summed in the simplicity of this mission. The Grrl comes through with her usual ability to make me very, very happy.
Breakfast consisted of MREs and thick, boiled coffee, consumed while sitting under the tarp listening to all-too-familiar patter of rain on waterproof nylon. It was not a noteworthy event--no one shooting at them, no ambushes to plot, no hope of a decisive battle of any kind--but a pleasantly familiar, even soothing, one. Different planets, different weather, but still breakfast with a quiet feel of anticipation to it.
"We should be able to reach the site by late afternoon," Daniel said as he checked his notebook. "If we hurry."
Warm and comforting, this inspired my pleasantly imitative (I hope -- it was for me anyway) 'Welcome Home, Mr. General, Sir.' General Jack O'Neill has a great deal on his mind.
Jack is standing at the kitchen table reading the sports page when Daniel arrives. Actually, he's not really reading it, he's just staring at the headlines. He can't seem to focus on the words. His mind remains on unfinished business--reports and assignments and that tricky situation with the well-armed natives on P3X-0900.
It bugs the hell out of him that he remembers planet designations now.
"No sign of him here, either." Daniel crouched down behind the bushes, thumbing his radio off as the three Jaffa soldiers marched past. Gripping his 'zat tightly, he waited as the soldiers, staring straight ahead, passed his location.
This is one of my favorites by The Grrrl, touching and warm without veering into into insipid and saccharine. The slow shift of Jack and Daniel's relationship at Jack's cabin.
The body of water rippling in the moonlight was the same as ever. For some reason, that surprised Jack, maybe because he had changed so much. It had been forty some-odd years since he had first come to the lake, and some days, he felt every single one of those years weighing heavily on his soul.
Grrrgh, rawr. Very hot, snarky, been together forever, competitive sex.
He kept right on talking at me, as we walked from the car, up the driveway, and into the house. "Jack, I'm just saying--" he repeated for the nth time.
"I know what you're saying, Daniel. You've been saying it all the way home." I shrugged my jacket off and threw it at the chair. "Over and over again. Ad infinitum. I get it, okay? I shouldn't have touched it. Touching big thing--wrong. Leads to long, dull negotiations."
Lovely and sweet childishness. Classic Jack/Daniel post-mission screw-up snark. No one writes might-as-well-be-married Jack/Daniel like The Grrrl.
Jack stood in front of the door, arms crossed, waiting.
Daniel sighed. "You're kidding me, right?" he asked.
"I shouldn't be expected to open my own door," Jack told him.
The wind gusted, swirling dried leaves all around them. Daniel hunched down into his coat. He considered waiting Jack out, but hell, he was cold. So he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. "After you, my lord," he announced, stepping aside.
Fascinating and slightly creepy view through symbiote morality. I believe this symbiote is a person with a radically different world-view, I really do. Weirdly, I also respected it.
"It's strange being like this. So... new. Like a passenger in myself, inside my body."
"Technically, it's not your body." Shifting uncomfortably on the bedroll, he winces as the bandages on his leg pull and blood begins to seep from beneath them. There is sweat beading on his upper lip. He wipes it away with the side of his hand.
"True." He seems surprised by this answer, his eyebrows arching upward for a moment. I continue, "But I can't apologize for what I am by nature. This body was dying, anyway. We saved each other. Are you certain that, if you were in my place, you would act any differently?"