#danger-and-diatribes

[dangerous-advantage]

istg sometimes nt people can be so frustrating. like, i call my teacher over to ask for clarification on an assignment we're doing, and he gives me The Look and says, real exasperated, "just do it how i already explained"

and THEN, he has the nerve to come over and say, "you're doing it wrong," and look irritated about it?

like, buddy. that's why i asked for clarification.

[loveinhawkins]

It’s the last period of the day, and in his peripheral vision, Steve can see Eddie Munson fighting sleep, elbow repeatedly slipping off his desk.

They’re not usually in this class together; a good handful of teachers are on a ‘field trip’—which had been sold to the principal as an educational experience, but was really an excuse for both students and staff to while away the last remaining days of the semester.

So most classes have become an assortment of students who haven’t gone on the trip, odds and ends who usually wouldn’t cross paths.

When Steve had entered, he saw that the room was sparse, people dotted about the place with no regard to a seating plan—he’d headed straight for a desk by the window, hadn’t even noticed that Eddie Munson was in the seat right beside him until he’d already sat down.

And then it turned out he couldn’t even reap the benefits of choosing a seat near said window. The room was stuffy, unbearably so, and Eddie had beaten Steve to it, actually raising his hand and asking, perfectly politely, if he could open the window.

But the substitute teacher had just sneered and replied haughtily, “No, Munson, you cannot.”

Condescending ass, Steve had thought, and he was almost looking forward to one of Eddie Munson’s infamous diatribes.

But Eddie just wilted in his seat and didn’t say another word.

That’s when Steve noticed that he kept looking down at his desk. There was a piece of paper on there, an end of year test—Steve recognised Mrs O’Donnell’s handwriting making comments in the margins. The top right hand corner was folded over in such a way that just made the hiding of the grade all the more obvious: it was clearly an abject fail.

As Eddie stared at the paper, he started to blink rapidly, and for a horrible moment it seemed like he was going to cry, so Steve quickly looked away.

By the time he dared to look back, it was a quarter of the way through the period, and the heat of the room must’ve been getting to Eddie, his eyelids fluttering as he tried not to doze.

And now Steve’s stuck with a teacher who’s clearly immune to every pointed look he shoots his way. He gets to the point where he’s glaring daggers at the dude—seriously, where does he get off, keeping the window closed just to prove some bullshit point about authority?

Every so often, Steve finds himself catching a paper airplane—what are they, five?—that had been heading for Eddie’s face, made by some meathead junior. Steve either swats them away or, if he’s feeling particularly pissy, crumples them up with one hand, throws them back at the junior’s head.

Eddie’s repositioned his elbow so it’s no longer in danger of slipping off the desk—eyes totally closed now, like he’s accepted defeat.

Steve is too late to catch the next paper airplane as it hits the side of Eddie’s head, and when Eddie stirs, blinking blearily at him, he says, defensively, “It wasn’t me.”

“Relax, Harrington,” Eddie says, yawning, “I know.” He unfolds the paper airplane with a tut. “No structural integrity to this thing at all. You’d give me quality.”

Steve doesn’t think of a barbed comment to reply with, because Eddie starts refolding the paper and uses it as a fan—and it’s not even for a bit or anything; Steve can tell that he’s just genuinely suffering.

Movement draws his eyes to the front of the room; he watches as the teacher makes his way to the door and leaves.

“Thank God he’s gone,” Steve mutters. He stands and lifts up the window as far as it will go, hears Eddie’s quiet sigh of relief as the fresh air comes in.

Steve glances over at the door; the paper airplane-throwing junior has gathered a little group, and it looks like they’ve locked the teacher out. There’s no footsteps or furious knocking yet, so Steve figures he’s got a bit of time.

He jumps up onto the window sill to better enjoy the breeze, stretching his legs and idly looking outside.

He just catches Eddie scoffing, the little aside he makes: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Steve turns his head to him. “What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Just… you,” he says.

And it’s said with a kind of reluctant fondness, almost like they’re friends—which is bizarre, Steve thinks, since this is definitely the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

But maybe the approaching summer break has Eddie all sentimental.

“What about me, Munson?”

Eddie gestures at him, as if to say uh, everything, but it somehow doesn’t come across as an insult.

“Just… the way you do things sometimes. Like you’re in a goddamn movie.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just sitting. Anyone could do this.”

“Nah, Harrington. It’s all in the execution, y’know?”

Steve snorts. “Bull.”

“And not all of us have the hair for it.”

Steve tilts his head, drawls, “Oh, I dunno.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh like he’s been taken by surprise.

Steve turns back to the window. It’s not all that great a view, really, the sun only highlighting the dried unkempt grass around the track. Still, there’s an undefinable something to it that gives Steve pause.

Maybe it’s because graduation is right around the corner. Even just walking down the school corridors feels like a series of goodbyes.

“Hey, Harrington. You heard of mise-en-scène?”

And Steve finds himself grinning at the French accent Eddie slips into.

“Bless you,” he says, just to be annoying, though he has heard of it, remembers it from when they looked at some plays in English. Then overheard it, really, while the aspiring film students fretted over their college applications in the library, and he listened with a jealousy he didn’t care to analyse. “I’m seeing some movie shot stuff here, is all.”Steve looks over again, in time to see Eddie adopt an over-the top trailer voice. “The fallen King—”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“—looks down at what remains of his Kingdom, setting his sights on pastures new.”

A wistful edge creeps into Eddie’s voice, something separate from the theatrics—confirming Steve’s suspicions that he won’t be graduating this year, after all.

“Not exactly pastures new,” Steve says. “I, um, didn’t get into anywhere so.” He shrugs vaguely. “Gotta hold down a summer job and then… I don’t know. Not thought that far ahead yet.”

Eddie seems to consider him. “Nothing wrong with that, Harrington,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Steve replies. Because it’s true; he knows he’ll be far from the first high school graduate staying in Hawkins, working a minimum wage job all summer.

His parents had said as much. But then…

He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s the tone in which they say things rather than the things themselves that sets him on edge. That sometimes just the way they shut doors around him inexplicably prompts a feeling of nausea.

But they’re out of town for the whole summer—already left this morning, thank God. So he’s hardly going to get into all of that with Eddie Munson, of all people. Barely addresses it within himself, honestly.

“It’s just… not really what I pictured,” he says instead. “You know, like…” And maybe Eddie’s theatricality has made him a little bolder, because he looks out at the view, and slips into a brief understated impression with ease: “I'm shakin’ the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world.”

When he turns back, Eddie’s lips twitch again, and this time the smile wins. “Well okay, George Bailey.”

Steve smiles back. Shrugs once more. “It’s for the best, really. Means I can keep an eye on—”

And he stops himself, realises he was about to say the kids.

Eddie’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh? So you’ve found someone worth staying for.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice when he adds, “S’awfully romantic of you, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not like that. But… yeah, you could say so. They’re all worth it.”

“Huh,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “What happened to you, Steve Harrington?”

Steve laughs. Shakes his head. “Life. And, uh, got a thump to the head.”

Eddie whistles lowly. “Damn. Maybe I should try that.” He glances down at his test, frowning.

“Hey, come on. Everyone loves a comeback kid.”

“Hmm. Not everyone.”

Eddie sighs and stuffs the test into his bag. As he does so, there’s a sudden pounding on the door, and Steve hears some of the students break out into whispers that are so loud they might as well be shouting: discussing their plan to pin the blame on Eddie for locking the teacher out.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s soon leaving high school behind that has Steve viewing all of this with a clarity he can’t remember having a few years ago. They’re just mean, he thinks, just plain mean for the sake of it. Jesus Christ, you don’t kick a guy while he’s down.

Eddie’s eyes dart over to the group. He’s clearly overheard them too, but he seems resigned to it, like he’s got no more fight left in him.

A girl unlocks the door, and the teacher storms inside, apoplectic with rage.

And before anyone can get a word in, Steve says, “It was me. I locked the door.”

He can feel Eddie staring at him. He leans more into his lounging on the window sill, pretends to check his nails.

The teacher’s eye twitches. “And may I ask, Harrington,” he seethes, “what would even possess you to—”

“Oh,” Steve says, faux brightly, “that’s easy. I don’t like you.”

Eddie’s hand subtly rises up to cover his mouth. Steve bites back a grin; he knows a hastily stifled laugh when he sees one.

“Out you go, Harrington,” the teacher says, pointing at the door.

Steve stands up, unbothered. He’ll just ditch, head home early before the dick’s had any time to step out into the corridor and scream at him. That mall’s almost done being built; he could finish filling in a job application for one of the stores there before the day’s out.

He makes sure the window’s pushed up so far that it’ll be more of a pain to try and close it compared to just letting it be.

Then he swings his bag over one shoulder, says in a little aside, “See you, Munson. You know, Class of ‘86 has a better ring to it anyway.”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it, man,” Eddie says, and he sounds a little taken aback.

Steve glances over his shoulder just before the door shuts behind him, and he sees Eddie’s hand raised in an uncertain wave, like he can’t believe he’s even doing it.

And if you ask Steve, that’s a movie shot all of its own.

[killerpancakeburger]

Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting. 

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest. 

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising. 

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords. 

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. 

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far. 

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-” 

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension. 

He had never called you “love” before.

[multiverse-menagerie]

Hey! I am not sure if your requests are open, but I would love to see you write following concept.

Astarion, Gale, Halsin (maybe more of six if you feel like it) with reader that falls asleep during their flirting/infodumping/obligatory night interaction because they're just so drained from all the fights and adventures.

Sponsored by all the times I stood on the long rest after 8 hour session only to be assaulted by all the flirting and friendly interactions

Thank you for your marvelous writing 💛

under a cut bc it a bit long 😘

Astarion

You had offered to help Astarion do some research on the Necromancy of Thay, so the two of you were sat side by side in his tent. You’d both been poring over books, offering comments to one another when pertinent. Mostly Astarion was soaking in the contentment that came from being at your side, his shoulder brushing yours.

…until you suddenly sagged against his side. Your fall was enough to wake you, blinking wildly as you tried to remember what you were doing.

“Am I really that boring?” Astarion said, plucking the book from your lap. He sat is and his book to the side.

“No, no, I just-“ You cut yourself off with a huge yawn, quickly throwing a hand up to cover your mouth, as if to hid it from Astarion. He rolled his eyes (playfully) before waving a hand at you.

“Go on, put your nightclothes on and go to bed already.” He shooed you off. He did the same so when you were ready he was already lounging in the bedroll. You pile up beside him, still heavy blinking, and offer him your neck.

Astarion freezes for a moment. This has become somewhat of a routine for y’all, sure, but he’d never seen the exhaustion catch up with you as it had today.

“Are you kidding me? You’re about to keel over as it is, one bite may do you in.” Astarion sneered. (He cares but he’s he’s trying to play it cool. He’s not very good at playing it cool).

“What a way to go.” You respond, words slurring together as you tuck your head against his shoulder.

Gale

Gale hadn’t exactly meant to go on a long winded diatribe about some sort of magic y’all had encountered earlier in the day. The two of you were sitting at a low table in your rooms, books and papers across it. You asked an innocuous question but Gale took off with it.

You were interested, don’t get me wrong. But a full belly and long day, paired with Gale’s voice was just the recipe for you to start dozing off. Gale notices after a few minutes of total silence from you is broken by small snores. He glances at you in surprise.

Your head barely held up by your hand, mouth half open (and definitely not drooling). Gale carefully nudged you awake.

“I will take it as a compliment that I can put you to sleep so easily.” Gale teased. “But you should’ve told me you weren’t up for a conversation.”

“I wanted to try.” You reply, rubbing a hand over your face.

“We can call it a moderate success, I think. You did better than most who listen to me ramble.” Gale helps you to your feet, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Mmm, if I get in bed, will you talk me to sleep again? Since you’re so good at it.” You teased him, though clearly just trying to convince him to stay with you.

“Ah, I suppose I can sacrifice my own bed in favor of yours.”

Halsin

When you’d returned to camp, just about dead on your feet, Halsin had insisted you sit while dinner was sorted out. He pressed a small mug of tea into your hands then when to help Gale cook. Scratch and the owlbear cub cuddled up to you immediately, as they always did whenever you sat down in camp.

He kept his focus on cooking, so when he headed towards you, he was a little surprised to see you completely passed out. You were leaning heavily against the owlbear cub and the mostly drunk mug of tea dangled dangerously from your finger tips.

Halsin plucked the mug from your hands, setting it to the side. He nudged you awake, grinning warmly as you blinked blearily at him.

“Dinner’s ready.” He said as he sat down beside you. Rather than hand you your plate though, he picked up a piece of veggie and held it out to you.

��I can feed myself.” You try to argue, but Halsin just raises an eyebrow at you.

“I know.” He replied, but kept the piece of food held out. You sighed and reached to take it from him but he pulled it out of your reach. You sigh more dramatically but open your mouth, letting him plop the piece in there while he seemingly ignored the blush on your face.

“I believe it’s your turn to relax. If you’re good and eat it all, I may even turn into a bear and join in on the cuddling.”

[intheholler]

what do you think of all of the people being scared of appalachia? i don't know if this is recent or not, but currently i've been seeing a ton of shit online like "never go to the appalachian mountains, it's so dangerous", and i just don't understand it. my family's lived in appalachia for forever, and none of us have experienced anything paranormal or endangering to us. you're one of my favorite blogs on here and i'd just like to hear your thoughts on it

first off, it means a lot that i'm one of your favorite blogs and im really happy i can contribute something to your experience here :') thanks so much for being here <333

but ok so.

my thoughts on it are many. it's been bothering me a long time and i've been meaning to get it off my chest. this will be long and probably ranty, so it won't hurt my feelings if anyone skims lol

lemme preface this little diatribe by saying the obvious: folklore is an integral part of any culture. the mythos of a place/people is tied directly to their histories and unique experiences and struggles and they are enriching. this is true of appalachia too.

oral folk traditions especially are incredibly historically appalachian.

i mentioned in a post i made yesterday about murder ballads, how the purpose of these was to warn kids away from doing dumb shit and getting lost in the hollers--falling down cliffs n mineshafts and shit at night. gettin got by wildlife.

it spooked us safe. they served a purpose, and once you got old enough to realize they're as real as the tooth fairy, they just become enjoyable and nostalgic. because they're you're culture.

probably every mountain kid has stories about haints n boogers that were told to them by their grandparents, and they grow up to tell them to their own kids, and so on. some of it stuck with me because i grew up with the folklore.

by that i mean, i'm a whole 31 year old woman and i still avoid looking out a dark window at night cause it gives me the shivers. i still get spooked when i hear a big cat yowling in the woods. but the difference is i know there's not really haints out there crying--it's just a product of my childhood. ghost stories are fun.

the problem comes in when someone outside the culture gets their hands on appalachian oral folk traditions. then, it becomes a familiar problem: outsiders cherry picking appalachia and harming us with the mess they make rifling through it all.

it's all about the surface level and the visuals. they all love a good aesthetic blog, run by some local from out west or some shit who's never stepped foot here.

but as soon as the spooky photo filters come off and the real life marginalized person is left standing there just out of frame, we go back to being disgusting examples of what not to be. decrepit churches n buildings are aesthetic and quirky until they stop being on a pinterest board, and then they just become damning images of an impoverished region who deserves to be laughed at.

now, not to holler 'splain you--this is more for anyone not from here who might read this: it's been a systemic issue for decades; there were literal government campaigns to demonize us to the rest of the nation so they could garner support to cut into our mountains and exploit our labor and resources.

well, they were fuckin successful, and we have been falsely made out to be this homogenous nightmare of a place--"welfare exploiting" maga country who deserves everything we get, and nothing we don't.

by going so far as to take appalachian folklore that we tell each other and picking out the "aesthetic" stuff--the haints and general paranormal--they are pruning what they like from our culture--the safe things, like ghost stories--for their own aesthetic use.

but not only that, they are using it to demonize us… yet again.

'appalachia is scary. it's full of things that will kill you. don't look out the window at night cause a booger will get you.' only they don't call them boogers cause they ain't even from here. ask them what a haint is and they'll ask if u mispelled 'haunt.'

it gets even worse when you consider that so much of it has roots in native american culture, and how that continues to be exploited and misrepresented.

i'm not even innocent of that. a while back i had to check myself because i made a comment on here about ~spooky appalachia~ ignorant to the fact that what i was commenting on was actually a deeply important cultural and spiritual element to local indigenous tribes. my comments were harmful by my failure to educate myself and know better, thereby saying things carelessly.

my point being--i'm from the area. i should have known better.

when outsiders start saying the kind of shit they say about what they think they hear in the woods without even knowing where such an idea comes from, they're disrespecting a displaced, abused and exploited people, harming real cultures just for clicks without even knowing. that's on top of the damage they're doing to greater appalachia.

it's fuckin gross.

i think my favorite one i ever seen was this middle aged white lady going through her pristine mcmansion somewhere in suburbia, pulling the million curtains and locking the million doors, going "nighttime routine in appalachia!! 🤪🤪"

i could be wrong about this particular person--i didn't check their other tiktoks because im sick of them accounts and tired of giving them the benefit of the doubt--but it immediately came off as a transplant because:

1) mcmansion, 2) i dont know nobody here that locks their shit down like that (not locking up could even be argued as a part of my local culture, a reflection of our deep sense of community and trust in our neighbors).

and then the comments was all like "i don't know how you guys live there" and it actually broke my heart and pissed me off because even if--especially if--you're one of us, why the fuck are you harming us for likes? why are you turning people against us in a brand new way?

and to the transplants that do this--why?

you're not even from here, you moved here to this place you hate and made it worse just so your front porch would have a nice view, and are now benefiting socially from perpetuating bullshit about us?

you buy up all the land, land we often had no choice but to sell in the first place to survive instead of passing it on to our families, land we originally took from the indigenous peoples your content comes from.

you overdevelop it and turn it unrecognizable to make it more like the comfortable cities you come from. you gut a mountain town of its local businesses and cultures, you price people out of their homes...

...and then once you settle in all cozy like, you go tell everyone else how scary it is? how you can't trust the hills? like it's a cool paranormal bravery badge to wear? fuck off entirely.

so idk, in short my personal thoughts are: i personally enjoy a little myth as a treat, because the folklore is a part of the gothic, a part of our culture and a part of my childhood. i don't (intentionally) wield it as a weapon or use it as a pedestal to get the weird brand of attention that people like them are after.

and those who do this can get got by them haints for all i care.

[fdelopera]

Bigoted white Karen with a large online platform produces an overly long YouTube video where she spreads lies, conspiracy theories, and slander against an ethnic minority group that has been persecuted for over 2000 years. When she is called out for her bigotry, she doubles down and produces a four-hour hit piece against this ethnic minority group, which is riddled with disinformation, mistakes, and more lies.

Then when she's called out again on this four-hour rant, she pulls the "I have a ____ friend," and she claims that she consulted with two members of the ethnic minority group that she is slandering. Like a fucking coward, this white Karen hides behind the two people she claims to have spoken to. Moreover, she refuses to see the bigotry in tokenizing the two members of this ethnic minority group who agree with her white Karen ass.

Then when this white Karen is called out even further for spreading bigoted disinformation, she pulls a James Somerton, and she starts deleting parts of her videos without apologizing for the harm she has caused. And like James Somerton, she also deletes comments from people who point out her lies.

This is a clear-cut case of a bigoted white woman with a large online following trying to slander an ethnic minority group.

.

What I am describing, of course, is Jessie Gender's recent Jew-hate diatribes on her YouTube channel, but I have written it in a way that YOU, dear reader, get to find out if you are an antisemitic bigot too.

Read the above paragraphs knowing that I am talking about Jews, and see how you react.

Do you acknowledge that Jessie Gender's videos are filled with antisemitic bigotry and disinformation? Or do you equivocate and make excuses for her, once you know that I'm talking about Jews?

.

Dear reader, I am giving you an opportunity to learn from Jessie's mistakes. The best way to combat bigotry is to do exactly the opposite of what Jessie has done. Here are five suggestions:

1) Acknowledge that you are engaging in antisemitic bigotry. Admitting your own deeply rooted prejudice against Jews can sometimes be the hardest part. The very first step in combatting bigotry is to say (and mean!) five important words: "I'm. Sorry. I. Was. Wrong."

2) Don't tokenize Jews. Don't just look for two Jews who agree with your bigoted viewpoints. Instead, actually talk to many different Jews, including many Israeli Jews, to get a nuanced perspective of the struggles that Jewish people face.

3) When Jewish people (who are not the Jews you've tokenized) tell you, "Hey, you're being a bigot," actually listen to us! Don't discount us. Strive to learn from us. Don't double down on your prejudice.

4) Combat your own egotism. If you are an egotistical asshole like Jessie, when someone tells you, "Hey, you're being a bigot, and your bigotry is putting Jewish people's lives in danger," your first response may be to say, "No I'm not! How dare you call me a bigot!" This is a knee-jerk reply, and it comes from a place of hubris. Instead of doubling down, learn how to apologize. Then do the active work to listen to Jews so that you're not contributing to the Jew-hate that we face.

Remember, the five words that an egotistical person like Jessie struggles to say are: "I'm sorry. I was wrong." Don't be like Jessie. Be better.

5) Look at the company you are keeping. Maybe you're hanging out with Leftists who have secretly been watching Neo-Nazi videos, and they've been feeding you antisemitic talking points that actually come from far-right white supremacists like David Duke and Richard Spencer. Or maybe your Leftist friends have been scraping their Jew-hate rhetoric from Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which is still used as a textbook throughout the Arab world. Or worse, maybe your Leftist friends have stolen their ideas word-for-word from Hitler's Mein Kampf.

If you spout Nazi rhetoric (and so many of you Hamasniks sound EXACTLY like Hitler), then guess what! Congratulations! You are a Jew-hating bigot!

This is a quote from Hitler's Mein Kampf, from 1925. And it could just as easily come from the mouth of a Hamasnik as it could from a Neo-Nazi today. Next year, it will be 100 years since Mein Kampf was published, and it feels like the Hamasnik movement has dragged us full circle, back to Nazi Germany:

The Jews domination in the state seems so assured that now not only can he call himself a Jew again, but he ruthlessly admits his ultimate national and political designs. A section of his race openly owns itself to be a foreign people, yet even here they lie. For while the Zionists try to make the rest of the world believe that the national consciousness of the Jew finds its satisfaction in the creation of a Palestinian state [aka a Jewish State in the British Mandate of Palestine -- 99 years ago in 1925, when Hitler published Mein Kampf, Jews in Eretz Yisrael were called Palestinians], the Jews again slyly dupe the dumb Goyim. It doesn’t even enter their heads to build up a Jewish State in Palestine [again, Palestine was the word Hitler was using for the British Mandate of Palestine, aka Eretz Yisrael] for the purpose of living there; all they want is a central organization for their international world swindle, endowed with its own sovereign rights and removed from the intervention of other states: a haven for convicted scoundrels and a university for budding crooks. - Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf

Yo Jessie Gender! Guess what, there's a cure if you find yourself sounding like Hitler! It's called EDUCATE YOUR DAMN SELF, YOU FUCKING BIGOT.

In conclusion, if you find yourself being a Jew-hating bigot on main, just remember this: the first step in overcoming your antisemitic prejudice is ADMITTING that you are a bigot.

Use Jessie's example as a warning. When people call you out for spreading Jew-hate and putting Jewish lives around the world in danger, don't double down. Instead, begin by saying these five vital words: "I'm sorry. I was wrong."

[lunaflowers]

falling (chanyeol x reader)

pairing: step brother!chanyeol x reader word count: 2.8k+ genre: smut, angst warnings: slightly dom!chanyeol, slightly bratty!reader, pseudo incest, cowgirl position, dirty talk, some degradation, name-calling, hickeys, breeding kink, lots of angst synopsis: you've fallen in love with the one person you can't have author's note: this ended up being completely different than what it was meant to be but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. unedited.

It was your first time visiting home since you’d moved out months ago to go to grad school. You’d missed the place. You were looking forward to sleeping in your childhood bed and eating your mom’s cooking and playing with your baby half-sister, Mimi. You were even looking forward to your step dad's diatribes on politics and the future of the country. The one thing you weren’t looking forward to was–

“Hey YN,” Chanyeol, your step brother, opened the door with a small smile on his face. He was currently serving in the military and had a couple days off to be at home. Chanyeol’s father had married your mother when the both of you were 16. He and his father had moved into the house you and your mother shared and although it was initially an adjustment, you were happy to see your mother so happy after such a long time. You’d never known your own father, being the product of a one-night stand during your mother’s younger, wilder years, and your stepfather seemed to balance out her somewhat flighty personality.

“Hey Chanyeol,” you said, a little uneasily. The only issue was your super hot, tall, stepbrother. As soon as you met Chanyeol the first time, you felt an immediate attraction to him. And he obviously felt the same as within a few weeks of him moving in all those years ago, the two of you had ended up in bed together, losing your virginities to each other.

As time went on, you and Chanyeol began having sex whenever your parents were out. Every single time you swore it would be the last time, but try as you might, you couldn’t resist him. It wasn’t just sex. Chanyeol was funny and sweet and jovial and just so much fun to be around. You didn’t understand how you were expected not to fall for him.

He pulled your luggage from your hand without asking and began to carry it to your room. You followed him, “Where’s my mom? And your dad?” The house was quiet, not bustling with activity the way it usually was with a toddler buzzing around.

“They took Mimi to her dentist appointment,” Chanyeol replied, putting your bag down beside your bed. Mimi was the sister that you and Chanyeol shared, a cherub-faced two-year-old who was excessively doted on by both her mother and her father. It was sweet, like they were both desperate to do the parenting thing right this time now that they had a partner to do it with. “They just left so they probably won’t be home for an hour or two.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the feeling in your gut. “Well, that’s a shame. I’ll just wait for them then, I guess.” You were being awkward, which wasn’t like you. But you felt awkward and you didn’t really know how to hide it. Spending time alone with Chanyeol was dangerous. You were your weakest self when you were with him.

“YN,” Chanyeol said suddenly, grabbing your hand. You froze, looking into his eyes for the first time since you got home. “Come on. Shouldn’t we talk?” He rubbed the back of your palm with his thumb, a familiar gesture. It was enough to make you feel slightly flustered.

“Chanyeol…” you let out shakily, “There isn’t really anything to talk about, is there? It’s wrong.” You tried to end it last time you saw him. Really end it. You figured that now that you were going off to school, putting considerable distance between the two of you, maybe it would stick. But it still didn’t seem to do so for him.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is it?” He pulled you in closer, moving his hand so that it was gripping your wrist now.

“Don’t do that. You know it is. Don’t start trying to justify it just because you’re horny and–”

“No. Don’t fucking demean it like that. I love you. I’m in love with you. We’re in love with each other.”

“Shut up!” you said shrilly, terrified that someone would hear even though you knew that the two of you were alone in the house. “It doesn’t matter what you say or what you feel because it’s wrong.” You emphasised the last word as though Chanyeol were a simpleton and you were losing your patience with him. “You’re my brother.”

“Step brother. We’re not related by blood. Besides, it’s what you feel too,” he shot back, pulling you in even closer now and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You couldn’t help it. You put your hands on his chest. He just felt so solid and familiar and yours. He was your weakness and you’d never been particularly good at resisting temptation but you knew you needed to try.

“Loey, please,” you looked at him, tears beginning to form in your eyes. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is. I said last time that it couldn’t happen again. It’s not right.”

“You say that every time,” Chanyeol said, ignoring your pleas. He forced a kiss onto your lips and just like that, it was as though a switch had been flipped in you. You melted into him, kissing him back. It was so fucking easy for him to make you surrender to him and you would’ve been ashamed if you weren’t so overwhelmed with desire. 

He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist automatically, keeping your lips attached to his, tasting his familiar taste. The want for each other was palpable. You wanted this as much as he did and you both knew it.

Chanyeol put you down on your bed and got on top of you, moving down as he kissed and bit your neck. You didn’t stop him. You wanted to be marked by him. You’d figure out how to cover up the hickies later but right now all you wanted was to be owned by him, to be filled with him, to be fucked senseless on his cock.

You let him pull your top up over your head and expertly unsnap your bra. He pulled it off, throwing it to the ground and then grabbed your breasts with both of his hands and buried his face in them. He began squeezing and kissing them, biting them, taking your nipples between his teeth. Chanyeol loved your breasts. They were easily his favourite part of your body and he was like a kid in a candy store anytime he got his hands on them.

“Loey, let’s make it quick, huh?” you smiled, biting your lip. Even though Chanyeol had said your parents wouldn’t be back for a while, you were still slightly nervous.

“Sorry, you’ve just got perfect tits,” he said breathlessly. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you replied, teasingly. You knew Chanyeol was popular with women and that he slept around. It wasn’t like the two of you were together in any real sense of the word so you couldn’t really be upset about it. And he’d never been in any sort of serious relationship as far as you knew. 

“I don’t,” he said, more seriously than you’d anticipated. He pulled his own shirt off, reaching behind his neck and removing it the way guys did. He then unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down your legs, taking your panties along with them. He stuck a large hand between your legs and began rubbing your clit. “What do you want?”

“I wanna ride you,” you said, fully naked now.

He smiled, “Good. I need to see those tits bounce.” You rolled your eyes as pulled his sweatpants and boxers off, laying down flat on his back.

“You really need to work on your dirty talk, you know?”

“Don’t need to be good at dirty talk with a cock like this,” Chanyeol said, stroking it a few times, hard already. Chanyeol did have a great cock. Well, he had a great everything but his cock was particularly nice, as far as they go. It was proportional to the rest of him, which meant big.

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied, mockingly. You got on top of him and grabbed it, lowering yourself on to his length, moaning wantonly as you did so.

“I missed your pussy,” Chanyeol said, looking at you with lust-filled eyes.

“Yeah? You’ve been thinking about it?”

“I have,” he said, thrusting up into you. He grabbed your hips, pushing you down onto him and grinding up into you. “Have you been thinking about me?”

You stuttered a little, “N– Not at all,” you lied and Chanyeol smirked.

“Brat,” Chanyeol said, giving your ass a squeeze with both hands, making you let out a little squeal. You bent down to lock his lips in a kiss, a rough, sloppy one. He bit your bottom lip and tugged it before letting go. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You straightened up again and smiled, bouncing on his cock with your dripping wet cunt.. He eyed your jiggling breasts and let out a little growl. His cock throbbed as you continued to ride him gently, building up more intensity with each passing second. He watched his length disappearing inside you over and over again.

“God, your cock feels good, Chanyeol,” you moaned, throwing your head back. It really did. It sounded cheesy, almost comical even, but no man fit you quite like Chanyeol did. You felt waves of pleasure building up in your core.

“Fuck yeah it does. Ride me just like that,” he responded, thrusting up into you faster. You were meeting each other’s rhythm and you whimpered being hit in all the right spots.

No one knew your body like your step brother did, as fucked up as that was to say. You’d slept with a handful of other men and none of them had ever made you feel even close to what Chanyeol could. He took turns squeezing and smacking your ass. He wanted to leave marks behind, you knew that, a handprint or a bruise he could tease you about later. You quickened your pace, feeling yourself getting closer to your orgasm and Chanyeol did as well.

“Only I can get you like this, hmm? Coming apart on my cock like a dirty whore?” he said, speeding up even more. It was like he was so in tune with you that he could read your mind sometimes.

“Only you, Chanyeol,” you mewled and he looked at you with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You’re so pretty like this… I’m gonna cum in this tight little pussy… Knock you up. Do you want that?”

“Yes, Chanyeol, fill me up. I want you to do whatever you like,” you said, knowing you were on birth control and the chances of you actually getting pregnant were minimal, but the breeding thing seemed to be a favourite of his so you always indulged it.

“And then with your belly round and your tits leaking milk, everyone will know,” he said, his voice low, “that you’re a dirty whore who seduced her step brother by acting like a slut.”

“I’m not a slut,” you protested meekly.

“Yes, you are,” he replied, punctuating it with a particularly hard thrust. “You’re the worst kind of slut. You’re a slut for your step brother’s cock.”

Shame filled you but so did arousal. You knew that the sinfulness of this was part of why it was so pleasurable, so thrilling. The fact that you had to keep this a dirty little secret between the two of you heightened every single feeling.

“I’m going to cum, Ch–,” you began but your orgasm interrupted you in the middle of your sentence, making you throw your head back and moan. This was enough for Chanyeol who followed soon after, thrusting quickly a few times before he came inside you with a groan. You felt his seed inside of you and you couldn’t deny there was a tiny part of you that wished he would get you pregnant so you could be marked by him in the most permanent way.

You lay in each other’s arms on your single bed with Chanyeol’s large body taking up most of it whilst coming down from your respective orgasms.

“It could work, you know? We could make it work,” he said. He didn’t have to elaborate, you knew exactly what he was talking about. You’d had this discussion many times before and it always ended the same.

“We can’t,” you said simply. “You know we can’t.”

“We could move somewhere far away. Another country even. It would be like starting fresh. We’d have no ties to anyone. No one would even have to know.”

You sighed. Chanyeol always got like this after sex. He’d always propose some far-fetched plan where your relationship could work and you always had to talk him down, to disappoint him. You hated doing it every time.

“I can’t abandon my mom. Or Mimi. Would you be able to leave all your friends and family?”

“For you, yeah,” he said and it felt like he’d reached into your chest and squeezed your heart in his hand. You didn’t expect him to say that, especially so nonchalantly. 

“Please,” you said, a little desperately, “Let’s just enjoy this… these stolen moments. I know it’s not ideal but it’s all we’re meant to have,” you said, trying to sound reasonable even though it was tearing you apart inside to do so. 

Chanyeol said nothing, tensing her jaw for a second before relaxing it again, “Yeah. It’s just not enough anymore.”

“Are you mad?” you asked, carefully. 

“No. But I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me what? You’re not pregnant, are you?” you joked, trying to add some levity to a situation that was feeling increasingly tense.

“I met a woman,” Chanyeol said. “She’s great. I like her a lot. She’s not you, but…” He trailed off.

He what? You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Your throat felt tight. 

“But what?” you asked, not wanting to know but also needing to know. You were frightened of what you were going to hear and you almost thought he was joking until he continued.

“The relationship is getting serious. I can see myself with her in the future. I won’t say I love her, not yet anyway, but…” He cleared his throat. “If you really mean it, if you’re really serious about not wanting to be with me… I’m gonna make things official with her. Introduce her to the family and everything.”

“Oh,” was all you said. It was all you could say. Your heart was breaking in real time and you were trying not to cry. It was wrong of you to be upset, selfish even, but you couldn’t help it. Unwittingly, you’d always thought of Chanyeol as yours, even when you were ending things with him over and over again.

“So I guess I wanted to say it’s now or never. It’s up to you,” he said solemnly.

The choice weighed heavily on you. You couldn’t imagine never having Chanyeol again. The stolen kisses and glances. Sneaking out to the car to fuck in secret. The road trips that you’d taken together, the only times you two could play the normal couple you wanted to be. It would all be gone just like that?

Not to mention the fact that you hated the idea of him with another woman, touching her, making love to her, being in love with her. Simply put, it was soul crushing.

But then you thought of your mother, who’d worked so hard to raise you despite the difficulties of being a young, single mom. And your friends. And school and work and the life that you had here. And sweet little Mimi, the sister you and Chanyeol shared who looked at you like you hung the moon. How could you leave all of them behind? It would be horrible and selfish and you’d miss them terribly. It was impossible.

“I can’t, Loey. I’m sorry. I love you. I do love you. But I can’t. You should… continue things with this girl,” you said with a tone of finality. It was truly over now, your love story, you knew that.

Chanyeol said nothing, his face stony. He sat up and pulled his clothes on quickly, getting up and walking out of your room without looking at you. Saying you were devastated would have been an understatement. You were broken.

You got up and went to your bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping inside without even waiting for it to warm up. The water hit your body and you finally broke down in tears. You knew you’d made the right decision, but right now the pain was almost unbearable. You cried and cried, sitting on the floor of the shower until you felt like you were out of tears. You were grieving the loss of the only man you ever loved and you didn’t know when you’d ever be okay again.

☆*: .｡. o💔o .｡.:*☆

[thirteenducks]

dinner & diatribes

(zhongli x wife!reader) [NSFW]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader, established relationship, ~5k wc

༻❁༺ tags: dom!reader, sub!zhongli, accidental stimulation, masturbation, handjobs, orgasm denial, teasing, zhongli has dragonesque tendencies including a rut season, reader is only a little mean about it <3

For all of his wisdom and eons of knowledge, Zhongli's not quite certain what to do when he ends up achingly aroused at a dinner party with his wife. The plan from here: survive, and retain his pride at all costs.

Zhongli’s long, gloved fingers were curled so tightly around the glass in his hand that it was a miracle it hadn’t cracked yet. 

Curses. To be in such a state, in a public place like this, with her and all of our friends as witnesses...

He let an obscenity softly slip out under his breath. 

It was partially his own fault, Zhongli told himself. After all, that dress had been handpicked by him to adorn his beloved tonight. His eyes naturally gravitated to her the way they always did, admiring the beautiful flush that animated conversation had brought to her cheeks, though it besieged his mind with thoughts he’d rather not be having at the moment.

It’s a good thing you retired, you old bastard. These are hardly thoughts fitting of an archon at any time, let alone at a banquet with his wife and dearest friends. 

Zhongli took a shaky sip of his wine and bit back a low groan, wishing it would cloud all of his senses the way it did his thoughts. His discomposure, to his dismay, was growing by the minute. Under the table, he could feel the uncomfortable tightness in his suit trousers every time he shifted. 

Earlier that afternoon, he’d felt the telltale stirrings of something in his subconscious. As he helped his wife prepare for the evening, fastening her necklace of jade, his more base desires had urged him to leave a mark on her lovely exposed neck, as if her garments and the arm wrapped around her waist were not enough to announce her as his. He had heard the rush of blood in his ears, had felt the outbreak of sweat on his forehead, and yet he had done nothing to prepare.

And now, Zhongli would pay due penance for neglecting to keep on top of his calendar.

Curse the limits of this human body. In his archon form, he wouldn’t be considering bringing himself off in the restroom of a reputable establishment to stave off a rut, of that he was certain.

While excusing himself to the men’s room was the quickest way to relief and thus the most tempting course of action, it would never be enough; Zhongli knew his vessel too well to pretend the issue would be resolved that easily. If memory served—and his always did—this might go on all night, regardless of how many times he...

He drummed his gloved fingers anxiously on the expensive tablecloth. No, temporary release was not the solution. Besides, he’d rather relive the wrath of Osial a thousand times than walk across this dining room with his arousal prominent in his trousers.

This brought him to the next scenario, which required letting his beloved know of his current... predicament.

It wouldn’t be too difficult. He was worked up enough that a gentle pass of her lovely hand over his lap would convey his message just fine. He pushed past that dangerous thought before he could dwell on it for very long.

While she would most assuredly be understanding, as she was in all her husband’s matters, Zhongli’s pride protested just a little too much to really consider going through with it. The promise of leaving early under the guise of sudden sickness was enticing to his weary mind, but at home, he could hide nothing from her. To show such vulnerability, even to his wife, would be a trial indeed for an ex-archon. 

He sighed, bringing his eyes back into focus from a few decidedly unsophisticated fantasies of what she might do in response. Tch. Stay lucid, Morax. 

Only one option remained. He fought back a grimace at the thought of it, but if he was to end the night with the same grace he began it, he would have to suffer through the rest of dinner and endure until he was safely at home behind a locked door. Such a show of restraint actually might kill him, he thought, but what other choice did he have?

A woman’s voice from across the table interrupted his internal monologue; Yanfei had asked his opinion on a popular betting game. In the interest of appearing like his normal self, who never passed on an opportunity to impart knowledge, he suppressed the sound that was forming in the back of his throat and attempted to compose himself. 

Surreptitiously pressing one hand to the obvious outline in his pants and curling the fingers of the other into his palm, he gathered himself enough to give a believable response, if not quite of the usual length. 

His friends seemed satisfied enough with his answer to leave him alone for the time being. He begged a prayer to the heavenly principles that his wife wouldn’t happen to look over on a whim and see her husband with a hand slotted between his legs and a thinly veiled blush.

The marginal friction it provided was simultaneously heaven and hell, but he couldn’t stay like that forever. Not when he might be discovered at any moment. He dug his nails into his palm harder, leaving crescent marks even through his glove, and bit his inner lip as he released his shaft and placed his hand limply on the table. 

As he was fighting to stabilize his lust-shrouded mind, Zhongli felt a soft hand on his flushed upper thigh. He turned to his right, his cock twitching in mingled surprise and pleasure, and cursed internally. There, looking so lovely that she hurt to behold in his current state of mind, was his wife, who turned her body toward his and met his eyes with a look of gentle concern. Did she know...?

To his quiet dismay, her thumb began to move in circles against his thigh in what he assumed was meant as a comforting gesture to a husband she believed to be feeling ill. (He was. Please, attend to your sick husband, he thought.) 

Unfortunately, her ministrations were having quite the opposite effect on Zhongli’s hormone-riddled vessel. The circles became larger, spanning the skin from his inner thigh to his trouser pocket. As her movements got bolder, she began stroking his leg like she would be stroking a different part of his body right now, if he had his way, and oh— if she would just move her hand a little to the left, please. Please.

But no, they were still at this accursed dinner and he had a reputation to maintain, he reminded himself staunchly. He fought off a headache as his southern head pulsed in mocking synchrony.

It was pathetic how easily he melted under her touch in any circumstance. With this added to the already considerable strain on his self control... 

At the moment, Zhongli was barely fighting the urge to buck his hips into his wife’s hand, to grind against it for any source of satisfaction he could get.

 He gripped the edge of his seat with the hand hidden from her view, knuckles turning white with exertion, and coerced his features into a calm smile. She returned it and fell back into conversation with someone on her other side, but kept her hand on his leg, tracing shapes in the fabric and driving her poor husband absolutely out of his damn mind.

He slipped into a dazed state for a minute, feeling nothing but her soft touch and the rubbing of the sensitive head of his cock against the seam of his pants. 

The scraping of a chair across the table brought him back half to his senses, and he bit his cheek hard, the pain momentarily clearing his mind. He looked up from the clock his eyes had been fixed to on the far wall of the restaurant just in time to see most of the table gathering their belongings from the coat rack and hugging their goodbyes. 

Mercifully, her hand then eased from its maddening position on his thigh as she arose to give her farewells; “—for the both of us, as my husband is unfortunately not feeling his best right now,” he heard her explain as she ushered the Liyue Qixing out the door with many sweet compliments to their families. He could collect himself only enough to smile and give a gentle wave as they and the rest of their dinner companions exited the parlor into the brisk night. 

He then had only to wait for the check to be delivered by the waitress before he would be on his way home, one minute closer to relief, to having her under him and—

He bit back a curse. He was still here. Childe had yet to finish his umpteenth glass of expensive Snezhnayan wine and seemed to be in no rush to leave the company of Morax and his darling wife, much to his friend’s chagrin.

Liyue customs stipulated that the hosts of the table may not leave until after their last guest had quit the table, a fact that was all too inconvenient for Zhongli as he recalled it bitterly. Why did he establish that rule? That surely must have been one of Guizhong’s.

But, he thought, he had made it this far. He would not make a fool of himself now, even if it ended up being the final nail in the coffin for the man known as Zhongli.

Now that there were less prying eyes, he took the opportunity to shove his left hand between his thighs under the table and waited impatiently, biting his cheek at intervals until he drew blood. He could taste it, metallic and sharp on his tongue, and it shamed him enough to keep his composure.

And still the bastard wouldn’t leave. 

Zhongli had always been in an uneasy truce with the Cryo Archon while he reigned, but at the moment he felt like socking her in the face on her subordinate’s account. Was he waiting to pay the check? Or did he just unconsciously enjoy watching his friend wallow in agony? 

If the former were the case, there was no need. Even if his wife had not brought his wallet with her when she left the house that evening– always two steps ahead of her husband’s mistakes– her purse was just as able to cover the cost of dinner. So much planning and preparation had gone into tonight, he recalled with an edge of bitterness, only for his own hormonal cycle to throw a gargantuan wrench into his well-earned enjoyment.

His thoughts momentarily went blank as the tightness in his pants throbbed in time with his rabbiting heartbeat, sending whatever blood his cock could spare rushing to his cheeks and shivers down his spine. Principles above. Zhongli would never go out at this time of year again while he walked this mortal earth, he vowed.

Body desperate, mind cloudy, conscience resigned, he dimly wondered whether he could get away with rocking his hips against his hand in his current slouched position.

Before he could give in to his base urges, the check finally did come and it was paid and sent away with as much grace and elegance as the poor man could contrive while barely fighting off the desire to thrust into his own hand.

As the waitress left the room, bidding them a ‘restful night’ (Zhongli would have scoffed if his mind was clearer), his beloved yawned and stretched her arms out. He watched almost in slow motion as she let a hand drop under the table to his lap, inches from the pronounced outline in his pants, with a noise of tired contentment that went straight to his dick. He jolted from the sudden touch so close to where he needed it most, slamming the hand holding his coin purse onto the table with a conspicuous jingling of coins. 

The noise drew Childe’s attention from the animated story he was telling, and he glanced from Zhongli’s tightly clenched hand to his pained expression, raising an eyebrow. 

He was spared an explanation by his wife. “You’ll have to excuse my husband, he’s feeling a little off at the moment,” she murmured, caressing his amber tresses with her manicured fingernails, her knowing eyes trained on his. Zhongli could do nothing but close his own and pray that she didn’t move her other hand any lower on his lap. “I’m afraid the soup did not agree with him tonight... in any case, we shall be departing shortly to get him to bed, poor dear.” 

If he was listening rather than lost in fantasies of pressing her into their mattress, he would have thought that an excellent choice of words.

Childe took the hint and pushed himself back from the table, giving his regards to both of them and gathering his belongings. To his credit, though having stayed far past his welcome in his friend’s eyes, he did not tarry long with his goodbyes. 

And if the harbinger did make a noise that sounded too little like a cough and too much like poorly contained laughter on his way out of the building, Zhongli internally thanked him for keeping his suspicions to himself.

“Are you able to stand, my love?” 

Her voice was a balm to his frayed nerves on any other night, but he had pushed past his limits tonight. As it was, Zhongli was undeniably coming apart at the seams. It would be a miracle if he held it together until they arrived at their home, let alone convinced his companion he was merely feeling the effects of some ill-prepared dish.

He sighed. Pride be damned, there was certainly no use in concealing what would soon come to light by more embarrassing means than these.

“Beloved, I’m afraid —” His words slid into a choked moan as she moved her hand sharply to hold him, right there, applying steady yet unmoving pressure in a way that nearly brought him to tears from mixed pain and pleasure. 

“Ngh - I- You—” He swallowed a low, guttural sound that originated from his hindbrain and turned to face her, eyes clouded with lust. “You knew. I should have- ah - guessed.” 

She smiled, caressing his cheek with one hand and while pressing into him with the other. “Of course I did, love. Should I not notice when my husband is in distress?” she purred. In a gentler tone, she added, “Is this helping? I don’t want to make it any more difficult for you...” 

He took a moment, steadying his breathing and focusing the rest of his spent energy on her soothing presence.

 “I- Mm. Yes, I- I think so.” The heat and gentle pressure of her hand had abated some of the tightness in his pants for the moment. Gingerly moving his thigh from its locked position, he found that he could put weight on it without losing his balance.

He made a motion to get up and she moved with him, adjusting her hand so that he could stand as comfortably as possible. She gathered the rest of their belongings, Zhongli standing stock-still while she tucked his wallet back into his coat pocket. He tried not to focus on the warmth of her hand over his chest and the thrumming heat that rose to meet it. 

Finally, after a certain man’s longest night in centuries, they moved from the accursed dining room out into the Liyuean night. The light breeze cooled his flushed cheeks as they stood in comfortable silence in the doorway of the restaurant, watching the muted streetlights sway in the city below.

Until now, the thought of logistically how to maintain this compromising configuration while walking about the streets of Liyue Harbor had not yet crossed the foggy wasteland behind Zhongli’s dilated pupils, and it was clear by his hesitation in beginning the journey home.

“You know... you could always duck into an alleyway, if you’re that desperate,” she giggled, relishing the annoyed blush that spread across her husband’s face. Both of them knew he’d never agree to such a scheme— he, the former Geo archon, rutting in an alley like a stray tomcat...! 

He barely allowed himself to entertain the thought. Restaurant bathrooms were one thing, but the moonlit streets of the city he raised from the ground? Not while he still retained an ounce of pride.

Still, the matter yet remained.

She glanced at his face, seeing the restraint that was causing his brow to knit and his jaw to tighten as he considered their options. It did cause her pain to know that her beloved was so uncomfortable, yet her own desires weren’t impervious to the thought of his growing sexual frustration and the feel of the warm length pressed against her left hand.

The ghost of a whine escaped his lips and she was shaken out of her own reverie by his obvious need for her to take initiative.

“Well then, my love, let’s get you home. Shall we?” She smiled up at him as she undid his coat buttons and wrapped one shoulder of the ample fabric around her, shielding his predicament from the world as long as she stayed close to his side. Thus prepared, she took his trembling hands in hers and tugged him along next to her as they fell into step.

Much to Zhongli’s relief, stay close she did. As they started down the restaurant steps, she felt one of his gloved hands release hers and snake around her cloaked waist to cling to her, desperate for stability. 

As aware as she was that she had this powerful man in the very palm of her hand at the moment, she valiantly resisted the instinct to tease and test his resolve to maintain respectable appearances while in public.

At first, she succeeded. Until he started being unfair and moaning under his breath in the lewdest way imaginable, that is. 

They were halfway to their residence and Zhongli was trying oh-so-hard to keep it together, for her sake and for his own, but for fuck’s sake, the way her hand would involuntarily stroke him when he took a step, sliding up and down his clothed shaft and making walking ten times harder than it needed to be— 

“Ngh~ My-My dear, I- Mmph.”  

She chanced a glimpse of his face and momentarily lost her balance, causing both of them to stumble and her husband to whine lowly at the loss of friction.

Between the sounds coming from the beautiful man next to her and the look of utter pleasure melting his expression, she decided she couldn’t keep her vow. Blushing, she gripped him harder in retaliation, which earned her a gasp. 

“Please, darling, I- o-oh,” he whispered, trying very hard to glare at his assailant through the haze of lust that clouded his gaze.

Craving the gentle sounds escaping him more than her conscience could fault her for, she began moving her hand a little more purposefully with each step, rubbing him through his pants in a gentle rhythm until an uncharacteristically weak hand caught her wrist.

“N-No. No more.” He looked simultaneously aroused, angry, and pleading; he was far too close to the edge to conceal anything. “I beg, darling.”

That settled it. Slowing her pace to nothing, she ceased her teasing to instead hold him gently as her face buried itself into the warm crook of his neck. They stood there in the darkened street for a peaceful moment, no sound breaking the silence aside from the distant sounds of the commercial district and Zhongli’s panting breaths.

“My apologies. I got carried away,” she murmured into the fabric of his collar. Her breaths ghosted across his collarbone and made him shiver, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Can you keep going? Should we stop here and rest?” 

He exhaled shakily, relieved at her change of heart. Had she known just what fantasies of taking his wife against the nearest wall, decorum be damned, were currently making his blood run hot, he was sure she wouldn’t feel near so much remorse for her earlier actions. 

Against all odds, they arrived at their doorstep in one piece. To the empty Liyuean night, they appeared to be a newlywed couple returning from a nice night out on the town, though the husband looked to have had a few drinks too many by his mannerisms.

Zhongli fumbled with the key in his breast pocket with his other hand braced against the doorknob, almost dropping it in his uncharacteristic haste. His companion gently took his hand in hers and guided it to the lock, sliding it open with a click. A gentleman even in his current state, he ushered her in ahead of him before passing through the familiar doorway.

That disciplined façade was dropped as quickly as he could shut the door behind him. Barely remembering to turn the lock behind him, he slumped against the wall of the entryway, panting.

Sensing his inability to move on his own, she took his arm and half-carried him to their bedroom, cheeks heating from the very vocal response his body gave to her touch. He’d moan for her again like this when he was feeling better, she vowed, already planning her method of attack.

He slumped onto their freshly made bed as she propped him against the headboard and watched through clouded eyes as his wife started to undo the lacing of her intricate gown. 

Feeling his gaze on her, she gave him an apologetic smile as she worked on removing her clothing. “I’m sorry, dear, I promise I’ll be there in a moment. This lace is so delicate,” she murmured, glancing down at it as if certain it would tear any second now.

She had meant to attend to him straight away, but she couldn’t bear to ruin the beautiful dress he had picked out for her, nor the jewelry that had caught her eye on their honeymoon so long ago. They were gifts from him, pieces of his love, and she could feel that love in his gaze whenever he saw how she treasured them; she knew how much it meant to him that she treated them with such care.

On most nights such as this, Zhongli would be the one removing them from her body with a tenderness that spoke to his patient nature. Tonight, however, her husband’s low and breaking voice called out from where he lay on silk sheets behind her, less composed than she had ever heard him when she wasn’t performing some act of pleasure on him.

“Please, my dear, my-my gem, I-” He swallowed thickly, biting back another moan that rose in his throat. They were getting more difficult to swallow by the moment. “I need- I won’t last much longer without-” 

The desperation in his tone nearly made her fold, but she was determined not to ruin his gifts. No matter how he moaned, she thought.

As she pulled the dress over her head and moved quickly to hang it up, she heard a rustling of fabric behind her and the sound of clothing hitting the floor. By the sound of it, he’d succeeded in removing his coat, at least. 

Her name fell from his lips like both a curse and a prayer as a tie and pin clattered onto the nightstand.

“Ngh- You...” he cut himself off, panting, as he unzipped his pants enough for the impressive tent in his boxers to spring out of them. “Leave me no- ah! - choice, then.” He was palming his cock with abandon now, working himself desperately through the damp material like his life depended on it. She turned from the closet just in time to see him finally ridding his erection from its confines and gasping as the cold air met his flushed, weeping head.

If he had been suppressing his sounds of arousal before now, no longer. They tore from his throat like an erotic music box, some high and needy, some like the rumbling of far-off thunder.

He tore his gloves off in annoyance, apparently not getting the friction he sought, and discarded them to the floor in a way she’d never seen him do as he stroked himself faster, chasing release. 

It didn’t take long to work up to his peak, with the state he had been in all evening. His head was thrown back against the headboard, incoherent sounds forming at his lips, and in that moment, his wife thought him the perfect picture of a debauched god.

“Zh- Dear, I...” Half-conscious, she dropped the earring in her hand onto the dresser and took in the finest piece of art she’d ever seen before her. It was certainly something to witness a man like him in his moment of sheerest vulnerability. Knowing how much he needed her touch just then, she forsook the rest of her jewelry and rushed to him.

It was her name on his lips as his hips began to buck wildly and his breath hitched, tears forming in golden eyes trained on her as she knelt next to him. She pressed her forehead to his own, caressing his face and murmuring words of praise.

The knot snapped all at once, his whole body twitching and flushed and heavenly. 

She held his face as he came down from his intense high, breathing heavily and holding her gaze through half-lidded eyes. An impressive amount of release decorated his bare chest, while some had landed on the unbuttoned dress shirt that still clung to his shoulders and arms. His beautiful face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as she kissed him softly, carefully, his lips red from abuse by dragonlike fangs. Before she closed her eyes, she mentally burned the image into her brain forever. 

Humming quietly as his breathing began to steady, she retrieved a towel from the cabinet of her nightstand and began tending to his slicked stomach and hands, gently cleaning the remains of his pleasure with care. Bent over his chest, she felt arms around her waist pulling her up, some of his usual strength having returned to him after his initial release. She let him. Straddling his lap in her lace undergarments, she settled herself against his hips as she helped him remove his shirt and let it fall next to the bed.

Another obstacle between them having been removed, he pulled her in by her jade necklace, meeting her lips halfway in a soft, passionate embrace. Momentarily satisfied, he shifted to target the side of her neck, trailing a line of burning kisses until he got to the offending piece of jewelry that had kept her from his side for so long. 

As his warm lips met cold metal, Zhongli brought up an elegant hand and expertly unlatched the chain, laying it on the nightstand with far more control than she would have expected of him— though she caught the subtle shake in his hands as he pushed his legendary self-control to its limits.

It had been mere moments since he had come, but his body was already responding to her proximity, cock hardening at an amazing rate as she started to rock her hips against him. He groaned in response, hands coming up to grab at her thighs, feeling the effects of his rut kick in yet again. 

A bead of sweat rolled down his abdominal muscles and through the neatly-trimmed trail below his navel before disappearing into gold-hemmed boxers. She watched its progress, in no hurry to quicken her pace, and migrated her fingers from his flushed cheeks to the amber strands of hair that stuck to his forehead. Smoothing them back, she smiled at him and massaged his scalp with her fingernails, eliciting lovely sounds from her husband’s parted lips. 

He took the opportunity while she gazed at him so lovingly to capture her lips with his own, elongated canines nipping at her as she deepened the kiss. 

Once his wife had succeeded in lulling him completely, her hand dipped between them suddenly to grab at his length and Zhongli gasped prettily into her mouth. She smirked against his lips. Fingers dancing along his shaft that flushed a beautiful gold with arousal, she teased him enough that she could feel his heartbeat rabbiting against her hand and his breathing hitch in his throat.

Taking pity, she finally moved her forefinger up to his sensitive head and swirled the bead there into his soft skin, slowly building in intensity. Before he could wince from the overstimulation, she resumed a rhythmic pace on his shaft that caused his head to fall back against the headboard with a thunk . Finally, finally, she had her hands on him and he was getting the friction he needed so desperately all evening. He could cry from relief.

Then, just as he started to feel the knot in his abdomen build once more from her steady attention, she pulled her hand away with a butterfly kiss to his nose and he whined, pulling back from her with a pitiable look in his eyes. 

“-Really, darling?” His words spoke to his annoyance at being denied, but his face betrayed him, as did the breathlessness of his tone. “ Please stop teasing or I’ll- ah- ”

She cut him off with a gentle kiss to his tip that forced him to inhale sharply. Her grin was akin to a Chesire cat’s. “Or you’ll what, dearest?”

Zhongli huffed gently, his hips rocking against hers traitorously. He made no reply.

She placed a hand lovingly to his chest, tracing the markings that streaked his torso from collarbone to hip. They flushed gold under her wandering touch, thrumming with power and arousal, as well as barely-contained anticipation.

As she finally brought her eyes up to his, gaze swimming with endearment, he allowed himself to hope that his torment was over for the evening. His wife’s more teasing tendencies surely must have been satisfied by now. She did love him, didn’t she? She must feel some sympathy for her partner of so many years. She must.

“Now, let’s get you out of these pants, hmm?”

Oh, thank fuck.

His last thought was of gratitude before she helped him kick off his trousers and his mind finally, mercifully, went blank.

◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇

Later that night, when the hormonal effects had mostly subsided and he lay with his exhausted wife on his chest, playing with her hair while she rested, he made a few mental notes in whatever part of his brain was lucid. 

One was to buy a calendar for his office. The second was to evaluate the removal time coefficient of a gift before buying it in the future. The final was to invest in a more durable set of sheets.

And if any other thoughts crossed his mind before he succumbed to his own exhaustion, they were lost to the Liyue night.

｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆｡ﾟ

A/N: this is my first work on here! thank you for reading! <3

[dangerous-advantage]

Ranking the Best Video Game Soundtrack of All Time*

ehm.

by all rights, i should not be taking the time to do this. it's finals week, i have an essay due by midnight, and i have fifty other things to do related to my current hyperfixation.

there is no audience for this. nobody here cares about my opinions relating to video games or their soundtracks. all this does is serve as a reminder to my mutuals that i am, in fact, back on my bullshit (and also never stopped.)

(thank you guys please i swear i'll write something relevant to my current hyper fixations eventually, but for now, here this is instead.)

i present to you: my ranking of the original plants vs. zombies soundtrack.

i could talk about a lot of things pertaining to why i am doing this, but i've decided to not do that, and leave at, simply: pvz is one of my all-time favorite games, pop cap deserved better (fuck you ea) and if you haven't played pvz, i highly recommend the $5 computer version on steam (that and also peggle. play peggle right now.)

anyways, generally people will explain their criteria and stuff but i am basing this off of vibes alone. i'll be linking the songs via the images, so hopefully you can click on the images and be able to hear them.

(i would also recommend you listen to these songs, even if you don't read through this, because you deserve it. yes they're that good.)

without further ado, let's get into it.

1. Crazy Dave [Main Theme]

(Note: Plays during main menu.)

Though my ears have been dulled to this song via the many times I've listened to it, one cannot deny the instant recognition. Anyone who has played PvZ knows this song.

As you click the petals off of the flowers in the main menu or watch the lawn grass roll open across the loading screen, it plays. Embodying the ideas of PvZ as a concept. This is not just a simple tower defense game, despite what one might think. It's a masterpiece. And this song embodies that masterpiece.

The melody is short, but familiar. Jazzy and intriguing, but light. Playful. In it, we only begin to see the genius of Laura Shigihara's compositions. It's basic, but catchy (especially the end part -- you know what I'm talking about.)

Final Rating: 6.4 brains (out of 10)

2. Crazy Dave's Greeting

(Note: You guys know when this plays. And if you don't, it's when your neighbor, Crazy Dave [as seen above] is talking to you. Now go play the game.)

This is criminally underrated in the way of PvZ music. I know it's technically nothing more than a sting, but I'm trying to be thorough, and not including it feels wrong.

It's simple, barely eight seconds, and plays behind Dave as he talks. And yet, despite that, it's so incredibly snazzy that you can't help but bop along to it. That, as you already know (or will soon see, proven over and over again) is simply a testament to Laura Shigihara's creative (and lone) genius. My only complaint is that I wish it were longer.

Final Rating: 6.73 brains (out of 10)

3. Choose Your Seeds

(Note: Plays as you are choosing your seeds. What else is there to say?)

Admittedly one of the weaker tracks, if only for the repetition. It isn't terrible and fits the mood of what is happening fine, but can be irritating if you let it play too many times over. Not something you would loop just to listen to. It does, however, hype you up spectacularly for the upcoming level music (especially on "boss levels," but we'll get to that.)

It's a simple piano, reminiscent of the main title track, with a slow, dragging feel. It doesn't rush you, or demand attention. It just stands by as you frown at your seeds and plan your upcoming strategy with the seeds you can pick. In endless mode, this track becomes your friend -- a moment of relief within the madness.

Final Rating: 5.7 brains (out of 10)

4. Grasswalk

(Note: Plays during first stage of game, levels one through ten -- "Day." Alternate version, 'Grasswalk [Horde], plays when "a huge wave of zombies is approaching.")

Did you expect to hear the announcer groan, " The zombies... are coming..." at that one specific part? Could you hear it in your mind but not in your ears? Of course you could. It's ingrained into your very bones, isn't it?

This track starts out fine. Good, even. It's simple, plodding. Something to put on and nod your head slowly. It doesn't demand too much attention. It knows you're just starting, or just coming back, and are getting used to everything, and it lets you. It allows you to.

But it builds, too. Slowly. Enough for you to barely notice, to think, "Hm. I wonder where this is going." And then, that part hits, dully cementing the greatness of this song. It's just long enough for you to look forward to hearing it again, breaks up the repetition. And you think, "This is pretty great! If all of the songs are like this, I think that would be pretty cool!"

And then the rest of them are better.

Final Rating: 6.9 brains (out of 10)

5. Victory Jingle

(Note: Plays when you win a level/obtain a new seed packet.)

Again, technically not a song, but how could I not include this? When that last zombie falls and you've just planted that last plant to make perfect, symmetrical rows of plants, bopping proudly to the earth's heartbeat, and you click on that new seed packet -- could not think of a more perfect jingle than this.

It's light, energetic, but final. It's a smug, proud thing, tilting up your chin as you think, "Heh, that was easy," or "Hell YEAH I fuckin' SURVIVED that!" Either way, it feels deserved. It's also probably something you would want to learn how to play on piano, just because it's such a cool little sting. There's no reason for it, you just like it.

Final Rating: 9.4 brains (out of 10)

6. Loonboon

(Note: Plays during fast-paced mini-games, such as wall-nut bowling [as seen above. Apparently inspired by Metroid, Laura's cat, zooming around the house.)

You know it. You love it. It's there, bright an energetic, as you line up your shots to take down as many zombies in a row as you cam (who doesn't love the satisfying sound of wall-nuts crashing into zombies?) Not much else to say, really.

I will say: this soundtrack, while not the most anxiety inducing (don't worry, we'll get there) does certainly fill me with a sense of manic, potential energy. A lot of the other soundtracks are more chill, even the energetic ones, but this one is fast-paced enough that you worry you won't be able to keep up.

Final Rating: 7.5 brains (out of 10)

7. Moongrains

(Note: Plays during the 'Night' level stages. Alternate version: Moongrains [Horde] plays when, y'know. The zombies are coming but more worryingly.]

We all remember our first time, being introduced to the night levels. The horrible realization that, oh shit, sun doesn't fall from the sky? Crazy Dave, are you sure about this?

This track feels like PvZ at night. There's no other way to explain it. It's a sneaky track. For tiptoeing. As you fall into the rhythm of the new play style and begin to fall in love with the new repertoire of shrooms and other fungi offered to you during these levels, this song allows that level of mysteriousness and excitement that you come to expect from PvZ. Glorious.

Fits right along with the night-time plant ambience, my favorite of which being the crumble of gravestones being digested. That, or the sound sun shrooms make when they grow up. (Though, who could forget, the disco theme.)

Final Rating: 7.59 brains (out of 10)

8. Watery Graves

(Note: Plays during the pool stages (day). Alternate version, Watery Graves [Horde], plays when, um... you should hopefully be able to figure it out by now. It's also a complete fucking banger, btw.)

Ah, the pool levels. Just when you had the hang of the night levels, too. Personally, when I think of PvZ level tracks, this is the one my mind returns to. It's just so good. Adding those lower, 'doo-doo, doo-doo' undertones as it builds into the FUNKIEST piano you will have ever heard. You bop your head, thinking, wow. And then it's not even done! It keeps going! It stays new and interesting through the entire time, with its unique vibe, but also that mysterious PvZ vibe that carries through all of the songs.

Honestly, this track is just phenomenal. I can hear that "ding! ding! ding!" in my head just by thinking about it. It has a tropical vibe, almost, which makes sense. Also, lowkey reminds me a bit of Sunflower's song (you know the one.) And the light percussion... just a masterpiece all around.

Nothing but good things to say about this track. Absolutely spectacular. One of my favorite levels to play, strategy-wise (and plant-wise! Some banger plants here, top ten (not bought) plants come from these levels.) I don't even want to move onto the next one yet, just want to keep listening to this on loop.

Final Rating: 9.3 brains (out of 10)

9. Rigor Mormist

(Note: Plays during the pool (night) stages, also called the fog levels. Here's the alternate Horde version.)

The fog levels. Incredibly terrifying to me as a child, still innately horrifying, but less so because I'm really good at this game now. I would still honestly say these are my least favorite levels, but I might just be biased because of my childhood fear.

The song, though? You hear Moongrains and think, yeah, that's PvZ at night. You hear this and think, haha, I'm in terrible danger. You watch the fog quietly encroaching, and even though it's not worth it to invest in plants that would light the way and is probably better to just guess and pray, you want to. You make sure to always have enough sun in case you need to pull out the Blover that you probably should have switched for a more practical plant with the excuse of "balloon zombies," but you know the truth.

You'll be fine, right? I mean, sure, you're straining your ears and hoping that you get enough Cactus plants down (which you also shouldn't have invested in, but you're driven by fear) before you hear the first "fwoosh" of a balloon going up when you hear this godforsaken sound and it's fine, everything is fine. I mean, it's not like it can be any worse than this, right?

Final Rating: 8.7 brains (out of 10)

10. Stage 4 / Level 10

(Note: Where it gets worse.)

PvZ is by no means a horror game, (despite the zombies.) This is also not a song. In fact, this is the only level in the game almost entirely devoid of music. The only things you hear are the zombies, fog level ambience, and the rain. After playing the level enough, it becomes easy. Simple.

But that first time. The shocking lack of sound. The darkness taking over the screen. It's such a well-done bit of atmosphere. Calming, but simultaneously terrifying. The more zombies that appear and the longer the seconds between flashes of lightning...

Usually, level ten of each stage is accompanied by a certain soundtrack (which I'll get to later) that's bright, upbeat, and energetic. It feels victorious. You were expecting that, but now you realize, it would feel out of place here.

Final Rating: 9.68 brains (out of 10)

11. Cerebrawl

(Note: Plays on certain mini-games, such as the "I, Zombie" mini-games. According to Laura, it plays on the more "cerebral" levels.)

Don't have much to say here, but this bop doesn't need my platitudes. It can stand on it's own two feet just fine. Needless to say, this track fucks. It falls right on that line between spooky and funky that Laura has perfected. Plus, it's in one of top favorite mini games (along with several other bangers, such as "It's Raining Seeds," "Beghouled Twist," "Zombiequarium," and others.)

Final Rating: 8.5 brains (out of ten)

12. Graze the Roof

(Note: Plays during the roof levels. Here's the Horde version.)

Y'ALL KNOW WHAT TF IS UP!! GodDAMN, have I been waiting for this one (and you have, too. Don't lie to me.)

By this point, you're wondering, "Wait, there's more? We've done both the back and front lawns, and night and at day? What else could possibly be left?" And then it pulls out the roof. And with it comes Graze the Roof.

It's a culmination of everything you've grown to love about PvZ, but more. This track is so good. Laura does not fuckin' MISS, and this song? With these levels? The Roof levels are some of my favorites, and the music is a big part of that. I mean, also, obviously, the gameplay, but like. Come on. It's so damn good. Hell-to-the-yeah.

Final Rating: 9.72

13. Ultimate Battle

(Note: Only plays during the tenth level of each stage, the "final stage" of each.

If you've gotten to this point, you've probably been waiting for this. Actually, let's be for real: everybody has been waiting for this. When you get to the tenth level of stage one and this comes on, it's like you've been remade. The world will never be the same again. Because this music exists, and now you've heard it.

This track is the reason I replay the main story levels instead of just focusing on endless. I actively look forward to playing the tenth level because of this track. I will go back and play through each stage just so I can get to this point and play the conveyor belt levels.

For one glorious level, you don't give a shit about strategy or sun. You take the plants they give you, put 'em on the screen, and watch huge swathes of zombies battle your excessive amounts of plants as this BOP plays in the background. It's literally amazing. Thank you, Laura. This is... beyond words.

Final Rating: 100,000 brains (out of 10)

14. Zen Garden

(Note: Only plays during the Zen Garden mini-game.)

Calm before the storm here. Just a nice, chill song, for a nice, chill mini-game, that's actually more rewarding than most other "zen-garden" games I've played. It's just... nice. Calming.

Final Rating: 7 brains (out of 10)

15. Brainiac Maniac

(Note: Boss battle music.)

As @gamer-guy2873 in the comments section so artfully puts it: "Everybody gansta til the note is written in cursive with proper grammar."

This is a culmination of vibes, having fully pulled away from that spooky feel to a more energetic, active feel. You're gonna fight this guy. You've been training for this the entire time. And you get an absolute banger to do it with.

The more energetic feel plus the softer, more "smooth" sections brings the roof vibe together with the original vibes presented to us during the very first levels. In a lesser song, these sections would clash. But this is no "lesser song." No. This is art.

Final Rating: 9.89 brains (out of 10)

16. Zombotany (Unreleased Track)

(Note: Unreleased track. You probably haven't heard it before, and it's great, so go and do that!)

I feel like we were robbed. Hello? Hello? This is excellent. The lighter, funky feel, with the spy-esque undertones behind it? I would have loved this, playing PvZ as a kid. I mean, I do now, so I definitely would have then.

The fake-out starts and stops? The little bits of off-key notes? All arranged into this masterpiece. The little bits and peices of audio effects weaved within it? Man, this is just amazing, honestly.

Final Score: 9.6 brains (out of 10)

17. Zombie on Your Lawn

(Note: Roll credits, bitches.)

That's right. We're here, finally. Done. If you've slogged through this (or skipped over if for fear of having to spend an inordinate amount of time reading through a post about plants vs zombies/accidentally opened the read more, not realizing the level of commitment required), good job. This song serves as both a thank you and also end, which is fitting.

What can be said about this song that hasn't already? It's excellent. All of these songs are excellent. Watching the music video after defeating Zomboss was truly an experience my seven-year-old brain was not equipped to handle.

I love this game. Maybe it's nostalgia, maybe it's the music, maybe it's a lot of things. But objectively, these songs are amazing. Go check out Laura and support her if you can -- she's over on Twitch at supershigi, if that's something you're interested in.

Anyways, it's three in the morning here. I'll check for mistakes when I'm less dead. For now, let's end this already horribly long post.

Final Rating: 9.8 brains (out of 10)

(*in my opinion)

[workingchemistry]

One of Fox’s worst traits is that he has no sense of pride or self-preservation. He’s willing to make an absolute mockery of himself so long as it will earn him success in whatever manner he defines it. That's what makes him so dangerous and also what makes him so annoying. The only way to win against Fox is to not fight in the first place.

So. Rex does the only thing he can do in the face of such adversity–He goes limp.

Fox adjusts his hold easily, without pausing his diatribe for a beat. He simply squats, throws Rex over his shoulder, and walks onward. “You sure you’re eating all your ration bars, ve’vut’shebs? If Cody is starving you, you can tell me. I’ll knock him on his ass for you.

“You fucking suck.” Rex says, crossing his arms. He doesn’t bother fighting back physically as he takes comfort in pulling Fox down to his level.

Fox snorts and pats Rex’s back with his free hand, clearly taking the comment as innuendo. “Not as much as I used to.”

[sweetpinkchampagne]

1:49 am

18+ readers only please lovelies!! (this is for a reason please listen<3)

little synopsis: coming home late after a stark party and stephen is tipsy and overly touchy...

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange

note: hiiii gorgeous!! thank you for readingg. i literally cannot stop listening to hozier at the moment, stephen is SO hozier's music. like i just know he worships women like wholeheartedly at your knees as if you're an altar in a church.. on his knees in other ways.... dinner and diatribes is so stephen i highly reccomend!! (frothing, gnawing at the irons bars of my enclosure like a rabid animal) iykyk. stephen is such a sick fuck why is he so like dangerously heavenly like GTHRDJKSLA (if this is ur first interaction with me im so sorry im feral, this is a cult welcome cutie!! xx)

warnings: alcohol consumption, intoxication, making out while intoxicated, tony starks ego (we love him), smut while intoxicated (both parties) um a tiny little daddy kink... (say what...i know its not everyones cup of tea but i had tooooo) not proof read eek!

it was 1:49 am. a cool night swept over the city of new york, the stark tower bustling with celebrities and journalists. something tony called 'networking', a cleverly labelled excuse to blow money and get drunk.

you and stephen hadn’t planned to be out so late, but stark’s parties weren't exactly matinées, despite all of the dramatics. under usual circumstances your husband would portal the two of you home in order to avoid the paparazzi swarmed outside. the music was incredibly loud, expensive trays of sushi being passed out along other canapés. men and women around you holding crystal between their fingers in an attempt to appear elegant in a situation that can only be compared to a club setting. the walls were lined with signed records from famous musicans as well as technology tony had been tinkering with and developing, eyes drawn to these machines in awe, asking questions and flattering his already over-inflated ego. you looked to your left, spotting stephen’s suit blazer hung messily over a barstool. you laughed to yourself seeing him in his half-unbuttoned dress shirt clearly reliving his glory days at columbia, dancing and drinking. 

you thanked stark and waved goodbye to everyone, stephen slumped against you - his tall figure not exactly leaning against your shoulder, too drunk to open a portal coherently. you shook your head gently, heels clicking on the concrete as you began coaxing him into one of the of pre-called taxis, stretching out of the front of the stark tower. his suit blazer drapped over one of your shoulders. the paparazzi exploiting all who exited the building, asking questions as their camera flashes blinded you.

“greenwich village, 177A bleecker street please!” you hummed sweetly to the cab driver who nodded and smiled back, gently swatting stephens hand away as he mindlessly toyed with the hem of your already short dress.

"you look gorgeous tonight baby" he whispered, his hot breath against your neck, tickling. you giggled softly, your shoulder instinctively lifting to cover your neck, pushing him away.

"thank you stephen, you look so handsome.."

"oh yeah?" he smirked

"okay.. dont get too cocky" you laughed, leaning into his side, you looked out the window, the city lights looked gorgeous. people of all walks of life walking down the streets. families going to see musicals, a group of girlfriends going out and a pair of budding musicians busking on the corner, one man in suede with a banjo, the other a scruffy man playing the harmonica. stephen wasn't looking out the window, you felt his eyes looking down at you, smiling with adoration.

the sound of your purse landing on the sideboard of the sanctum entrance echoed off the walls. stephen was always a cocky man, but this heightened when he was drunk. you laughed softly as your back gently hit the wall of the entrance, an overly confident doctor cupping your cheeks, the smell of whiskey on his breath.

“been thinking of doing this all night..” his baritone voice whispered as his scarred hands snaked their way around your waist and his lips met the warmth of your neck. 

“you do flatter a girl stephen..." you gasped as he quickly turned you around, your chest pressed into the oak panelling of the sanctum entrance. you felt him harden behind you, pressing into your ass. you threw your head back, leaning into his shoulder as cold hands danced around your back, slowly pulling the zipper to your dress down as it effortlessly fell to the floor, bunched around your heels.

"stephen you're drunk...we should-.. sleep.." she gasped as his hands travelled down the length of her spine, gently.

"drunk and horny" he corrected, you could tell he was smirking by the way he delivered the words.

"please..." you whispered as he rolled up his dress shirt's sleeves to his forearms, his veins deliciously visible.

"please what baby? huh? you got an ache..??" he kissed the back of your neck, humming in contentment. you rolled your eyes, he had a thing about you using your words even when he knew what you wanted, where you wanted.

"i need you..." you turned around, looking up at him with big eyes as he looked down at you, without hesitation, he knelt down in front of you, pausing to look up at you before you nodded gently, he gently slid your panties off and then he grabbed your hips and hoisted you up around his waist, you gasped as his buldge made contact with your core, whimpering in his ear, pushing the photo frames and your purse carelessly off the sideboard before laying you down the length of the sideboard. you whined in anticipation, as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you down to him, standing at the end of the sideboard.

he walked back over to you, looking down at you as he tutted.

"desperate little thing arent you baby..? ive barely touched you..."

"stephen..dont torture me, dont be mean.." you pouted looking up at him as he bent down to passionately kiss your lips, standing back up before brushing his fingertips down your body, your neck, chest, stomach ending inches from your core. he knelt down at the end of the sideboard, delicately wrapping your legs around his neck before he kissed your inner thighs without warning.

"shit! stephen- i.." you threw your head back, back arching against the sideboard as you felt him smirk against your skin. his stubble burned your delicate skin. adding fuel to the already ignited fire. he chuckled lowly before adjusting you to move your cunt closer to his lips. he looked up at your expecting eyes with a gentle look, you nodded laying your head back down.

"fucking soaked..." he whispered deeply, admiring you. he was never one for a quick fuck, i mean he did it of course if you begged, if you had a place to be.. but it definitely wasn't his preference. he wanted to savour you, to fervently worship his wife. your thighs squeezed his neck impatiently huffing below him.

"dont be bratty baby, im just admiring my girl.." he warned lowly. without warning he left a long stripe between the folds of your pussy, you writhed under him as his tongue purposefully missed your clit. what felt like hours of slow, delicate licks led to an ache in your lower belly. his stubble burned your inner thighs, adding to the pleasure as you began to rock your pussy into his mouth, you felt him smirk as he placed one hand down on your lower stomach before sucking violently on your clit. you squealed in pleasure, your thighs weakly handing over his shoulder, shaking.

"god you taste divine, like fucking heaven. i worship you darling.." he whispered between your thighs, as if it were a secret, but he told you it everyday.

"stephen.." you whimpered as he sucked on your clit, his face buried between your legs.

"give it to me baby, make a mess for daddy.." you moaned loudly at the nickname, something you mistakenly whimpered one day in sex that made him choke on his words and look down at you. "m' sorry! i- i.. dont know where that came from" his eyes darkened looking down at you. "say it again fr' me, yeah?" your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he pounded into you faster than usual.

"daddy!" you gasped. clutching the drawers of the sideboard for support, your back arching as lewd noises of him eating you out filled the room. "jesus christ! fuck me." you screamed as you came on his tongue, he didn't stop. you shook from the overstimulation he cleaned you up with his tongue, your legs shuddered as he laid them down gently, leaning over your body, his palms resting on the sideboard as he looked down at you. it was pornographic the way his goatee glistened with your seed.

"you're going to be the death of me, you know that darling?" he smirked, cocking his head to the side as his eyes still ravaged your body before reluctantly looking back to your glossy eyes, you were gone, lost in a haze, chasing a high.

[deusvervewrites]

Regarding the whole DC reboot nonsense:

It wasn't JUST about the origin stories but about the larger universe in general which (supposedly) had gotten too bloated with characters and storylines and events to keep track of. How accurate that statement is is questionable, but, as a creative I can understand the impulse to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. Of course this is easier for someone that is just writing a 5k word fanfic or creating a little indie-game to play with their friends and a bit more complicated when your universe has existed for decades and has millions of ardent fans, each of them invested into a different part of that universe.

In the end it doesn't even matter, ever since they did their first big reboot with Crisis on Infinite Earths in 1985 they keep running into the issue that there is something they forgot to change or changed to much or changed their mind on in their last big reboot, so they have to fix that.

How? Well, they have the big red reboot-everything button still lying around there. Sure, didn't work perfectly last time, but surely this time it will, right? Since then we have gotten at least one big reboot per decade and their frequency has started to increase (insert pacific rim meme here) and guess what, their canon is still a mess and not fixed in the slightest, but they did manage to piss off every single fan at least once!

Anyway, the point being that there were some good intention behind shit like the New52, but a ton of issues were not properly thought through and the execution was botched on just about every level.

There is a great Video by OSP that looks into this (and Multiverses in general: https://youtu.be/GE95DZndTO8?si=l_kBUANmRfIo0IVX

And a MASSIVE deep dive by Polygon from a few years ago into just how the New 52 went down behind the curtains: https://www.polygon.com/comics/22679756/dc-comics-reboot-new-52-writers-oral-history

Sorry for the wall of text, stuff like this just really interests me!

Bold of you to assume I haven't already watched OSP Detail Diatribe The Multiverse Problem.

Yeah DC set a dangerous precedent with that first big Crisis reboot and we've been feeling the consequences ever since. The problem is that wiping the slate clean doesn't actually make things simpler; it just alienates old fans and ironically makes things more convoluted which in turn makes it harder to get new readers.

DC, and comics in general, have the appeal of a larger interconnected world but you can choose which slice(s) you interact with. Both Marvel and DC seem to think this means the appeal is constant crisis events and DC in particular is hard to get invested in because they've already proven they'll erase your favorite characters and pretend they don't exist. Hell even the big three have had their personalities dramatically changed multiple times

[scribespirare]

Do you think you could write an a/b/o for omega Miles babysitting Mayday at HQ, and tsundere alpha Miguel doesn't know how to cope? The way you write these two is just *chef's kiss*

Nonnie i could kiss you for this request i love it so so much. i kinda...went a little nuts with it lmao. first its sappy then it gets sad and it ends very horny. its 2k long ajdfkdj;a. i think im gonna write the sex scene later and post it as a full fic.

There are very few things that can stop Miguel O'Hara in his tracks these days. He's been there, seen it all, got the goddamned spider suit to prove it. Surprising him is nigh impossible and he likes it that way.

For some reason, Miles Morales seems to be at the top of the list of things that can get to him though.

Miles, with his big dark eyes and his sneer and his inability to listen to common sense or reason. The Omega superhero who defies every stereotype about his gender. Who smells absolutely amazing and is stunning in action, lithe body built perfectly for his acrobatics.  

Miles, who is currently sitting in HQ's control room with Mayday in his lap, his face bright and smiling as she babbles at him. He's got her little hands in each of his own, lifting them one after the other as she stamps her feet.

"I know!" he says in response to her babbling, attention completely on the little girl. "It's crazy, right? Tell me more about it."

Mayday obliges, her babbling raising in both pitch and tempo like she really is going on a diatribe of some kind. She seems to be enjoying having a captive audience and isn't going to let it go to waste.

It's...well, Miguel really and truly has been stopped in his tracks. It's the first Omegean thing he's ever seen from Miles. Normally he's so contrarian and difficult, not to mention eager to jump into danger and equally as capable of actually handling it. You'd think he was an Alpha the way he behaves, small, lithe form be damned.

Seeing him like this, soft and sweet and smiling, his scent bright and nearly floral, is...doing things to Miguel. Bringing up feelings and urges that he's known were there, but which he'd been successfully keeping under lock and key.

Miles suddenly seems to become aware of Miguel's presence, and he looks up. His smile fades a little but it's a smile all the same, and Miguel's pretty sure Miles hasn't smiled at him since...well, everything. It looks good on him.

"Hey, wasn't sure when you were going to be back. Peter asked me to babysit for him though and I figured hanging out here would be better than taking her home with me. Not sure how I would explain that one to my folks."

The idea of someone mistakenly thinking Mayday is Miles’, that the Omega has a child, has been mated and more, makes Miguel’s nostrils flare. He clamps down ruthlessly on the reaction, knowing that if he doesn’t his interest will undoubtedly be noticeable in his scent.

“Just keep it down,” are the words that come off of Miguel’s tongue. They’re better than Do you want a child? or You’d make a good mother or, even worse, I could give you one of your own, if you want. 

Miles’ smile turns into a frown and then an unhappy twist. He clicks his tongue, says, “Whatever, man,” and goes back to Mayday. He’s speaking quietly to her now but Miguel can pick up his own name and big meany and assh- wait I can’t say that to you.

Miguel just heads for his central computers, waking them up and logging into the system to check on how everything is running today. But he can’t help the way he watches Miles’ and Mayday’s reflections on the screen. He can’t pick up many details like this but he can still smell them. Happy, pleased Omega, and the young, innocent scent of a child unpresented. Of babe and mother.

Christ, Miguel is going to hell for this.

It’s been about an hour of Miguel pretending to work but actually getting very little done, when Miles speaks up. “Hey, Miguel, you know stuff about kids, right?”

Miguel’s shoulders hunch and he breathes out slowly. Of course he does. He turns, glaring back at Miles. Mayday has been dragging him around the room with her crawling and right now they’re both hanging upside down from the ceiling, Miles sitting cross legged and her on his shoulders.

“Yes,” Miguel says sharply.

Miles’ mouth twists, but for once it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Miguel. “Sorry, that was kinda insensitive, huh? I was just curious, ya know, about parenthood and all.”

Another bolt of longing shoots through Miguel. It’s part arousal, part wistfulness for his lost family.

You could start again, part of him says. Children. A mate. It’s not too late for you. He’s right there.

“What do you want to know about it?”

Miles shrugs, which causes Mayday to wobble dangerously and laugh delightedly about it. “Just, is it good? Like, hanging out with Mayday is great, but I can’t imagine having one of my own.”

You don’t have to imagine, Miguel thinks, but says, “It’s different, when they’re yours.”

“How so?”

Miguel sighs and holds out his arms to Mayday. Even though she’s halfway across the room she immediately lets out an excited shriek and climbs her way down a protesting Miles’ body. It takes only a minute before she’s dropping into Miguel’s arms and then crawling all over him.

“Kids are work and energy,” Miguel explains. “When they’re someone else’s, you’re happy to give them back after a certain point. When they’re yours, even when you’re annoyed or upset with them, you still know it’s all worth it. You can’t imagine a life without them.”

“Oh,” says Miles. He watches quietly for a moment as Mayday continues her excited quest to make Miguel look as ridiculous as possible, before he too crawls across the ceiling and drops down. Sadly it’s not into Miguel’s arms like Mayday had.

Gingerly, Miles’ takes the little girl back, and she goes willingly enough. “Sorry if that was like, rude or anything. And don’t kill me for saying this but you sound like you make a really good Alpha, mate wise.”

Miles is halfway across the room again before Miguel can reply, like he really is expecting retaliation. Miguel just shakes his head and pretends to go back to his work.

I am a good Alpha he thinks. I could show you. We could have a whole litter of kids. You’d love it. And then inevitably Miguel’s thoughts turn lascivious. He ends up losing himself to a daydream about exactly how he wants to breed Miles (facing each other, his fangs buried in Miles’ throat, Miles’ flexible, coltish legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging in to coax Miguel into fucking him harder) while watching the Omega’s reflection.

He doesn’t come up for air until Peter makes his appearance. The man gives Miguel a quizzical look but is distracted quickly enough by his daughter. He sticks around long enough that Miguel does actually get some work done, and when his voice finally fades away Miguel figures he’s alone.

That is, until Miles clears his throat directly behind him.

Miguel doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He turns and looks down at the Omega in annoyance, raising one eyebrow in a silent question.

Miles looks shifty, transferring his weight from one foot to the other like he’s thinking about running, but he’s got that mulish jut to his chin and a hard glint in his eyes that Miguel recognizes at the stubborn streak that’s lead them into more fights than he’d like to admit.

Is regularly wanting to throttle a teenage Omega better or worse than wanting to fuck him?

“Spit it out, kid,” Miguel eventually snaps.

Miles juts his chin out even further. “I’m not stupid,” he says, which, well he’s just inviting a scathing retort with that. Miguel’s expression must convey this because Miles rallies and goes on quickly, not giving the Alpha a chance to cut in. “I’m not! I saw how you were looking at me today, with Mayday. And then your scent…you were looking at me through the reflection on the computer screen.”

Miguel stiffens all over because fuck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinds out.

“The hell you don’t! Even Peter smelled it. You’re into me, you smell like you want to jump me.”

There’s one of two ways Miguel can play this; deny it till his dying breath, or agree and pretend it doesn’t matter. His panicked brain picks the latter, because Miles isn’t stupid, and he’s tenacious as hell. He’ll hound Miguel until Miguel gives him an answer the Omega is satisfied with.

“So?” Miguel says.

That makes Miles pause, his eyes flicking back and forth between Miguel’s. He clearly isn’t seeing what he wants to though, brow knitting in confusion. “What do you mean ‘so’? So, you’re horny as hell for me.”

“You’re an Omega and I’m an Alpha,” Miguel explains slowly, like he’s speaking to a child. “It’s biology.” Which of course just ruffles Miles’ feathers and makes him puff up even more.

“That’s bullshit. You’ve never smelled like that before around me,” Miles insists.

Miguel is butting up against almost the exact same decision from before. Does he own up, or does he keep denying it means anything?

With a faint snarl of annoyance at having been put in this situation to begin with, Miguel says, “Most Alphas seeing an unbonded Omega with a young child are going to be affected.” The word horny will absolutely not be crossing his lips. “It sparks an instinct in us.”

Miles narrows his eyes, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. He thinks he’s won. “A breeding instinct,” he accuses.

Miguel turns his gaze skyward, giving a quick prayer to whichever poor saint is watching over him today to give him patience. “Yes, Miles. A breeding instinct.”

“I knew it!”

“Congratulations,” Miguel says dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now will you go away so I can do some work in peace?”

And there’s the chin jut again. Stubborn ass Omega. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The corner of Miguel’s lip twitches of up into an involuntarily snarl. “Well I’m done with you, malcriado. Vete.”

“No. I want to know if this was a one off,” Miles demands. “’Cause like, sure seeing an Omega with a kid might work for you, but my theory is that you’re already into me and it just pushed you over the edge. You’re too uptight to let your scent go wild like that unless you’re like, close to losing it.”

How the hell is this kid so damn perceptive? Clearly Miguel’s going to need to work on his defenses if Miles is reading him like a damn book. He sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, trying to figure out how to get out of this.

Well, he’s dug this fucking grave. Time to lie in it.

“Fine, Miles,” he says wearily, dropping his hand and making direct eye contact with the Omega. “Yes, I have more than a passing interest in you as a mate. Seeing you with Mayday made me think about having children with you myself. Are we done with this line of questioning now? Are you finally satisfied?”

Miles smiles slowly, then wrinkles his nose. “Having children with me, huh? That’s an incredibly boring way to talk about breeding. Why so family friendly? Just say you wanna fuck me. And no, by the way, I’m not satisfied yet. You gotta make good on all that before I let it drop.”

Silence reigns as Miguel’s brain just churns through the words, understanding them individually but failing to grasp the big picture.

“Not, like, immediately though!” Miles rushes to add, oblivious to Miguel’s plight. “I’m not ready for kids yet, not to mention my parents would kill me. But we could, you know, practice?” He looks stupidly hopeful, staring up at Miguel with that little smile on his lips, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.

“You…want me to breed you,” Miguel says slowly.

Miles snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, practice breeding me. But yeah, that’s what I just said didn’t I? Get with it, old man, we’re wasting daylight here.”

Miguel’s never been one to follow orders. But how’s an Alpha supposed to resist?

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

A small diatribe on why I personally don’t ship Anger Management (Jazz x Jason).

(Quick note, this is not an attack or an attempt to dissuade those who do like this ship. It also doesn’t really take into accounts changes made to either character for fic’s sake. These are just a couple of thoughts I felt like writing down. If you have a counter argument, I’d love to hear it, but just know that this isn’t personal, it’s just business)

Look,

Don’t get me wrong, I see the appeal, there’d definitely be an attraction there considering they’re both each other’s physical types. Jazz would start psychoanalyzing some poor shmuck and Jason’s competency kink would go wild. And Jazz? She would want study our man Jason like a bug. She finds out that he’s not only hot and crazy, but academically inclined as well? She’s going down like the twin towers baby, look out below.

There are just a couple of problems. You’re left with is a relationship where both parties feel the need to act as the other’s “caretaker” while simultaneously despising that same care/concern when it’s offered back. Jason hates being questioned on his mental health, let alone be constantly offered tips and advice or being nagged for not doing what he “aught to” for his own good. Jazz hates feeling like she’s helpless. (A lot of fics have her where she’s no longer so clumsy and danger prone but a total bad ass. This, weirdly, seems to me like it would make for a much more functional relationship). They’re both very fond of voicing these negative emotions while both having good-enough reasons for their behavior that their individual hard headedness make real change neigh to impossible.

The most likely outcome in my head is that they start dating, then at month three they start fighting, then Jason starts becoming avoidant due to his past associations with fraught relationships, they try to make it work, apologize for their individual sins, get in another month before the cycle restarts, then Jazz realizes what’s going on and that they’re simply not good for each other in the long run and breaks up with Jason on good terms by month six.

[agirlandherquill]

alrighty, so being tagged by @katwritesshit means i'm up for a very interesting tag game so here goes

rules: answer as many (or as few) of the questions about your WIP as you can

What was the first part of your WIP that you created? - might be my favourite question of the lot but for me at least, it's pretty simple, i start with an idea - a theme of sorts I suppose, and I wanted to write about a heist, I wanted treachery, danger, and crime (lots and lots of crime), and from there I spun the rest of my story

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be? - consulting my many, many Spotify playlists has made answering this one very difficult (shoutout once again to @katwritesshit for The World Ender because I love that song) but I'm going to have to say Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier or As It was, also by Hozier, most likely because I've spent a great majority of this story listening to Hozier along the way, since Wasteland Baby is one of my favourite albums and it fits so so well

Who are your favourite character(s) and why? - I feel as though I'm committing to a betrayal here by not saying the character who is supposed to be the main protagonist but I'm going to go for Fenley, purely because his cynical, overall dark demeanour has been the most entertaining to write (and his POV contains some of my favourite scenes of the novel)

What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP? - now this one is FUN. especially since I draw inspiration from so so many things, Throne of Glass, The Cruel Prince, The Mummy (one of my all time favourite movies), Now You See Me, The Witcher - just to name a few, I'm not even going to mention the inspiration for the combat scenes because action movies are just (insert chef's kiss)

What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP? - truth be told, finding the time to write, as this labour of love has taken me a solid four (ish, I think) years to write, a lot has happened, I've grown with my novel which is to me at least, a very heartwarming thing

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them! - sadly there aren't any major animal characters in my story, my characters use horses for transport most of the time but that's about it

How do your characters get around? - well, when they aren't on horseback they're either walking or sprinting for their lives

What part of your WIP are you working on right now? - edits, dreaded, dreaded edits - just kidding I'm loving getting to dive into the earlier parts of my novel and change bits as I go, I'm falling in love with the story all over again and I'm only editing Chapter 7/40(something, the current number escapes my mind)

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in? - hopefully the sheer and utter chaos of unlikely thieves trying to do an impossible thing, the characters are my favourite sort to read about, and the tropes (not giving too much away I do enjoy a good mystery :) )

and that's about it, this was super fun so thanks for the tag!

and passing the metaphorical torch on, I'm going to tag: @the-ellia-west @somethingclevermahogony @unlikelycreationwasteland @leotheponderer @alwri-tes and of course anyone else that would like to give it a go! (being new at tag games appears to be my fatal flaw since i have very little clue who to tag, but here you go!)

(and as usual in my rambly responses, very, very little read through, but in my defence this is a late night post so I feel as though the grammar-police might cut me some slack :) )

[dr-futbol-blog]

Duet, Pt. 4

Some time later, we find McKay has gotten dressed and is in the lab looking over the wreckage of the dart. Beckett has accompanied him there, and somewhere along the way they have been joined by Sheppard and Weir whom, presumably, were the first people Beckett called when McKay woke up. We don't know what Sheppard did between lunch and this moment, or how much time had passed between these two events. All of the people are watching McKay, he is the focus of attention. And again, we get a close up of his hand (now, literally fondling "bits").

McKay: Oh, nice work! Zelenka: We were running out of power. I knew hardly anything about the machine. Who would have thought this could be one of the side effects? McKay: So, instead of waiting to understand what it was that you were doing, you just sort of mashed on the keyboard hoping something would happen! Zelenka: Well, you're alive, aren't you?

First of all, note how both Beckett and Weir are leaning slightly back as if taken aback by what they are watching, whereas Sheppard is learned slightly forward into McKay's space. Both Beckett and Weir have their arms defensively between themselves and McKay diatribe, where Sheppard's body language is open toward him.

Zelenka seems to take all the blame happily even though what happened was at least partially Sheppard's fault. He tried to explain to Sheppard the dangers, and Sheppard had ordered him to rematerialize one of the life-signs although, in fairness to Sheppard, he was nor informed that something like this could happen. Zelenka had presented him with an option of choosing to rematerialize one of the life-signs stored in the dart, and he had taken the chance. And Zelenka himself had had no idea that this was even a possibility, as this technology is literally alien to them. There's no guarantee that even if they had spent weeks trying to figure it out, the result would have been any different.

But McKay is not interested in being fair when it comes to people working for him on the best of days, let alone now that he has to personally bear the heavy cost of this mistake. But at the same time, Sheppard certainly does seem to feel the guilt from having made this decision. Zelenka may not have thrown him under the bus, and Sheppard may even be thankful for this, but he can't lie to himself about the fact that it was his responsibility. And McKay is too angry to notice how the way he speaks seems to affect Sheppard, as Sheppard interprets everything McKay says to Zelenka as being actually meant for himself. Where McKay thinks that he's taking it all out on a safe target in someone that works for him, Sheppard feels like he's taking it out on him.

Helpless and trapped inside the body of another, Cadman then starts asserting herself the only way she knows how, by trying to get McKay to relay her words to the others. She's distracting him, and this seems to make him even more irascible.

Cadman: Ask him if he knows how to fix it. McKay: He doesn't know how to fix it! Zelenka: What? McKay: I'm talking to her!

Notice how the very moment McKay first does something uncharacteristic of himself, he answers in a way that is slightly off, Sheppard snaps to attention. He notices immediately that something is off with McKay, that what he said didn't follow from what Zelenka had just said to him. They are all concerned for him, but Sheppard is the first to notice and where, in the background, he had been trying to avoid looking at McKay again, as he so frequently does for any number of reasons, his eye snap right back to McKay, brow furrowed.

McKay seems to be working himself up, transferring the disappointment he feels for Zelenka to Cadman and then transferring the frustration generated by both Cadman's presence and her voice, the fact that she speaks, back onto Zelenka. In reality, he's not really mad or angry with either of them, he's scared and overwhelmed. This is a completely new situation and he doesn't know how to fix it and the only way he knows how to deal with this fear is by lashing out at others. And listening from the sidelines, the people watching him are getting increasingly concerned:

Weir: You can hear her thoughts? McKay: No, not her thoughts, thank God. I can hear when she's speaking... or when I suppose she's trying to speak.

This here is such a convoluted way of telling us that McKay has secrets Cadman (and the audience) cannot find out. This barely makes sense, and the purpose of doing it like this is just to preserve that space for subtext that they carry out through the run of the series. But notice how McKay is keeping his eyes closed here, actually screwing them shut, making his body half-turned away from Sheppard and making sure he's not looking at him. He knows Cadman can see through his eyes so he very much tries to avoid looking at Sheppard the whole time they are here.

Now, in addition to listening to her speak inside his brain, he also has to listen to the people closest to him talk right over him as though he wasn't even there:

Weir: Are you sure he should have been discharged from the Infirmary, Carson? Beckett: According to the MRI, he's as healthy as he ever was. Cadman: It doesn't feel very healthy in here! McKay: Well, we can't all be track stars, now, can we? It was her again.

This is interesting. Let's presume for a moment that Cadman does indeed have athletic achievements of the track and field variety in her past and McKay wasn't just taking a lucky guess. What earthly reason would McKay have to know about it? He's not interested in women in general and certainly seemed to pay no attention to Cadman before she started teasing him about his upcoming date. He barely cares enough about the people working under him to be interested in their personal histories, and if you were to ask him for the name of the blonde German scientist working the case, he probably couldn't tell you. McKay doesn't catalogue personal information about people unless they're Sheppard.

It's of course possible that Cadman is a Chatty Cathy and had just been telling McKay and Beckett about her track and field achievements while they were out traipsing through the meadows, but that's also unlikely because for one, she didn't seem like she was all that keen to share personal information with the two men, and second, it didn't seem as though they'd been having a personal conversation like that and third, McKay wouldn't have been interested in it anyway, so even if she had been talking about something like that with Beckett, McKay would have tuned it out. He seemed sour enough not to want to listen to her at all back on the planet.

But there's another reason why McKay might know about her history, and that's if he had both been present when Sheppard was going over the personnel files choosing people for the mission and that Sheppard had actually shared them with him, had discussed his choices with McKay. A history of track and field is precisely the kind of information one would find in a personnel file, and we actually witnessed Beckett make reference to extracurricular activities of the people he was choosing for his staff in The Intruder (S02E02): "Four years' relief work in the Sudan and Ethiopia; graduate studies at John Hopkins and Harvard; half a dozen research grants. Oh, and she also enjoys judo, horseback riding, origami and something called base jumping." Any awards Cadman may have won in her past running track would have been in her personnel file, and the only reason for him to remember the personnel file of a random woman is that Sheppard had actually wanted his opinion on it.

Now, the files are confidential, to be sure, and McKay and Sheppard probably were putting the physical side of their relationship on pause a month into their visit on Earth after which Sheppard got his promotion and would have gone through personnel files. But given that McKay seemed to know Sheppard's personal code in The Siege (S01E20), sharing confidential information with McKay is something Sheppard might well do, especially it he felt out of his depth with the new and, frankly, undeserved promotion he had suddenly been hit with at the time. Cadman is blonde, so even though he has very little interest in women in general, Cadman might easily even have been McKay's pick for Sheppard's staff, and wouldn't that be ironic.

Cadman also makes a reference to McKay's health, here. Because it is accompanied with Beckett's reference to the MRI, the easy assumption to make is that she means his mental health. And given the fact that we have witnessed him dissociating recently, this may even be true. But it doesn't actually seem like Cadman has that kind of an access to his mind. Her reference must be to how his body feels to her, and how it's different from her own. McKay is hypoglycemic and his mood here may have more than a little to do with not having eaten (he missed lunch, clearly), so he might feel physically all kinds of bad at that moment that Cadman could be referring to. She could also be making a jab at his weight, which is how McKay chooses to interpret it anyway, his defense to her jab being a reference to athleticism. But as noted previously, McKay is in relatively good shape and actually did run faster than our track star back on the planet.

McKay is defensive because he compares himself with Sheppard, not with other scientists like Zelenka and Parrish, and it is because of Sheppard that he has been pushing himself to become better equipped for the field. So while Cadman may just have been referring to his blood sugar, McKay interprets it as a condemnation of his entire body. And with regards to Cadman's own sexuality, it's interesting that she doesn't come across as someone that particularly likes the male body. Yes, her barbs here are directed toward McKay's body in particular, but they are toward his body when there are so many more personality and mental faculties of his that she could have belittled. Her issue is with his body, and it may be that the male body is just not an object of desire for her at all.

It's interesting, though, that seems to be McKay's mention of track stardom in particular that stirs concern in Sheppard, and he leans in to conspiratorially although not precisely quietly talk to Beckett. Something in this reference made him uneasy, like he wasn't quite sure if things would come spilling out of McKay that shouldn't. The fact that McKay had been able to see Cadman's file was already a piece of information that he really shouldn't be airing out in the public, and not knowing just what kind of access Cadman herself would have had on McKay's mind was really starting to concern him.

Sheppard: Maybe there's something wrong an MRI wouldn't pick up, if you know what I mean. McKay: I'm not crazy, I just have another consciousness in my brain. Sheppard: So he just looks crazy. McKay: I'm sure I do!

What's fascinating here is that while Sheppard seemingly talks to Beckett, is pretending to talk to Beckett, he is actually having a conversation with McKay. McKay responds to him as though Sheppard was talking directly to him. Beckett doesn't even respond to Sheppard, probably having witnessed the Sheppard and McKay show too many times to think that Sheppard is actually talking to him here. He's being used as a prop, and he knows it.

Now, Sheppard is honestly concerned about McKay. He has never seen him like this but he can tell, better than any of the others, just how agitated McKay is. While Beckett may be his best friend and Weir may have known him longer, it's obvious that Sheppard knows him best. Never having seen McKay like this is freaking him out, and once more he both wants to understand what's going on, hence turning to Beckett, and to make sure McKay is getting the best treatment available for what ever this is. He is genuinely concerned.

Agitated even further by the fact that now Sheppard of all people seems to think he's crazy, McKay then says something really interesting:

McKay: But only because Dr Fumbles McStupid over here was in way over his head! Zelenka: Yes, yes, I made a mistake trying to save your life. Now, do you want to try to fix it, or do you want to continue to berate me some more? McKay: I'm perfectly capable of doing both at the same time!

The way people speak to others often reveals how they have been spoken to in the past. What's really interesting here is the Mc-prefix he attaches to the name he calls Zelenka (in the literal meaning of name-calling). It's the prefix of a Scottish name which he himself just so happens to have. Because the name comes out of him while he is both severely agitated and distracted, it has to come from somewhere deep in his subconscious, from very ingrained memories. From his childhood. The way he spits it out, he has heard it many times in the past. His parents hated each other and took it out on him, he told Carter. It is of course possible that one of his parents had called him by this name when he was a child, and the main culprit would probably be his father. Only, McKay is his father's name and it's less likely that he would have used the Mc-prefix in a slur.

Also, McKay is smart and likely was a smart child. If he had been called by this name, it would likely have been the result of his relatively poorer fine-motor control as compared to more athletic children, perhaps from dropping things. Children tend to drop things like glasses and mugs, especially if they are nervous, and in a toxic family dynamic, a parent might call a child Fumbles McStupid when something like that happens. But again, it's unlikely his father would have attached the Mc-prefix into calling anyone a name, especially since given McKay's name Meredith, he seems to have been proud of their heritage.

The other alternative is that, if his mother was smarter than his father (and McKay's behaviour toward Carter--calling her a dumb blonde because being threatened by smart and beautiful women is just the top of the iceberg of his mommy issues--suggests that it was indeed his mother that had been the smart one of his parents), and given that McKay thinks his parents hated each other, Fumbles McStupid may be something that his mother had called his father more than once. Fumbles McStupid is like the opposite of Angus McGuyver (which was a popular TV-show when McKay was in his late teens, but if there's any connection in the name to that then it had probably been his sister that called him that, as their mother very likely was already dead by that time). Regardless, the Mc-prefix and the visceral way that he spits out the name both suggest that this is something very personal to him, something resurfacing from his own past. The entire way he blows up here witnesses to having grown up in an environment where people fought and argued excessively. This, reacting to a stressful situation by lashing out at people that mean him well, tells us a lot about his childhood.

And again, Zelenka decides not to throw Sheppard under the bus even though he very well could. This probably is not the first time that he has received an earful from McKay, and Zelenka seems to be among the few colleagues that McKay actually respects. He also does realize that he's in way over his head and needs Zelenka's help here, which is why he then tries to start workshopping the problem with him:

McKay: Now, I assume you've tried to run one of our own generators on it? Zelenka: It's not as simple as that... Cadman: Why not? Zelenka: The trick is having it interface with the wraith machine in real time. The power fluctuations are, are, are huge. If we overshoot just a little... Cadman: Wait, wait, what does that mean? Zelenka: ...we're screwed up. McKay: Yeah, yeah. Um, I'm sure if we can maybe run an interface programme that will take care of all the... Zelenka: Of course, yeah, but... Cadman: Hello? Rodney? Will you please answer me? McKay: Here's what I want us to try. Cadman: Rodney!

McKay: We'll take a-- Cadman: Ro-o-o-odney! McKay: Naqahdah generator... Cadman: Rodney! McKay: ...and, um... Cadman: Rodney. Rodney! McKay: ...and, uh... Cadman: Rodney! RODNEY! McKay: YES! WHAT?!

Now, Cadman is perfectly within her rights to get to say something when it's her life on the line. She is allowed to want to know what's going on. But at the same time, she's trying to get attention in the way an annoying little sister (something of which McKay would know a great deal) would, basically doing the whole "Arewethereyetarewethereyetarewethereyet" routine, not stopping until he responds to her. And the way he blows up, he has likely blown up at his sister in a similar way in the past. He can't concentrate, he can't think, he's overwhelmed and there's too much noise, and he just wants it to stop.

Notice in the background how Sheppard reacts immediately to McKay's outburst. He unfolds his arms (having folded them after McKay's Fumbles McStupid outburst because, again, he feels like part of the ire McKay has for Zelenka actually belongs to him since he ordered Zelenka to do it), clearly ready to jump in at a moment's notice. But like previously, Sheppard has no reason to believe that McKay is a danger to other people and although he is acting very strangely, very unlike himself, like he saw when McKay was going off at Colonel Everett, Sheppard's first instinct was probably to get to McKay to comfort him, to make sure that he's alright. McKay was looking quite pained as he struggled to speak before his outburst. Sheppard is not worried about other people, he is worried for McKay.

The only way he would jump in to restrain McKay was if it looked like he was a danger to himself. And yet, McKay's outburst clearly made Sheppard's body prepare for action. He had never seen McKay like this, and although there clearly seemed to be some attenuating circumstances to this, he was seeing a whole new side of McKay, one that he wasn't that keen for. Because, the thing is, while McKay would never speak this way to Sheppard, Sheppard nonetheless fears that this is exactly what McKay really thinks about him when ever he has questions for him, when ever he asks McKay to explain things to him. Somewhere deep down he fears that McKay thinks he's stupid where what McKay actually thinks is that Sheppard is one of the few people he's ever met that truly challenges him. We'll circle back to this come Trinity (S02E05). But for now, it gets worse:

Cadman: Stop ignoring me. McKay: Well, stop asking stupid questions! I will get you out of here, OK? Now just be a good little girlie and keep quiet. Cadman: Don't you dare condescend me! This is as much my problem as it is yours. McKay: And do you have a degree in physics, hmm? Well, what about mechanical engineering, huh?

So the thing is, McKay doesn't really like women. No heterosexual man would speak like this to a beautiful young woman. Although they don't necessarily respect them either, heterosexual men treat beautiful young women well on the off chance that somewhere down the line, their good behaviour might be repaid. They can be and frequently are condescending toward them especially if they feel like the beautiful young woman is encroaching on their professional territory but for the most part, they enjoy looking and listening to these woman, find it a pleasant way to while away the time by being in the presence of beautiful young women. You can see that Rodney McKay has a negative zero interest in ever getting sex from this woman. The only value he found in her body was the fact that she was obligated to take a bullet for him, and now that she didn't have even that going for her, he has no use what so ever for Laura Cadman.

She's not a person, she's a fly he just can't swat because the buzzing is coming from inside his brain. If there was a button that he could press to erase her entire existence, he would do it without a second thought. Having a woman inside his head is like a double digit level of personal hell for him. Now, some people think that he treats women like this because he just doesn't know how to treat women, but no one is this bad with women. It's also not a clash of personalities because he simply doesn't see her as a person. The vitriol with which he meets her precisely because she is a woman is an example of actual, bondafide misogyny. Now, the roots of his misogyny we can only begin the guess (mommy issues of many different flavours, to be sure) and he probably should hash it out with Heightmeyer, but here we are. Rodney McKay does not like women, and they do not present an object of interest to him. And we can see how he finds women interchangeable in how he (accidentally) transfers the irritation he has built toward Cadman onto Weir when she tries to interject something, to get him to calm down:

Weir: Rodney? McKay: YES?! Sorry. I'm sorry. What, please?

Now, just as soon as he says this, McKay realizes what he did and attempts to walk it back. It's through their professional roles that he is able to muster respect for women. In making them abstractions through their roles, he is able to see them as distinct personalities, which is ten different kinds of messed up. But Weir is his superior, he respects Weir as a professional, and he knows that one should never speak like that to a superior. And it wasn't his intention, he's not upset with Weir (he's not even really upset with Cadman either, he's just upset and taking it out on others), but as soon as he realizes he slipped up, he is very apologetic. Sheepish, even. Clearly trying to perform the role of a professional, realizing that he had somehow ended up stepping so far outside the realm of normal behaviour that people were actually starting to question his sanity.

Meanwhile, Sheppard is doing something interesting in the background. Following McKay's "be a good little girlie and keep quiet," he looks away from McKay, casting his eyes downward. He keeps looking at the floor, looking uncomfortable, possibly even pained. He can't seem to look at McKay. Now, there might be several reasons for this. For one, he might just be offended on behalf of his officer that he refers to her as a "girlie". That is definitely something that he, as a commander, should not let slide. He should reprimand McKay about that but this whole situation is just nuts, so he doesn't know how he's supposed to react. But it's also possible that the words "Now be a good little boy and keep quiet" are words that he had heard a lot during his childhood, the words themselves might be triggering for him. He was expected to be well-behaved and not draw too much attention to himself, so his father almost certainly would have said these words to him, perhaps even other people from his childhood environment.

But even beyond that, the word "girlie" or "girly" may be something he had been called in his childhood and adolescence, and his macho posturing may well be the result for overcompensating for how both having been a pretty boy and having had interest in other boys would have made him a target for emasculating slurs like that, especially during his boarding school years. What McKay says here may be triggering to him for a number of reasons but what ever it is, he really did not care to hear that coming from McKay's mouth. The way he turns his face away is kind of like he's been struck. And again, while McKay would never say these words to Sheppard (and indeed, he previously used to shield Sheppard from having to see him like this, like in The Storm, S01E09), Sheppard now knows that he's capable of saying such things.

And worst of all, what ever is wrong with McKay now (and there is something wrong, he knows that, he's not acting like himself), it's his fault. He let this happen to McKay, and there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could do about that.

Weir: Why don't we let Zelenka handle this? McKay: I'm fine. Sheppard: No, you're not. Weir: And I'd like you to talk to Doctor Heightmeyer. McKay: I think it'd be more useful if I was to... Weir: Rodney, I'm not asking you. McKay: Fine.

If there's something Sheppard knows, it's when people say they're fine when they're really not fine. He doesn't have to know McKay half as good as he does to know that he's lying, and that he's lying most of all to himself. He can tell that McKay is nowhere near fine. But note the fact that Sheppard does not tell McKay what to do. As his team leader, it could easily have been Sheppard's call, and maybe he even should have been the one to order McKay to see Heightmeyer. But he doesn't. He doesn't give McKay orders. The only thing he does here is express his concern. He lets McKay know that he thinks he's not alright, and that does give him pause.

And while everyone that has gathered to watch is concerned for his well-being, McKay feels humiliated by Weir, who does make it an order. It's like he's being asked to go to his room in front of his entire class. For McKay, his mind is his most important asset, and he was starting to spiral, to feel like he was losing control of the last threads that had been holding his life together. Further yet, he once more feels like he's being not chosen here, like he's not being wanted. Although it might come from a place of love, they all want him to leave. And Sheppard looking at him the way he had, that was worst of all. What Sheppard thinks has meaning to him. What Sheppard tells him, he hears it. It's only for the briefest moment here that he allows himself to look at Sheppard, and it looks like his heart is breaking just then. Because as much as he would like to seek comfort in Sheppard, to hear him tell him that it's going to be alright and they can figure this out, they're not that anymore. This cool, detached professional concern is all he can expect from Sheppard now.

He leaves without looking back and doesn't see that Sheppard turns to watch him go. Losing McKay is his worst nightmare, and he's starting to realize there are more ways to lose him than he ever could have even imagined.

Continued in Pt. 5