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stargateficrecShow: SGA
Rec Category: Crack treated seriously
Characters: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Jennifer Keller, Radek Zelenka, Ronon Dex, Richard Woolsey, et al
Categories: M/M
Warnings: Serious whump, gore, language.
Author on DW: n/a
Author's Website: archived site on the Wayback machine
Link: And You Loathe the Ground on Wayback machine
Why This Must Be Read: Wingfic! Another classically cracky trope, right? Usually it's John getting the wings, but this time it's Rodney, and rather than growing wings being the fulfilment of a dream like it sometimes is for John, this is a novel-length exploration of Rodney having been forcibly mutated by Evil Aliens (for a change, not the Ancients). It's from John's POV, showing John's reactions to Rodney having been abused and changed, and with the pain Rodney experiences from the the huge bat-wings, straining human muscles and tendons not designed for them. Of course, that allows John a role in caring for Rodney, so we get the slashier side of the story developing. We see Rodney and John having to adapt and come to terms over time both with Rodney having the wings and with traumatically losing them. An excellent read, if you can handle a bit of body horror.
It's not so easy reading fics on the Wayback site, so message me on DW if you want it in pdf/epub/kindle ebook.
Rodney is in John's space just like that, mouth thin and angry, arms crossed belligerently when he says, "Something you needed?" with his chin stuck up and his eyes narrowed. John thinks that, really, an innocent question about coffee should not have been enough to cause this much drama. Then again, this is Rodney. Coffee is more serious to him than most people realize.
John forces himself to stop focusing on the tight bunch of Rodney's wings, attempting to keep his voice low, "Can I talk to you?" and Rodney waves a hand, impatient, not giving so much as an inch. And maybe that's what finally kicks John's temper into action.
John grits out, "Fine, be that way," and grabs Rodney, pulling him off of his feet and heading for the door. Rodney yelps, spitting angry words that John's heart is pounding too hard for him to hear, shoving at John's head and shoulders and the thing that surprises John the most is that Rodney at no point attempts to beat him with the wings.
John sets Rodney down out on one of the balconies, Rodney jerking away from him and spitting, "Asshole!" face red and upset, hands balled up into fists. The wings are still folded impossibly tight down against his back, and John feels himself frowning.
"Why are they like that?" John hadn't particularly meant to ask, but the words are already out there. It steals some of the anger from Rodney's expression and replaces it with confusion. John nods towards the wings in explanation and Rodney looks over his shoulder.
"Oh," Rodney shrugs, and then winces, "Gee, I wonder why I'd want to make the giant, delicate bundles of nerves attached to my back as small as possible in a lab where things frequently explode. Hm. Give me a minute to think about it." He shoots John a scornful look.
And, okay, yes, John can understand that, he supposes. He says, "Looks like it hurts," because it does. There are little lines of strain around Rodney's mouth and eyes, and he's holding his entire body differently. Rodney opens his mouth and John talks over him, "And we're not in the labs right now."
For a beat, Rodney just stares, and then he rolls his eyes, grumbling something about stubborn, stupid people who interrupt his work. But John doesn't take offense, not when Rodney also lets out a long, long breath, and then shudders full-bodied when he relaxes the wings the tiniest fraction.
John hisses, "Jesus Christ," reaching out to steady Rodney when he gasps, the wings relaxing in jerky increments. By the time they're in their normal rest-state, Rodney is gasping, eyes squeezed closed. He makes a ragged sound when he stretches them out completely, the air rising off the ocean below momentarily filling them and lifting him inches off the ground.
John pulls Rodney back down, his heart racing, Rodney closing the wings, eyes open now, but staring at nothing. John curses again, softly, keeping a hold on Rodney, rubbing the man's arms. He keeps his voice low when he asks, "You're doing that to yourself every day?"
Rec Category: Crack treated seriously
Characters: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Jennifer Keller, Radek Zelenka, Ronon Dex, Richard Woolsey, et al
Categories: M/M
Warnings: Serious whump, gore, language.
Author on DW: n/a
Author's Website: archived site on the Wayback machine
Link: And You Loathe the Ground on Wayback machine
Why This Must Be Read: Wingfic! Another classically cracky trope, right? Usually it's John getting the wings, but this time it's Rodney, and rather than growing wings being the fulfilment of a dream like it sometimes is for John, this is a novel-length exploration of Rodney having been forcibly mutated by Evil Aliens (for a change, not the Ancients). It's from John's POV, showing John's reactions to Rodney having been abused and changed, and with the pain Rodney experiences from the the huge bat-wings, straining human muscles and tendons not designed for them. Of course, that allows John a role in caring for Rodney, so we get the slashier side of the story developing. We see Rodney and John having to adapt and come to terms over time both with Rodney having the wings and with traumatically losing them. An excellent read, if you can handle a bit of body horror.
It's not so easy reading fics on the Wayback site, so message me on DW if you want it in pdf/epub/kindle ebook.
Rodney is in John's space just like that, mouth thin and angry, arms crossed belligerently when he says, "Something you needed?" with his chin stuck up and his eyes narrowed. John thinks that, really, an innocent question about coffee should not have been enough to cause this much drama. Then again, this is Rodney. Coffee is more serious to him than most people realize.
John forces himself to stop focusing on the tight bunch of Rodney's wings, attempting to keep his voice low, "Can I talk to you?" and Rodney waves a hand, impatient, not giving so much as an inch. And maybe that's what finally kicks John's temper into action.
John grits out, "Fine, be that way," and grabs Rodney, pulling him off of his feet and heading for the door. Rodney yelps, spitting angry words that John's heart is pounding too hard for him to hear, shoving at John's head and shoulders and the thing that surprises John the most is that Rodney at no point attempts to beat him with the wings.
John sets Rodney down out on one of the balconies, Rodney jerking away from him and spitting, "Asshole!" face red and upset, hands balled up into fists. The wings are still folded impossibly tight down against his back, and John feels himself frowning.
"Why are they like that?" John hadn't particularly meant to ask, but the words are already out there. It steals some of the anger from Rodney's expression and replaces it with confusion. John nods towards the wings in explanation and Rodney looks over his shoulder.
"Oh," Rodney shrugs, and then winces, "Gee, I wonder why I'd want to make the giant, delicate bundles of nerves attached to my back as small as possible in a lab where things frequently explode. Hm. Give me a minute to think about it." He shoots John a scornful look.
And, okay, yes, John can understand that, he supposes. He says, "Looks like it hurts," because it does. There are little lines of strain around Rodney's mouth and eyes, and he's holding his entire body differently. Rodney opens his mouth and John talks over him, "And we're not in the labs right now."
For a beat, Rodney just stares, and then he rolls his eyes, grumbling something about stubborn, stupid people who interrupt his work. But John doesn't take offense, not when Rodney also lets out a long, long breath, and then shudders full-bodied when he relaxes the wings the tiniest fraction.
John hisses, "Jesus Christ," reaching out to steady Rodney when he gasps, the wings relaxing in jerky increments. By the time they're in their normal rest-state, Rodney is gasping, eyes squeezed closed. He makes a ragged sound when he stretches them out completely, the air rising off the ocean below momentarily filling them and lifting him inches off the ground.
John pulls Rodney back down, his heart racing, Rodney closing the wings, eyes open now, but staring at nothing. John curses again, softly, keeping a hold on Rodney, rubbing the man's arms. He keeps his voice low when he asks, "You're doing that to yourself every day?"
