#because he assumes all things that have happened in the past will happen that way again. and he's in supernatural. so it's a fair assumptio

[verycrowindeed]

Yes I'd o :3 love ya mom

Romantically? My now-ex. Platonically, my friend who was asking for advice

Many things. But most of it is just because now I have a curiosity that cannot be satisfied

I don't think so

05: What is your relationship status?

As of today, single

06: How do you want to die?

Peacefully, surrounded with people who love me

07: What did you last eat?

amburber

08: Played any sports?

Nuh uh

09: Do you bite your nails?

Nope

10: When was your last physical fight?

Idk. I don't get into these. Unless you count wrestling with my sister as a physical fight, in which case it would be a few years or smth

11: Do you like someone?

I'm assuming romantically, so no, I don't think so

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

I think??? I don't remember tbh. But that seems like something that I would do and not remember so, fair.

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

I don't hate

14: Do you miss someone?

Yeah

15: Have any pets?

Like 6 or smth

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

Weird. Very

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

Made out, no. Kissing yes and sex... Also yes...

Yeah not proud of that one

18: Are you scared of spiders?

Kind of? Just the normal amount I think. Mom's arachnophobic so I didn't have the best example growing up

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

I think I would be tempted but I don't know if I would actually do it, i would probably ask a loopy of questions before

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

I didn't know what that word is but Google translate says kiss?

Anyways, his bed I think

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

Working, probably

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

Yes I do! I think just one

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

Nope unless you count ear perforations in which case I have one on each ear buf these were made to me when I was a baby so

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

History and literature,.then logic and Discrete methods which is a type of math

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

It's hard to know when I miss someone so I don't know

26: What are you craving right now?

Love.

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

I think so

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

Not that I am aware of

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

Yes :(

30: What’s irritating you right now?

The fact that I know it could've been better if he had done what I told him to do

31: Does somebody love you?

Many people

32: What is your favourite color?

Don't have one. I love them all

Although I really like the word "Carmesí" which means Crimson in Spanish so

33: Do you have trust issues?

I don't think so

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

A camping trip I think

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

My ex

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

Way too easily

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

There is no easier or harder one. They are different process and depending on the situation one might be faster than the other but it doesn't mean it's the best

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

I hope it isn't, I still have so many years ahead!!!

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

15? Or 16 maybe

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

Nope

51: Favourite food?

The canelones my yaya made. And also her Shephard's pie

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

Yeah sure. It's just that the reason isn't necessarily supernatural

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

Work

54: Is cheating ever okay?

Nope

55: Are you mean?

I try not to be

56: How many people have you fist fought?

None?

57: Do you believe in true love?

Absolutely

58: Favourite weather?

Rainy

59: Do you like the snow?

I don't remember ever seeing snow irl

60: Do you wanna get married?

Not really. But I would have gotten married to him ah re dolida estaba bueno discúlpenme terminamos HOY

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

It would be weird for me but it might be cause I'm not used to hearing that term in spanish

62: What makes you happy?

My cat, insects under the sunlight, my mom, my friends, tasty food, cooking

63: Would you change your name?

Nah

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

It would sure be a hell of an emotional wreck

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

He's gay so that's weird. And also why does it specify the sex lmao

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

Yes? I don't mind what's in their pants

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

What's with the obsession with sex here. Anyways my friend who was asking for advice

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

I don't think I remember

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

Maybe

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

Many people

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[jschlautism]

i just called to say i love you

"…To say that the events of tonight were unexpected would be an understatement, and a large one at that."

notes: first oneshot & fic i've written in a while.. i didn't really proofread it all that much so forgive me if it's a bit messy. also, the reader is intended to be a content creator but i wasn't quite sure how to flesh that out + schlatt is older than the reader. this has like 1,028 words & is gender neutral

As you were getting ready for bed, having just hopped out of the shower, your phone had begun to ring. You honestly had no idea why you had brought it into the bathroom with you in the first place, you hadn’t been expecting anyone to reach out during your nightly routine. Letting a drawn out sigh slip from your lips, you wrap your towel around you and pick up the phone, checking to see who was calling. To your further surprise, it was John.. Or, Schlatt, as everyone knew him. You’d known him for a little while now, and you two had gotten quite close, but he rarely ever contacted you in any way other than messaging… Admittedly, you were concerned at the fact he had decided not to just text.

“John? Why are you calling me at this hour, did something happen?” You ask with worry lacing your words as they escape your mouth. Unsurprisingly, John snaps back with his usual snarky attitude. You knew he wasn’t really like that, he just liked to try and seem intimidating.

“What? Pff, no. Nothing happened, I just wanted to see if you were awake. Got somethin’ to say to ya.” You could practically hear the rolling of his eyes over the phone. You decide the best thing to do in this situation is to try and match his energy as if you two were recording a video. After all, he might actually be calling you for the purposes of a video, he has done that in the past, so you really can’t be sure.

“What, you gonna ask me your dumb bacon question again?” You shoot back at him, a playful tone dripping from your voice, a tone that you hope translates well over the phone. “Because we’ve already established that I’m taking the bacon.” You’d barely given him a chance to even answer your rebuttal before you had spoken again, but after you were done, you could hear him sigh. “No, that’s… Hey, wait, why are you in content mode now?” John seemed a bit confused now, clearly not realizing you assumed he was calling you for a video. You were both quiet for a moment or two, though it wasn’t really an uncomfortable silence. 

Eventually, you decide to speak up. “Hold on, were you not calling me for something related to your channel?” After you finished your sentence, you heard him let out a laugh from the other end of the line. In your defense, though, you genuinely couldn’t tell when the older man wanted to have a genuine conversation, since almost every time you two had spoken, he was usually in content mode himself. ��Ha! No! I wanna talk to ya about somethin’, honest!” He forced his words through his laughter. “Seriously though, and this might be a bit.. odd, comin’ from me, but I just gotta tell you, I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the act.” 

You raise a brow at this, though he can’t see it. Keep up the act? What was this about? “..What do you mean by that, J? You’re okay, right?” The worry returned to your words, betraying you as you tried to keep yourself in check. Picking up on this, John was quick to respond. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine, just…” He sighs heavily. You’re sure he’s running his hand through that slightly curly hair of his. “Look, man, the more we hang out the more I realize that I… think I like you? Maybe?” You can hear him let out a groan, almost as if he’s embarrassed. You let out a soft chuckle and shake your head. “Seriously? That’s all this was about? You’re such a dork.” You respond with nothing but playful intent. In response to that, he huffs. “I’m not a dork, I’m… Okay, maybe I am a dork, but that’s besides the point. I think I like you and I was wondering if you felt the same..?” John got quieter as he spoke as he let his guard down and dropped the persona as a result of that.

Thinking about it, you had honestly had quite the crush on the older content creator for a good bit now. Not wanting the air to stay still for too long, you respond. “What if I do? Are you going to take me out to dinner first or what?” You laugh softly as you hear John practically choke on whatever he was drinking at your response, like he hadn’t been expecting you to even consider him at all. After recovering from his shock, he speaks up, quiet as ever. “I mean… uh.. I could? If you’d… actually want that, anyways.”

A smile creeps onto your face. How could such a big guy be so shy? You didn’t get it, but you did like it. “Of course I would, J.. I’m free whenever.” You then realize you’re still standing in the bathroom with nothing but a towel. “..Except for tonight. You caught me in the middle of my bedtime routine.” Like clockwork, John turns on his ‘charm’, as he calls it, which is really just the persona he uses. “Oh please, you would come outside and meet me at the flip of a dime, let’s be real here, toots.” You can hear him grin. This whole conversation suddenly feels like one of his Youtube ad reads. “No I wouldn’t, nice try. I’m freshly clean and about to get in bed.”

John looks at the clock on his computer. He realizes it is, in fact, late at night. “Tomorrow night, then?” He mumbles, somewhat defeated. He had really wanted to take you out to eat right then and there. He could only hope that tomorrow worked for you. Thankfully, his wish was granted as you responded to him. “Sure, just let me know when you’re on your way to get me?” He smiles to himself. “Yeah, sure thing.”

You two said goodnight and got off the phone. You let out a soft, content sigh as you set your phone down on the sink counter and get yourself dressed. You realized this could be the start of something great.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Critical Mass, Pt. 5

Confirming that Sheppard had dropped what he had been doing and started making his way toward the control platform the moment he had heard the distress in McKay's voice when the gate had started dialing itself, he now walks in and parks himself in front of McKay's work station without saying a word. And again it is almost as though McKay can sense him coming in, beginning to turn toward him before he has made his presence known, before Sheppard had announced his arrival in any way. Certainly we may jot it down for coincidence, McKay deciding it is time to sit just as Sheppard saunters in. But let us note the fact that he is very much in the middle of a sentence, talking to the women standing next to him, one of whom had asked him the question in the first place and was his boss, besides, and apparently he had just decided to turn his back on them midway through his answer.

Weir: How long before they get here? McKay: A day, maybe a day and a half, depending on if they need to make a hyperspace pause along the way. We'll need to cloak the city again. Weir: Even cloaked, the wraith are gonna wonder where the beacon came from. McKay: Well, then, we need a ruse. Um...

This is actually reminiscent of Sheppard walking up to his workstation in The Siege (S02E01) after McKay and Zelenka hail him and Weir to the control platform to inform them that there were twelve hive ships bearing on Atlantis, when Sheppard's main concern had been McKay getting some rest. While McKay had put some distance between them still feeling raw about the flying the jumper into the hive stunt, what Sheppard did then was to park himself right in front of McKay's workstation where we have seen him hanging out before (e.g., Aurora, S0209) because watching McKay work just so happens to be one of his favourite occupations. And not only that, but McKay is in many ways the nerve centre of Atlantis so if he wants to be up to date on things, being near McKay is the best bet for that.

Be that as it may, neither one of them says anything to acknowledge the other now, McKay just assuming that Sheppard is going to jump right in on the conversation and given that he was in radio contact with them before, it is likely he had been a part of this conversation while he was making his way to them. We can tell that McKay is Sheppard's primary focus in how he keeps his eyes fixed on McKay all the way up until McKay looks at him, they exchange the briefest of glances after which Sheppard casts his eyes down and then very pointedly looks to the side -- the side where the women are not, essentially just turning his eyes away from McKay rather than to look at something. But he steps even closer to McKay as he looks away meaning that him not looking at McKay is just for appearances, trying to make it seem a little less like he had made his way directly to McKay.

And so McKay takes a seat and it is interesting that his initial look at Sheppard is hidden by a man walking past just as McKay fixes his eyes on him. But then we see him looking up at Sheppard and he very obviously loses track of his thought as he looks at Sheppard's chest, even sucking in his lower lip. His eyes travel across Sheppard's torso like it is his tac vest that suddenly gives him an idea. More likely of course is that because his mind is occupied looking for a solution, McKay does not have enough bandwidth to not put his eyes where they so obviously want to go, to resist the natural inclination of his gaze. The look he gives Sheppard is honest yearning, and it is quite possible that allowing these two men to work together is criminal negligence at this point.

McKay: We'll take a transmitter and dump it along with some charred rubble on a beach on the mainland, and they'll think it's jetsam that washed up when the city exploded during the siege. Sheppard: Hang on, back up a second. Let me get this straight: you think our bomb guy did this?

McKay does his fist clap thing, patting the side of his fist twice, which usually signals his excitement over having an idea. We may note that Sheppard turns his face away from him again, looking to the side and away from McKay. He has not even glanced at the women so far, his focus is entirely on McKay. And so McKay comes up with what he thinks is a good idea to take care of their wraith problem and he looks up at Sheppard with a smile, hoping that he is as pleased with him as McKay is with himself over having thought of it. Also note the way he opens and closes his mouth as he looks up at Sheppard not because he intends on saying anything but seemingly just because his body is pliant under his gaze and his mouth wants to do things.

It seems as though Sheppard has a hard time concentrating also because when he asks McKay to back up here, he asks him to back way up. McKay had just now been talking about their wraith problem and he had made a comment about the bomb guy back before the emergency beacon had even gone off and they had all been focusing on the wraith since then. McKay had said: "Whoever planted the bomb must have devised a programme to upload itself and automatically dial the gate as backup in case the first dialling was halted," and this is what Sheppard was referring to, only now having processed what McKay had said then. The other alternative is that he once more was able to pick up something from McKay's mind and not from the words he was speaking. What ever it is, Sheppard is not afraid of letting McKay know that he does not understand something.

Also, let us just note the fact that they are focused on each other here. Both of them are turned toward the other and they have slipped into that world of their own, basically having this conversation with each other where Weir and Cadman are merely spectating. And it is not as they mean to do this or that they consciously shut other people out. It is just that they are oriented toward each other, and it is not merely intimacy that gives them a short-hand for communication that makes it difficult for outsiders to get a word in edgewise, it is also that both of them are intelligent and it may be difficult for others to keep up with their pace. And this is another example of Sheppard displaying his intelligence, able to essentially beta test McKay's theories. And again we see how Sheppard is focused on the why where McKay is focused on the how. Sheppard actually verbalizes this difference in how they think here:

McKay: Yes. It'd be easy for him to figure out that the wraith were in the area. We've been tracking them for a while now. Sheppard: So he gets the gate to dial by itself in order to distract us so he can broadcast a distress beacon that'll be picked up by... McKay: ...by the wraith, yes, I believe so. Sheppard: OK, why?

Not only does McKay literally finish Sheppard's sentence here, he also seems uncharacteristically patient and nonabrasive as he waits for Sheppard to process what ever thought is clearly gnawing at his mind here. We saw both during Lost Boys (S02E10) and Epiphany (S02E12) that McKay thinks that Sheppard is clever, and despite not having the same formal education, not having the understanding of Physics and Engineering McKay does, he has shown so many times how his different perspective is able to push McKay further. While both Cadman and Weir are fairly clever, they both just stand back and listen to the two of them puzzle this out, only emphasized by the shot of their faces watching the two men. And Sheppard's line of questioning here is actually what allows McKay to figure it out later that there is no bomb, the intention of the "bomb guy" had been to get them to use the ZPM to overload it and to explode taking the planet with it. It took them working together for him to figure this out.

Also: Sheppard has not looked at either woman at all during the whole scene. In fact, he does not look at them the whole entire scene and when Cadman tries to pipe in, he even turns his face away. It is McKay who even makes an effort to include the women in the discussion.

Cadman: Well, maybe he wants to blow up the wraith along with the city. McKay: Two cruisers. They're insignificant compared to all the hives hips that are still out there. Weir: Well, we don't have much time, so whatever the connection is, let's try to figure it out before the cruisers get here.

We see Sheppard shake his head minutely at Cadman's idea, clearly thinking the same thing that McKay says out loud and being none too friendly about it. This only emphasizes the indulgent response he had for Sheppard because he is willing to entertain Sheppard's line of questioning but he does not have time or energy to deal with nonsense. Sheppard is so pointedly looking away from them that you might think he was avoiding looking at Cadman or Weir for a reason, like he was avoiding their eyes. Only, he has no reason whatsoever to be doing that. It is McKay that he is not looking at, clearly unable to find a balance between looking at him with an intense focus and not looking at him at all. And yet he stays put as Weir leaves, clearly wanting to have a moment alone with McKay even if they are in public.

Come next morning, Sheppard walks into Weir's office and seems much more cozy with her. We do not know if any of them slept at all during the night but we may note that after staying with McKay when Weir walked out, Sheppard has again stripped his jacket and tac vest. Being that they are alone together and half-dressed in her office, this is another moment to tease their relationship in advance of The Long Goodbye (S02E16), distracting us from the actual date to meet up that Sheppard and McKay had earlier, after which Sheppard had likewise shed his outer layers. Given that it is now morning, it is entirely possible that it is straight from McKay that he has come here but there is a clear familiarity to how he walks right up to her to look at her laptop, and he may be doing it intentionally. He needs to make sure that they are on the same page if push comes to shove and he is forced to make some tough calls in the near future. From the looks of it, it appears that they have scheduled a meeting.

Sheppard: Passenger manifest? Weir: Yeah. Sheppard: Any names jump out? Weir: A few, actually. I hate this, having to suspect one of our own.

Note however that Sheppard does not lean over her shoulder to look at the screen but actually keeps a clear distance, twisting his body in an unnatural way just to keep from having it turned toward her. And you can tell that he has his body turned away from her by how he has to turn his head to look at her. Like he has done pretty much the whole time they have known each other, he keeps his pelvis pointing not at her. And while he leans his hands on her desk, he is also leaning away from her. This is not a relaxed pose but looks uncomfortable, and while Sheppard might be trying to put her at ease for what ever reason -- quite possibly to make sure that she makes the right calls here because, as we have seen, he does not take chances with McKay's safety. This is teetering on the brink of becoming a purely military matter, and Sheppard needs them to be able to work together if it does. He needs to make sure that although she stays in charge that Weir will make the calls that he needs her to make.

Sheppard: Unfortunately the list of suspects may not be limited to the Daedalus. Weir: You think the Trust operative might still be here in Atlantis? Sheppard: Well, with everything that's happened: the gate dialling by itself, the distress beacon...

Because keeping both McKay and Atlantis safe is important to Sheppard, it seems like his mind has been working overtime to figure out what might be going on, and he does not have time to sugarcoat things for her. We may also note that his issues seem to be specifically with the things that had happened to or near McKay, that had potentially put him in jeopardy. He smells a rat in their midst and they are going to have to flush it out, he is not going to rest until he finds out who it is and that they no longer pose a threat to McKay. Note also the way that Sheppard leans back just as soon as he has taken his seat, putting distance between them, and he further folds his arms in front of him, confirming that his earlier defensive posture when McKay and Ronon had been with them earlier had been about Weir and not the others. For what ever reason, Sheppard simply does not feel comfortable in her presence. And this is not about any lingering desires, secret longings for her touch, at least not on his part.

Weir: I don't know. Getting themselves blown up along with the city doesn't seem part of their MO. Sheppard: Well, all it takes is one nut to be talked into it. Weir: Wow. OK. Who around here do you suspect? McKay: What about Lieutenant Cadman, hmm?

McKay walks up to Weir's office and stops by the door, and it is unclear whether he had been invited to this meeting or he had just come looking for Sheppard since, as we learn in McKay and Mrs Miller (S03E08), McKay does not get out of bed as early as Sheppard and may have woken up to find him gone. It seems like at this time, although they do not live together (it is at the end of Irresistible (S03E03) that Sheppard moves back in with him), they have been spending more nights together sleeping-sleeping, probably as the result of Sheppard's long exile and need for companionship. What ever the reason, it is rather obvious that McKay had come here to find Sheppard.

Regardless, he walks up to them now and once more, just as McKay had done earlier, Sheppard seems to sense that he is coming even though he makes no sound to announce his arrival, and Sheppard turns his head to acknowledge him, giving him a brief glance before answering Weir. Let us also note the fact that neither change their tones or the topic of conversation as McKay walks in because even though we are meant to suspect everyone, Sheppard does not seem to keep any secrets from McKay. And although McKay's behaviour is a little shifty here, and the audience might be made to suspect him, Sheppard himself does not suspect McKay for an instant. There is literally no one else that he trusts more than McKay. In fact, he seems to use McKay as his "truth barometre."

Sheppard: What? McKay: Hear me out. She's an explosives expert. She was all set to leave on the Daedalus but asked to stay when "something came up." She's always around when things happen. When the distress beacon started-- Sheppard: She's one of the most trusted officers in my command...

McKay accuses Cadman, who just so happens to be one of the people that Sheppard had personally chosen for the mission, and his reasons on the choice seem to have been based purely on merit. Cadman is the kind of officer that would beat many of his male peers, and certainly has even had to have done that to advance within the USMC. Because Sheppard keeps his arms folded and pulls a face when McKay airs his suspicions, it is easy for people to interpret the two of them as being at odds for some reason at this time, as though the two of them were fighting with each other, exchanging those short but intense energy bursts like the wraith cruisers. It is easy to read Sheppard as taking offense at the fact that McKay suspects one of his people.

But given the expression Weir gives as she is listening to McKay's reasoning, he seems to have a valid point. It seems to her that maybe she should be on the list of suspects because she is among a select few people who would even have the expertise to pull this off. McKay's reasons for suggesting her may be personal but it does not make his reasoning faulty. But what is interesting is that McKay himself is the reason Sheppard seems to give her a pass. Not because McKay is a great judge of character (he isn't) but because he thinks that her time inside McKay's head is what vouches for her. She has been deeper inside McKay than even he has. He cannot think of a better letter of recommendation. These two men, they are not fighting. When McKay says things that Sheppard does not like hearing, he does not draw away from him but actually leans his head toward McKay. Even if their interaction here might be described as bickering, it is pulling them toward each other and not to pull away from one another.

Sheppard: ...not to mention the fact that she was stuck in your head for some time. McKay: Do you always have to keep bringing that up? Sheppard: I bring it up because you of all people should know: she'd never do something like that. McKay: Well, maybe she was brainwashed, huh?

What is interesting here is that they are in Weir's office, they are both facing her and it is as though they are talking to her when in fact they are talking to each other, having slipped into that world of their own again. And because McKay started making his case for Weir, it seems like it was Sheppard who shut her out of the conversation, who made them go into a back-and-forth that they both seem to find extremely comfortable. But although Sheppard may have facilitated it, it is McKay's "Do you always..." that makes this sound like a married couple squabbling in public. They are having a discussion that they seem to have had many times previously and are now looking for an arbiter for, someone to tell them who is being reasonable and who is not. Earlier Sheppard had asked McKay when he is going to stop being creeped out by her, clearly worried about him and not her. And McKay makes it sound like this topic has come up more than a few times, and in what contexts we do not know. What this tells us that they talk amongst themselves a whole hell of a lot more than we get to see.

But it seems very clear that for Sheppard the fact that she had been inside McKay's head is a point in her favour. Let us recall that even on her first mission, Sheppard had trusted her enough to put not only McKay but also the chief medical officer under her protection. Although he is doing this for a personal reason, McKay is not being unreasonable or necessarily even wrong but as far as Sheppard is concerned, nothing proves her worthiness as a person more than the fact that McKay had been willing to sacrifice himself to save her. He would not have trusted McKay into her protection now if that had not been the case.

McKay: The Goa'uld are very clever when it comes to things like manipulating-- Cadman: Excuse me. Doctor Weir. Weir: Yes? Cadman: Flight just confirmed that the Daedalus has landed alongside the east pier. Weir: Thank you.

The old adage says that when you speak of the Devil, he shall appear and so Cadman walks in when McKay is mid-rant. Although Cadman gives him a dark look and MCKay himself certainly looks like he has egg on his face, it is unlikely that Cadman had overheard enough to be able to tell that they were talking about her. As far as she knew, they were discussing the Goa'uld. But McKay feels mortified, and what ever look Sheppard gave him as he got up from his chair that we did not get to see but which McKay was able to read as clear as day seems not to have helped his situation any.

But I want to point out this: we see Sheppard turn his face toward McKay as he speaks, and even from the position of his ear as we are given shots of Weir over his shoulder we can see that he keeps looking at McKay. And not only that, but he full on leans into McKay's space here. He even unfolds his arms toward the end, and it is not caused by the arrival of Cadman. Sheppard does not have beef with McKay here. He only intends to keep McKay safe. Even from himself.

Continued in Pt. 6

[marcelloandtyler]

By the time he reached the summit, snow had begun to fall. It was light and pretty and he wasn't too concerned, figuring it might just be a dusting in the mountains. It wasn't uncommon in the winter for such things to happen, as evidenced by the depth of the snow towards the top of the 3,000 foot mountain he'd ascended. Marcello wasn't an expert in the mountains, but he wasn't stupid. He was aware of weather dangers and how things could quickly change, and this didn't worry him. Besides, he'd past by a few other hikers - some going up, like him, and some descending. It was nice knowing he wasn't alone out here.

Instead, he focused on the beauty of the fresh snow clinging to the needles on the pine trees and the way everything sagged with the weight of it. At the top, he felt better. Marcello knew Levi. His depression was coating his brain, like a plague seeping into his thoughts and tainting everything into something ugly. Max had been trying to get under his skin and when he talked to Levi later, he would tell him how it all made him feel and get his take on it. He had to trust Levi. They'd talked about all of this in the past and he'd warned Levi about his depressive episodes, so he knew his boyfriend would understand. He just had to trust it, had to trust Levi. They were together for a reason.

At the top, he snapped a few photos because it was too gorgeous not to. He had no bars and he realized his battery was pretty low, so he turned his phone off to conserve it for the way home. He had an orange and a protein bar before he made his way back down. It was, admittedly, more difficult to descend with the snow making things a bit slippery, but his mood was better and he took it slow.

It was the late afternoon when he got back to his car and he realized almost immediately that the snow was sweeping through the whole area. The parking lot was coated and not yet plowed, but he didn't think it looked too bad. He dropped his bag in the backseat, started the engine to warm it up, and grabbed his brush to dust off the car. Once he finished, he got into the car to leave. As soon as he put it in reverse, his heart sank. His tires spun and he could only back out about a foot before it stopped. He tried a few times, rocking his car back and forth, but it was useless. He was stuck.

He took a deep breath and relaxed back, trying to figure out what to do. He had no service, but he figured a plow would be around eventually; though, would they really prioritize plowing a small parking lot with a trailhead? The only thing that made him feel a little better was small pickup truck and an SUV in the parking lot and he assumed they belonged to the people he'd passed on the trail. Maybe they'd be able to help in some way.

Marcello sat there for nearly an hour before two women who looked to be in their 20s exited the trail and began heading towards the SUV. He sucked up his anxiety and hopped out of his car, walking over to them, giving them a wave.

"Hey! Uh-- My car is stuck and I've no service," he said.

"Oh no! We have no service either," one of them said. "Do you need a ride? This baby can get through anything." She patted the hood of the SUV as the other girl grabbed a snow brush out of the car and began dusting it off.

Marcello's brows furrowed. "Uh-- Maybe? I don't really know what to do. I was hoping someone would be by to plow," he said.

"They probably will eventually," she said, glancing around. "We're happy to give you a ride, though, and maybe you can call a plow company for help?"

Marcello nodded, considering. He really wasn't sure he had any other options unless he wanted to possibly sit in his car until morning. Without service, he had no way of getting out of here.

"Okay," he said. "Thank you. That's really kind of you."

"No problem," she said, smiling. "I'm Lucy and that's Megan."

Megan waved. "Sorry about your car," he called as she scraped the back window. Lucy opened the driver's side and got in to start the SUV.

"Yeah, it kind of blows," he admitted, managing a smile. "Let me just grab my bag."

He went back to his car and turned it off, taking his keys and bag, making sure he had his wallet before he returned to the girls.

The SUV had difficulty navigating the streets and they drove slow, Lucy gripping the steering wheel. Marcello learned they were from Massachusetts, too, and were renting an Airbnb to enjoy winter sports for the week during their college winter break. When Lucy nearly slid off the road, they decided to head back to their Airbnb since it was close by. Marcello hated the idea of driving all the way home in this weather, but he supposed the plows would be out and he'd just go slow and get home late.

"Oh god, I just remembered," Megan said as they pulled into the snow covered driveway of a little, yellow house. "We barely have service here."

"Is there wifi?" Marcello asked. "I just need to make that call and text some family."

"Yes, and there's a phone, actually. Which we both thought was weird because like what is it, 2005?" Lucy asked, laughing. "Who has landlines anymore?"

They went inside and stomped off their shoes on the mat. The girls shed their clothes and boots and they invited Marcello to do the same, allowing them to dry by the heater. Lucy retrieved the Wifi password for him, which he used to first google who to call about plowing. He found a number and got no one, then tried a few more that he found until someone finally picked up. Basically, they were all hands on deck and he gave them the location of the trail where his car was stuck and they said they'd get to it as soon as they could, but it'd likely be hours.

"Fuck," he said as he hung up.

"Hey, no sweat, you're like... gay, right?" Megan asked.

Lucy smacked her arm. "You can't just--"

"He's got a rainbow pin on his bag and--"

"Oh my god," Megan sighed.

"Um," Marcello said, blushing. "Yeah. Definitely gay."

"Okay, well you can totally stay here, right?" Megan asked, looking at Lucy, who nodded agreeably.

"We're not psycho murderers, promise," Megan added.

Marcello laughed a little. "I'm also not," he said. "Alright. Uh. Let me text my boyfriend..."

MARCELLO: Hey, so sorry. Went for a hike in NH and it snowed. I'm stuck. Long story, but bad service and dying battery.

"Hey, do either of you have an iPhone charger?" he asked. It turned out they were both Droid users and of course the one he'd packed was in his car, so he was out of luck. He kept typing.

[cont.]: Be home as soon as I can tomorrow. Love you.

He stared at his phone, seeing how long it was taking to go through when he looked up at the Wifi. It was down to one bar. He sighed, holding his phone. He powered the screen down, hoping to preserve battery and praying it would go through. As he waited, he chatted with the girls who were very nice but extremely nosy.

Finally, it looked like the text went through just as he saw a couple messages from Levi pour in as the service restored. Before he could read them, his phone died. He wanted to cry, honestly, but he had to keep it together as there was nothing he could do. He was just glad he'd gotten the text through. Too bad he had no one's phone number memorized and he hadn't thought to write it down before or he'd at least call his twin.

He needed a distraction.

"Hey, do you want me to cook dinner? I'm a professional chef," he said, hoping to dodge more questions from them and offer them something up for his gratitude. They were very pleased to accept the offer.

Levi worked through the day, focusing on making sure his oil changes went okay. He was moved up to working on a car with one of the other employees after lunch and was grateful to be able to get in there and really show off his skills.

He felt like he'd done a good job of it when the other said he was impressed after checking over his work, and he smiled at him, giving him thanks.

He went to clean up at the end of the day, wiping the grease from himself before changing out of his uniform and into his clothes.

When he was all cleaned up, he checked his phone, furrowing his brows when he didn't see a message from Marcello. He wasn't sure if that meant he didn't want food or if he'd forgotten, so he typed up a quick message.

LEVI: Hey, I'm going to head out. Did you want dinner?

He sent the message and then went to punch out before hopping in his car. He figured he could check his messages closer to home because there were some good, fast places out that way.

[july-19th-club]

house md wildest show on earth. a main character outright assassinates a known dictator, a moment that would be the very beginning or the mid-series crisis in any other show - an act which creates a power vacuum in a foreign nation already filled with child soldiers and genocide, and it's literally only brought up again throughout the season because that guy's wife divorces him over it. and occasionally to explore his relationship with who he is as a person and a catholic after having deliberately taken a life for what he calculates as the greater good, but mostly it's about his divorce

[exopelagic]

List of my curses:

• Cassandra

• straight boys keep happening to me

[keen-eye]

s4:

their first time was assumed by both of them to be their one and only time, then dean comes back from hell. as soon as bobby is gone, and before dean can try to deflect, sam makes sure that dean knows that he doesn’t regret what they did and that things can be as they were before. dean (lying) tells sam that he doesn’t feel that way about sam anymore, that it’s like hell rewired his brain. it’s hard to tell if sam actually believes this, but he accepts it and they move on

4x01-4x13 could mostly stay the same. dean’s jealousy would be amped way up. dean already knows that sam told ruby that he and dean had sex when dean found out that the “so are you two like... together?” girl was actually ruby. but we see how it happened in the IKWYDLS flashback when ruby is trying to seduce sam while he isn’t sober. and it could be both another reason why sam doesn’t want to taint himself any further and how ruby finally coerces him. like in the show he’s comforted by the fact that she acts like dean and it’s complex because they also have a weird parental/sexual relationship, all of it clouding his judgement

but like back then and with dean’s return, it’s not that sam actually reciprocates their feelings but everything has just gotten so confusing. sam telling dean that they could go back to normal was also for his own sake, and now again they both decide not to unpack all that. as for sex and violence…dean still wants a submissive little brother who worships him, the added sexual nature, however, is very much sam-specific. but because the siren was giving dean not just the perfect brother but the perfect sam then that would translate too. so add all of that and the extra ruby parts to their fight. then the aftermath would be even messier (it would need to be addressed, not glossed over like in the actual show). obviously dean was lying about hell erasing his sexual feelings for sam and sam has had enough and tries to make dean talk to him about everything, which doesn’t go over well

afterwards things go the same as in the show (except the monster at the end of this book is 100% more uncomfortable, their meeting chuck and finding out about wincest, which they quickly move past) until when the levee breaks. i like the headcanon that dean noncons sam, but in my version dean is a hallucination. and sam doesn’t realize it is until afterwards. sam’s conscience uses dean as a mouthpiece to reinforce that sam is a monster for drinking the demon blood and using his powers and for having sex with dean and ruby. then sam hallucinates mary after that and encourages himself to do what needs to be done because he still has a chance to do something good. then sam & dean have their fight in the motel, but i wouldn’t want them to address dean still having those feelings for sam (that’s for s5) because i like it just as it is. and then they kill ruby, dean retaking his claim over sam

How do you imagine Sam and Dean would have first sex? When do you think it is most likely to happen?

i’m going to add onto what i wrote in this post with them starting in s3 and then i’ll go through how it would build up across the following seasons

i think it makes more sense for their sexual relationship to start in s3 instead of the later seasons, if you wanted to try to fit it into canon (this is probably a snoozefest for others but it’s how i like to play with spn). realistically the show making the decision/receiving network permission to introduce it after so long is highly unlikely and would alienate a vast majority of their audience. so let's just pretend that it was planned from the show’s very beginning and the actors knew what they signed up for

s3: same as what i already wrote, but this post by @28confusedthoughts reminded me of dream a little dream of me, i had forgotten that was in s3. my version is that while they’re separated inside dean’s mindscape sam sees some sort of manifestation (either a dream!dean or a dream!sam&dean) that reveals dean’s hidden feelings. i’d have dean know that sam found out but sam doesn’t know that dean knows he did. dean’s convinced himself that now that sam has finally realized exactly how twisted dean is he’ll never want anything to do with him ever again (we already know this will never happen)

dean is on edge waiting for the fallout but sam does a good job at pretending like everything is normal. he had his initial shock/revoltion but sam understands that the role john thrust upon dean and the nature of their upbringing would explain why he developed these feelings (it certainly explains a lot of his past behavior), and that it’s not dean’s fault. what sam saw is ingrained into his mind and it makes him sick, but he decides not to do anything about it because although he always tries to get dean to talk about his feelings, this time it’s just too much for sam. and dean doesn’t have a lot of time left so why put them both through it. then mystery spot is next where sam is trapped in his grief, his only purpose being to avenge dean, to do whatever it takes. after sam gets dean back and he's still bound for hell, that's when sam starts to consider what his other “whatever it takes” for dean would entail

but it isn’t until the night before no rest for the wicked when dean has just over 30 hours left and is starting to hallucinate that sam goes off on his own and prays (out-loud so the audience can get some sam introspection). sam has loved and idolized dean as long as he can remember, and he feels like he owes dean whatever he can give for always taking care of him (he doesn’t, but sam believes it). however, his struggle with his purity is at odds with this. sam asks god for some sort of sign to tell him what to do (nothing happens), then he decides that it’s worth it because dean is more important than anything to him. sam doesn’t tell dean any of this when he comes back and confesses that he knows how dean feels about him because sam doesn’t want to make dean feel like he’s taking advantage of him (any more than he already does). so sam initiates and after repeatedly reassuring dean that he wants to do this, dean takes it from there and sam lets him worship him

okay, i’m gonna leave this here and then add s4 → onwards in the reblogs when i have time :)

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[foone]

Full disclosure ahead of time: I'm trans, and not a fan of Harry Potter, as you might guess. However...

My favorite thing about the writing of Harry Potter is how the first book is set several years earlier for no reason. It's set in 1991 and came out in 1997

Then because of how the books came out over many year and each book is a year later in the story, the last book ends up being set in 1997 and published in 2007, a full decade later.

This would be an interesting writing exercise if it was at all used by J. K. Rowling, but it's not. This very specific dating of the books, and increasing dated setting is just there so that Rowling can make repeated anachronistic errors because she forgot her characters aren't living in the modern day.

There is no upside to definitively setting Harry Potter in the near past: nothing comes of it in a way that'd be impossible to do if the books were set in a vague present. All setting them in the past does is let Rowling repeatedly make mistake, like having Dudley get a Playstation for his birthday.

In the 1997 she wrote that in? Perfectly reasonable present for a kid! In the summer of 1994 this scene is set it? Fucking impossible. The PS1 wouldn't be out in Japan until that December, and wouldn't be released in Europe until the next year, after his NEXT birthday.

And it's like... This is just the most well known of the anachronisms. There's an endless parade of them solely because she decided to set the books in specific years, a choice which gained her NOTHING! This doesn't happen because the final battle needs to happen at the millennium for prophecy reasons, or because she needs her characters to meet up with real life people who were dead or otherwise unavailable by the time the books were written, it's just some story element she picked and then never for one second thought about the consequences.

(Another retroactively funny mistake caused by this is that she ends up having a character inadvertently misgender Margaret Thatcher of all people, because they call the previous prime minister "he", and the because the scene is set in 1996, the prime minister is John Major, so the previous one should be Thatcher, but she's clearly thinking the current PM would be Tony Blair, and the previous one would be John Major)

I dunno. It feels like there's something meaningful in how J. K. Rowling made a clearly bad decision once and hasn't thought about any of the negative effects of her decision, standing by and doubling down on it, no matter how much it doesn't help her or anyone. It just seems like this might be a metaphor for something.

But who can really say?

(that last line assumes you're using dark mode)

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[lenorenevermore99]

Why 457 is actually valid af and not just a "joke" ship

I wanna start this by saying that I'm in no way, shape or form convinced 457 is canon nor I think there will be anything remotely romantic between the two of them in season 3. But people seem to think it's just a joke inside the fandom, while actually, their dynamic is pretty fucking valid and I want to analyze that in this post.

One of the most discussed things (if not the most) when it comes to this ship is the stares.

Some think this is the stare of love, others think In-ho just enjoys seeing him suffer. Well, let me tell you it is neither.

But before we delve into the way In-ho stares at Gi-hun, we first have to go back to talk about Hwang In-ho as a character.

As we know, Hwang In-ho is the Winner of the 2015 Squid Game. He went into the games so he could have the money to treat his sick, pregnant wife, much like Gi-hun who did the same for his sick mother. Both of them won the game, but both of them were too late to save the person they loved from a sad fate.

This lead to In-ho becoming the Frontman. We don't know exactly what happened in the timeframe between him winning and him becoming the Frontman, but we can safely assume that after loosing his wife, In-ho lost faith in humanity. The games have destroyed him, they turned him into the villain he is today.

And the thing is, when he looks at Gi-hun, he sees his past self in him. This was confirmed by both Lee Byung Hun (In-ho's actor) and the director of the show himself.

Or to be more precise, he sees his past self. He sees who he was before the games changed him. And this is what led to his fascination and obsession with Gi-hun, because here's the thing; the games traumatized Gi-hun, but they didn't break his faith and hope in humanity, like they did with In-ho himself.

And this is the thing that, in my view, both fascinates and deeply angers In-ho. Deep inside, subconsciously, he is thinking, "Why were YOU able to retain your hope in humanity? Why were you able to remain a good person when I couldn't?"

In-ho was genuine when he told Gi-hun he wished he'd try to be happy after winning (or to better say, surviving) the games. I find it especially interesting when he tells him "Just pretend it was all a dream."

In-ho wishes he could pretend it was all a dream, but he couldn't. Think about it: he's a billionaire, but he lives in a shitty, small apartment. He doesn't talk to his mother, he doesn't talk to his brother, he doesn't even go visit his wife at the cemetery. Pardon me for borrowing the phrase from The Hunger Games, but he's not living the life of a victor. whether it's because he feels guilty or something else, I guess we'll find out in the next season, but that's not the point. The point is, that In-ho wants Gi-hun to do what he wasn't able to do after he won. He wants him to be happy because he sees himself in Gi-hun.

This is the most important point in this post.

Now I wanna focus on these moments. During the second game, during mingle, and during the lights-out massacre, we see Gi-hun being absolutely destroyed over the players that were killed. He's undoubtedly blaming himself for it. And here we see In-ho staring at him, not with the look of love, not with joy at his suffering, but with sorrow. He's sad for Gi-hun, because he could have spared himself further suffering if he didn't stubbornly decide to go back into the games.

What In-ho is thinking right here, in my view, is; "See? There is no hope. There is nothing you can do. Stop torturing yourself, just give it up already. How much more pain do you have to go through before you give up? Accept you can do nothing and go on with your life. Try to be happy."

Now you might be asking, okay, but what does that have to do with romantic love?

Well let me tell you that these feelings I just described can easily and quickly turn into love.

Many philosophers over the centuries have come to the same conclusion; we see part of ourselves in the people we fall in love with.

"The Front Man believes that Gi-hun is wrong in his way of thinking, but perhaps, he reflects on himself through Gi-hun. He does want to destroy Gi-hun's belief. I felt that a small part of him, unknowingly, might be hoping for Gi-hun's thoughts to be right. And rooting for him in some way."

These words Lee Byung Hun said about In-ho, makes me think of Jacques Lacan's theory in particular (which is a rather complex topic and I will try to summarize as shortly and as simply as I can).

For Lacan, love, at least in the beginning, is essentially a form of narcissism. When we fall in love, we're also falling in love with ourselves. We see ourselves in the other person, but we also see in the other what we subconsciously think we are lacking in ourselves. Which doesn't mean the other person will fix us because, at least according to Lacan, this lack is something that can never actually be "fixed".

And I think that's exactly was is happening with In-ho. He sees in Gi-hun what he's lacking in himself. They were traumatized the same way, but reacted in two completely different manners. In-ho became cruel and disillusioned with humanity, while Gi-hun still believes in humanity and wants to save everyone.

I know that this way, 457 seems like a one-sided kind of love, but that's honestly my personal interpretation of the ship. I think Gi-hun could have fallen for Young-il, for the person In-ho was before the games, if they had more time. But the Frontman In-ho? The person he became after becoming the Frontman? There's no way.

Not all loves are meant to happen, not all lovers get to be lovers. Some are meant to just leave us wondering what could have been. Which is what makes transformative works so fun and interesting! From the canonverse toxic fics to the wholesome alternative universe flower shop fics, I think their dynamic is valid as fuck.

I rest my case.

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 3

Despite your promise not to sneak behind the team again, you find yourself in a compromising position when you’re forced to ride in the same car as him.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Nipple/breast play, dry humping, semi public, dirty talk, and technically this isn’t car sex but everything happens in a car, there’s just no penetration. ~2.5k words (not proofread)

A/n: This wasn’t supposed to be in my WIP but… I blame him for looking so slutty in that shirt. Btw, this is shorter because I already have a lot on my plate but I really wanna squeeze this in, so enjoy! If you’ve been following since the first part, our kinky, slightly exhibitionist duo is back

You liked to think you had a good sense of self control when it came to your sex drive. In your past relationships, you were rarely the one to make the first move. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy sex—far from it, actually—but you didn't see it as the centerpiece of a relationship. Sex was enjoyable, yes, but it wasn’t everything.

At least, that's what you thought until now.

You recently reached a realization that three factors led you to reconsider this long-held belief, and unsurprisingly, they all revolved around Spencer Reid.

The first one was his choice of clothes. It seemed like he had woken up one day and decided that undoing the top buttons of his shirt was the new norm. It was as if he was taunting you, and it was working. The moment you saw him wearing that shirt this morning, all you could think about was dragging him into a storage room and have your dirty, nasty way with him.

The second thing was the way your heart raced when he accidentally brushed his hand against yours as you both reached for the car keys. Emily had asked you both to interview a key witness, and naturally, you assumed you’d be the one driving because Spencer rarely volunteered to take the wheel. But to your surprise, he insisted on driving.

It was strange. You wondered what had prompted this change, but you didn’t protest. In fact, you let him. Happily. Because this set the stage for what became the third significant moment that made you reconsider everything.

Him driving the damn car.

You found yourself unable to keep your eyes off him. The way his hands gripped the wheel, moving with effortless control that hinted at a confidence he rarely displayed. Your gaze traveled up his arm, noting the tension in his muscles, and the way his shirt tightened across his shoulders with each turn.

Then there was his face. Your gaze drifted to his jawline, appreciating the sharp angles and the way it tightened slightly when he was deep in concentration. You had to squeeze your thighs together because watching him drive was enough to make you wet.

It was highly inappropriate, of course. You were both on the job, and there was a witness to interview. So you forced yourself to stay professional. It wasn’t until after you finished, after you and Spencer had informed Emily of what you had found and given her the necessary details over the phone, that your ogling became more prominent on the drive back to the station.

And despite being subtle about it, Spencer seemed to know the effect he had on you.

“Is there something you want to say?” His voice was low, slightly amused, as he spared a quick glance in your direction before focusing back on the road.

You forced yourself to look away from his hands. “What do you mean?”

“You seem… distracted.”

You swallowed, trying to muster up an explanation that wouldn’t give away too much. “Just thinking about the case.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting back a smile. “Really? Because it looked more like you were deep in thought about something else.”

You felt a flush of warmth rise to your cheeks. “Well, maybe the case isn’t the only thing on my mind.”

“Oh? And what else were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know if you’d be interested.”

“Try me.”

You turned your body towards him. “It’s highly inappropriate.”

“Now you’ve really got my attention.”

You hesitated, feeling the car’s warmth envelope you, making the space seem smaller, more intimate. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking about... how well you handle the steering wheel.”

Spencer laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the car. “Is that your way of saying you like my driving, or something more metaphorical?”

“Maybe a bit of both. I mean, a person’s driving does say a lot about them, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he agreed. “And what does my driving say about me?”

“That you’re good with your hands.”

Spencer’s eyes met yours briefly, and you squeezed your thighs tighter.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said finally, his voice low. There was a brief pause and you wondered whether you had gone too far, whether this wasn’t the right time or place to flirt so openly, but then he spoke again.

“And since we’re sharing, I was thinking about something a bit inappropriate too.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “Like what?”

“Like how it’s hard to focus on the road when you’re looking at me like that.”

“…how am I looking at you?”

He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Like you want me to pull over to the side of the road and kiss you.”

A silence fell between you, and for a moment, you could hardly breathe. You felt a flush of warmth spread through your body, and you bit your lip, considering his words.

“And what if I do?” You asked softly.

You noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, clearly fighting to maintain his composure.

“Then I’d have to find a quiet place for us.”

Your body responded immediately, a wave of heat coursing through you as your breath quickened. You could feel your pulse thrumming in your veins, an urgent, needy beat that matched the thoughts racing through your mind.

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Pull over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours. Then, without hesitation, he scanned the road for a safe spot. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him steer the car onto a narrow, dark lane shielded by dense shrubs. The path seemed to swallow the sound of the engine as he drove further away from the main road.

The silence that followed was thick as he turned off the engine. You both stared at each other, acutely aware of what you were about to do, about the potential consequences, but everything blurred as you both moved at the same time.

Everything was fast, a rush of motion and emotion as Spencer leaned over the console. His lips met yours with an urgency that left no room for hesitation.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, while you clung to his arm. He kissed you hungrily, desperately, as if trying to communicate every unspoken word through the press of his mouth against yours. The more he kissed you, the more you felt the heat between your thighs and you realized that, in fact, you really had no control over your sex drive.

You then opened your mouth, letting him sink his tongue into you, pressing your body against his. But he was too far away, and you needed more of his heat, more of him. So, you undid your seat belt and did the only thing that felt natural—you climbed onto his lap.

You both moaned when his cock finally pressed against your core, and he found your lips again, his hand cradling the back of your head while the other rested firmly on your hips, urging you to move. The movement was instinctive, a rhythm that was driven by desperation.

You felt his mouth kisses trail from your lips down to your neck, marking a trail of heat that had you burning for more. Your fingers found the buttons of your shirt, and before you could second guess yourself, you undid them one by one.

Spencer’s hands followed the path you created, tracing the newly exposed skin. His large palms moved along your ribs before they rested just beneath your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples through the fabric of your bra. You gasped, your head falling back in sheer pleasure.

His lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin. His fingers pulled down your bra, exposing your breasts, and when he quickly sucked on your sensitive nub without warning, you bucked your hips, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

His sound of pleasure vibrated against your skin when you moved your hips at a steady pace, the friction driving you both to new heights. You could feel the material of your underwear sticking between your wet folds, and you wished desperately that there was no barrier between you. But time was ticking, and you both knew you were on the clock.

This had to be enough.

Spencer pulled back slightly, your nipple stretching with him, your supple skin following his movements until he let go with a soft pop. He then turned his attention to your other breast, his tongue teasingly circling your hardened nipple before hungrily engulfing it in his mouth.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as you arched your back. You felt his hands roaming over your waist, holding you steady, grounding you even as you felt yourself spiraling higher into a state of pure ecstasy.

“Spence,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. His response was to look up at you with those intense, brown eyes as he continued to suck on your nipple.

His mouth moved with deliberate precision, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks, driving you completely insane. You could feel your control slipping, your body responding to his every touch, and you found yourself unable to think of anything but him. The way he made you feel, the way his touch ignited every nerve in your body.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him on, lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. His lips left your breast, trailing kisses up your chest and neck until he reached your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss that left you breathless.

The taste of him, the feel of his body against yours, was everything you had been longing for.

“More,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a desperate plea.

“I know, I know,” he murmured back. “I got you.”

You shook your head, breathless. “I wanna feel you.”

He groaned. How he wanted that to happen, but you were both gone long enough and reality was beginning to intrude on your stolen moment.

“We can’t, not here,” he said, his voice strained with desire as he rested his forehead against yours. “We don’t have enough time.”

You bit your lip, trying to push back the disappointment. “I know, but I-I need you.”

“Soon,” he promised. “When we have more time, I’ll give you everything you need.”

Your hips moved faster. “Everything?”

He nodded, his eyes fluttering close when he felt you pressing harder on his cock. “Everything.”

“You’ll finally fuck me?”

His breath hitched at your bold words, his control slipping further.

“Say it. Say you’ll fuck me.”

His self-control wavered, the raw desire in your voice pushed him to the edge as his palms gripped your ass.

“Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?”

You never thought there would be a time when you’d hear those words from him, and yet here you were, craving for more. You nodded and grinded against him, trying to find that delicious pressure on your clit.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice laced with urgency. “I want you to fuck me hard.”

Spencer groaned, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in closer. “Then imagine me inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Think about my cock sliding into you, filling you up completely.”

“F-Fuck,” you gasped, moving against him rhythmically. Who would’ve thought he’d be good at this?

“Imagine my hands gripping your hips, pulling you down onto me,” he continued, his breath warm against your neck. “You’d feel every inch, deep and perfect.”

Your heart pounded as his fantasy played out in your thoughts. “Yes,” you gasped, finding it hard to keep steady. “Please, keep going.”

“I’d set a rhythm that drives you crazy,” he murmured. “Fast, then slow, teasing you, drawing out every moan and gasp until you’re begging me not to stop.”

“Oh God…” you moaned. “Please…”

He continued, relentless and commanding. “And when you’re close, when you’re right on the edge, I’d look into your eyes, whisper how beautiful you are, how good you feel wrapped around me…”

“Spencer, I—”

“And then I’d thrust harder, deeper,” he cut off your words, his tone intense. He pressed a hand against your lower abdomen as if to illustrate his point. “I’d fill you completely, over and over, until all you can do is cling to me and take it.”

You were practically trembling now, his words and slight touches driving you wild.

“I’m so close,” you managed to breathe out, your movements becoming less rhythmic and more desperate. His hands went back to your hips. His grip tightened, steadying and encouraging your frantic movements as he felt his own orgasm nearing.

“Come with me,” he whispered, pressing himself closer to you.

His words, his grip, his presence overwhelmed you. You felt the buildup, almost unbearable, as if every nerve in your body focused on the impending release. Then, with a final, mutual push, you felt the wave break.

Pleasure surged through you, intense and all-consuming. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you down as he drove himself up, his name spilling from your lips in a cry of release. You felt him tense, heard his own cry muffled against your skin, as he reached his climax with you.

Panting, you both slowed, the car filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft hum of the engine in the background. Spencer’s hands softened on your hips, caressing now, soothing the spots where his fingers had pressed.

You ran a hand through his thick hair. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a dirty mouth?”

His grin was both sheepish and proud as he met your gaze. “You’re actually the first person to hear it.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his hands carefully adjusting your clothes. “It seems you have a way of bringing out a side of me I didn’t know I had.”

You watched him, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There was so much you wanted to say, so many feelings swirling inside you, but the words felt too fragile for the moment. Instead, you settled for the silence.

Spencer didn’t seem to mind. He tapped your hip gently, drawing your attention. “Come on, I think we need to drop by the hotel before we go back to the station.”

When he caught the startled look you sent him, he laughed.

“To change my pants. Nothing else.”

“…oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

You blushed, caught off guard by his remark and your own reaction. “No, I just—” you started, then paused, searching for the right words. “I mean, yes, maybe a little.”

His smile widened, pleased by your response. “I’ll tell you what,” he began. “After we finish this case, after we fly back, let’s spend time together. Just you and me.”

Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. You wondered what it would be like to have him pressed against you with nothing between you, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat directly under your palms.

The thought made you both nervous and excited at the same time.

“Really?”

He leaned in for a kiss. “Really.”

“You promise?”

He smiled against your lips.

“I promise.”

[july-19th-club]

first time i watched 'no exit' i was 100% in jo's corner like oh great it's sexist dean time . wheeee let's all watch her learn a lesson about hunting and he can be 'right' in a factual way but he'll be as obnoxious as possible about it the whole time . now i think what's happening here is that he has pretty much instantly samzoned her, as a college dropout from a hunting family who has a contentious relationship with her one surviving parent. EXCEPT that she's a five-foot-something twiggy barely-out-of-her-teens woman who has a crush on him and has never been on a serious hunt before, and he's dismissive/over-vigilant enough with the actual sam, a powerfully-built man with clairvoyant powers and over a decade of experience. bearing that in mind, his behavior towards jo is barely outside his normal realm of bossy and overbearing, and since he knows a little something about how sams will respond to direct orders, he still tells her mother she's not on the hunt with them so as to avoid the fallout until it's over. basically i think the whole dean thing, his most consistent characterization over the course of fifteen years, is his tendency to express even genuine protectiveness through the medium of 'bossy older sibling', and this makes him come off like the worst person on the planet. he frequently IS, but it's actually because of other things and has nothing to do with that habit in specific

[pencil-n-pen]

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"