October 17th, 2005


mp3 converter?

Does anyone know if there's a free online feature that lets you upload a music file and have it converted to mp3? Especially for a proprietary file type, like iTunes, that's encoded to be available only to the person who paid for it unless you burn it to CD. I'm looking for something web-hosted, like yousendit, not a downloadable program. I can't DL just any old program to my work computer because I don't have admin rights; I can only install things our company offers through Advertised Programs.

Rodney/Ronon spam, in honor of wikiberry's request: lost, with spiders

It was cold, a dry wintry cold, but high above in the forest canopy, Rodney could hear the patter of rain against leaves as big and thick as his body, and never mind everything else--the brilliant yellow toadstools that were releasing deadly spores into his lungs at this very moment; the deadly microscopic alien mites burrowing into his skin through the tree bark they leaned against; the gnawing hunger in his belly and his plummeting blood sugar; and oh yeah, the overall fact that they were *lost*, lost on an alien planet in a wilderness the size of Canada, and excuse him if he wondered aloud how a man supposedly capable of navigating dense jungle planets exactly like this in seven years of flight from the Wraith couldn't manage to get them back to the gate--never mind that, did the man have to *grope* Rodney, who hadn't gotten laid in--well, far longer than one might expect considering the broad swathe he'd cut in his youth.

"Stop doing that," he said, trying to inch away from the weight of Ronon's arm and the fit of his big annoying hand against the side of Rodney's neck, but the other man was clearly determined to maintain his pretense of huddling to conserve body heat, so Rodney sighed and settled in and tried not to notice how his own head had found its perfect jigsaw match in the juncture of Ronon's jaw and neck and shoulder. He'd assumed that Ronon had a big stupid thing for Sheppard, given the doglike way he dogged his heels, but the tickling of his dreadlocks and beard was getting more and more suggestive, almost enough to distract Rodney from the hunger and the sudden pressing question of whether there were spiders in the trees above them, and more than enough to distract him from the realization that he'd been narrating most of his thoughts aloud for the last fifteen minutes.


John/Rodney: grief, late, cold for rositamia

Desire at its worst could be a kind of physical grief, a miserable ache concentrated in the most sensitive areas of the body; there was a reason it was called hunger.

Even though it was late and cold, he ghosted through the city corridors until he found John standing on one of the balconies, watching the dark waves like a sentinel alert to invasion by sea.

"Come to bed," he said imperiously, cutting into the soft fabric of the evening and into whatever thoughts John was punishing himself with, and then waited until the other man turned and spoke to him with steady gaze and twitching eyebrows, his rumpled hair like an illegible signature of resignation.

Clearly I am very bored and useless at work today.

John/Rodney: fluid, hand, light-headed for flaming_muse

The scent rising from the fluid on Rodney's hands was making him light-headed and fuzzy at the edges; he was also seeing a world of streamers that reminded him of his one and only experience with LSD, a drug he'd resolved never to touch again after a night of tortured certainty of his imminent brain death--a textbook bad trip of terror, confusion, paranoia, and helplessness.

"I'm having flashbacks," he said, his voice sounding rapid and high-pitched even to his own ears, "and cravings--peanut butter and shellfish, though not combined--do you think the Athosians have had any luck fishing yet--not that I'd eat alien shellfish, you might as just make out your will and order the fugu--don't be alarmed, I'm going to touch your hair--nothing personal--it's just to settle a bet--"

If he'd been in his right mind, of course, he'd never have scrubbed a hand around John's messy head, would have known better than to risk spreading the magic carpet-ride elixir through contact, because these things always led to woodland bacchanalia and knowing looks from Teyla, it was inevitable, and no man in his right mind would let himself in for that.