#if you add two rational numbers you get a rational number

[mathematicallybrunette]

First time reading about the closure property. We all use it and we know how it works. For instance if I told you 2+3=2.3 you’d say NO first of all you get another integer… idk why the closure property wasn’t explicitly taught. Maybe it was but I missed it. It’s so cool to me. The things I discover just trying to understand these textbooks lol.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Clownfall: Endgame

I am calling it that in the full knowledge that batshit things may yet happen, but listen. Listen. We have a year left before the general election. I am hedging my bets and assuming all that comes in that year will be Tory manoeuvring ahead of that. Let's all hope for a nice quiet year in which everything can fall neatly under that banner, that won't ruin this naming convention.

Previous Reading

Important Terminology - Required Reading

What is a Whip?

How do Whips work?

Shadow Cabinet

Front Benchers, Back Benchers and the Cabinet

What do we need to call an early General Election?

The Adventures of Big Dog the Clown - Suggested Reading

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Elanor’s Guide to Liz Truss - Suggested Reading

Character-based prequel

The Premiership of Liz Truss

The Next Steps - Suggested Reading

The post-Truss contenders

Bye Matt

BoJo Resigns as MP

Alright, that's probably everything. Just nice to have it all in one place, innit? If you would like a nice soothing soundtrack to your reading, here's my recommendation. On with the show!

Clownfall: Endgame

Wednesday

So, let's start with charismatic and charming Home Secretary Suella Braverman! You may remember her from such hits as "Quitting before she could be fired after breaking the law only to be rehired by Sunak almost immediately and without consequence to appease the right wing nutjobs in the party", and "Claiming Pakistani men have a culture that makes them work in abuse rings to target vulnerable white English girls" (I should add that, if you are unfamiliar with Suella Braverman, regardless of what that quote implies, she is not, in fact, white); recently she made the news because she announced that being homeless is a "lifestyle choice". So true, Suella! They could give it up any time they wanted. They could, for example, get together and break in and steal your fucking house.

But in particular, here we're focussing on her recent stance towards the multiple huge pro-Palestine marches that have been taking place in London. So far she has indicated that she wants people who wave Palestinian flags to be arrested, so that's very measured and rational of her; but, last Wednesday (Nov 8th), she decided to write a lil opinion piece in the Times all about how mean and biased and liberal the police are. This is an absolutely fascinating assertion to I suspect literally anyone who has ever been involved with the police. But no! Quoth Suella, aggressive right-wing protesters are "rightly met with a stern response", while "pro-Palestinian mobs" are "largely ignored".

And, she claims, the march on Saturday isn’t simply a cry for help for Gaza, but an "assertion of primacy by certain groups - particularly Islamists - of the kind we are more used to seeing in Northern Ireland".

Imagine how well all that went down.

Thursday

You are underestimating how that went down, because it emerges that Suella deVille did not, in fact, get any form of validated sign-off or permission from Number 10 before squirting her ill-informed liquid horseshit all over the front desk of the Times news room, and that, Tumblrs, you'll be surprised to learn, is actually quite an important and compulsory part of criticising the police when you are the Home Secretary. Like, there is a Ministerial Code about this. It is very clear. It is in Article 8.2, Tumblrs. Thou Shalt Have Permission From Number 10 Before Making Media Interventions.

“The content was not agreed with Number 10,” a spokesperson for Prime Minister Rishi Sunak told reporters, referring to the prime minister’s Downing Street office. The ministerial code is clear that any ministerial media interventions need approval from No 10.

-AlJazeera

And the Tories are furious! The bloodbath forms quickly and loudly and the hounds start baying! Clown noses are flying everywhere! The factions are drawn! Because even now, there are Tories too stupid to understand that whether you agree with someone or not they still have to follow the rules! Also the other parties realise they can offer some actual opposition here, given that Suella has essentially dragged a barrel into the middle of the House of Commons dressed in a fish costume, handed around a set of loaded rifles, and then crawled inside to wait. The result is that the calls for her resignation are both deafening and pleasingly cross-party.

"(This is a) dangerous attempt to undermine respect for police", says Labour's shadow home secretary Yvette Cooper. "(It's) irresponsible," says London mayor Sadiq Khan. "The PM's weakness when it comes to standing up to Suella is the most shocking thing in all this," claims a senior Labour source.

They're wrong, of course. The most shocking thing is Liberal Democrat leader Sir Ed Davey realising he can actually appear in the paper if he plays this right and so surfaces to attempt some politics. "(Sunak) must finally act with integrity by sacking his out-of-control home secretary!" he declares, frightening many MPs who had forgotten he was even in the room with them.

Meanwhile, several Tories approach the BBC anonymously.

"The home secretary's awfulness is now a reflection on the prime minister. Keeping her in post is damaging him," says one. Another straight-up describes her as "unhinged". Another claims the comparison with Northern Ireland is "wholly offensive and ignorant", and really, all of this is permanently triggering that "Heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made a great point" reaction image.

Saturday

Hey, speaking of reaction images, look, Labour has a go:

Well. They tried.

BUT! Do you want to know the INTERESTING bit??!

Enter: Nadine Dorries! Mad shrieking pink harpy who spends her days maintaining a BoJo shrine in her bedroom! Always the most hinged of politicians, let's see what she has to say.

Former cabinet minister Nadine Dorries claimed Ms Braverman was trying to get sacked to give her a platform of martyrdom in service of the right-wing. "The competition is on now for who is going to be the leader of the opposition," Ms Dorries told the BBC.

???!??!?

PERTINENT POLITICAL OBSERVATION FROM DORRIES?!?!?? The most shocking part of this whole affair. Remember that time she yelled at a journalist during an interview about Boris Johnson's latest scandal when he asked her how Johnson was feeling about the whole thing and inadvertently implied they were having an affair when No One Asked? God, wonders never cease. She's even acknowledging the Tories can't win the next GE, look. I'd say this is growth, except I am 100% positive she's just being catty about BlowJo being fired again.

Anyway, the real Saturday issue: it's Armistice Day, and there's a pro-Palestine march planned.

Now, to give context, Armistice Day has a creepy level of patriotic state-worship attached to it in the UK. Some time in October everyone on telly suddenly starts wearing a poppy, and if you don't you get hanged, drawn and quartered by (a) the British press, and then (b) a baying mob outside your living room. You most be performatively sad. You must perform reverence and hero worship and say things like "Never again" all while whole-heartedly supporting current wars. You must talk about "our brave boys", and share the works of dead poets from the trenches, and then completely fail to absorb any of their lessons. If anyone tries to wear the white poppy to distance themselves from the current political appropriation while still commemorating the millions of conscripted casualties, you accuse them of being "woke" and pissing on the worthy dead of WW1. It's a whole thing, and politicians love using it as an excuse to point fingers and mock each other for being insufficiently patriotic if they wear the wrong tie to the ceremonies, or choose to walk with actual veterans rather than a head of the current army, or any number of other things. And then on November the 12th they'll order a drone strike or something.

So, off the bat, you can see how a pro-Palestine rally on the same day was likely to be seen as provocative to some.

"Some" included Sunak! He didn’t (publicly at least) ask the police to ban the protest, but did call on organisers to call it off, claiming the choice of date was “provocative and disrespectful”, because as I say, a march calling for the ceasefire of a genocide is super disrespectful to every sad dead poet in a trench who dreamed of a ceasefire so they could live, or something.

But the inevitable therefore happens, which is that far-right activists agree that it's disrespectful, and so decide to violently target the march to show their respect for the idea of peace on Armistice Day, or something.

Here's the planned route by the organisers:

Note, though, that the Armistice ceremony happens at the Cenotaph - visibly nowhere near the march. These two events actually wouldn't have overlapped, if it weren't for far-right protestors deliberately linking them to stop them being disrespectfully linked, or something.

And that's exactly what happened. From the Guardian:

Perhaps the most striking incident, though, was when far-right protesters charged past police who sought to hold them back from the Cenotaph. In this video, a man shouts “this is fucking our country” in celebration. Whereas the pro-Palestine march had been excluded from the area as a precaution, the far right was not; by overwhelming the police, they supposedly sought to defend the site from an enemy that simply wasn’t there.

(that's quite a good article of the whole thing, actually, I recommend giving it a read.)

Crucially to the clown show, though, several politicians and others accused Suella deVille of emboldening the far-right, which... well, several of the far-right protestors straight up said was the case on the day, so hard to disagree, really.

Rumours of a reshuffle in Whitehall circumnavigate the land so fast the truth gets sucked into a tornado and is declared MIA.  Here's the thing! I've covered a few Cabinet reshuffles by now, Tumblrs, you know the drill. Reshuffles are always deniable until they actually happen – so if, say, a reshuffle was going to happen on Monday 13 November 2023, there’d be no need to publicise it in advance. That way, if things change and politics happen, you don't need to retract anything :)

Because, remember: reshuffles are always controversial.  Yes, some people get demoted, and those people will often kick off, and some people who don't deserve it get promoted, and lots of people kick off.  But the big thing is that a lot more people get overlooked for promotion.

His most ardent supporters would say that Rishi Sunak is a cautious man (if you'll allow me a moment to express my own view on the matter, Tumblrs, if you'll forgive this crumb of personal opinion amongst my otherwise impeccable journalling of greatest integrity, I once did a teambuilding task with my students where they had to build the best possible bridge out of uncooked spaghetti and pieces of marshmallow, and I personally would liken the structural integrity of his spine to the losing team's entry), and reshuffles will spread a lot of disappointment to Tory MPs who lose – or fail to gain – a cabinet position.

So, all in all... regardless of Suella's idiocy...

There's no guarantee of a reshuffle. Rumours are just that - whether they prove to be true or not remains to be seen.

Week Commencing Monday 13th November, 2023

New week, new challenges! And it's going to be a big week this week. On Wednesday (tomorrow, at time of writing), three big things are going to be announced, and these announcements will colour everything else this week:

One.  The Supreme Court decide whether the government will be allowed to enact their plan to send some migrants claiming asylum in the UK to Rwanda, a signature Braverman plan that human rights campaigners (including many in Rwanda) have been trying to block for ages.

It’s a massive deal anyway – a flagship government idea that’s been bogged down in the court, and we’ll finally have an answer one way or another.  For what it’s worth, the Tories aren’t confident about winning it, either.  The optimists among them reckon it’s a 50/50 chance, the pessimists reckon it’s 70/30 against, so it's iffy at best.

But here's the thing!

Plenty of Tories have always disliked Suella.  Others could handle the odd outburst she has, but can’t stomach the sheer number of them lately - the Lib Dem non-entity man was absolutely right that she is rapidly growing out of control and just does not know when to shut the entire fuck up.

Which means! If the Supreme Court allows the Rwanda plan, Braverman could become emboldened, like a far-right protest injuring police officers to defend the cenotaph from people who are nowhere near it and have no interest in it.  Do we want an emboldened Braverman?? Well; no, obviously. I also don't want dysentery, or rotten meat, or a serial killer in my neighbourhood. But it's a question even Tories are asking themselves, which is notable.

Plus, even if the court allows it, there will still be months of planning, and lawyers might still prevent the plans in the long run...  But psychologically, the issue is this: the government wants this win, but probably doesn’t benefit from Braverman feeling victorious.

Two.  We’ll get inflation figures.  The government promised to halve inflation, and it seems likely they’ve managed this.  Expect them to massively celebrate this, to distract from the promises they haven’t kept e.g. waiting lists in England, competent governance, etc.

Three.  Voting on a ceasefire in Israel seems likely for Wednesday.  It’s the SNP’s idea, and it won’t affect government policy (they won’t support a ceasefire – they claim it’ll empower Hamas).

But it’s a big deal for Labour, even more so than the Tories.  A Shadow minister has already resigned over the war.  A bunch of frontbenchers want a ceasefire, but that isn’t Keir Starmer’s policy, a man who is calling for the colours of the Israel flag to be shown at sports matches to show that "we stand in solidarity with Israel", because you can really count on Starmer to fuck up everything he touches.  So what do they do?  Abstain?  Claim they had a prior commitment??  We might see more resignations, basically.  Big day for Starmer.

So! With all that in mind...

Monday

8.43am

Oh look. Timestamps are back. I wonder if that suggests anything?

Suella Braverman is sacked as Home Secretary.

But! Sunak is accused of waiting too long! Which he demonstrably did!

He should have made the decision after the illegal article that she shouldn't have written and triggered a far-right rally on fucking Armistice Day.  Instead, remember that 'cautious' descriptor I talked about?? He waited until the tide had turned against her completely, and now looks like he (a) was too much of a useless wimp to fire her until he was sure people would still like him and pat his dick and tell him he's a Good PM, and (b) only fired her because he caved in to that appalling lefty liberal cabal that somehow these days includes the Metropolitan Police of all fucking people, and she'd have been able to stay otherwise.

Shout out to the best comment from Reddit:

u/nowonmai666: Doesn't she normally get sacked on a Friday so she can have the weekend off before being reappointed?

Anyway, that's the big risk now: Braverman’s supporters can claim she was only fired because Sunak caved in to the left.

8.56am

Tory MP Andrea Jenkyns claims Sunak only sacked Braverman because he caved in to the left.

9.00am

Neil O'Brian, Pharmacy Minister, quits to live out his stated dream of being a back-bencher with less power.

*sus*

9.09am

Nick Gibb, Schools Minister, quits to live out his stated dream of being more diplomatic, or something.

*sus*

9.42am

The Lib Dems decide to build on the success of their leader getting to be on telly for his one comment on Thursday and call for a general election.  Says Ed Davey: “It was the Prime Minister’s sheer cowardice that kept her in the job even for this long. We are witnessing a broken party and a broken government, both of which are breaking this country.”

Good job! They're having such a good few days.

Anyway remember the Tories don’t have to have a general election until December 2024, though, thanks to the Fixed-term Parliaments Act (2011), which was passed by the coalition government of Tories and, um, Lib Dems.  In which Ed Davey served for three years.

Hmm.

9.43am 

James Cleverly (remember him?) returns to the Cabinet and is appointed Home Secretary. The party attempts to appear trendy by experimenting with emojis:

This appointment is probably because Tory strategists wanted him in a domestic role to help the party’s chances in the next election; as Surprising Political Pundit Nadine Dorries told us, of all fucking people, the race is now on to lead the opposition.

But hey, this is not likely to lead to any more changes -

10.03am

FORMER PRIME MINISTER, BREXIT-TRIGGERER AND PIG-FUCKER DAVID CAMERON BECOMES FOREIGN SECRETARY

!!!!!!!!!!!!

And look! Another emoji! They're so hip!

(Side note... the balls on this one are astounding, actually. The UK political system has been in chaos ever since Cameron, and he was the first domino. This is not a well-loved former hero that will be greeted warmly by the unwashed masses.)

Awkward though, since just last month Sunak claimed that we’d lived through “30 years of a political system that incentivizes the easy decision, not the right one.”  It would be a terrible shame if a journalist was to ask David Cameron whether he agreed with the Prime Minister on that, given that Cameron’s job is to support the Prime Minister now.

Especially since Cameron took to Twitter last month to explicitly criticise Sunak for breaking the Tory promise to deliver High Speed 2.

(Cameron tweeted this criticism last month.  Labour MP Angela Rayner however promptly retweets it now lol suck a dick Dave, but try a human one this time)

Also, fun fact, Cameron has just come out of a large-scale lobbying and corruption scandal. Given the state of Sunak, though, that's actually probably what got him the job.

BUT!!! Here's an even funner fact: the man is not an MP. He left politics after he accidentally triggered Brexit and then it came out he'd once face fucked a dead pig's head while it was held on the lap of another Tory; he's been living it up in the lucrative world of after-dinner speaking, as these people do.

So can you do that?? Can you hold a Cabinet position if no one at all has voted for you??

Yes, turns out.

Don't be alarmed by that, though:

But, convention holds that anyone who becomes a Cabinet member while not being an MP needs to be a Peer - that way, if they do bad and naughty things, they can't be held accountable by the House of Commons but they can be held accountable by the House of Lords. Only problem is, Hameron is not a lord...

10.13am

The reshuffle, bafflingly, continues. Jeremy Hunt will remain as chancellor.

For the first time since 2010, the top four positions in government – Prime Minister (Sunak), Chancellor of the Exchequer (Hunt), Home Secretary (Cleverly) and Foreign Secretary (Cameron) – are all held by men.

10.18am

Lots of people tweeting about the historic context of Cameron’s appointment.  Here’s my favourite:

10.48am

David Cameron is given a life peerage, so his proper name now is Lord Piggledick.

10.52am

Health secretary Will Quince quits.  He wasn’t planning to stand for re-election anyway though, so this one is probably not a shock. But it's important that no one else resi-

11.04am

Decarbonisation minister Jesse Norman resigns.

...

...

...

Time for a

✨Conspiracy Theory✨

Between Quince and Norman – as well as Neil O’Brien and Nick Gibb – we’re seeing several mid-ranking ministers resign, despite being generally regarded as fairly competent.

It’s possible they were fired in private, and they’re publicly resigning to save face.  But here’s another theory.

MPs aren’t allowed to seek commercial employment for six months after resigning from the government.

So hypothetically, if you were going to lose your seat in a general election, you’d want to have resigned six months earlier so you can still get a job.

If that’s what these guys are doing, it suggests we’re on track for a May 2024 election...?

11.05am

11.12am

Remember Cameron's financial scandal? Quick background here: David Cameron was specifically vice-chair of a £1bn China-UK investment fund.

So let’s see what throwback former leader Iain Duncan Smith thinks of Cameron’s return:

“I am astonished at this appointment. It seems to send a signal to China that we are pursuing business with them at all costs and any costs. Those who have been sanctioned now feel more abandoned than at any time. Those facing genocide and persecution will feel more abandoned than at any time.”

I cannot believe I am about to say this.

But.

I agree with Iain Duncan Smith *spits on floor*

11.50am

Former Tory deputy prime minister Lord Heseltine is asked to sum up the return of Cameron, and says it’s the “clearest signal that the sort of right wing lurch that we’ve seen and the anti-European movement that we’ve seen has been put to bed, and that will get a message across to people”.

12.13pm

A Tory MP is worried that Cameron’s return will turn back the clock on Brexit and Johnson’s election.

“It is very alarming. I am predicting a softening on small boats, a softening on legal migration. I would not be surprised if the ban on conversion therapy returns.”

... Don’t threaten me with a good time.

Anyway, let’s see how the public actually sees Cameron compared with other PMs!

Yeah, not sure people will mind if Cameron’s not Boris Johnson.

12.43pm

ITV political editor Robert Peston walks past a minister of state.  The minister’s on the phone, but takes a moment to heatedly shout at Peston, “The PM just sacked me!”

I guess some days are easier than others as a journalist

12.47pm

Therese Coffey resigns as environment secretary!!!!

*choirs of heavenly angels sing*

You'll remember her of course, Tumblrs - she was one of the thugs manhandling people into the 'right' voting lobbies to force their vote on the day of Liz Truss' fracking law. Rumour has it she still has the Whip handle in her ass.

A lot of people seem to be resigning today! But don't be fooled. In almost every case, it’ll be because they were told to resign.  They’ve been sacked, but they resign to save face. A last mercy from their benevolent leader.

My guess: Tessie here is terrible at media skills, so – get rid of her before she hurts general election chances. This, too, is a pattern.

12.52pm

Rachel Maclean sacked as Housing Minister! Fun fact, numbers fans: it took Doctor Who 33 years to make it to eight Doctors, but since the 2019 election, the Tories managed eight Housing Ministers in just under 4 years

trololol

1.15pm

Jeremy Quin quits as Minister for the Cabinet Office.

1.37pm

Times Political Editor Steven Swinford reports that No 10 is struggling to find a new housing minister (owing to rumours the job is cursed). Several people have turned it down, including Jeremy Quin. It is incredible to me that they didn't line someone up before sacking the last guy.

Kemi Badenoch and Michael Gove are apparently unhappy that Rachel Maclean was removed from the role. I for one do not care about the opinions of Kemi Badenoch or Michael Gove.

2.04pm

Health Secretary Steve Barclay becomes Environment Secretary.  This is effectively a demotion for him. It is our 5th Environment Secretary in four years. Chasing that Housing Minister record! It took 19 years for Doctor Who to have five Doctors

2.15pm

Richard Holden appointed new Conservative Party chairman.

A 2019-intake Tory MP, he led the charge against Sir Keir Starmer over Beergate, which did damage Starmer a bit (albeit not much, given that it turned out Starmer had complied with lockdown regs, and the accusation was nakedly to try and distract from Partygate).  So this appointment looks like more strategy to win the next election - someone not known enough to be hated, with what passes in the modern Tory party for a proven track record.

This could be a sign that the Tories intend to at least try to shore up the Red Wall votes? As unlikely as the Tories are to keep those seats.

That said, Holden’s seat disappears in a boundary change next election, sooooo … we'll see what they do there.

2.24pm

Victoria Atkins appointed Health Secretary, replacing Steve Barclay who’s moved to Environment Secretary. She's a relative unknown but also considered actually competent. Massive middle finger to Steve Barclay

2.37pm

Laura Trott (formerly in pensions) promoted to Chief Secretary to the Treasury.

2.42pm

Science minister George Freeman resigns.

3.18pm

YouGov conducts a snap poll: is the appointment of David Cameron as Foreign Secretary a good decision or a bad decision?

Good decision: 24%

Bad decision: 38%

Don't know: 38%

So that's going well

3.24pm

Greg Hands is made a business minister after losing the Tory chairman role.

John Glen moves from chief secretary to the Treasury to become the Minister for the Cabinet Office and Paymaster General.

3.39pm

With Cameron being a Lord now, he’ll be based in the House of Lords rather than the Commons.  The most recent Cabinet Minister to be based in the Lords was former Brexit minister Lord Frost, who did weigh in on the matter:

“[T]hough I was not running a whole Department too. I don’t think it works well to have a lead Cabinet Minister answering questions and defending their Department solely in the Lords. The Lords is not a fully party political environment - nor should it be - and voters are owed proper political scrutiny. In our system, that can only happen in the Commons.”

I cannot believe I am about to say this.

But.

I agree with Lord Frost *spits on floor*

The SNP had already called this out, with MP Stephen Flynn claiming, “The UK is not a serious country.”

4.21pm

Conservative MP Lee Rowley appointed the 16th housing minister in the past 13 years. Even counting David Tennant twice, that's more than all the Doctors Who we've ever had, and that took almost 60 years.

5.16pm

Sky News’s Tamara Cohen reports that Sunak sacked Braverman by phone this morning!  Downing Street says there won’t be any exchange of letters between them - this is almost unheard of. Politics runs on paper trails! Everything happens through formal letters! By phone!

It means we’re denied insight into their differences.  But Cohen reckons we’re likely to hear from Braverman on Wednesday, as the Supreme Court rules on the Rwanda scheme.

6.03pm

Tory MP Andrea Jenkyns, former Education Minister, submits no-confidence letter in Rishi Sunak.

It's almost like, in the absence of Dorries, she's decided that someone needs to step up and have a tantrum and that someone might as well be her. It is, actually, an extremely funny letter, as these letters go. Normally they're written with a sort of furious earnestness wrapped in formal language. I presume that Andrea Jenkyns MP, former Education Minister, was aiming for something similar, and the first paragraph manages it. But by the end you sort of start to wonder if this was supposed to be a letter she wrote with her therapist to get her feelings out:

My favourite line, when pulled in isolation, is "Yes Boris Johnson, the man who won the Conservative Party a massive majority, was unforgivable enough."

Yeah, Andrea babes. You're bang on there.

6.05pm

Esther McVey is appointed as Cabinet Office minister.  Not a full cabinet member, but she will attend cabinet meetings.

This is notable: unlike a lot of today’s appointments, she’s on the right of the party.  Her role will be to represent the government on TV and radio as much as possible, talking about gender/culture/British colonial history issues (i.e. she’s anti-woke and a screaming bigot).

In other words, with Braverman gone, McVey is an offering for the populist right of the party to try to appease them.

6.15pm

Sunak tweets about the new cabinet, claiming they’ll make “the right decisions for our great country, not the easy ones.”  So it looks like that’s the new slogan, and we're pressing on with austerity

6.27pm

Tim Loughton, a Tory MP on the “One Nation” wing (i.e the David Cameron side) responds to Andrea Jenkyns’s letter of no-confidence by tweeting:

“Where can we submit a letter of no confidence in the Pantomime Dame?”

(It’s Andrea he’s publicly referring to as a pantomime dame there. A lil joke from the Tories for you)

6.31pm

Paul Scully sacked as minister for London. Didn't know that one was a position.

9.43pm

Sunak says that only a two-state solution will allow a new future for Israel/Palestine.  This is, um, not what the Prime Minister of Israel wants.  Who knows whether the Prime Minister of Israel will survive this crisis anyway – but these are big words from Sunak.  Cameron’s influence? Maybe? Interesting either way

10.03pm

And then - PLOT TWIST!!!

According to ITV political editor Robert Peston, a senior government source reveals that Cameron was approached on TUESDAY. 

Which means plans were underway to get rid of Braverman not only before the far-right violence on Saturday, but before her anti-police article on Wednesday.  It seems she lost her job not because of what she said about police after all; but because she claimed homelessness was a lifestyle choice.

Well well.

11.05pm

And the day finishes with Andrea Leadsom back in government (as Under Secretary of State for Health and Social Care) which nobody saw coming!  Pretty demeaning to the other 300 Tory MPs who could have been given this.

The final response from numerous Tories: they are feeling jilted and insulted because David Cameron being brought back when he's NOT EVEN AN MP, RISHI suggests that they themselves are not good enough to be in government.

No one tell them

[shewroteaworld]

Unsub Bait

Premise: For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Word count: approx. 2,000

Tw: canon-typical discussions of violence

Author's Note: Welcome to the second installment of brilliant sunshine!reader (meaning highly intelligent sunshine!reader) x Spencer Reid! While you don't have to read my first brilliant sunshine! reader fic to understand this one, I would highly recommend reading it. It's titled "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoy! :) <3

“Here’s an overview of the first phase of the operation: (Y/N) will go undercover as a college student at Yale. She’ll get acquainted with the unsub at Speakeasy, the New Haven bar where he assesses potential victims. We’ll apprehend him in the act of attempted kidnapping.” Hotchner listed for the team.

You’d played unsub lure almost a comical number of times. Once? That’s a once in a million task required to capture a once in a million unsub. Twice? You’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? But four times? 

You’d already joked to Hotch that you should add “professional unsub bait” to your resume. 

It would’ve been more comical if it wasn’t so scary. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at the photos of the victims on the mahogany conference room table. Melissa Grey. Audrey Bernstein. Alivia Johnson. You could see your 21-year-old self in their eyes. You remember being so young and full of anxiety; you were near graduating from MIT. You couldn’t sleep at night from worrying if you had already lived up to your potential and would spend the rest of your years a washed up gifted kid– an academic has–been. After graduation, you proved to yourself your worth.

The college juniors in the photographs had their lives cut short by the unsub before they had the opportunity to find out what amazing places their brilliant minds could take them. You were about to allow said unsub to nearly kidnap you. 

That is, if you didn’t blow your cover. Then, he would hold you hostage or attempt to kill you as soon as possible by skipping his usual "kidnap and torture" routine.

Rationally, you knew your field experience more than prepared you for this task. Also, you knew your team had your back. They always kept you safe and healthy. The one time you were put at serious risk, you had to fight to be left alone after the case closed. But, you’re not sure if all the facts in the world could adequately calm your adrenal glands.

“Is this necessary?” Spencer suddenly interjected.

You turned to Spencer in surprise. “It’s the quickest way. We have twenty-four hours,” You said.

The unsub had a pattern; a girl was dying once every two weeks, and, when the the local and Connecticut police force combined failed to contain the situation, the BAU was brought into the case 36 hours before the next killing. With his eidetic memory, you were certain Spencer couldn't forget the time restraints if he tried, hence why you were stunned by his sudden brazenness. However, given Spencer's traumatic relationship history and your budding romance, Spencer's behavior was a lot more likely.

You and Spencer had been dating for a couple weeks. Despite being certain the team had their suspicions, you kept your relationship on the downlow. Strong boundaries were a good thing to keep when your relationship was in its fragile, formative era. Plus, you both agreed it was best to keep a high level of professionalism. 

This was the first time Spencer broke protocol.

“I think there’s another way.” Spencer continued. “It’s unsafe and illogical to put anyone’s life into considerable risk if there’s another viable option.”

“Are you implying I’m being rash, Reid?” Hotchner asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Usually, Spence would look away and take a breath. He’d at least have the decency to act timid, especially given the fact the entire team pulled multiple all-nighters in an effort to catch this serial killer. Instead, he leveled with Hotchner’s glare and asserted himself further. “I just think we’ve gotten a little too comfy using (Y/N) as an unsub lure. The more we do, the more probable a disaster will occur with her in the line of fire.”

“Spencer,” Morgan cut in gently. There was sympathy in his eyes. “We’ve done this with (Y/N) before. We’re good at reading her. And she knows the drill. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Yes, because that’s something we can certainly guarantee when she’s 3 inches from a serial killer.” Spencer deadpanned. 

“Reid. A word.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reaction, Hotch left the meeting room. With a hard look in his eye, Spencer filed after Hotch. You were relieved he was still obedient despite being ornery.

For a few moments, the team sat in silence. 

Rossi broke the spell with the scrape of his chair. “Well, I for one, am going to take this impromptu intermission as an opportunity to grab coffee. Any requests?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take a barbajada.” You joked half-heartedly. 

“Very funny, (L/N). Any requests the office Keurig can complete in less than five minutes?” 

The team rattled off their go-to office drink orders, but it faded to white noise. During your friendship, Spencer would always care for you when you had to lure the unsub. He’d be more attentive on the jet ride in and out. He’d check in on your mental state directly after the unsub was arrested and always called you once you got home. Once, after the particularly stressful unsub encounter, he sent you links to PTSD articles and even offered to help you schedule an appointment with a specialized therapist through the FBI’s mental health services.

But he’d never once intervened with a plan for you to go undercover. You knew Spencer Reid was nothing if not rational. He knew Hotch valued every member of his team. He knew Hotch would never send you undercover if it wasn’t necessary to stop a killing spree before more young women became statistics. 

Therefore, you knew Spencer was thinking about Maeve. 

You stood. 

“Where you going, Beauty Queen?” Morgan asked.

“Just heading to the restroom.” You lied. 

You walked down the hall and crept up the stairs. You tiptoed down the east wing of the second floor to avoid clicking your heels against the concrete. 

You crept to the side of Hotch’s office. You pressed your back to the wall.

Hotch said something indecipherable. An angry Reid answered.

“And all I’m saying is, she is not a cat with nine lives! She has one life. One precious life, that I think we’ve been a little too careless with.”

“Reid, you know I would never risk putting (Y/N) in harm’s way if it wasn’t the best course of action. She’s experienced with this. The team is experienced with this.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“Promise me that if you have so much as an inkling her life is in danger–”

“We’ll do everything in our power to get her out of there.”

“That’s the thing! ‘Everything in our power…’ It’s not enough. How many times have we told families we did everything we could when all they have left is a body bag?” 

Your heart froze. Both of the voices lowered. You could only catch bits and pieces of Hotch’s speech. You were never an eavesdropper, but despite your better nature, you crept around the corner towards the door.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone to an unsub, Spencer. I know how it sticks with you. I know how it changes the job. But you have to trust us– the team. We’re going to protect her. And we’re going to be there for you,” Hotch said. 

Spencer sighed. "How did you do it?" Spencer's voice cracked. "After Haley, Hotch? I’m not sure if I can survive this.” He sounded seconds away from tears. 

At that moment, you knew you would not sleep comfortably at night if you continued to be a fly on the wall.  You tiptoed back down the east wing and waited for Spencer at the bottom of the stairs.

Ten minutes passed before Spencer appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Spencer?” You called. 

His hazel eyes were tinged pink. He walked down the stairs nonchalantly. “Hey, um, would you mind if we discussed part of the case file real quick? Privately? It could help, um…” He cleared his throat. “Develop your persona.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Spencer didn’t look at you as he power walked down the hall towards the janitorial closets. For the first time since you started dating, he didn’t adjust to your walking pace. 

He flung a door open and yanked you inside. 

Carelessly, Spencer slammed the door behind you. Before you could get a word in, he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Spencer.” You whispered. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair. 

You stood in the statue of a hug for two minutes.

“I can’t lose you.” Spencer whispered.

“You won’t.”

Spencer pulled away from you. He bent down to look you in the eye. He squeezed your shoulders. His eyes danced with emotion. There was a deep ache, a whirlpool of sadness that you knew a lifetime may never heal. What perplexed you was the hardness that you could only read as anger. 

“I…” He sighed. He hung his head. He dragged his palms down the slope of your shoulders to your forearms. It was like he was taking a cast of you with his hands. 

“I’m not dead on arrival. I’m still here. I’m coming back on that jet ride home with you. I’m going to be okay.” You reciprocated his shoulder squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I care about you. It’s a part of the girlfriend package.” Spencer pulled you into another constricting hug. 

 “I can’t fathom how difficult this must be for you.” You whispered.

Spencer pressed his forehead to yours. “Promise me when you go out there, you won’t worry about me. I want you to only focus on you, your surroundings, and making sure you get out of there.”

“I promise, Spencer.” You said, though you weren’t sure if that would be the truth.

“And one more thing,” He said. His irises were so close to yours you could pick apart the layer of green and brown. “As soon as you feel unsafe, you call someone. If you have any inclination he’s going to overtake you–”

“I call the team.”

He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re strong. I’m not trying to insult your field work.”

Your heart cracked. “Spencer, love, I know that. I’m so happy you care about me. I just wish this situation hurt you less.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. His brows furrowed. He stared at a random point to the left of your face.

“Can you do something for me? Before we leave?” He asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath. He met your eyes again. “Dance with me.” 

“What?”

“Dance with me. I…” He inhaled deeply. “I never got to dance with Maeve before she…I barely even got to hold her. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

You closed the distance between you and Spencer. You cupped his face in your hands, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. His eyes shone with tears. “I’ll dance with you for the rest of my days, Spence.” 

He whipped out his phone. He turned on a slow jazz song you played for him last winter on an impromptu hot chocolate date. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You could go on that same date again, but it would have a whole new color to it. 

He slid his phone onto a cleaning supply shelf. He pulled you to his chest. Your head nestled right beneath his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his mid back.

You danced, bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, in silence until the song ended. The symphony of emotions didn’t cease with the final brush of the snare. 

Spencer continued swaying with you.

“I’m going to be okay.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You can’t promise me that.” He held you even tighter. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you come home to me.” 

Author's Note: Hello to all my new followers! I'm so glad you're here! I'm so grateful for the overwhelmingly positive reception to "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoyed this piece as well!

I hope you have a great day or night wherever you are in this crazy world.

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

[hyunjinsjeans]

He Knows (Changbin ver.)

Chan ver. | Lee Know ver. | Hyunjin ver.

MASTERLIST

Synopsis: you already have a baby, but maybe you are ready for baby number two… it might be that your husband is not as ready.

Type: Fluff 🧸, a little bit of angst at the end if you squint ❤️‍🩹, SFW 👍

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 2110

AN: this one is a little more on the angsty side. I hope it is cool with y’all! It seems the word count keeps coming up, so uh, sorry about that. I hope you enjoy!

You knew Changbin was not one to make rash decisions. In fact, it took you almost two years to start dating officially, and it was in part because you warned him either he gave you a label or he could lose your number. 

He did not like the idea of losing you for a second. Which is how he learned to pay a little less attention to his rational side and allowed himself to go by feelings when it came to the two of you. He was smart anyway, there was no need to overthink things. 

To everyone’s surprise you were the first couple in his group to get engaged, then married and a little under 2 years ago welcomed a baby girl who stole the show anywhere she went. Hajoon, was the name you came to pick together, meaning summer, she was your little ray of sunshine from the moment you first knew of her existence when you were only 6 months into married life. Changbin had gone into a short panic at first but he recovered quite smoothly and in true Seo Changbin fashion he stepped into his role as if he had been doing it all his life. You had been scared all throughout the pregnancy, not having planned for it and finding yourself struggling with morning sickness while he was away in America promoting with the boys. Giving birth made you anxious enough you actually started working out more than your husband, taking all the yoga classes you could handle and signing up for as many pre-natal pilates as possible. One would think you were never going to want to have a baby again. 

And one would be wrong. 

You were at peace with your small family of three until you started taking Hajoon to daycare. She was a happy little girl, knowing little more than her family and uncles. Following her father around as much as possible, she started dancing almost as quickly as she started walking and her speaking was coming along better than expected according to your in-laws. Most likely thanks to Changbin’s silly rap battles with his baby girl. No one year old could compete with his speed, but Hajoon would be damned if she didn’t try.

“No, no; she has a good rhythm!” Changbin always defended his daughter. 

And the fact was, Hajoon loved to play with her daddy, with her uncles… but most of all she loved playing with her daycare buddies. You could see how happy she was in the morning when you went to wake her up, get her dressed and bring her to the kitchen to have breakfast with Changbin. Yes, she was a daddy’s girl through and through (and Changbin was lost in that girl dad daze, wrapped around her miniscule finger from day one). But she would let go of her appa the instant you mentioned daycare. And upon seeing her little friends, she would forget all about how comfortable and warm your embrace was. 

Sometimes you stayed long enough to watch her find her friends, a couple of boys around her same age and a girl a little bit older. 

You couldn’t help it, in your heart you craved to give her the possibility of a friend to play with at all times. Someone to share all those toys you asked the boys not to get her but somehow still made it into Hajoon’s tiny backpack whenever you would hang out.  You wanted her to have what Changbin had with his sister. And your husband’s behavior upon finishing promotions for the last mini album did not do anything other than add fuel to the fire. 

Changin was not stupid (no matter what Seungmin’s opinion on the matter could be), he could tell when something was going on around him. He knew you were being “strange”. Quiet. 

If he knew one thing about you, it was that you were never quiet. Even when you were thinking things over, you reasoned out loud with yourself. You were never one to stay still for too long either. You were more obvious than you would ever like to admit. 

Chanbin was absolutely in love with you before Hajoon, but after she was born it was like the entire world revolved around the two of you, himself included. Which is why he was so aware of every detail in your life. How you still laid your hand in the middle of the bed between the two of you, as if your baby girl was still sleeping there as she had the first few months of her life. He knew you still used those baby oils on your daughter, refusing to move on from the baby scent. Changbin could also see how your eyes lit up at the sight of your daughter pressing her ear to Lee Know’s wife’s growing belly. 

Oh, if he could he would give you a baby right there and then. But he was so busy with work these days. 

Changbin arrived home under a light rain, his feet causing the water on the ground to fly around in small drops. He looked up under his umbrella to see you through the window, most likely making cookies in the kitchen with Hajoon as your helper. You two loved to play cooks. He loved to play the faithful customer. 

A smile spread across his face when he heard the loud giggles erupt from the home, you yelled in surprise while a joyful high pitched voice announced “more choco-ate!” 

Changbin knew your little one was a chocolate enthusiast. On that note he decided to come in, leaving his dirty boots on the entryway before calling for his family. 

“I’m home!” He put his jacket away. 

“Now, don’t run Joonie!” You advised from the kitchen. 

The sound of light feet quickly tapping on the floor was a clear indication that your advice was not taken. 

“Appaaaaa!” 

Changbin knelt to catch the fast approaching girl, her pigtails flying in the air while she ran with her arms open wide. She had no doubt he would catch her so she threw herself at him and got held against her dad’s strong chest, her cheek pressed happily onto his shirt. 

“There’s my princess!” He kissed the top of her head repeatedly as she giggled in his arms. “Where’s your mother, huh?”

As if you heard him, you stepped out of the kitchen. He lifted his gaze before picking up his daughter and going up to you, giving your cheek a gentle kiss. 

“What are you two up to?” He looked you up and down. 

You tilted your head to the side with a small smile on your face, you fixed Hajoon’s shirt that had ridden up her back and let your daughter explain. 

“Cookies”, she whispered into his ear. 

Changbin didn’t even flinch at the warm air his daughter blew straight into his ear. 

You asked him how things had gone at the studio and he sighed in response, not wanting to say too much. He had been working on a few songs with Chan and Han for over a week, some were good and ready to go. Others were still works in progress. It seemed like they would have more than enough material for their next album, but he knew it was all a lot more work to get done. And just before his baby girl’s second birthday. 

Although Changbin was keeping it to himself, he was overwhelmed. Still, you could tell. 

The sweet smell of the cookies flooded the house even a few hours after you had all eaten dinner. Giving Changbin the chance to unwind, you let him and Hajoon play in the living room while you cleaned up the kitchen. The sound of the tv and some of the girl’s toys resonated through the house along with their loud laughter.

Soon enough you walked into the living room to find Changbin snoozing on the sofa with Hajoon cuddled up to his chest, head nestled in the space between his neck and shoulder. You knew you already had many photos like this, but still pulled your phone out of your pant’s pocket and took the picture. 

“I’m not really asleep, you know?” Your husband’s voice startled you. 

“Oh,” you jumped to put your phone away. “Do you need help with the little one?”

He shook his head slowly, pointing for you to sit next to him.

You turned the tv down as you went to take a seat next to him, his free arm reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers. 

“We need to talk,” he mumbled. 

You looked back into his eyes. He was tired from the long day at work, you sighed and wondered what he wanted to talk about so you nodded and watched your daughter’s peaceful face. She was sound asleep, exhausted by the afternoon walk and the subsequent baking session. 

“What is it?” You turned in your seat to face him more. 

Changbin let out a heavy sigh, he did not like that he needed to bring it up but he could not have you hoping he would catch on to you and go along with it. 

“You know I love you,” he wasn’t asking but you nodded at his words, “and I love Joonie, you two mean so much to me…” 

He closed his eyes and you tugged on his hand, speaking as well. Encouraging your husband. Maybe the two of you knew where this conversation was going, reading each other in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, Binnie, we love you too. What do you need to say?”

Here came the difficult words: “Next year is going to be busy. I won’t be home a lot.” He opened his eyes and searched your face for a reaction. 

You opened your mouth to speak a couple of times but weren’t able to say anything. To be honest, you saw this coming. It did not make it any easier to accept what was being said between the lines. 

Changbin felt guilty when you looked away, there was a smile on your lips that was unable to reach any other feature on your face. 

“It’s only a year,” he tugged at your hand. 

You blinked at that and took in a deep breath. “Is there another world tour?”

“Yeah, we’re so excited but… I wouldn’t be able to leave you with this little monkey and another one on the way.”

There it was. Your head snapped in his direction, unable to play fool and tiptoe around the topic any longer. 

“I’m not saying I want one right now. You are busy, you’re tired. I just think we should plan it soon. I don’t want Hajoon to have a big age gap with her siblings.”

You leaned back on the sofa and put your head on his shoulder, watching your daughter sleep. Allowing Changbin’s warmth to comfort you from the disappointment of hearing him put your wish to have another baby on the waiting list.

Changbin let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around you. At least you were on the same page. “We can try for next year. With luck I won’t get completely outnumbered by girls.”

You bit back your laughter as you rested your hand on his stomach. “Oh, but you’re such a good girl dad!” 

“It’s only easy because Hajoon is a mini-you. And a rockstar really… more than me.” 

You giggled. 

“She is a mini-you, what are you talking about?” You caressed your little girl’s chubby cheek. 

She has the same face shape as her dad, her cheeks round and pink, her lips small and heart shaped.

“Actually, maybe I want an army of mini-you’s…” he let his fingers run along your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t make any promises about gender, but I definitely want to have another one.”

Changbin agreed and kissed your hair, “I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted. I would love to do it right now, but I would feel like crap knocking you up and then leaving the country. I will be here with you when we do it again.” He pressed his cheek to the top of your head. “I promise.” 

You tilted your head back and kissed his jaw, then his cheek and when he turned to you, you pressed a short kiss to his lips. 

“I’m not mad. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I get it. And you’re right, this is the best way to do it. Together.”

“Since you like the idea, you could kiss me again, you know?” He proposed, bringing up the mood again.

————

Likes, Reblogs and Comments are welcome! Thank you for reading!

[comicaurora]

Hey Red, I'm trying to build a better understanding of mathematics, because to my mind math has always been a collection of arcane sigils that I had to memorize to pass tests in school. I must know how these sigils came to be and why they mean what they mean. Are there any resources you recommend I use in my pursuit of these secrets? Please and Thank You 🙏

It's good you described math as something you "build," because I think that's the best analogy possible.

Mathematics, in its purest form, involves no memorization. Math is the process of taking a very small number of established truths and defined operations that preserve truth, and using those operations on your established truths to expand your space of known truths. As long as you start from a point of truth and only use operations that preserve truth, you will derive truths. If you understand the base principles from which a branch of math is constructed, you can rederive it from first principles. Memorization is easier, but you can rederive it.

For instance, we can start with two things, the number "1" and the operation "+". 1 means "a single thing" and + means "put them together." If those two concepts exist, then we also have 2, 3, 4, and every other positive integer, because we can derive them by using + on as many 1s as we want. If we drop a rock on an empty patch of ground, and then drop a rock on that same patch of ground, that patch of ground now has two rocks on it.

If we include within the definition of "+" that there exists an identity value 0, and every value has an inverse that when added to it produces zero, we also get 0 and all the negative integers, producing the group of integers. Every integer can be expressed using nothing but the number 1, the + operation, and its inverse - if we're feeling spicy.

If we decide to add another truth-preserving operation, "*", with identity value 1 and the same kind of inverse property that "+" has, we rederive every rational number. Every number in this field of rational numbers can be described as a combination of 0s and 1s using only + and * and their inverses; truthful objects combined in truth-preserving operations. We started from the truth and we used it as our only building material to create something equally truthful.

We can memorize a multiplication table, but multiplication is just iterated addition. If we forget, we can just do the addition again.

Algebra is a simple rearrangement of a simple beginning math problem by way of other truth-preserving operations. When you're starting out, you might expect to see something like

3 + 5 = ?

Algebra starts when we replace "?" with a placeholder, "x". This is just a change of terminology. It preserves truth.

3 + 5 = x

This isn't what most algebra problems look like, though. Most basic algebra problems look more like

3x + 7 = 31

But these two formulae are the same, because we can turn one into the other through operations that preserve truth.

3x + 7 = 31 -> subtracting the same value from both sides of the equation is an operation that preserves truth. We subtract 7 from both sides, getting

3x = 24 -> dividing both sides of the equation by the same value is also an operation that preserves truth. We divide both sides by 3, getting

x = 8 -> addition is associative, so we can break 8 up however we want if we do

x = 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = (1 + 1 + 1) + (1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1) = 3 + 5

Solving an algebra problem is the process of breaking down the things that make it complicated using the truth-preserving operations that defeat them. Added values can be subtracted. Multiples can be divided. Exponents can be root'd.

We understand what it means to put a placeholder in a math problem. We realize, by the same token, we can put in more than one placeholder, if we want. This gives us problems that don't have single numerical solutions, but spaces of solutions. Consider

2*x = ?

We do what we did before, replacing that "?" with something that means the same thing. We use a different letter to avoid confusion.

2*x = y

Now we have multivariable algebra. Instead of getting hard numbers for both variables, we have pairs of numbers. If we pick an x, we get a y. If we pick a y, we get an x. The relationship between the values is clearly defined; x will always be y/2. If x is 3, y is 6. If x is -1.8, y is -3.6.

Now for the sake of convenience, we create shorthand - another change of terminology that preserves truth. We come up with a term that describes this relationship between x and y. We decide to call y a "function."

y = f(x) = 2*x

A function is what we're calling one half of an equation; what goes on the other side of the equals sign. It's just a rename, like when we turned ? into x. It preserves truth.

The trick at this stage is that every element of this seeming increasingly complexity is actually an attempt to make the process simpler as we handle more and more things. We don't technically need any numbers other than 0 and 1 if we're just dealing with rational numbers. We could write 378/5 with nothing but 1s and +, -, * and /, but by god we wouldn't want to. We could write [x^3 + 2x + 5] as ?*?*? + ? + ? + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 and it would mean the same thing. The shorthand and symbols get dizzying if you lose track of what they mean, but when you remember what they mean, you understand why you need them.

Any piece of mathematical shorthand basically means "for this thing we're talking about, this set of things is known to be true." We can rederive those things if we need to, but the shorthand is there to help us avoid doing it unnecessarily. We call the integers a group because that means it has an associative operation that is invertible and has an identity element that, when used in the operation, leaves the operated-on value unchanged. We don't want to write that out every time we use + or remember what 0 means, but we can if we have to.

Calculus is where most people think math turns into wizardry, but derivatives and integrals are just another pair of inverse functions like + and - or * and /, and the building block of this branch of math is the derivative. Any formula for a derivative can, in a pinch, be rederived by calculating the difference quotient (f[x+h]-f[x])/h as h approaches 0. If f(x)=x^2, we may memorize that its derivative f'(x)=2x, or we may calculate

[f(x+h) - f(x)]/h =

([x+h]^2 - x^2)/h =

(x^2 + 2xh + h^2 - x^2)/h =

(2xh + h^2)/h = 2x + h

And the limit of this as h->0 is 2x.

Everything in math can be broken down to first principles. Everything. Sometimes it's very hard to figure out what tool you need to break it down to its next stage of simplification, but it was built from first principles and it can be broken down the same way. If it isn't making sense, break it down with truth-preserving methods until it does - even if you have to go all the way back to zeroes and ones.

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Please, I have so much love for your fem!stan, please tell me your thoughts about fem!mulletstan, or fem!drifterstan. I once read a fanfic where Filbrick kicking out Stan was just a scare tactic, I imagine he’d have the same sentiment for a female Stan as well, but he’s too prideful to go get his little girl after it backfires and she doesn’t come back home.

Meanwhile, Stan’s determined to prove she’s just as capable as any boy after years of being undermined for being born a girl! Even so, she’s not above using her feminine wiles to sling her FDA acknowledged merchandise, after all sex sells. Eventually she soon realizes that sex does indeed sell.

OOOHH Anon, tesoro, SAPESSI! You have no idea how happy your messages makes me, because you’re enabling me to YAP about my favorite topic, that I’ve been thinking about A LOT. Thank you so much! WARNING: Stancest is ALWAYS implied/established in my musings. The following lucubrations are no exception. In general, I think fem!Stan would get punished way less harshly than his canon male counterpart. Not that she’s coddled or untouchable- Constance would get hit occasionally, if she acts way out of the line, by both parents. But, I personally don’t think kicking her out would ever be a thing- not even as a threat: Given the time period/culture, the (horrible) assumption that throwing a teen boy out would not only be a punishment, but also a formative experience of sort- to make him self-sufficient- would NEVER be expected to apply to a girl. On the contrary: Constance would be perceived as someone that could NEVER be self-sufficient. Not only because she’s the “gentle sex”, but also because she’s a weird, off-putting dunce of a girl, unlikely to get picked by a wealthy enough- or even honest man that would take care and provide for her. If we were talking about a version of this universe where the machine accident happens like in canon, Constance would receive a slap across the face, as a punishment for what she did, and a particularly heated, demeaning tirade from Filbrick, imo. Now, that said--- I have two main favorite divergences, I’ve toyed with, for fem!Stan's future:

1) A version where Constance did destroy Ford’s machine, on purpose, in a fit of anger, because she’s subconsciously trying to get kicked out: rationally, she is aware how hard and scary it would be to run away from home, and that her family would look for her. But, if they HATED her, not only they wouldn’t feel bad, they’d also take the very hard decision for her, of cutting her out. But, what happens is that- they DO act like they despise her- but still, they won’t kick her out! It’s an outcome so painful and so humiliating, it’s the final straw that makes Constance snap and run away- to basically become drifter!Stan. And, Ford’s resentment and hatred, in this version, not only comes from Stan taking away his chance to go to his ideal College, but also because she abandoned him! Off to live her indecent, dangerous life with some biker- probably- when if, had she been patient for a few years- had she truly loved him as she said- Ford would had been the one to provide for her- spoil her rotten, even. Like, this is a universe where Ford was THE only eldest son, with an implicit duty to be his sister’s protector, and if you add in he’s been in love with her, too… In the 10-years-later reunion, Ford would have this incel-like feeling of pain and humiliation- because his baby sister at his door is wearing a miniskirt, and her hair is cut so short, and it’s evident she’s not that innocent anymore. But still, as tired and battered by life as she is, Constance would still NOT be begging Ford to be her savior and mer-- and let him take care of her! [Complicated incestuous tension ensues].

Version number 2) Constance accidentally destroyed Ford’s machine, just like in canon- but doesn’t get kicked out and- since she’s a girl and Ford is more protective and softer, after some silent treatment, he forgives her. And actually, he uses what happened to his advantage, to coax Constance into following him to Backupsmore: "it’s gonna take him so much more time to become successful, now that he’s relegated to that college, meaning he and Stan would end up separated so much longer! She’d have to remain at Glass Shard Beach all alone, for ages! But.. if she followed him, she could get a job, a room apartment of her own, and… nobody would know them, over there. They could even date in secret." And, Constance would hesitate, because she dreads an unfulfilling future as her brother’s accessory, but also, she is in love with him, and she inevitably internalized part of the sexism she’s been subjected to for most of her life, so… she accepts. Even pumps herself up, gaslights herself into thinking it’s gonna be a fresh, exciting new start, away from her shitty small town. And indeed… Even if the twins enjoy the relative freedom of their romance, far from home, inevitably Constance feels unsatisfied, like she just switched the background, but she’s still working as a waitress, doing nothing she truly loves, or feels good at. That’s when I like to imagine she ends up messing it up big time, by joining an MLM or something, in attempt to find her own success lmao. AND, it’s complicated, because she does find out she is actually GOOD at selling shit to people. This is her true calling! But, the business was scummy as fuck- to an illegal degree- and she ends up arrested for the first time. And, escapes from prison for the first time. Stan is a chaotic disaster, impossible to contain, in every universe. To make it short, once again the story goes back to its tracks, and Ford and Stan separate dramatically. Now, this version actually had a VERY angsty ship-focused sub-divergent version with Fiddleford involved, and a very jealous Ford. But I don’t even know if you’d be interested in that, so I’ll stop here. ++++ I do love that part of your ask, about Stan realizing she can use her sex-appeal to her advantage... To imagine her seducing people into helping her/condoning her schemes is so fucking sexy~ I will think of a specific scenario, because damn.

[lenaariewrld]

C.24 — c u tonight (w)

ON THE AIR — childe x reader smau

| SYNOPSIS;; Teyvat University’s popular radio personality, Y/n L/n, has only one gripe with her life. Her classmate, neighbour, and all-around nuisance in her life, Tartaglia. Their rivalry extends just past academics and, to her horror, into her work. He becomes the music director and co-host for her radio show, working alongside her most nights and forcing himself even deeper into her life. But is he really trying to just be friends, or is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

| WC: 2.8k

| WARNINGS: slightly suggestive but nothing actually explicit this chapter lolol

previous! ~ masterlist ! ~ next!

True to his word, as soon as you finish clocking out and step outside of the little hole in the wall restaurant you work at, you spot Childe’s expensive navy car pulling up outside, the engine idling as he waits for you. You grab your bag and an umbrella from your spot under the back station. “Is your boyfriend picking you up today?” A light and cheery voice greets you as one of your coworkers, Nilou, steps up to grab her things. She giggles at the way your head whips around to look at her.

“He’s just my friend,” You explain, sliding on your rain jacket. Of course to add to your already damper mood, the world had to get grey and sad. A trickling rainstorm having rolled in during the last thirty minutes of your shift. “He offered me a ride. You know how it is with this weather,” You and Nilou share a smile as you hook your purse over your shoulder.

“He’s sweet, then,” She bumps your hip with her own and giggles once more, spotting her approaching car of friends a second later. You waved goodbye to her before heading over to Childe’s car, jogging the short distance and yanking the door open quickly. He greets you with a sweet hello and lets you get buckled in before he drives off.

When he parks the car, he comes around to your side and, after adjusting the grocery bags in his backseat more comfortably on his forearms, slides your hand into his. You smile and urge him to tell you about his day.

And so he does.

The two of you walk into the building and you lean against the back wall of the small elevator. All the while he tells you about the annoying topics in his lectures or the assignments his teachers had posted. He tells you about the weird party plans his friends had, and he tells you about the silly tiktoks he’d seen that he thought you’d find funny. He fills the silence well.

The numbers on the elevator go up, stopping on the number designating your floor.

With a tinny ding, the doors slide open. You unwind your fingers from his, digging into your purse for your keys and unlocking your door as soon as you step up to it.

Childe closes the door behind him, kicking his shoes off while you set your things aside on the unpacked cardboard boxes you’ve been using as an entry table for a couple years now. He makes his way into your kitchen, setting down the grocery bags and beginning to put things away.

“I knew you lived on rations as it was, but seriously, you had no flour before this?” He asks, raising a brow at you. You shrug half-heartedly, and he frowns playfully. “Must’ve been a hard shift,” He murmurs. A small huff signifies your amusement as you cross the small space and find more comfortable clothes to change into. It’s peaceful.

The rain patters on the windows, your heater thrumming in the corner to provide enough warmth for your space to be habitable, and Childe hums as he finishes up.

“Now,” He calls your attention and knocks on your counter. “Tell me about your shift, why’d it suck?” The ginger quirks his brow for just a second. You can’t help the fond smile already on your lips as you slide into one of the cheap stools on the other side of the counter, leaning your elbows on it.

You tell him about your day slowly, cheek in hand as you drone on. You tell him how your morning class sucked because your professor woke up in a shitty mood and decided to make it everyone else’s problem. You tell him about the delayed train that almost made you late for work. You tell him about how when you got there, it was already busy and you barely had clocked in before you were sat with two tables. And it seemed like no matter how centered you tried to make yourself, every annoying aspect of the job was multiplied tenfold today.

Normally you could brush off the tables that were rude or annoying, or the creepy old farts who kept making uncomfortable comments and eyeing you down whenever you were serving other tables. And you could move past the attitude from the bartender whenever you rang in long tickets or heavily modified drinks, or just how many tickets you had to beg the kitchen to remake on the fly for you, but today you just couldn’t.

You slumped lower against the counter as you recounted it all. Your eyes boredly watch as Childe glides around your kitchen like he belongs there, cooking and slicing and prepping things while he cleans whatever he was finished using.

“I’m sorry, pretty,” The man coos in that way that makes your stomach do flips, his accent a little heavier when he said the nickname. He plants a kiss on the top of your head as he sets a plate of food in front of you, sitting next to you with his own plate. “This should make up for it a little, hm?” He nudges your knee and grins when you laugh softly.

“It feels like I’m just full of bad luck today,”

“Maybe so, but that means you’ll have even more good luck in the future,” He says with a shrug, as if speaking a fact that you should’ve already realised. You playfully roll your eyes and dig in.

The food is delicious, of course. It’s warm and filling and comforting and it’s just what you needed to set your mind right. It’s amazing, at least to you, how easily Childe could make dishes that melt your tastebuds with virtually the same ingredients you use to cook dishes that are just alright. Maybe you just don’t have the same flair he does.

You lean against him slightly as you eat, the silence comfortable between the two of you. You aren’t sure when it shifted, but something changed with you and with him. You felt completely at ease with him, craving his touch and the skinship he so easily shared with you like an alcoholic craves liquor or like a rich man craves power. It got twisted up inside you, making you soft and easy to laugh with. It caught you completely off guard.

You aren’t sure when the nicknames he used to call you jokingly became genuine, sweet drops of honey he whispered into your ears when it was just the two of you. When it stirred something in your chest to have his hand tangled with yours, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, or his lips slotting so perfectly against yours.

And you aren’t sure when the ‘friendship’ you had with the man became so… casually romantic. Late nights or conversations being had for the sake of it, not for the sake of sex. Back and forth banter shared over cups of coffee. Domestic rides around the city or to classes. Normal friendly interactions made just a little something more, something unknown and unlabelled, by a few exchanged kisses or sweet promises shared with giggles and knowing smiles.

You aren’t sure when it changed, but it did. And it scared you just slightly.

Childe seems to sense you getting lost in thought, squeezing your knee and humming when you squeeze his hand back.

As soon as you finish eating, he whisks the dishes away and the two of you clean up the rest of the mess. He insists on drying the dishes by himself and shoos you out of the kitchen, claiming you had to ‘rest’ and ‘take it easy’. You sigh loudly and animatedly, dropping onto the foot of your bed and turning on your television.

You’re still scrolling through the catalogue when Childe joins you a minute later, crawling onto the bed with you and laying his head in your lap. His arms circle around your waist. “Pick whatever,” He mumbles. With a smile, you pick a movie, setting the remote aside and adjusting yourself to sit comfortably in the middle of your bed, a couple of your pillows angled to support your back. Childe hums, his fingers drawing shapes on your back. “Are you feeling better?” He asked.

“Hmm,” You pretend to take a moment to ponder, tapping your chin. He looks up at you through his lashes and quirks a brow again, making you giggle at his doubtful look. “Look, you already know my answer,” You say. Your fingers drag through the soft curls on his head, and he responds with a satisfied groan.

“I mean it, I want you to feel better,” He whispers, pressing a featherlight kiss to your tummy. The action doesn’t spark fires and electricity in you like the first few. It doesn’t feel like an exciting hidden secret you indulged in. No guilty pleasure.

It felt warm. Comforting. It felt like home should.

“I do,” You whispered, cupping his cheek and making him look up at you. “I don’t even remember why I was upset,” A smile spreads on your lips when he playfully nips at your wrist, a mess of giggles erupting when Childe takes it as a cue to pepper kisses up your arm. He locks your fingers together, pulling you closer as he shifts upwards, laying the both of you down. He’s smiling, grinning like a fool as you writhe on the sheets, kicking your feet and calling out as his kisses and tickling fingers continue their assault on your skin. “T-taru, please!” You squeal as he tickles your side.

He laughs and tilts your chin with his free hand, his tickling abandoned as he leans down to pull you into a dizzying kiss. Saccharine and slow, he purposely kisses you until you’re out of breath. When he pulls away, you both giggle like school kids, chests heaving and cheeks flushed. If he had any doubts before about feeling in a less sorry state, it was gone now as he stared at your shimmering smile.

You were beautiful.

His thumb caresses the curve of your cheekbone thoughtfully, his eyes searching yours. You lean into his touch, your arms loosely draped around his neck. “You okay?”

“I want you to call me my real name,”” He confesses softly. Your brows pinch together, confusion and curiosity dancing in your eyes. You’re lost on what he means.

“Tartaglia?” You ask.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No,” He kisses the tip of your nose before taking a deep breath. Childe’s thumb draws circles on your cheek, brushing just under your lips, following the line of your jaw, tracing your features like he was trying to draw a mental picture of you in his mind he could never forget. “My name in my mother tongue,” He explains. “When I moved here, my host family suggested that I choose a name in this language to make it easier to converse… to blend in. Tartaglia was what they gave me, and then I chose Childe as a stage name,” He glances down at the sheets, lost in the floral patterns for a moment.

You can see his thoughts churning in his head. “What do you want me to call you, then?” You ask, reaching up to gingerly brush some hair out of his face, tucking a few strands behind his ear. “Your real name,” You add with a cheeky smile.

He reflects his own smile, boyish and sweet and picture perfect. “Ajax,” He tells you in a whisper. You nod and repeat it just as quietly, getting a feel for it on your tongue. He can’t help the way his smile widens and his eyes glisten. It sounds like heaven and bliss on your lips, like all the sweetest candies and sunniest days. It sounds like the name of a true lover, of a man who deserves the way you melt in his arms and gently touch his skin.

It sounds so wonderful, he almost forgets who he is, and all he can imagine is living a life with you as Ajax. A life without any of the worries and shitty, terrible sins he’s carried since he was a kid.

He kisses you breathless again, his hand finding your hips and pulling you flush against his body. He’s purposeful. The both of you forget the movie playing in the background as he trails his kisses down your body, as your clothes crumple on the floor, and as your brain becomes a jumbled mess of euphoria.

He fucks you slow and tender, easing you through it all and whispering praises while he dives between your legs. He’s practiced as you tug on his hair and scream his name, his real name like a praise and a curse all at once. And in the mess of the sheets, when he rejoins you to steal the air from your lungs and bring stars to your vision, his hand finds yours once more, his palm pressed flat against yours. Your pulses beating as one. His head falls against your chest. He’s muttering under his breath, mostly to himself.

In the mess of his ramblings, which your muddled brain is starting to decipher as noticeably not English, you catch one phrase. “Тебя я люблю.” He repeats it over and over in full sentences that all sound different. But you know that phrase repeats.

It makes your heart stir, though you don’t know what he’s saying. There’s a vulnerability, a slight waver to his voice, whining out the words like a plea. A confession to the gods above to forgive him of sins. And his lips whisper it against your skin. His god, his vice, his safety and forgiver.

He continues to switch between English and Russian well into the night, until your bodies collapse and you pull yourself into his arms, curling up in the safety of the warmth of his body. With your energy spent, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment. He allows you both the reprieve, one arm wrapped securely around your waist as his other hand dances along your spine comfortingly. You listen to his breathing, the both of your heartbeats coming down to a steady drum, a rhythm you can both tolerate. Childe purrs your name. “Sweet girl, you did so well,” He whispers on the crown of your head.

“What were you saying..?” You ask after a few seconds of contemplative silence. You were used to him switching languages around you, something he’d gotten more comfortable doing whenever you were together (and after quite a few times catching you drooling at his accent), but you were getting curious about what he would say to you. “When you were speaking Russian, you kept repeating things.”

You look up at him curiously, your brows lifted a little in silent question. You still reminded him of a cat, albeit a sleepy-looking one with the way you were blinking slowly up at him, sprawled over his body. He hums, stroking your spine again. You watch, and you notice the way his teeth bite his bottom lip in thought, the cogs turning in his head.

“I was just.. Telling you how good you were doing.” He says after a second. “It felt better to say it in a language I had grown up with,” he settles on saying. You have a feeling that there was more to it, something he wasn’t sharing, but you don’t care to press. You were too tired, and you doubted he was saying anything bad. You glance towards the tv, an entirely different movie now playing, though you weren’t sure what it was.

The rest of the night is peaceful as you finish the movie. Childe eventually turns off the tv and ushers you into your small bathroom for a shower and refresh. He kisses your shoulder as he cleans your hair and washes your back, and the two of you drink in each other’s presence with only a few words shared.

When you’re both clean, dry, and properly prepared to go to sleep, you shuffle back to your bed.

You flick off the lamp on your bedside and Childe cuddles into your side, your limbs tangling with his easily. You were too tired to try and stay awake much longer. You vaguely remember the man asking you to attend the party his friends were having later that week and you agreed without much argument. “You have to bring me boba to tomorrow’s recording, though,” You tell him.

He laughs heartily and buries his head against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “Okay, Милаяm whatever you say,” He mumbles, his voice low in the other language. You feel your cheeks flush, though you’re only half awake. That was definitely more sweet than anything else he called you in English, but you can’t place why. Maybe it felt more real? More genuine when he spoke so freely in the tongue that came more naturally to him? Whatever the case, it floats around in your head as you drift off to sleep, seeping into your dreams and flowing through your bloodstream.

———

A/Ns: the fluff, as promised !! (with absolutely no future repercussions or angst in the future that this. could foreshadow 😝😀) aanyway, likes/reblogs/comments are always loved and stored in my brain so feel free to drop any if u want, and i hope y'all look forward to the upcoming arc hehe <33

TAGLIST: @popiizpops @scaradooche @yourfavoritefreakyhan @neversore @monocerosei @dontmindtheevie @kittywagun @yumidepain @kazumiku @hanilessa @nrviine @wren-art

[oh-goddess-of-chaos]

⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 – 𝐣. 𝐝. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 」 yandere!jason dean 𝒙 female!reader

「 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 」 being the new girl at a school can be difficult, especially during the middle of the year and in a place with a rigid social structure such as westerburg high, but things can only seem to worsen when you start feeling as though you're being watched.

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 general themes from heathers the movie such as bullying, mentions of suicide, murder (c'mon, it's a heathers fic, what did u expect?), usage of guns, kissing, stalking, attempted rape (kurt n' ram), swearing , usage of drugs such as cigarettes, unconsensual kissing (doesn't get further than that in this), very slight insinuations to sex (spoken), the whole shebang.

「 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 」 4.5k

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ (slight spoilers) i wanted to make the reader decently perceptive and sarcastic this one, but nearing the end i definitely made her rationality kinda disappear since that's what fear can do to a person. jd is more based off movie jd, and so is veronica.

Joining a new school midway through the school year was, to say the least, unideal.

You and your parents had just gotten the wonderful opportunity to move to the quaint town of Sherwood, Ohio, somewhere you all were essentially forced to go since your father had been promoted by his job and your family was strapped for cash. And, sure, your house was bigger and nicer than your last, but you'd had to leave all your friends you'd been with since your childhood, which was difficult.

To add to all of that, the people were unfriendly and rude, and the weather was tolerable at best. Though your old home wasn't perfect by any means, it was most certainly better than where you were living now.

And now, here you were, standing before your new high school, knowing perfectly nothing about it or what to expect yet still expecting it to be one of the worst schools you've gone to. The odd stares your fellow students were shooting you seemed to be indicative of that.

Oh, good grief.

You sighed as you entered, only to immediately crinkle your nose in disgust as you were hit with the pleasant aroma of sweaty jocks and what you could only guess were something akin to rotting bodies. Speak of the devil, you thought to yourself as you were almost hit by what you guessed were two football players dashing down the hallways.

This was going to be a long rest of the year.

You were quick to shove past the students to get to the front office, keen on getting your class schedule and getting to your class as early as you could. You'd only just gotten here and yet already you wanted to go home, though you supposed that that was how high school normally operated. It was never something anyone particularly enjoyed. Most people just managed to tolerate it enough to attend the next day.

"Hello, I'm looking to get my schedule?" You said once you'd reached your destination, crossing your arms as you stared at the woman at the front desk. Focused upon her own work, she offered you no response. You pursed your lips.

"Excuse me?" You spoke, louder this time, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

Apparently you weren't the only one unhappy to be at Westerburg high today, as the woman, seemingly irked, slowly craned her head to face you. "Yes?"

She seemed an unpleasant sort of woman, a frown etched permanently upon her wrinkled face. You wondered what the other teachers must look like, and if they resembled her by any means.

"This is my first day here. I need my class schedule."

"Name?"

"Y/n L/n."

The woman nodded and typed something into her computer. She then pointed to the printer. "Wait over there. Your class schedule is printing right now. Once it's finished, just go to your first class. The class numbers are listed on the right side."

"Well, is anyone going the help me find my way around?"

Your question was only met with silence. "Fine, I'll find it on my own. After all, why would I ever need the help of a teacher, anyway? It's not like I'm new to this school or anything." You grumbled before grabbing your schedule and exiting.

Luckily, navigating the school was a relatively simple task. The numbers on every door and the maps plastered on the walls definitely helped, and you were able to find your history class before the bell rang.

"Here's your textbook, Ms. L/n." The teacher said to you the moment you told her your name. Silently, you nodded, deciding to take a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom as you waited for class to begin.

Something seemed off, though, as the lecture began and you jotted down nearly everything you heard. You could sense eyes boring into the back of your skull, like daggers piercing through your mind, and it inhibited your focus. You could hardly pay any attention to the teacher as she went on and on about some war you didn't even know the name of. And so, discreetly enough, you 'grabbed' something from you bag, staring over your shoulder briefly in an attempt to see if anyone really was watching you.

And, as it seemed, someone was. You managed to spot them - or him, to be more specific. Uncannily dark eyes stared back at you, blank and hollow. It made your stomach sink. Quickly, then, you retrieved an object from your school bag and continued with your notes to the best of your abilities. Unfortunately, though, you couldn't get that kid's sharp gaze out of your mind. Something about it - something about him - was off, though you couldn't quite place what it was. And, sure, from what you could see he dressed somewhat oddly - a dark trench coat adorning his shoulders, covering his already black pants and shirt - but it was more than just the way he was dressed. You knew it.

You gave up on the matter minutes after you were done with US History. As much as you were curious at the time, you could care less if some creep was watching you. It wasn't like you didn't have your fair share of those back at your old school - you just supposed that they didn't seem so outward about it. After all, you'd stared at that kid - caught him right in the act, but he didn't look away, didn't flinch, just kept staring. Looking back on it, you were convinced that you'd caught the glimpse of some sort of smile. But, as you'd mentioned, what was done was done. You'd only have to deal with him for 45 minutes every day for the rest for the year, at worst.

Sighing, you dropped your bag beside you as you sat down on one of the sticky cafeteria benches, secluded from everyone else. Although you knew you could've tried to make friends during your classes, you were aware of the truth about social politics in high school: halfway through the year, friendships were already sealed airtight and people were much less open to saying 'hi' to a new face, so you didn't even bother. And, sure, the seating was horrible, but you weren't about to make a fool of yourself, especially on your first day.

The food at Westerburg High was - albeit surprisingly - quite alright, and you found yourself somewhat enjoying it. Disregarding the horrible smell and the violently loud chatter, you supposed the cafeteria and lunch as a whole was okay.

That was, at least, until you caught sight of that kid who'd been staring at you in history. You hadn't even noticed he was there at first, but there he was, halfway across the cafeteria, staring blatantly right at you. This time, though, he was just smiling - smirking, even, and it unnerved you.

What is wrong with this guy?

The rest of the week went by like this. On your way to class, you'd always see him in the halls, eyes locking with yours as you passed him. Or getting your books from your locker - he'd always be there, eyes glued to your form. He wasn't even doing anything, was simply fixated on you. It made you shiver, the looks he gave you at first.

Now, however, it was almost expected. You'd anticipate dark eyes boring into your skull and the fumes of cigars to follow you in class, or truly just anywhere around school, just as you would expect your shadow to follow you in the sunlight. And, as annoying as it was the every first day, now it was eerie. You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know you were being watched, but when you did, you'd surely freeze out of both paranoia and fear. While, yes, you'd expected this year of high school to be your worst yet, never had you expected for it to be to such an extent.

Your fear later festered when he pulled a blank on two jocks in the cafeteria. Although you knew blanks couldn't truly hurt them, you shuddered to think what he'd do if he really wanted to cause some damage.

Things got worse still when the kid started dating the infamous Veronica Sawyer, not quite a Heather but not quite anything else either. Gossip around the school grew mad about the unconventional couple, and you soon learned the name of the kid who never did seem to leave you alone: Jason Dean, or 'J. D.' as everyone knew him.

Now, whenever you'd see J. D., he'd always be accompanied by his girlfriend, Veronica. He never did stop staring, though, resulting in numerous glares coming from Veronica's way.

So much for being tolerated by the popular crowd.

School had then became a living hell for you, because if one Heather didn't like you, none of them did, making life going unnoticed near impossible. Now, no matter where you were, someone was either glaring or gazing at you, their intentions vague and unclear.

Things then got particularly bad when Heather Chandler became a sort of enemy of yours. You weren't sure what you did to irk specifically her, but, whatever it was that you did, she most certainly hated you, more so than Veronica, even. Not a day went by without a rude confrontation by her, and you could name several instances when she'd embarrassed you in front of the school.

But then, one day, she was gone.

Suicide. At least, that's what they said it was, but you knew too many people hated that bitch for it to be so. All it would take was a teenager driven insane enough by her to be driven to such a point, and considering the state of Westerburg high, you didn't doubt for a moment that the queen bee of the school essentially prompted her own death.

So, yeah. You knew her suicide was faked. Not that you were going to report it to the cops - you weren't planning on stirring up more drama - but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by such a thing. And, besides, though you'd never admit it aloud, you were glad she was dead, in an odd way. Now you had at least one less person to make your life at this sorry school miserable.

So, life was okay for a while. People got too busy about mourning Heather's death to notice a nobody like you. Other than that creep J. D. and his jealous girlfriend stalking the halls, life was tolerable.

But when you're at the top, the only way you can go is down. And that's where you went. Down. All the way to rock bottom.

You didn't know how to put it in lighter terms, so here it was: You were almost raped. By Kurt and Ram, to be more exact.

Apparently, J. D. wasn't the only one who had an eye on you, and with all your attention focused on him (since you were so damn paranoid) you'd failed to notice the two jocks that also seemed to have been interested by you.

It was late at night. You were walking home from some house you'd babysat at as a favor, and two guys started following you. You didn't think much of it at first - just tried to forget about it and cool your nerves, but then they started to get faster, and faster, and you did too, until suddenly you were running, and then, almost abruptly, the two jocks had grabbed your arms and startled forcing you elsewhere. You screamed and fought, but no one was around to hear you.

You could only imagine the other 'nobodies' they must have done this to.

You remembered vividly your horror as the two piled themselves on top of you, eager to rip your clothes off. But, just as they were about to do so, a gun shot rang out, and then another. Frozen in terror, you didn't even move as you felt the boys' bodies go limp over you. You were only able to move when you felt a hand grab onto your own and force you up and get you back on your feet.

"Thank you," you barely managed to sputter out once the initial shock wore off.

"Go," is all the figure replied. A man, you presumed. You couldn't see his face, though, covered by the dark lighting. And so, dazed and confused, you obliged, not thinking twice about the words spoken to you.

The next day, though, was when things truly got out of hand.

Kurt and Ram, supposedly, had died in some gay love pact, wherein they killed each other. Hearing the news over the TV your parents played, you felt sick to your stomach. But, there they lied on the screen, a bag of supposed 'homosexual artifacts' and a suicide note to tie it all together.

And the whole town ate the story up.

You didn't go to school for about the next week or so. You told your parents that you were sick, and even though they knew you weren't, they still called in sick for you, able to detect that you weren't exactly feeling well mentally.

The week of repose was good, too. You were able to gather yourself up, not to the point where you didn't fear what could have happen had your savior not came to the rescue, but to the point where you could suppose that you were grateful that you wouldn't have to answer any questions from the police.

But now, at least for now, you knew you'd be safe.

* * *

You let out a soft sigh as you landed on your bed, curling into your warm sheets as a way of seeking comfort. At least you were safe and secure at home, you supposed, your parents only a relatively quiet yell away and your windows locked for good measure. If school was your hell, then you would consider home your heaven, away from the Heathers, away from J. D., away from everyone.

Turning off your light, you sank into your pillow in a desperate sort of way, clinging to it as if it were your lifeline. You'd hardly been getting sufficient sleep within the past weeks, so it didn't take long for you to fall into oblivion, the abyss of sleep consuming you whole in minutes.

So deeply unaware of your surrounding now, you didn't even hear quiet footsteps entering your bedroom.

J. D. was, to say the least, unsure what made him drawn to you in the first place. Maybe it was your calm and uncaring demeanor, or maybe it was the way you seemed to pick up on things through simple observation so easily, similarly to him. Whatever it was, he most certainly found you interesting. And, somehow, he could simply tell that there was something different about you - something like him that he saw in you, and it intrigued him to no end.

No matter how paranoid you were, you were never completely aware of J. D.'s reach in your life. When he'd watch you when you were at home, he'd remain particularly clever, knowing that if he was caught there was a high chance that he'd get into some really deep shit. Staring at a girl in school every day was one thing, but following her home? That was much more serious, and required a much less conspicuous plan.

But, alas, his plan paid off, and J. D. smiled knowingly as he stared at your vulnerable figure, taken over by a much needed sleep. You simply looked so perfectly innocent like that, something he couldn't wait to ruin once he had the chance.

J. D. laughed euphorically as he continued to just stare at you, unsure if he still had his wits about him but uncaring at the very same time. Perhaps all the cigars he had been smoking really were getting to him. But he knew what he needed to do before he brought you with him. So, quietly, resisting the urge to kiss your pristine lips, J. D. raced out of your bedroom, your door that was previously shut left open behind him.

Unfortunately for him, however, he'd forgotten that you were often a light sleeper that woke up at different intervals in the night, so when a particularly cool gust of wind came in through your open window, you were startled awake.

"What the fuck?" You muttered under your breath as you drowsily peeled your eyes open, squinting them as you stood up to close the window, before pausing and wondering how on earth your window had opened. After all, your parents never came into your room late at night as far as you were concerned, and you had locked your window when you'd fallen asleep, so how could it have opened?

It was at that very moment, too, that the faint smell of smoke wafted through the room, and you froze.

Sure, you knew you were paranoid, and that maybe fear had gotten the better of you, but you also knew that a potentially dangerous kid had been staring at you ever since you got to school and that it would be idiotic for you to assume that he had no malicious intentions.

Your stomach then tightened up once you noticed your open bedroom door. So, yes. It was possible that maybe your assumptions were idiotic, but you'd be a fool to not go with your gut when the most it'd cost you was some short-lived embarrassment, especially considering what could have happened with Kurt and Ram. So, quietly, you exited your bedroom, looking down the hallways of the upstairs floor as to reassure that the coast was clear.

It was.

More silently than you've ever done so before, then, you tip-toed to your parents bedroom, hoping to either alert them of an intruder or ask them what the were doing. But, just as you were about to open their door, footsteps were heard on the other side - not your mother's quiet, considerate ones, nor your father's loud, heavy ones, but a different kind.

Fuck.

As fast as you could, you dashed into the nearest room, leaving the door only just barely open as to not allow it to make any sound. From your parent's room exited a dark silhouette, wearing what you guessed was a trench coat and with only the burning edge of a cigarette as a light source plucked between two fingers.

You were right. You were fucking right. No other than Jason Dean was in your house, and right now, he was heading right for your bedroom, most likely intending to kill.

You needed to think fast.

My parents - right, my parents. They keep a gun in their bedroom.

You were shaking. Yes, your parents showed you were they kept the gun in the case of an emergency, but you'd never been taught how to use it.

As quietly as you could, you dashed over to your parents bedroom, closing the door behind you. And, even though you knew you didn't have the time, you took a moment to catch your breath. God, you couldn't breathe. And neither could your parents, as it seemed, when you looked over at their limp corpses sprawled in the bed. Slowly, you retracted the covers from their bodies, only to find a wet pool of blood that lay beneath them and their slit throats.

They were dead. J. D. had fucking killed your parents. You felt your knees buckle underneath you as you caressed your mother's lifeless face, her eyes never to once again open.

"Mom..." You whimpered, not caring if her blood stained your fingers. But then, you paused, realizing that, if you didn't speed up, you could be next.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I really need to find a weapon or a way out of here. I only have so much time before he finds me.

You suppressed a scream as you then scoured their bedroom in search of the gun safe, not keen on wasting any more time, but to your dismay, you couldn't find it.

They must have moved it from last year - fuck! - what else could they have?

Your eyes then landed on your father's esteemed baseball bat. You'd remember him talking about it, the pride radiating from him as he explained how it was the first bat he used to hit a home run with in high school.

Well, sorry dad.

Picking up what was now a weapon and placing it in such a way that would allow you to swing at a moment's notice, you slowly sauntered out of your parent's bedroom and into the hallway.

Your blood ran colder and colder as you approached your bedroom door, until, finally, you did, and raised the baseball bat even higher as to deliver the hardest blow on the boy that stood before you.

"You know, it would have probably been better if you'd stayed hiding," you then heard J. D. speak, turning around and raising an eyebrow at the bat in you hands. "You know, that isn't going to do much against a gun."

Time seemed to stop, and all you could stare at was the gun that sat loosely in J. D.'s hand. He was going to fucking kill you.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to use it on you," he then reassured coyly, as if reading your mind. "It's just a necessary... precaution. Now, why don't place the bat down so we can talk."

"I could scream."

J. D. seemed to smile at this and clicked his tongue, as if scolding you. "Now, would you really like to have someone else's blood on your hands like that? Just because I'm not going to shoot you doesn't mean I won't shoot anyone else. It'd be a shame if anyone had to die because of you."

Silence.

"Good, now... place the bat down."

Nodding, you complied, slowly placing your only means of defence on the ground.

"Okay, okay," you mumbled, trying to calm your racing heart down. Though you doubted it, you supposed that there was a chance that, if you could calm down enough, you could convince J. D. to leave you alive.

J. D. grinned. "Now, darling, why don't you come right here."

If you could've moved, you most certainly would've. After all, you'd seen that gun in J. D.'s hand. You knew what it could do. But you were frozen by fear, and no amount of rationality was going to move you.

"Now, this would all be, uh, a lot easier if you'd just come with me, because I'd hate to have to man-handle - " J. D.'s words cut short as he watched you, nearly stunned, as you bolted past him and towards the window. But he was quick to recoup his bearings, cocking the gun (for good measure) and grab onto your leg, successfully dragging you towards the ground. You grunted in pain upon your head slamming against the hardwood floor, the beginnings of a bruise already starting to appear.

Now only partially unconscious, it took you a long while to notice the tongue now prying apart your mouth and the chapped lips pressed against your own. You'd only really noticed when you realized that you couldn't breathe, and you let out a strangled groan as you tried to detach yourself from the figure above you, but to no avail. J. D. merely slid his tongue deeper down your throat, inhibiting you from screaming or making any other noise as he kissed you roughly.

You thrashed and flailed under his touch, but nothing was enough to free yourself from him. He was faster, stronger, and had the firearm in this situation. You stood no chance. So, with a heavy heart, you moved pliantly underneath J. D.'s touch, hoping he'd at least go a little easier on you at the very least.

And then, with bated breath, you observed as he stopped, and, hovering above you, took something out of his pocket. At first, fearing it was a gun, you began to once again fight against him, but then paused upon not recognizing the silhouette of the object in his hand.

"You know, as much as I'd like to continue this, I did come here for a reason." J. D. stared at you, no ounce of sympathy as he spoke his next words. "You know, it'd have been a hell of a lot easier if you'd just fucking stayed asleep."

Without so much as a moment to respond, a wet rag was forced upon your face. Confused at first, you lied still, before realizing what it must have been drenched it. You were now even more urgent in your fighting of J. D. (if that was even possible), punching and kicking him wherever you could. But he didn't budge, simply kept a firm grip on the rag.

"Shhh, it's fine, I won't hurt ya," he reassured, "Not unless I need to, of course."

But you didn't hear him, your consciousness already slipping as you'd only been half conscious before. You were trying to kick free, but already you were so exhausted, your adrenaline already beginning to ware off. Worse still, J. D.'s words of reassurance that you'd be fine and that everything will be alright were starting to mess with you.

You could hear him talking, but the words were muffled and blurred, and your body seemed to take everything in as if it were truth, because it was already relaxing under his cool touch. And it seemed that, the more fearful your mind grew, the more numb your body became, until, finally, you gave up your thrashing and your fighting, and sunk into J. D. harsh embrace willingly.

Upon your figure going limp, a devilish grin spread across J. D.'s face. Though he knew this was not how things were meant to occur, he was simply so happy - for he finally had you in his arms, where you belonged. And then, unable to help himself, he pressed a hungry kiss on your mouth, pleased to hear a muffled moan escape it as your tongue moved submissively under his own.

This was it! Finally - finally, after waiting for so long, you belonged to him. No more were the days when he'd have to watch you through your bedroom window, or the days where all he'd see of you were your paranoid eyes in the hallways, because, finally, here you were, in his arms, where you belonged!

Here you were at last, finally.

Finally, you were his and only his.

© do not translate, steal, or repost any of my works elsewhere without consulting me and gaining my consent.

[planetwaynez]

OBSESSION

Dark!Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Notes: I wrote this as a writing exercise and this is the fic of the pool I did a few weeks ago! I am really happy to be putting this out there, honestily I don't know if its truly good but I got to explore a side of my brain I don't visit too often sooo it was fun.

WARNINGS: SMUT! stalking behavior, toxic thoughts, toxic behavior, explicit sex scene, non consensual recording, crude words, dumbfication, gaslighting, and this is heavily inspired by OBSESSION By EXO! If there is anything I didn't put in here pls dm about and I will add!

Words: 3,4k

Synopsis: Jason is obsessed. And he won't ever let you go.

Jason wasn't very fond of not being in control. He always knew that he thrives when the control of things is in his hands, however his little dove seems to forget that every time. 

He watches his little dove apply lipstick, her friends gossiping while getting ready and some pop song on the speaker. His little dove knows the rules, but apparently she's taking advantage of him not being home to discipline her for her bad behavior. 

She's giggling about some joke that one of her friends told and Jason fists his hand. He shouldn't be jealous but he can't stop thinking about his little dove at some frat party tonight and him not being around. 

He zooms in on the image and takes a good look at his pretty girl, Jason takes a deep breath and thank God that his girl has a pretty face, not a smart brain to figure it out the cameras he put in her apartment months before he even asked her out. Rationality he knows that he should've taken the cameras out once they started dating but he didn't feel like it, Jason enjoys watching his girl when he's away on some mission and she doesn't know, which can't hurt her. Only make her safer, because like this he's always around. 

She's wearing a black little dress and heavy make up with red lipstick, her hair styled to perfection and wearing high heels and for a moment Jason considered going back home in one of his dad's private jets, but his sense of responsibility didn't allow him. Nevertheless that doesn't mean he can't find a way to keep his girl at home, under his eyes for one more night before he finishes his part of the job and goes home to her.

Jason clicks his tongue, creating a devilish plan to keep her home. Fast and easy.

He grabs his phone and dials his little doves number, he watches as she grabs her phone and leaves the bedroom to take his call at the bathroom, she smiles at the screen before picking up. Something very important about Jason's and his pretty doves relationship is that she doesn't know a lot about him or how they crossed paths. But she doesn't need to know any of that, the only thing in his little dove's head all the time should be him and nothing else. 

"Hey, baby!" She greets happily and for a second Jason feels bad about what he's going to do, but he can't stop himself. He needs control, he craves it. All the time, especially with her. 

"Hey, sweetheart" she beams and Jason wants to grab her and never let go. "How you doing?"

"Great! Going out with the girls tonight!" Jason suppressed a growl, not wanting to show the bad parts of himself to his girl. Not yet at least. 

"Really? I thought you had a big paper to deliver tomorrow" he's not lying, per se. He knows the paper is only due in two days but he will make her believe that's not the case.

"No, silly! It's only in two days" she's twisting a piece of her hair in her index finger, clearly flirting with him even when he's not in the same space as her. He loves that.

"Little dove, I believe that it's tomorrow… but if you want to go out tonight anyway you can go, it's your grades we are talking about" he can see the tension in her shoulders as he speaks, her demeanor changing drastically from one moment to another. 

"But Jace… I truly think that only due in two days, it's in my calendar" now his little dove is uncomfortable but he can make her feel better once he's back home. Right now she needs to understand that her place tonight and every night when Jason is not home is on the couch, watching Gilmore Girls.

"Princess" He uses that condensed tone Bruce always used with him when wanting to convince Jason of something. He hates it, but it is efficient. "Remember that time you wrote down the date wrong for that big project of yours? You doing it again" 

Her shoulders drop and she sighs and he knows that she's wrapped around his finger forever. She's staying home. 

"My God, you are right" she nods, as if he could see it. Well, he can but she doesn't need that information. "I am staying home but I feel bad for ditching the girls though."

Y/N plays with one of the decorative objects of her bathroom, thinking about how she's telling her friends she's staying and not going to the commemorative party of the basketball team tonight. 

"I bet they will understand, baby" Jason hopes they don't. Those girls want to take his precious jewelry from his hands and he won't allow it. 

"Yeah, you are right. As usual" she giggles and he feels his chest warm up at the sound. He misses her.

"I have to go, baby, they are calling me to finish a few papers" he lies through his teeth, Jason just wants to get rid of the bunch of girls before his little dove changes her mind. "Text you later, ok?"

"Ok, love, till later." And she hangs up, looking miserable. Jason knows how much she wanted to go to this party, and that's exactly why he can't allow it. What if she finds someone else? What if she gets in danger? What if she leaves him? He would have to take drastic decisions if any of those scenarios happened. So it's better if she's home safe.

Jason watches as she tells her friends she won't go and watches as her friends get disappointed with her but they obviously won't comment about it. Happily he watches them go away and his girl getting ready to bed, taking the provocative dress off and the heavy make up and put on cute pajamas and sit down on her desk to finish her project on her computer. 

He smiles, feeling way more light now. Jason decided to reward his little dove for her good behavior. 

The man takes a long shower and lets his mind wander to his sweet girl under him, moaning his name and clenching around his cock. He groans and finishes his shower, stopping in front of the mirror with a white towel wrapped around his hips and his hair wet, Jason takes a picture and sends it to his girl.

He goes back to his laptop, watching Y/N's reaction to his text, her breathing gets faster and she bites her lips, smiling a little. 

See, he thinks, so much better like this isn't, honey? 

His phone bips and he opens her text. 

Little Dove: all this for me? 

Jason: it's always for you 

Jason: can't wait to get home to you

Y/N smiles, wide enough to make her eyes close a little bit with the action. She snaps a picture of her, sitting at her desk and sends it to Jason, who is already smiling and looking at her pretty face mesmerized. 

Little Dove: miss u a lot

Jason: tomorrow morning I will be home with you

And just like that Jason goes to bed with the goal to finish his job early and get to his girl.

……..

The sun is slipping through the curtains and Y/N wakes up with a frown. She doesn't like when the sun wakes her up before the alarm but when she feels a heavy arm around her waist her mind goes from fuzzy to alert in a second. She takes a few moments to register the smell of oak and cigarettes, but when she does she relaxes and turns around, looking at Jason's sleepy face.

"Baby!" She calls and Jason opens his eyes. He is really good at pretending, he realizes, because she doesn't even realize that he's been awake all this time, just watching her. 

Since he got home, he's been just admiring his girl and thinking about the unspeakable things he's going to do to her once she wakes up. Now she's awake and, technically, he is too. 

"When did you get here?" Always curious, always wanting to know more than she should, however, Jason always has a good, well curated story to tell her that it's not the truth.

"I got here around five in the morning" she smiles, hugging him and inhaling his scent, almost purring at the feeling. 

That's the truth she needs but the reality is that last night Jason finished his part of the job and landed in Gotham at midnight, but she was still awake finishing her project, so he waited and kept an eye on her through the window, from across the street, sitting on the rooftop of the other building. When she slept, at two in the morning he got out of the rooftop and slipped into her bed.

"Missed you so much" Jason says, holding her neck and taking her face away from his chest, to properly look at her. 

"Me too, Jace" her eyes are shining and he just has to kiss her, to touch her to feel complete, to feel in control again.

So that's what he does. Jason grabs his little dove's neck, squeezing the sides maybe a little too roughly, but he doesn't pay attention to her little whine, only focusing on her lips. When he crashes his lips onto hers, he growls low in his throat, relishing in the feeling of his girl on him.

Their lips move in synchrony with each other, their tongues touching desperately, full of passion and that feeling that none of them can quite describe with words.

Jason's free hand roams over her body, stopping at her ass and squeezing it hard enough to make her moan against his lips. That fuels the fire inside him, that fire that only his sweet, oblivious little dove can satiete with her skin, her lips and her pretty moans. He pins her to the bed, rolling his hips against hers, making both of them whimper and take deep breaths, separating their lips for a moment.

Y/N takes that moment to look into her boyfriend's eyes, the teal is consumed by the black of its pupils and she can see it. The affection, the desire, the possessiveness. And she loves it all, she wants more of it. 

Jason smirks, knowing that she's seeing in his eyes is exactly what he wants her to see. Gently he squeezes her neck again, bringing her back to the front of her mind, back to him.

His other hand goes from her ass cheek to her waist, inside her shirt and feeling warm skin against his, little dove closes her eyes, savoring the moment, the feeling of Jason's calloused hands on her soft belly, climbing to her breast, to touch it gently, just to the next moment be grabbed and the nipple twisted. Y/N moans, loudly and sweetly. 

Jason bites his lips, hiding a smile, one that would scare her off. One of his big, psychotic smiles, the one that makes his mask of a good and caring boyfriend be exactly what it is, a mask. The real Jason is fucked in the head, he's controlling and possessive, a little psychotic too. But, he thinks, she doesn't need to know that.

"Yes… just like that, Jace" she says, preening as Jason's lips kisses her jaw and her neck. He takes her shirt off and kisses softly her breasts, sucking her nipples in his mouth, one by one, taking care of the sensitive skin with care and attention. 

Every stroke of his tongue, every suck of his mouth on her skin and nipples, every flick of his wrist in one of her nipples has a reaction from her. A moan, a whimper, a sigh. 

He loves all of them and he could spend all day worshiping her breasts, however, Jason is thinking about one thing. 

Getting his mouth on his little dove's sweet pussy. 

The men descends his ministrations over her body, his hands grabbing, squeezing and caressing what he can, when he finally gets at her shorts, he takes it off alongside her panties, smiling at the sight in front of him. 

Her pretty pussy glistened to him and him only. He takes her tights on his hands and puts over his shoulders, looking up at her, that is already looking at him in anticipation. 

"What is it, baby?" Jason taunts, knowing that will make her weaker for him. "Need something?"

She whines, fisting the sheets and throwing her head back in frustration. 

"Yes" she says and Jason arches an eyebrow, smirking.  

"And what is that?" He asks again, but before she could answer him, Jason licks her pussy, from hole to clit, making Y/N moan. "It 's my tongue?" He teases, smiling wide, in that psychotic way since she's not looking at him, but at the selling. "Or my fingers?" Two tick fingers thrust inside her warm pussy, getting Jason the best reward. 

Her moaning his name, loudly. 

"Yes! I need both!" Jason doesn't answer her with words, just dives in her pussy, licking, sucking and fucking her with his finger until she's arching her back and crying, just a little bit. Just enough to feed his ego.

Y/N smiles feeling full and delighted with the attention her boyfriend is giving her. He is always so thoughtful,  she thinks, he would never harm me. 

But that's not the reality, Jason would never harm her, per se, but he would find ways to always be her priority and never let others take space in her life. 

Jason can feel his cock against the fabric of his boxers, hyper aware of it. He holds himself back to not start dry humping the bed, the only place he's coming  is inside his little dove. 

Her little cries and moans are getting louder with each thrust of his finger and flick of his tongue, her walls clenching around his fingers and making his head dizzy. Knowing that he had such power and control over her made him feel important, cared and loved. Jason didn’t need anything else when he had his little dove naked and pliant for him at any time he felt like having her.

“Jace!” His name was like a chant in her tongue when she came all over his face and fingers, making Jason moan in delight. He loved when she was messy and needy, and tonight she was just like how he liked. 

Softly, Jason kisses her thighs, going up to her tummy and her breasts, soaking himself in her scent and in her soft skin against his scarred and calloused one. He kissed and nipped at her neck, tangling one of his hands in her hair, making her close her eyes and whimper softly at his touches. 

“Is my baby dumb already?” he asked, watching her face carefully because even though he loved to break her and bring the pieces back together he needed to know when he was too close to make her break for good. And he didn’t want that, he wanted her pliant and soft, not broken and traumatized. That’s why he lied so much, for her own good.

She sniffs, her eyes glossy and her lips red and puffy from kissing him and biting it when he was eating her out. “Baby I need you to answer me or I can’t give you my cock” he pouts, fake sympathy in his voice making her whine and cry a little, squirming in his hold.

“No! I am not dumb” her eyes aren’t quite focusing and she is flooded with emotions that only Jason can’t subside. “I need you cock, Jace!” she says, lips wobbling and legs spreading wide for him, her pussy clenching around nothing and leaking her juices.

Jason smiles, his eyes shining with something dark, uncontrolled and quite feral. Even if his little dove denied, Y/N was already cock drunk - and he didn’t even get inside her, yet. 

“I will give you what you want” he caresses her hair, thinking about permanently kipping her inside this apartment, never letting her go again. But he loves her way too much to scare her. “everything my baby wants, my baby gets”

Slowly, Jason traced his cock along her pussy, making her moan and squirm. He loves the feeling of his cock sliding against her pussy, the way it makes her get a little dumbier each time. Just to tease her, and himself a little, Jason pushes the thick head of his cock inside her greedy pussy, watching with a cruel happiness the way she moans loud and tries to hook her legs around his waist, to bring him closer, deeper.

He pushes away from her delicately, listening to her whimpers and whines, making his cock throb and ache for her. 

“Ask nicely” he demands, his face contorted into an evil smirk she can’t see, her eyes closed in agony and her lips red from biting. Her hands are holding his biceps and her nails are digging into his skin, making the pain get mixed with pleasure. The head of his cock sits still inside her.

“Please, Jace! please, please, please!” Y/N doesn’t have one coherent thought inside her head, the only thing she can think about is her boyfriend cock and how much she needs it. 

“So pretty,” he says, stroking her clit in a tourtours slow pace, her pussy clenching and throbbing. “Who does this pretty pussy belong to?”

“To you, Jace! Only you!” a wolfish grin spreads through Jason's lips, making him look like some sort of devil looking at its new offering. 

“Good girl” he says, pushing everything inside Y/N at once, making her scream and hook her legs around him, a part of his weight resting on her. He smiles when she throws her arms around his shoulders, scratching his back with each hard and slow thrust of his hips against hers.

“Such a good girl… taking my cock so well” she mewls, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and Y/N swears she can feel her heart trying to get out of her chest and jump into Jason’s. 

His cock is delicious, every thrust, every grunt he makes, drives her even further into bliss, her thighs and pussy gripping him and not willing to let go. The sound of skins slapping against skin and his balls hitting her ass makes her even more out of breath, out of her mind. She can’t think straight, she doesn't want that and if she could she would spend the rest of her days with Jason’s cock deep inside her needy and greedy pussy, stretching her out so well that she bubbles a incoherent mess of words every time he is inside her. 

“Look at you,” he says, holding her face in one of his big calloused hands, making her stare at him and his lust filled eyes. “already close to cumming again, little dove?”

“yes' ' she whines, rolling her eyes and relising in the way his broad chest presses against her sensitive tits. 

“You can cum baby” Jason buries his face on her neck, loving the way she smells, driving him even more insane. “cum all over my cock”

His little dove didn't need to be told twice, she came all over his thick cock, loving the way she was feeling in the clouds in his arms. Jason growls, her pussy gripping him too tight, driving him to his orgasm and filling her up to the brim. 

They look each other in the eye, and she smiles softly, waking up his soft side along. He smiles back, resting his forehead against hers. 

They cuddle, smile and talk about everything and anything, she just doesn’t know that now everytime Jason left for a mission he would have their sext tape. And she also didn’t know that he sended a few of his men to disappear with her bad influence of friends. 

She doesn’t need them and eventually, she will understand because eventually she will only need him.

He smiles, that smile that he never lets her see. The one that is just a little psychotic and looks at her sleeping form. 

His.

Forever his.

Even if she tries not to be.

Jason will never let her go. 

[safarigirlsp]

Happy Fuckin’ Birthday

Happy Fuckin' Birthday

Flip Zimmerman x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Angst, maybe? Comedy. Abuse of process. Hazing Flip for his birthday, as one should. Birthday pranks. Bitchy Reader. If you want a sweet, submissive, shy reader, my fics are never for you xD

AO3 Link

A little birthday celebration for Scorpio season! I had this written timely on November 19, but just forgot to post it. Whoops!

Turning forty wasn’t something Flip Zimmerman was overly excited about. It had nothing to do with the usual dramatics and neuroses that plagued most people. He didn’t have any deep regrets in life; he hadn’t taken any stupid turns or failed to seize any major opportunities; he didn’t have a ‘one that got away’ – the things in life that can add up to a mid-life crisis or make a man dread the passage of years. He had the woman he wanted, the job he wanted, and for the most part, the life he wanted. Flip didn’t give a damn about the number of candles on his cake. What annoyed the hell out of him was the production everyone else in his life had to make over it. That might rank as one of his bigger regrets in life, telling people close to him when his damn birthday was. His birthday would be a perfectly fine day, if no one else knew about it.

To Flip, his birthday was just another day on the calendar. But could everyone else in his life ever treat it that simply? Fuck no.

Flip never took the day off for his birthday. He immediately lost respect for any man who did that. Women got a pass with such frivolous and indulgent things, but men had no business pampering themselves like candy asses. This year was poised to be a little extra good for Flip since his birthday fell over a weekend. He could guiltlessly spend it exactly how he wanted, which was also how he’d spend every other day of his life if he was free from all financial, vocational, and social obligations. Flip wanted to spend his birthday weekend hidden away in his cabin, sleeping, eating, and fucking just as much as he wanted, and not doing a damned thing else or talking to a damned person other than his girl.

So far, Flip’s birthday weekend had been precisely what he wanted. Starting Friday night, he had gotten his birthday wish in quantities sufficient to appease all his ravenous hungers. Saturday had been the same, and it had been glorious. He had put on a damn fine show for his girl, if he did say so himself. He figured it was the best way to demonstrate he was a vigorous man in his prime, not a doddering old bastard. Flip had allowed his lady to finagle him into sharing a steaming hot bath with her after dinner to break up the pattern. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt on his aching muscles. Even though it was only due to all the extra use over the past two days, or rather, due to the gross lack of use during the other days of the year, Flip knew his sore muscles would be used against him on his fortieth birthday. All the running and weightlifting in the world wasn’t really the same as the workout a man gets from a marathon between the sheets. He knew he was in for a generous ration of shit for his birthday, not least of all from his girl. He’d wonder what was wrong if she wasn’t giving him hell. Still, it was best not to load the guns for her.

Flip defined ‘sleeping in’ differently than most. He had been conditioned by his days in the military to be up before sunrise and ready to meet every battle with the dawn. He felt extremely lazy and indulgent when he let the sunrise wake him as it first peaked over the mountains and into his bedroom window. This attitude was in stark contrast to his wife, who considered mornings in general to be a vile institution and often bitched about how morning people were given entirely too much power in society.

Dawn on Flip’s birthday was one of those crystalline winter mornings where the light was tinted a soft pink-blue-white and frost coated everything in sight like icing on a diamante cake. It had snowed several inches during the night and outside the window, the mountains were gleaming spires, the ground was covered with fresh powder, and the pines wore a layer of snow like fancy ladies swaddled in white mink. Snowy mornings like this were Flip’s favorite kind of morning, when everything was still pristine and sparkling with promise. Before any bullshit settled in.

Groaning contentedly, Flip stretched as the sunlight danced across his face. He was still a little sore in all the places he wanted to be, and he was rock hard and ready for a proper good morning.

So far, forty felt great.

Half asleep, he turned and nuzzled his nose into the soft warm body lying curled next to him. A soft, warm, furry body. Grumbling and pulling his face away, Flip opened his bleary eyes and glared through his disheveled hair at the fat, black cat he had inherited when he had begun living with his girl. Some men have worse step kids to deal with, he reasoned now as the adorable black asshole looked back at him through slitted green eyes, as if she was just as entitled to sleep in his bed as he was. Narrowing his own eyes back at the cat, he asked her, “Where’s your mom at?”

His question was answered by the clanging of a pot on the stove downstairs and a couple choice curses in a familiar feminine voice. Now fully awake, Flip became aware of the scent of bacon, eggs, and pancakes – his favorites – and strong black coffee just how he liked it. This was a rare treat. Flip usually assumed the duty of cooking breakfast on the days they could enjoy it together. Hearing his girl down in the kitchen, slaving away over the stove at such an unconscionable hour, as she deemed it, made him grin at the effort she put in for him.

“Your mom’s a keeper,” he confided to the cat and patted her round belly. “But you’re a sorry little porker.”

Flip stretched again and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He thought he should brush it before going downstairs, but he knew how she liked it when he looked a little wilder than usual. She liked him best when he smelled fresh from a shower but looked unbrushed, unshaven, and what he thought was mildly unkempt. Women are nonsensical creatures, he had realized early in his dating career. He damn sure needed to brush his teeth and wash his face though. He pulled on the pair of jeans he wore the day before and the flannel shirt he had thrown across the room the night before, only bothering to button two of the center buttons. The phone he’d left in his jeans pocket buzzed insistently against his ass.

Should have turned the fuckin’ thing off, he lamented as he retrieved it and saw the tirade of missed calls. He knew what all those calls meant. But as long as he ignored them, he had plausible deniability, as the bloodsucking lawyers say. As his girl would say. He lost his phone; his battery died; service is bad out at his place; his wife threw it at his head and it broke against the wall.

Against his better judgment, and because it was Stallworth calling and Flip didn’t feel right about ignoring his best friend, he answered.

“What,” Flip grunted, leaving no doubt as to his feelings over this intrusion. He thought to himself, This is the beginning of a bad fuckin’ day.

“Good morning to you too,” Ron said in his easy, affable tone. “It’s a beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

“I have a feelin’ I’m not gonna think so after you tell me why in the hell you’re calling.” Flip walked sullenly to the bathroom while Stallworth ran through some pleasantries. Thankfully, he didn’t lead with Happy Birthday. Flip would have hung up on him. Flip lifted the toilet seat and unzipped his jeans.

“We just got a big break in that jewel heist case. Actually, I did. On a stakeout last night,” Ron said proudly, then paused. “Are you taking a piss while I’m talking to you?”

“We’d both be happier if you weren’t talkin’ to me, but you called,” Flip muttered and flushed the toilet. He held the phone toward the bowl so Stallworth could hear the rush of water, mimicking Flip’s interest in the matter.

“You’re a barbarian, you know that?” Stallworth laughed despite himself.

“Flattery don’t do it for me,” Flip said as he ran the sink, letting the water warm. He noticed four angry red scratches on the side of his neck from his girl’s fingernails and felt a rush of pride. “Go out and catch your jewel thief and take all the glory. Girls love that shit.” He splashed his face with hot water and lathered it with his soapy hands. “I’ll read all about your heroics in the paper.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ron said regretfully. “We need you on this one. You know I wouldn’t be calling if we didn’t.”

“I’m off. It’s a Sunday. And it’s,” he just stopped himself from saying my fuckin’ birthday. “Too fuckin’ early.”

“You think I like being the guy who has to roust the bear out of his cave?” Ron tried to joke to his entirely unreceptive audience. “We need you. Get dressed and get your ass out here.”

“God damnit.” Flip hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a great day, he thought. Aloud, he grumbled to his reflection in the mirror, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, you old bastard.”

*******************************************************************************************

A scalding droplet of bacon grease jumped from the sizzling cast iron pan to land on your exposed thigh, making you cuss under your breath as you quickly wiped it away. You were always extra prickly in the morning. Flip deserves a nice birthday breakfast, you reminded yourself and inhaled deeply, deep enough to force a good mood down your throat along with the chilly morning air. Also in honor of his birthday, you opted for a casually sexy look as opposed to something more comfortable like pajama pants and a tank. You wore only one of his favorite shirts, worn until it was soft as velvet, and slippers. Early on you had realized he liked that look on you and something about seeing you in his clothes appealed to his innate possessiveness.

It was chilly inside the cabin, save for the heat from the stove. On cold winter mornings like this the little cabin furnace had to work overtime just to keep the pipes from freezing. To really get the temperature up in the cabin, a fire needed to be lit in the living room fireplace, but you were not that ambitious before sunrise and would leave it to Flip.

As you thought of him, you heard the wooden stairs creak and knew he was descending them. His footfalls were always light, he moved agility for such a large man. You pretended not to hear him and moved to the side of the stove, leaning forward in a provocative invitation under the guise of fiddling with the coffee maker. Predictably, Flip took the bait and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing his chest against your back and molding his body against yours. But his arms enfolded you chastely around your waist and his hands didn’t roam higher or lower to seek out their favorite places.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you purred, rubbing your ass back against him. You felt he was wearing jeans and turned inside his arms to face him. He was fully dressed, right down to his boots. “You’re violating your own self-imposed dress code, or rather lack thereof, for this weekend.”

“I have good news for you, sugar,” Flip told you with a grin and kissed you deeply. “You get to sleep in today after all.”

“You mean after we succumb to a food and orgasm coma in a couple hours?” You grinned back. “I’d call that a nap, but suit yourself.”

“I got a call,” Flip started.

“We agreed no phones this weekend!” you cut across him, instantly bristling. “That was your rule. I have a big trial Monday and I’ve been ignoring my phone for a day and a half already. You better be joking.”

“You of all people know rules are made to be broken,” Flip tried again, still maintaining his grin that now looked moronic to you.

“I’m sore everywhere from you wanting to act like a horny teenager all day yesterday.” You raised a dangerous eyebrow. “I got up when it was still dark to freeze in your kitchen and get burned by grease to cook for you on your birthday, and you’re taking calls?” Your voice had dropped an octave and sounded deceptively calm. Flip knew these were very bad signs.

“I didn’t even take my phone out of my pocket yesterday. Ron caught me off guard this mornin,’” Flip used a reasoning tone, like he would when talking to a jumper. It didn’t help your darkening mood. “But listen, there’s been a big break in that jewel heist Ron and I’ve been workin.’ He got a tip, a hot tip, on where we can catch the bastard. But it’s tonight.”

“And Ron needs you to hold his hand for this escapade?” you asked testily.

“Well, he’s still a little green on things like this.” Flip rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. He always did that when he was in trouble, like a grounded boy trying to look contrite. “I can eat breakfast real quick with you before I go.”

“Real quick?” you laughed sarcastically. “Just what every girl wants to hear?”

“How about I eat somethin’ else before I head out.” He winked at you, trying his best to lighten your mood.

“Yes, I’ve always loved the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am approach.” You glared at him. “How long will you be gone?”

“Well, I have to go in now to go over everything and get briefed before I go out to nab the bastard.” Knowing he was digging his hole deeper, he muttered the next confession. “And it’s at some fancy party down at the Broadmoor tonight. They figure I’d be better to walk in there and get the job done. That reminds me, I’ll need you to pick out a nice suit for me.”

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly.” You stepped away from him, beyond arm’s reach. “You’re leaving me alone today – on your day off, on a weekend, on your birthday – to go out to a swanky party at the Broadmoor while I wait here until you decide to show up again?” You raised your eyebrows. “And then, let me guess – when you get home, late, I’m sure, you want me to feed you dinner and fuck you all night again. Or will you have eaten dinner at your soiree?”

“Sugar, you know I can’t control the timing of these things,” Flip said regretfully. “Breakfast looks great. You look delicious. I don’t want to leave, you know that.” He shook his head and asked exasperatedly, “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s your birthday.” You crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes. “So, it’s your choice.”

Flip had been in enough life and death situations to know he was approaching one now. But he didn’t have much choice. “I have to go in. But I’ll be as quick as I can and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll make it up to you tonight, sugar.”

“This is such bullshit, Flip.” You were fully angry now. Flip knew he was going to be in trouble for a while. “I blew off my responsibilities to let you fuck me as much as you wanted this weekend, and what do I get? You blowing me off to run out and try to catch some petty thief? What happens if you don’t catch this guy today? You have no personal consequences. If I screw up at my job, I lose business and lose actual income, and still, I’ve been blowing off my duties for you this weekend. But you have to strut out to make an arrest now, just so you can dick wave.”

“C’mon, darlin,’” Flip pleaded, holding his arms out, as if you’d run into them. “It’s not like that.”

“No, it’s exactly like that.” You shook your head and shoved past him toward the stairs. “If you’re going to work today, so am I. I have a hearing to prep for, and at least I can bill three-fifty an hour. I’ll be late too.” You paused at the bottom of the stairs to twist the knife a little more. “Since you let these criminals interfere in our lives, maybe I’ll take your thief’s case pro bono after you arrest him and get him off in court instead of getting you off in bed.”

“Calm the fuck down!” Flip lost his temper and instantly regretted it. He calmed his own voice and added, “It’s not that big of a deal. Quit pullin’ your lawyer shit on me.”

“Are you having a senior moment? You must be getting old, after all,” you snapped and stormed up the stairs. “Don’t worry. Maybe we’ll celebrate your birthday next year.”

“You don’t think you’re overreacting just a little?” Flip asked foolishly.

“Not just yet, I’m not.” Halfway up the staircase you turned, pulled off a slipper, and threw it across the room at him. Flip ducked just in time to avoid a perfectly aimed headshot.

“You missed!” Flip bellowed triumphantly then added a cocky laugh.

You didn’t miss your second shot. You whipped your other slipper with more sting, sending it flying right into his chest with a satisfying whap. Then you turned on your heel and trotted up the stairs.

“Love you, sugar!” Flip shouted sarcastically after you. His face was hot and the thick vein in his neck pulsed angrily.

“Happy fucking birthday!” You slammed the bedroom door.

*******************************************************************************************

The drive into the station seemed longer than usual, possibly because Flip spent the better part of it grinding his teeth and strangling the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. He was not at all amused when Stallworth met him at the station door holding a cane.

“Take it easy, old guy,” Stallworth said, offering him the cane. “Need a hand getting to your desk?”

“You’ll need a hand pullin’ that cane out of your ass if you don’t get it out of my face.” Flip shoved past his friend and made his way to his desk, waving off several other old jokes and happy birthdays. His menacing glare would be enough to make strangers piss their pants. Sadly, his co-workers at the station knew this was mostly posturing and it did little to deter them.

Chief Bridges was waiting for Flip at his desk, leaning against it intrusively. He wore a shit-eating grin and said with every indicia of seriousness, “Forty, huh? You know what that means, Zimmerman. It’s time to re-take your firearms training. Maybe driving too. Make sure you’re not slipping as an old man. A man’s aim is the first thing to go.”

“Fuck you,” Flip growled irritably. “I’m in better shape now than I was in my twenties.”

“It’s worse than I feared.” Bridges grinned. “Sometimes, the mind goes first.”

“Forty’s not all that old,” Stallworth came to Flip’s defense. “For a tree or a tortoise.”

“Don’t let me catch you trying to get little blue pills off any trafficking suspects.” Bridges waved a finger at Flip. “I’ve had to write up more old farts for that in this department than you want to know.”

“Not one of my complaints.” Flip smirked. “You sound like you have some personal experience in that department, Chief.”

“I’m glad you’re a cocky sonofabitch, Zimmerman. And a ladies man. It makes this part of the job a helluva lot more fun for me,” Bridges said and Flip’s smirk melted away. “A ladies man is just what the doctor ordered for this sting. Turns out our jewel thief is a broad! Can you believe it? Word says she’s going to the event at the Broadmoor tonight and she’ll be wearing a black dress. All you have to do is sidle up to her, blow whatever smoke up her ass you need to, and get her to waltz right out of the party with you and up to the room we have setup. Stallworth will be there to help make the arrest in case you need backup. You think you’ll need a hand putting handcuffs on a woman once you get her into your bedroom?”

“I can’t fuckin’ do that and you know it!” Flip exclaimed angrily, on the verge of shouting. “I’m already in deep shit with the little woman over comin’ in at all today, and you think I’m gonna go out to a party and then bring some floozy back to a hotel room? I’ll do stupid things in the line of duty, but that’s a death sentence. No fuckin’ way.”

“Scared of a dame, are you, Zimmerman?” Bridges poked.

“I’m scared of the one I have at home,” Flip huffed indignantly. “I’d be a fool not to be. She’d string you up right alongside me, Chief. Find someone else. Ron’s single.”

“Our thief’s a tall gal. A woman won’t be interested in a man who’s shorter than she is, now will she? You’re the only man in the department who’ll be taller than her in heels.” Bridges looked at Stallworth and shrugged. “There’s a height requirement on this ride, and Ron’s several inches too short.”

“Just put a tail on her and grab her when she goes to the ladies room,” Flip suggested. “Easy.”

“If you haven’t noticed, the CSPD has been written up in the paper about once a month this whole year. All you overeager assholes making scenes and causing property damage during arrests,” Bridges chided both men, who had each been featured prominently in various articles. “The last thing I need is some big public scene at the Broadmoor to kick off the holiday season. Do you think this is a fucking negotiation, Zimmerman?”

“There wouldn’t be any negotiation if I told you to shove it up your ass along with my badge and gun,” Flip grunted, thinking that his job was interfering too much in his enjoyment of life.

“What else are you qualified to do? Public relations? Customer service?” Bridges laughed. “Being shacked up with a high-power lawyer the way you are, you should thank me every day for this job. You think a dame like that is gonna want some unemployed grumpy sonofabitch keeping her couch from running away. I got news for you, Zimmerman, cabana boys are about fifteen or twenty years younger than you.”

“Nope, I’ll go over to the dark side.” Flip smirked again. “The Feds have been houndin’ me pretty hard lately.”

“You’re getting to be a crotchety bastard in your old age,” Bridges said dismissively. He patted Flip on the back as he started toward his office. “Quit your bitching moaning and go get the job done. The faster you get it done, the faster you can be back home with your wife.”

“Sometimes I envy those whiny bastards who call in for their birthdays,” Flip groaned to Stallworth when they were alone.

“Too late for that now,” Stallworth said brightly. “Man up.”

“Manning up has never been a problem for me.” Flip glared at him and sat down heavily in his chair.

“What happened there?” Stallworth eyed the scratches you had left on Flip’s neck, pulling his shirt collar back to get a better look. “Are you being abused? Do you need a safe house interview? Was there some animal control problem with a bobcat I missed over the weekend?”

“I guess I’ve still got it,” Flip said proudly.

“Wow, and you left her on your birthday to come down here for me?” Stallworth batted his eyes and teased, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I feel like that’s a big step in our relationship.”

“She already calls you my work wife.” Flip shook his head. “Watch your ass, rookie, or there’s gonna be some domestic violence in our relationship.” Flip slumped in his chair, highly unamused and gestured for Ron to get on with it.

“Want me to talk slow when I go over this, old timer?” Stallworth teased, holding the casefile.

“Not in the fuckin’ mood.” Flip glared at his friend, not teasing at all. He snatched the file from Stallworth and slapped it down open on his desk. He was going to get this shit over with as fast as humanly possible. He retrieved a pair of glasses with large lenses and tortoise rims from his shirt pocket, a new addition to his wardrobe. He only recently capitulated to wearing them on occasion. But only for reading. He narrowed his eyes at Stallworth in anticipation. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

Before Flip could take in much on the first page, a commotion from the front of the station drew his attention. An argument and raised voices along with the shuffling of papers, all boded nothing good in a police station. Flip shoved up from his desk and hurried to see the cause of the uproar. Several officers argued with a fat little man who was so short Flip could only see the shiny top of his greasy bald scalp hovering chest level to the average sized officers around him. Dan Goldleaf was a private investigator who served papers in his spare time, one of the lowest forms of ilk to a cop, just above pedophiles and traffickers. Worst of all, the human shitstain worked for most of the defense lawyers in town.

When Flip approached the unruly spectacle, the trollish man excitedly waved the papers in his hand. He was gelatinously fat, and his whole body jiggled with the movement. He flashed a golden smile as he waddled to Flip. He pushed the papers into Flip’s chest and announced, “Here ya go, Zimmerman!” Quick as a ferret, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Flip holding the papers in a clenched fist, a deadly glare on his face. Goldleaf straightened to his full height of around five feet and popped the lapels of his brown jacket, crackling a fresh mustard stain. The gaudy gold rings on every fat sausage finger glittered in the fluorescent lights. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Flip wanted to squish the greasy troll like a slug, but there were too many witnesses for that now. He looked at the crumpled papers he held in his fist and backed to the wall until his back was pressed against it. It kept him from pacing like a caged animal. He had been served with a formal looking document consisting of several pages. The papers had been sent by the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum & Howe. It began with:

CANDICE GOODING,

                        Petitioner,

 Vs.                                                                             

PHILIP ZIMMERMAN,

                        Respondent.

VERIFIED PETITION TO ESTABLISH PATERNITY

            COMES NOW the Petitioner, Candice Gooding, by and through undersigned counsel, Rob Cheatum, and in support of her Verified Petition STATES THE FOLLOWING:

“Christ, it’s a fuckin’ paternity suit from some bitch named Candice Gooding. Says she has a five-year-old kid and it’s mine! She’s comin’ after me for goddamn child support,” Flip gritted through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body contracted and he shook with rage. He wanted to break something, or at least punch through a wall. He managed to grate out, “I don’t even know this bitch!”

“Candice Gooding,” Stallworth said slowly, enunciating every syllable, as if speaking to an idiot. “That doesn’t ring any bells?”

“It sure as hell doesn’t!” Flip was fuming, his chest flushed hot.

“What else could she call herself?” Stallworth mused, pretending to consider the issue. “Candy maybe?” Slowly, the red flush drained from Flip’s face until he was unusually pale. “Candy Goodie, maybe? Ring any bells now? Wasn’t she an ex-girlfriend some five, six years ago?”

“Motherfucker,” Flip groaned. He suddenly felt very old, as if he had aged a decade on his birthday. He leaned against the wall and knocked his head back against it roughly, as if he could bang some sense into his younger self. “She wasn’t my goddamn girlfriend, and you know it. She was just a slutty little cocktail waitress whose big dream in life was to be a stripper in Vegas where she could make the ‘big bucks.’ She was hot and easy and I fucked her a few times when I was hard up. Big deal. Any port in a storm, you know? Every girl I banged when I was footloose and fancy free wasn’t a girlfriend.”

“Guess you should have used some rubber to weather that particular storm,” Stallworth quipped, studying the papers more closely. “That candy must have been good if you went back for seconds.”

“Fuck you, buddy,” Flip said, really and truly wanting to punch something now.

“Better call your wife,” Stallworth suggested.

A look of pure terror flashed across Flip’s face for an instant before he could mask it. “Don’t you dare call her. Or tell her anything about this at all! Christ, you want to get me killed?”

“She’s a lawyer. Who do you think will be handling this for you?” Stallworth tried unsuccessfully to be helpful.

“Just haul me out back and shoot me now. Get it over with quick.” Flip dropped his head into his hands, shaking his head. “She can’t know a thing about this until I figure it out.”

*******************************************************************************************

“Hey, Sugar,” Flip crooned into the phone when you answered. “I was thinkin’ that since I have to get dressed up and put on the ritz tonight that you could get all dolled up too like you like and meet me after. I’ll take you out on the town and show you a real nice time.”

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your tone told him you were far from appeased. “I thought you decided we were working today. And tonight.”

Flip had called while he was changing into his suit, a black one with a button up shirt in a dark shade of charcoal. He realized you had picked out one of your favorites for him that morning and it made him feel even guiltier. A nice suit usually had the effect of making him feel dashing, now it felt like he was dressing for his own funeral. Maybe I am, he thought to himself with a rueful smirk. Aloud, he said, “I know you’re mad as hell, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I love you, sugar.”

“I’m on the clock, Flip,” you said sternly. “Something you know a lot about, right? We’ll catch up later. Whenever that might be.”

*******************************************************************************************

On the drive to the Broadmoor Stallworth informed Flip, “I called a clerk I know at the court who can verify the paternity suit on a Sunday. It’s real.”

“It’s like all my birthday wishes are comin’ true.” Flip glared out of the window, particularly eyeing the couples walking down the street, having a much better evening than he was.

Stallworth had informed Flip of all the details of their sting, how the event was in a private room of the Broadmoor, how they had booked a suite under the name of Frank Zeiss, a cover name Flip often used. All Flip had to do was find the mark, lure her up to the suite, and help Ron make the arrest. Flip didn’t even want credit. He wanted to forget everything about this day and pretend his fortieth birthday was limited to the nearly perfect Friday and Saturday he spent with his girl. Before he had to leave on call. Why in the fuck did he have to answer his damned phone this morning?

Flip stopped in at the hotel bar before seeking out the private event room. He needed a drink for this shit. He ordered an Old Fashioned and swirled the tawny liquid around in his glass. He thought of the way you always laughed at him like he was an idiot instead of suave when he tied the cherry stem in a knot with his tongue for your amusement.

As he thought of you, to his horror, you walked into the bar and aimed right for him. Wearing a sultry blue dress that hugged your curves in all the best places, he thought his girl had never looked like more of a knockout. But…

“What the hell are you doin’ here?!” Flip grabbed your arm when you got close to the bar and yanked you to him.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said with only a hint of warning in your tone.

��I’m glad you’ve retracted your claws a bit from earlier,” Flip said in a quick, agitated voice. “But it’s not nice to see you. Not now, not here.”

“If you’re here looking for someone, shouldn’t you have your glasses on, old man?” you teased.

“Watch it, sugar.” Flip stepped closer to you until your bodies were nearly touching. “This old man was still goin’ strong when you threw in the towel last night.”

“Nice suit.” You ignored him and ran your eyes over his body. “You clean up alright.”

“This isn’t a game.” Flip fought to keep his voice low. “You could get us both hurt.”

“So serious,” you chided dismissively and placed a hand on his chest. It was endearing how nervous he was at the concern for your safety. A bead of sweat ran down from his temple. “Relax, handsome. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty, right?”

“Funny,” Flip said edgily. “Now get the hell outta here and I’ll call you when I’m done. I don’t want to be distracted by you and I don’t want you mixed up in all this.”

“Actually, I wanted to find you sooner rather than later because I got a call from a colleague. It made me think you might be in some kind of trouble.” You watched him closely as you spoke. “Or should I say, opposing counsel. A lawyer named Rob Cheatum.”

Oh, fuck. Flip’s mouth went dry and he fought to keep his expression stern and to give nothing away. “Must be important for him to call you on a Sunday.”

“Actually, he called me Friday after work. But unlike you, I followed the rules you wanted for your birthday and didn’t look at my phone until I was driving in today. That’s when I saw it. He said he’s representing some woman in a case against you.” You looked straight into his eyes. “What the fuck is he talking about, Flip?”

“Sounds like some bloodsucker out to sue the department again,” he deflected unpersuasively. “Isn’t that how you people get in the holiday spirit, by drumming up business?”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you lost your temper and punched a suspect again,” you sighed exasperatedly. “It gets old seeing your name in the paper.”

“We all know the only animals worse than lawyers are reporters.” Flip looked around, scanning for his suspect. “All the more reason for you to get outta here until I get this thing wrapped up. You don’t want to be included in a cover story with me when I cause a scene at this party, do you?”

“I can see it now.” You spread your hands like a banner. “Grouchy old man snaps at the younger crowd out having fun.”

“I sure don’t love you for your mouth, sugar.” Flip shook his head. He saw a tall woman in a black dress walking purposefully and fixed his eyes on her like a hunting dog. But there were several women in view wearing black dresses. And what was tall, anyway? The woman was probably five-eight, although heels always threw him off. Was that tall enough to be described as very tall? Probably not. Flip had been staring at her while running these mental calculations.

“Like what you see?” you asked, more to poke him than anything. You knew he was here under the guise of working.

“Not particularly. I’d give her a seven at best,” Flip gritted out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got a helluva lot better at home.”

“Speaking of, how long until the woman you’ve got at home is going to get some time with you?” you asked.

“Not long.” He shrugged.

“Not an answer, Detective,” you quipped.

Flip knew you only called him Detective when you were feeling flirty or feeling as mad as a wet cat. He knew which this was. Best to remain silent, he concluded.

“You’re here to grab some suspect, a woman, I gather from your roaming eyes,” you accused and Flip’s eyes darted immediately back to you, a little wider than usual. “You’re getting served papers from strange women, too. Is this some half-assed midlife crisis? Is it time for you to embarrass yourself trying to pick up eighteen-year-olds in a new convertible?”

“Whoa, pump the brakes on the crazy train.” Flip held up his hands in surrender. “I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

“Oh, you think this is a democracy?” you scoffed. “I don’t think so. This is a monarchy, and all ways here are the Queen’s ways.”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.” Flip tried a calming tone that had zero effect. “Just let me find this woman and then we can get outta here.”

“Fine.” You put your hands on your hips.

“Don’t fine me, darlin.’” Flip mocked your posture, also putting his hands on his hips. “I know what fine means.”

“This is ridiculous. I’ll find this damn woman in black myself.” You turned on your heel and walked away.

Flip took a bounding step after you and grabbed your arm roughly, stopping you. “You’re making a fuckin’ scene.”

“Is this guy bothering you, miss?” The bartender asked, a clear warning in his voice.

You looked at Flip’s hand where he gripped your arm and cocked an eyebrow. Flip slackened his grip and you yanked your arm free. You strode purposely through the bar and toward the series of the Broadmoor event rooms. You looked over your shoulder once just to make sure Flip was following you. He was, of course, walking stiffly a few paces behind with his shoulders set and eyes narrowed, looking ready and eager to bust some heads. The hotel was crowded with holiday traffic and you both knew he couldn’t grab you again without making an even bigger scene.

At the door to the private room, Flip caught you again, grabbing the door handle in front of you and pinning you close with his body from behind. To an observer, it might look affectionate but his body was rigid against you and his tone angry, “This isn’t the time or place for you to act like a goddamn prima donna. Knock it off.”

“Just think, all this because you had to answer Ron’s call this morning.” You grinned and before he had time to process the implications of your words, you pushed his hand down on the door handle and leaned into it.

Flip stumbled into the event room right at your back, a little off balance and fuming.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices shouted inside the room.

Flip was nearly stunned by the cacophony of light and movement and shouting assholes inside the room. He stood, still gawkily positioned mid-stumble, blinking like a deer in the headlights. There were sparkly lights and girly decorations done in black and gold, and a table set with a giant cake and a few buckets of champagne. Music blared noisily from somewhere. All his traitorous friends smiled at him, Stallworth leading the charge of ingrates. Festive lights even shimmered on the greasy dome of Goldleaf’s head. The group of traitors yelled “Surprise!” again and then broke into a terrible round of Happy Birthday. Flip straightened and smoothed a hand over his suit, trying to look dignified while feeling like an absolute jackass for falling for this shit.

There was little Flip hated more in life than surprise parties. He forced a smile and thought that maybe it wasn’t as bad as those times he’d been shot. But no. The first time, he’d gotten some really good drugs. The second time, he got six weeks off and left the hell alone. The third time had given him one of your favorite scars that made him feel even tougher than he was. No, a surprise party was far worse than getting shot.

Flip squared his shoulders and put on his game face, steeling himself to endure a long night of socializing. He pulled you to his side just a little roughly and joined his own birthday party.

*******************************************************************************************

“That party must have cost a fortune,” Flip bemoaned. “I hope you didn’t foot the bill just to torture me.”

“Not a dime, actually. The owner of the Broadmoor is a client. Or rather, his son on his eighth DWI is,” you said nonchalantly. “He’s innocent, of course. Or rather, he will be once I’m done with him.”

Flip made a noncommittal grunt, still in the throes of post-party-trauma.

“He also threw in a free suite.” You looped your arm through Flip’s and steered him toward the elevators. “I’m sure you’ll like it more.”

The suite was equipped with a private balcony and hottub for guests who liked to enjoy the snowy alpine winters along with a steaming soak and a glass of wine. Flip held the door open for you like a perfect gentleman before slamming it closed behind him after following you inside. He held you at arm’s length when you tried to close the distance between you.

“I need a shower. I’ve been sweatin’ bullets all day thanks to you.” His lips were poutier than usual as he unbuttoned his shirt. Shrugging roughly out of it, he balled it up in his hands and threw it into the furthest corner of the room. Flip paused to glare at the shirt where it landed on the floor and huff a few breaths before storming into the bathroom as he unbuckled his belt. The slam of the bathroom door reverberated through the room when he kicked it closed. He continued to grumble and cuss under his breath inside the bathroom. The few words you could make out seemed to be in vehement criticism of birthdays and surprise parties and pondering the eternal question of just how much bullshit one man can take.

Smiling to yourself at his grouchiness, you decided to wait for him in the hottub on the balcony. Steaming jets and your warm touch would be just the ticket to turn his anger into something a lot more enjoyable for you both. 

As you peeled your own clothes away, you could still hear him bitching from inside the bathroom and it made you grin. The icy air hit you when you stepped naked out onto the balcony. Goosebumps rose across your skin, breath fogged from your lips, and your nipples peaked instantly at the chill as you quickly covered the few steps to the hottub. The crisp winter air made the hot water even more welcoming, and a cloud of steam surrounded you when you lowered yourself into the bubbling water. Leaning your head back against the edge of the hottub, you felt all the tension leaving your body as you waited for Flip. 

“I’m out here,” you called when you heard him emerge. “Come keep me company.”

Flip’s face and chest were still flushed from the heat of his shower when he walked onto the balcony, scowling. Pausing to linger in the doorway, towel slung around his hips, he leaned against the doorframe. He had to fight to keep his face stern as he looked down at your bare curves sitting tantalizingly amid the steam. 

“You’re not bad lookin’ for a double agent,” he told you, sucking at his teeth.

“Evil machinations are much easier when you’re pretty,” you teased and beckoned him to join you with a curled finger. “Don’t just stand there gawking about it, handsome.”

His scowl turned into something far more devilish as he tossed his towel back into the room and lowered himself into the hottub beside you. Slinging one arm behind you along the rim of the hottub, Flip wasted no time in pulling you close. Beside you, he turned to kiss your cheek, to nuzzle his nose softly against your skin along your jaw before he moved his lips to the place below your ear. Inhaling your scent, he began to lose himself in you. His kisses drifted to your neck and turned more biting and heated when you raised your hand to stroke his cheek. 

“I’m sure sorry for takin’ that call,” he mumbled against your skin. 

“Are you?” you asked with a laugh. “We’ll see if you learn anything from it.”

“I’m a quick learner.” Flip couldn’t help but laugh as his hand trailed up your thigh. 

Turning into him, you met his lips while he teased you with his fingers. Flip kissed you hungrily, his lingering anger coming out in his eager tongue licking into your mouth, his teeth clicking against yours, and his thick fingers pushing into you. 

“We’re not done celebrating yet,” you whispered into his kiss. “Your real birthday present is that I took next week off and arranged with the chief to note you as staking out a cabin for the week.”

He laughed when you told him the location, “That’s our address.”

“Is it really?” you feigned ignorance. “I’d call it a paid vacation on the taxpayers. As someone who gets shafted by Uncle Sam almost as often as I get it from you, I see no problem at all.”

“I thought you had work tomorrow?” Flip asked, looking at you with deep lusting respect.

“You thought so, yes,” you teased. “I’m off too.”

“So, you have to put me through the ringer first to earn it, huh?” He nipped your neck.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a grouchy bastard, you wouldn’t invite being screwed with, hmmm?” You twisted your fingers into his hair. “But we’ll never know.”

“A surprise party is playin’ dirty,” he said against your neck. “That’s hittin’ below the belt.”

“Funny thing is that I agree with you.” You tugged his hair sharply enough for it to be a reprimand. “Ron badly wanted to throw you a surprise party for your fortieth. I told him that I was giving you what you really wanted for the weekend, and that you would absolutely hate a surprise party. After a debate, Ron and I agreed that if he could entice you away from me today, he could inflict his surprise party upon you and I’d help lure you into it. It was insultingly easy for him, I might add. I really thought he’d have a harder time. So, I think it’s only fair to make you suffer a little on top of it. Serves you right for leaving me for your work wife.”

“So, you all gang up on me, huh? Wonderful.” He grinned. “You almost gave me a heart attack with that fuckin’ paternity horseshit. You arranged that awfully fast.”

“I thought it was nice icing on the cake,” you grinned back. “How long do you think it takes me to type a paternity petition? Fifteen minutes tops. Goldleaf is always happy to screw with you and so is Cheatum. A good time had by all. And just think, you chose all this.” You gestured grandly to encompass the enormity of the shitshow Flip had gotten himself into, “instead of staying shut in in bed with me all day.”

“I’ll never answer my phone again unless it’s you,” Flip huffed a laugh.

Deciding he had suffered enough for now, you slung your leg over his lap to straddle him. His cock was already deliciously hard and ready for you when you sank down onto him. No matter how many times he fucked you, it was always wonderfully intense before you adjusted to accommodate him. Flip’s hands smoothed down your sides, caressing you gently now before his fingers would grip bruises into you as you rode him. He kissed your neck and rolled his hips beneath you, groaning in that heady way of his when he was losing himself in the pleasure of your body.

The water sloshed in the hottub and steam whirled around you both as he fucked an orgasm out of you and followed you down into a warm, blissful afterglow. After several moments, cock still buried inside of you, he kissed your neck a few final times and raised his head to look at you with a satisfied grin.

“I hope this birthday was one to remember, old timer,” you teased as you moved your hands to rub the knots in his broad shoulders. “Forty’s a big one.”

“I really hate birthdays,” was his only grumbled response. 

“Spoken just like a grumpy old man,” you said amid a fresh stream of soft laughter. 

“Real funny, sugar.” Flip nipped at your skin before pulling you close again for round two. “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

*******************************************************************************************

© safarigirlsp 2023

Tagging some buddies! 

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @reveluving @vedavan @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @looking4mymagicshop @lumberjack00fantasies

[nauticalfools]

hey!! i saw your post about moving to ireland and that is definitely in my plan for the next few years! i’m in college and i’m studying abroad there hopefully next spring. would you be able to just tell me some of the basics of what it’s like to live there? like transportation, expenses, housing demand, etc! thanks in advance 🫶

Hey, thanks for reaching out!

Yes, of course I can. I'll talk about the basics here but if you'd like to go into details that would suit your situation more (for example, if you're planning to work or not etc) feel free to pm me 😊

Transportation

Transportation depends on the city you'd want to live in, I can only speak for Dublin right now so that's what I'll go into. When it comes to public transportation the standard ticket is valid for 90 minutes on all transport, including switching between different bus lines and trams. It's €2 if you have a leap card. Leap card is a plastic card you'll have to buy when you arrive (for €5 euro) either at the airport or at one of the special spots in the city center. Once you have it you can charge it through the app, at spar shops or at ticket machines and tap in or out at buses, trams (called luas here) and trains (dart). There is also student card options for cheaper. You can find more information here:

Unfortunately, the buses are not very reliable so if you're planning to use public transport the safest bet would be to find housing near either of the luas lines. (There is a green and red line. Green one is considered safer but I never had any trouble on either, that's just what I've been told by the locals).

Lots of people bike around or drive. I can't drive but I had a couple of friends with US drivers licence who had no problem getting an irish drivers licence in a sensible amount of time.

Expenses

Dublin is bit expensive to live in. I would say I spend around 280-300 euro a month on groceries. If you move around the city 5 days a week it costs around 80-100 euro a month on public transport. Rent averages 650-1000 a month on shared housing and so far my bills came down to 60-80€ a month but I haven't been here for the winter yet and I would assume it all depends on your housing situation. Minumum wage currently is 12.70€/h and is said to be rised next year but will likely be rised to around 13 euro.

Housing

Currently there is a housing crisis but it is possible to find a room. It just takes longer time to find anything decent for rational pricing. To find a place to live you will need to do viewings in person, so if you won't do student halls etc I would recommend getting an airbnb first or subleting a room from somebody for at least 2 weeks, even a month and spend that time on viewing as many places as possible. (Subletting is usually a lot cheaper and you can use the adress to set up a bank account if you are living there long enough to recieve a letter from the bank. It is important to get premission from the owner of the house to do that. They usually don't mind, people here are super helpful and friendly. The letter from the bank usually takes a week to get to you but can take longer). Both regular rental housing and subletting is posted on daft.ie.

To secure a flat/room they usually want you to show a job offer or last two paychecks. It can be different for work visa holders. It's good to save up 3 months rent in advance + deposit (which is usually equivalent to one months worth of rent) and use it as a negotiation leverage, offering to pay in advance once you secure the room.

Don't try finding anything on Facebook and never pay a deposit before viewing. There is a lot of scams around.

Necessities to function legally

Get an Irish phone number!!!

People rarely respond when you add foreign number as your contact information. It is especially important to secure flat viewings and job interviews. Your best bet is to visit Ireland before you move (maybe when/if you'd want to visit collages or unis for open days) and buy a sim card with a phone number. You can get one with a phone plan of monthly payment of 15-20 euro. Once you have it, activate the card and use that phone number for everything.

PPSN

Another important thing is PPS Number. Its kind of like a social security number. It is given to you by the government so you can pay taxes and be registered for social services like healthcare. I think you can apply for it on a different basis when you have a visa but I am not sure. Otherwise, you'd need to have a job offer or letter of employment to apply for it. Sometimes when you're applying for renting they can ask for this number too. You can read more here:

Irish bank account

Try to get an irish bank account as soon as possible. You will need a permanent adress in Ireland to apply for it. You will need a bank account to apply for most of the jobs but once again it may be different for visa holders.

It is a bit of a tricky loophole situation at the beginning with setting yourself up legaly so I would say securing the phone number and an adress is the most important at first. You can handle anything else after. You've got this! 😊

TL;DR you will need:

Leap card

Irish phone number

Irish adress

Irish bank account

(Job)

PPS Number

If anybody has any questions or would like to discuss their situation in more detail feel free to send asks or pm me. I'll try my best to help out. Stay strong lovelies! 💕

[air-exec]

What life is like on a troop train...

(Life Magazine - November 13, 1943)

What life is like on a troop train… speeding over the Water Level Route

This is "Main 100"… a twelve car troop train…identified on railroad orders only by its code number.

A few hours ago, no one at New York Central knew this train would be needed. Yet here it is, assembled, scheduled and speeding to its secret destination.

Sometimes "Main 100" is all Pullman, sometimes all coach, sometimes a mixture of passenger cars, baggage cars, and freight cars for equipment. But whatever its make up, its job is the same…to move its share of the 2,000,000 members of the armed forces carried on duty each month by the railroads of America.

Visualize the thousands of cars and engines required for this task. Add on the large number of accommodations needed for fighters on furlough. You'll see then why train space for civilian travel is often "sold out"…why trains are sometimes unavoidably delayed…and why civilians should travel only on urgent and essential business.

"Main 100" must have the right of way.

Field Kitchen The Mess Sergeant, an Army Cooking School grafuate, sets up his field kitchen in a baggage car to serve 3 or 4 troop cars. That's what many baggage cars are doing. So if you must travel, travel light!

Mess Call Men eat at their seats. On some trains they file up to the kitchen to be served; on others, food is brought to them. Meals are tops and plentiful. One reason why your home and our diners are rationed.

First Aid In one of the washrooms, the Army Surgeon sets up a "field hospital" for minor accidents or ills. His prompt care of scratches and colds keeps our fighters among world's fittest

G.H.Q. on Wheels From these "headquarters," the Train Commander orders the time for reveille and taps…the posting of guards…all the details of this traveling Army camp, of which he alone knows the final destination.

Railroad Liaison A New York Central Passenger Agents acts as "Train Escort" to assist the Train Commander with transportation matter…procure extra supplies…arrange for stops…handle mail…and perform may other services en route.

Music By The Mile The soldier with a portable radio competes with the local "live talent." Barrack room ballads and current hits share honors with "Sweet Adeline" and other old close-harmony favorites by the company quartet.

Preparing For Taps Men are usually allowed later hours en route than in camp. At the time set by the Train Commander, the Porter makes up the berths…as carefully as he would for the most generous traveler on a limited train.

V-Mail Soldiers long for letters, and write many to get answers. For secrecy's sake, none many be mailed en route…except through the Train Escort who posts them only at points permitted by the Train Commander.

39 Men To A Car Soldiers sleep two in a lower berth, one in an upper. Even with such full cars, today's military movement needs half of the Pullman's, a third of the coaches. One reasons you may find train space hard to get.

Seeing America Soldiers spend much time at car windows. They are moved an average of six times for special training…seeing the Hudson River and Great Lakes one trip, perhaps the Rockies or California next.

BUY MORE WAR BONDS

New York Central ONE OF AMERICA'S RAILROADS - ALL UNITED FOR VICTORY!

[grayintogreen]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I really need to get better at doing this again. WHOOPS.

Anyway, here's a scene from Chapter Two of EaUS! In which we officially meet Clea.

The glass doors opened and out came the new Trinity of the Entertainment District- the Bimbo, the Twink, and the Unholy Cunt, herself- dressed in outfits that complemented one another in cyan and fuchsia and waving to the drooling masses, desperate for something new and exciting and completely oblivious to what was clearly a declaration of war to at least two people present. Velvette snapped her phone in half in her fist. “Our colors?” She spat, livid. “They might as well skin us and wear that to their next function. These cheeky twats.” It took everything Vox had to dull his own rage to a furious ember, buried deep within his internal hardwire to smolder uselessly as an abandoned file. He could control it if he had to and he had to right now, thanks to the cameras that would catch any slight shift in his demeanor and make it a new spectacle to be jeered at and add more fuel to the pyre that Clea clearly intended to burn him on. He wasn’t going to let her make him angry. He was going to be cool. Fucking Fonzie over here. No one was cooler than him. The urge to step aside and vanish into the wiring and avoid temptation to start swinging entirely helped distract him. It would be a flawless plan, a little zip through those well-loved electrical signals that didn’t know how to lock doors against him and would welcome him back like a brother. He could see how much things had changed in a year, find out if the penthouse still smelled like Val’s cigarettes, that heady reek halfway between rot and sex. He could properly mourn the loss of the world he carved for himself and the man who helped him build it. He could gesture to every difference and scream and cry and shake himself awake from the dream that he was ever going to get it all back. Or he could put on his big boy pants and deal with what had been made of it all in his absence. At that rational thought pinging like a notification in the background of his brain, Vox came back to his senses, the urge dismissed. There was no satisfaction in clinging to the past and all the things he no longer had, not when there were better things to dig his claws into. Maybe this time he could keep them… Clea and her two little hangers-on- smaller than her by a significant margin and thus practically eclipsed by her- began their stroll towards Lucifer and Lilith as the most important people in the space. Vox snapped to attention, feet pressed together, back straight, and eyes on the prize. Living well was the best revenge and lost empire or not, he certainly wasn’t slumming. “Clea,” he cooed, stepping in front of the king and queen by sidestepping Velvette, the portrait of a man fully respecting his opposition on the outside because there was an ad blocker where his emotional regulation used to be. “It’s so nice to see you again. How’ve you been?” “Oh you know, it's been here and there.” The hare held out a hand for him to shake. He took it, his grip like iron. “Getting laughed off my own stage encouraged me to expand my horizons.” Vox laughed and it couldn’t hide the acid in his words. “It was my stage. I paid for it.” “With all the money I brought in.” “You were only about five percent of our overall numbers.” Now it was her turn to laugh. With every word, their grips tightened, neither wanting to be the first to let go even if it meant a few broken fingers. “Oh Vox, you never did know how to fucking count, did you?”

[daidi-dragan-glas]

Gmornin Sunshines ☕☕

Sitting here waiting for time to go in for chemo infusion number 38, and figured I'd give an update for those that might be interested (plus I might tack on the weird dream I had last night 😜😂)

So, a month or so ago, my oncologist announced that I had maybe one or possibly two tumors left in my liver, but they are growing (almost doubling in size every month), but she thought I might be a candidate for a surgical intervention... So we set up the consults only to have the hepatic biliary (liver) surgeon tell me "..no, you have 5 to 7 tumors growing and not only are they spread all over you liver, but they are placed badly, so no, there's nothing we can do."... Was kind of a kick in the teeth, I had allowed myself to get quite excited to only be told nope.

So I started pushing the doctor even more than usual... "what else can we try, add to, fucking DO, to fight this?" And she finally said ok, the only other thing we might can do and send a letter and your records to the Mayo Clinic and see if they think there is something they can do, don't get your hopes up,, they will only take you on if they feel there's significant good they can do for you.

So, letter and records sent. And I got a call this past Friday evening on my way home from work. I have an appointment at the Mayo on July 16. 😁 (We will see what happens from there.)

...

So, the human body is an amazing machine, adapting constantly and trying it's best to keep you going... But I had a dream last night that all this chemo is essentially turning me into the quintessential human cockroach... Ya know, given the ability to survive the upcoming apocalyptic events we all seem to fear... My body is adapting to all the chemicals and poison being fed into it and making it such that I'll be able to breathe the nasty air and drink the poison water and enjoy the heat of the ration from the sun and the nuclear fallout, and I'll finally be able to enjoy peace and quiet since most of y'all will be gone! 😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂

[viavermont]

Wednesday Addams.

Mentions of death & brief violence.

Subject One:

Name and surname: Wednesday Friday Addams

Sex: Female

D.O.B: 10th October, 1965

Status: Alive

D.O.D: N/A

Height: 5'1"

MBTI Type: INTJ

Religious Views: N/A

Character Overview:

Wednesday Addams is a twenty-two year old misanthrope. To the wilting population, she does not exist and wants to keep it that way. If you ever see her, it's always a glimpse and you probably think you're seeing something paranormal.

She set up camp in a WWI bunker as soon as she was aware of the outbreak. Being the somewhat paranoid but rational person she is, Wednesday already had supplies in the bunker. Now she only ever leaves if she deems it necessary (mainly when she's feeling lightheaded from the lack of air underground).

Wednesday's visions are one of the main catalysts for her want to be alone. They often fuel her paranoia and make her uneasy, especially since a lot of them have to do with death. She tends to avoid touching unfamiliar things and entering buildings unless she needs to. It seems like her visions are only becoming more uncontrollable and intense with age.

Three months post-apocalypse, Wednesday found a mauled dog surrounded by it's litter, of which only one survived. Wednesday took it upon herself to shelter the puppy and train it. Fourteen months post-apocalypse and the puppy, named Shelly, is well trained.

Wednesday has an almost ridiculous standard for the upkeep of her appearance in an apocalypse. She rebraids her hair everyday, styling the ends to look like nooses. Her bangs are a little too long ever since she failed at cutting them with blunt kitchen scissors and a knife.

Unlike the majority of uninfected people, Wednesday's face is untouched. She hasn't come across anything that could get close enough to harm her. The only scar she has is somewhere on her scalp and she got that from bashing her head on a rock during a vision.

Her skin is a concerning type of pale though, and her freckles are no longer as visible as they used to be. Due to being in the bunker so often, Wednesday lacks a lot of Vitamin D.

Clothing wise, Wednesday's closet is limited and monochrome. She has two pairs of pants, two button ups, two t-shirts, two sweaters, and a waterproof jacket. She also has a scarf and gloves that her Mother knitted for her pre-apocalypse.

Being only 5'1", Wednesday has a rotation of three pairs of boots that add at least 2 and a half inches to her height.

Relationships:

Shelly ─ named after Mary Shelly, Shelly is a mostly trained hunting dog. She's the main reason Wednesday actually leaves the bunker and is helpful when it comes to hunting. Even though Wednesday won't admit it, Shelly is keeping her sane and she cherishes her dog.

Tyler Galpin ─ Wednesday has crossed paths with Tyler a few times. Their first interaction was her saving him from being attacked by a werewolf in the woods. She shot the wolf twice and it ran off. Tyler gave Wednesday a few extra bullets in return for saving his life. They're not friends but he's friendly enough.

Enid Sinclair ─ The werewolf that Wednesday shot was Enid. They first properly met during a hunting session with Shelly. Enid was so startled by seeing someone that deep in the woods she almost threw an axe at Wednesday. As she does, Enid asks Ajax if they should ask if she would join their group; Wednesday says no. But much to her misfortune, Enid insisted on giving Wednesday a spare walkie talkie just in case. Now Wednesday cannot seem to shake Enid or her annoying group of friends.

Larissa Weems ─ was almost like a mentor to Wednesday during the early stages of the outbreak. Larissa found Wednesday in the woods after she had hit her head on a rock during a vision. Four months post-apocalypse, a wound of Larissa's got infected and she got sick. She asked Wednesday to kill her because she didn't want to go slowly.

Kills:

Unknown number of Humors and animals, various ways.

Rowan Laslow, shot in the back of the head with a crossbow.

Male Farmer, cut his breaks.

Unnamed Boy, sliced throat.

Noble Walker, was hit by the truck with cut breaks.

Larissa Weems, sliced throat.

Laural Gates, shot in the head.

Wednesday has complicated relationships with people and is very stuck in her misanthropic ways, but she and Enid do have somewhat of a romantic relationship.

If you have questions or want me to expand on anything, my asks are open.

[compacflt]

Hello, me again back with another question about the US Navy that I can't find an answer to online so I'm turning to the only source I can think of that may help. And yet again I know you say your knowledge of the US military isn't as deep as it seems but it's better than mine considering I'm not from the US, I just wanted to know how officers get off aircraft carriers? It seems like a very basic question but I'm just wondering about if in Top Gun Maverick the carrier they were on was in port and they took it to wherever the Dagger mission takes place, or they got taken to the ship if it was already at sea? If so, how would they get there? If there was an emergency, say a family member was dying, they were in the middle of the ocean and got emergency leave approved, how would they get to land? Would the ship have to port at the nearest US Naval Base? Or would you have to land on the carrier somehow? This has been on my mind for a while so any help would be greatly appreciated, your blog really adds a realistic layer to Top Gun that is refreshing

navy logistics is some of the most interesting stuff in the world. especially World War II navy logistics (the infamous ice cream barge!!!). But even today how equipment & rations & personnel (and MAIL!!!) make it on/off boats is SO fascinating & takes ungodly amounts of coordination. take a look at this video posted by the uss gerald ford (CVN 78) a couple days ago.

those are sh-60s (Sea hawks—navy black hawk variant) dropping palletized goods from a cargo ship onto the flight deck of the carrier. Including sailors’ mail, overseas goods, food etc. just awesome stuff.

in terms of officers getting on/off ships, yeah you could do it a few ways. Number one would be when the boat makes a port call. Fun fact, It used to be a huge time-honored tradition for crews to make “cruise jackets” with the names of every place your ship/carrier had stopped. not too sure if it’s still done but it was a big thing after wwii. both mav and ice would probably have them.

port calls would be when crewmen and officers especially could leave the boat & party it up on dry land. so you get the stereotype of navy officers cheating on their wives with foreign women in “foreign ports of call.”

number two, if it’s a high ranking officer like the carrier strike/battle group commander (typically a RDML) who needs for some reason to leave the carrier at the center of the CS/BG formation & go to another ship, yeah you just send over a chopper like an SH-60 to go pick them up and ferry them to wherever they need to go. when I wrote ice (RADM) as deputy Cdr of third fleet (four carriers) that might be one way he’d get around the fleet. (But also not 100% sure he’d even be at sea. That was kind of just for plot/emotional reasons to separate him from mav.) but so like.. if the fleet commander/deputy cdr had a family emergency (say: found out that Carole is gonna die soon) and he got cleared to leave, he could hop on a helicopter in range (SH-60 has a range of about 400 mi for instance—the similar USCG HH-60 jayhawk, which was canonically what picked up mav & brought him back to base after he blew up the darkstar, has a range of 800 mi; if not in range he’d have to move his carrier closer [wouldn’t happen, he would be SOL]) which would take him to the nearest allied airfield with a plane to fly home. Which is what happened in my fic. lots of hurdles to clear. it’s very inconvenient & obviously not encouraged.

here is a relevant section from my wips.

for the mission in Top gun: maverick, obviously we don’t know for sure where the mission takes place, but it’s clearly somewhere in the northern INDOPAC region close to the ocean in specifically third fleet’s AOR (area of responsibility). (the list of reasons I chose southeast Russia to be the enemy location in my fic is soooo unbelievably long.) the navy would have a carrier strike group in the region for some time before. then it would make the most expeditious sense for the aircrews (mav, rooster et al) to be flown in from SoCal to somewhere closer, like a navy/air force base in Japan or South Korea, before they get transferred either by land (walk onto the carrier) or by air (chopper pick-up). given the time constraints of the mission I’m going with chopper. Carriers are fast… like really fast by boat standards… but not “travel across the Pacific Ocean in a day” fast. and not “waste time for a port call pick-up” fast.

also (random piece of nautical knowledge I know for some reason) there are some (possibly non-military) reasons why you’d do a personnel transfer by sea. take cruise ships for instance. When they pull into a port, there’s a whole guy whose job it is to take over for the captain to steer the boat into the port they presumably know very well. so this is actually how local cruise ship pilots get onto cruise ships. disney cruises included.

sketchy as fuck. I’m not sure if there’s a similar concept for aircraft carriers when they pull into unfamiliar ports… but I wouldn’t be surprised. however that’s for the captain of the boat. I would be shocked if high-ranking managerial officers ever needed to embark & disembark like this. but i just think it’s kind of funny.