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stargateficrecShows: SGA
Rec Category: John Sheppard
Characters: OFC/OMC, John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Categories: Gen (possibly John/Rodney if you want to read that in)
Words: 9462
Content Notes: Canon-level violence, explicit depiction of extreme pain. Killing of background OMCs. Briefly mentioned off-screen killing of a pet animal.
Author on DW: n/a
Author's Website: no - Rivier's LJ is locked now.
Link: Exigencies on Wayback
Why This Must Be Read: This is the John Sheppard of The Storm/The Eye, in this story using cold ruthlessness to rescue Rodney from allies of the Genii. It's told entirely from the POV of an original female character, the wife of a powerful local man who's been complicit in capturing and torturing Rodney. John's taken her as a hostage to force Rodney's return, and we see the drama play out through her eyes. There's some great worldbuilding conveyed through her perspective, and her appraisal of John and Rodney is interesting. The bond between John and Rodney is intense but it's left unstated whether they're more than close friends and found family to each other. Beautifully written, gripping, and a great read, especially if you like a dark, fiercely competent John.
He leans back, looking up at the ceiling, ignoring her. He hasn't the slightest concern she's going to do anything to threaten him, and his certainty is even more effective than his threats. After a while, he even closes his eyes.
Lanni studies him as his breathing slows down. Is he a mercenary? Everything about him is hard, pared-down efficiency. A holster around one thigh, a knife in the utility vest with its square pockets hanging heavy, more weapons, perhaps. In the overhead light, she can see him more clearly: his face is darkened with stubble and grime, and there are blue-black smudges under his eyes.
He's half the bulk of Calmoore, but something about this man makes her bodyguard look like an amateur, a fake. He smells of sweat and blood and metal and dirt, and a static crackle of nervous energy. He's lean, and handsome, and she's never met anyone so frightening in her life.
The radio beeps, and he doesn't even jump. Just brings it up slowly and presses a button. “Cantrel. That you?”
She hears Malcon's voice, and relief floods through her.
“Major Sheppard? Where's my wife?”
Rec Category: John Sheppard
Characters: OFC/OMC, John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Categories: Gen (possibly John/Rodney if you want to read that in)
Words: 9462
Content Notes: Canon-level violence, explicit depiction of extreme pain. Killing of background OMCs. Briefly mentioned off-screen killing of a pet animal.
Author on DW: n/a
Author's Website: no - Rivier's LJ is locked now.
Link: Exigencies on Wayback
Why This Must Be Read: This is the John Sheppard of The Storm/The Eye, in this story using cold ruthlessness to rescue Rodney from allies of the Genii. It's told entirely from the POV of an original female character, the wife of a powerful local man who's been complicit in capturing and torturing Rodney. John's taken her as a hostage to force Rodney's return, and we see the drama play out through her eyes. There's some great worldbuilding conveyed through her perspective, and her appraisal of John and Rodney is interesting. The bond between John and Rodney is intense but it's left unstated whether they're more than close friends and found family to each other. Beautifully written, gripping, and a great read, especially if you like a dark, fiercely competent John.
He leans back, looking up at the ceiling, ignoring her. He hasn't the slightest concern she's going to do anything to threaten him, and his certainty is even more effective than his threats. After a while, he even closes his eyes.
Lanni studies him as his breathing slows down. Is he a mercenary? Everything about him is hard, pared-down efficiency. A holster around one thigh, a knife in the utility vest with its square pockets hanging heavy, more weapons, perhaps. In the overhead light, she can see him more clearly: his face is darkened with stubble and grime, and there are blue-black smudges under his eyes.
He's half the bulk of Calmoore, but something about this man makes her bodyguard look like an amateur, a fake. He smells of sweat and blood and metal and dirt, and a static crackle of nervous energy. He's lean, and handsome, and she's never met anyone so frightening in her life.
The radio beeps, and he doesn't even jump. Just brings it up slowly and presses a button. “Cantrel. That you?”
She hears Malcon's voice, and relief floods through her.
“Major Sheppard? Where's my wife?”
