I posted 688 times in 2022
That's 176 more posts than 2021!
35 posts created (5%)
653 posts reblogged (95%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@dedkake
@spockvarietyhour
@akasanata
@fullmetalcarer
I tagged 652 of my posts in 2022
Only 5% of my posts had no tags
#stargate atlantis - 371 posts
#cherik - 94 posts
#yes - 45 posts
#mcshep - 35 posts
#rofl - 32 posts
#lol - 31 posts
#rofl🤣 - 26 posts
#john sheppard - 16 posts
#um - 12 posts
#this - 10 posts
Longest Tag: 125 characters
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
And also:
thighs
thigh holster
butt
bleps
expressive eyebrows
heart eyes
@dedkake
32 notes - Posted February 20, 2022
#4
I continued work on my Shrine fic today! 4/5 times John touches Rodney during the Shrine have been written.
Previously mentioned here.
I am both thrilled and in emotional pain.
because
well
The Shrine
I mean—
Preview anyone?
*
John grasps Rodney’s wrists.
Squeezing tight enough to hurt. Yanking them back. Away. Trying to stop him. He can’t watch this. He can’t stand by and watch.
This had been a terrible idea.
John knew it would end up this way. Blames himself. Should have stopped it earlier. Should have insisted, should have been better, should have protected Rodney. Even if it was from himself.
But, it was what Rodney had wanted. How could he deny Rodney anything he wants right now? Besides, it has been another way to track the progression of the illness. Not his memory—he and Keller had that one covered with the videos—but his ability to think critically, problem solve, strategize.
A nightly chess match.
It couldn’t have ended up any other way, any other way but this.
“Stop it!”
John is trying to rip Rodney’s hands away from his face, where Rodney is attempting, literally, awfully, to pound his brain into working properly. Hitting himself over and over.
“Stupid!” Rodney’s shout is over loud, pained. He manages to hit himself again, despite John’s best efforts. Rodney’s desperation makes him strong. Too strong. Stronger than John. “So fucking stupid!”
“No! Rodney! Please! Come on!”
Rodney shouldn’t be this strong, shouldn’t be able to keep violently hitting his own forehead over and over. But he twists, he jerks, he slips away and John grabs at him again.
“Sixth graders can play this fucking game! I played it in first grade! I’m officially more imbecilic than I was when I was fucking six.”
“Rodney! God damn it!” John had managed to get a hand around his bicep, but then the bicep is gone, leaving his fingers grasping at air. “You just used the word imbecilic, clearly you’re not— ”
John’s words are silenced by Rodney inadvertantly hitting the coffee table with the backs of his knees. The chessboard goes flying, pieces scattering everywhere. Rodney goes flying too, his back hitting the table hard before the momentum rolls him off and onto the ground.
John doesn’t know which sound he’s heard tonight that’s snaked the deepest fracture line in his heart— the heels of Rodney’s palms smacking against his own skin, the anguished self-recriminations, or the crack of Rodney’s skull against Atlantean metal.
He’s on his knees hovering over Rodney before he even knows he’s made the decision. After a moment of chilling stillness, where John is half-convinced the universe has played an even crueller joke and he’s lost Rodney sooner than they’d expected, Rodney groans, eyes flickering open.
“Well that fucking hurt.”
John’s whole body attempts to collapse on top of him with relief, and definitely without his permission, but he just trembles instead.
You’re okay. Fuck. You’re okay. For now, you’re okay. I can’t do this. How do I do this? Rodney, how do I do this?
*
See the full post
33 notes - Posted May 1, 2022
#3
Three A.M.
McShep | 260 words | G
Sleepy boys | Sleepy Cuddles
on Ao3
John wakes to the click-clacking of keyboard keys being pressed just this side of too hard. He doesn’t check the time. It could be 11pm, 1am or 3. It doesn’t really matter. John long ago gave up on berating the man for his poor sleeping habits. Atlantis needs too much from him and Rodney asks too much of himself. Instead, John slips from the warmth of the blankets and curls his arms around Rodney from behind. He rests his head against the nape of Rodney’s neck, then presses a kiss there.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
He presses another soft kiss to punctuate the point.
Rodney’s body slumps, coiled tension releasing. It works today, but it doesn’t always. Sometimes there’s no slump. Sometimes there’s Rodney shaking him off with muttered words John never quite makes out and the click-clacking of the keyboard resumes. John never argues anymore, just slips back into bed and drifts back off, ensuring that he, at least, has had enough rest to be alert and able to protect his scientist.
Today, though, Rodney follows him, shedding uniform clothes until he’s down to an undershirt and briefs. John slides to the far side of the bed, the cold side, letting Rodney slip into the warmth John left behind. He lets him wriggle and settle, watching as he sighs contentedly in his newly created pocket of comfort. John slides back, curling an arm and leg over Rodney, who wriggles and settles and sighs contentedly once more. John waits, listens, for Rodney’s breathing to even out. Makes sure.
They sleep.
42 notes - Posted November 26, 2022
#2
So friends, mcshep sick fic. But not h/c, hilarity of huge misunderstandings instead. @dedkake’s fault. Can’t remember how we got here 😆
Established relationship (or not, really could work either way).
John’s in bed. Wakes up. Is feeling gross. Headache, stuffed nose, sore throat, achey muscles, too hot/too cold in turns. The works.
Sees Rodney puttering around his room, picking up used tissues, clearing a soup bowl, refilling a cold water glass. But…
He’s in a hazmat suit.
Cue panic. John must be dying. Whatever he’s got, it’s bad. Alien bacteria, ebola… something that warrants quarantine protocols. Oh no. But Rodney. Hypochondriac Rodney is there. Quiet. Caring.
John is so in love. Has been. For so long. Suddenly Rodney must know. This could be his last chance, right?! Must tell him.
Feverish outpouring of feelings. Over the top love confession. So Un-john. Hardly making sense because hello fever. Rodney just standing there stupid.
What the fuck has gotten into you?
I’m dying.
No you’re not.
But hazmat suit. Quarantine.
I just don’t want your gross flu germs. You’re a disgusting human petri dish.
John why do I love this absolute idiot omg.
Rodney I love you too. But you’re still gross. I’ll kiss you when there is no longer a hazmat suit between us.
44 notes - Posted March 12, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
File this under fanfic writer problems:
Coming to an Ao3 page near you, John’s… cocoa ☕️
It’s hot.
Real hot.
Steamy.
53 notes - Posted July 27, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →