#and fucking grow up sheppard

[citricjoy]

the passenger (2023) is such a crazy watch from a place of passive suicidal ideation because benson feels so firmly in that camp at the beginning especially on a second watch, like suicidality feels like such a driving force for him. from the moment he has randy in the car all i can see is someone who has had idle fantasies for so long about ending his own life finally seeing the end coming near and he’s fucking ecstatic. like yes! i’m finally gonna be done with this shit, AND i got to help someone on the way out! he’s found this purpose in ‘helping’ randy and he comes at it so manically because he’s just gotta get this shit done and then he can fuck off into a pine box and stop dragging out his wasted life!… but then sheppard happens. and ms. beard happens. and the cops show up. and that fantasy is ripped away, and all benson can do is laugh at what a fucking idiot he was, thinking he’d grow up to be fucking anything at all.

[spurious]

HELLO feel free to ignore this obviously but you seem like the best person to ask - i’ve had a shitty week and am in desperate need of mcshep fic recs. what are the coziest most sweetest soppiest saddest ones youve ever read???

I am so sorry to hear you’ve had a bad week anon!!!!!!! Let me grab some of my best Warm Blanket fics for you 💖

Painted Blind by aadarshinah

John rather thinks he would know if he and Rodney were dating.

Or: Idiots in love, take twelve.

This one is soooo sweet and funny and THEM

I Do by cathalin

The feeling expands and grows and words are pushing up his throat, and he finds himself speaking. “Is that a promise?”

This is just. 🥹🥰🙏💖

Comfort Break by @salchat

On the usual mission-gone-wrong, John and Rodney are hiding in a ruined house. John is hurt and being overly stoic about it as usual and Rodney wants John to admit to being in pain and accept his help. They talk.

Rodney being caring in his stubborn, bullheaded Rodney way 💖

four boots, five thousand two hundred and eighty feet by Pares

"So what you're saying is, learning to love yourself really is the greatest love of all!"

Just a really fun, well-written, sexy body swap fic.

In Plain Sight by lamardeuse

The day they repealed Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Rodney marched into John's office and dragged him out.

Soooooo romantic I love this one!!!

Number Theory by Valdomarx

On another version of Atlantis, John is a mathematician who is better with numbers than with people.

But he's going to have to learn to get on with his team and their bossy leader, Rod, if he wants to survive here.

Set in the parallel universe from McKay and Mrs. Miller.

Hard-won and gradual vulnerability with a lot of team feels!

Monomial Factors by anonymous

Rodney wants a cat. John's always been a dog guy.

SOOOOO sweet this one.

The Reverse of Fascination by shrift

"I only have one idea left," Rodney said, because the situation was dire. It was desperate. It was this, or Rock Paper Scissors, and he didn't have a handy copy of the official strategy guide.

One of those fics where you can just HEAR the dialogue

Loop the Loop by alsaurus

One man's quest to comfort a friend. And maybe himself, just a little.

(AKA the one where John takes Rodney out on a million dates without realizing it.)

One of my absolute FAVES. This one is SO good and SO sweet and SO them!!!

The Suite Life by CartWrite

John did not ask to sprain his ankle, to be reassigned to the best quarters in Atlantis, or for Rodney McKay to become his new neighbor. But that’s what happened. Post-series.

Bit of a longer read but GOD is it worth it. Absolute comfort fic, it’s SO good.

Bare by @alienfuckeronmain

“Did you not know,” Teyla says carefully, shooting a concerned look at Ronon over their mostly empty plates, “that Lt. Colonel Sheppard enjoys the company of—”

“No, I did not!” Rodney manages to grit out, sucking in air desperately before grabbing his glass of water and downing it. “Since fucking when?!”

According to my ao3 history I’ve revisited this 79 times. Rodney thinking he’s homophobic when in fact he’s jealous is SUCH a good amazing trope. Also the sex scene in this is SO incredibly good 🫠

Okay I’m stopping there but like, if anyone wants to reblog with their own fluffy faves for this anon? Yes!

[xmorguekittyx]

His Lamb

what’s a sheppard without his lamb?

…a oneshot in which Older!Officer!Leon Kennedy would do

anything to get closer to Mortuary Assistant!Reader…

warnings: talks of corpses, groping, dub con, death, killing, blood, spit, bodily fluids, funerals, self harm, dubious acts of intercourse, dubious thoughts, manipulation, degradation, forced intercourse and kidnapping,

:dead dove do not eat:

“I’ll always look for you, Lamb.”

“the weather is forecasted that this will be the biggest storm, in Seattle’s history-“, the trees passing faded into hues of blue and green, dabbled by little splotches of clear rain drops, obscuring the paintings the speed of the old jeep make across a stagnant grey sky. “reports of wind speed as high as-“, fingers pressed into the soft flesh, digging into the skin as the voices blend into the background. The whirling of tires heard as the truck approached the small, lit up building. Brick, ivey growing up the sides as the paint flicks off, dark mahogany peeling back showing off a brighter red color, the last stand of not wanting to be forgotten.

much is forgotten, ghosts and shadows left to walk aimlessly. ghosts aren’t just the white, sheet covered spirits that haunt tv screens all across america. they’re here, with me and you, their lips parted in a wail, realizing that they’re being forgotten, cast aside and pushed away. a spark of resentment from the back of their silent throats, pushing silent screams into the void between them and us. bridging that gap isn’t too hard, if you know how to feel the silence. A small laugh leaves her lips as her eyes peer over to the flickering light behind the panes of the front door. pane, pain, what’s behind the door is merely pain, the place the deceased have their final moment. in her hands, they’re prepared to say their final goodbye. her fingers twirling curls, buttoning buttons are the same that once bore latex gloves, inserting a trocar into their body cavity, jotting notes down on her clipboard of any marking along their now cold bodies.

coat now cast along side another, more worn, lay across the coat rack, hearing the jingling of the bell as the wind threatens to push it back open. “Oh, you’re here.”, the voice travels rather dully though the gloomy building, slicing through the air with a soft appearance. “Yeah, I heard we’re in for a rough night.”, her fingers tapped the hook through her jacket, ensuring that it doesn’t slide off, the material slightly damp from the sprinkling rain. “Praying the power stays on. Don’t want to have to call Holman’s and ask to borrow his freezer again.”, eyes slid across the dark oak flooring, to the rust colored accents on an oak desk, then the soles of boots, haphazardly dodging paperwork as they laid heel first into the surface. “Holman isn’t that bad, he’s just…”, her voice wavers slightly, stepping forwards with a pull at her lips, eyes flickering up as if searching the rafters for the word to best describe the said man. “Too fucking touchy with the corpses, that’s what he is.”, the scoff that fell from her boss’s lips wasn’t an unfamiliar sound when discussing other mortician’s in the area. Her head shook, causing her hair to bounce as she gave a soft sound of amusement, “ever the brutal honest, yeah?”, her smile was a sight to the owner of the funeral parlor. causing his own to crack across his weathered cheeks, “yeah.”

“Officer Kennedy is doing the rounds tonight, after Mrs.Kowatch and Mrs.Edmond-“, the two women being murdered oddly close to each other by someone police have yet to identify. Their body’s embalmed right here in this very own morgue. “-they started having officers on watch on this road.”, he waved his hand and pen towards the main road. his eyes still on the mountains of paperwork. “You know, they think the bastard came up this way, said something on the news about him being rural, too animalistic to be someone like you and me- acting like they were mauled by bears or something”, she nodded, half listening- half thinking of which bodies she had to embalm tonight and if she thought she could get them done before the possible outage. “We even embalmed them, I, damn well, know a mauling from a murder!”, his voice carried as she crossed her arms, still in her own head about what tonight would in-sue.

“Ignoring your boss is rude, you know?”, the scoff that fell from his lips had her eyes breaking their stare off with the wall, peeking back at the blonde man. “Sorry, was thinking if i could get Mr. Harriett and Mrs. Jenkins both done before the powers shits out.”, still ignoring the man’s words. “You-“, his offended tone was accompanied by a dropped jaw, teeth white from the whitening pen he kept in his drawer from all the cups of coffee he sipped all shift. “You’re really gonna ignore what i said?”, his brows furrowed, his hand gripping the pen as he half way stood up. “Come on, at least humor me and act like you don’t tune me out.”, he whined, throwing himself back into the chair, nearly flipping it with his body weight. “But then i’d be lying, you don’t want me to lie… do you?”, she teased as she winked over her shoulder, turning her back to him once more as she made her way down towards the hallway leading into the embalming room and freezer.

“-suggest taking shelter now. conditions are expected to worsen as the night passes, again, we urge you to take shelter-“, darkness covers the duo as her fingers lock the cooler door back in place, the buzz of the afore mentioned machine cutting off. “You’re joking.”, she crinkled her nose, her hands coming out in front of her to try and guide herself from walking smack-dab into the doors she’d locked open. Her fingers wrapping around something, it’s temperature far too warm to be the door as she rips her hand back, a yelp coming from her lips. Her foot catching on the stretcher, back hitting the door handle of the freezer as she whines. “You okay back there?”, Ben’s voice carries, “Yeah, just got spooked is all…”, her eyes were barely opened as she looked up at the “warm” things she grabbed, or far awfully like a shirt, maybe her finger had brushed something hard too… it felt odd as she curled her fingers into a fist, still sitting on her ass on the cold tile. “just give it a few minutes, hopefully it’ll-“, the voice carried as the lights buzzed back to life, engulfing the small building in light. “come back on.”, his head lifted from the desk, looking down the narrow hall towards his assistant. “You sure you wanna stay, i’m okay with you going back home for the night.”, his green eyes reflected worry and care, having become close to a confidant to the woman. She scowled, not seeing anything that would’ve felt the way she knew she had as she looked back over towards him, pushing her body from the floor. “Drive back out there?”, her thumb jut out to motion towards the front doors, her feet pushing her towards the man as his hands crossed over his stomach, leaning back to get a better look at her. “Hell no.”, her tone was that of ‘are you crazy?’, to which it seemed some townsfolk thought the two were.

wind whistled, shutters snapping shut and open, her eyes squint as another strike of lightening lit up the windows. “It doesn’t seem like much work will get done tonight.”, the same weary voice spoke up after moments of silence, causing the seated girl to turn towards him. “Appears not.”, her eyes picked up on a light source, one that didn’t flicker away the moment it came, but stayed, slightly bouncing on the wall behind her boss. “Who?”, her eyes squint harshly, before turning her neck to look out towards the source, seeing the lights quickly shut off. “Probably Kennedy, you know he gets sent all over Timbuktu over nothing, someone probably reported your loud ass yip when you hit the ground.”, Ben’s laughter was not reciprocated as the woman glared at the man who signed her paychecks. “Yeah, yeah… really funny asshole.”, her cheek held up by her fist, facing the door with a pout as she watched the man approach the doors. He cupped his hand over his eyes before wiping the water from them. Blue, sky blue, her new favorite color. Maybe, a he’d seen the cop around a few times. Maybe, even a little more than a couple times. Maybe, she’d been knuckle deep in her cunt, imagining his scruffy cheeks rubbing against her plush thighs as he suckled on her puffy clit. Maybe, just maybe, his name fell off her lips when she fell past the point of no return, lusting after a man who probably thought her crush was childish and that she was no more than a child, seeing as he was in his early 40’s and her, her late 20’s.

“Officer Kennedy-“, the other man steps up from behind his desk, hand outstretched to shake the soaking cop’s. Leon Kennedy, the town’s “Officer Friendly”, as Chris Redfield liked to call him. His dirty blonde brownish hair covering those ocean orbs, his lips curled back into a crude smile. fingers wrapping around Ben’s in a grip tighter than need be. “Ben.”, he nodded, scruff shiny from the way the water dripped from his cut jaw line. his hands shuffling to swap the hat from one hand to the pit of his arm. Leon Kennedy was not your normal officer, he’d been in the force since he was green behind the ears at 21, now 42 and looking liked he’d seen far better days. Blue orbs of the sea and sky melted into a blue so blinding it seemed to draw in anyone who got to close and dark circles to match. He’d had a rough life from the rumors she’d heard, from his parents dying to mob related violence back when he was a kid and then joining the police force and having to shoot a robber the first day, then his girlfriend going missing under suspicious circumstances, seems Leon Kennedy, had a trace of bad luck. It didn’t end there, he was also the first to find the two murder victims that were found in town, one in the lake and the other thrown head first into a trash can. He’s always where trouble is, but it’s just his bad luck, he’d chuckle to himself as he thought about it in the shower the next day. How he always ended up near any dark spot. Murder scene, the one fucking robber who just wouldn’t put down his gun, his girlfriend never being found even after all the years. He laughed, what else could he do?

Nurse the bottle? He did that too. Frequently, actually. He was a damn drunk, what his neighbor calls him when he’s struggling to get his key into the door, slouching against the wall as she walks her chihuahua out into the complex’s grass. A snarl and a crooked grin fall from his lips before the lock wiggles, signaling he was free to enter. It’s a shame she was the first victim. Mrs. Jeanette Kowatch. A pity really, she wasn’t too old, her early 50’s, found in the lake, her chihuahua barking at her as her head was being overwashed by the lake water, crouched figure staring at the bloated skin that hung off her skull. “Yeah…”, he squint up at his superior. “I know her.”, he sighed, slapping his thighs. “Neighbour of mine, Jeanie, Jeanette- something Kowatch.”, he waved down at her, jacket crinkling as he moved. “Bag her up!”, the superior waved his arm, having the team clean up.

Leon couldn’t help throwing stigma that came with his name, “a damn shame; what it is.”, Chief Irons had said in an interview. “damn shame, someone like him had to go through the hell he has. He could be a great family man, probably had it all planned with that girl he had before coming to Seattle.” People pitied the cop and women swooned for his deadly good looks. He was pretty, awfully pretty, for a 40 year old man. He aged like a fine wine, the lines in his face accentuating the years behind his tough exterior. just like every other woman in this town; she too found herself falling for the cop. it was just in his nature to have many admirers. He gave off a dangerous, older vibe and she ate it up anytime he shot her any amount of attention. be it a small “hello” in the near by coffee shop, a flick of his fingers as they passed each other on the road.

“I know you were nervous to drive back home after the power and all.”, his laughter died down into concern as he flipped the jacket over his shoulders, breaking her eye contact with the man’s profile. She looked over at her boss, lips parting as she seemed slightly stunned to be ripped away from her muse. “I’ll be-“, “I’ll take her home.”, Leon’s voice cut her off, before he cleared his throat, his barely visible adam’s apple bobbing. Even if all the bad luck that hung around him like a vice gripping at anyone who got to close, had her hairs standing on end, she couldn’t help but be allured into his presence. “I mean, if you’re okay with that.”, he finished, placing his hand by his side. “Oh…”, her eyes lit up, almost blushing, her cheeks hearing up as she quickly looked towards the floor, her kitten heels shining in the dim lighting that had survived some how after flickering. “That would be okay…”, she whispered, the flush still evident. Ben knew of the shared crush between the two, his smile widening as he straightened the collar of his jacket. “Okay, well, i’m gonna head out. Text me when you’re home and safe, sweetheart.”, his head dipped down to press a kiss to her cheek, almost lovingly, platonically loving. He treated her like a daughter, but flaming eyes didn’t see it that way.

damaged pupils reflecting wonky, disoriented images, lips licked worn the taste of blood and crisp flesh. “Yeah, i’ll get her home safe, don’t worry.”, his voice nearly dropped in tone, eyes no longer tired and worn, but narrows and heated. Ben’s posture came back up into errection. “Didn’t doubt it.”, until now, he wanted to add, having recognized the shift in behavior. His neck twisting with a small pop as he eyes the officer that seemed like he was looking at a 5 course meal rather than someone who was needing his help.

Her love stuck mind hadn’t recognized the rising tension between the men as she tucked her hair behind her ears, pushing herself up right, blushing from the kiss and the words from her older crush. “Text me, alright?”, his eyes stayed narrowed and unassured as he looked from man to woman. His hand rubbing her side, comfortingly. His head tilting to see her face. Her eyes were glazed from just the thought of riding home with the officer who had her breath caught in her lungs and legs curling with pleasure pulsating from between her legs late at night. “Yeah, i will, promise.”, she gave a tight lipped smile, running her hands over her ass, straightening her skirt under her lab coat. “”I promise.”, she repeated at his weary look, who was he to take this moment from her, he knew her crush on the officer. “Alright.”, his own thin lipped nod came when he grabbed the door handle, “Let’s head out.”, Leon ushered her, hand on her lower back as he rubbed in small circles, “Get a pretty girl like you home safe.”, he whispered in her ear, a knowing smile on his lips as he passed the mortician, eyeing him with a flamed glare.

minutes felt like hours, his computer shoved into the back, his hand resting slightly on the console. the trees, once paintings made by Bob Ross, himself, dull castes with a black looming presence. headlights the only source of light for miles, and for miles to come. The inside of the car was a little cramped, honestly, knees tucked up tight to the bottom of the seat, hands clasped painfully together to refrain from touching anything or him. His eyes set on the road as rain pelted the glass, blurring any and all sight. “Maybe…”, her head looked over the back of the seat, lip pulled between her teeth as she touched them. “We should pull off until it lets up-“, a strike of lightening cracked, the strike landing closer towards the car as Leon let out a huff, blinking quickly to evade the dancing white spots in his vision. “Maybe so, usually it’s not this bad.”, he sighed, hands quickly pulling off onto a spot where there was a gap in trees. “Well stay here, hope a damn limb doesn’t crush us to death.”, he glanced up, scouting the trees as his fingers clicked the seat belt buckle, freeing himself as he leaned up further, as if he could really see anything. “If it does, at least we’ll go quick.”, she gave a tight laugh, her eyes near bugging out as she realized how bad it was. “I hope Ben got home safe.”, she whispered, her chin dropping to her chest.

Leon’s eyes moved from the darkness outside to her, sitting like a school girl, hiding away from him as she stared at her thighs. “I’m sure he’s at home cracking open a bud light.”, he offered some sort of comfort, even if his presence ran a chill down her spine, out of fear or excitement, she didn’t really read into it too much. His lips pulling into a grin, her eyes peeking up at his. “Yeah…”, she whispered, she looked like a lamb, skittish and nervous as he reached his hand over. “Since we’re talking about getting crushed to death…”, his words were airy, like an alluring line of a song. His fingers danced along the line of her skirt, the seem pinched between his fingers as he gazed at the plushness of her thighs. “I should probably tell you this now; i’ve thought a lot about you. Since dropping off those women-“, red flag number one, he didn’t care about the bodies, the people who were passed on, she always used their names, talked to them like they were still here. “-i knew, i wanted to see you more.”, her cheeks lit up, his words too good to be true as she gave a soft smile towards the door, aiming away from him as his hand left her seem to be flipped up and out of place, instead aiming for her chin. “I mean it, little lady.”, his words were saccharine, almost so sweet you could throw up. “Girls like you are hard to find, shy, morbid little lambs, you need someone to keep you in the flock, right?”, “Not a lamb, Leon-“, she spoke through grit teeth, her words more embarrassed than annoyed. she was dude to being called morbid, she worked at the funeral home after all.

His brows furrowed, head tilted with a look of confusion. “Course’ you are, my little lamb, you’ve wondered so far away… where’s your sheppard now, little lamb?”, is words didn’t seem as sweet as they did before, more like a confused lump of words as she racked her brain to repeat them. He… was saying she wondered too far-? Before anything came form her lips, fingers dug between them, pressing back into her throat as she gagged, her eyes wide and teary as she stared at him. Her jaw clicked, threatening to chomp down onto the digits. “I wouldn’t-“, his warning was taken seriously as her eyes fell on a glint of metal from the headlights shining back into the car.

Leon was no more the officer who wanted to drive her home and keep her safe, but a man- honestly a stranger- with a knife pointing the tip as her has her throat swallowed around his fingers. A groan of pleasure fell past his lips, his head tilting back. “Can’t wait to feel that around my dick.”, he sighed, his hand coming from her mouth, lines of sticky spit connecting him and her together, before he wiped the mess onto her lab coat, wiping his fingers around until he loved to his buckle, undoing it quickly as he placed his hand on the back of her neck. “Come on, Lamb, thank your sheppard for keeping you safe.”, he sighed, leaning his seat back. “You apply any pressure with your teeth and i’ll pull them out of your mouth. Got a nice pair of pliers in the truck, pretty girl.”, he threatened, her eyes tearing up more as his cock was pressed to her tongue, the threat taken very seriously as she leaned over the console. Her lips wrapping around the head of his cock as she slowly slid down. “See, got your mouth all fucking nasty so you could suck me off.”, he placed his hand flat on her head, tousling her hair, before digging his fingers into her scalp and pulling her hair slightly. “Don’t block me with your tongue, show some gratitude.”, he pressed down on the back of her head, feeling her let out a whine as her throat was invaded by the tip of his cock.

A gag had her throat clamping around him, his head falling back as he let out a deep breath through his nose. “Shit-“, he groaned, “such a tight throat, wonder if your pussy feels like this?”, he bobbed her head with his hand. His eyebrows were furrowed as his hips snapped up to her lips, pounding the bruised plump skin as her tears hit his thighs. “Shh… pretty girl, you wanted this.”, he whispered, “you wanted me in you, i know… i know…”, his hand caressed her cheeks, before reaching down to her throat, squeezing lightly to feel himself expanding her throat. Her gag was enough for her to pull off of him, spit and tears clinging to her skin. “Look at you, so messy… so pretty…”, his hands held her cheeks, squishing them together. “Need you, baby doll. You need me, too.”, his eyes were soft like someone who was talking to someone less than them. “Don’t you?”, he nodded as he spoke, mouth open and hanging just centimeters from hers as his fingers slid under her skirt.

fingers curling around the seem of her underwear, feeling the slick puddle as soon as he reached the delicious forbidden part of her, rubbing his finger over her slit as she mewled in his hold. “I knew you did… i know, baby, i know.”, her whines stayed that way until his fingers pressing into her folds, sinking one finger into the slick. “Shit, baby-“, he hissed, pulling his finger out to show her the glistening slick that adorned his fingers. “Knew you needed me too.”, he whispered, his lips near her ear, pressing a tender kiss to her temple as she sobbed quietly. “Let me make you feel better, let me make you feel good, Lamb.”, he spoke as he reached down and pulled the lace from her legs, her lifting and shifting to help him. The car was still dim expcet for the white of the headlights illuminating parts of their faces and… parts.

underwear thrown haphazardly as his knees hit the back of her thighs, “Stop- stop-“, she whined, her legs pushing back into his cock, letting it dig deep into her cunt. “You’re backing up on me, asking me to stop? How does that work, sweetpea? You want me to wreck your little cunt.”, his words were like growls. Something she hadn’t caught earlier, probably due to the mints hiding in his cup holder, was the hint of whiskey lacing his breath. his hands reached forwards, running the curve of her spine, “Don’t arch, relax…”, his words soothed her, her fucked out mind too engulfed in the feeling of him over her. Her face flush to the seat as her back bent to his hand. His fingers digging into her sides as he pulled back on her hips, pushing her onto him. his fingers dug back into the supple flesh of her throat, craning the muscle to have her left eye right where he could see it. a blaze of need and fear sparking behind those tears filled, beautiful, pitiful eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t think about this the entire time you were watching me, sweet heart. Bet your cunt throbbed thinking of taking this older man’s cock in your pretty pussy.”, he putted, watching her as she closed her eyes, a soft pink blush fanning over her skin.

“Three days have passed since the disappearance of-“, three days since she road home with Officer Kennedy. Three days since she was last seen by her boss, three days since they found her clothes scattered around a road not far from her home. “- authorities are searching high and low for the young woman. Officer Leon Kennedy had this to say.”, the screen flickered with color, Leon Kennedy, the name that had been bustling in town, in Ben’s mind too. “-I cant help but feel guilty.”, his eyes red with tears, “It was my job to get her home safely. I dropped her off at her home, left her there and to hear a day later that she’s missing. I can’t help but feel i’ve failed her.”, he hung his head, sleeve of his uniform wiping at his eyes and snot smeared nose. “If you’re out there, know that in looking for you.”, blue eyes catch the camera. A peek of red catches from his collar, a scratch the side of a thin slice. Even knowing he was being a screen, knowing that his hands weren’t touching her skin anymore, the threat of his words felt like a nail in the coffin. Two pairs of eyes watch the screen. “I’ll always look for you, Lamb. What’s a sheppard without his sheep?”, his lips cracked into a lazy smile, “a stupid, herd led sheep.”, he knew how easy to manipulate she was. Remembering her cries and sobs, thinking about her pretty little tears, it was a shame she didn’t just take what the kind sheppard gave. it was a shame a sheppard like him… a wolf dressed in such innocent clothing, got his fangs into her.

[lightofraye]

A Little Perspective

This may be lengthy and detailed and potentially triggering for some. I will be covering a number of possible points of view about things covering why Jensen hasn't left--and may never. (A prospective I'm not thrilled about, to be honest.)

So. Let's begin.

1) Abuse: This is double issue for Jensen. Potentially a triple. How do I mean? For instance, Jensen himself admitted his father beat him with a belt--and from the sound of it, a lot, while he was growing up, as Jensen knew thinner belts hurt more. Worse, his father said he did it "out of love", so there's that bad, unpleasant association right out the bat.

Plus, his mother... this is only speculation, an assumption. She either looked the other way and accepted the abuse, or she was a participant of the abuse and thought it was normal/acceptable. That too may color Jensen's perspective and not a good way either.

Then Jensen became a model... and the modeling industry is/was rife on abuse. A lot of stories come out later where those who quit the industry or endured it suffered a great deal of sexual harassment, sexual assault, sexual abuse.... A "pretty boy" like Jensen likely would've suffered as well. I don't believe he's ever shared stories and he likely may never.

(Hi, toxic perception of men as victims again.)

I can't even begin about the sexual abuse that is rampant in Hollywood itself. Yes, women were largely targets, but as we've heard the last few years,... so have been men.

Hell, Jensen was sexually assaulted by Misha! It was used in a fucking gag reel! It's not funny! Jensen even said if he had known they were going to put it in the gag reel, he would've asked them not to. That to me speaks volumes.

There are brief stories out there. A PA witnessed Danneel slapping Jensen when she thought Jensen was flirting with the PA. (He wasn't; he's just that sweet.) There's another story of some restaurant goer who saw how harsh Danneel was bullying Jensen outside the restaurant.

He's... diminished. His baseline for normal is not the baseline for normal for non-abused people. His self-esteem, confidence, and ability to stand up for himself is heavily damaged. He doesn't know how to stand up for himself. Every time he has, he's been smacked down.

Yes, he can stand up for others time to time, but there are instances when he didn't and gave up in face of authority. (Mark Sheppard being demoted to guest star and losing pay and choosing to quit instead... only had Jared standing up for him in the end. Misha caved instantly and Jensen gave up as well.)

So what then does it mean for him and Danneel? Did she become abusive off the bat? No. That's not how abusers work. There were likely instances where she slipped and he mentally made excuses, ignored the red flags because that's how it tends to happen. Hindsight is ever perfect. Being in the heat of it, we tend to try and excuse, defend, or otherwise rewrite it in our minds. We don't want to think of it as normal.

Then once they were married, Danneel began to let that completely slip and fall, and he was "trapped". The cycle continues. By now he thinks of it as normal, acceptable, maybe impossible to escape. He has likely been told no one would want him. He's "middle-aged", damaged goods. This has also been told to female victims and it's hard to break that mindset too. It's hard to find strength to completely break free when you've been fed insidious lies since childhood.

It's a trap. A difficult trap to break. Can it happen? Yes. But it's very, very hard.

2. Blackmail: This one can fall under two very different categories. One, the abuse one. Where the children (I've mentioned this before) are being used as hostages to guarantee Jensen's continued marriage to Danneel. As in, "If you divorce me, I'll make sure you never see the kids again!" It's a common threat, to boot.

Despite what some people have said, I believe Jensen loves his children. Yes, "especially" JJ, but I believe he loves all three. He may not be home a lot to see them, but he loves them. He would like to keep that access to them. It may be he believes Danneel's threat, and I'm sure there's some who believe it'd be "easy" for a woman to make such a threat and keep it.

Here's a hint, folks. The truth to that lie. If a father asks for full custody of the children in a divorce, they usually get that request granted, no matter what. But most of them don't ask for that, and so, the parent that does ask gets it granted. So... if a husband and wife vie against each other and both ask, guess who wins? The father.

Most fathers don't think to ask because of the perception of mothers always win. Mothers are the ones who should be responsible for children. And so forth.

Regardless... Jensen likely might believe that threat and feels some access is better than none.

Then the other kind of blackmail. Note: I do not believe nearly all that I'm about to write. This is purely speculative and a number of possible blackmail that Danneel might have over him.

There's the J2 tinhat rumors. I could see why those rumors lasted as long as they have. I've seen the stories, the posts, photos, watched them in conventions. It's entirely possible that Jared and Jensen did have some romantic/sexual relationship for a time. Maybe even after they got married to Genevieve and Danneel, it might have continued.

It could be Genevieve just accepted it and when it ended (as there was a gradual separation even before the whole The Winchesters/Prequelgate debacle), Jared and Gen were okay. Danneel... however... might not have been as okay with it as she indicated. Her posts over the years, where she tried to make it seem she and Jensen were together when fan photos and such came out at the same time of Jensen and Jared together, might've been wildly embarrassed by it all. She might not have been as okay with it as Genevieve was and just collected evidence to hold over Jensen's head.

After all, sadly, Hollywood still isn't as accepting of LGBTQ as we'd like. When actors come out, their careers usually don't continue, out of the weird perception that gay men can't act straight. (When I hear that, I look at Matt Bomer and go "Are you sure?!" I believed Bomer was a charming straight man even after he came out--his character on White Collar was awesome!)

So there's that possibility.

Then there's the orgies rumor we've heard about in the past. Or rather that one tweet that led to a threat of a lawsuit--which sadly made it valid and legitimate. Danneel really didn't know how to let a rumor die. It might make her look weird and bad too, but her career has been nonexistent for a long time and her reputation has already been destroyed by her own actions. It wouldn't hurt her nearly as much as it might hurt Jensen.

Then there's other possible vices. Alcoholism seems to be the more... "acceptable" of vices. As is smoking. If an actor is an alcoholic, they just go to rehab, get help, and be fine. But for someone who is self-conscious about their image, it might be more difficult to accept. Being seen drunk time to time is not the same as being an alcoholic, after all.

The same goes for drugs. Not that rumor has been very well-known, but it can exist.

Then there's the blackmail of affairs. In Hollywood, affairs and flings are considered a part of the life. They happen. Couples that are apart for a while time to time may dabble in affairs and flings. Even with co-stars. This happens too. More than most would like. (The more infamous one would be Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie on the set of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Others have happened too. It's just common and accepted. Anyone saying otherwise is just wrong.)

Again, image-conscious and wanting to push the solid love marriage, this could be damaging. Even if Danneel hadn't really made it much of a secret that she's been having an on-and-off affair with Steve... it's still different. I repeat: she has no career or reputation to destroy. Jensen does.

Even if Hollywood wouldn't give that big of a damn about it.

3. PR Marriage: Now I know this has been pushed by other antis, and even suggested to me, but I find myself... hesitating on it. If it was in fact a PR marriage, why would he tolerate the abuse at all? Surely there'd be something in the contract about demeaning him and belittling him? It doesn't fit.

And there should have been protection over mistreatment or not fulfilling parts of it. I don't know... it doesn't quite fit. Not for me.

--

This was a long, long essay. I knew it would be, and it was still hard to write parts of it.

I want to end it with another point.

Female on male violence is often portrayed as a joke. Wedding Crashers had a female on male rape and it was a joke, a comedy bit. The one time I remember seeing such a scenario used on Law and Order: SVU, the male victim wasn't believed because he was a man and should have been able to overpower the woman.

Like it's expected of men to be able to just beat the shit out of their abusive partners... as though no one realized that if come upon by the police, any bruises on her would be taken more seriously than over him! Even if he had bruises too! Unless there's video evidence of physical abuse on him, anything else is considered... a joke. Impossible.

What's sad is that this too is an aspect of misogyny. Men are expected to be able to overpower women, so when a man is "taking" abuse and not fighting back, it's another part of misogyny. Because he's "lesser" than a woman, and that's shameful.

We have a lot of growing to do as a society. We need to realize that just because one person is making the money does not mean they hold all the power. We've only begun to see the problems of abuse, and all the areas it covers.

There's physical abuse, the one most commonly known. Then sexual, the second commonly known. The lesser recognized are financial (unless a person is a senior citizen, then it's considered a legitimate crime), and mental and emotional being the least known or recognized (only considered legitimate if done on a child and with proof).

Until we end the toxic expectations of men, and yes, women, and realize anyone can be a victim, and that we all, as a whole, deserve respect... we have a long way to go.

Just remember: It begins with you. It begins with us.

[parhelios]

Hi! Can you actually please elaborate on the stargate animorphs crossover thing? I am obsessed with both so this intrigues me 👀

OKAY! so this is more stargate atlantis + me playing fast and loose with animorphs canon, and an excuse to do a character study of john sheppard, because i love him.

this is part one, part two is here!

so in this au, long before john sheppard ever saw atlantis or the stargate, he knew that life existed beyond the stars. because john used to be tobias. for anyone more familiar with stargate than animorphs, tobias was trapped in the form of a redtail hawk, permanently, though he later regained the ability to morph into other forms, including his human self. in this au, the yeerk-human war was never revealed to the general populace, and everything was as hushed up as it could be. however, the us governement did not like the idea of someone with the morphing power they could not control, and therefore, shortly after the yeerks were defeated, tobias was forced by the us govt (and honestly as i type this i think maybe the rest of the living animorphs were involved bc they don't want tobias to have a lifespan of like 3 years as a hawk) to become a nothlit once more and trap himself in human form. he's placed by the government with a military family, and given a new name, since tobias at this point has been declared legally dead.

john sheppard grows up quiet and a little too intense for his peers who he is, a little too grown up (he is sixteen when the war ends but his human body was thirteen forever until it became his again). it takes him time to make his face emote like everyone else, to learn how to be charming to mask that hole inside him that longs to fly. (he never really kicks the prey drive - though catching darts out of the air does make for a fun party trick)

so he joins the air force. closest he'll get to flying again, there'll be no ellemist-ex-machina, but maybe he'll be able to capture a sliver of the life he lost. and john sheppard gets to see the stars, by a random, biological chance, and he can't help but wonder if it's not so random. if maybe his ATA is influenced by elfangor, by the eskafil device, by ellemist meddling - so much of his life has been touched by the unknown.

so john gets to atlantis like in canon, and quickly realizes that he is the only person in atlantis with clearance regarding the yeerk invasion. most of the early episodes go pretty much the same plot-wise, up until the genii invasion of atlantis. john going full guerrilla warfare/hawk mode is somehow more intense than in canon, and i think it definitely gets focus from his team. rodney, however, has been lowkey weirded out by some of john's behaviors since the start of the mission, having caught several of john's blank no-one-is-looking hawk expressions and has just been keeping a running tally of weird shit john does since, and this is just one more freaky fucking thing on john's tally.

nothing super comes of it though, and on the mission to chaya sar's planet, things end up changing for john quite a bit. this is where the au really kicks off, as chaya sar can sense something is different about john, and when he meets with her alone and she tells him she cannot intervene, she tells him that there is one thing she can do, just for him. it turns out that the ellemist is a rogue ancient who fucking loves meddling (told u we're fast and loose w/ animorphs canon) and because she would technically just be undoing some of that meddling, she can give john back his red-tailed hawk form, and only that, without a time limit.

so now john can literally fly again, and that changes things.

part two

[dabuerre]

just some thoughts on season 5 of atlantis - i really dont like it.

woolsey is growing on me, but its too late. the show is gonna end soon. so like.. dissapointment. its especially painful because Woolsey was the one that delivered the news to Carter. it made me dislike him, heavily. i thought it would be a plot point, and she would come back, but nah.

sheppard deserves something more. i mean, i think there is only like.. one sheppard centric episode? with his father, and his ex-wife?

mckay... he is stuck inbetween actual growth and falling back on his ass. i thought he would try to fix his relationship with katie, because that was such a fucking fuckup, but no, bro seems like he didnt even realize what was happening("Trio") now he seems interested in Keller, which... i guess i support it? i dont know.

Ronon? he is just cool. thats kinda all his character is. i always thought there would be a deeper reason, why they made him a runner, but no such thing. he is just a cool guy with a cool gun and cool sword. honestly suprising they didnt try to get his gun for everybody. its like the only weapon in atlantis that can both stun and kill.

teyla.. teyla teyla teyla. meh. kanaan sucks. the kid plotline is actually alright, really liked "The Queen", but... kinda falls flat because the whole Todd aliance dies like two episodes later.

Zelenka deservers more plot, aswell. we know almost nothing about the guy expect that he has pigeons.

im also kinda sad that they felt the need to reintroduce the Asgard. now yes, they do look kinda robotic, or atleast they have some sort of cybernetic enhancement, but man, would it really be that difficult to make up new antagonists? i mean the wraith are so great. i always hoped that the wraith had a rich history, because of what Todd said to Sheppard, in the episode where he feeds on him. and returns his life. i always thought that perhaps long ago they maybe like fed on animals or shit and actually had a society but no, they just.. yeah. i was very hopeful about the whole turn the wraith into lesser wraith so they dont feed? sounded pretty cool honestly. but again the alliance failed so.. pain.

really sad about the episode where Weir returned. its shame they couldnt get the actress back. although, it kinda made sense i suppose, since she was just a consciousness trapped in a computer, and then stuck in the Fran body. i love Fran, by the way.

i have no idea why they decided to shove Carson back in. i know he is a clone and all but.. whats the point?

i definitely wanna see how it all ends, thats the only reason why i didnt drop it yet, because honestly, almost none of these episodes really like.. made me go "damn bro thats good."

i did really like "Inquisition", really started to like Woolsey here. First Contact and The Lost Tribe because Daniel showed up. missed him. honestly he could've become leader of atlantis, haha. Outsiders was kinda interesting? but yeah, thats it man. 6 more episodes to go.

its "Remnants" time.

[youredreamingofroo]

Hi! I did take your advice and I’ve been scrolling through the tags for the passenger. I feel so dumb. 😭 I was like “there was gay subtext?” 🧍‍♀️I’m usually so quick to notice it. Now that I’ve read some analysis’s and people breaking things down I’m starting to get it! Both Randy and Benson are on different scales of growing up with trauma. It’s definitely having me see Benson in a kinder light (bc I’ll admit I wasn’t sure how to feel about him I’ll be fr). But I’m definitely just going to have to sit down and rewatch. Because some stuff definitely went over my head the first time around. But once again thank you Roo!! 🙌

Welcome back from analyses reading, I hope it was an emotional rollercoaster LMFAOO

Don't get me and the fandom started on the gay subtext- Kyle Gallner (Benson's actor) even mentions how as he played Benson, he and every on set was discovering Benson's sexuality, which I think was wonderful. Also Kyle told Carter (Director) that he wanted Benson and Randy to kiss (obv didnt happen.... sigh...), so if that tells you anything abt benson then there you go IAUHSGD

And yes! You get it! They grew up with very different trauma and handle their trauma very differently, and it really shows in their character (ESPECIALLY Benson, notably the scene before they enter the school)- there's one analysis which talks about how Benson's trauma is so bad (hinted toward, if not basically canon that it's SA as a kid, hence why Benson loathes Sheppard sm), that he thinks the 2nd Grade incident is like, BAD bad (similar level to his) and when Randy says it was him taking his teachers eye out, Benson kinda felt this relief? I can't remember word-for-word the analysis but he basically takes Randy's trauma a little less serious bc it's not as bad as his

But Have fun with your eventual rewatch!! I know everytime i rewatch it something new strikes my brain (fast forward to me learning 20 new things on my fourth/fifth rewatch AISHXGD)

Also- I'm SOO happy you enjoy this movie btw cuz anytime someone says they wanna watch this movie, there's always a part of me that's worried i hype the movie up a lil too much (which i prolly do SOMETIMES,,, and im also a very emotional person but WHATEVERR!!!) and the person who watched it just comes back and fucking stones me for putting it on such a pedestal ISUGFD But of course (as always)!!

okay- last thing but- If you wanna read some stuff about Benson from Kyle, I'll leave some snippets from a couple interviews under the cut for you to read!! They're very interesting and fun to read :3

[our-hands-mean-death]

C2E2 recap

the cast is so so so lovely but like we already knew that

David directed 2 episodes in s2 and also walks around with a fucking boombox on set

someone who had met Kristian years ago came up to the mic and thanked him and I was crying y'all fr fr

Samba is so hot oh my gd

Vico attended a local drag night while in town which is so cool of them

actually they're just really cool and i want to be them when i grow up

they talked about how amazing it is to have jim be a way to start conversations about gender, for themselves and others

they all bring so much of themselves to their characters and seem like they genuinely love the show they create (which after seeing some other panels where the speakers definitely Did Not want to be there, i really appreciate that)

not ofmd but apparently there was practically no one in mark sheppard's meet and greet line and he was just like

which you know? good for him

[film-in-my-soul]

For your top 5 (or 10) fandoms who is your fave for each and why do you love them?

Oh god, that's a tough ask but boy howdy and I'm glad you said (or 10) cause honestly top 5??? Ooof.

This is gonna be a mix of new and old fandoms since, honestly, I feel like I've been part of so many TT^TT

1. Top Gun - Nick "Goose" Bradshaw

What can I say? His mustache and terrible fashion sense compel me (not me wishing my wardrobe was his). But on a more serious note, I just love how he is with Carole and Bradley. He's also Mav's rock; the comedic support and his vibes are just immaculate. He's very "man written by a woman" energy, a complete dork, and I love him.

2. Top Gun: Maverick - Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Am I splitting hairs calling these two different fandoms? Maybe. Do I care? No. Because Ice needed to be on this list. I love him. I mean, look at that smile? Also, I think Ice is just one of these characters that everyone likes to paint as super serious, and I just??? Did this man not snap his teeth in a show of aggression? He's got a petty streak a mile long and knows how to keep up with Maverick verbally and in the air. He's got the range, and I love digging into him. Also also, it's Val Kilmer.

3. Six of Crows - Kaz Brekker

This one was hard cause I could have pulled another above and separated book from the show, but for the purposes of variety, I will stick with the book on this (if it was the show, it would be Jesper). I love my fictional men a little deranged and willing to burn the world down for the people they love. Kaz is honestly the epitome of that, even if he's very stupid about it. I genuinely love his character. He's unapologetically a bastard and self-aware enough to admit it without finding too much fault in himself. He's got depth and violence, and I love that.

4. 9-1-1 (TV) - Evan "Buck" Buckley

Buck is such a great character, and even after 6 seasons, he's still growing and coming into himself. He starts at such an interesting place as this earnest but dumb jock-headed fuckboy, and we get to watch him come to terms with himself, his struggle with intimacy and romance, and even now with his self-worth. I think Buck so easily could have been a stereotypical ego-driven character, but he's balanced on this knife's edge of cocky and sensitive, just wanting to do well for the people around him, that he's honestly very compelling.

5. Stargate: Atlantis - Carson Beckett

Carson TT^TT (if you know, you know). Look. I've got a thing for sensitive characters, and Carson is great. He's also a character that grows out of his cowardice and fear, and I love that for him. He's a bit of comic relief and a good mix of level-headed and completely done that balances out Sheppard's more boyish energy and McKay's snappish ego.

6. Supernatural - Gabriel/The Trickster

He's goofy, damaged, and makes it so sexual predators get eaten by sewer gators? Ummm? Yes. Gabriel could have been just a one-off character, monster of the week, but bringing him into the story at large and giving him this anger and hurt over the situation he can't control and thus, takes it on himself to force others into so they might feel like he does? I eat that shit up. He's not just this comic relief relatable angel, there are these brilliant moments with him that are just filled with depth, and I honestly can't get enough.

7. Beyond Evil (괴물) - Lee Dong Sik

Please see above with Kaz Brekker and my love for slightly deranged characters. Dong Sik is this seemingly confident character who is always 1 step ahead, always thinking, and quick on the draw with his quips. He toes the line of "am I crazy or just that much smarter than you" and fuck if it doesn't work. But fundamentally, he is damaged and traumatized, and when we get to see that? Witness the broken man beneath the facade of control? It's as beautiful as it is devastating.

8. Law & Order: SVU - Rafael Barba

God, never has a character had a better introduction to a series, in my opinion, than Barba. I mean... he literally let a sexual sadist choke him out in court with his own tie, I- christ above he's great. Dry humor, whip-smart, but not infallible. He's fun and funny in an interesting way, and there's just something about how sharp he is that's so great.

9. Star Trek (2009) - Leonard "Bones" McCoy

Southern, snark, and unofficial James T. Kirk brat handler? What's not to love. Also, sorry OG Star Trek, but Karl Urban wins this one. That being said, of all the remake characters, no one embodies the original well as Karl Urban does, so I could have swapped him with DeForest Kelly, and my reasons would still be the same. The sass and attitude are just so great. He's grounded and witty and a fucking joy on screen.

10. Underworld - Selene

She is iconic, and I would let her step on me. But also, as a character, I just really fucking love her? She's a badass, plain and simple, she honestly does what she wants and looks hot doing it, but more than that, I really appreciate her as someone who is distinctly cold and detached from the world and the people around her, but finds love that doesn't change her as a character, just elevates and encourages her choices. Her falling in love with Michael doesn't suddenly make her a ray of sunshine; it just gives her something more important to fight for than what she grew up believing she had to.

~

This was a lot of fun anon! Thank you for sending this in to me :3

[justanearth-boundmisfit]

Actually I can understand ms is still bitter. But that's nothing to do with misha. It's between the tpbt(is that how it spell?)and himself. If he keeps showing his bitter towards misha, than it's purely stupid jealousy

I think it is purely stupid jealousy tbh. He is being like this since 12x23 and also insulted Misha and his fans by liking a lot of haters tweets. The man should give it up already. He is bitter because Misha has a large fanbase that claims for him every time Cas is not on an episode. And I’m sure he is bitter too because Cas was supposed to stay dead, and his fans wouldn’t take it, so they brought Misha back. He is at this point, only making a fool of himself, for all his bravado and harsh talk, he is just showing how jealous and incapable of moving forward with his career he is. As I said before, one joke, ok, two jokes mmm, being a sarcastic bitch even on Misha’s birthday shows his true colors. But the spn fandom keeps taking his stuff with laughs, and the haters dance.

[spurious]

It’s Cultural

The day after the data burst including news of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell comes through, Rodney walks into Sheppard’s office and notices a little rainbow flag sitting unobtrusively in the cup where John keeps two pens and five perfectly sharpened number two pencils.

“Ah,” Rodney says, nodding to the flag, “congratulations to your government for joining the rest of us in the twenty-first century.”

That gets him a sharp, sarcastic smile, Sheppard leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen—his pen, not one of the crappy BICs from the cup—between long, clever fingers.

“Good of you to, um,” one of Rodney’s hands comes up, circling through the air, “show support.” He snaps his fingers, suddenly remembering the term Jeannie’d used to describe herself during one of those phone calls where Rodney felt like he was only following about half of what was being said, “Allies are, well, important, and all that.”

John blinks two times, twirls the pen once, and says, “Well, I’m gay, actually.”

“Oh!” Rodney says, half of his brain turning to static. He nods his head, hears himself say, “cool,” and watches John’s mouth do something before he rights his chair, looks like he’s about to speak.

“Gentlemen,” and Woolsey’s voice right at his left shoulder makes Rodney startle, whirling around with wide eyes. “Senior staff meeting?”

“Right behind you,” Sheppard says, sliding smoothly out of his chair, and then it’s just another day on Atlantis.

Another day on Atlantis for Rodney, right now, means spending four hours elbow-deep in the wiring of the city’s power systems, which have been acting screwy ever since they flew the city back to Pegasus. He makes good progress, actually, focused and in the zone, and he doesn’t even realize that some siloed-off part of his mind has been working on the morning’s revelation until Sheppard shows up for dinner and chess and Rodney suddenly has about fourteen pressing questions for him.

Over the years, Rodney’s heard John Sheppard share personal information about himself on vanishingly few occasions, even fewer if it’s narrowed down to times when he’s been in full possession of his faculties, but since it had been nine in the morning and they’d all already been vaccinated against most Pegasus truth serums, he has to conclude that this detail about Sheppard’s sexuality was, in fact, freely given. It’s that conclusion that makes Rodney open his mouth (though he waits till they’re alone in his quarters, chess board between them, because he’s got no reason to believe that John isn’t still near-pathologically private).

“So you’re,” Rodney says, setting down the pawn in his hand, “you’re gay gay? Not like, bi, or, or…uh, heteroflexible, or…”

John sighs like he’s expected this, and picks up one of his bishops, the piece looking long and ivory between his tanned fingers. “Gay gay,” he confirms.

Rodney nods, compares this to the data set. “What about—you were married, to a woman, and the, the ancient priestesses, and Larrin—“

John gives him a thoughtful look, like he’s trying to decide whether to brush this whole thing off or not, and then he sets the bishop down, leans back against Rodney’s couch.

“Look, it’s kind of like…” he pauses, furrowing his brow, and Rodney realizes he’s not getting the brush-off, he’s actually getting the hard-won John Sheppard honesty, which usually doesn’t show up unless someone’s nearly died recently. “You know how you’re a kid and your parents take you to church every Sunday, but when you grow up you just,” John shrugs, “you just go on Christmas and Easter ‘cause it’s what you’re supposed to do?”

Rodney blinks. Sometimes he forgets that John is actually just as weird as he is, underneath the hair and handsomeness and athleticism.

“So you’re saying you…” Rodney wavers, trying to speak within the analogy John’s set up, “you fuck women culturally?”

John shrugs. “Essentially, yeah.”

[chaos-monkeyy]

Ok BUT. Now I’m thinking about the Other Person’s ask—about the Pegasus verse colliding with the SW verse (and Thranto blah blah blah 😆)—but about Han and John existing in the same galaxy, instead.

But like, I have a lot of feelings. Because that would mean that John grew up in a galaxy where SW was not a fictional thing; it didn’t exist! Which is hard to imagine because I feel SW was extremely influential in the formation of John Sheppard….

But like also…what if John Sheppard was meeting Han Solo for the first time, as an adult, in the Pegasus Galaxy <because hand wavy sci-fi explanation>. What would happen?

I know this isn't exactly what you said, but it's what jumped into my head, so... too bad 😂

"No way. There's no way you're real," John said, gaping at the man standing in front of him.

"Now, hang on just a minute," said the guy who looked-- and sounded-- exactly like Han freaking Solo. "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I wasn't real, kid. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

Firmly ignoring the little thrill that ran through him at Han Solo calling him kid, despite not looking much more than maybe ten years older than him at most, John scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Sheppard. John Sheppard," he said, still trying to work out what was really going on here. The Solo-lookalike was staring at him blankly. "I'm, a, uh... a pilot," he added, grabbing at the first potentially relevant thing that popped into his head.

"Another pilot, eh?" not-Solo said, eyeing John speculatively.

John nodded, and with an inward shrug, went for it. "I was told I could get a few pointers from Han Solo."

A grin spread over the guy's face, lop-sided and knowing and painfully familiar, and John's stomach flipped. There was no fucking way--

"Well, I don't give anything away for free, keep in mind... But I'd say you came to the right place to learn from the best," apparently-Han-Solo said. "C'mon. Don't think for a second you're gonna worm your way in to having a go on the Falcon, though. Nobody flies her but me 'n Chewie."

John nodded dumbly, the surreal feeling growing even stronger, and followed. It couldn't hurt to play along a little, surely... Just to help him work out what alien mind games or inexplicable and hitherto unknown phenomena of the universe were messing with him this time, of course.

Yeah... that was the only reason.

[deathisanartmetzli]

TIMING: A few nights ago

PARTIES: ​ @deathisanartmetzli​ @reformed-teentective​

SUMMARY: Metzli and Poe go on a run together.

WARNINGS: None!

With each passing day, it was growing easier to feel like a person. Thanks to Dr. Sheppard’s treatment, Metzli had taken to exercise and hobbies a little too far before, but they found a balance. One that was tipped over by their curiosity. They had found a random bone in the middle of a trail they were running on, and just like clockwork, their luck had turned as they were giving the item a sniff. A bonedoggle, a beast they weren’t familiar with spotted the vampire and greeted them with a growl. “Oh fuck.” They muttered, taking a small step back as the beast replied with a guttural bark. Saliva dripped, viscous and unsettling. In a blink, the canine disappeared into the dark—which should’ve been impossible. Vampires could see in the dark with ease, but it was as if the dog had fell into some sort of portal. And indeed it was. For the dog leapt from out of the darkness, sending the two rolling, fighting for dominance.

Metzli won momentarily with a kick, sending the bonedoggle backwards, still holding the bone in their hand. With the moment of reprieve, they scrambled to their feet and booked it down the trail, away from the beast. Plenty of distance, they thought, was put between the two, and when they checked, the front of them was rammed into something. Whatever it was, it exclaimed, but Metzli couldn’t care less. The bonedoggle could be heard only paces away, forcing them to immediately tumble back to their feet and continue to run. “Good luck!” They shouted, picking up their speed and passing on the burden to a stranger. Better him than themselves, they thought.

Another sleepless night meant another late night walk. Poe had formed a habit of this. The past few years held a lot of memories of late nights stalking around town, sitting in his car or falling over fences. He wouldn’t exactly call those good memories, but for better or worse the habit had stuck with him. Now he found it hard to get to sleep once the sun fell, usually electing to sleep during the early hours of the morning instead. At least until his dad woke him up to help with the food truck or his step sister’s stupid cat woke him up by sleeping on his face. This wouldn’t be entirely bad if it wasn’t for the fact that he usually coupled this insomnia with strolls around the streets of White Crest in an attempt to tire him out. When he felt that urge to start digging into things sometimes just walking around the town would quench that thirst, if only temporarily.

Tonight had been one of those nights, but apparently it was about to be anything but normal. The sounds of a struggle from a block away drew Poe around the corner and under a street lamp. Just a few down, on the edge of the light he saw a struggling figure rolling around with some kind of animal. His glasses didn’t work miracles, and it was hard to tell exactly what it was from the distance he had between them, but he wasn’t inching to move closer either. Part of his brain told him to turn right back around and sneak away. Call animal control or something from a safe distance. Another part told him to find a middle ground, that an added voice may scare the animal off. He took a single step forward, trying to figure out his game plan when the person found their footing and launched the creature off of them, pretty far too. “Shit” was the only word he could find to describe the scene.

Luckily for that person, they had found their way to their feet and were now running, right in Poe’s direction actually. “Woah. Are you ok-” he started asking as they got close enough, but the person flashed by them in an instant, completely leaving him under that street lamp as that… thing barreled towards them. “Oh you asshole!” Poe yelled as he also turned to run, only to have the dog bite out at his ankles, stopping Poe in his tracks and knocking him face first into the pavement.

Hearing Poe reprimand them was pretty amusing, even affording them a laugh. But, something urged Metzli to slow their sprint. They were trying to be good, weren’t they? Self-preservation, putting themselves first was what mattered most and came the easiest to the vampire. Regardless of the absence of their soul, they were different now. They had to be. “Dammit…” they grumbled, knowing they had to be selfless. Probably get injured and ruin yet another good set of clothing in the process. They just hoped it would be fun. “¡Ay! ¡Malo perro!” Metzli exclaimed, spinning their hips around and darting back in the direction of the soon-to-be victim. Quickly, they unholstered their knife, gripping it with unrelenting purpose as they gained on the scuffle.

Bodies collided with a yelp from the bonedoggle, a knife digging in between ribs and yanking a shard of bone with it. Metzli growled and swiped in front of them as they separated and rolled away, defensively standing in front of Poe. “Get back!” The beast growled, frothy drool cascading down its jowls, motivated by its clear ire. It didn’t look right, none of it did, and Metzli already knew they were in for a hell of a fight. One they didn’t ask for and didn’t want to partake in. They thought maybe Poe could repay them with a taste for their troubles. He smelled human and they were saving his life. It stood to reason that there could be a payment. Heroes got paid, didn’t they? The smart ones did at least. “I would start running if I were you.” They swiped again, lunging over and over to dissuade any want to pounce on the prize it sought after. “¡Córrale!” They commanded with a snap, as if he’d understand their Spanish. “Get to it! This thing ain’t one for pets and belly rubs. You can thank me later!”

Poe’s face collided against the pavement, sending his glasses off his face and sliding across the blacktop. Face down, Poe couldn’t see the creature looming over him, but he could definitely feel it. Its paw pressed against the back of Poe’s thigh, claws pressing through his jeans and digging into his leg, and he felt the back pack that he was wearing pull from him as the creature bit into it and tried tearing it away. Poe took the opportunity to slide his arms free, crawling from the back to try to put some distance between him and the monster, but was surprised to see the mysterious person from before rejoining, blocking the path between Poe and the monster.

Without his glasses everything was blurry, but Poe could make out the figure vaguely. All fours, dog like, but seemingly bigger and more grotesque. Poe hadn’t quite made it back on his feet yet, instead twisting his body to get a better while he lifted himself off the ground with his palms. He tried looking around for his glasses, but he found it hard to focus on anything but the person standing directly in front of him, towering over Poe as he continued to kneel on the street. Eventually, Poe gave up and climbed onto his feet, just in time for this person to start yelling at them about running and warning them that whatever this was, it wasn’t friendly. “I don’t even know what the fuck that is!” Poe yelled back, but he couldn’t argue with the person’s advice. “I think we should both run!” Poe tried, tapping at the person’s shoulder before turning away from the monster and hoping to make a break for it.

All the vampire could do was blink and grunt as they moved, a little bewildered at how Poe struggled. He was looking for something, and that something nearly got crushed beneath a sneaker. “You’re an idiot.” Metzli blurted out, continuing to swipe at the dog as they registered the glasses and grabbed them. “Here!” Poe wanted them to go with him, and in retrospect, it was actually quite admirable to stay in a situation that was too big for one’s pantalones. He was a human in front of a dangerous beast, ignoring another monster’s commands. So, naturally, Metzli thought that made him a stupid human. A very stupid human.

“I don’t know what this is either, but I can handle it!” A swipe. “Just…!” Another swipe. “...Run!” But then they tumbled backwards and growled alongside the bonedoggle as it tackled and bit at Metzli. For a few moments, they struggled, plunging their knife into the gaps between ribs. Well, that was useless, wasn’t it? There was no purchase to be found in flesh, nothing for their knife to properly plunge into. The pair angrily growled and snapped, two animals fighting for dominance una feral scuffle. Animalistic traits demanded fear, but none could be found in either party. It was a fruitless tactic on both ends.

Kicking as hard as they could, Metzli sent the bonedoggle flying in the air, darting their gaze to Poe with blood-red eyes. “Okay, we’re running.” Without any approval, they hoisted the young man over their shoulder and sprinted through a blur of trees and lamp posts. They could hear the saliva that dripped from the dog’s jowls as it rumbled several barks and growls, running right at the vampire’s heels. “Okay! So!” They yelped, adding more speed to their run. “Uh, I’m Metzli, and that’s a really mad bone-dog-thing! I’m gonna keep running and then you’re gonna owe—” A branch crunched, but not just any small branch, it was a big one, and several shards of bark broke free from it as Metzli tripped, sending both of them harshly to the ground.

Poe would have taken the insight personally if there weren’t more pertinent matters at hand. Luckily, one more problem was solved by this mysterious stranger when Poe’s glasses were shoved into his hands and Poe quickly adjusted them back onto his face, thought he wasn’t sure he should have. Once his eyesight was corrected, he could actually see the dog- or whatever the fuck it was- clearly. And if he hadn’t already been like ninety-eight percent sure that the supernatural existed, he sure as hell had to be convinced now. Either that or someone spiked his dinner with something strong as hell.

Unsure if it was adrenaline or if Poe was actually going into shock, he actually took this news of a bony, supernatural dog pretty well. “I thought you had this handled!” Poe yelled once the dog tackled the knife wielding stranger back to the ground again. He was pretty sure that he should step in to help, but apparently this person really did have this handled, because they kicked the dog off of them after a few seconds and jogged over to Poe, scooping him up and taking off towards the treeline.

“I fu-cking-de-test-this!” the inflection shifting with each step as Poe was carried through the woods. Metzli was the name of the savior. Or at least the attempted savior, considering Poe wasn’t convinced either of them were getting out of this unscathed. As Metzli ran through the woods, Poe faced the opposite direction and spotted as the dog closed in behind them. As Metzli yelled, Poe was ready to cut them off to warn them about the dog until it leapt forward, farther than any normal dog could, and tackled them. Poe hit the ground on his side, rolling a few feet before being stopped by a tree trunk. “God damn it” Poe muttered under his breath, regaining his breath and climbing up onto his feet just in time for the dog to do the same. He grabbed the closest thing he could find to a weapon, a big branch and swung at the dog, knocking it sideways slightly without actually doing any damage. “Shit. We’re totally going to get eaten by bones aren’t we?” Poe questioned, standing by Metzli and waving the stick wildly in an attempt to ward the dog off. “You don’t suppose it likes fetch do you?”

There wasn’t time to answer snarkily to Poe’s statement as Metzli ran as hard as they could. Truth was, they didn’t care that he didn’t like being bounced around like a bag of potatoes on the vampire’s back. They were doing him a favor, and the idea that he wasn’t filled with gratitude was a little irritating. Could they do anything correctly? Was their pursuit to mimic having a soul pointless? As much as they tried, they couldn’t feel anything but irritation for the young stranger. That and desperation were the only things that filled them as they tried to be a hero, to be something other than what they were forced to believe their whole life.

Maybe Emilio was right. Maybe—No. He couldn’t be right. They had to make it work somehow even if was for them. Metzli was doing something good despite having something to prove. So they snapped out of it, not letting Emilio’s violent words win as the canine caught up effortlessly. It pounced, catching the pair as its target and sending a breathy grunt out of them. Teeth sank in immediately upon purchase and they yelled out in pain. Black ooze seeped out of their wound, thick and opaque. “¡Chinga tu puta madre!” Their free hand searched for their blade while the other gripped bone to keep jowls away from them. With nothing to be found, Metzli took to ripping out bones and tossing them away in hopes of a distraction. They groaned, not seeing a change in target. Trying Poe’s suggestion for fetch didn’t do any good. “¡¿Qué quieres?!” Shifting their weight, they managed to find their way atop the bonedoggle as it snarled and snapped towards its own back. They slammed the creature against the ground several times, growing annoyed. Their hold was strong enough to keep it in place for the time being, but they knew it was only a temporary fix. Eventually their strength would wane, so they had to figure out how to stop the beast.

“I don’t know what this fucking thing wants! It just started chasing me after I picked up this stupid bone.” Metzli nudged their head towards their back pocket, straining to keep the dog in place. Saliva burned their hands and the bite wound they had already acquired burned the same way. They’d have to let Macleod look at their wounds later. She’d probably know how to keep it from getting infected. But that was a matter for later. The bonedoggle was getting harder to keep in place. “Grab my knife, grip it tight with both hands, and…keep it up. I can’t hold this fucker down forever, and I don’t know how to kill it.”

Despite the near death and still possible death experience, all Poe could think about was that he definitely owed Metzli an apology for calling them an asshole. And he definitely owed them, which was a concept Poe was very unhappy about. He hated owing people favors. Which definitely shouldn't be the thing he was most worried about at this moment, but he was just going to blame adrenaline for that.

Metzli continued to grapple with the supernatural dog creature, which definitely piqued Poe's curiosity. The monster had tackled Poe exactly twice since the chase had begun, the first being right as Metzli passed by, and the second while he was being carried through the woods with Metzli. It was possible the first attack had been the dog actually leaping for Metzli and getting Poe instead, right? There had to be some reason why it seemed so attached to them and not Poe. Either that or the dog didn't think Poe would taste good, which was actually quite offensive.

At some point, the dog had gotten a hold of Metzli, and Poe could see dark blood escaping from the bites in their leg. It was so dark it was hard to tell how bad the wound was, but Poe shook the thought away to focus on more pressing matters. Poe found Metzli’s discarded knife, but didn’t really have any ideas on how to use it. There wasn’t much to cut or stab at. “Wait- what did you say about a bone?” Poe finally asked, their earlier words finally clicking with him. It was a shot in the dark, obviously, but Poe found the piece of bone sticking out of Metzli’s back pocket and grabbed for it, holding it in his hands for a long moment as he considered his options. He couldn’t see much, not with the trees blocking out the only source of light they did have. So instead of trying to find an open space, Poe settled on the next best thing. He shoved the bone into the open dog’s mouth. Then he readjusted the knife, trying to prepare for a plan b.

“Hey! That’s my ass!” Metzli attempted to buck away, but doing so would force them to let go of the canine, which was something neither they or Poe wanted. They nearly growled with their teeth bared in a threat, but then the bonedoggle huffed, sounding like it was relieved. “What in the fuck?” With the beast calmed, Metzli was able to slide of its back with ease and no sign of a simmering threat. Somehow, Poe had managed to turn off the heat and quell the waters of the anger that the vampire had caused. It actually looked happy, and started to walk in circles as it gathered what other bones Metzli had managed to pry off. The more it placed, the more boost it had in its gait.

Metzli began to scoot backwards, trying their best to make their way out of a situation they shouldn’t even have been in, but then the bonedoggle’s head snapped toward them. “Oh come on. I don’t have anything else!” It growled, slowly, wickedly walking toward them, and Metzli swallowed. Their black blood stained the ground and they just knew more was about to be spilled. That was until they saw where the dog was looking. “Have it!” One final bone sat next to them, and they quickly threw it to the beast with a sigh of relief. “Thank fuck.” Falling backwards into the grass, Metzli finally relaxed despite the searing pain all over their body. As long as the crisis was averted, they didn’t care what happened next. Except that they got what was theirs and got on with their night. “Give me my knife back! You don’t need it anymore.”

Poe stood silently as he watched the creature finally calm down. Metzli climbed off of it and the dog began to almost calmly collect the remaining bones around it, all signs of aggression that had been there just moments ago now completely gone. Poe thought it was too good to be true. That one wrong movement would set the beast off again. That was probably why Poe didn’t move at all. Just watched in awe as this creature that shouldn’t even exist collected pieces of its own bones and then waltz over to Metzli to nonverbally request the return of the final piece lying next to them.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” Poe finally spoke once he was convinced that the monster wouldn’t be returning. In a lot of ways, Poe’s entire world had just shifted, though it wasn’t exactly due to anything he hadn’t already suspected. And here he was, calmly mulling over the ramifications of seeing a dog without flesh and accepting it with nothing more than a sigh. Metzli distracted Poe from thinking too hard about it, demanding the knife back. At the mention of it, Poe felt his fingers twitch and tighten around the hilt of the blade. He didn’t even realize that he had still been holding it. “Right uh- don’t worry I don’t want your knife anyways.” He handed it back over towards them, barely paying attention to them as he was still staring off in the direction the creature had left. “I guess I owe you a thank you” Poe mentioned, briefly breaking his stare to look over at the person who had tried to get Poe away from the monster. “So thanks. The name’s Poe, by the way.”

It wasn’t until that exact moment that he remembered that Metzli had actually been attacked by that thing. “Oh shit. Your leg.” Poe finally, finally snapped back to reality. “Is it okay? Do you need me to like, drive you to the hospital or something?”

The dog was finally yards away and Metzli relaxed into the grass, rolling their eyes at Poe’s disbelief and subsequent gratitude. ‘I outta fucking bite you and take that as a real fucking thank you.’ Metzli groaned to themselves, grabbing the knife and shuffling to their feet with a struggle. It was a shitty attempt to hide their eyes and fangs, but they didn’t want to deal with the responsibility of explaining the supernatural. They just wanted to get home and eat before the idiot beside them became a late night snack. “No hospital. Get away from me and go home.” They began to limp away slowly, doing their best to ignore the beating heart growing louder in their ears. God, they wanted to just let their vampiric senses take over, but that wouldn’t be right. Being a decent person was really unfair. “Next time, don’t fucking walk around at night…idiot.” With their hands curled into fists, they walked home. At least there, they didn’t have to hide. At least there, they could eat. At least there…they weren’t a complete monster.

[valdomarx]

Number Theory

On another version of Atlantis, John is a mathematician who is better with numbers than with people. But he's going to have to learn to get on with his team and their bossy leader, Rod, if he wants to survive here.

Stargate Atlantis, McShep, mensa!verse, 9k, rated E.

Also on AO3.

Dr. John Sheppard straightens his glasses, pulls his lab coat around himself, and makes one final, futile attempt to tame his hair.

He takes a last look around the SGC, bustling with scientists and marines and boxes of supplies, and wonders how everybody seems to know their place and what to do already.

Then he steps through a wormhole and into another galaxy.

-

Atlantis is stunning. Terrifying, and dangerous, and liable to kill them all, but stunning all the same.

-

He protests that there’s no need for a mathematician on an offworld team, but the head of science insists. John sourly suspects this Rod guy enjoys watching him wheeze and stumble every time they have to run for their damn lives.

But it turns out it’s useful for a field team to have someone around who can crack codes and work computers. And John hates field work less than he expected to, despite the unpredictability and the peril and all that awful running.

Sometimes, like when he breaks the encryption on a Wraith code in the nick of time and diverts an enemy ship away from its path toward Atlantis, he even feels a tiny bit like a hero.

-

Other than his team duties, though, Atlantis isn’t that much different from Caltech or MIT or the Air Force base at Wright-Patterson, or any of the other places he’s worked.

Everyone knows each other, except for him. Everyone bands together to look out for each other, and he stares in from the outside. Eating in the mess hall is like being catapulted back to high school.

So he makes himself at home in his lab. It’s quiet there, and there’s a plentiful supply of coffee, and there are only a couple of other mathematicians who occasionally pass through and largely leave him alone.

They’re next door to the noisy, boisterous science labs, where all the cool civilians hang out. But that’s fine. He gets used to ignoring them the same way he ignores the marines.

It’s just him and his numbers.

And sometimes, inexplicably, Rod or Teyla or Ronon, who will come by and sit at his desk and drink his coffee. He never understands what they’re hoping to achieve, but he doesn’t mind as long as they don’t touch anything.

-

Teyla appears in the doorway, staring at his whiteboard. It’s covered top to bottom with equations, and he’s had to stick up bits of paper around the walls to fit more on.

“Rod requested that I see how your work is going,” she says, voice giving nothing away.

He grits his teeth against the annoyance of the interruption. “It would be going faster if I could work unimpeded.”

She ignores the petulant note in his voice, squinting closer at the whiteboard. “What is this?”

“This is number theory. It’s the underlying basis for mathematics.”

Teyla raises an eyebrow. “And this is different from what Rod does?”

He sneers. “Very different. That’s just theoretical physics.”

“You do not respect Rod’s chosen field?” She seems genuinely curious.

“It’s fine, for, you know,” his lip curls, “an applied science.”

“I see. So this work can help us locate Wraith hive ships?”

He shifts his weight. “Well. I might need to, uhh, collaborate with Rod on that. I provide the conceptual models and he does the,” he waves dismissively, “practical calculations.”

“It seems that you two accomplish more when you work together.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t go that far. But he’s useful as an assistant, I suppose.”

-

When they learn there are three Wraith hive ships on their way to destroy the city, there isn’t much time for personal conflicts. They have a long-shot strategy: They’ve sent an emergency distress message in the vague hopes of rescue from Earth. But the Wraith ships are almost here and they need a plan now.

“Use the jumpers,” John suggests, because it’s obvious.

Rod snaps his fingers. “Yes! Put a nuclear warhead on board, fly the jumper right down the hives’ throats, and detonate.”

Elizabeth blanches. “That’s a suicide run.”

“No, no.” John thinks out loud. “Not if we can remote pilot the jumper.”

“Using the control chair!” Rod chimes in. “Sheppard, you’re a genius.”

John is so focused on the threat he forgets to preen over that.

It doesn’t take long for them to hook up the jumper to the chair and start running tests. Just as well, because death from above is coming imminently.

He knows something is wrong the moment Rod’s face falls while he’s poking at the cables running to the chair.

“McKay...” he says, voice low but insistent.

“I know! I know. Just give me a minute.” Rod disappears back into a bundle of cables. “I can fix this.”

Everything is suddenly, startlingly clear. The remote control won’t work, at least not in time. Someone will have to fly the jumper personally.

He and Rod both have the ATA gene, and both the same dubious piloting skills. But there’s not much skill required in flying directly into a hive, is there?

One of them has to do this.

“So long, Rod.” He turns and runs from the chair room to the jumper bay, not bothering to notify anyone of his plans.

“Sheppard! Sheppard!”

He hears Rod yell after him but he can’t think about that now. He has a job to do.

-

He gets beamed out by the Daedalus at the last moment. The battle is ugly, but the city and the expedition makes it out mostly intact.

Afterwards, Rod drags him into a conference room and yells at him for an hour about his reckless behavior.

John couldn’t give a shit. He has no regrets about his actions.

He gives an insouciant shrug. “Why the earful? It worked, didn’t it?”

“Because I am your team leader, and you didn’t even ask me for permission before nominating yourself for a suicide run!”

“That’s what this is about? Your precious chain of command? Grow up.”

Rod rounds on him and gets up on the balls of his feet. “There are people here who care about you, you dick!”

John blinks at the non sequitur. The idea that anyone would care more about him than about the city and everyone else in it is laughable. “Then they’re idiots,” he snaps and walks out.

Rod can write him up for that in one of the reports he so enjoys filing.

-

It would be nice if he could say that he learns and grows. That he makes friends. That he gets accepted by his peers and makes a home in the Pegasus galaxy.

But that’s not how this story goes. Not yet, anyway.

-

He does manage to make himself useful. He invents a new cryptographic algorithm to keep their computers and communications secure from Wraith interference. Elizabeth even gives him a grateful nod when he presents it to her, and says thank you.

He makes some progress on a quantum chaos approach to the Riemann hypothesis, not that anyone here understands that or how profoundly ingenious his work is.

And it turns out that many of the Ancient systems here are based on binary, just like computers on Earth, so he’s able to help Rod parse some of the more complex code. The two of them spend hours poking through the Ancient operating system, Rod fluttering around and theorizing aloud while John sits quietly in the corner, chewing on a pen and thinking.

It’s more fun than he would have expected.

-

And then, inevitably, he fucks up to a new and truly epic degree. He and Rod find the Ancient’s Project Arcturus, their great hope for extracting vacuum energy from subspace, and he convinces himself he can get it to work.

He’s self-aware enough to know he’s making poor choices, but not mentally strong enough to do otherwise. Because yes, of course virtually unlimited power is tempting, and of course discovering the last great experiment of the Ancients is thrilling. But he's a cautious person. He's not one to take unnecessary risks.

And yet the moment Rod turns to him with that look of delight, saying he's impressed, clapping him on the shoulder like he's done something wonderful, John is just gone. He ignores safety limits and all common sense, and he pushes and pushes and pushes for them to power up the generator, as if his wishes for it to work could make it so.

He wipes out most of a solar system with his hubris, not to mention nearly killing them both, and he's furious down to his bones because he can't figure out why he would have done something so stupid.

-

Bad enough to fail so spectacularly at your work that you devastate an entire star system, worse to have burned whatever credibility you may have built with your team, but worst of all to have to walk every day among people who know all about your inadequacy.

He's in the queue for the mess and a couple of the marines behind him are sniggering, one of them making a not-very-quiet crack about Sheppard’s ego being a weapon of mass destruction. John is staring straight ahead and pretending to ignore them, but the blood is pumping furiously in his ears and he's gripping his tray so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“You got something to say?” Suddenly Ronon is there, all six-foot-three-million-pounds of him, glaring down at the sniggering marine like he might crush his skull with his bare hands. “If you’ve got something to say to Sheppard, you can say it to me as well.”

The marine backs away, hands held high and spluttering apologies.

Ronon throws an arm around John’s shoulder and walks him to a table so they can sit and eat.

John stares down at his food and wills the panic to subside. “Thanks,” he mutters once his breathing has settled.

“No worries, bud,” Ronon says and steals a piece of carrot off John’s plate. “So, how’s that bomb design you were working on coming along? You know I love a big boom.”

John tells him how his models have predicted the highly energetic variety of naquadah they’ve discovered could be harnessed into more efficient field explosives, and Ronon nods along as if this is all fascinating.

In that moment, John knows he would die for this man without hesitation.

-

Perhaps the worst part about the Arcturus incident is how unbearably nice Rod is about the whole thing. He tells John that it was both of their decision, that he doesn't blame him, that sometimes these things happen when dealing with advanced technology.

But John can see the disappointment in his eyes and hear the judgement in his voice. He gets a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach when he thinks about it, and that must be Rod's fault.

Rod picks a bad time to come visit the lab.

"Sheppard," Rod leans against the door frame. "I need your report on the Arcturus mission."

The sick feeling in his gut deepens. He hasn't written the report yet. "Bet you’re enjoying making me catalogue my failures."

"What? No. I just need you to submit a report so I can turn it over to Elizabeth."

"I see. You're looking for someone to blame, right? Going to write about how I pushed you and it's all my fault?"

"Of course not," Rod steps closer and there isn't enough air in the room. "I wouldn't do that. What's going on with you?"

He can't bear the look of concern on Rod's face, which he surely doesn't deserve and will surely evaporate soon enough. "Maybe I've had enough of you reminding me of my screw ups via the excuse of paperwork."

Rod's voice sharpens. "Don't blame me because you're feeling guilty. I can't deal with that for you."

The reminder of his lacking emotional skills stings and he lashes out. "Don't try to therapize me. You're hardly in the position to be doling out life advice." It's a mean, petty thing to say, but he's feeling vindictive.

Rod's eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

John's pulse is notching up and his face is getting hot, the last of his short temper fraying away.

“You’re a people pleaser, Rod!” He realizes he’s yelling. He doesn’t care. “Everything you do is to make other people like you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Rod puffs up. “I try to be a decent human being. I try to think about others and support them. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s fake! It’s all bullshit. Do you even have a personality of your own, or do you just reflect whatever the last person who smiled at you wants?”

Finally, the cracks in the facade of nice begin to show. “Making an effort to treat those around you with consideration isn’t demeaning!” He gets up in John’s face, waving a finger at him. “Not that you’d know, because you never consider anyone other than yourself.”

“At least I’m honest,” he spits, and it’s venomous. “At least I know who I am. Do you? Do you have any idea who you’d be if you weren’t so absorbed in distracting everyone from your flaws?”

He sees the barb hit its mark. Rod stumbles back like he’s been physically shoved, his face crumpling.

“God, you’re an asshole.” It’s not even angry. It’s small, and quiet, and John is suddenly acutely aware of how much taller he is than Rod, how much he towers over him.

Rod turns on his heel and walks away, and John knows that means he’s won. But he doesn’t feel the usual curl of smug satisfaction he gets when he puts someone in their place.

Instead, he just feels empty.

-

Whatever. It’s not his problem that Rod is having some kind of breakdown. Why should he care that Rod is skulking around the base looking small and miserable? He only said what they both know to be true.

If Rod wants to be a dick about it, that’s on him. If he’s going to remove John from the team, that’s fine. There’s nothing that John can do about it anyway.

He gets back to work, running simulations of ZPM power levels and how long they can expect to sustain the city under different circumstances, given that they won’t be enjoying unlimited power any time soon. He likes modelling, and he knows this work is important.

But for some reason he can’t focus. His gut keeps churning and his temples ache and he’s haunted by the word worthless, worthless, worthless.

-

When his lab door chimes at well past midnight, he’s ready to tell whoever it is to fuck right off. In fact, the excuse to yell at someone sounds great right now.

But when he opens the door to find Rod standing there, twisting his hands anxiously, he’s too shocked to even be snitty. He’d assumed that Rod and he were done, that it was only a matter of time before he was kicked off the team.

But here Rod is, mouth downturned and saying, “You were right, okay?”

John notes the sad wobble of Rod’s chin and bites back the urge to say something dismissive. “About what?”

“About me. I do try to please everyone. I do want everyone to like me.”

It sounds pathetic, said out loud like that, John thinks but doesn’t say.

Rod is still going. “But it’s not what you think. It’s not some ego trip. When I was younger, I used to be -” He lets out a huff of air. “- very different. I said whatever I wanted to whoever I wanted, and I didn’t care if everyone hated me for it.”

John tries to imagine an angry, mean Rod. His brain can’t picture it.

“I pushed people away because I was afraid they’d reject me. I was always alone and I got very good at telling myself I liked it that way.”

An uncomfortable feeling of familiarity crawls up the back of John’s spine, and he ruthlessly quashes it.

“That changed when I went to the SGC. The people there… They believed in me. They wanted my help, and they wanted to help me. I learned that if I was going to work there, to do important work, then I was going to need connections. And to make connections, I had to think about others, and try to be what they needed. It wasn’t only about me any more.”

Something in the preachy tone of Rod’s voice sets John on the defensive, and his shoulders begin to rise, counterarguments springing to his lips.

“Wait, stop -” Rod lays a hand on his shoulder, and all the aggression leeches out of him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to explain.”

The earnest look Rod is giving him makes his skin itch.

“I care about everyone here. Including you, John. Perhaps I try too hard sometimes, but that’s only because you all matter to me. I don’t want to let you down.”

Rod is talking in plurals, but John gets the impression he’s speaking to him personally. It’s too weighty, to be handed that kind of sincerity without warning.

“I do...” He coughs and looks at his feet, “I do care about the people here as well. I might not be demonstrative about it but I’m not…” he searches for the right word, “... indifferent.”

He doesn’t say the other words he’s thinking, which are cold, callous, heartless, the things people always call him.

Rod’s hand is still on his shoulder, heavy and warm, and he squeezes gently. “I know you do. I just wish that sometimes you’d let other people see that too.”

-

John tries. He really does. Ronon tells him that he needs to get out of the lab more, so he resolves to make time to socialize. He doesn’t really know how to do that, but Teyla quietly slides him a copy of the city’s social activity schedule and suggests he goes through the list.

Painting with Major Lorne - no.

Choir with the medical staff - sounds awful.

Extra combat training - absolutely not.

Mensa club - now there’s a possibility.

“Join us for FUN and FRIENDS,” the tiny advert reads. “All welcome (as long as your IQ is over 150).”

That he can do. He joins the club.

It's him and Kusanagi from R&D and Parrish from botany, plus a couple of the gate techs and one of the nurses from medical. Every Thursday night, they get together to solve puzzles and play chess. It's dorky and awkward but it's kind of nice, actually, and the people there don't seem to dislike him.

He thinks maybe he's getting better at this whole people thing.

-

And then Rod leaves, and everything goes to shit.

It starts off with a crisis, like there always is around here, exotic particles exploding out of a containment chamber which isn’t containing anything. There’s chaos, but there’s also data, so it doesn’t take long before he and Rod are turning to each other as the explanation clicks for both of them at the same time: An experiment to generate vacuum energy being conducted in a parallel universe.

“We can’t do anything from this side,” John reasons. “The bridge is one-way.”

“The inhabitants of the other universe might not even know what the effects here are. We need to go there directly and get them to shut it down,” Rod says, firm and sure. “It’s the only way.”

“But how could we-”

Rod snaps his fingers. “The Ancient shield. That’ll protect whoever travels there.”

“Right. Let me run some calculations.”

His head is buried in his computer when Rod comes running back in with the shield in his hand.

“Fire it up whenever you’re ready,” Rod orders. “I’ve got the shield to protect me.”

John’s head whips up. “You? You’re going?”

“Of course me! Come on, the chance to visit an alternate reality? Who could resist that?”

Icy cold water settles at the pit of John’s stomach. “That’s a one-way trip.”

Rod shrugs, like that’s nothing. “If that’s the cost to save our universe, it’ll be worth it.”

Something like rage explodes inside John’s head. “Absolutely not! I should be the one to go.” He searches desperately for a reason. “You’re needed here.”

Rod gives him a small, sad smile and says, “So are you.”

“That’s bullshit, McKay, and you know it. I’m not letting you do this.”

“Tell you what, let’s flip a coin for it.”

And that’s about as reasonable as he can hope for, so he turns his back to dig a coin out of his lab coat pocket.

That turns out to be a mistake.

“Be safe, John,” Rod says, then he activates the shield and steps into the containment chamber.

That bastard.

-

He spends three days thinking that Rod is gone for good.

He can’t… He can’t think, and he can’t sleep, and he’s angry all the time. When Zelenka asks for his help running calculations on the spacetime tear above the city John bellows at him, calls him incompetent, and says they might as well just accept that the city is going to be torn apart. Then he stays up all night doing the calculations anyway, because it’s better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for another interminable evening.

He doesn’t bother eating, or showering, because what’s the point if they’re all going to die within a week? There’s a restless, raging scratching under his skin and it’s not like he hasn’t faced the possibility of death before, but this feels bleak and empty and insurmountable in a way he simply can’t deal with.

And then the rift mends itself, and Rod returns on a beam of light, and everyone acts as if they’re back to normal now and that brush with annihilation was just one of those quirky things that happen in the Pegasus galaxy.

But it eats at John, that feeling of powerlessness, that rippling anger of a problem he couldn’t solve.

Rod slides back into life in the city like it was nothing but another mission, and everyone rushes to say how brave he was, what a hero, how selfless he is, and John’s blood boils.

Rod swings by John’s lab with his usual breezy demeanor.

“Hey Sheppard! Wanna grab some dinner?”

The incongruity of Rod in his doorway, smiling casually like this is just another Tuesday, sends something hot and sharp spiking through his brain. “No,” John snarls. “Busy.”

“Okay. How about tomorrow?”

“Busy then too.”

Rod gives a self-deprecating little smile, and John wants to wipe it off his face. “Too busy to make an hour for your team?”

“A team?” he spits. “Is that what we are?”

Rod pales, finally taking in how furious John is. “Of course we are. I thought, since I’m back now, we could -”

“Oh, so you stride back in and decide to grace us with your presence, and we’re supposed to be thankful for that?”

“John, what -”

“You left!” he explodes. He’s shocked by his own vehemence. “You left us all. You weren’t planning to come back and you just left.”

Rod takes half a step forward, his face doing something complicated. “John, listen. I never wanted to-”

“Go fuck yourself!” He shoves at Rod’s shoulders, hard enough to keep him at a distance. He needs space; he needs quiet; this is all too much. “We don’t want you here anyway. You should have stayed in that other dimension. I’m sure it was great there.”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up, McKay.” He tunes his voice to the iciest, most dismissive tone he has. “You should have stayed gone.”

He enjoys a mean spark of satisfaction at the way Rod’s face falls, then he storms out of the lab.

Fuck that guy anyway.

-

Everyone on the base keeps looking at John like he’s volatile, as if he’s about to blow at any minute. Even his team starts handling him with kid gloves, like he’s fragile, and he hates it so much he could scream.

He meticulously constructs the bubble of hostility which has long been his go-to when he needs people to leave him alone. He snaps and snarls, and perfects a glare so hostile that no one dares approach him.

It’s restrictive inside that bubble, but at least it’s stable. At least he gets to decide the reason why people are going to hate him.

-

A few days later, Teyla strides into his lab wearing her patented “take no shit” expression.

“John,” she says, and the false cheery brightness of her tone has him scared already. “You will join me for tea.”

This is not, he recognizes, a request. He begins to mumble excuses but she cuts him off without hesitation. “You will come to my quarters, and we will drink a mug of tea together.” She crosses her arms. “Now.”

There are battles you can win, and ones you cannot. This is most certainly the latter, so he meekly follows her as she sweeps out of the lab and back to her quarters.

Once inside, Teyla forces him into a chair with an excessively firm hand.

“Sit,” she orders.

It’s easier to do as she says.

She carefully prepares the tea and warms the earthenware mugs, strong hands making practiced, confident movements. John watches the motions as she pours the tea and slides a mug over to him.

“Drink,” she orders, and again it’s easier to obey.

The tea is soapy and bland, but he fears her retribution enough not to mention that. He sips as they sit in silence. She regards him heavily over her mug.

Eventually she reaches some kind of conclusion.

“You are a valued member of our team, John.” Her face is impassive but her words are warm. “We would not see harm come to you.”

“That’s. Uhh. Good.”

“But your behavior of late has been,” she narrows her eyes, “ill-advised.”

John opens his mouth to defend himself, because it’s not as if Teyla could understand what’s been going on. But she holds up a hand which stops him short.

“I do not care to listen to your justifications. But you should know that if you continue on the path you have been on, it will be to the detriment of us all.”

John feels like he’s been pulled into the principal’s office to be scolded like a schoolboy. He didn’t care for that shit when he was ten, and he certainly doesn’t care for it now.

“If that was all,” he pushes the mug away and gets to his feet, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” Teyla’s hand shoots out with a warrior’s accuracy and closes around his wrist. “I am concerned for the team, yes. But I am also concerned for you. I would like to think that we are…” she tilts her head, “friends. And I should like for you to be happy.”

John is embarrassed to find a lump forming in his throat. He’s never truly had a friend before, and that someone of Teyla’s stature and courage would consider him as such has him flabbergasted. He suddenly wants, very badly, for her to think well of him.

“I’ll try harder,” he says. “I’ll try to be better.”

She releases his wrist and gives him a generous smile.

“That is all any of us can do.”

-

He starts small.

He saves up a few of the precious Earth-imported cookies they get for dessert in the mess sometimes and brings them to the next Mensa club night. Kusanagi beams and says that was very thoughtful of him, and Parrish splits a chocolate chip cookie with him while they speed-solve sudokus.

The next day he types up a report about the team’s most recent mission with as much detail as he can remember, and he makes special note of how brave Rod and Teyla and Ronon were.

He saves it to a flash drive and takes it to Elizabeth himself.

“What’s this?” she asks as he hands it over.

“Mission report,” John says, eyes fixed on a tapestry hanging behind her desk.

“Submitting a report without having to be asked five times first? Who are you and what have you done with Dr. Sheppard?”

Anger flashes for a moment, because he’s trying here and she doesn’t need to remind him of his past failings. But he looks down and sees she’s smiling. It’s a joke. She’s joking around with him.

Huh. Okay. That’s unfamiliar, but he doesn’t hate it.

“Maybe I’ve slipped in from an alternate dimension,” he says, and even though that’s not very funny Elizabeth laughs anyway, and that makes something glow inside him.

-

He grudgingly admits to himself that there does seem to be a pattern developing: when he makes an effort to connect with people here and, god help him, be nice to them, then they are happy and so is he. When he yells and pushes people away, they are sad and he is angry.

It’s sort of obvious, really, and he would be embarrassed that it’s taken him so long to figure that out, but humans are bizarre and complicated and not at all like numbers.

He has a hypothesis and now he needs to test it. He should try being more considerate to those closest to him and see if that improves everyone’s moods. If only he could figure out how to do that without the entire experience being mortifying.

He’ll work on Ronon first, he determines. Ronon has always looked out for him and they have a sort of unspoken bond. Finding something nice to do for him should be simple enough.

He decides on a data-driven approach. He takes to following Ronon around, looking for inspiration, trotting after him with a small notebook in hand to record his observations. Ronon finds the whole thing hilarious.

Ronon spends approximately 40% of his free time in the gym, which certainly is a lot, and a further 30% in the mess. Another 10% of the time he goes running around the city, and the remainder of his time is spent visiting with Teyla, stopping by the science labs to tease Rod, or visiting John.

“You like people,” John observes one day, when Ronon is warming up for a combat session with some of the marines. He’s added up the figures and plotted the data into neat hand-drawn scatter plots and histograms. “You spend almost all of your time around other people.”

Ronon’s lips tighten for a second, and then he relaxes. “Yeah, I do. For a long time it wasn’t safe for me to be around anyone, and I hated it.” He looks around the bustling gym and nods. “Now I don’t have to be alone any more. I’ll never fail to appreciate that.”

John squints and scribbles that down in his notebook too. “You like spending time with people even if they’re -” He glances over at the marines, loud and bossy and distastefully laddish, “- strange? Or mean?”

Ronon grins at him. “Even then, yeah.”

“But you go running on your own. Is that what you prefer?”

Ronon stiffens slightly. “No. It reminds me of running from the Wraith. But it’s important to stay fit, and no one here likes running with me.”

Ahah! The perfect opportunity. John bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“What, seriously?”

“Sure. It sounds fun.”

-

It is not fun. Running is brutal, and he is terrible at it, but Ronon smiles the whole time and he keeps telling John what a great job he’s doing.

By the time they’ve completed one lap of the route, sweat is pouring off John and his lungs are fit to burst.

“Go get some rest,” Ronon says, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “I’m going to do another couple of laps.”

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks between heaving breaths.

“You really want to do this again?”

“You run every day, right? So I will too.”

Ronon stops for a moment, then hauls John into a giant bear hug, apparently not caring that he’s sweaty and gross, and says, “Thanks, man.”

John is a little awed by how easily he expresses his approval, and how much it means to be on the receiving end of it.

-

He’s noticed on trade missions that the Athosians greatly value textiles, which they weave from plant fibers and dye bright colors. On his next trip to the mainland he slips away to ask the village elder Charin about the rugs which are spread throughout her tent.

She seems surprised by his interest but happy to show off her collection. She tells him how Athosians give rugs as gifts to celebrate relationships and achievements, and then she shows him how they're made.

He trades a whole month's worth of credits for supplies, and when he returns to Atlantis he spends hours each evening delicately weaving yarn through a wooden frame, building up a soft, textured rug. When it's done it's a little lumpy, but it has four clear bands of bright color running through it to represent their team.

He carries the rug to Teyla's quarters and fidgets outside her door.

"John." Teyla squints at him as she opens the door. "You appear nervous."

"I made this for you," he says and thrusts the rug at her. "Charin told me you're supposed to make them for family. This one has stripes for the four of us on the team. Sorry if it's not very good."

Tesla takes the rug and presses a hand to her chest as she examines it. A slow, warm smile spreads across her face.

"It is beautiful. You have my thanks, John. This means more to me than you know."

He has an uncomfortable flutter of emotion and he can't quite meet her eye. He focuses on the wall behind her instead.

"You are as family to me as well," she says, and steps forward to press their foreheads together in the Athosian way.

The frank sentimentality of her manner makes him squirm, but he sort of likes it.

-

Rod is trickier. He is not a person who cares much for stuff, and he always waves off supply runs from Earth, saying he has everything he needs.

But he has been complaining lately that the unstable nature of Lantea's sun has been interfering with some of his measurements. John has an idea that can help with that, even if it does involve working with grubby experimental data.

Once he's ready he invites Rod to join him in the control chair room.

"I did some modeling," he says quickly when Rod arrives. He doesn't bother with a greeting. "To predict solar influence on the Lantea system and help with your experimental readings."

Rod's eyes light up. "You modeled a star for me?"

"I thought it might be," he shrugs one shoulder, trying not to look too anxious about whether Rod will find it weird, "useful."

He plugs a flash drive into a socket on the chair platform and guides Rod into the chair.

"How does it work?" Rod is bouncing with excitement, the same look of delight on his face as when he finds a new piece of technology.

John indulges in a small, proud smile, and says, "Think about where we are in the solar system."

Rod leans back in the chair and its power hums on. Overhead, the holographic display bursts into life showing Lantea and its star, along with all the other planets and comets and asteroids filling the system, with notations on their size and mass and trajectory.

Rod whips the model around, running it backward and forward through time, watching the orbits of the planets dance.

Then Rod zooms in to see the sun up close and gasps. John has linked the model to the city's long range sensors so the display can simulate the star's fluctuations in real time, and as they watch its surface bubbles and releases a tendril of plasma which reaches out into space.

The display follows the plasma as it propagates out through the system, moving first through the asteroid field and then meeting the planet, interacting with the magnetosphere and lighting up the planet's atmosphere with an aurora of dancing colors.

The soft lights of the display are reflected in Rod's eyes, wide and joyful and curious, and the sight makes something like pain but not twist in John's chest.

"This is incredible." Rod pokes further through the interface, looking at zipping comets and distant moons. He sits up and the chair's power fades off. "Thank you."

Heat creeps across John's cheeks, and he busies himself unplugging the drive. "I wanted to do something… nice."

Rod stands and walks over to him, taking the drive from his fingers. But he doesn't let go, keeping hold of his hand. "This is very nice," he says, startlingly close.

And then something very strange happens, and Rod is leaning in and kissing him. John is distracted from the soft press of his lips by absolute bafflement at this turn of events and he freezes up.

Rod steps away and John stares at him, desperately trying to figure out how to respond. "You kissed me," he ends up on, which does have the merit of being true.

Rod rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry. I thought that's what you were going for. Was it not?"

John's brow wrinkles. His thoughts are whipping past at a million miles an hour.

That hadn't been his intention - he'd assumed that Rod was straight, not that he'd given it much thought - not that someone like Rod would be interested in him even if he wasn't - but there's something compelling about the concept, something intangible sitting on the edges of his perception. He can't quite see the shape of it.

"I need more data," he decides. "Kiss me again."

Rod breaks into a charmed smile. "I can do that."

This time when Rod leans in he's ready for it. Their mouths meet carefully, tentatively, and he angles his head so they line up better.

Oh. Interesting. The data is looking positive.

"Hmm." John draws back to breathe and consider. "Yes. That's good. Let's do that some more."

“An excellent plan," Rod says, putting his arms around John's waist to pull him closer and kiss him deeper.

Rod tastes incredible. Or maybe he just tastes of stale coffee and power bars, but John’s senses are so heightened that every sensation feels earth shattering, and he's starving for more. His hands scrabble at Rod’s collar, at his arms, at the hem of his shirt, trying to touch everything in a mad dash. He’s determined to get as much of whatever this is as he can before it comes to a crashing halt.

“Hey. Hey,” Rod’s hands are on top of his own, and he’s pulling away like John knew he would. John folds into himself, ready to turn his back as he listens to this is a mistake or we both know this isn’t going to work out or I’d never feel that way about you.

“If we’re going to do this…” Rod is giving him one of those lopsided smiles, soft and genuine. “I’d like to do it properly.”

John, still braced for rejection, has no idea what that means.

“Let me take you to bed,” Rod says, wobbly and uncertain and hopeful, of all things.

“Oh.” He could do that. They could do that. An ocean of unexpected possibilities opens up, glittering and unfamiliar and enticing. “Okay.”

Rod takes his hand and leads him back to his quarters. John’s palm is sweaty but his steps feel light as air.

-

Kissing Rod is excellent. Doing so while lying on Rod's bed is even better, and at some point they both lose their shirts and then there’s even more skin to explore and the comforting scent of Rod all around him.

It's what's next that's stressing him out, because while he's aware of the theoretical steps involved in sex, he doesn't exactly have practical experience to draw on.

There's the ever-present worry that he's missing something, that there's something he ought to know, like there's a handbook for this which everyone got a copy of except for him.

"You good?" Rod is looking at him with those very, very blue eyes. "You went away there for a minute."

His cheeks are blazing, but it seems important to set expectations. "I've never done this before," he admits.

"You mean with a man?"

He squirms. "With anyone."

He waits for Rod to laugh at him, but he merely looks contemplative. "Were you not interested, or…?"

"It never seemed that important, you know? Just another of those things that everyone else did except for me, like going to parties, or having friends, or spending Christmas with family."

Rod's face softens with sympathy.

"And even if I wanted to sometimes, it didn't matter, because who would want this?" He indicates himself with a disparaging hand. He knows what he looks like: too thin, too lanky, messy hair that will never keep a style. He's no one's ideal. "I'm not even sure why you’d be interested."

"God." Rod reaches for him and takes his face in his hands. "You really have no idea, do you?" Rod carefully removes his glasses, sets them aside, and says, "You're gorgeous," like he really means it.

Taking off his glasses makes John feel more vulnerable than taking off his clothes. Suddenly his shield is gone and there's the world, and Rod, and it's all very close and immediate and a little disorienting.

"Hey." Rod pets his face, soft and gentle, "It's okay. We can go slow."

He makes an effort to pull himself together. "I won't be very good at this."

"You don't have to be good." Rod traces his lips with a finger. "You just have to be you."

And that’s mystifying, frankly. But he’ll give it a go for Rod.

They kiss some more, and he relaxes into it, lets Rod take the lead, lets him explore his mouth until he’s boneless and breathless. He breaks for air and is lightheaded, the room almost spinning, but he wants more.

Then Rod is kissing along his jawline, and down his neck, and oh, when Rod’s lips brush against a spot near his throat his entire body tenses and twitches, and Rod makes a curious, happy noise and does it again. It’s a hair away from overwhelming but he likes it, he likes it a lot, and then Rod gently runs his teeth over that spot and John’s hips twitch off the bed entirely of their own volition.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, but Rod doesn’t look put off. In fact, he just grins, says, “Don’t be, I like it,” then pushes John back onto the bed and mouths at that spot some more.

His skin is hot all over and he’s shaking, and god, this is all going to be over embarrassingly fast and they haven’t even gotten all of their clothes off yet.

“Rod,” he says, and it comes out as a whine. “Will you -” He gestures vaguely at the bulge in the front of his jeans and hides his face in the pillow, too bashful to let Rod see him.

Rod pauses from his engrossment in John’s neck to breathe hot words into his ear instead. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and John is fit to burst already. How is Rod so good at this?

“Please,” he says, mumbling into the pillow. Everything is too much and not enough, and he wants, he wants, he wants. “Please, Rod, please -”

“Okay, of course I will, it’s okay.” Rod strokes his flank, petting him like a skittish horse, and that should be mortifying but it’s exactly what he needs. “I’d like to see you though,” he says, and reaches over to touch John’s chin.

John lets himself be turned, lets Rod roll him over so they’re facing each other and their eyes meet. That’s almost overwhelming too, but Rod looks so pleased he thinks he might be able to manage it, and then Rod is kissing him and unzipping his pants and oh, oh, oh.

Rod wraps a hand around his cock and John just melts, like every brain cell he possesses has decided to pack up for the night. He can't even bring himself to blush because Rod is touching him right there and it’s so good, it’s so good, and all he wants is more.

Rod handles him confidently, exploring what he likes: a bit faster, a bit slower, a bit more pressure, a bit less. If John could speak he’d tell him that it doesn’t matter, right now he likes everything, anything, whatever Rod wants to do to him he’d take it happily.

But Rod is a scientist, and he loves his data just as much as John does, so he does some experimentation and finds the ideal speed John likes, and the angle, and then he squeezes gently around the head and John’s orgasm explodes behind his eyes like bright, white light.

He floats for a while, like a spring that’s been twisted and twisted and finally bursts free, and he’s vaguely aware of Rod stroking his face. It’s nice, every muscle in his body slack and comfortable for once instead of clenched down tight.

“You good?” Rod asks, and John can’t help but smile.

“Very,” he mumbles, mouth lax and lazy.

Rod drops a kiss on his temple, and there’s something so casual and caring about that it makes John’s heart squeeze.

“You mind if I get myself off?” Rod asks and heat races up the back of John’s neck. He does not mind that one bit.

“Should I. Um.” He ought to offer, right? That was the polite thing. But, “I don’t really know what to do,” he admits.

Rod smiles softly at him and says, “How about you kiss me?”

And yes, John is definitely on board with that, he can do that. He puts an arm around Rod’s shoulders and pulls him closer, then kisses him: carefully at first, peppering soft pecks to his lips, and then deeper, lips sliding over each other as they grow more heated, and then finally wild and messy, slipping his tongue into Rod’s mouth while Rod pushes his pants down and works himself over.

He feels Rod’s fist bumping up against his thigh, faster and faster as he speeds up his hand, and John can’t help but glance down. He watches in fascination at the way the head of Rod’s cock peeks through his hand on each stroke, red and hard and leaking from the tip. Reflexively, he licks his lips.

Rod is making these soft groaning noises which have John entranced, like he wants to spend every spare minute he has learning how to coax them out of him. And then Rod is biting his lip, and twitching, and staring at him open-mouthed and breathing hard.

“Can I come on you?” he asks, and something in John’s brain short-circuits.

“Yes,” his mouth says for him. “Rod, god, yes.”

He can’t stop staring at the movement of Rod’s hand and, emboldened by a force he didn’t know he had in him, he reaches down to wrap his hand around Rod’s. He lets Rod guide their movements, adding a soft pressure from his fingers so they can bring him off together.

“John,” Rod sighs, full of warmth and contentment, and then he’s relaxing and coming. Fluid splatters across John’s thighs and he did that, he made Rod feel good, and that feels like the best gift of all.

Rod is soft around the edges now, smudgy like a charcoal painting, and when John asks, “Was that okay?” he pulls him closer and nuzzles into his neck, covering both of their bodies and their clothes hopelessly in come, and says, “That was perfect.”

-

John wakes up sticky, rather too hot, and filled with a roiling, anxious feeling. The bed is too small and Rod is too close, and his heart rate picks up as he looks fuzzily around the room.

He should go. He should just go, right now, before Rod wakes up and they have to talk about this and he says something wrong and ruins everything.

He’s squinting and patting at the bedside table, looking for his glasses, when he feels movement behind him.

“Morning.” Rod drops a soft kiss on his shoulder. Then he rolls over, John’s glasses in his hand, and opens them up and pops them onto his face. He slides them up John’s nose, smiles, and says, “There you are.”

And oh. All that panic seems further away once he has the armor of his glasses back, and now he can see the pillow crinkles imprinted into Rod’s cheek. He seems less like an agent of impending judgement and more like Rod, just Rod, Rod who knows him and has seen him at his worst and still, for whatever baffling reason, seems to like him.

“Hi,” he manages, and Rod beams like that was exactly the right thing to say.

“Coffee?” Rod offers. “Or shower first?”

As rare as it is for John to turn down coffee, he really is unpleasantly sticky. Deal with that problem first, he decides. “Shower,” he says, grateful that he’s not required to string together more than single words.

“Sure.” Rod gives his ass a cheeky pat as he rises, then throws him a towel.

He showers quickly and efficiently, but as he steps out and wraps a towel around himself he spots a purpling bruise on the side of his neck in the mirror. He stops to trace it with his fingers, remembering the feeling of Rod’s mouth there, hot and demanding.

“Ahh.” Rod stands in the doorway to the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away.” There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he looks nervous.

John tilts his head, looks at the mark from another angle. There it is: incontrovertible evidence that he's wanted. What a fascinating concept. “Don’t be. I like it.”

“Oh.” Rod’s eyes go very round and the blush deepens. “That’s good. That’s. Ahh. Very good. I’ll just -”

Rod drops the towel from around his waist and makes for the shower, and John gets an eyeful of his half-hard cock, and then, as he walks past, an ass he has the sudden urge to sink his fingers into. A heat that’s beginning to feel familiar creeps up his neck, and he wants -

What the hell, he thinks, and he tosses his own towel aside to follow Rod back into the shower, delighting in his yelp of surprise when he slides up behind him.

-

“Shep! Think fast!”

John manages to get his hands up just in time to prevent the power bar from hitting him in the face.

“Thought you might want a snack before the mission,” Ronon says with a wink. “Just in case we have to run anywhere.”

“Hey, I’m getting better at that! I’ll catch up with you one day.”

“Sure you will.” Ronon checks the straps on John's tac vest like he always does, then says, "Looking good, buddy," and ruffles his hair.

John used to hate that, but he's given up trying to tame his hair and now he lets it stick up in whatever direction it wants. It's weird but it works.

Teyla bumps her shoulder against his as they walk toward the gate room. "What do you have for us today, John?"

“Remember that strange energy signal Major Lorne’s team picked up last week? I was able to map its topography through space and pinpoint its likely origin, and Rod took a look at the electromagnetic readings and he thinks it might be a power source -”

“So we are going to investigate the signal on P2X-884?”

“Bingo.”

Rod is standing in front of the gate like he belongs there. He claps his hands. "Ready for another thrilling adventure in the Pegasus galaxy?"

"Maybe we'll get to hunt some Wraith," Ronon says, entirely too cheerfully.

"Or discover some hideous alien parasite," Teyla joins in with a gruesome smirk.

"Or accidentally blow something up," John supplies, because that's usually how their luck goes.

"Sounds delightful." Rod grins and yells up to the gate techs, "Dial her up."

As the gate engages with a whoosh and a glow of blue light, Rod reaches out to graze his fingers against John's: a reminder, and a promise. Out of the corner of his eye, John catches his smile.

He stands a little taller, knowing his team has his back, and steps through the wormhole.

[thestruidora]

Sweetheart

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Borderline Personality Disorder, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Therapy, Miscommunication, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink

Category: F/M

Pairings: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary: Dean has borderline personality disorder and the reader is his favorite person.

Author’s notes: I got issues.

ENJOY THIS CHAPTER’S NARRATION BY DEAN HIMSELF

Chapter One

Five of Cups

“The five of Cups represents disappointment, grief and negativity. But you're mourning the loss of something that existed only in your heart, not in reality.”

He couldn't even remember how it all started.

In a way, it had all been really, truly... Gradual.

He met you in a dog park, of all fucking places to have a fucking meet-cute, he never thought he would be the ‘I only have a dog to pick up girls’ guy.

Except, he didn't, and he wasn't.

Matter-fact, he wasn't even supposed to pick up girls in the dog park, he wasn't supposed to pick up girls at all, anywhere.

He had Lisa and Ben, and a mortgage... And a dog. He drove a fricking minivan, for God's sake! In any way you'd look at it, he was a taken man, he was whipped. Dean Winchester was whipped. It was a sad day for all women across America. Hell, the world! But even though he knew all that, even though he loved Lisa and his new life with her — and the kid, the mortgage, the dog, the stupid minivan... — whatever, he was getting off track.

The point was: he was a happily settled-down man, and he was done with his life on the road. Sleeping in shitty hotels, hooking up with a different girl every night, drinking nonstop, eating greasy food, and hunting down monsters. And he did all of it, with his little brother by his side. Who, you know, died after jumping into a literal hell hole to save the world from the apocalypse, which he sorta started so... Shit, forget about that, Sam was gone and that was that. He was getting off track again anyways.

The dog park, right? He met you at the dog park. Because now he had a dog, he was an official dog owner. Ben had chosen the little guy at the puppy pound, and promised and swore that he would take care of it. But, of course, he didn't. And now the responsibility to care for a speedy growing German Sheppard fell on Dean. He had to scoop its poo, give it baths, take it to the vet, and for walks.

At first, he really hated it, never being much of a pet person, most hunters never are. Their lives don't allow it, to get attached to something... Or someone, could be a dangerous thing.

But that was past him.

Because he was out, forever.

Definitely, without a doubt in his mind.

So what's the worst that could happen in letting himself find cuteness in that little ball of fur? The one that just kept growing and growing, with its big ears, long snout, and big, warm eyes, always attentive, always learning.

He was a smart dog, getting new tricks at super speed. But messy too, crazy little fella constantly wanted to jump up on Dean and lick his face. The Winchester tried to stop him and teach him some manners, but the dog was strong and playful, ready to wag his tail every time he got home and whine when he didn't let him get the leftover food or sleep by his feet in the bed. That’s how Dean chose his name, considering his personality, because “Snoopy” — the name that Ben had picked for him —, simply wouldn't do.

Thor, was what he named the German Sheppard, after the Norse God of Thunder, known for his strength and power, but also his childish sense of humor and love for food. That was Dean's dog in a nutshell.

Thor, the dog, was big now, and full of energy, needing to be walked a lot. And that's exactly what he was doing then, when he met you, trying to enjoy a peaceful Saturday morning with Thor.

He had had a fight with Lisa that morning, another one. He can’t even remember what it was all about, it seemed like their constant arguing over stupid, petty things had been going on for so long that it had all started to meld and intertwine with one another.

The truth was that he had always wanted the simple life, with a wife and a child, a white picket fence, and a steady job. There was always a part of him, from as long as he can remember, that earned for that peaceful feeling of waking up and knowing that the day to come was going to be exactly like the one before, and the one before that, and the one before that too… Well, maybe the truth also was that he had grown a little bored. Because even though there had always been a part of him that wanted to settle down, there was another part of him, a big one, that loved hunting. Loved the excitement and the thrill, loved knowing that he helped people, saved lives.

And of course, he missed his brother. He knew that Sam had gone where he couldn't follow, that Lucifer’s cage was one the most guarded places on earth, and that trying to open it again was not only incredibly dangerous as it was a waste of time, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about it all the time.

All of those persistent thoughts kept on roaming his mind, over and over, so much so that he didn’t even realize that Thor had gone off the leash until it was too late.

“Thor, no!” Dean yelled, trying and failing to catch on to the dog as it sprinted across the park, running full speed in another dog’s direction. “Stay!” But the German Shepherd couldn't care less about its owner’s command, it was on a mission.

He barked loudly as he ran across the yellowing grass, its target realizing Thor’s impeding arrival and responding in kind. The other dog’s bark was just as loud as it started running in the other’s direction also, causing the owner to give out a sharp yelp as the animal tugged on its leash.

“Oh, God, no!” Dean heard the terror in the woman’s voice as she attempted to control the big white-furred Siberian Husky, being forcefully dragged by the creature in a blur of quick motions.

The retired hunter had no idea what could happen, Thor was usually very friendly and overall calm in the presence of other dogs, but he had never been near such a big breed before, so there was this moment of panic as the canines finally got snout to snout. They both tilted their heads, examining each other for a split second, before letting out another torrent of loud barks and starting to smell each other's fur, tails wagging franticly.

“Thor, seriously?” Dean let out a small chuckle as he caught on to them, relieved to see them happily greeting each other.

The owner of the Husky was looking down, ungracefully fumbling with the leash that had wrapped itself all around her arms, trying to untangle herself.

“Wow, that was intense, huh?” She said, her hair bouncing as she looked up at him, out of breath from the ordeal.

“You can say that again.” Dean agreed, finally having time to really look at the stranger. She had an unassuming smile painted on her face, not too big or too little, simply friendly. He felt the need to repay the expression, and mirroring the easiness in her features, he was unable to not smile back at her. “You alright over there?” He asked, motioning to the leash stuck on her arms.

“Almost got it.” She had to fight with it a little more before getting rid of it, lightly biting her bottom lip in a focused state as she twisted her arms side to side till the cord draped off of them. “There, I’m free.” She chortled, showing a few white teeth as she straightened her back and looked up at Dean once more, her short stature in contrast with his tall one making her have to keep up her neck to make eye contact with him.

The Winchester’s brain short-circuited for a good minute as the light of the morning sun hit her face just right, the warm glow of it allowing him to analyze each and every aspect of her countenance. The way tiny little wrinkles formed by the side of her eyes when she smiled openly like that. The sheer layer of perspiration that had formed in the pores of her forehead due to the heat and previous strain. But what really made his mind go blank for a while was the sparkle in her eyes, a literal twinkle as the orbs stared straight at him, even the long set of eyelashes not being capable of casting so much as a shadow to block the glow in her irises.

“Huh…” She broke eye contact, shifting her weight from one foot to another as those shiny eyes looked down now, her hands playing with the leash she still held.

Dean shook his head, realizing he had made her uncomfortable by blatantly staring like that. It’s not like he had never seen a pretty girl, for God’s sake!

Maybe it was only the fact that it had been a while since he had allowed himself to really check out a woman because frankly, he just didn’t feel the need to. He had Lisa, after all. A family, after all. And that felt like more than he ever thought he deserved, so when the cute waitress and the hot bartender gave him bedroom eyes and interested smirks, he simply laughed it off. ‘Cause he had it, the ‘it’ he had always been looking for, and there was no way he would let himself compromise that over some flirty chick with tight clothes and harsh makeup.

But this wasn’t it, she wasn’t it. This girl looked soft and unpretentious. Acting nice only because it was in her nature to, not because she had any interest in him.

“I’m sorry-” He said, causing her to give him her attention once more. “if my dog scared you.”

“No!” Her smile was still there, never faltering. “No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s definitely not the first time Loki dragged me through a whole-ass park, so…”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean looked down at the dogs, they were playing with each other at this point, roughhousing like a couple of old buddies.

“What?” She asked, noticing his awed look.

The Winchester crouched down, starting to run his hands through both of the animal’s soft fur.

“Thor, meet Loki.” He said, mesmerized by the coincidence.

“Shut up, are you serious?” Her face lit up. “What are the odds?” She said, getting down to the dog's level to pet them as well. “Well, I guess he does look like a Thor.” Her fingernails scratched right behind Thor’s ear, making him produce a pleased rumble.

“Why did you name yours Loki?” The hunter truly wished to know, hands deep in the white coat of the husky, the icy blue eyes of the creature blinking softly with appreciation.

“Oh, he’s not mine. I’m just sitting for a friend.” She spoke nonchalantly while still petting the German Shepherd.

“Really?” Dean stopped what he was doing to look at her, her eyes trained on the dogs still. He thought about what she had just said, and what it entailed.

“Yeah, I wish I could say that she has a Norse mythology obsession, but it’s more of a Tom Hiddleston obsession than anything else.” She joked, and for some reason, Dean felt compelled to laugh in return, even though he didn’t catch the reference. “I'm a cat owner myself.” She continued, finally letting go of Thor's fur and getting up from her bent position. “Well, it’s more like my cat owns me, but… Semantics.”

This time Dean’s laugh was even more genuine, not necessarily because he understood the bond between a cat and its human, but simply because of the quick wittiness that he was coming to realize was a part of her.

“I guess I won’t be seeing any more of you at the park, then.” He allowed himself to say, trying to mask a weird sense of disappointment that came with that notion for some reason.

“I wouldn't be so sure, my friend is traveling so we could end up bumping into each other quite a lot.” She shrugged, lightly stretching her back from the time spent crouched down. “Plus, these two were clearly meant to meet.” She smiles at the dogs who were still playing together.

“Yeah, who are we to fight destiny, right?” Dean took advantage of the time she spent focused on the animals to get as many mental pictures of her as possible, not so much fixated on her physical appearance, but more elated by her calm, sweet presence.

“I’m Y/N, ‘bout the way.” She smiled that smile that makes dimples appear on her cheeks, and something inside of him fluttered. All of the sudden, she was longer she, she was you.

“I’m Dean, nice to meet you, Y/N.”

[jerakeenc]

It Was You, My Shine Light by old_enough_to_know_better

ATEEZ, K-Pop | Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi | Teen | 11,304 words

The world was grey, shades ranging from brightest white to darkest black. Everything was drab and dreary, until you met your soulmate. At least, that was how it was supposed to work. Mingi's always been able to see in color. How will he ever find his soulmate when he never knows when he'll meet them?

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris

Avatar: The Last Airbender | Gen | The Gaang & Zuko | Teen | 36,049 words

Some people are born with soulmarks. Zuko has them, but his grandfather burned them off because they "make you weak." Team Avatar has a few things to say about that.

Louder Than Words by TheMarkOfEyghon

Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Ripper Giles/Randall | Mature | 36,740 words

In a world where everyone is born with their soulmate's first words to them marked on their arm, Rupert "Ripper" Giles is born with no words at all. Terrified at the prospect of growing up into a life without love, he becomes jaded and embittered, diving headfirst into loveless one-night stands and casual affairs. And then he meets Randall Evans. A non-verbal boy with a bright smile and even brighter eyes and his entire world is sent into a tailspin.

two halves of a soul by angel_deux

Game of Thrones | Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth | Teen | 42,773 words

Brienne really does think it's a coincidence that Cersei Lannister starts being extra cruel to her after catching sight of Brienne's soulmark at a slumber party. It's not.

Après moi le deluge by beyond_belief

Generation Kill | Brad Colbert/Nate Fick | Teen | 15,054 words

"That," he says, "is how you know it was close." - Sebastian Junger, War

The Fault in My Code by LiaS0

Hannibal | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter | Mature | 90,434 words

Soulmate AU: Soulmates find their other half when they look into their eyes. After the next time they sleep, they wake with one eye the color of their intended. Will Graham avoids eyes. He's never wanted a soulmate, never wanted to be told by the universe who he was supposed to feel a connection to. He already struggles enough with connections, thank you very much. As a psychiatrist, he works with soulmates who have lost their other half through various means, part of a social system that regards the journey to your soulmate as the most important thing a person can do. Coerced by Jack Crawford to consult on a case where the assailant is targeting soulmates, Will finds himself turning to the notorious Dr. Lecter to gain insight on how he's choosing the soulmates to target. Things go horribly awry when he looks into Hannibal's eyes, though. The next morning, he wakes up with one eye blue, the other maroon. He's never wanted a soulmate, least of all one behind bars for murdering dozens of people and eating them. Hannibal thinks it's delightful -it's been dreadfully boring since he was locked up. Romance, thriller, mayhem, mystery, soulmate au with a realistic twist, and a grumpy Will Graham

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter | Explicit | 113,984 words

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him. When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

Meadow of Ink by esama

Hikaru no Go | Gen | Shindou Hikaru | General Audiences | 933 words

It's the ones that matter who leave a mark.

Fastening One Heart to Every Falling Thing by thefourthvine

Hockey RPF | Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin | Explicit | 51,519 words

Geno can't. Sidney won't.

my heart is gold (but my hands are cold) by Rock_n_Fuckin_Roll

Karate Kid | Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence | Teen | 12,674 words

“No, please, don't, stop!” Those were the words that haunted Johnny Lawrence. One's that followed him day and night, ones that he looked at late at night in the darkness, when no one else was there, and traced them, thinking that they were the rightful punishment he got. That the first time he met his soulmate, they would scream for him to stop. To stay away. It was the punishment for Johnny Lawrence.

Nobody Lost, Nobody Found by ClaraxBarton

Marvel Cinematic Universe | James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton | Explicit | 108,331 words

"Look, dude, I get it. You’re fucked-up. HYDRA fucked you up. I’ve been there. But you’re my fucking Soul Mate!" “I can kill you. I could kill you without even realizing what I was doing. I’m not fucked-up, I’m a monster. I’m a nightmare. You can’t be here. You can’t- All the people I’ve killed- I will not murder my Soul Mate too. Not after everything else I’ve-” Clint worked his left hand between their bodies and managed to land a punch to the man’s right side, forcing him to shift his weight, and Clint brought his right hand down on the place where the man’s metal arm met his torso - hidden by the shirt he wore, but on full display in the video Clint had watched. The man released Clint with a grunt of pain, and Clint pressed his advantage, landing another punch to his abdomen, backing him up against the opposite side of the RV and then pressing the kitchen knife he had pocketed while cleaning up earlier to the man’s throat. “Like I said, I’m not a Boy Scout. I’m plenty dangerous myself. We clear on that?”

The Mark for Everyone's Souls by siderealOtaku

Persona 3 | Arisato Minato/Mochizuki Ryoji | Teen | 2,330 words

Minato Arisato's body is covered in marks. His mother called him blessed, until she saw the pitch-black skull on his left hip. "Death!" she screamed. "He is Death's soulmate!"

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite

Pride and Prejudice | Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy | Teen | 190,537 words

One would think that having the name of one's soulmate appear on one's wrist on one's sixteenth birthday would make matrimony much less complicated. It mostly does not. And not at all for Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourne.

Pair Bond by Kass

Stargate Atlantis | Rodney McKay/John Sheppard | Explicit | 5,734 words

"I'm sorry," the librarian said. His voice sounded genuinely regretful. "But I can't possibly grant access to a lone electron."

your favorite old-fashioned fairytale romance by sinead

White Collar | Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey | Explicit | 12,442 words

Such a small touch, that whisper of skin against skin.

can you help me unravel my latest mistake by suzukiblu

The Witcher | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Explicit | 17,099 words

“It’s just a soulmark,” Geralt says, fist tightening. He feels like Jaskier’s about to get up and leave and he’ll never see him again, and he . . . “It doesn’t mean anything.”

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