pants to match

It's done! Oh my GOD, for all the freaking useless inaccuracy of this thing, I spent an awful lot of time perfecting the formatting and everything. I'm anal like that.

Introducing: a bandslash primer for SGA-ers. It's biased by my fan-goggles and occasionally half-assed, but it's got pretty pictures, so at least you can place names with faces! All links will open another window. All pics are hosted on my site, so hopefully my bandwidth won't disappear.

Also, it would be good to brush up on the idea of compartmentalization.

And here's a snippet of Grandson Of Supersaturation to get you PUMPED about bandom boys in Atlantis!!

“Are you kidding me?” Rodney stares Way and Wentz down, but Way just looks bewildered, and Rodney can’t even see Wentz’s eyes, hiding behind the truly hideous fall of his fringe.

Finally, Wentz says petulantly, “We didn’t even touch it,” and Rodney, for a brief, fleeting moment, considers retirement. Blissful, tropical retirement, far far away from Dr. Peter Wentz in all his distracting forms.

“Oh,” Ivarsson exclaims, hands clasped in front of her chest. “Oh, how precious.” Ivarsson, of course, is completely unhelpful, and Rodney has no idea why she’s even in the infirmary, and he certainly doesn’t want to know, even though he suspects it has something to do with the mini Major Toro that’d trudged in with Wentz, Way and Bryar.

Ivarsson hugs Way – and oh god, Way’s possibly even more big-eyed and helpless looking than usual; the labs are going to be anarchy.