1 - 20 of 252 Works in SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
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David Parrish gives Evan Lorne an unexpected present - and gets one in return.
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Planning for the Winter Solstice Celebration by Goddess47
Fandoms: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
01 Jun 2025
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Summary
Atlantis was still adapting to having refugees from Earth.
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- Part 69 of McSheplet Prompts
- Part 2 of Rule 5
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It was a disaster!
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- Part 2 of DoMAYstic 2025
- Part 63 of McSheplet Prompts
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After the first time - searing, shocking, sharp, a dunk into an icy pond, from which it feels that you can never quite be warm again - grief settles in like a muscle memory. It always hurts, of course, a slightly varying amount each time, depending on closeness, but that shock of the new is no longer there.
He has done this before. He will do this again.
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The thing that he kept coming back to, over and over again, was the story of what his other self - his real self? His dead self? He tried not to think about it - had done for John Sheppard
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"Rodney!" John hissed. "Why is all of SG-1 here?"
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- Part 60 of McSheplet Prompts
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It wasn’t until after a few visits to their new trading partners, Jarvia - old allies of Athos and a particularly good source of wool, cheese and these deliciously creamy little pastries which he had privately decided just might be worth selling his soul for - that Rodney was confronted with the way that so much of the standard love terminology centred around offal.
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"You're still reading that?" Rodney asked, amused. The battered copy of War and Peace sat on the table next to John's side of the bed.
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- Part 43 of McSheplet Prompts
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By the time he reached twenty-one, the Sheppard Empire had been violently overthrown; most of the family killed, or captured; and John, himself, had fled from the ravening mob - who hadn’t seemed prepared to listen to reason, or his five point plan, for a kinder, gentler Empire - and hopped the only ship that would take him.
After all, with his life in ruins and his heart stuffed with grief, it seemed like exactly the right time to become a pirate.
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The Gate room was her duty station. No one was scheduled to return, so the activation was unexpected. Susan left her lunch and ran.
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But this is John; and Rodney’s heart is thudding like a teenager and his breath is hitching and his brain is exploding with poetry, racing by in snatches, the couplets tangling eagerly together. He’ll never breathe a word of them later, not to anyone - not even to John - but he’ll remember them.
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It was ‘Are you serious?’ o’clock on the morning of the day that Rodney McKay would end his friendship with John Sheppard, and he couldn’t help feeling that the weather ought to be doing a little more to acknowledge this.
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"Hey," Sheppard drawled, raising his hands in turn. "I thought you'd be glad of the company. But fair enough if you wanna be antisocial. Just hand over the princess and I'll be on my way."
"The what?" Rodney stared at him, baffled.
"The princess you've got imprisoned up here," Sheppard said, a touch impatiently. "Name of Meredith, heir to the kingdom of Hallona, blue eyes and blonde curls, all that jazz."
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John is working to break the curse of an evil book.
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Dr Weir gave John a conspiratorial grin and there was really no way he was ever going to say no to this. Not when he felt like … not quite so much that he’d come home, but that home had marched right up to him, slung an arm over his shoulder, and said ‘mine’.
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Sleepwalking to success
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He wanted them to be very aware that he was busy and that distractions were extremely unwelcome; and to assume that, if necessary, he was happy to reinforce that implication with a broken nose.
Most people got the idea with commendable swiftness.
McKay wasn’t most people.
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“So, after three weeks of intensive working on the curious stacking crystals, the ones which you were convinced were the key to ZPM energy renewal … you’re telling me that it turns out to actually be the Ancients’ equivalent of Jenga?”
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Sometimes he thinks he ought to want to be different; to be someone else, someone quieter. But the thought of losing this racing, dizzying rush, of his thoughts slipping and faltering, falling off into some pedestrian jogtrot pace, or a trudging crawl, is far more painful still.
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John knew he was neither fish nor fowl in the Expedition.
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- Part 40 of McSheplet Prompts