#Have You Been Making Out O.K.?

[plus-low-overthrow]

Quiet Elegance - Have You Been Making Out O.K. (Hi Records)

wrt. Al Green & prod. Willie Mitchell, 1975.

Reposted @holysoul LP penned track by Al Green which is a fantastic tune sometime last week! Here's a female version I ordered subsequently. enjoy - plus.

[zvaigzdelasas]

Do you have an analysis on Sinwar being the new politburo chief? Very unexpected choice.

Have a couple thoughts:

Dissolving more of the barrier between Hamas as a political organization & as an insurgent organization

Spitting in Israel's face who was hoping that a decapitation strike would leave hamas with a leader lacking broader political legitimacy in the organization or create divisions/deepen divisions between civilian governance & militant organization

Lessens the leverage Qatar has over Hamas as they were providing Haniyeh with refuge

Since Sinwar is (presumably) in Gaza, his presence will likely be used to justify decreasingly discriminate attacks even moreso than it was before

Likely much more uncompromising (not to imply Haniyeh was) in negotiations

Israel and the US will have to directly negotiate with someone they despise

Dropsite News describes sinwar as such:

Despite the sinister portrayals, Sinwar’s writings and media interviews indicate he is a complex thinker with clearly defined political objectives who believes in armed struggle as a means to an end. He gives the impression of a well-educated political militant, not a cult leader on a mass suicide crusade. “It's not this black image of Sinwar as a man with two horns living in the tunnels,” said Hamad, the Hamas official who worked directly with Sinwar for three years. “But in the time of war, he's very strong. This man is very strong. If he wants to fight, he fights seriously.”

In 1988, just months after Hamas was founded, Sinwar was arrested by Israeli forces and sentenced to four life sentences on charges he had personally murdered alleged Palestinian collaborators. During his 22 years in an Israeli prison, he became fluent in Hebrew and studied the history of the Israeli state, its political culture, and its intelligence and military apparatus. He translated by hand the memoirs of several former heads of the Israeli intelligence agency Shin Bet. “When I entered [prison], it was 1988, the Cold War was still going on. And here [in Palestine], the Intifada. To spread the latest news, we printed fliers. I came out, and I found the internet,” Sinwar told an Italian journalist in 2018. “But to be honest, I never came out—I have only changed prisons. And despite it all, the old one was much better than this one. I had water, electricity. I had so many books. Gaza is much tougher.”[...]

Sinwar, unlike leaders of Al Qaeda or ISIS, has regularly invoked international law and UN resolutions, exhibiting a nuanced understanding of the history of negotiations with Israel mediated by the U.S. and other nations. “Let's be clear: having an armed resistance is our right, under international law. But we don't only have rockets. We have been using a variety of means of resistance,” he said in the 2018 interview. “We make the headlines only with blood. And not only here. No blood, no news. But the problem is not our resistance, it is their occupation. With no occupation, we wouldn't have rockets. We wouldn't have stones, Molotov cocktails, nothing. We would all have a normal life."

Throughout 2018 and 2019, Sinwar endorsed the large-scale nonviolent protests along the walls and fences of Gaza known as the Great March of Return. “We believe that if we have a way to potentially resolve the conflict without destruction, we’re O.K. with that,” Sinwar said at a rare news conference in 2018. “We would prefer to earn our rights by soft and peaceful means. But we understand that if we are not given those rights, we are entitled to earn them by resistance.”[...]

After the end of Israel’s 11-day bombing campaign against Gaza, Sinwar spoke to VICE News and sought to frame the Palestinian struggle in a U.S. context, using recent cases of lethal police violence against African Americans. “The same type of racism that killed George Floyd is being used by [Israel] against the Palestinians in Jerusalem, the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood, and in the West Bank. And by the burning of our children. And against the Gaza Strip through siege, murder, and starvation.”

And additionally (echoing the words of Hagari)

Support among Palestinians for Hamas and its Gaza leader Yahya Sinwar, according to the recent poll, “remains very high” and has increased during the past three months. At the same time, while two-thirds of Palestinians polled in the occupied territories believe that Hamas will “win the war,” only 48 percent of those in Gaza agreed.

Hamas has insisted the war cannot destroy its movement and will remain part of the tapestry of Palestinian factions governing its besieged and occupied territories. “What matters is that you finally realize that Hamas is here. That it exists. That there is no future without Hamas, there is no possible deal whatsoever, because we are part and parcel of this society, even if we lose the next elections,” Sinwar warned in 2018. “But we are a piece of Palestine. More than that, we are a piece of the history of the entire Arab world, which includes Islamists as well as seculars, nationalists, leftists.”

Daniel Hagari has also echoed this last bit [TimesOfIsrael is Israeli Private Media]

“Hamas is an idea, Hamas is a party. It’s rooted in the hearts of the people — anyone who thinks we can eliminate Hamas is wrong,” he continued.

Rumors are that Netanyahu is trying to figure out necromancy in order to bring Haniyeh back

Also check out this interview conducted by Vice

[vaaaaaiolet]

Why choose between riding a cowboy, a stallion, or an Italian when you can have all three? In which you find competition for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the American West.

mdni holy shit. f / m, shameless smut just like pure filth. p in v, wild west au, TONS of christian imagery via metaphor??, mild praise + size kink, leon's a tease as usual

word count: 1.69k <3 // read on ao3

a/n: re6 leon turns my brain into illiterate mush and this is the proof. i wrote this 1 word an hour. i couldn't cope. ignore the half assed banner, half assed writing, half assed everything. listen to nessa barrett's song from the title. god bless you all.

God makes no mistakes: you’re on your knees in the back of an Arizona saloon, but you’re not exactly praying thanks. God is a vision in dirty blond as far as you’re concerned. How’d you end up here?

Enter Leon Kennedy: outlaw on the run.

He hadn’t gotten the memo when angels started coming down to Earth and wanted to give you the warm welcome you deserve. 

“Seriously?” You laugh; swirl your watered-down whiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to try that one out,” Leon grins. Cocky and magnetic, he takes your hand in his own calloused one and guides you to the dance floor. “But you haven’t seen my real trick yet.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Every other beat of your heart finds you in a dizzying dip over the floor as Leon leads you in a dance akin to gunfights in Tombstone, except Leon is more than O.K. at what he does. He’s got you in a trance with his hands spanning your waist.

Sucking in dust and his woodsmoke cologne, you gasp, “Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“You’ve never been danced properly before?” Leon laughs. He spins you like you’re the moon.

“Not like this!”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t learn by talkin’ about it. Keep dancing and you’ll figure it out.”

Figure out a two-step you might not have, but you can figure just fine what Leon means when his hand slips up the hem of your blouse. A hungry thumb soon lines your brassiere right under the nose of the barkeep. 

“You’re crass, Leon,” you whisper.

“Is that a no? I’ll treat you right if you let me.”

God expects his servants to give and take, and you’ve done a lot of taking so far, no? You’ve been a little down on your luck lately. Can’t afford to tempt fate that way. So you pull Leon down by the collar, whisper back with your lips lined in devil red, “Make it my treat?”

His smirk glimmers in the dark. “Lead the way, doll.”

Quickly, quickly. Miracles disappear in the blink of an eye and Leon needs to take you before you can disappear into the night. Rope-toughened fingertips fly down your lined blouse, slip the silk off to unveil your sun-freckled shoulders behind the barkeep’s storage door. You’ve spirited Leon away for twenty minutes at best before the saloon closes and the workers come barging in. You’ve got to pay penance for this, haven’t you?

You sink to your knees. 

Leon hooks his hands under your thighs and sits you right back up on a crate, and gets down on his knees.

What.

You’re running on borrowed time, you can’t afford tweaks to this arrangement. “I thought we had a deal?” you scowl. 

But you forget God makes no mistakes. Leon is his creation, so causation, correlation, you do the math. Your anger dissipates at the first swipe of his thumb over your clothed slit. Wetness blooms at his touch, and Leon chuckles as your breath shudders. Genesis.

“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to let a lady do all the work.” He kisses the spot between your legs, looks up at you with eyes of oasis blue. “You know I take the lead.”

Your chest heaves. “I do.”

“I’m good at it.”

“...You are.”

"And I know this isn't your style. All I ask is that you let me earn my keep.”

Well, that goes without saying. And so Leon flips the script. 

He starts lining burning kisses down your thigh, entices you with an “Open for me”, sighs dreamily when your legs part of their own accord. A previously bothersome, soaked scrap of lace falls at Leon’s feet. 

“Oh, baby, you should’ve asked next time. Look at this mess. Wouldn’t’ve needed to be so quick, then.”

Try and look down, but Leon’s already latched his warm mouth onto your clit, sucking like it’s a Tootsie pop. You throw your head back in ecstasy. 

Waves of feel-good wash over you in all the colors of a pinkening sunset, gold at the edges and red hot at the center, your own overflowing with slick as Leon dips his tongue inside – oh, oh, oh, swirling the colors with each revolution around your sensitive pearl. Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps you pliant, capping your knees with rough palms.

“Leon…” you can’t help but whine. 

“Just workin’ ya a bit. Think you’ve had enough?” you hear him groan from underneath.

You’re barely breathing. “Need…need more.”

“Don’t seem that way to me from here. God, you’re gorgeous.” Leon croons, sucking a tender bite a little ways from where you need him most, over the softest part of your inner thigh. A landmark so he can hope to find his way back. He taps your knee. “Time?”

The dusty clock on the barkeep’s desk reads ten minutes to twelve; you relay this with difficulty as Leon does his damnedest to render you incapable of speech. He hums, considering. The vibration shoots right up your core.

“I’ve been in tighter spots,” he eventually decides, shooting you a lopsided grin as he hefts you higher on the crate you’ve practically melted off the side of, “No offense, doll.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so close. “Low-hanging fruit, Leon.”

“You taste sweeter nohow.”

Missing his mouth already, you pull him back into a kiss. His leather belt clinks in time with the glasses back inside the bar as he unbuckles it, and you take the time to appreciate how you’re level with him even perched atop a crate. Leon’s got height on you. 

Inches where it matters, too. His cock bucks in his hand when it finally springs free, and you bat your lashes up at him ‘cause it seems Leon’s been keeping secrets. He’s thick, ruddy and leaking, got a halo over the head of his dick in the light that creeps in from under the door, and you make a prayer to put your mouth on him if you cross paths once more. Your fingers barely go all the way around.

“Make a deal with me, cowboy,” you breathe. “I let you have your fun. Now, you let me.”

Leon cocks a brow. He’s antsy, understandably so. “What’s that entail?”  

Plywood burns the back of your jean skirt as you slide off the crate, Leon watching as you shuck off the denim, pool it underneath your feet. You reel him in by the collar just to shove him onto the barkeep’s high-backed chair. Leon’s eyes widen when your thighs bracket his and everything suddenly makes sense as you center your cunt tantalizingly over his painfully erect length. 

He’s rasping, needy. “This what you had in mind?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You sure?”

You scoff haughtily, dragging a smile from him that’s all lynx. “Your wish is my command, miss.” 

Palms start gliding up your torso, thumbs rub circles on the undersides of your breasts. Leon’s collarbones collect moonlight streaming in from the open window and you want to lap it all up like milk, but you’re getting distracted. The clock is counting closer to midnight. Adrenaline makes you heady. Maybe you should tell Leon to get a good handle on your hips when you sink down on his dick – point blank. 

All the way to the hilt. 

He takes it in stride as best as he can. “Tight, doll, ah,” he hisses, head bobbing, “so tight. Gonna send me to heaven.” 

You shift your hips experimentally, whimpering at the stretch. You’re a lousy judge of character but an apparently worse judge of size because you have no idea how you’re going to do this. Leon’s thumb reroutes to your navel, North Star that it is, and travels down to wait over your clit. Technically, you’ve still got the lead. Everything’s still. So so still. You’re about to break.

The minute hand ticks.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“What’s that, doll?” 

You paw uselessly at his chest. “Need help.”

Leon clicks his tongue in sympathy. It’s hard to get mad at a thing like you no matter how tough you sell yourself. Smart mouth and pretty eyes, bubblegum sweet underneath, something he’s gotta help. Leon’s always been a sucker for the damsel in distress type.

So he calls down a miracle. “I gotcha, sweetheart.” 

You cry out in relief at the lifting sensation of his hands around your hips. This is another dance you’ve yet to learn, it seems. 

“I gotcha.” Leon’s voice is a psalm over the burn of his cock inside you. A familiar thumb sneaks in between where you and he meet; whiskey and mint on his breath intoxicates you when he murmurs, ”Did so good for me, darlin’. Doesn’t feel too great right now, does it?”

You sniffle. “Mm-mm.”

“Gonna let me make it better?”

“Please.”

Leon indulges you. Taking advantage of the slick velvet he’s wrapped in, he glides you up just the tiniest bit, revealing the inch of his length you’ve covered in your arousal. You watch transfixed as he lifts your hips up and down. Baby steps. Stomach flips. You leave him coated in stardust like you’re made of it.

Leon’s in awe. “See that?” 

But you’re too far gone to take notice of anything but the embers in your stomach, seconds away from crumpling onto his chest. You were once sitting proudly upright. The extent of your desire hits like a revelation once your insides finally mold around him, like it was all prophesized, and you can’t tell up from down when Leon starts to piston you on his lap.

Five minutes 'til it’s all over: You’re tender and boneless and about to explode. Leon is relentless. Sweat drips from his brow like holy water. He kicks the barkeep’s chair to barricade the door because you were right, there’s no way you’re making it out here alive.

Your thighs ache with exertion, steering you on their own.

Four minutes: “Can’t take it, Leon!” You’re going under. The flood is no myth.

“Tell me where,” he grits, desperate.

Three. 

You want him to pull up the ladder.

Two.

“Where, doll, where?!”

One.

“Inside.” 

And God, you burn brighter than the sun.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

o.k I am a fan of bruce wayne/batman, so i would like you to write where bruce wayne has a short-size bossy assistant, reader who knew about his batman vigilante secret and he has a secret crush on him. She teased him, one day wearing a short skirt in a hot summer, made him want to bang her against the office table

The Proposal

So estastic to finally have a night off work, I enthusiastically hum while the evening news plays low in the background as I put the finishing touches on my look. Running my fingers through my long, soft, dark tresses, I twist left and right to asses my sultry outfit through the body length mirror on the wall of my bedroom. I do one spin, then another, smirking at the way my mini skirt barely covers my plump chocolate rear.

I cannot believe Bruce is actually gonna let me outta his sight for more than 2 seconds. It's a God damn miracle and I plan on shakin my ass with my girls all night while sippin the fruitiest dranks I can buy. That is till I hear my phone vibrate and beep from my vanity beside me, notifying me of an incoming text. Hmm.. Need I guess who the fuck that is? I roll my eyes as I grab my phone and see a text from Bruce Wayne tellin, not askin, me to come do his bidding.

Bruce: Hey, honey. Come by the office round 10 tonight and drop of the proposal we've been working on.

Seriously? It was my first night off in 2 weeks and here's comes the infamous Batman, swoopin in to destroy my plans. So, his sexy ass refuses to fuck me and release the tension from years of workin under him but not letting me actually be under him- yet commands I wait on him hand and foot.

My eyes almost tear up from the immediate disappointment and frustration I feel. Not being dicked down in over a year was making my need for a good fuck damn near animalistic. The concept of a fun evening with the possibility of gettin some dick, since Bruce's fine ass ignored each and every one of my filthy advances, is now completely ruined; makes me have to take a deep breath before I pick up my glitter encased cellphone.

Me: Whyyyy? This is the only night I have off for like another couple of weeks and I have plans. Can't you reschedule?

His response back is lighting fast and I can't help but give a small giggle as I imagine his sexy stern ass all frowned up, nostrils flaring at the prospect of me not givin in to his demands instantly. Bruce isn't the kinda man that likes to be told no. Plus, the proposal we'd recently been working on was imperative to the deal he was currently trying to close. Still, I wouldn't be me if I didn't turn into a full blown brat with him for impeding my plans.

Bruce: Late night meeting, no cannot reschedule. Also, thought you said you were staying home tonight..

Me: Omfg Bruce. My girls begged me to go out tonight so I changed my mind! Didn't know I had to goddamn call and let you know.

Jesus did this man have to always interrogate me on every aspect of my life? He knows everything about me- though it was fair to say I knew him almost as well as Alfred. And it was kinda exciting to secretly know about his extracurricular activities, even if that had less to do with any honesty on his part and more to do with my snoopy ass overhearing a heated conversation between him and his long time friend about hanging up the the towel.

Bruce: Well now you know, sweetheart. What time will you be here?

Condescending bastard! He really never has a doubt that he can bend me to his every whim and normally he fucking can but it's time to get a rile outta him.

Me: Well if I gotta cancel my plans to get some fuckin dick tonight then I think I'll take my sweet fuckin time!

His response isn't as quick this time but it's short enough to know I ticked him off. Serves him right, his 'I can't have you but nobody else can' attitude was tiring.

Bruce: You have 15 minutes.

I roll my eyes at his attempt to scare me as I pull up the Uber app and tap in his office's address. Before I can confirm I hear a firm knock on my apartments front door and Alfred's voice speaking loudly from the other side.

"Ms. y/l/n, Mr. Wayne has sent me to come get you. I've recently been updated that he's in no mood to be kept waiting."

Uh oh, perhaps I should've thought this through. I'm not sure how mad he is or what he'll say when he sees me and now I'm directly and knowingly heading into to the lions cage.

"Coming!" I yell back, grabbing the file from drawer and heading for the door.

30 mins later

I exit the elevator and quickly rush to the where Bruce waits for me, catching a glimpse of my reflection through the glass walls of the other conference rooms. I wish I had time to change the skimpy outfit adorning my frame, doing nothing to contain my juicy ass cheeks as I lightly jog to the room where the meetings being held.

I don't bother knocking, quickly entering the room silently. Walking up behind Bruce sitting like a king at the end of the table as he talks on his cellphone, leaning back lazily in his chair with spread legs. His hips flex in his crisp midnight blue suit as he readjusts himself in his seat. The hefty bulge between his legs draws my eyes for a hot second as he spins slowly in his chair to look at me.

It's as if in an instant he's hungry, eyes sharply roving over every inch of me as he licks his lips sensually. He openly stares at the way my mini skirt barely covers my bottom, how my sheer top does nothing to hide my puckered nipples. The loud expletive he groans out as he eyefucks me goes straight to my empty core, has my abandoned, untouched little hole fluttering as I start to get wet.

"Nah I'm good, stomache ache. Let them know who you're here for when you arrive and someone will let you up. We can go over the proposal and see if you agree to the terms."

Bruce hangs up and sets his phone on the long light brown table that stretches across the room as he looks at me slowly from head to toe; wide dark brown eyes that linger at my plump tits and curvy hips. His mouth open and closes a few times, his shoulders now tense as hell as he sits stiff in his seat and stares at my outfit.

"You really are a fuckin brat, you know that? Did I not fuckin tell you to be here in 15?" He snarls at me, quickly standing to grab the file from between my fingers and toss it next to his phone.

The aggressive action has me swiftly backing up, not being able to take more than few steps before my back hits the wall. Absolutely shocked at the way he stalks towards me, arm quickly stretching out to grip my throat. One of his thick eyebrows remain raised as he waits for me to respond.

"I'm sor- sorry, sir. Traffic-" I stutter out, voice low.

"Yeah the fuck right, dont gimme that bullshit. We both know you think you can say and do whatever the fuck you want with me and I'm not into that, sweetheart. Unless you count me enjoyin punishing your pretty ass for it." He tells me, leaning so close that the tips of our noses almost touch.

My heart pounds as his hand squeezes a bit firmer at my neck, the other smoothing down the side of my tits and torso to my hips and thick brown thighs. The bulky protrusion between his legs presses against my center, makin me weakly grasp at his suit jacket as I lewdly hump at him.

"You look so damn gorgeous rubbing against me like this. Almost distracts me from the fact that you left your house dressed like a fuckin whore."

The mean words and sharp smack to the inside of my thigh makes me yelp his name pathetically; has me spreading my legs as I try to fuck him through his clothing, already so damn close to beggin him to touch me. The sting of the slap is so welcoming, has my eyes and pussy simultaneously getting wet.

"Look at you, tiny little fuckin skirt.. Bet you woulda showed off all my fuckin curves tonight huh? Would done more than that. What didcha say earlier? You had plans to get some dick tonight?" He asks me, pressing me closer between him and the wall.

Bruce smells so fuckin good, the clean smell of a fresh shower and his Burberry cologne mixing deliciously. That plus the shock of his abrasive approach quickly culminates into wanton need. I can't care that I'm already rendered speechless, that I can only gasp for air like a fish outta water at his filthy words.

"You sure fuckin do. But now you wanna be quiet, cant even answer cause your slidin that little pussy allover my lap. Now you wanna act like your my good girl. Actin like your nothing more than my own little slut. Cant take you constantly goading me into fucking you whenever you see me. I can't goddamn take it anymore!"

He lets go of my throat to drop to his knees and lift my mini skirt up. Doesn't waste a second pulling my silky baby blue thong to the side and slurping at the opening of my pussy. I wail as he messily licks inside of me, his tongue jabbing repeatedly to get inside. Nails of both hands scratching at the wall behind me, I come unglued at the intense pleasure he suddenly forces on me.

"Plee- ahhh! P-pleeeeeea-se! Haah, uhnuhnuhnuhn Bru- ah!!" I stutter out my pleasure as I look down and meet his eyes.

The way he takes me in as he devours has me trembling even more against his mouth. As much as I need this, I'm too fucking sensitive. From the way Bruce stares as he eats me it's obvious he knows; is fucking using it to his advantage as his grips each of my ass cheeks and pulls me onto his mouth and fucks me with his tongue as deep as he can. His filthy moans about how good I taste but how bad I am are muffled against my cunt.

His right hand slides down my smooth brown skin, rubbing and groping my thick thighs. He sensually massages down my leg to my calf before slowly making his way back up to my clenched cheeks. A hard smack resonates through me and I shove upwards off his mouth from the impact. His answering growl as he pulls me backs down is clear: don't fucking pull away again.

"Toomuch! Ohohoh pleeeeeeease Bruce!"

He sends me into a blissful spiral, the intense sensation spiking in my core. I'm begging for the torture to end, for him to make me cum. But he only wiggles his tongue inside me widly as he moves his hands to my pussy lips and spreads them wider so he can get deeper.

My eyes must be at the back of my skull from the force of how they roll eye back. I wordlessly plead for reprieve, which he seems to only delight in. He chuckles heartily into the pink of me as he leers at my tits jiggling underneath my shirt.

I'm sure my souls about to rip out my body when I feel his thumb lightly swipe at my throbbing clit once. The tumultuous orgasm tumbling to the surface frightens me, has me seriously doubting my endurance to take it. So it's no fault of mine that I tug at my bosses short brown locks, ripping his swollen lips from my frantically pulsating pussy. He stares at me through narrowed eyes, his straight nose inna prominent snarl as I apologize profusely.

"Imsorryi'msorryi'msorry!" I rush out with heavy breaths and a heaving chest.

"No the fuck you're not, goddamn brat." He spits out as he stands and lifts me up against his strong chest with hands to the back of my thighs.

Walking me to the conference table, Bruce's sits me down atop it. He says nothing, towering above me as he looks down at while unbuckling his belt. His stare is lecherous while unbottoms his pants, so god damn domineering as he pulls out his twitching monster cock and presses it through the wetness between my legs.

It's not gonna fit, no way it'll fit. His dick is to thick, somehow his tip flaring out to become even wider. It's fuckin scary and thats without describing the girthy shaft. Still, I moan at the breathtaking feeling of him tappin the head at my opening. Even though my sweaty body is tense, my insides quiver rapidly hoping to catch his tip.

"I have a proposal for you too, y/n.." He leans in close to whisper against my lips, blocking me from the view of his fat cock at my entrance. "Your gonna take this dick like a good girl and I might not fuck your pretty little mouth and bust down your throat till your unconscious. You agree to the terms?"

I nod slowly, helplessly, my gaze briefly straying to his swollen mouth. Knowing how he ate me moments before and the way he damn near pins me to the table now that he's not letting me go till he's done.

"Look at you being a good girl for once." He compliments, smacking my sensitive clit with his rigid dick over and over.

My eyes roll back as I shout Bruce's name repeatedly, feeling my orgasm race back to the surface with double the intensity. My frame shakes like a leaf underneath him as my back arches and I dig my nails into the wood table beneath me. My mean ass boss only slaps his dick at my pulsing little gem quicker, drinking in my frantic reaction.

He greedily soaks in my pitiful body in the throes of the best orgasm I've ever received. The smile on his face is sinister, so damn dangerous as he replaces his dick with his thumb, sliding the head of his dick to my opening and shoving between my drenched, unprepared fluttering walls.

Time almost seems to stand still, as my lids fly open and I choke, trying and failing to pull in a gasping breaths against his pretty pink lips as he bullies his cock into my pussy while I'm still cumming. He groans like a wounded animal and I'm fucking alarmed that he actually gets in on the first push, though no explanation is needed for the unbearable pressure weighing in my gut.

My legs kick out behind him uncontrollably while I grip onto his suit jacket for dear life and stare at him with big teary eyes. Try as I might to inch off Bruce's cock by scooting backwards, I don't get very far before he's gripping me and pullin me back onto his leaking dick by my neck again.

"Keep. Fuckin. Still!"

Each word accentuated by him sliding in and out of my little hole. His other hand holds himself above me as he fucks into me roughly. My head thrashes side to side as I apologize nonstop. Hair from my two buns loosens and falls, sticking to the perspiration on my face.

"Oooooooh fuck, I can't believe I waited so loooong! Ah, ah, ah, pussyfeelssogood! Uhn, fuck y/n! Not gonna last, too damn tight.. so weeet! Haaaaah!"

His cock digs deep, finally in a bit more than half way as he pumps into me ferociously. It's so fuckin amazing, nothings ever felt so good, so intense. I light years beyond coherence as drool unknowingly seeps from the corner of my mouth as I share my pleasure into the air. All my strength is split between processing the sensations between my legs and breathing.

"Fuuuuuck, sweety.. Gonna make me nut so damn hard. You want that? Fill that pretty little pussy till I can't anymore?

Bruce's grip around my throat tightens and it's a bit hard to breath but my normal reaction of instant panic is delayed by the dizzy feeling filling my head. I'm unaware of the suffocating clenches my pussy gives the big dick invading my insides as he huffs and puffs his pleasure at my ear.

"Ooooh shit, your so perfecttome! Haaaa! Mmmm sweetheart, made for me huh? Uhn, thaaaas a good fuckin girl!"

His back hunches him over my body as he stabs in to the hilt, grinding his pelvis into mine as holds my seizing body to the table. The sudden unlimited pressure against my button sends me off; I take in as much air as I can unaware that my hips lightly hump back at him. Black and white spots dot in and out of my vision as the pressure in my tummy explodes through my battered cunt.

I squirt all over Bruce's suit, sliding my hands through his freshly cut hair down his neck to claw at his thick, muscular shoulders. His name is all I know as I desperately cry it out more times than I can count. No man has fucked to the point of tears and I'd tell him that if I could formulate sentences at the moment.

But I know he's in the same boat as his fingers loosen around my neck and he bites his lip hard, eyebrows drawn together from the way my pussy milks the cum from his cock.

"Oh heeell.. Fuuuuuuuuck, take it honey! Aaaaahhh, that's it, allforyouy/n! Take this nut like a gooooood giiiirrrrl!" He groans, eyes locked where we connect as he continuously pumps into me at his leisure.

It feels foreign but oh so fuckin welcoming as large splashes of cum gush my already soakin wet pussy. My needy insides clasp at Bruce's cock as if demanding he shoot more. He definitely fulfills his promise of stuffing my puffy cunt till she leaks.

"Mmmmm.. oh my fuckin God princess. You okay?" He asks between tiny grunts of pleasure, his hips still slowly pumping his cock into me.

I'm not sure how he expects me to answer; my lungs feel tight and my head is so fuzzy. I fight to steady my breathing, fingers remaining inna death grip around his shoulders. I finally feel the heavy trails of make up streaking down my chest and my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty temples. I know I looked fucked out to the max.

I can't even muster energy to cover myself as my head falls limply to the right and I see a group of men staring lewdly at us through the glass walls, each with a tented bulge in their business attire.

Bruce's phone beeps at that moment and he leans over slightly to read the text aloud.

"We agree to your terms of the proposal." He says with a dazzling smile.

Yeah, I fucking bet..

[marzipanandminutiae]

you know, the Horrible Histories "Victorian names were WEIRD!!!!" skit leaves out some important info on some of the names (assisted by Ancestry.com searches):

Lettice Berger: "Lettice" was an anglicization of the Roman name "Leticia." Berger is just a normal German surname. Yes, they had the word "lettuce," and I'm sure the similarities occurred to them. But nobody named their child "lettuce" like the vegetable.

O.K. Johnson: Probably just the kid's initials. "O.K." as a slang term was invented in 1830s Boston, but without any evidence of when little O.K. lived (they don't cite any sourced for these names, how convenient), it's impossible to tell whether it would have crossed the pond by the time he was born.

Never [they pronounce the surname Rookrook]: I found a LOT of Nevers in the UK with Indian surnames. So uh. There's that. And a lot of census records online seem to have notes written by the census-taker mislabeled as names- "never opens door" was one I noticed. Just saying. I also found multiple "NEVA Rook" census entries- which probably would have been pronounced "NEE-vah" but sounds like "Never" with a British accent if you tilt your head and squint.

Toilet: Surprisingly common modern misreading of "Violet" on 19th-century censuses with bad handwriting.

Baboon: Found one census where it's a misreading of "Barbara;" others were non-Anglo names like Baban, Babyon, Babboni, etc.

Susan Semolina-Thrower: That's just two unfortuate surnames, I'm guessing? I can't find their sources, again, but I do find a lot of records of "Semolina" as a surname in the UK during the 19th century. The poor parents had no control over that, did they?

Happy: ...yeah, it's a virtue name. And? How is that weirder than Faith, Hope, Grace, Patience, Prudence, etc?

Evil: Another census misreading- usually "Evie."

Minty Badger: "Minty" is short for Araminta/Aminta/Arminta. Still sounds like a Discworld character, but nothing would sound normal with "Badger" as a surname. Araminta Badger at least makes more sense to modern ears, though.

Freezer Breezer: Breezer was a real surname, and parents can be cruel. I don't doubt that- my dad went to school with an "Emily Memily." that being said...I did find a "Fred R. Breezer" born in 1873 in England; see above re: census misreadings. Just throwing that out there. I found it as a corruption/misspelling of "Fraser/Frasier" too.

Scary Looker: I actually found this one. It was a misreading of "Jeany" on a census- the girl's name was Jane Looker, born 1841 in Lancashire to John and Elizabeth Looker. Nice research there, team.

Farting Clack: Fasting Clack or Clark, born 1863 in London. Another lovely misreading from the census. True "Fasting Clark" is not NOT a weird name, but it's a lot less horrible than "Farting Clack" and it makes sense under the Hyper-Christian Parents category.

Princess Cheese was real, not a nickname, and not a misreading or misspelling. Princess May Cheese was born in 1896 in West Bromwich. She married one John T. Brookes in 1914- possibly eager to no longer be a Cheese?

Multiple people really have been christened Bovril, most notably one Bovril Simpson, married in West Ham in 1911.

Incredibly, Raspberry/Rasberry/Roseberry is a real given name, and Lemon a real surname. Most people named Raspberry seem to have been men.

So that's only three of their Wacky Victorian Names that are actually 100% real. Nice job, there, team. I love Ghosts, but get your collective act together!

(They did once have a skit insisting that Victorians called trousers "the southern necessity" when that's actually a phrase from the writings of famously terrible 19th-century author Amanda McKittrick Ros, whose work her contemporaries loved poking fun at. So I shouldn't be surprised)

[goodnightmemes]

THE WALKING DEAD SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all. ❜

❛ Make sure you got a round in the chamber and your safety off. ❜

❛ Son of a bitch shot me. You believe that? ❜

❛ Look, I ask and you answer. It's common courtesy, right? ❜

❛ Get away from the windows. ❜

❛ Conserve your ammo. Goes faster than you think. Especially at target practice. ❜

❛ There are others. It's not just us. ❜

❛ Folks got no idea what they're getting into. ❜

❛ We are surviving here. We are day to day. ❜

❛ Listen, whoever you are, I don't mind telling you I'm a little concerned in here. ❜

❛ Have you been listening? You're running out of time. ❜

❛ Yeah, whatever. Yeehaw. You're still a dumbass. ❜

❛ You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving! You know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out, tiptoeing. Not shooting up the streets like it's the O.K. Corral. ❜

❛ You were chasing a hallucination, imagining things. It happens. ❜

❛ Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun! Only common sense. ❜

❛ We survive this by pulling together, not apart. ❜

❛ If bad ideas were an Olympic event, this would take the gold. ❜

❛ You can't leave me. You can't leave me here. Not like this. ❜

❛ At least somebody's having a good day. ❜

❛ Words can be meager things. Sometimes they fall short. ❜

❛ Nothing bit you? Nothing scratched you? ❜

❛ So that's it, huh? You're just gonna walk off? Just to hell with everybody else? ❜

❛ You're putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that. ❜

❛ The world ended. Didn't you get the memo? ❜

❛ Toughest asshole I ever met. Feed him a hammer, he'd crap out nails. ❜

❛ They're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. ❜

❛ Even I think it's a bad idea and I don't even like you much. ❜

❛ There ain't nothing gonna stop him from getting back here to you, I promise you that. ❜

❛ One wrong move, you get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know. ❜

❛ You come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood. ❜

❛ Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table. ❜

❛ What life I have I owe to him. ❜

❛ I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation. ❜

❛ You're the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met. We walked in there ready to kill every last one of you. ❜

❛ The people we've encountered since things fell apart, the worst kind… plunderers, the kind that take by force. ❜

❛ Guess the world changed. ❜

❛ The people here, they all look to me now. I don't even know why. ❜

❛ Hell with them people. Wouldn't piss on them if their heads were on fire. ❜

❛ Unless I've misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while. ❜

❛ Time…it's important to keep track, isn't it? The days at least. Don't you think? ❜

❛ Do not enter the city. It belongs to the dead now. ❜

❛ I know how the safety works. ❜

❛ We start down that road, where do we draw the line? ❜

❛ Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem! ❜

❛ We don't kill the living. ❜

❛ I'm sorry for not ever being there. I always thought there'd be more time. I'm here now. ❜

❛ These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are. ❜

❛ There are no rules. ❜

❛ We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do. ❜

❛ I won't leave again. I promise you that. Not for anything. ❜

❛ You save a grave for me? ❜

❛ It's not about what you want. That sound you hear, that's God laughing while you make plans. ❜

❛ We can't stay here. We both know that. ❜

❛ The most important thing here is we need to stay together. ❜

❛ You go on your own, you won't have anyone to watch your back. ❜

❛ Leave me here. I'm done. Just leave me. ❜

❛ The fever… You've been delirious more often than not. ❜

❛ We can't be here, this close to the city after dark. ❜

❛ You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed. ❜

❛ You know, it's over. There's nothing left. ❜

❛ You don't know what it's like out there. You may think you do, but you don't. ❜

❛ We don't have to be afraid anymore. We're safe here. ❜

❛ I lost somebody too. I know how devastating it is. ❜

❛ What's wrong with him? Seriously, is he nuts, medicated, what? ❜

❛ I did the best I could in the time that I had. I hope you'd be proud of that. ❜

❛ We always think there's gonna be more time. ❜

❛ You should've left well enough alone. It would've been so much easier. ❜

❛ I had to keep hope alive, didn't I? ❜

❛ There is no hope. There never was. ❜

❛ What part of "everything is gone" do you not understand? ❜

❛ There's your chance. Take it. ❜

[kiwanopie]

New Recruit!

Crime Au!Sakusa Kiyoomi x fem!Reader

short drabble because I’ve been on a mini crime au brainrot

cw: fluff. minor character death, misogyny (not by Kiyoomi) references to a criminal organization, a little gore, a lot of Kiyoomi being whipped beyond comprehension

wc: 1.5k

You just showed up one day.

Granted, the boss’s behavior had been a little weird for a while. Less picky about the little things, less prone to administering punishment over something small. He’d take his lunch breaks out of his office now more often than not, which in itself was its own brand of odd. But coming back an hour later with his hair disheveled and his cuffs tucked up his sleeve, a few odd bruises hidden on his collarbone; that was just uncanny. Nobody could really comprehend a mean stickler like him getting a girlfriend.

But then one day, Atsumu trudging himself to his boss’s office with a sigh - Eyebrows already cinched by the stress that should come at telling his less than congenial boss that his team has been crunching the numbers, and it looks like they might be dealing with a mole. Already out of patience for the lecture he’s about to suffer through, before going through the wearisome task of rounding up all the workers, and then sitting through the world’s most boring execution. He can already hear Kiyoomi’s irritated sigh. And if this were any regular job he just might say he's been due some vacation time.

Atsumu runs an exasperated hand through his blonde hair. “Aye boss, you-“

There’s a girl sitting on his lap.

A pretty thing too. Soft pretty doe eyes, softer satin skin, cute little dress that rides up your thighs as you sit on his boss’s lap and fuck if you don’t look squeezable. Just getting a glance at you from his spot at the door has him turning pink. He barely even realizes he’s staring. - Where the fuck did he pick you up from?

“Uh… Sorry,” Atsumu clears his throat. “I can come back later if yer busy.”

You tilt your head as the hand comfied on your back scoots lower with a quiet hiss, Kiyoomi makes an effort to keep you comfortable by hooking his hand over your hip. “It’s fine. What’s the issue?”

Atsumu’s stare flickers between you both. “The-… Adrian and the boys downstairs have been summin’ up our contract to success ratio over the past couple months and uh, it looks like we might be dealin’ with a mole.”

Kiyoomi expectedly doesn’t look very pleased at something like that but it’s a far cry from his usual scowl and tirade combo. More of a… frustrated grimace? Annoyed more than anything else. “Do they have any idea who it could be?”

“We got it down to Sugar, Ayame, Ren, and Susumu. Since they’ve been the only ones who can’t be accounted for durin’ some bumps in the day.”

Kiyoomi nods slowly. “Okay…”

Atsumu watches you lean for one of the luxury pens in his pencil holder. Last time he reached for one those the bastard flicked him hard on the knuckles. But you study the carefully cashmered casing without so much as glancing up for a response.

Kiyoomi pulls at the bottom of it until the cap releases with a small click, reaching for a notepad on his desk to jot down a few quick numbers. “Yeah, okay… Kill them all then.”

“Wha- You sure?”

“Let’s not risk it.” He says. Like it always could have been that easy. “We’ll send a few flowers to their families, say they died on a contract. If the mole’s people are smart they’ll know it’s a lie. Then it’s up to them to make their move.”

Wha- So this guy can pick and choose when to be difficult?! “O.K.! I’ll get that handled for ya then.”

“Lock the door on your way out.”

He bows as he turns for the door again, twisting the lock before closing it carefully.

And then he’s blowing out a disbelieving raspberry.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out this guy is head over heels for whoever the hell this chick is. Kiyoomi’s not exactly a sociable guy, or a… particularly affable guy either, so seeing him start to go so out of his way to make sure someone’s happy feels like stepping into the twilight zone. He hasn’t completely changed, don’t get him wrong. Just cause he’s laying down a path of roses for his sweetheart doesn’t mean the bed of eggshells the rest of the guys have to stumble on gets any less sharper. The guy started enforcing a whole rule against loud sudden noises just cause they startle his princess whenever you drop by. No fights - at least, not without the threat of mutilation should they start one when you’re around. No overtly coarse language, no gun play near his office, if you gotta kill a package do it where you won’t hear it scream, and under no - No circumstances do you touch or even stare too long at the missus.

“Or what?” Kaio snorts. “With all the bullshit he’s making us do for this chick, I could at least expect some eye service?”

Atsumu scoffs as Hinata winces. “Yeahh… You probably shouldn’t say something like that out loud.”

Kaio snorts. “Why? Cause she’ll hear? She walks around in those skimpy little dresses and I can’t even look? Feels like a buncha work with no pay off. Least tell us where you found the slut. Whatever she’s got has to be pretty fuckin’ good if he’s already this whipped.”

Atsumu glances at Bokuto who snorts into his coffee cup. Reacting more to the way his coworker wearily shakes his head than the guy talking himself into an early grave.

He licks his lips before commenting. “You’re pretty stupid, Katsuro.”

“Says the guy who shot himself in the ass playing poker. Twice.”

Kaio grimaces before sitting back in his seat, looking on at his fellow high ranking coworkers as they avoid his place in the room. “What? Am I wrong? The broad’s turned this place into a daycare center. First no yelling, then no fighting - hell, give it a few months and she’ll tell the bastard that we can’t kill anymore-“

Click!

The cold metal against the back of his head sends shivers down his spine.

Kiyoomi affirms flatly. “She wouldn’t do that. ‘Wouldn’t be able to keep business booming like it is.”

“B-Boss-“

“The pay off is that by doing what I say, you get to live another day. A worthless piece of shit like you can comprehend something like that, right?”

“Ye-Yes, sir.” Kaio swallows. “Look I didn’t mean anything by-“

Kiyoomi presses the barrel a little firmer against his head, enough to make him flinch. “Don’t go back on your word, Katsuro. You said what you said and you meant it. - At least, say you died for a reason.”

Atsumu has to cough into his shoulder to keep himself from outright laughing at the way Kaio all but turns blue. “Sakusa-san-“

“I shouldn’t have to say how dumb it was to speak out of your ass about my fiancé, especially on my soil. - Eating my food, and wearing my clothes, and breathing breaths that I gave you. The money in your pocket, the bed you sleep in at night, every fucking thing you have is because of me. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“That makes you my property?”

“Y-Yes.”

Kiyoomi exhales out of his nose. Tall broad frame casting a shadow over the man as he all but towers behind him. “What do you suppose I do when my property - one of my things starts to behave defectively? I don’t need something that doesn’t work anymore, do I?”

“Please, Sakusa-san-“

“A gunshot makes a pretty loud noise,” Kiyoomi squares his feet. “Aren’t we lucky she didn’t show up today.”

“I’m-“

The barrage of blood stains Hinata’s suit jacket.

Kiyoomi scowls at the mess before him as he backs away from the sodden chair, brain matter already soaked into his button up and turning cold in the breeze of the AC. The waste of a good bullet makes him kiss his teeth, but blowing his cool like that makes him frown altogether. He’s been trying to work on his temper. If you were here, he knows you’d be disappointed, and he can’t afford to blow his top in front of you should something like this happen when you’re around.

He sighs as he flicks the safety with his thumb. Piece of shit like that wouldn’t know the word compromise if it blew his skull in. He opens his mouth to tell one of them to call for clean up.

Before Bokuto’s blowing out his eardrums. “Oh my god! You got engaged?!! Congratulations!!”

Kiyoomi freezes.

“…Thank you.”

“Hell yeah, Omi,” Atsumu reaches for his brandy. It’s 10am. “Congrats! Happy to see an old firecracker like you get tied down.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh! When’s the wedding?! Do you have a date or anything set yet?”

“I’m hoping this winter,” Kiyoomi exhales. “Spring at the latest but I’m not worried about expenses. Just what it’ll take to fly her family out this way.”

“Do any of them speak Japanese?” Atsumu asks.

Kiyoomi’s sighing again. “No.”

He narrows his eyes as his number two snorts.

Hinata clears his throat. “Does anybody have a towelette?”

“Uh - Yeah,” Kiyoomi bashfully reholsters his pistol. “Sorry about that.”

reblog? 🥺 uwu

[that1emowitch]

At the end of the world / Or the last thing I see / You are never coming home, never coming home

Prompt from @tuna-f-b: Do you still do request? If yes and angst is o.k: what would happend i all the bats died? Like how would the hero community react. The supers alone. Clark having to deal with losing his best friend(?) and the kids he basically co parented- as well as seeing his sons lose their best friends(?) Specially as ships that would be awesome angst

A/N: I'm not crying you're crying (Also, for those who don't know, Izzy is Duke's canon gf and one of the Robins from We Are Robin)

Words: 2504

TW: Mentions of blood, Major character death, Coping with loss, Self-blame, Mentions of relapse (drugs)

“If you’re watching this, I am either deceased or indefinitely unable to continue my duties as Batman. But the world still needs Batman. Gotham still needs Batman. My son Damian Wayne, if he is an adult, shall inherit my mantle— if not, Dick Grayson will take over until he is. In the event that he, too, is unavailable for any reason, the mantle goes to Tim Drake, after him, to Cassandra Cain, then Duke Thomas, then Stephanie Brown, then Jason Todd, should he accept it.”

In the video recording, Batman pauses, taking a deep breath.

“In the unfortunate event that the entire family is… deceased… I have a list of contingency plans on both the Bat-Computer and the Justice League’s primary databases. Oracle will help you access it, but in her… absence… the password is “a6ghr83kc02m”.”

Then video-Bruce takes off the cowl, his pale blue eyes looking straight into the camera.

“I know I was never the best with feelings. But I would like my children, my allies, and friends to know that I’m proud of you. And to my fellow Justice Leaguers… Diana and Clark, I am truly grateful for your companionship. I would never have made it this far without you. Barry, Arthur, Dinah, J’onn, you’ve all been good friends. Oliver, Hal… you’re not so bad either.”

Bruce turns around, and looks over his shoulder, the shadows of the Batcave making the scene even more dramatic.

“I wish you good luck.”

Then the clip ends.

A shuddering breath leaves Clark.

It’s real.

He’s really… They’re all…

He can’t do this anymore. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving the other core Justice Leaguers staring sombrely at the now-blank screen.

He doesn’t know when he started flying, when he started trying to escape. The walls of the Watchtower seem to be suffocating him, but he has enough sense not to just leave the airlock yet.

Instead he finds a corner by a window, far, far away from the others, where he can see a majestic view of Earth, the moon, and the Sun in perfect sync with each other.

He falls to his knees.

His breathing’s uneven, a tear rolls down his cheeks.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder— soft, trembling, yet steady.

“Kal,” Diana whispers, sitting on the floor next to him. She doesn’t continue— she isn’t sure what to say.

“They’re all going to die, you know? We’re going to bury all of them. Everyone on Earth, everyone we know.” Clark’s voice trembles, in a way Superman’s never does. “It scares me so much.”

“Kal,” Diana says again, pulling Clark into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ve lost… We’ve lost so many of our friends. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to grieve.”

“How are you— how are you so—” Clark can’t form his words properly. He turns to Diana, to see her face tight with grief, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks. “I don’t want to believe they’re gone. But… we have to carry on. We’re the Justice League. Our people need us, Kal.”

“So we just go on and on? Forever?” Another tear runs down his cheek. “Ollie, Hal, Dinah, Lois, Jon, they’re all going to… they’re all going to die one day and we just have to… to go on?”

“I’m sorry, but it is the truth,” Diana whispers, her eyes stinging with hot tears. “We must find peace in the fact, right now, that Batman— Bruce, the Robins, they— they were so brave. Brave till the end. And they fell as warriors, defending our world. I’m sure they’ll all reach Elysium.”

“And Dickie, Damian, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke—” Clark’s voice is hoarse. “They were so young, just kids… I… I know Dick, Jay, Tim, Cass… they were adults, but… they’re gone, they’re gone…”

“They were heroes, like you and me. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I know, I just—” Another shuddering breath escapes Clark. “I just— I…”

“It’s okay,” Her voice is forcefully steady, but with an undertone of heartbreak. “It’s okay…”

Dinah looks around the room, her heart heavy.

Clark has left, Diana’s gone after him— both of them need their space, she knows. They were close to Bruce and the other Bats in a way no one else in this room was.

Was.

The word still weighs down on her.

Hal speaks up finally, breaking the deafening silence. “I always thought he hated me.”

No one replies for a long moment.

“I miss the kids,” Barry says finally, his voice quiet. “They were just… Robin was only 14. The others, even Nightwing, they had… they had their whole lives ahead of them.”

More silence.

“Jason, when he was Robin— do y'all remember? Kid was always my favorite,” Ollie says finally. “Was always so sassy. Roy loves him.”

Loves. Dinah winces, but doesn’t correct him. It’s easier to believe they’re just gone for a little while.

“Bruce was a good man,” Arthur adds. “They all were.”

“Tim was, I believe, the smartest,” J’onn says, somber. “It was his plan that allowed us to save Earth.”

“Damian!” Dinah says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “His… his mother. She shouldn’t have to find out from someone else.”

Everyone freezes, faces tight.

Dinah sighs, looking down. “I’ll do it.”

Then she leaves the room, dragging what feels like a heavy weight tied to her soul. She has to do this.

Roy’s sitting in a corner of his apartment, hugging his knees. All he can think of is Jason.

He’s never coming back.

He can still feel the lingering ‘goodbye’ kiss Jason gave him not two days ago, he can still hear him say, “I’ll be back before you know it, babe.”

He never came back.

He’s dead. Dead— dead dead dead DEAD DEAD—

“Small Red not okay?” A booming voice snaps Roy out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Bizarro’s pale blue skin and cold eyes looming over him. He’s crying. “Red him coming back.”

It takes Roy a second to register that Bizarro speaks backwards. It takes everything in him to not punch him for saying that, for giving him false hope.

He feels something he hasn’t felt in years— feels that whisper in his mind— one hit and it’ll all feel better. Just one hit.

NO! He screams mentally. He feels like bashing his head open.

Instead he lifts his dead eyes to survey the rest of the room— Kori’s on the couch, staring into space. Artemis has a crying Lian in her arms, she’s showing her something— old photos of Jason. Talking, whispering in a broken voice.

No, no he should be the one comforting Lian—

What’s he gonna say?

That— That Jason— That her Papa’s gone forever? That he’s never— he’s never coming back?

No— Jay— Jay deserved so much better, he— he already died once before, he’s been through so much, things were supposed to be better now— not— no, he’s— 

Roy feels Bizarro sit beside him, gently patting his arm.

He snaps out of his thoughts again, turning to Jason’s former teammate, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice raw, he whispers, “Jay’s gone…”

Wally’s standing in the Hall of Heroes, staring up at the holographic projection of Dick— he looks so majestic, so mighty, staring ahead with nothing but hope and courage in his eyes.

Nothing like the cold, dead body that Wally held in his arms just two days ago.

He’s surrounded by his teammates, his friends— Kaldur, M’gann, Artemis, Zatanna, L’gann, Garth— yet he feels so alone.

He sees it again— Dick bleeding out it his arms, his wounds so fatal he died before help arrived. Wally’s the fastest man alive, damn it, yet he couldn’t even save his best friend— his boyfriend. He feels the moment when Dick’s breathing stopped, when his body went limp, when his grip on Wally’s hand loosened.

Everyone’s quiet. M’gann’s stress baking again, L’gann by her side. Artemis and Zatanna are sitting together, Garth’s lingering in a corner, and Kaldur’s standing right beside Wally— close enough for comfort but not so close he’s lurking. He’s shaking.

He can still hear it, hear Dick forcing out his last words, telling Wally it’s okay, that he loves him, that it’ll be fine.

It’s not fine. Not without you.

He wants to scream.

He wants to cry, yell, hit something, do anything.

But he can’t move.

So he just stands there, almost as still as the holographic projection of Dick before him.

Kon is left reeling.

Tim… Tim is…

Tim’s dead.

Tim’s really gone.

He thinks, for just a second, that this is how Tim and Cassie must have felt when he and Bart “died”.

Bart is sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on his side, Cassie’s got her head on his lap. Neither of them speak— Bart’s not even fidgeting— they’re all just trying to be there for each other.

The other Titans are up and about, but staying close for comfort. Jaime and Gar are making food for everyone in the kitchen, Raven and Vic have come back to the tower to make sure the others are okay, and he’s sure Karen’s around too, somewhere.

Yet he feels so empty.

Feels nothing at all.

How can he, when his best friend is dead?

Jon hasn’t spoken in a bit. Not when his Mom brought him his favorite soup, not when Grandma and Grandpa showed up to ‘help’ him and Dad through this, not when Krypto plopped down beside him to comfort him.

He hugs the dog close.

Krypto’s technically Kon’s, but Jon’s sure Kon wouldn’t mind if he stole Krypto for a day.

Another sob escapes him, and he buries his head in Krypto’s back. The dog whines, licking Jon’s hand.

He can’t believe Damian’s gone. 

Really gone.

And he didn’t know just how much he would miss his friend.

Dinah finds Talia Al Ghul on a building in Metropolis, overlooking the city. Her face is tight with sorrow, but she keeps herself in check, her back straight, head held high.

She already knows, Dinah deduces.

“I… I’m sorry,” Dinah starts, unsure of what to say. She knows, from her experience as a psychologist, that ‘sorry’ is the last thing a grieving person wants to hear, but she doesn’t have anything else to say.

Talia doesn’t reply for a long time. Then she says, her voice numb, “I should have known, when bringing Damian into this life, that I would also be bringing him amidst the dangers that come with.”

Dinah’s brows furrow. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”

“I should have trained him better, I should have kept him close, I should—” Talia takes a shuddering breath. “I should have never brought him into this life.”

Dinah can’t argue with that— she knows how Damian had come to be, and it… wasn’t the best birth ever.

“Now leave, hero,” Talia says, her voice numb and cold. “Go back to protecting the world. Leave me be.”

Dinah wants to say something better, comfort the woman, but she can’t. So she just turns back, and leaves.

By the time Harper Row makes her way to the Clock Tower, there’s already quite a crowd there— Kate, Renee Montoya, Harley, Ivy, Silena, and Helena Bertinili— they’re crowding around Babs, comforting her. Luke Fox and Isabella Ortiz are at the computer, looking through something.

Harper tries to open her mouth to speak, but she can’t get the words out.

She makes her way over to Luke and Izzy, shoulders hunched.

Just three days ago she’d been hanging out with Duke and Izzy and Cass and Steph— they’d all been so carefree, so happy…

And now…

Once she gets close enough she realizes Izzy’s crying, and immediately wraps her arms around the shorter girl. Harper’s trying to hold back tears of her own, too. She feels Luke putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.

No one speaks for a long time, they just stand together, seeking comfort in each other.

Then Babs rolls her wheelchair to the center of the room, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. But when she speaks, she sounds surprisingly steady. She’s compartmentalizing, Harper realizes. Putting away Barbara and bringing Oracle back.

“Gotham needs her heroes, now more than ever,” Oracle says, head held high. “We must honor our friends by doing the one thing they’d have wanted— to keep fighting. Keep Gotham safe.���

She sighs, her face tight to fight away tears. “Luke. Batman’s contingency plan, in the Robins’ absence, was to pass you the mantle of Batman. Do you accept?”

Luke’s eyes grow wide slightly, but he straightens himself, looking away. “I… I accept. Dad isn’t going to be happy, but… Gotham needs Batman.”

“Thank you.” Oracle nods at him. “As per Bruce’s will, all Wayne assets, the Manor, and the Batcave are split between Kate, me, Alfred, and Lucius. I… Lucius and I are still figuring out who’s going to take over Wayne Enterprises, but on the vigilante side, I’ve got a plan.”

She turns to Ivy, Harley, Kate, Silena and Helena. “The Birds of Prey are needed here, now more than ever. Dinah— Black canary has offered to help us with Gotham, too.” 

Harley nods, sniffling. Beside her, Ivy speaks up, “The… Most Rogues aren’t happy about this. They’re not rampaging— Bane has fashioned his own version of the Batsuit, he’s going around ‘saving’ people, screaming that Batman never dies. The Joker’s searching for Lazarus Pits and Bruce’s body. Jervis Tetch and Nygma held a get-together yesterday, in the memory of the Bats. I… I think they might help us.”

Harper’s gotta admit, she’s quite surprised about this. Even Babs freezes, taking in this information.

“Gotham needs Robin as much as she needs Batman,” Izzy speaks up from beside her, her voice small but firm. “The Robins can come back, this time you can give us formal training so we can actually help.”

Oracle turns to Luke. “Taking on Robins is your decision, Batman.”

Luke winces at that title— it doesn’t feel like an honor to him, it just feels like an incessant reminder that he’s the last one left. Because his friends are dead. But he nods, anyway, not trusting himself to speak right now.

Then Oracle addresses Harper. “I… would you like to be Batgirl?”

Harper’s heart stops. Memories flash into her head— seeing Steph in the Batgirl costume, seeing Cass in the Batgirl suit, both of whom are now gone.

“N— No,” Harper stutters out, eyes tearful. “I can’t— I’m sorry, Babs. I appreciate the offer, but… Cass was Batgirl. I can’t take her place.”

“I understand.” Babs just nods, lips pursed, misty-eyed. “We will all need to work hand-in-hand until everything settles, we will need to be vigilant. Carry on Batman’s legacy, for as long as we may need to.”

No one speaks again.

They all just let it sink in, hearts heavy.

They’re going to have to do this alone now.

[paingoes]

Rubies

Waiting Room

hello! so i actually wrote this a while back but couldn’t think of a right time to post it. this takes place on the same day as First Base, but it’s a different POV!

(Content: living weapon whumpee, discussions of war and child soldiers, implied child abuse, dehumanization)

“I’ve got it,” Kitty made a little circle with her fingers. O.K. They were escorted away before Apollo could respond.

“Okay. I’m gonna go…beg for his life, I guess,” Apollo said into the empty space she’d just been standing in.

“I’ll go with you,” Iza piped up. At least she didn’t leave him hanging. Apollo was surprised by her eagerness, but he knew it was the correct move on her part. It’d be better to seek Levon out than the other way around. He would not react well if he felt he’d had to catch them.

For better or worse, it did not take long for their paths to intersect. Levon was already out in the hall. One woman from the counsel hung by his side. They spoke in low tones. She was one of the few people on base that matched Levon in age and in history. She shot the two of them a dirty look as they approached.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Levon lifted his hands up in greeting, a sardonic smile appearing upon his face. He couldn’t hold it any longer then a second. His expression quickly fell back into its fatigue state. Not exactly angry, but clearly not pleased. The woman slipped off into the shadows, patting him lightly on the back before she departed. 

“It’s my fault,” Apollo put himself between Levon and Iza. “I take full responsibility.”

“Not how it works, kiddo. Chain of command.” Levon looked straight past him.

Iza did not say anything in her own defense. Levon shot her a curious look. It had meant something that she’d come to find him and that she had not come to argue the point. It was a good start. They could talk later. They would.

But Apollo clearly needed a wall to throw himself against. Levon started to move down the hall again. He wasn’t totally shutting him out, but he had better make his point quick. He’d had it so rehearsed before, but the words sounded hurried this time, more uncertain than ever. 

“Captain, it’s not his fault. You understand that. He didn’t have a choice. It’s not fair to punish him for what Empire did. You can’t hold that against him. You won’t, right? What we did, it has nothing to do with him. He didn’t know. He still doesn’t know. He just woke up. He-“

Levon held up a hand, “I thought you had a powerpoint.”

“I do,” Apollo admitted, “I can go get it if you give me five minutes.”

“That’s alright.”

“Captain!” Apollo hissed. They’d already arrived just outside of the ward. 

“Please don’t hurt him.”

It was such an earnest and simple request that Levon’s resolve momentarily cracked.

“Take it easy. Whatever I decide, I’m not going to do it right now. Save your breath.”

“He’s scared, Levon.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you’re not the only person in the world who knows right from wrong? That I might actually know what I’m doing?”

Apollo shut up. Iza put a hand on his shoulder, both to steady him and to pull him back. Levon signaled to the medical staff to clear out just before he stepped into Delta’s room.

==========

Levon stepped back out into the lobby, shutting the door quickly behind him. There was a deep unhappiness in his features.

Apollo’s face was marred with concern. It had been for as long as he had waited there. But as he caught sight of Levon’s haunted expression, it slipped into a barely suppressed smugness. I told you so.

In the same way, Levon’s horror flickered briefly into exasperation as the two made eye contact.

“You didn’t say he was a baby,” Levon insisted. He realized instantly that the effect would be lost on Apollo. Levon often felt that he was surrounded by children. He maintained his own inner circle, each of them tending to their own sector, but all the rank and file skewed young. Apollo was no exception to this, hardly tipping twenty four, but then Apollo’s career had just begun. Delta’s star had been burning ever since he was a child.

Levon forgot any thoughts of penalty. He couldn’t reasonably hold him accountable for things he had done as a child. Delta was a ward of Empire. It was their fault. 

Apollo searched Levon’s expression, still seeming a bit too satisfied with himself.

“You’re not off the hook,” Levon told him.

“I know, Captain,” he said mildly, “Is he?”

Levon leaned against the wall. He palmed at his forehead in hopes of relieving the tension building up there.

“I don’t understand the child soldier thing. I’ve never understood it. Why? Is there that much of a shortage that they can’t fish from the adult pool anymore? What purpose does it serve?” Levon didn’t hide his disgust. Empire already recruited teenagers as a matter of policy, but there had been more and more reports of them dipping even lower. He’d gotten reports of combatants as fresh as twelve stumbling blindly into enemy territory. They’d be found limping and with blisters from where their oversized boots had rubbed them raw. They had to be carried out.

Iza spoke up. Levon was surprised to hear her speak. She’d been hanging back, trying to make herself unseen, as if he might bite her. 

“Kids have more raw psychic talent than adults. They lose it as they get older. It’s rare

you find someone who’s been trained enough to carry their abilities into adulthood. You need to start them young,” she mused.

The clarity with which she spoke of it was incriminating.

“Tell me the truth,” Levon said, “Did you know?”

“We suspected,” Apollo admitted, “Strongly.”

“And what? You wanted it for yourself?” 

“No.“ Apollo’s voice got all pitchy, the way it did when he was upset. “How can you even think that?”

“You?” Levon ignored his indignation, turning his gaze to Iza.

“Me?” Iza asked. She let some softness creep into her voice, “I didn’t want anything. I thought it would be a good experiment. I thought you might get something out of it. But I knew you’d never want to use it, not the way they did. I know you.”

Levon relaxed in a way that was barely observable. He took a deep breath.

“You are very, very lucky this didn’t go worse. Do I even have to tell you all the nightmare scenarios that could have unfolded instead? If you had gotten caught? If he had detonated? The standard response for this kind of insubordination is automatic and permanent dismissal. Were you aware of that?”

Neither of them answered. It was a wise thing to do.

“However.” Levon continued. “Things are about to get very, very bad for us. Early reports say the civil war is over. The prince’s staff sold him out. Nezu is preparing to be coronated and he now runs unopposed. We will not have the advantage of a divided Empire anymore. All the heat is going to be on us. For that reason, I’m disinclined to let you go entirely.”

Again, neither of them spoke. Apollo put all his energy into keeping his face neutral.

“…Thank you.” Iza’s voice was low. 

“Don’t,” Levon denied the moment, “I haven’t decided what I’m doing with you yet. All I’m saying is you’re not kicked out. What I do might be worse. You — you are going to go apologize to him for putting him in this situation.”

“I will!” Apollo answered quickly, “I mean, I did. But I’ll do it again. He’s okay, right? You’re not gonna do anything to him?”

“He’s fine,” Levon waved his hand, “Don’t worry about it.”

Apollo looked as though he might collapse on the spot. All the tension that had been holding him up was not depleted. He was relieved, but more than that, he was exhausted. Stress was going to take all of them out before Empire ever could.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @pigeonwhumps

[jt1674]

[ktamina]

09/30/08 - Mick 7 answers your questions!

This is an old interview of Mick (#7) that I found, enjoy!!

Hey, I am like, the UK's number 1 Slipknot fan, and have always wanted to know, what inspired your mask design?

Matthew Fulton- 14

MICK: Nothing. I had my original latex hockey mask way back and then my leather one and I was using those designs and it morphed into what it is now. There isn’t something crazy creative about it.

Hey Mick! I just want to let you know that you are a huge inspiration to me. You were one of the reasons I picked up a guitar, B.C Rich 7 string Warlock as my own first purchase, and got serious about it. My question is, how do you get new ideas for riffs and solos. I've made a couple of my own songs, but I always get stuck trying to make cool catchy riffs or solos. Got any advice?

Jim- 16

MICK: Yes. Don’t over-think it. Just let it happen. Things come out. If you try and plan or force it will sound forced or dishonest. I never try and over-think a direction whatever comes out 1st time I play it comes out. I never spend a ton of time thinking because it sounds forced. If you spend too much time thinking about it, it won’t sound like you. Don’t try and sound like someone else.

How does it feel to be getting back to work with the rest of Slipknot after a 3 year hiatus? Did it feel great knowing you were going to be back behind the mask and in a recording studio once again or was it just the same as it was 3 years ago?

Matt Haynes- 16

MICK: Things are always different when doing a new record. You are a different person than you were years ago. I don’t think in those terms. I just do what I do! But yes it felt good getting back to work.

What has been your scariest nightmare?

Paul Hawkins- 16

MICK: I wouldn’t say I have had a scariest nightmare but it would probably be something that deals with me not having genitals anymore…

If you could play any other role except Rythym/Lead guitarist in the band which would it be?

Bryan Lares

MICK: I wouldn’t.

What was the biggest culture shock you experienced in a foreign country during SK a tour?

Marcelle Andrade- 21

MICK: Being forced to shit into an ornate porcelain hole in the ground in Japan. OR having a warm stream of water tickle my asshole from the bidet in my hotel, also in Japan.

Mick, what advice would u give to young metal musicians trying to get our band noticed without reverting to the typical main stream sound?

Alex Munro- 16

MICK: Music should be honest, it should be an extension if you. You shouldn’t try and achieve a sound. It should just be you and not what you are trying to manufacture. We didn’t pay attention to the trends at the time when we wrote. We did what we felt and that is what you should do. You should play music for you and not to be noticed.

I'm Marina. OK I know that you probably get this question asked a lot by fan-girls but are you single, and can i ask u out on a date if you are :) ?

Marina Spevak- 25

MICK: Send pictures and I will get back to you.

Hi Mick! What Pedals do you use for Before I Forget and Heretic Anthem, and what Guitar would you recommend for a O.K Metal player at good price (like below $400)?

Alex Hayden

MICK: I don’t use pedals on either one of those songs or any pedals of any kind. But if its distortion you are referring to I just have a tube head turned up loud. There isn’t one really so buy used. You can’t get anything new that price worth anything. Look at pawn shops and buy a decent used early to late 90’s Ibanez especially an RG 570.

Hey micl! I'm from Iran. First you should know you've got MANY fans in Iran! Seriously. :D My question is what's the meaning of the tattoo on your arm? The Asian one…

Sohrab Alimardani- 18

MICK: It means hate in Japanese.

What do you think is the meaning of life?

Krista

MICK: Life is without meaning. And we are all totally insignificant in the whole scheme of things.

Just touring with slipknot but be crazy but what is the single most brutal moment you can recall while on tour?

Shawn Jarvis- 15

MICK: Watching a guy die in a police chase about 100 feet in front of me...

[bullet-prooflove]

Flowers: Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader

Tagging: @corruptedcoffin @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond  @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard

There’s flowers on your kitchen table. Flowers that Chibs did not buy you.

He investigates the vibrant boutique as you head into the bedroom to change out of your court clothes, the sound of your high heels clicking on the hardwood flooring. He knows there’s a slew of other men that want to bed you, ones that don’t know about him. You don’t hide the relationship, the same way he doesn’t but the two of you move in separate circles. The outlaw and the lawyer, it shouldn’t work but it does.

He tries to think of the last time he bought you flowers…

He doesn’t think he ever has.

This fucking thing is huge, and he knows from the range of flowers that it’s expensive. There’s lavender, orchids, and all sorts of shit bursting out of it, classy shit. It’s set up in one of those fancy water boxes.

It’s when he spots the card that his heart sinks.

It’s an ornate rectangle of cardboard, embossed with gold swirls in each of the corners. He plucks it from the holder before examining the thing, his thumb tracing over the writing.

Love Al x.

The name is written in a cursive scrawl he doesn’t recognise. He runs through everybody you’ve ever mentioned trying to find the source, but you’ve never mentioned an Al. He’s sure of it. He wonders if it’s that prick prosecutor, the one that’s been trying to get into your pants when the gun charges came down on Jax and the others. He’d wanted to smack the shit out of the guy back then, he wants to murder the fucker now.

He thrusts the card back into the holder when he hears the bedroom door open, busying himself by pulling out a bag of freshly ground Columbian coffee and setting it down beside the French press. It’s when he opens the coffee bag, that rich, delicious scent flooding his nostrils that he has his epiphany.

He’s not supposed to be here. He doesn’t belong in this house with you. He’s not meant to be with you. He’s too rough around the edges, he doesn’t fit into your life the way someone like Al would. He doesn’t go to the fancy dinners, or the conferences. He doesn’t have the patience for the fundraisers or the Mayor’s Christmas party, and you know that which is why you never ask him.

He places his palms on the counter, the line of his jaw tightening. You deserve better than this, better than him. He’s not good enough for you, he never will be. He senses your presence behind him, your perfume is light and airy flooding his nostrils in a way that makes his heart ache because he can’t be around you right now. He can’t do this with you anymore.

Your palm comes to rest in the space between his shoulder blades, thumb skirting lightly over the leather of his kutte. You lean in close, lips brushing over the stubble of his cheek. He closes his eyes and savours the moment, the sensation of having you in his proximity before he pulls away.

“Jax just called.” He tells you, jerking his thumb towards the door. “I need to head back out.”

“Oh O.K.” You say with understanding before flicking the kettle on. “Do you want to leave you something to eat for later?”

“Don’t worry yourself love,” He tells you, pulling his leather gloves out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I won’t be coming back tonight.”

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

You don’t see Chibs for days. He doesn’t call and he doesn’t text. He can’t stop thinking about Al and the bouquet of flowers on your kitchen table, it haunts his thoughts through random moments throughout his day. He’s always been confident in himself, self-assured but seeing those flowers has rocked him, it’s the first time he’s felt inadequate, the first time he’s caught a glimpse into the life you could be having if you weren’t with him.

He takes the bracelet out of his pocket, the one that he’s been working on the past couple of months. He knows you prefer jewellery that has a beaten look to it, hammered metal he thinks it’s called. He looked up the technique a while back and realised they had all the tools he needed to create something for you in the workshop out back.

It’s been a labour of love, there’s been a lot of trial and a lot of error, but he’s finally managed to complete the piece he set out to make. Each selection of precious metal is the size and shape of a ring pull and he’s spent hours hand crafting each one to give it the look that you love. It seems ridiculous now, he thinks as he runs his thumb over each of the dimples in the metal.

“You have been avoiding me.”

It’s rare that anyone gets the drop on him, but he’s been so lost in his thoughts that he hasn’t even registered your presence as he perches on the rolling stool in the garage.

“Jesus Christ love.” He jolts at the sound of your voice, the bracelet tumbles from his fingers and hits the concrete with a clatter. He feels the colour rise in his cheeks as you reach down to pick it up. It’s beautiful, silver, gold and bronze fragments all pulled together to make one unique piece. You study the craftmanship, running your thumb over the veins of metal, it superb. You think Kerrianne will love it.

“It’s stunning.” You tell him as you try to hand it back to him. Chibs shakes his head, his hands delving into the pockets of his overalls.

“No love.” He says softly. “I made it for you.”

There’s something in the tenderness of his expression that breaks your heart. You can’t speak for a moment, the well of emotion builds up in your chest as you clutch the bracelet tightly in your hand

“Filip…”

The way you say his fucking name, it ruins him.

“Fuck Filip, I love you.” You say quietly, your hands coming to cup his face, guiding his gaze up to meet yours. “I know we don’t say it, but I do.”

He sees it in your eyes, and you see it in his. There’s a depth between the two of you, a connection that’s raw and otherworldly. He swears when he looks into your eyes it feels like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes with you by his side. He thinks in this world and the next, that you were always destined to find each other. It’s not the shit a good Catholic believes but then again Chibs has never been a good Catholic. He’s lost track of the multitude of sins he’s committed.

“The flowers they were from Lowen, Ally Lowen, my practice partner.” You tell him as your thumb traces over the scar on his left cheek. “She knows what Peter was like, she was congratulating me on the divorce. I realised after you left that you may have thought…”

“Fuck.” He exhales the word as a small smile tips up at the edges of your mouth. “I…”

“I know what you thought.” You tell him. “And I want you to know that the relationship the two of us have means the world to me. There’s no one else and there will be no one else. I want to make that very clear.”

“C’mere.” He mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you down onto his lap. His arms wrap around your body, holding you in place against him as he buries his face into the curve of your neck. “There’s never going to be anyone else for me love. There’s just you, there’s only ever going to be you.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[redemn]

＊ 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐌 / 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐍 . ＊ independent , selective , private . ː 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 from rockstar's 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ➁ . penned by kat , she/her , 28. a study in ː the reclamation of the self , preservation of the moral code in sedition , and the perpetuation of circumstantial change .

i  always  knew  you  had  to  be  willin'  to  die  to  even  do  this  job  .      but  ,      i  don't  want  to  push  my  chips  forward  and  go  out  and  meet  somethin'  i  don't  understand  .      a  man  would  have  to  put  his  soul  at  hazard  .      he'd  have  to  say  :      '  o.k.,      i'll  be  part  of  this  world  .  '

⁰¹⋆ carrd. ⁰²⋆ pinterest. ⁰³⋆ spotify. ⁰⁴⋆ prompts. ⁰⁵⋆ hcs. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⁰⁶⋆ tyler owens. ( if i'm not here , i'm there )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤtruncated rules under the cut.

⁰¹⋆   on followers + following .   no minors please .   in fact ,   i'd be more comfortable with people over the age of 21 due to my own age .   i am not interested in keeping a large following of people i do not interact with ,   or who do not at least like my posts every once in a while .   whenever i'm on the dash ,   i try to do the same courtesy .   also ,   sometimes i don't keep up with developments in the rpc ,   so if you ever see me interacting with anyone who has been proven to be problematic in the past or even recently ,   please let me know so that i can cut it off .

⁰²⋆   on shipping .   like everyone ,   i love shipping ,   but i'm not someone wants to jump into it without proper development beforehand .   i prioritise and often populate my blogs with primarily platonic or non-ship-oriented threads .   i practice ship exclusivity ,   which means i will only ship with one version of a character ,   and i expect the same courtesy .   if your muse ships with another arthur ,   unless you are a very very close friend ,   i will not ship him with that muse ,   period .   [ … ]   on a related note ,   please don't ask to write smut if we barely know each other and / or haven't written any "regular" threads together .   i do write smut with those i ship with ,   mostly on discord ,   but pwp doesn't interest me at all ,   so save us both time and don't ask .   i'd write 10 fluff threads over a smut thread any day . my thoughts on the matter . i am also not open to shipping if we don't at least write threads on here . again , i am not interested in immediately shipping if we don't have something built up first , and it makes me feel like people don't appreciate it if they don't at least try to answer asks that i send or write some form of thread on here .

⁰³⋆   IMPORTANT .   i understand that arthur is a canon character and everyone's interpretations of him are different . but please do not impose what you think arthur would do or how he would react on my interpretation . please also do not try to ship without first plotting out a thorough friendship between them , because both i and arthur need chemistry in order for that to work . otherwise i personally will not be invested . arthur is demisexual and won't form any sexual attraction for anyone until he has a strong connection with them , and no , just saying "they've been friends" is not good enough for me .

⁰⁴⋆   on content .   triggering content will be present on this blog ,   due to the nature of the game and my own writing .   i tag all my triggers with "trigger //" for reference . most importantly , there will be mentions of terminal illness // here .

⁰⁵⋆   on activity .   i work a full time job ,   monday-friday .   please respect that in regards to my activity .   my other blog is penddraig .   hi .    :)

⁰⁶⋆   if you could like this post after reading my rules ,   i would appreciate it .   this is not mandatory ,   for those of you who are anxious about it .   i just like knowing and i like a little interaction .   i hope my rules don't sound too harsh to all of you .   i promise i'm not mean !!   i'm just old ,   i've been in the rpc for a long time ,   and want to nip issues i've encountered in the bud before they start .

[crepesuzette2023]

What We Need Is A Schedule

After the fun and games of one year ago, John and Paul are no longer fooling around. Lennon & McCartney talk about their job, songwriting. from THE BEATLES BOOK MONTHLY, No. 33, June 1966

JOHN: Now that Paul's back from his holidays, we're getting ready to do quite a bit of recording. We have to get two songs for a new single in the next couple of weeks and we've got to start work on another LP album. That means we want nearly twenty new numbers- allowing for a couple of spare ones in case something doesn't really work out when we get in the studio.

PAUL: I think song-writing is like any other kind of writing. You tend to put it off until somebody tells you it has to be finished by a particular date.

JOHN: When we're on our own and we think of an idea for a song, the main thing is to get it down so that it isn't forgotten. Words you can write on bits of paper but it's not that easy with a tune. We've found the best way of all is to use a tape recorder.

PAUL: With a tape you can put on the voice and add bits of guitar and things later when you get a good idea in your mind for a guitar phrase or an introduction.

JOHN: And it doesn't really matter if you haven't got all the lyrics worked out. You can just hum or go "la-la-la-la" for the bits you haven't written yet.

PAUL: Then John and I get together and play over the tapes we've made.

JOHN: Paul's much more of an expert about recording his songs. Some of his tapes are fantastic--they're dubbed and everything so that you get the full group sound--not like mine which are just my own voice and one guitar.

PAUL: Just like any other kind of writing, it's impossible to walk about doing other things and suddenly say to yourself "Ah, l've got a song coming on. Here it comes now" and rush to your tape recorder.

JOHN: I dunno. Sometimes you can start off a new song like that. It depends.

PAUL: We've been talking about this and we've decided we ought to force ourselves to arrange days for songwriting together in advance.

JOHN: It's too easy to put it off if we just meet without any plan and say "Shall we write something today?". If you do that you feel as though you're losing a free day. What we're going to do is make dates beforehand and sort of say "Right Wednesday and Friday of this week are for songwriting. And Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of next week". Then we'll know it's something we've to keep to.

PAUL: We'll try to fix times and keep to them. Get into a room with guitars and a piano and a tape recorder and work things out.

JOHN: I said at the start we would need twenty new numbers. Actually, both of us have some half-started stuff which needs finishing. Some of Paul's tapes are almost complete too. We'll probably get five or six songs out of these and then begin thinking up new ones.

PAUL: One of the only real differences between the way we prepare for recording sessions now and the way we did it years ago is that we know more about recording techniques.

JOHN: Earlier on we'd go into the studio and George Martin would say after he'd heard something "Well, that's going to be O.K. but why don't you try putting a so-and-so in there." And he'd suggest an organ sound or double-tracking on something. Now we know just how much can be done in the studio we can think up new sounds and different instruments to use before a session.

PAUL: Means we should get more done at a session.

JOHN: Ah, I've got a song coming on. Here it comes now!

PAUL: Right! Let's get back to work.

Photos accompanying the taped "interview" (J & P talking to tape recorder)

[tia-amorosa]

🌴Lucky Palms🌴

Marisol & Clark - The News (Part 2)longer Part

Later. Clark drove home with Marisol. There were too many people in the park. When she arrived at his house, she greeted his bandmate Oscar, who was sitting in front of the TV with a stomach ache. then she followed Clark to his room. He closed the door behind them and took a few steps. "So, are you going to tell me now what's going on?".

Marisol was nervous, even on the drive to the house she hardly said a word "Maybe you should sit down first, okay? Like I said earlier, it's because of the this night, after the concert… at the motel"/ "hey, it's all o.k.,… Isn't it?". She shook her head and made a quick hand gesture. "Just sit down, okay?"

Clark walked slowly to his bed. Then he sat down on it without taking off his shoes, which he often did, and nobody got upset about it. "I know, it all got a bit out of hand that night, we were in a good mood… It was good to talk about old times again…".

She looked to the side and recalled the events of the evening .. "Yes, that was it… And there was a lot of melancholy and alcohol involved, I didn't really want to drink that much and go home after the concert… But you invited me backstage and I hadn't talked to the boys for a long time… The evening should have been different at all".

"Donnovan?". She nodded slightly and then looked to the other side. "Yes, he wanted to spend the evening with me." Clark took a deep breath . "Was he pissed off?"/ "No, he knew we hadn't seen each other for a while. But… Clark, we went too far.". He tilted his head and looked at her. "Sweetie, we had a nice evening with pleasant conversations… We got sentimental, we both got high on alcohol and the boys left early. Then one thing led to another…Did you tell him?".

"I wasn't actually planning on it and wanted to keep it to myself.". She smiled a little and her gaze was a little dreamy. "As you said, the conversations were pleasant, and so was your closeness. Yes, and then…". Clark cleared his throat briefly and then continued… "don't worry about it, okay? Nothing else happened… right?". She was silent for a moment. "Not quite… I'm pregnant, Clark…".

Clark looked at her, shocked and open-mouthed, "No…". She just nodded, no expression on her face. "shiit, and you think…"/ "There's no question about it, Don and I, we'd been paying extra attention because it was too early for kids…"/ "Crap…". Usually Clark always thought of condoms when there were women backstage after the gigs. "And now?".

Marisol sighed shakily. "I want to keep the baby, Clark. The only question is how you feel about it. I talked to Don about it yesterday"/ "I see… and what did he say?"/ "He's disappointed. But more about the fact that the child isn't his." Clark stroked his hair. "hh… Me and a father, you know I can't do this, and it is really bad timing…". Marisol rubbed her hands over her thighs "you're going on tour in a few days… I know"..

Clark looked at her a little desperately. "And otherwise… kids… I can't handle it… Really, I… It's too much right now…". Marisol looked at him with tears in her eyes and forced a smile. Clark had never intended to have children before. Then she stood up. "I know… I'll send you a picture, okay? You don't have to look at it now, but maybe later… I already knew what was coming. I'm not making any demands either…"/ "sweetie…"/ "I'd better go now…".

The two have often talked about how they each envision their future. And Clark often said that his career as a musician was important to him and that a relationship and children therefore had no place in his life. They were friendly, open conversations in which both made their points of view clear and the other showed understanding for them. Marisol got up and went to the door. "All good?"/ "mh… Yeah, sure, I'll be fine".

After she closed the door behind her, Clark dropped onto his bed. Because for him, the whole thing was more than just unexpected news…. "Shit, man… Why… why is this happening now of all times? Damn! You should have just said something right away, you idiot…" he said to himself.

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Later that night, just before two o'clock. Clark had to get up because his bladder was bothering him. When he came back, he didn't go straight back to bed. He looked out of the window, then his eyes went to his smartphone, which was lying on the bedside table. And he remembered that Marisol had sent a message. He took it, opened the message… "Oh… man…". It was a photo of Marisol's ultrasound scan.

Clark stared at the picture and realized how his throat suddenly went dry. All the liquid shot up into his eyes. "Shit, Marisol… What do I do now? You have… no idea at all. And the tour has been planned down to the last detail for months. I thought I needed this time out…".

Clark's thoughts were on a rollercoaster. "I wanted some distance… Now I'm not so sure if it's the right thing to do… Maybe a few days… Weeks… Until the most important things are done, and then… I really need to talk to Oscar and the others…"….

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@cozygirlsimmer😗😊

End of this Part…

Many thanks again to @nocturnalazure for the link to l-sims' poses :) they were very helpful and inspiring, I was even able to use more of them, many thanks also to l-sims for these great poses! (Unfortunately I don't know what your current Tumblr account is, otherwise I would have linked you 😊). Other poses by: @poses-by-bee , blams, and other creators whose names I unfortunately can't remember right now. Thank you for your work.^^

[jonnymarzetti]

CONTENT WARNING: eating disorder talk

o.k. so i started ranting on discord about it but realized i might want to take it to where it can be more easily avoided. but i have to rant

there are a lot of things people dont talk about with eds (eating disorders) and even about recovery and its just. argh

when you recover its a LOT of nonrecovery: the amount of times i've neglected to eat because my brain is like "wellll what if you forgot, not in an ed way just a forgetful way :)" and then i've had 300 calories by 5p.m.

NOT TO MENTION the calorie counter. it stays with you without a doubt. there is rarely a time where i eat and dont think about the calories/total them hp for the day so far

getting into vent territory but its o.k.

i've been in ed recovery for 2 months or so? not like an official recovery because i kept my disordered behavior to myself. but you know. trying to get better

and im still losing weight

its like i cant cross the threshold into actually being o.k. with my body and it feels like im faking again. like my ed wasnt that bad and im just struggling for the attention (thats what my brain says even though it DOESNT make sense because nobody in my life knows about it)

but its so hard to recover. especially when in your mind you're "not sick enough" to heal, to get help

to anybody else out there struggling with ed recovery. it is o.k. please keep trying and i love you