#Ever been to the goddamn ZOO !?

[thatonegaybrit]

Hi, I'm Chip Mulaney and I'm your father

; but sometimes he would be gay .. !

[goodluckclove]

How Clove Gardener Writes (an Overview)

I definitely told myself when I started this blog a billion years ago, at the dawn of human civilization, that I wouldn't make any attempt to tell you how to write. You know - other than saying just do it do the thing write it close the blog open the document type type three sentences bam look you did it good job i love you now go get yourself a treat.

But I've spoken to a few writers who seem to benefit from the insight of me just explaining how I write. So I thought I'd give a little peek into my own mindset. I cannot stress enough that this is what works for me. It's a methodology that I've built up over the course of like fifteen years of trying different things, keeping what works, and throwing the rest right out the goddamned window.

If any of this seems new and appealing give it a try. If it doesn't help I'm wrong and bad as a person (no I'm kidding but seriously if it doesn't work that's fine and we're both fine). If it helps you owe me a picture of a frog drawn from memory.

Let's see how long I ramble. Follow me under the read more!

Okay, so let's get this out of the way. I've never taken a writing class. No, that's not true. I took one when I was thirteen and another one in high school and I don't remember anything either of them taught me. Oh and I took an online creative writing class in college, but I also didn't retain anything and the next year I dropped out of college. So I also don't have a degree in jack shit.

What else? I don't outline. I've written upwards of 15 novels (13-15, I honestly can't remember) and I did not outline any of them. This includes character sheets and worldbuilding lore. My first published novel Blind Trust was born from the concept of the Lover's Knot, which is just like some witchy magic lore. I thought it would be cool so I was like "who could maybe be some guys" and then I introduced some guys and then bam 180k later it was Scott and Edgar.

I do virtually no preparation to write a novel other than the vaguest premise and maybe like one cool scene. I did not have a cool scene for Blind Trust, but I do have one for Migration Patterns. What I don't have is an ending. I don't think I've ever written a novel knowing how it ends.

Literally here's what I do. This is all I do. I sit down and I write until I don't know what's going to happen next, at which point I step away and I listen to some music or I go to the museum or I take a nap until I decide how to continue. That's it.

For me it's going to the zoo every day and seeing the monkeys. And every day they're doing something different. Sometimes they're sleeping, or they're pawing at each other, or they're gathering sticks. I can call out to them and offer to show them a card trick or share my Bugles with them, and they might come up to the wall of the enclosure to see what I'm doing. Or they might not. I do not really have control of the situation, but it doesn't matter because they aren't fully aware of me.

At some point either I have to leave the zoo for some reason. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe the monkeys have been pulled in to be fed their lunch (it's bananas and peanuts). Either way I add that day's behavior to the pile and then come back tomorrow.

Once I find an ending I go back and I read through the book again and trim any fat that's in the wrong places while adding flesh to some naked bones. Then I wait a week or more (usually I can only wait a week) and go back and do it again. By that point it's ready to hopefully have someone read it, after which I make small edits and tweaks.

That's how I do it. Or at least, that's how I do it for longform prose projects that I plan to publish. I've written plenty of novels that just stayed first drafts because I didn't feel like revising them and then I moved on to the next one. I don't regret that. I don't consider it a waste of time.

I would never consider a trip to the zoo a waste of time.

Anyways, that's what works for me. I don't know if all of this will apply to other brains. I don't know if any of it will. I figure it might just be useful to get an in-depth look at what I personally vibe with.

I'm so down to talk writing at any time, by the way. I love to do it. Tell me why you aren't writing and I would be happy to listen and try to help. Or just brainstorm. Seriously, my DMs and inbox are perpetually open. Talking about writing is one of my favorite things to do.

Let's go look at some monkeys together.

[basilone]

Hi Killy? How about #20 caffeine, dealer's choice for characters. Thank you!

Ooo, thank you for this one! 💙 I'm delighted at it being dealer's choice, as this got me to try my hand at writing my fave of faves: Rosie. I do hope I've got him down right! (Slight, slight spoilers for the most recent ep apply!)

caffeine

The base is somewhat beautiful when the sun’s still low. There’s a slight haze hanging just above the dewy grass, too thin to be a full-on fog but lending this early morning a particular enchantment all the same. Gold streaks flicker through the last vestiges of night. If she squints at the treeline hard enough, its greens will mingle with the twinges of red in the dawn. Like Christmas painted through a misty window.

It’ll be a while before Christmas comes, now, though the mornings aren’t getting any warmer.

Imogene puffs up her cheeks. Blows warm air between her hands, then rubs them together briskly. She’s forgotten her gloves again. Margaret’s not about to loan out her perfectly good set of spare gloves, either, if that glare from earlier is anything to go by. And Jeannie is nice and all, but the knitwork on her gloves is absolutely drenched in perfume. Imogene lets out a sigh. Contemplates the risks associated with running back to her bunk and praying her own gloves will be in the place where she put them last.

Truth is, she hasn’t got the time. Jeannie’s already taken off at a dead run for the bathroom for the second time in an hour, which has got Margaret fuming in a way that’ll at least make sure the sink’s going to be so spotless you could eat out of it. Imogene would be more worried about Jeannie if this wasn’t already the fourth time a girl like her was prone to retching her guts out in the morning and being just fine and dandy in the afternoon.

These girls, like some of the men, barely stay long enough to learn their names.

And then, of course, there are those few who seem to stay a lifetime.

“One for the road, Captain Rosenthal?”

His answering laugh is soft, but his joy somehow never fails to meet his eyes. “If you can spare me a cup, yes. Thank you.”

“It’ll be a little minute, sir, sorry.” Imogene shoots him the closest thing she’s got to an apologetic smile. “I hope you can wait that long to get your latest dose of caffeine. These new coffee makers are a bit slower on the uptake.”

Captain Rosenthal hums a little to himself. “I believe I can find the time for it this morning, Imogene.”

“Glad to hear it, sir. Congratulations on your twenty-fifth, by the way!” She’d meant to say that about five days ago, but the party had turned raucous and strange in equal measure before she’d had the chance. And the men had been pretty tightly knit around him, at least before the mood had taken another tailspin downward. “When are you due to go home? Is it a ways away yet?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot the way he always seems to do when contemplating something important. His gaze fixes on the horizon. Well past the planes on their hardstands, beyond the line of trees and buildings. Like there’s something in the early morning sky only he can see.

Imogene waits him out the way she always does. There is no hurrying Robert Rosenthal, not when he is pondering something important before his first coffee of the day. He might have something interesting to say once the idea lands and takes root inside him. Last time, he had made a small comment about bird migratory patterns that had somehow evolved into a conversation about penguins at the zoo. The time before that, he had asked her something about hairpins – not a topic for a man, or so Margaret had scoffed after – before he’d leaned forward ever so slightly and told her some of his men might have gotten their hands on a second helping of chocolate through the cunning use of hairpins. (DeBlasio, if she had to name one. It’s always the goddamn Italians getting into trouble on this base.)

“I’m not too certain Florida will agree with me.” His smile is almost remorseful, as if he has contemplated the idea and found himself to be rather like a fish out of water. “I’d miss this weather. Gruesome chill in the air this morning.” He shudders just a little, more to himself than to her. “And I have to say, Imogene, I’d be hard-pressed to find better coffee than this.”

“Now you’re just flattering me, sir,” she laughs, grabbing a pristine white cup for him. “We do what we can, but the stateside coffee just tastes better if you ask me. I dream about it sometimes.”

“The perfect cup of coffee? Bit of milk, two sugars. Little bit of foam on top, perhaps.” There’s a twinkle in his bright eyes as he steps closer, keenly awaiting his morning shot of caffeine. “What is your poison of coffee choice in this world, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Imogene hums to herself. “Bit of milk, bit of caramel, sir.” She almost wishes she had enough time to foam the milk up a little, give it a bit of a whisk before stirring it into his cup. “The sugar’s too cloggy. Caramel syrup works just as well to sweeten it.”

“I take it there is no secret stash of caramel syrup on base here?”

“You”– she gestures with the little spoon –“would be correct, Captain. Perhaps you can sneak me some, once you’re back home?”

The shadow that passes over his face is gone as swiftly as it came, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t see it. Imogene sucks in a rather noisy breath. Feels a chill swoop down and back up her spine in a way that’s got very, very little to do with the morning cold of early March. He glances back at the horizon a moment. Wistful, her mind supplies. Then: yearning.

She’s seen it before. In Major Cleven and Captain Rivers, every time they were kept on the ground too long. In Major Egan, once Major Cleven had vanished and left a hole in the fabric of reality itself. In Stella Lombardi, whose eyes never quite seem to meet the ground anymore, and in Two, who might just survive them all. There’s something in the set of their shoulders. Something in their eyes, once you know where to look.

Imogene looks. Sees. “You’re not going home.”

Blue eyes, brighter than any morning, meet her gaze. “Not just yet.” His confession hangs in the air between them a moment. She fills up the space with a mostly full cup of coffee, milk and sugars already stirred in, and is proud when her hand does not tremble. “We have work to do here, don’t we, Imogene?” His bare hand brushes her own before he lifts the cup in clear gratitude. “Thank you for the coffee, as always.”

She takes a deep breath. Steadies herself on the counter, just out of his keen gaze’s reach. “You’re very welcome, sir. Same time tomorrow, then?”

A laugh startles out of him, bright and beaming and so alive that she wants to cry. “Same time as always, ma’am.”

[ghostfrog28]

My Greasefire Life as TikTok Sounds

This isn’t going to be like my DennysVerse posts where there are multiple Denny’s, it’s just the Denny’s character in general. Also, not all of these will be exactly like they are online, some or most will be edited.

~~

Lexi: The PH in the soil is too high, I’m afraid I may die!

Denny’s: Fuck yeah, concrete!

~~

Denny’s, who may or may not be drunk: How the hell you spell shofur?

Ashley: Chauffeur

Denny’s: Ooo fancy pants rich mcgee over here! Fuck you 🖕!

Ashley: …

Denny’s: Spelling-bee ass

Thad, also drunk: He gonna give me the definition next

~~

Thad: Honestly, whatever I’m down for whatever

Denny’s: We could go see a movie

Thad: We could get lunch

Denny’s: We could kill someone…

Ashley: …

Thad: Or, the apple orchard!

~~

Denny’s: Let’s fucking go, baby!

Thad: (Elegant music starts) Let’s go~

~~ Denny’s calling Ash after a graveyard shift: Excuse me, I need your help. You need to kill me.

~~

Denny’s and Ash after finding out Thad is Bi: Hope everyone is having a great Pride Month! Shout out to…The Gays🏳️‍🌈✨

~~

Denny’s before she did Ash’s hair: Who the fuck did your hair?!

Ash: (Turns around) what??

Denny’s: No, I’m on the phone, I’m on the phone

~~ 

Denny’s: On a scale of one to ten, my friend, you’re Fucked✨!

~~

(When they saw the mob of angry hippies) Ash: We cannot escape!

Denny’s: We cannot come out!

Both of them: MAMA?! (Thad)

~~

Denny’s, drunk as hell: It’S wIzArD TiME, MoThEr FuCkEr! (Throws Molotov cocktail at Lexi) FiRe BaLl!

~~ Ash: Denny’s, when was the last time you got any sleep?

Denny’s: I don’t know, two-three days? Not important! I don’t need sleep, I need answers! I need to determine where in this Swamp of unbalanced formulas squat is the toad of truth?!

~~

Duke, extremely high: You ever seen a ghost?!

Ash, trying to plead his case to the police: I was over on the bench. I was over on the bench. I was over on the bench. I was sitting over on the bench. I Was Over On The Bench!

Brady: I made a salad with Craisins!

Thad, trying to bail Ash or Denny’s out of jail: Hello, I’m Chip Mulaney, I’m your father!

Duke: But sometimes, he would be gay~

Denny’s, drunk: Ever been to the goddamn zoo?!

DJ Cookie: I used to smoke crack!

Denny’s, either sleep deprived or hungover or both: What’s yesterday??

Denny’s: Shut up! You’re all gonna die! Street smarts!

Denny’s with the thermos: (Something loudly being set down! Boom! Orange juice! That’s life!

Lexi: Now I’ve thrown him off his rhythm!

Denny’s, Ash, and Thad: Give us some money!

Denny’s beating up Lexi: Stay down on the ground! Stay down on the ground, you motherfucker!

Denny’s or Ash: Do my friends hate me, or do I just need to go to sleep?!

Ash, finding a cover story: But why don’t we just tell our relatives, that I’m a four year old boy?

Denny’s: Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you?!

Ash after his Mitski meltdown in episode 4: I am now gross!

Brady: But what’s this! PEPPA!

~~ That is all for now! I have a lot more and I’ll probably make another soon!

[valend]

I'm in. Fucking awe. Are you serious? Like, actually serious? "Social experiment" do you hear yourself? What are you, Freud 2.0? Because you're doing a great job of being as up your own ass as he was. The level of insanity thar seeps through your writing is truly... terrifying. I pity you, really. Being a Hamilton bootlicker must be truly miserable if you go to such lengths on a goddamn tumblr post. Threats? You're your own biggest threat right now, spewing so much nonsense you might just blow up from the effort. "Animals in the zoo" SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON? RASCAL PLEASE SHOVE THIS SHIT BACK INTO YOUR BUTT IT IS POLLUTING THE FUCKING AIR. "Horrified for the future of this country" shut the fuck up??? I'm horrified that there are people like you out there you're the reason america has fucking guns legal it's so people can protect themselves if they ever see you PEAK OF HUMAN INTELLIGENCE my fucking ass you jeffersonian piece of shit you can go fuck this wobbly kidfucker in your own bedroom if you please. I do not wish to see him anywhere else. Believe me, you are not sane. I don't think you even know the meaning of that word. Oh, and of course, here we go with the thinly veiled threats suck my Cock or say it to my face worm. "Moving on" I'm going to move into your pussy little Bitch. Hamilton is a fuckface who cared only about himself and getting laid, don't start spraying me with that "unclear state of mind bullshit". That man knew what he was doing. If you justify him in any way it tells me everything about you I want to know. Questionable deed is you writing this post dead serious. Should be considered a crime, now that i think about it. Oh, and of course you're a sexist piece of shit. Not surprised. Elizabeth Hamilton didn't leave her husband because firstly, she was greater of a human you could ever dream to be, and secondly, because she fucking couldn't do anything else, because, surprise surprise: women didnt have much rights back then. But maybe you're a fan of that too.Yeah yeah, the old "haha no attention from parents" argument. Significance? None. For your information, your beloved Hamilton had no parents at all — and it didn't stop him from becoming an "accomplished man", in your own words. Tsk. Contradicting yourself again. Try better next time. You know, love, I feel like you deserve a medal, for all that mental gymnastics you're doing now. "Modern times" tell me about it. Your kind have been whining about this shit from about the start of life itself; it's nothing fucking new. I swear, if duels were legal we'd be already having one. If you wouldn't chicken out, of course. Also, I take back my last statement on Hamilton being a boytoy. He's not worthy of even that title. Useless old titsuck. Two cocks? Ha! You sure you're not confusing Hamilton with yourself? 'Cause I can definitely see you sucking those cocks in a dark alleyway all the while your wife wonders where her husband has gone. Pathetic. He'll, I'd even pay to be one of those cocks. You must have at least one redeeming quality — I bet it's a nice mouth which needs to be stuffed with finally shut you up. You're no better than a common whore, only that she is much more honest.

“You’re no better than a common whore, only that she is much more honest”

[chvoswxtch]

Hiii

ik your requests are closed but if you have time n feel up to it, could you write a fic, blurb or even just head canons about how Frank would celebrate you and your birthday? Hes seems like the “anything you want is yours” kinda guy, even if it’s getting coffee then spending the day at home he would still make it special. Its my birthday haha and i dont want a big celebration just a low key day doing little things i love with the ppl i love. Omg this is sappy hahah but yeah if you have the time, thank you!! And I totally understand if you dont ❤️❤️

-Max 💥

OMG ANGEL

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAX !!! ❤️

my fic requests are currently closed, but i'd be more than happy to whip you up a little birthday treat! i'm gonna go with a headcannon if that's okay bc I have a lot of thoughts about frankie & birthdays I don't think I can properly translate into a blurb right now so please find my rambling below the cut :)

frank castle & your birthday

frankie strikes me as someone that is a hopeless romantic at heart, and I feel like his love language is physical touch but also acts of service. I think we've seen that he pays a huge attention to detail, so he might not go like all out for your birthday, especially if he knows you prefer something small and intimate, but he would definitely make sure it felt special

he would probably start by taking you to your favorite coffee shop, getting you a little birthday breakfast treat with your coffee, and it would probably be the one time he doesn't criticize your drink order (he definitely thinks plain black coffee is real coffee) or comment on how much espresso you added to it (i'm on that pedro pascal shit myself, & I know the only time frankie wouldn't give me shit about it is my birthday bc he's legally required to be extra nice that day)

"you're gonna be hoppin' around like the goddamn energizer bunny with all that. it's your day though. get what you want, sweetheart."

he would insist that you sit down at one of the cute little tables so you can enjoy your coffee and little breakfast together, while you try to get hints from him about what he has planned (he'd resist as long as he could but it's really hard for him to say no to you)

I could see him taking you to do something that you had been begging him to do for awhile. something he kept putting off, or there wasn't time, or he acted like he didn't wanna go, but really he was just saving it for your special day. maybe a trip to an art museum, the aquarium, some botanical gardens, or the zoo even

or maybe a romantic stroll through central park. he'd bring a blanket and your favorite book, let you cuddle up in his lap as he read to you, play with your hair and point out all the cute dogs you saw to each other

even though he'd already gotten your birthday gifts weeks ago, he'd take you to your favorite store and let you pick out anything you wanted

"what? i'm not allowed to spoil my girl on her birthday? if that's a crime, it sure ain't the worst one i've ever committed."

as far as the evening, I see it going two ways: frankie either makes a reservation at your favorite restaurant and invites your closest friends and family to keep it intimate, or he surprises you with a special dinner he cooked himself (your favorite meal) along with a homemade birthday cake (it might not be the prettiest, but it would be delicious) because we know frankie can throw down in the kitchen

if you went out for dinner, he would insist on giving you your gifts & card at home because they're special and sentimental and he's shy when it comes to things like that, and he likes it better when those moments just consist of the two of you

if you had dinner at home, he would roll his eyes when you begged him to sing you happy birthday, but he would oblige because he can't tell you no

"alright, fine. but you're patchin' up your own ears when they start bleedin'. you know I can't sing for shit."

he would ask you several times throughout the day if you were having a good birthday, because he wants to make sure that you are because he thinks you deserve nothing less than as close to perfection as he can provide

he'd also continuously tell you how pretty he thought you were and how much he loved you and how lucky he felt to get to spend your special day with you

I could see him putting your favorite song on and asking you to slow dance with him in the living room to it, drawing out every single minute of your birthday all the way up to 11:59 and making sure you spent every second of it feeling loved and special

"today's one of my favorite days. know why? cause it was the day you were brought into this world, and I think that deserves a goddamn celebration. happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you."

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

What a Pair we Make

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: dd/lg dynamics (no age play, although he gives her lots of stuffed animals and cutesy things), daddy kink, spanking, kink negotiation, mentions of abusive relationships and bad childhood, edging/orgasm denial, PIV sex, fingering

Summary: A series of short scenes depicting a very loving growth and evolution of a dd/lg relationship with Marcus. 

A/N: There’s no plot to this. I just love, LOVE, LOVE writing conversations about kink negotiation and discussing kink and the cute sort of awkwardness they can carry. The following is just several related ‘slice of life’ scenes that don’t really connect other than the throughline of a kink relationship, inspired by some unhinged DMs with @littlebirdsbookshelf. It’s mostly soft, although there is some explicit smut in some scenes. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics. Please note: reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent and has trouble communicating when upset, although no specific diagnosis is ever mentioned. 

A Further Note on Setting: There is a scene in which these two go to the National Zoo, but the actual zoo I’m describing is based on the one I regularly go to, both for plot conveniences and because I do not want to spend hours looking at a Zoo map to write my dumb stories. And because rays are cool.

Masterlist

You fume as you stalk into your building, slamming the elevator button several times in rapid succession, as if you could solve all of your problems by hitting this one button.

You’re not sure who you’re mad at. The VP of Sales, for giving you a very public dressing down for your “leadership” on the doomed project you were handed two months into your employment, that–shocker–ended up being implemented poorly, with not enough resources to achieve all of your goals? Your boss, who didn’t say a goddamn thing during the worst Zoom meeting of your life, not sticking up for you or standing up for her team?

Or are you mad at yourself for the sum of your small mistakes and missteps early on, caused both by lack of leadership support and your own naivete? Are you angry at your idealistic optimism, charging headfirst into this job and happily taking on new responsibilities, not understanding that you were being handed this project because no one in their right mind would want it? Or�� are you upset because, at the most critical moment, you couldn’t manage to form the words to actually speak up for yourself, choking on your successes and looking like an idiot in a meeting where it felt like everyone was out to get you? 

Of course, the easiest punching bag is always you. You, who’s always struggled in one way or another with fitting in, and now the entire sales team knows your name and hates you. You, who’d bounced around from dead-end job to dead-end job before finally landing this first big break–a tiny little cog in a massive organization, where anonymity is your friend, and you hide in plain sight behind massive spreadsheets and reply-all emails. When shit hits the fan, though, you stumble on your words, your tongue feels thick in your mouth and all the thoughts in your head can’t seem to find their way out of your mouth.

You’re not cut out for it, you decide as the elevator dings, announcing your arrival on your floor. You may as well quit, before they force you out. Which is fine, half the time you’re hardly a functional human being, let alone able to manage this failed project, the ire of your coworkers, and still somehow cook dinner for yourself. 

It’s too much.

The door opens with a bang, and you flounce into the living room and throw yourself down on the couch. Marcus’s shoes had been on the mat beside the door, so that means he’s home before you, probably in the bedroom changing out of his work suit into something more comfortable. The two of you have lived together for about three months now, and have slipped into an easy routine. 

Sure enough, in a few minutes, Marcus comes out of the bedroom, wearing track pants and a plain gray t-shirt. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully, coming around the back of the couch and giving you a kiss on the cheek. 

“Mm,” you respond, shrinking away from him even though you crave his presence. You always do this–you push everyone away, isolate yourself, your own worst enemy. 

“Someone must’ve had a bad day,” Marcus remarks, not dropping his friendly demeanor. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m a failure,” you state dramatically. “Literally. This project is tanking, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Marcus says gently. 

“It is,” you insist. “And even if it isn’t totally my fault, even if the damn thing was doomed from the beginning, it doesn’t matter, because I’m being blamed. Very publicly, I might add.”

“Really?” Marcus sinks down on the couch next to you. “Where the hell is your boss in all of this?”

“It’s no secret that she’s scared to death of our VP,” you mutter. “She’ll never say a word against him.”

“That’s shitty management,” Marcus says, ire in his tone over your treatment. 

“Yeah?” you snap. “Well, it’s fucking happening, I don’t have any control over it.”

“Hey, I know,” Marcus replies. “It’s nothing against you, I was just saying–”

“Isn’t it?” you demand, your voice becoming high-pitched and shrill. “I might get fired, and it’s my fault.”

“I–I really don’t think that’s true, and even if it is–”

“I’m not cut out for this,” you say suddenly, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t think I’m one of these people who can handle the normal, day-to-day pressure of corporate America. I just don’t think I can. I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re plenty strong,” Marcus assures you. “You are.”

“I’m a basket case.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?” you counter. “Remember last week when I freaked out when the store was out of zucchini, and I had to make an entirely new plan for dinner? Who does that?”

“Some people have a harder time with change,” Marcus points out diplomatically. 

“Ugh!” you cry. “You’re no help!”

“What can I do?” Marcus asks softly, touching your arm, trying desperately to forge a connection, and it makes you feel even worse for lashing out. Through all things, Marcus just wants to feel connected, and here you are, pushing him away because of your own personal bullshit. 

“I don’t know,” you cry out, just so frustrated with everything that you can no longer carry on a reasonable conversation about it. 

But then, almost unbidden, an image flashes through your mind. You blink several times in rapid succession to dispel it. No, that’s ridiculous. 

“What?” Marcus presses, noticing the change in your expression.

“N-Nothing would help,” you say. “It’s just my own personal shit that I have to work through.”

The image returns. You, laying in Marcus’s lap, getting the catharsis you need through something physical–

“Okay,” Marcus says, frowning. You can tell he doesn’t buy it. 

You can’t stop thinking about it, now. His hand coming down on you again and again, finally giving you a reason to let go of it all. No. Marcus wouldn’t. He doesn’t mind rougher sex, sometimes, but he’s hardly sadistic about it. Everything he does, he does for your pleasure and enjoyment. 

That wouldn’t be about pleasure or enjoyment. It would be about release. Just… being allowed to feel things instead of being stuck in your head. 

“You know,” Marcus says softly, “you can tell me anything. I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll want to hear it.”

You shake your head from side to side.

Except, your denial lets Marcus know that there is something on your mind. 

“I just want to understand,” he murmurs, his hand stroking a gentle path up and down your arm. 

“I don’t know what I need,” you mumble. “But I keep–I can’t stop thinking about–”

Marcus nods patiently, but doesn’t speak.

“I–I wonder if you would… spank me,” you say under your breath. 

Marcus’s eyebrows raise. “Come again?”

See? You knew he wouldn’t go for it. “Never mind,” you say, shaking your head again. “I just… I dunno, some kind of physical release feels like it could… help.”

“Hang on,” Marcus says. “Don’t dismiss it. Let’s talk.”

"It's stupid," you protest. 

"You haven't even given it a chance," Marcus points out. 

"It was a fleeting thought," you say. 

"Was it?"

"...No," you whisper. "I can't stop thinking about it."

"About being spanked?" Marcus asks. 

"About you. Um, spanking me. Not just in general. You," you clarify. Marcus is an integral component of this fantasy. You've never wanted this before, but something about this relationship with Marcus makes you want… something more. Something as-of-yet undefined and unexplored.

"About me?" Marcus asks, smiling. He scoots closer, putting his arm around you on the couch. "Tell me."

"I just feel… safe, with you. And sometimes I think about how you… take such good care of me. And it makes me want… I don't know."

"Makes you want… more?" Marcus supplies. 

"I don't know," you repeat quietly. "I'm not… I'm not wording this right, I can't find the words right now, I'm not in the right headspace," you murmur. "I'm stupid."

"That's certainly not true," Marcus says firmly. 

"I c-can't talk right when I'm having a rough day," you stammer. "It's too hard, I–"

"Then don't talk," Marcus says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions, and you can just nod or shake your head, okay?"

You sink with relief, nodding.

"Okay. Question one," Marcus says with a sheepish expression. "Do you want me to spank you?"

You can't keep eye contact, but you nod, looking down at your hands. 

"Okay," Marcus replies softly, reassuringly. "Next question. Can I trust you to say 'stop' or tap my leg if you need to stop?"

Another nod, still looking down.

"Last question," Marcus says, and you can hear his smile. "Do you love me?"

An easy one. You bob your head up and down rapidly, making eye contact and smiling for the first time that night.

Marcus’s smile widens. "I love you, too. And hey–I'm always here to help, okay? No matter what it is you need."

You nod again. 

Marcus scoots back, sitting back on the couch. "Come here," he instructs quietly. "Come lie across my lap."

You feel silly as you come to your stomach, face down in Marcus’s lap. You consider saying 'never mind,' but part of you is so curious, wanting to feel this so much, you don’t open your mouth. 

Marcus gently pulls your leggings and underwear down, and you inhale sharply. You didn't expect him to do that. It sends an extra frisson of desire down your spine.

"Still okay?" Marcus asks, noticing the small tremor. 

"Yes," you whisper. 

Marcus's fingertips gently trace up and down your cheeks. "How many should I give you? Ten?" he asks, his voice a little rougher than normal. Does he like this, too?

You think for a moment. Ten doesn't seem like enough, not if you want to really feel it. 

"Fifteen," you whisper. 

Marcus is quiet for a few moments. "Okay," he says. "Fifteen."

His fingers stop tracing you, and you automatically tense in anticipation. You count your breaths for stability–one, two, thr–

Marcus’s hand comes down on your left cheek and you squeak in surprise. It stings, but it's not too bad. It's the jolt that startles you more than anything. 

Another sharp sting on your other cheek, and you press your lips together and whine softly.

"Why are you being punished?" Marcus suddenly asks above you. 

Oh. You have no idea, you didn't think about this at all. 

Slap. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me why."

You suck in a breath and try to think. One thought comes to you immediately. 

"Because I'm being stupid," you mumble bitterly, thinking of your inexplicable outburst earlier. 

Smack. "That is absolutely not it," Marcus says, his voice far more firm than it had been before. "I want you to really think about why for the rest of your punishment," he says, before dealing you another hard thwack on the alternating cheek. 

It already kind of hurts. He's done what, five? And you can already feel your cheeks burning with friction. You try to think about Marcus's question, you really do, but already your mind feels like it's emptying, unable to focus on anything but the sharp stings on your ass as Marcus deals out six, seven, eight, nine–

You start crying on ten. Huge, globular tears that run down your face as you sob in relief and pain. 

"Remember to say 'stop' if you need," Marcus reminds you, but he doesn't stop. His hand comes down for the eleventh time and you give up trying to staunch the flow of tears and simply cry loudly into the couch cushion.

After the twelfth, Marcus asks, "Now do you know why you're being punished?"

You don't. You shake your head as you continue to sob. 

Slap. "Because you're not being kind to yourself," Marcus says firmly. "And I can't stand to watch you beat yourself up over and over." Smack. "So it stops now, understand? I don't have any problems doing this again."

His hand pauses for a moment. "Tell me you understand," he says. 

"Yes," you sob, open-mouthed, as all the tension you've carried all day–or hell, much longer than that–breaks, and you feel like you're floating away when Marcus delivers the last devastating slap. 

The punishment has stopped, but you can't stop crying. You take huge gulping breaths of air as you try to get yourself under control, and Marcus is pulling you up and into his lap properly. 

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You can cry. You don’t have to try and stop yourself.”

You nod your thanks into his shirt, clutching at him desperately. 

“Shhh,” Marcus soothes. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The two of you sit there for God knows how long. You, sniffling softly into Marcus’s shirt, and him holding you through it. The longer you sit there, the more you realize: the internal pain you’d been feeling has been washed away, replaced by a bone-deep sense of relief. 

Eventually, the tears subside, and a wave of gratitude washes over you. You close your eyes, breathing Marcus in. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Marcus asks quietly. 

“Yeah, actually,” you answer at the same volume. “I really do feel… better.”

“It helped?” 

You nod. “I just kind of feel… blank, and floaty.”

“That’s good,” Marcus says. 

“Did you–” you start. “Was that–okay? Like, it wasn’t too much, or… bad, or–”

“I don’t like causing you pain,” Marcus begins, and you cringe. “No, hang on,” he says. “But I do feel good when I give you something you want, or need, and it–it seems like you needed that, in a way. And,” he says, swallowing. “I, uh–” he ducks his head, chuckling.

“What?”

“Well, getting to spank you raw like that was… surprisingly hot,” Marcus admits, blushing lightly. 

You let out a watery laugh and tighten your hold on Marcus. A word escapes your lips, then. One word that, in hindsight, would change your relationship, your life, forever. 

“Daddy.”

Whispered, barely audible, muffled by his shoulder. More of a reflex than anything else. 

Marcus’s only reaction is a sharp intake of breath that he lets out slowly. His hand gently rubs up and down your back. You don’t think he’d heard, but then, just as quiet–

“I’m here. Daddy’s got you.”

“Can we talk?”

For a moment, you panic. That phrase has never heralded anything good in your life, ever. Seeing your alarm, Marcus quickly changes tactics. 

“Nothing bad, I promise. I wanted to talk about last night,” Marcus says, sitting down next to you. 

Oh. Right. Last night, when you’d asked Marcus to spank you out of nowhere after having a bad day. Well, technically, it wasn’t out of nowhere. It hadn’t been the first time that mental image wormed its way into your brain, but it’s not like you know how to actually talk about something like that. 

“I’m sorry if that was weird–” you begin.

“Not weird. I may be wrong–but I don’t think I am–” Marcus says, grinning, “–but liking to be spanked is very common.”

“I know,” you grumble, your face heating exponentially. “I’ve been on fucking Pornhub, too.”

Marcus laughs loudly. “Caught me,” he teases. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. “What, then?”

Marcus swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “You… you called me something,” he says quietly. “And I can’t get it out of my head.”

You don’t say anything right away, waiting for Marcus to continue. Eventually, he does. 

“I hear it in my head every five minutes, I swear,” he says with a little huff of laughter. “And all I know is that I wish I could hear you say it again.”

“Daddy?” you whisper with a small smile.

You don’t miss the way Marcus shudders. “I don’t know why I like that,” he laughs softly. 

“I may be wrong, but I don’t think I am,” you say with a grin, mirroring Marcus’s earlier statement, “but liking being called ‘Daddy’ is pretty common.”

“Touche,” Marcus murmurs, grabbing your hand and kissing your palm. 

“What a pair we make,” you say softly. 

“I think we make the perfect pair,” Marcus protests. 

“I like calling you ‘Daddy,’” you admit, your voice barely audible. “You–you take such good care of me. I’ve never felt more… safe, with anyone,” you tell him. “I know I’ve mentioned that my, uh, my childhood wasn’t a great one. My mom… she fled an abusive relationship in the middle of the night and took only me and what she could carry,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh. “I remember fucking crying because I had to leave all my stuffed animals behind. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing? We were fleeing for our lives, and my dumbass was worried about–”

“Shh,” Marcus hushes you quietly, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You were a kid. You didn’t know.”

“Anyways,” you mutter, “I spent the next, I dunno, twenty years? Feeling unsafe and unmoored, and now suddenly there’s–” you swallow, “–there’s you, and it’s the healthiest, most positive relationship I’ve ever had, and I feel like I can finally… exhale. Does–does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Marcus murmurs, between kissing your forehead and temples over and over again. “Yes, honey, it does.” He’s quiet for a while, the both of you just existing together in the moment, reveling in the security of Marcus’s arms. After a long while, he speaks again. 

“What was your favorite? Of the things you left behind,” Marcus asks you softly. 

“Oh,” you say, laughing softly. “I had this bunny. It came with a book that I loved–The Velveteen Rabbit. My mom used to read it to me, and I’d just flip through and look through the pictures when I was alone,” you tell him. 

“What happened to the book?” Marcus asks, but you can tell from his tone that he already knows the answer.

“It’s long gone,” you say wistfully. “Wish I knew what edition it was.”

Marcus abruptly pulls you into his lap for a crushing hug. “I’m glad you feel safe with me,” he says, emotion choking his voice. “Please, always feel that way.”

“I will, Daddy,” you whisper, burying your head in Marcus’s neck. “I really, really will.”

You don’t know why it surprises you that, in less than a week, Marcus has a gift for you. Coming home from work, you walk into your bedroom to change into some sweatpants, and nearly fall to the ground at the sight that awaits you.

On the bed, propped up on the pillows, sits a simple brown stuffed bunny with large, floppy ears that look impossibly soft. And, sitting next to it, is a book with an old, worn cover. 

You gasp and surge forward to pick it up, flipping open the front cover and raking your eyes over the title page. The Velveteen Rabbit.

“It’s a first edition,” comes a soft voice behind you. 

You spin, and Marcus is leaning in the doorway, watching you with a small smile. 

You pick up the rabbit next–it feels just as soft as it looks–and hug it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fur. 

You don't remember the last time someone purchased something so simple and yet so meaningful. 

You look at Marcus with unnaturally shiny eyes. "Daddy…" you whisper with a watery smile, "I love it."

"Come here," Marcus says, and you don't have to be told twice. You stride forward, bunny still clutched tightly to your chest, and allow yourself to be wrapped in Marcus's arms. 

"Thank you," you whisper into his chest. 

"You might not have gotten what you needed, what you deserved as a child," Marcus murmurs into your hair, "but that won't happen with me."

Your breath catches at the quiet ferocity in Marcus's tone, but at the same time, a little sliver of doubt worms its way into your brain. This isn't his responsibility, it says. This is too much of a gift for him to possibly give you. 

"You don't have to, I dunno, take care of me or anything like that," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't want to just be a… a burden."

Marcus huffs a laugh, as if you'd just said something incredibly ridiculous.

"Oh, honey," he chuckles, "I've never wanted anything more."

It doesn’t happen all at once–there are many more funny, sometimes awkward discussions where you and Marcus hash things out, negotiating this new side of your relationship. 

The crux of all of them, though, is that, for the first time, you feel safe just being… you. You start to indulge more in the little things that bring you joy–things that you might have dismissed as frivolous or silly before, but now that Marcus is really paying attention, he notices.

Like he notices one day in the supermarket, when the two of you are buying groceries for the week, how your eyes linger on a bin of stuffed toys near the checkout. Already in line, your cart full of groceries, you look down at them, one hand reaching out briefly to touch a cute little avocado with big, sparkling eyes and a tiny smile. Something in its goofy expression makes you smile, giggling softly at the toy. 

Normally, you’d continue through the checkout aisle, putting down the stuffie with one last fond smile and returning to the task at hand, putting your groceries on the conveyor belt. When you turn, though, Marcus is watching you–with the same fond smile. 

“Here.” He picks up the same stuffed avocado you’d been admiring. “Is this one your favorite?”

“It’s–it’s nice,” you say, “but it’s fine, I mean–it’s silly, what am I doing to do with–”

“Let me spoil my baby girl,” Marcus murmurs in your ear. “Let Daddy spoil you, honey.”

He hands you the toy with a crooked grin and a quick kiss on the forehead, and you can't contain the happy smile that spreads across your face. "Thank you," you whisper. 

"Of course," Marcus answers softly. "Now help me with the groceries, hmm?"

As your comfort level grows, you realize that it’s not just about feeling a newfound sense of joy, getting to experience things that you’d lost out on as a kid. It’s not really about those things at all–it’s about safety. It’s about care, and protection. It’s not about the silly, blush-pink socks with little bows on the ankles that you like to wear around the house, kicking your feet as you type on your laptop, it’s about the care and the trust they symbolize. You’re safe to be completely and utterly yourself, to be vulnerable. You can allow yourself to slip back to a time where you felt the most vulnerable, except this time, Marcus is here to catch you. 

As much as you feel safe and fulfilled by your new dynamic, Marcus seems to thrive in it as well. Now that you’ve essentially given him license to lean into that part of him that just wants to take care of you, he doesn’t hold back. You know by now that Marcus likes to be given a direction, and now that he has this, he blazes forward with enthusiasm. Marcus likes to be useful, and it’s as if you’ve handed him the world’s most powerful tool. 

Marcus has always wanted to help you, whether by going to a few of your therapy sessions and holding your hand, or simply by being patient when you struggle to find your words. He’s one of the few people you’ve known that doesn’t try to finish your sentences or speak for you. 

It makes you finally start to feel comfortable in your own skin, like you’ve finally come to the realization that you don’t have to try to be any different, not even for Marcus. On hard days, when you need his touch but don’t necessarily have the words to ask for it, you know that all you need to do is gently butt your head into his arm or shoulder, and he’ll turn with a soft smile and kiss the top of your head while he winds his arm around you. 

You’ve never had anyone’s touch be so soothing.

Even still, there are bad days. Days where everything is too much and the words are caught in your throat and like the fighter you always have been, you push through it with sheer, stubborn bullheadedness until you collapse on the couch and draw a blanket over your head and breathe, like a little ghost haunting your living room for a little while. 

“Hi, honey.” The words are always so soft-spoken, like he’s afraid he’ll startle you, as if you hadn’t heard the click of Marcus’s key in the lock moments before. 

“I’d like to try something, is that okay?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Can I see that pretty face?”

After a few more breaths, you lower the blanket and are greeted with the warm, brown eyes of your partner, and, in spite of yourself, you smile a little. 

“There she is,” Marcus says softly. “My little girl.” He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. “Will you follow me?”

When you nod, Marcus stands and walks to the bedroom with you in tow. When he strips off his shirt, you look at him warily. You can’t, you think. The sensory overload would be…

“Do you trust me?” 

You nod for the third time, and Marcus approaches you and gently pulls your shirt over your head as well. 

“Come lay with me,” he says, taking your hand and pulling you with him as he gets on the bed.

You allow yourself to be enfolded into Marcus’s arms with a shaky sigh. He gently pulls you on top of him, so that you’re laying fully on his chest, and his hand trails up and down your spine. You have to admit it, the feel of Marcus’s bare, warm chest against your cheek and the rise and fall of his breaths is already starting to loosen the tight coil of tension in your body. 

Your eyes fall closed and you surrender to the feeling of being surrounded by Marcus. He doesn’t speak until your breaths lengthen and the muscles in your shoulders start to relax.

“I read this study a while back,” he murmurs, and you feel the words against your cheek when he speaks, “that skin-to-skin contact affects adults just as much as it does infants. There’s a whole range of physiological responses–heart rate goes down, blood pressure goes down, cortisol, anxiety levels, pain…” he huffs a little laugh, running the backs of his fingers up and down your neck. “I told myself I’d try it the next time you were having a hard day.”

You smile and tighten your hold on Marcus. “Such a scientist,” you murmur. “Testing hypotheses and whatnot.”

Marcus chuckles, and you smile too.

“It’s not a good study,” you tell him. “Your sample size is one.”

“Well,” he concedes with a smile. “Then we’ll have to do this again.”

You do. It becomes a habit on bad days, so much so that all you need to do is nuzzle your face into Marcus’s chest and tug at his shirt and he'll chuckle affectionately, pulling you over to the couch and letting you lounge, topless, against his bare chest as you watch a movie with the sound turned low. 

It's never sexual, even with your breasts exposed and your nipples pebbling in the cool air. There's always a clear distinction between this, the loving way in which Marcus cares for you on bad days, and the times when you're intimate. Before Marcus, you'd never paid all that much attention to non-sexual touches, but this man seems to thrive off of touching you. He has an uncanny ability to make something as tame as a caress of your shoulder into something highly erotic, while at the same time showing you that even touching an intimate area–like the way his hand gently rests on the underside of your breast as he holds you–can be comforting and chaste. 

"Daddy," you whimper pitifully. "Just… just a little longer, just a little more, just–argh!" You let out a cry of frustration as the little vibrator leaves you again and Marcus pauses the timer on his phone. 

"Four more minutes," he announces. 

"I can't go four more minutes," you whine.

"You said that at ten minutes, too," Marcus teases. 

"You always say you like to spoil me," you pout. "Why are you making me wait?"

"I am spoiling you," Marcus counters playfully. "Think about how good it will feel when you're finally allowed to come." 

You writhe uselessly on the bed, your hands restrained loosely above your head by a pair of lacy pink cuffs with little bows on them. They're only velcro; you could pull out of them easily, but you hardly want to. You know how much Marcus likes the look of you like this, and you get off on the feeling of perceived helplessness. 

"Besides," he says, rubbing soothingly up and down your inner thigh. "Oh, how I love seeing you beg for me. I love seeing you like this. Daddy's little mess."

Marcus touches the little vibrator to your clit and restarts the timer, and you keen in frustration as you try to keep yourself under control. "C'mon, just four more minutes," he says. "You can do it."

Fifteen minutes, he had said, holding up your little vibrator. Fifteen minutes of this before you're allowed to come. 

You've somehow managed to last eleven without completely breaking apart, but the last four minutes are torture. You're so close to the edge that he has to pause every thirty seconds or so, and whenever he pauses, so does the timer.  

"Two minutes," Marcus murmurs gently. "You're doing so well. You're being so good for me, baby girl." He pauses the timer again and rubs his hand up and down your arm. "So good for me," he repeats quietly as you shake for him. "Catch your breath, it's okay."

The next two minutes might last a lifetime. When he stops for what seems like the tenth time and you let out a high pitched whine of frustration, Marcus brushes the hair from your forehead and says, "You've got twenty seconds left. I'm not gonna pause again, but you have to be a good girl for me and hold it there the whole time without coming, can you do that?"

You nod, biting your lip with determination. "Okay, Daddy," you whisper. 

"Good girl," Marcus whispers back. 

He restarts the timer and you try to take deep, even breaths, not allowing your body to do what it wants and fall off the edge. It feels impossible, especially when Marcus announces fifteen and then ten, and it feels like you can't possibly last another second. He starts counting slowly down from five, four, three, but your body is already seizing up as you fight the inevitable. The heat rises inside of you, and all you can do it grit your teeth and hope you can make it to one, when your mouth falls open and you start to come. 

Marcus drops to his elbow beside you, not moving the vibrator from your clit, and hovers close to your face, whispering little praises as your pussy clenches violently.

"Perfect," he soothes. "Perfect girl. See? It feels so good when Daddy makes you wait, doesn't it?"

You nod pitifully. "Thank you, Daddy," you whimper. 

"No, no," Marcus chuckles. "Thank you, baby girl. You do so well for Daddy."

"I want to feel you," you tell him softly. "Will you fill me up?"

Marcus smiles wickedly as he pushes his underwear down, freeing his cock. "Baby," he says with a chuckle, "Daddy will fill you up anytime you ask."

He lines himself up and, keeping his face close to yours, slowly pushes inside. 

"My girl's choice," he rasps. "Slow or fast?"

"Hmmm," you smile teasingly, thinking about it for a moment. "Slow."

"Oh yeah? You like it when Daddy takes you apart inch by inch, don't you?" He asks as he reaches the deepest point within you.

"Yes," you answer blissfully, tipping your head back as he starts to to thrust, undulating his hips perfectly slowly, just like you'd asked. 

“You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” Marcus says as he collapses onto the couch next to you.

“Oh! That bad?” you ask, curling into his side.

“No, just… really unbelievable. There was an elephant at my crime scene.”

Immediately, you pull back to look at him. “What?”

Marcus smiles at your reaction–from the glint in his eyes, you can tell he did it on purpose. “I swear. A real, live elephant.”

“Why?” you say with a little laugh.

“I was at the Smithsonian National Zoo,” Marcus explains, grinning. “One of the pieces the elephants painted was stolen.”

Now you’re even more confused. “The elephants… paint?”

“Yeah, you know, they train the elephants to hold a paintbrush, and they auction off the paintings for fundraisers,” Marcus says. “They’ve got a little gallery in the exhibit.”

“I’ve never been,” you say quietly. 

“To the National Zoo?” 

“To any zoo.”

Marcus’s lips part, and for a moment his eyes are sad–mourning for something you never had in the first place, before he perks up, realizing that now he gets to be the one to show you. 

“Well,” he announces. “We’re just going to have to change that, aren’t we?”

Just a few short days later, you’re wiggling with excitement next to Marcus as you stand in line outside of the zoo. 

“Excited?” Marcus teases.

“Yes,” you answer matter-of-factly, not bothering to hide it.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “Good. Where to first?”

Your eyes flit from sign to sign as you enter, momentarily overwhelmed by your choices and unsure of where to begin, before something catches your attention, and you know exactly where you want to go. 

“Aquarium!”

You love it from the moment you walk in, taking in the darkened room lit by the otherworldly glow of the water. The first large glass window you come to contains an entire coral reef, with hundreds of different types of fish and one very ugly green eel that makes you giggle.

“Look,” you whisper in awe, hardly able to tear your eyes away. “Daddy, look.”

“I am looking,” Marcus says beside you, but when you turn, he’s not watching the fish at all.

He’s watching you. 

“What?” you pout.

Marcus smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing, baby girl.” 

His hand is always a comforting weight at the small of your back as the two of you stroll slowly through the gallery, until you come to a room with one large, open tank with low walls. Lips parting in surprise, you rush forward to look. It’s full of rays, swimming slowly, moving majestically and gracefully around the tank. 

“You can touch them,” Marcus says beside you.

“What?” “The rays. You can touch them.”

You finally notice that many of the people around the tank have their hands submerged up to their elbows.

“No way,” you whisper. 

“Yes, ray,” Marcus jokes beside you, and you elbow him in the ribs.

“Daddy.”

Marcus chuckles and you step forward, leaning over the tank and slowly sliding your hand into the water.

“I’m afraid I’m going to freak out if one of these things touches me,” you say with a giddy smile. “Do you think they’re slimy?”

Marcus shrugs. “I dunno, I’ve never touched one.”

“Stick your hand in the water.”

“You first,” he laughs. “Look, here one comes.”

You press your lips together with excitement as one of the rays swims along the side of the tank toward the two of you. It passes just under your hand, and you gasp as you feel its skin below your fingertips.

“Oh,” you exclaim softly. “Oh, that’s weird.”

"Weird?" Marcus laughs. 

"Yeah, it's like, the smoothest thing I've ever felt, but it's soft and spongy."

"That is weird," Marcus says, his nose crinkling. "Hey, look, it likes you."

Sure enough, the ray turns around and comes by for another pass, one fin gently splashing the side of the tank as it swims by. It does it again and again, and you watch it with a disbelieving expression. 

"Believe it or not, rays are quite social," a zookeeper says, noticing your odd companionship. "They can be playful, splashing people to show off, and they can form bonds."

"It does like you," Marcus breathes, watching the ray swimming underneath your fingers. 

"That one's been through the ringer," the zookeeper comments. "It was rescued from a fishing net. See the big scar on its fin?"

You blink, looking at a line of darkened skin that you'd thought was simply color variation. "Oh," you whisper. "Poor thing."

"She's usually not very social," the zookeeper says. "I've never seen her do this."

"Is that right?" you say, smiling softly. "Are we friends?"

You stay there for a long time, until your fingers are pruny, in awe of the strange friendship. 

Marcus, as always, is patient, and ends up chatting with the zookeeper, who's happy to share information about her research to the two of you.

"Hey," Marcus finally says, with an amused smile. "We've got a lot more zoo to see."

"I know," you say quietly, strangely reluctant to leave. 

"This isn't the only time," Marcus assures you softly. "We'll be back."

Smiling sheepishly, you nod and withdraw your hand from the water, waving goodbye to the ray. 

"That was the weirdest thing," you say with a laugh. 

"That was adorable," Marcus hums, kissing your cheekbone. 

The two of you walk through the rest of the zoo, you tucked into Marcus's side as you look at every exhibit. Finally, you find yourself back where you started at the entrance. 

"C'mere," Marcus says, grabbing your hand. "One more thing."

He pulls you into the gift shop, smiling as you take in every conceivable type of stuffed animal lining the shelves. 

"Pick your favorite," Marcus says. 

"I don't know if I can narrow it down," you say with a laugh, overwhelmed with the sheer number of choices. But you walk up and down the aisles, looking at seals, tigers, penguins, orangutans, and sloths. They're all so cute. You bite down on your lip, looking around as you consider, and then you see it. 

Back in one corner of the store, an entire shelf dedicated to… 

"This one," you whisper, picking up a stuffed southern ray. 

"How did I know?" Marcus chuckles. 

You pause, a decades-old cycle of doubt worming its way into your brain. "Are you sure?"

Marcus frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You always get me so many things… you spoil me too much."

Marcus raises one eyebrow in challenge. "I don't spoil you too much. I spoil you just the right amount."

He gently takes the ray from you, pays for it, and hands it back. He's quiet on the walk to the car, and it's making you uneasy. 

"Daddy… are you mad?"

"What? No. God, no. I just…" Marcus sighs, leaning against the car. "I hate to think that you see this as spoiling you, baby girl. I don't see it spoiling you. I see it as giving you everything I want to give you. Everything you deserve."

"Daddy," you breathe, starting to tear up. 

"You're everything to me," Marcus says quietly. "So I'm gonna give you everything. And if all I have to give in exchange for literally everything I want in my life is a few stuffed animals? Baby, you're getting the raw deal, here."

You laugh a watery laugh. "His name's Pancake, by the way."

"Pancake," Marcus chuckles, opening the car door. "That's cute, baby girl. Did you have a good time?"

"Of course I did," you answer. "I always do with you, Daddy."

"Daddy, aren't you going to bed?"

Marcus gives you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, baby, Daddy’s got a big press conference tomorrow and I'm nowhere near prepared."

"Oh," you say, disappointed. "But I'm really tired."

“That’s okay, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“But I miss you when you’re not there,” you pout.

Marcus looks up from his laptop with a wry smile. “You want Daddy to come tuck you in?”

You let out an involuntary shiver at his words. 

"Yes, please," you whisper. 

He grins. “Go get ready for bed, then. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You giggle and hop up from the couch, hurrying to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You throw on your favorite tank top to sleep in, leaving only your underwear on the bottom. As you’re getting into bed, Marcus comes in and sits beside you on the bed. He kisses you unhurriedly, taking his time moving his lips sensually against yours. You sigh into his mouth–he’s such a good kisser. Just as you start to lose yourself in the act, Marcus smiles against your lips.

“Lay down, baby girl.”

You obey, smiling dazedly up at him as your head hits the pillow.

“What’s Daddy’s rule?” Marcus asks softly. 

“Don’t move,” you answer dutifully. 

“That’s right. Get nice and comfortable for me.”

You arrange yourself half on your side, half on your stomach, with one leg bent to the side and Pancake tucked under one arm. 

“Good girl,” Marcus whispers. His fingertips trail down your spine, over the fabric of your underwear, and then down, where he gently pulls them to one side to allow his other hand to touch. He sucks in a breath when he dips his fingers dip shallowly into your pussy, collecting your slick and rubbing it onto your clit. “Always so wet for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh contentedly into your pillow as Marcus starts rubbing in slow circles..

“My perfect girl, do you like it when I play with you?” he teases.

“Of course I do, Daddy,” you answer. “Would like it better if you gave me your c–”

“Shh,” Marcus chastises. “Not tonight, baby girl. I’m just trying to help you relax.”

You whine softly and shift your hips impatiently, and Marcus stops. 

“No, no,” he chuckles. “Stay still for Daddy.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, taking a deep breath and letting it out as Marcus’s fingers start to move achingly slowly on your clit. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Marcus soothes. “You’re doing so well for me. Look at how relaxed you are. You look so sweet, lying there and letting me take care of you.”

Your breath starts to come in pants, and you have to fight to keep yourself still as the pressure inside you starts to rise. 

“That’s it,” Marcus whispers. “Nice and slow.”

Marcus is a patient man. He doesn’t rush toward your climax; he never speeds up the movement of his hand. He slowly builds you up until the fall becomes inevitable.

Your hands tighten into fists when Marcus finally pushes you over the edge; your mouth falls open and a little, ragged whimper comes out. Other than that, you don’t move a muscle as you come undone, and it brings all of your focus to the way your pussy clenches over and over again.

“Good,” Marcus whispers. “Good girl.” He gently pulls your underwear back into place and covers you with the blanket. “I love you so much, baby girl,” he whispers into the skin of your temple. 

“Daddy,” you say softly, your eyes already closed. “You do a really good job. You take such good care of me.”

Marcus is quiet for a minute. “I’m glad,” he finally says, his voice rough with emotion. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I’ll be with you soon.”

His lips ghost against your temple once more before you hear him padding out of the room. 

[gloomysoup]

i have been taken over by nickelback once again so here comes another edition to the nickelback chronicles

todays edition brings us back to the 2017 album feed the machine, which seems to be a very steddie secrets-coded album based on previous editions. (the song is Must Be Nice btw)

corroded coffin is well established in the industry. they have a lot of fans, but it is more common in pop culture that they're made fun of due to certain songs that gain popularity (think photograph memes). their fan base regularly gets shit from others, but it's never caused problems. at least, not until someone comes after eddie's family.

in the age of the internet, people are increasingly open about their opinions. eddie's tough. he can brush things off with ease. he doesn't often take things to heart.

it starts with a collection of photos.

Steve and the pups got papped, bad. Eddie hadn't even been with them. Luckily, Eddie had insisted that they have a security detail when going out somewhere more public. For safety. Steve didn't really like the idea, but he agreed. He knew Eddie wouldn't have insisted so heavily on something unless it was important to him. His family's safety is important. So, when paparazzi was overwhelming them, cameras flashing in their faces, the pups upset and clinging to Steve, Eddie was grateful that their security managed to get them somewhere safe. Eddie was pissed when the photos were released online. It was clear in every frame that Steve had been uncomfortable, and the pups were scared.

Arguably, Eddie probably should've waited for the band's legal and social media teams before saying anything, but he was infuriated. He could barely hold back all the things he wanted to say.

His response came in the form of a long twitter thread from his main account. In it, he ranted about the absolute disregard the paparazzi had for privacy and consent. He went off about how angry he was that they violated his family, without him even being there. There was absolutely no reason for them to go after his family like that, and then to post those photos all over the internet like it was nothing. He was disgusted.

The post blew up. Eddie was asked about it in an interview with the band a week after the photos broke.

Eddie's hands shook as he looked at the man interviewing them.

"I don't think I have ever been so... infuriated in my life, and I've been hunted by an entire town who didn't understand." He shook his head. "I was in a meeting with a producer when my husband called me, in tears, because of those assholes. I wasn't even there. They had no reason to do that to my family. They do not deserve to be treated like animals in a goddamn zoo just because of my career. They're just fucking lucky that no one got hurt, because if anyone had laid a single hand on my family, I would not hesitate to track them down and prove an entire goddamn town right."

"Don't you think that's a little dramatic? Obviously it wasn't right, but that's their job, isn't it?"

Eddie's response broke the internet immediately upon its release.

"No. I don't think it's dramatic. I think I have every right to be angry that my family's privacy was violated. I have every right to be angry that their safety was at risk. If I do much as see someone with a camera pointed at them again, I will not hesitate to show them exactly what I think of their 'job'. I will do anything to protect my family, and I will not apologize for that."

The internet was divided. Many people agreed with Eddie. It was cruel. His family was put in danger. His response was perfectly understandable. Others thought he was taking things too far. They didn't understand just how harmful the paparazzi could be. One such person made it a point to call Eddie out. He was some up and coming artist that was gaining popularity among the younger crowds. A nepotism baby like no other. His mother was a popular actress, his father a well-known label executive. He trashed Eddie for being old, out of the loop, a hot-headed mess. He insulted his family based off the photos the paps had released.

Eddie barely gave a public response to the kid's statements. In fact, his social media went oddly quiet. For six weeks, not a single person in the band posted anything. Fans speculated on what happened. Some wondered if Eddie had finally snapped. Maybe this had been the last straw. The band was breaking up, or going on hiatus. Something. Their comments and concerns went unanswered. A few people even managed to track down the socials of people close to the band, sending DMs and asking if they knew what was going on. Nancy got the worst of it, seeing as she was the easiest to track down with her relatively active social media. Still, no response.

It was a random Tuesday morning when the band account finally posted something. Fans were expecting an official statement declaring that the band was parting ways. Instead, it was a cryptic video clip. A dark screen. Music playing in the background. A single line uttered before it cut off completely and a date filled the screen.

Stick your diamond ring where the sun don't shine

No one knew what it meant until the day arrived. The band released a new single. Must Be Nice. The lyrics are chalk full of references to common children's lullabies. It was very obvious to everyone what the song was about. Still, there was no official statement. Not until the band's tour, at least.

Eddie grabbed the microphone from the stand a couple songs into the first show. He took a drink from the cup sitting by Gareth's drum kit before taking a breath and looking out at the crowd. He got everyone to quiet down before he started talking.

"I'm sure by now you've all heard about what happened to my family a few months back," he began. The crowd booed. Eddie laughed, his eyes darting to side-stage where Steve was standing. "In case there's some people out there who haven't, my husband our pups were ambushed by paparazzi while I was in a meeting. Their safety was put at risk. Their privacy was violated. The photos were released on the internet, and I was the one to receive backlash for being upset. For being angry." The crowd screamed. "That's the thing about being 'famous' or whatever the fuck. No one cares. No one cares because they assume that we all signed up for this shit. Like the world deserves to be let into every single piece of our lives. The amount of people who wholeheartedly believe they had a right to invade our privacy and stalk our families is astounding, truly. And then there are people who grew up having everything handed to them. Who think they have a right to speak on a matter that doesn't involve them. Who only have careers because of who their daddy is. So this next song is dedicated to the fucker who had the absolute nerve to trash my family on the internet while he sat in a house paid for with Daddy's money. This is Must Be Nice."

The videos of his speech launched them back into the mainstream, if only for a few days. The internet was overrun with discourse, everyone arguing over who was in the right and who was in the wrong. It ultimately led to a public apology from the kid, and paparazzi learned to stay away from Corroded Coffin.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Random Fanfic Qutoes!

I forget which fics these are from, but they make me laugh!

He didn’t need to look up to know Tsunagu was smiling at him. Which was good, because Katsuki’s eyes were never going to leave the floor. It was a very interesting floor, and he was going to stare at it until it conceded to his will and swallowed him whole. Any second now.

*

barry benson: i’m pan actually

barry benson: i swing all ways

barry benson: violently

*

Loaded: Oh I adore Izuku and he has some of the best support item analysis I have ever seen 

Loaded: I also adore Hatsume and would fight god for her 

Loaded: I would rather stab myself with a hot poker than be the only adult in a room with them again 

*

Spiderman: My guy 

Spiderman: My homie in whatever eldritch being Izuku summoned this week 

Spiderman: One of my four platonic soul mates 

Spiderman: You are the loudest mother fucker I have ever met and you have bombs for hands

*

Katsuki: Regarding yesterday’s shit show

Katsuki: Because shit shows are apparently just an everyday thing now

Katsuki: Like a goddamn las vegas attraction

Katsuki: But you know, my actual life 

*

I sawed this boat in half: -Lemony Snicket voice- the word ‘poison’ here can mean many things. 'Poison’ may literally refer to the presence of an unwashed llama in a stream from which a nearby village likely collects its drinking water. Likewise, it may figuratively refer to the effect of greed and isolation on the priorities of a young ruler, or the machinations of a villainous got an advisor on the health and wellbeing of said young ruler. In this case, however, 'poison’ most literally refers to the poison. The poison for Kuzco, the poison chosen especially to kill Kuzco, Kuzco’s poison…. that poison.

*

Homochromia: I’m not lying on the floor physically but I am lying on the floor spiritually

*

ura-ra-ah-ah-ah: ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ :honey_pot: help him get his honey

Ridley: ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ he has been a naughty bear… no honey

ura-ra-ah-ah-ah: :gun: ʕ•̀ᴥ•́ ʔ do you think this is a game

*

Dwayne Johnson: mina enters the kitchen

Dwayne Johnson: oven: on

Dwayne Johnson: water: boiling

Dwayne Johnson: pasta pot: in the oven

Dwayne Johnson: she is forcibly removed from the kitchen

*

Aux cord: im going to eviscerate you and hang your guts over the school gates

KarateKid: no thank you

I sawed this boat in half: remember kids, if someone tries to maim you, just say no. they legally cannot maim you without your consent

*

ura-ra-ah-ah-ah: how are you the younger brother

sanic: My brother left all his braincells in the womb so I absorbed them

*

Walking phone charger: YOULL NEVER FIND ME

Walking phone charger: I HAVE THE HEART OF A LION

Walking phone charger: AND A LIFETIME BAN FROM MUSUTAFU ZOO

 *

Walking phone charger: how this conversation began: lol we keep accidentally predicting shit how wack is that

Walking phone charger: us like an hour later: hey have you ever thought about the implications of the government employing kids to fight adult criminals who might kill them

*

all might simp: presiding judge who 100% has dealt with nezu before: im gonna have to ask you to be respectful

all might simp: nezu: i will politely decline

*

This thing where you say you’re “fine” when you’re clearly not has gotten out of hand. I’m making a Fine Jar. Every time you say you’re fine and you’re not, you have to pay the jar. No exceptions. (Mental health is applicable.)

*

Aizawa: Bakugou - it has come to my attention that you held a laundry seminar with the whole class on the third weekend after move-in when you realized that no one knew what they were doing, so thank you.

-

These are all great I love them

[racefortheironthrone]

Who do you consider to have been some of the most important / formative mayors of New York?

This is a great question, and actually rather difficult to answer, because for the longest time both Tammany Hall and the Whig/Republican machine tended to prefer mayors who were dull but reliable non-entities. Starting in 1824, NYC was divided into wards that elected Aldermen and Assistant Aldermen to the Board of Aldermen and the Board of Assistants, who together made up the bicameral Common Council. This led to a system whereby the real political action was shunted to the local level, where the ward's Aldermen and the ward boss (and his precinct bosses) ran the show.

The downfall of Boss Tweed led to some reforms, with the bicameral Common Council replaced by a unicameral Board of Aldermen who were elected from larger State Senate districts or at-large, as part of the Whig Party's drive to dilute the power of Tammany's Irish Catholic voting base. This would change somewhat when the five boroughs were consolidated into Greater New York in 1898, which added the borough presidents and the Board of Estimate into the mix, and then again in 1901 and so forth.

However, the overall trend was a weak mayor system where real political power was fairly evenly distributed between aldermen (who were not only the city's legislatures but were also represented on the Board of Estimate through their President), the borough presidents, the mayor, and the comptroller.

So the major players in NYC politics tended not to be mayors:

Dewitt Clinton was incredibly transformational, but despite serving three terms as mayor his real mark on New York was as governor where he was the driving force behind the construction of the Erie Canal.

Andrew Haswell Green, the "Father of Greater New York," was responsible for the creation of Central Park, the New York Public Library, the Bronx Zoo, The Museum of Natural History, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Riverside, Morningside, and Fort Washington Parks, Columbus Circle, and the consolidation of Greater New York - but he never served as mayor. The original Robert Moses, Green's political power came from his leadership of the Central Park Commission, the Greater New York Commission, a six-year stint in the Comptroller's office, and his position on a number of NGOs.

But if we're talking transformative mayors, there is one name that rises above all the rest: Fiorello goddamn LaGuardia.

There had been other reform mayors before him - Seth Low had established the Civil Service, John P. Mitchel brought scientific management to city government - but none of them had ever been able to get re-elected. Unlike the wealthy WASP reformers, LaGuardia knew how to beat Tammany at the ethnic politics game. Tammany's strength had always been in the Irish wards of the city, and while they had tried to divide-and-rule by promoting the naturalization of Russian and Polish Jews in return for them voting for Irish-American politicians in the Lower East Side while noticably neglecting the naturalization of Italians, the emergence of second-generation Jewish and Italian voters meant that this strategy had run its course.

Born to a Sephardic mother from Trieste and a lapsed Catholic father from southern Italy, Fiorello had an astonishing knack for transcending ethnic political boundaries in New York City - he spoke Italian, German, Yiddish, and Croatian, but he was also a progressive Republican and Episcopalian (which meant he could speak middle-class WASP too). LaGuardia won the 1933 mayoral election by bringing together a Fusion coalition that brought middle class German-American Republicans together with Italians and Jews, a coalition that he would expand in 1936 by bringing socialists, unions, and black voters together into the American Labor Party.

Over his twelve years as Mayor, LaGuardia was almost pathologically active (in a way that's oddly reminiscent of Henry II), transforming almost every aspect of New York City:

Jobs for the Unemployed:

LaGuardia's immediate mission as mayor was to fight the Great Depression that had had left a third of the City unemployed. He did this by forming an enduring alliance with FDR in which the New Deal would provide NYC with unpredecented level of federal support in exchange for NYC becoming the New Deal's model city - the first of the "Little New Deals." In his first hundred days in office, LaGuardia convinced FDR to give New York City a full 20% of the Civil Works Administration's work relief budget. This put 200,000 New Yorkers back to work - and this would only be the beginning of New York City's experiments with direct job creation.

As part of Fiorello LaGuardia's "Little New Deal," LaGuardia's new Parks Department employed 70,000 workers - paid for by CWA and later WPA money - to rebuild New York City's parks, constructing the Central Park Zoo and 60 playgrounds in the first year.

When the New Deal created the Works Progress Administration in 1935, LaGuardia once again lobbied FDR to put NYC first in line. This culminated in some 700,000 New Yorkers - a tenth of the city's entire population - getting jobs through the WPA and other New Deal programs. Together with the Parks Department, LaGuardia and Robert Moses would mobilize this workforce to completely transform the city.

Public Works:

This is where we have to discuss Fiorello LaGuardia's fateful decision to make Robert Moses his master builder. While Moses was in the process of becoming the "Power Broker" before LaGuardia - he had already been made president of the Long Island State Park Commission and chairman of the New York State Council of Parks - LaGuardia enabled his ascent to the heights of power by making him Parks Commissioner, Commissioner and then Chairman of the Triborough Bridge Authority, Commissioner of the NYC Planning Commission, and Chairman of the Emergency Public Works Commission.

The pact between them was simple: LaGuardia would give Moses the public appointments he needed to consolidate public works across the city and would steer New Deal public works money through Moses' agencies, and in exchange Moses would be LaGuardia's master builder with a mandate to "build it quickly and build it well." This was not an easy task, because Robert Moses was a political enemy of FDR and FDR tried to bar him from being given any WPA or PWA funding, but the mayor was able to persuade Roosevelt that it was more important that LaGuardia's proposed $1 billion public works program for NYC be carried at speed and administered efficiently.

As LaGuardia's workhorse, Moses would oversee almost all of NYC's public works, including the West Side Highway, the future FDR Drive, the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, the Triborough Bridge, the LaGuardia and future JFK Airports, and Jones Beach Park, among others. LaGuardia would also construct the Sixth Avenue Subway line, the Queens-Midtown Tunnel and the Lincoln Tunnel without Moses (who was completely uninterested in mass transit and who always preferred bridges to tunnels).

In addition to these major projects, LaGuardia with and without Moses built the city's first municipal power plants, 37 sewage treatment plants, 9 fire houses, 142 elementary schools and 22 high schools, half of NYC's then-23 municipal hospitals, eight District Health Centers to provide preventative, specialized, and public health immunization care, and the first 14 of the City's public housing projects.

City Government:

To dismantle Tammany's patronage system, he began to massively expand the civil service to eliminate patronage jobs, and then when Tammany beat him on a government reform bill in 1934, he simply kept pushing. He pushed through the LaGuardia Reform Charter of 1938 that abolished the Tammany-dominated Board of Aldermen and replaced it with a City Council elected by Single Transferrable Vote, established the Board of Estimate as a central administrative body with powers over the city budget, public contracts, franchises, and land use - crippling Tammany's ability to raise money through graft and kickbacks.

To transform New York City into a "strong mayor" model, he undertook a campaign of transforming independent agencies scattered across the five boroughs into a system of unified citywide departments or public authorities that answered directly to the mayor and gave him unprecedented state capacity. In 1934, he formed the Parks Department and the New York City Housing Authority; in 1936 he formed the Department of Buildings and the City Planning Commission; in 1938, he restructured the Department of Welfare to run the city's social welfare programs and a massively expanded public hospital system; in 1940, he took over the IRT (operating the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6), and the BMT and IND (operating the A, B, C, D, E, F, G, J, L, M, N, Q, R, W, and Z lines), unifying the NYC subway system for the first time.

To deal with police corruption, LaGuardia appointed Lewis Valentine to purge the NYPD so that the mayor could use it (and Thomas Dewey) in a crusade against the mafia's gambling, racketeering, and vice operations. This marked a rare period of honesty and effectiveness in the NYPD, although after WWII the system of protection rackets and mafia corruption would eventually re-establish itself.

Ironically, this exhaustive list of accomplishments really made it hard for later mayors to distinguish themselves, because mostly their task was completing, managing, or mis-managing the system that LaGuardia had built. After LaGuardia I would say that Robert Wagner Jr. (established public sector collective bargaining, created CUNY, Lincoln Center, Shakespeare in the Park, and dealt the killing blow to Tammany) and John Lindsay (see my previous post, but chiefly scatter-site housing, the civilian complaint review board, and the Knapp Commission on police corruption) are on my list of formative mayors.

After them, there have been long-serving mayors and good mayors, but unfortunately not the two combined.

[mariatesstruther]

a list of some of the videos joel would send to sarah after she goes off to college because he misses having her around, for @clickergossip @bumblepony and @ameerawrites 🫰🏾

- joel and tommy going to the zoo because the tiger sarah has been obsessed with for years has cubs now, and theyre finally letting them out today for the public to see: “wow, would ya lookat that—hold on, can you see em? hold on—here. that’s good, over there, you see em? i remember when you were that little, babygirl. wow.”

- joel in his work shed whittling another “super-sarah” action figure to send off to her as he talks about how work and the sites have been, stopping once in a while to explain what he’s doing to her just like he did when she was little and sitting there to constantly nag him with questions

- him cleaning up her room and changing her bed at least once a week, even though there’s s nobody there to mess things up or dirty the sheets. what he discusses with her during these tidying sessions varies from week to week, but lately he’s been updating her on tommy and his new girlfriend: “so they’ve been goin steady for just about f—can you believe it? just about five months, now. tommy keeps talkin about celebratin their sixth month anniversary, and i keep tryin to tell him that makes no damn sense, logic-wise—but anyway. i guess i’m proud of him. you’d be teasin him to all hell, seein how gone he is for her. so head over heels, his boots might as well be in the sky. i know you said your too busy ti be dating right now, but just for the record: you ever get that over the moon for somebody, i’d better not be meetin em over videochat”

speaking of tommy!

when uncle tommy sends sarah a video one time, it’s him drunk off his ass in joel’s backseat, phone pressed way too close to his face, singing out a slurred but impressive “sarah sarah bo barah banana fanna fo farah, me mi mo marah sarahhhhhhhhhh. good god, bubba, do me and your daddy miss you. he’s over here drivin me nuts—,” “i’m drivin you to your place, you ungrateful little—,” “shut up! anyway, hope you’re havin fun over there in the big apple—my lady’s from the big apple, did ya know? she’s amazin. i hope you’ll get to meet her when you come down for break. just callin because i felt like talkin to ya—you know, your daddy’s a fuckin asshole and never lets me in his fuckin videos, so—,” “tommy!” “what??? im talkin!!! anyway, miss you so fuckin much, buggaboo—,” “tommy!” “what???” “watch your goddamn mou—better yet, just get off the fuckin phone! drunk dialin like youre 19 again, you fuckin idiot—” “asshole! you’re the one cursin!” “at you! doesn’t count! hang up the fuckin phone!” “it’s a video, stupid! and you’re calling me an idio—OW! JOEL! JOEL! GIVE IT BACK—!” “seeya later, babygirl. your uncle’s a  nuisance. i love you.”

[weidli]

liveblog to von affen und menschen under the cut cause it got long

off to a good start i like the atmosphere

auch wieder mal musikalisch fun which is good cause that's what makes me like züri brännt so much i think

fucking love sunglasses isabelle impeccable

obsessed

theyre doing menschenrechte for menschenaffe als thema and they can't even bring up the basel initiative come onnnnn liegt doch auf der hand

when will they let ME take a nap in peace in the zoo zürich smh

oh isabelle reacts FAST

wo isch d'tessa??? Im Nebel. Mit Gorillas. häääää????

oh i've seen this woman before i just know it

WAS FREYA IN DER LETZTE SCHREY I FUCKING WIN

now i need to go back to that one i love weimar episodes and i love watching actors speak high german when i know they're swiss

we're doing IMPERSONATION i love that for her

tessa das ist jetzt aber nicht sehr vorsichtig

wohnung suspiciously broken into and fucked up and she doesn't even check every room PLEASE. A BIT OF CAUTION

ehrlich gesagt aber auch very funny wie sie einfach gerade aussen telefoniert und nix mitkriegt und der typ da Ach nei jetzt chann i sie nid umbringe blöde jugend und ihri handys immer. awwwwkward

JUST GENERALLY A LOT OF THIS IS REALLY FUNNY ACTUALLY

staring at the mirror having killed her twin sister (notwehr ?) and pretended it was suicide unaware that she is now impersonating the person who committed a whole NOTHER tötungsdelikt possibly a mord: es isch VORBEI . dU dumme sau. yeah pal not sure this one's gonna end well

BAHNHOF ZÜRI TIMES YEEAAAAHHHH

goodness let them sleep

jsjsjsj love all the mirror talking going on this episode . you know this DOES kind of feel like it could've been a weimar plotwise. this is great i mean that as a compliment

auch maximal chaos gerade die hälfte schlaft ein die andere hälfte hat kein plan um was es gerade geht

love tessa throwing tissue ball at noah and him looking very proud when he manages to duck. no one takes that man seriously in here

ach ja die schon oft angedeutete bundesgerichtsstelle für d wegenast

isabelle is so goddamn cute sometimes

immer noch kein plan was der eine kerl eigentlich vor hat aber ok guess we're infiltrating the krankenhaus

the simultaneous wordless sunglassed sighing. i'm in love with this episode

HELP

oh right i forgot about the very first dead guy

somebody please let them sleep

AND THEYRE STILL SHORT ONE they haven't found nicole yet

kdhsj poor isabelle

okay i want to hear about the background child dressed as a cowboy with an arrow in his arm. tell me more

noah just sitting there while isabelle and tessa Construct Theories. i suspect no one's told him anything

this is PROPER iasip conspiracy board shenanigans

tessaaaaaa stop calling it mord if you don't know that it's mord and in fact have no clue what the motive was that's my personal pet peeve >.<

NOW we've got the full set of leichen

at least so far

isabelle taking out her gun to stand there dramatically and aesthetically and tessa's just like Cmon really ???

i love isabelle's euphemisms for kicked the bucket. still adore the time in schoggiläbe at the hotel where they were like oh should we leave a message and she was like No need. Er ist ... schon abgereist. "hat sich Ihrer Haft entzogen" ist nearly as neat

huge fan of charlie and the affen

DU SCHLÄFST? OHNE MICH??

tessa has a sister? noted

so much is happening and there's half an hour left

aaaaand they're lost in the woods

oh right that fuckin other guy we still know nothing about

and NOW isabelles in a garbage can. and tessas shaving a dead chimp

god bless milan truly

isabelle you're slowly losing marbles go get some SLEEP woman

oh but there is some FASCINATING characterization going on at the intersection of isabelle digging the diamond out of garbage bags and climbing into the garbage to do it so she can give something to milan and have something for herself (No one's ever given me anything). and then have tessa list out the lauf der dinge all lead by greed and isabelle says not all of us have a chance at inheriting millions and tessa says what does that have to do with this. the rich kill for greed too just more elegantly and isabelle says you mean they don't get their own hands dirty. nibbling on her gently

MORE hbf

tessas subtle hoodie and sunglasses look very funny to me personally

oh tessa charlie needs you :(

wegenast with the schüfeli funniest fucking thing

i am so much fonder of her after this than i was actually. also the triumvirate momence was real good

Yeah that was a good one :)

[backtothestart02]

To Marry a Tribute Girl - 7/? | snowbaird fanfiction

A/N: Angsty with a happy ending update :)

...

Chapter 7 -

The cabin door opened with a bang! 20 minutes later, but it seemingly didn’t startle Lucy Gray. Just enough for her eyelashes to flutter open and her to prop herself up in bed. Coriolanus was already coming towards her, unbuttoning his uniform as fast as he could manage and getting frustrated that he couldn’t do it faster.

“Damn it,” he muttered, as his fingers failed to unbutton the top of his shirt quick enough for his liking.

“Here, let me,” Lucy Gray said aloud, when her amusement at his frustration was tampered down enough for her to speak.

He sighed and walked over to her after kicking off his shoes and shoving down his skirt-pants. Then he got down on his knees beside the bed and tilted his chin up for her to undo the button. She got it with ease, of course, and he looked at her in amazement.

“Thank you.”

The rest of the buttons came apart easily, and he shrugged out of the shirt, completely nude now except for his underwear and socks. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she greedily took the kiss, shoving her hands into his curls and pulling him towards her.

He groaned, caught up in her lips and tongue, so much so that he didn’t stand up to finish undressing and instead fell over sideways to tumble into bed with her as she pulled the blanket aside and offered her naked body to him once again.

“Mm, Lucy Gray…” He murmured, trailing kisses across her face and neck.

He lowered his lips across her collar bone and the valley between her breasts, but before he could travel further south, she pulled him back up to her lips so she could kiss him some more there.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his.

He smiled faintly and nuzzled her right back.

“I came back as soon as I could.” He peppered kisses along her neck before she raised his face again for more discussion.

“How’s the tribute?” she asked, pushing him into his back and drumming her fingers across his chest.

“Ugh, must we talk about him now? I’d like to keep Billy Taupe out of our bed if you don’t mind.”

She ignored that, pressing onward.

“What did you tell him?”

He sighed and shrugged.

“That tonight is crucial. He has to win the crowds over or I can’t send him food and water.”

No need to tell her that he’d punched him square in the nose. Lucy Gray wouldn’t like that.

“Did you tell him about the hiding spot in the floor? The tunnels?” she urged him.

“I…didn’t.”

“Coriolanus!”

“What? I’m sorry, okay? He doesn’t deserve to know about hiding places. He cheated on you, Lucy Gray. He sentenced you to death in the arena. Why does he get a better chance at hiding than any of the other tributes?”

She sat up, aggravated, and pulled the blanket up over her chest.

“Because you promised me you’d help him the same as if it were me on the other side of that fence. You promised, Coriolanus. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

His lips thinned.

“I’ll tell him,” she said. “Tonight, after the interview. I’ll go to the zoo, and I’ll-”

“The hell you will,” he growled.

“Then you have to.”

He ran a hand through his curls.

“Why do you care so goddamn much, Lucy Gray?” He sat up and glared at her. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

Her eyes widened, and she could feel it now. The jealousy. It was coming off of him in waves.

“What? No, of course not! He betrayed me. How could I possibly…” She sighed, then hugged him tightly. He was tense as ever, but he didn’t push her away. “It’s you I want. I married you, didn’t I?” She tried to tease him, but it wasn’t working.

“Yeah, to save your own skin.”

She pouted, heartbroken that she wasn’t able to convince him. But what was she going to say? It had been Coriolanus that had proposed a marriage of protection. But hadn’t that been because they’d forged a deep connection over just a few days? That he couldn’t bear to see her die in the arena? Hadn’t she saved his life when she could have just made a run for it and escaped? Was that no longer enough to prove her loyalty?

She supposed not, if she was so willing to show loyalty to Billy Taupe, of all people. He hardly deserved it. In fact, he didn’t deserve it. She just didn’t think she could live with his death on her conscience. If he died after resorting to every possible option to save himself, then so be it, but if he didn’t even know? If he died under the first stroke going in completely blind? She wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

Lost in her own head, she didn’t even realize Coriolanus prying her arms free of his body until it was too late.

“Where are you going?” she asked softly when he was half-dressed in more casual clothes and practically out the door.

“On a walk. I’ll be back later.”

“Coriolanus…”

He stilled in the doorframe, his grip on it so tight his hand was turning a striking bright white.

“I’m sorry.”

And she looked so sad and hopeless then that he almost stayed. He almost came back to her, ravaged her, told her she was his and no one else’s and he was going to make damn sure she knew it.

But that wouldn’t change her mind. It wouldn’t shift her morals or make her feel any less sympathetic for the scumbag who’d cheated on her and sent her to the arena.

So, instead, he caved to her desires, expecting full well that she’d run into her ex’s arms when given the opportunity.

“I’ll take you to the interview this evening,” he said.

Her eyes widened.

“We can sit in the crowd, and you can watch Billy Taupe play his damn accordion to try to win donations. Then afterwards, we’ll go to the zoo, and you can tell him about the tunnels.”

She’d been holding her breath as he spoke, hardly aware of it. She released it as he finished and swallowed hard.

“Thank you, Coriolanus.”

His jaw clenched, and his grip on the doorframe intensified.

“I’ll talk to Tigris. See if she can find an old dress of hers for you to wear so you can dress in something fresh.”

Lucy Gray didn’t know what to say. She could’ve said thank you again, but she had a feeling that would just irritate him further, and all she wanted was to get back on his good side. To see love in his eyes directed at her. Not that he loved her. He’d yet to say it to her. And she hadn’t said it to him yet, to be fair. They’d known each other for such a short period of time. It wasn’t unreasonable to be unsure about feelings at this point. But she swore she saw it when he looked at her. Not now, obviously, but when they were in bed together. When she played with his hair and his fingertips skimmed her body. In between kisses and when he was between her legs, his mouth hovering, and his eyes on hers. When she could barely catch her breath.

Was she just mixing up the intimacy that came with sex with love? She’d certainly fallen under his spell, and he’d said he’d been attracted to her from the start, that he’d wanted her badly. Was that enough?

Could they come back from this?

But he was gone before she could think of what to say, and then she was laying back in the pillow, her arm outstretched to wear his warm body had been and giving in to tears as she held the blanket up to her chin, not wanting anyone to see her frail body. She felt small and alone and heartbroken.

That’s how you felt when you got what you wanted with Coriolanus Snow, she guessed.

Would they ever survive?

…

Tigris was watching her cousin storm across the yard seconds before he burst into the house, angry as all hell.

“Tigris!” he growled.

“In here,” she said, sounding almost amused as she continued to look outside a while longer before turning to face him.

“Where’s Grandma’am?” he demanded, and Tigris swore she saw smoke coming out of his nostrils and ears and a fire in his eyes.

“Taking a nap. What’s got you all fired up?”

He scoffed, starting to pace and then finally took a seat across from her.

“Nothing.” He pouted, folding his arms.

Tigris raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he barked.

“You’re not being very convincing.”

He scoffed again and rolled his eyes, looking away.

“Lucy Gray wants to talk to her ex and tell him how to stay safe in the arena.”

Her eyes widened.

“I didn’t think there was a way you could stay safe.”

He nodded.

“The explosion put a hole in the floor. There are tunnels and rooms beneath where you can hide.”

“And let me guess.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You decided not to tell your tribute that when you went to speak with him today.”

He practically snarled.

“He didn’t deserve to know! He cheated on her and sent her to the arena. He deserves to be the first to die.”

“Coryo…”

He got up out of his seat and started to pace again.

“Lucy Gray doesn’t think so though.”

I gathered, Tigris thought, not bothering to interrupt him.

“So, I told her fine, she can come to the interview tonight, and then we’ll go to the zoo and she can tell him about all the safe places that supposedly exist. Because I sure as hell am not going to. I expect he’ll win her over though. They’ll probably kiss and declare their undying love for each other, and that if he manages to win in the arena, he’ll do whatever it takes to dissolve our marriage and be good for her again. Then they’ll go back to 12 and live happily ever after.” He fumed.

“Coryo,” Tigris tried again. “You don’t know that. From any and all appearances, she seems pretty taken with you.”

He pouted and sat back down again.

“You think so? Like, objectively speaking.”

He was being so ridiculous, Tigris wanted to laugh. Somehow she held it in.

“Well, you two certainly were not sitting in that cabin talking about the weather the past two days, were you?”

He had the decency to blush.

Then she did laugh.

“Go back and apologize. You don’t have to tell me what you’ll do after that. In fact, please don’t. I want my imagination to remain pure when it comes to you two.” She shook her head.

“I can’t,” he said. “I said I was going for a walk, and that you’d come by and give her a dress of yours for this evening.”

With a great act of willpower, she restrained her eyeroll as she got up out of her seat, walked down the hall into her bedroom, shuffled around for a while until she pulled out a dress she thought would fit young Lucy Gray perfectly and re-emerged.

“Here.”

She shoved it into her cousin’s arms.

“Give it to her yourself.”

His mouth fell open, but he couldn’t find a single thing to say, so Tigris tipped his chin up so that his mouth closed, turned him around by his shoulders and shoved him out the door.

“Tell Lucy Gray I say hi.”

She waved and waited until he turned to look at her before shutting the door in his face and chuckling to herself as she headed back to her seat, intent on watching only until she saw Coriolanus make it through the cabin door. A nap sounded good to her too.

…

Coriolanus trudged back across the lawn, careful not to drag the dress on the ground. It was a shorter dress of Tigris’s to fit Lucy Gray’s shorter stature, but he knew it would work fine regardless. He wasn’t worried about that part. He was worried if he’d ruined things completely with Lucy Gray. Would she even forgive him for jumping to the worst conclusions ever? Would she decide they should live as strangers if they couldn’t survive one week without getting into a fight?

With each step he took across the lawns, his fears engulfed him further and further. When finally he reached the cabin door, he hesitated, almost wondering if he should knock and pretend to be Tigris, so he wouldn’t have something potentially thrown at his head when he walked in.

He turned and looked back at the house and saw Tigris at her window seat, nudging him to go for it with a little wave of her hand.

He sighed and turned the knob on the door, pushing it open and almost knocking Lucy Gray off her feet in the process. Her jaw dropped when she realized it was Coriolanus and not Tigris at the door, a dress tucked under his arm.

“Lucy Gra-”

“I love you!” she sobbed, tears running down her cheeks.

And his eyes widened, his mouth falling back open.

“I know it’s only been a short while, but I know it with every fiber of my being. I love you.”

Joy and relief and love soared through him. The dress fell from his arms, and he cupped Lucy Gray’s face, kissing her hard, not relenting, moaning into the kiss to make his feelings known. He pinned his forehead to hers after breaking apart, and stroked the tear streaks on her face.

“I love you, too.” He licked his lips, eyeing hers every second. “And I’m sorry. I should not have gotten jealous. I…”

“I don’t want Billy Taupe!” she cried out, yanking him down for another kiss and then another. “I want you. Only you. You’re mine, you hear? Only mine.”

His arousal went through the roof. Never had he heard someone take such possession of him before. Never had he had someone want him this badly, need him so desperately, love him so fearlessly and recklessly. He’d never met anyone like Lucy Gray, and he knew in his heart he couldn’t live without her. And he’d die before he saw her in the arms of another man. He’d kill before then.

“And you’re mine,” he said hotly against her lips, backing her up into the cabin. “Only mine.”

The cabin door swung closed, and Coriolanus disappeared from view.

“That’s my cue,” Tigris muttered to herself, and went down the hall to take her nap.

[immalilweirdlol]

Yknow that one John Mulaney sound, well here’s my take on it feat the Marauders plus the skittles, Snape, Lily and Marlene 

I was on the bench, I was sitting on the bench, I was over on the bench, I was sitting over on the bench, I was over on the bench- Reg denying having anything to do with the Marauders I made a salad with craisins- Remus trying to make Sirius, James and Peter eat healthy Have you ever been to the goddamn zoo?- Lily when asked to describe her friend group I used to smoke crack- Sirius smoking to piss off his parents What’s yesterday?- James forgetting his glasses Shut up you’re all gonna die- Reg at some point Street smarts- What the marauders lack Boom, orange juice- Confused Lily seeing pumpkin juice for the first time That’s life- James talking about Qudditch Now I’ve thrown him off his rhythm- James flirting with Reg Give us some money- Lily and Remus dating three of the richest boys in school Staying on the ground, staying on the ground you motherfucker- James @ Snape Do my friends hate me or do I just need to go to sleep?- Sleep deprived Reg Why don’t we just tell our relatives I’m a four year old boy?- Barty and Evan acting like children Hey, do you want us to kill that guy for you?- The skittles talking about Sirius/James I am now gross- Snape after being dunked in the lake What’s this? PEPPA- Sirius and Marlene being chaotic together I’m putting wires into a board filled with hole to move the voices around- Remus and Lily slowly going crazy after spending seven years with their idiots

[aj-lenoire]

i know it’s 2023 but i have a lot of Thoughts™ on demon!dean and since this is my corner of the internet and i can talk about whatever i goddamn like we’re gonna talk about how they squandered the deanmon potential—yes i know this was back in 2015 what’s your point misha had to come out as straight last year this train is never stopping

cause like, i remember all the promo spots being off the shits like ‘THIS…IS THE YEAR…OF THE DEANMON!!!!’

and i was psyched, and then it turned out to be like, 3 episodes. and he just sang terrible karaoke. the worst thing he did was try to grope a woman—which, obviously, is a shitty thing to do, but isn’t on the same level as like, torturing her to death

it just—it could’ve been so damn cool. imagine, like, castiel trying to reason with him, and since angels see demons as they truly are, not who they’re wearing (also: was deanmon possessing his own corpse? could he have possessed another human? i haven’t rewatched since it aired but like… did they ever clarify that??) he can see like this mutilated thing that he knows is his friend, but it’s almost beyond recognition

and deanmon is basically a soulless human, functionally, because he doesn’t care about anything or anyone except himself and what he wants, and these two guys with their ‘i know you’re in there somewhere’ and ‘this isn’t the real you’ crap are really getting on his nerves, so he’s coming out with stuff like how, it was forty years in hell, therefore alistair knew him longer than sam or cas, alistair made him into what he is now, and he’s so grateful bc he’s no longer snivelling over every insignificant dead human they come across. humans are so pathetically fragile after all, why bother trying to save them?

just IMAGINE the potential—the futility of cas raising him from perdition! because this was always who he was meant to become, what he was going to be, and cas was just delaying the inevitable—because dean’s whole life has been authority figures forging him into their weapon. all cas was trying to do was swap out one blacksmith for another

and yeah i know they needed to wrap up the deanmon thing sharpish because of the 300th episode but like… they could’ve made 300 a flashback. like a fun-ish job the boys did years prior, and at the end of the episode sam suddenly wakes up because he was dreaming of that hunt and in remembering it he’s had a ~breakthrough~ on how to help dean—and THAT’S how he knows where to look and finds out about the blood injection nonsense

(i still cannot believe it was THAT SIMPLE to cure someone of being a demon. and that dean was also allegedly a knight of hell or some bullshit)

like we could’ve had a solid half-a-season of deanmon, we get to see the full range of what he was actually capable of. he still blows off crowley, obviously, because he doesn’t need to be babysat, he doesn’t need someone to line up a murder-y demon deal for him like he’s on an enrichment program at the zoo

sam hasn’t seen him in several episodes, he’s still trying to figure out how to get dean back, if he can get dean back, and he’s doing hunts in between because he feels morally obligated to, or he needs money, or he’s doing it for someone in return for info on the dean thing—whatever

dean rocks up to where sam’s working on a job, and at first you just think he’s there to piss sam off and generally fuck around, and sam just can’t look at him and can’t be near him cause it’s so obviously not his brother and he doesn’t want to risk dean realising he’s searching for a fix, because he genuinely, deeply fears that this thing with his brother’s face will try to kill him.

but dean’s going around telling everyone that sam’s his brother and forcing sam to play nice because they’re in front of people, and dean makes very clear what will happen if sam doesn’t play nice and doesn’t let dean do as he likes—and sam’s just disgusted and uneasy

and once sam finishes the job—having bonded slightly with whoever was being attacked—he tells dean to leave him the hell alone, and leaves the town. and dean stays behind, seemingly honouring his brother’s wishes—is there hope?

but that night‚ dean goes to the house of whoever sam helped on the hunt. maybe it’s a cute suburban family‚ maybe it’s a college girl whose friend was killed, but he knocks on the door and says he’s dean and he’s sam’s brother and they’re estranged and he doesn’t know where sam went—could she help him? so she invites him in‚ because sam is the kind guy who just saved her life, and his brother is just as charming and handsome and seems like a nice dude, and the last thing we see is dean (from behind) as he enters‚ and he’s holding the first blade behind his back and the door just slowly swings shut. cut to black.

and later—maybe not next episode‚ maybe the viewers are left to stew for a bit—dean calls sam and tells him what he did. that the people sam risked his life to save are dead. sam ended up not making a difference at all. and the most fucked up part is that he sounds exactly like regular dean as he says all this—using the same slang and chirpy tone like he’s talking about music. and in that same cheerful tone, he warns sam not to try ordering him around ever again.

dean enjoyed being a hunter, he enjoyed the heroism and simplicity of killing bad guys and saving good guys. now, with the first blade making him crave blood? without that pesky conscience? he doesn’t much care about good or bad anymore. he cares that this guy still sees him as his poor, tragic brother, and is still trying to save him, so killing the people that this guy just saved? it’s fun. it’s funny. this guy is annoying him with this ‘i know you’re in there’ talk but this is him, and he likes it, and he likes watching sam fret over fragile, insignificant humans because sam is just as pathetic

[faithfromanewperspective]

liquid conscience spinning deeper

quote from one of my all time fave existential songs and a new chapter!! chapter 2 (+1 if you're on ao3 which is where it is) read it at

or a snippet (there is more of this chapter than what's here!) under the cut. canon compliant. yes there are chain of thorns spoilers.

tied up, hazy, and emotionally unaware everest is the bathroom at the top of the goddamn stairs i could harvest every dream that i ever had headaches beat me down to a lifeless stare i'm hoping that maybe one day it could start to make sense have you found what you're looking for? heartbreak's useful to a man that is on the fence he's not faithful to a god for the consequence golden lady with a mind that could cut a stone who could love me if i start giving you my soul? your blissful eyes will open. a brand new voice has spoken.

Matthew passed James and Cordelia in the hallway, only managing a stiff grin at his parabatai and the girl he still loved. Everything felt like a strange dream, and he wondered if he could go ask Jem for more of the stuff that helped him sleep last night. It was probably a bad idea. Pity, because he could do with something. He didn’t really need to find his mother, he didn’t really knew where she was. He didn’t know where his father was either, or Oscar. Charles had stayed in Idris, which was probably for the best. Matthew didn’t feel like being on guard constantly against snide comments, or worse, his brother’s awkward attempts at actually being kind. He wandered the Institute corridors aimlessly, adept at looking like he had somewhere to go: he kept up the lie that he was going to find Charlotte. A few of the stragglers who had been crashing at the Institute since the battle pulled him aside and praised him for his heroism during the battle, though all of them made different guesses about what had actually gone on. (One of them was Esme Hardcastle—he didn’t know why she was here.) Matthew corrected none of their stories. He could get used to this: being praised as a hero. He wondered how long it would last. Probably not long, and then they would get back to criticising what he wore and how he spent his free time. Still, he could make the most of it, fielding the attention for Jamie and Thomas and—oh. Christopher.

Keep your head up, he told himself, or someone is going to ask you what’s wrong, and then it’ll just give them more reasons to talk about your family and your friends.

Eventually he ran into Lucie and Jesse, who were walking with Oscar, obviously looking for him. Oscar started running, bounding up as Matthew bent down to greet him. Oscar, just like his three best friends and Lucie and Cordelia usually did, had a way of lessening the ache in his heart until he could get through whatever he was doing. He realised now, how the presence of someone he loved and who somehow loved him kept him present in the moment, on his feet, and not thinking too much about the same unproductive things. He wondered how much the drink had really done. If it had stopped him from feeling the love that might get him through as well as taking the edge off the pain.

“—you would like a dog, wouldn’t you? You simply could bond with any animal, Jesse, and that’s okay. We will just have to own a zoo.” Lucie’s voice was laughing as she spoke, and Jesse gave a soft chuckle and said, “You always entertain me, Luce.”

Matthew couldn’t help but resent them a little. Hadn’t he once called Lucie that?

“Math!” Lucie said, clearly oblivious to what he had just been thinking. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought Jesse might kidnap Oscar, he’s been growing fond of him. But I knew that Oscar would miss you so much”—Jesse gave her a look that said she was lying—“and we wouldn’t be that cruel. See, Jesse, look how much he missed Math.” Then she turned to him. “How are you feeling?”

Matthew was taken aback—how was he meant to answer that? “My head hurts less than it has for several days,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to spend some quality time with Oscar.”

He saw the hurt on Lucie’s face out of the corner of his eye as he walked down the hall past them, and made his way to the music room, where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. He lay down on the rug and pressed his face to Oscar’s fur, trying to breathe.

He had no idea how long he lay there, Oscar’s panting like a steady rhythmic drum keeping him from falling apart.

Then someone came and sat next to him. James. And it wasn’t his wishful thinking: Matthew could feel him, his parabatai bond stronger without the drink in his system. Even if everything else hurt. He heard a shuffle and imagined James lying on his back next to him, staring at the ceiling as he liked to do while thinking or having a conversation. Matthew willed himself to move, pull his face out of Oscar’s fur, but he knew James wouldn’t care. And he was tired.

“I thought of you, you know,” James was saying, and Matthew knew he had—he hadn’t lost himself so badly as to think James didn’t care for him, “when I was there, dying, hoping I’d killed Belial. I remembered how my father described it when he thought Jem died, and hoped that after Edom you’d have it in you to keep going. I knew you would but I hoped you wouldn’t have to. Math, I’m here. I’m done being reckless for now, at least for a little bit, after so many close calls. Uncle Jem has said I need to lay off the heroism for a bit. Cordelia healed where I stabbed myself with Cortana—”

“I wish you would not keep saying that so casually, ‘oh, today I went to the park with Oscar and yesterday I stabbed myself with my wife’s sword to kill a demon possessing my body and almost died while my parabatai was choking on the floor behind the coronation room and only didn’t die because my wife’s healing powers tied to the Mother of Demons had not yet run out because she hadn’t realised Cordelia tricked her but it’s fine because I make sure I almost get killed every three days or so,’” Matthew murmured.

“I knew you were awake,” James said, and Matthew thought he heard a slight laugh in his voice. Matthew was amusing. He ought to remind himself of this more often.

“As it turns out, the Silent Brothers and my body agree with you on this one. The lack of oxygen for a few minutes while Belial died would have left a mundane unable to think or do anything ever again. Uncle Jem says it may have damaged my brain, and if it has, it’s hard to know how long it might take to recover. So I’m banned from patrolling now, just like you and Tom.”

“What are we going to do now?” Matthew found he could roll over to look at the ceiling now, one hand still on Oscar’s back. “We’ll be just like mundanes. Might have to take up painting.”

“Unable to defend ourselves if anything comes to London for a while. Except Cordelia. Oh, and that’s another thing. We had to tell Uncle Jem that she was a Paladin.”

Everything inside Matthew froze for a second. He’d been trying so hard not to think about her—about Daisy, who had saved the world and saved James’ life yet again. Who had beaten herself up so much for her connection with Lilith, and Matthew had seen her go through that in a way no one else had. Who had been so relieved when it was gone—if a little dazed. Who must be worried about what people would think if the truth got out, even if she would never let anyone see it.

“Why?” he asked. “James, what? Why?”