#ft. thomas

[jawbrkrs]

everything happened so FAST, the next thing corrie knew thomas was hunched over grabbing at his face. the guy hitting on her wasn't taking no for an answer causing thomas to step in until things went awry. " are you okay? " cupping his face, bending slightly trying to get a better look. " you're a fucking asshole! " she spat in the opposite direction as the man was being carried off by security. | @atlatsofstories

[jello-jelly-coconut]

gotham rainy nights*

i still am a believer of duke doing silly things with his superpower

patch note: i got another believer and im honored

hiding under your dad's cape when it's pouring outside can be something very special + many years later, a smug dude with his bat-rain-poncho invention

[aconites]

𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓻 for @heroexxs!

𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙎𝙐𝘾𝙀𝙎𝙎𝙁𝙐𝙇 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙔 at her los angeles home, rosalina couldn’t wait for it to be over so that she could lay low for the rest of the night. her publicist had been the one to push her into having a celebration in the first place after she got nominated for an oscar earlier this week. it was for an indie film that the brunette had put all her energy and passion into within the last four months and she was so proud of everyone involved with how it turned out. sure, the idea of winning such a prestigious award was exciting, but she was just glad that the project had gotten attention and praise from the critics and the academy alike. after saying goodbye to almost all of her guests, she didn’t hesitate to change out of her designer dress and into a pair of sweats, her hair being pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head and her face makeup-free. finally, she felt like herself and a lot more comfortable. currently sitting on the sofa and watching a movie with a glass of rosé in hand, she was glad to be in the company of the one person that she really cared to be with tonight – thomas. for the last two years, anytime that the duo found themselves at the same event, they made it their mission to stick together; however, tonight was more difficult as she was the host, so she was more than happy to have some quality time with him now that they were alone. ❝ i feel like we’ve seen this movie a hundred times,❞ she teases, knowing fully well that it was a favorite for the both of them and never got old no matter how many times they’ve viewed it together. ❝ want to watch something else? i still haven’t seen your latest late-night show interview… i think i have it on dvr,❞ she jokes, taking a sip of her wine.

[reallyhardydraws]

💙❤️💜it's their time!!! 💙❤️💜

commissions open!

[chillentertainer]

thinkin' abt a little john wick conclave au where thomas lawrence is an aging assassin who keeps trying to retire but then is forcibly brought back for "one last hit" (first said to him half a dozen hits ago). lawrence is tired and depressed and he might be really good at his job (and that might be the only thing he's good at) but that Saddens him. because is his only purpose in life to be a Butcher?

not to mention he just recovered from prostate cancer and is now thinking a lot about the afterlife and god and sin etc etc. he's sure he's destined for hell no matter what he does now. is there even any point in changing?

one day he's in rome, surrounded by all these churches. and he enters one. he goes into a confession booth. every week, he confesses minor sins that turn into lovely but frivolous discussions with the anonymous priest, who lawrence can only identify through his gentle voice and bright, easily elicited laugh that reminds lawrence of morning birdsongs. over the weeks, this blossoms into a strange kind of friendship.

finally during a discussion about their favorite kinds of tea, lawrence interrupts the priest's recommendation of kahwah, which they had so often in their time in kabul, and was so delicious, and they just can't find anything close to what they had here, isn't that a shame, and i beg your pardon, what??

i kill people, lawrence repeats. all the time. i want to stop but i can't. i want to retire but they won't let me. i'm afraid being a murderer is how i spent most of my life, and i'm afraid it's how i'll spend the rest of my years, too. i'm the lowliest of sinners. i'm the evil that should be wiped clean from the earth. if god cast me down into the fires of hell for eternity, again and again, i would gladly welcome it.

and there is a heavy silence during which lawrence tenses, waiting for a horrified outburst or some rage.

but the priest says, with infinite compassion in his tone, you are still here on earth with us. and so god, in his mercy, has given you time to beg forgiveness and find redemption. make amends, however you can. take no more life, not for any reason. you say you want to stop. then stop. i believe you have good in your heart. you would not have come here if you did not.

thomas says, yes, yes i will, i swear on His name. i'm sorry for having wasted all your time these past weeks, i should not have done so.

and finally he says, goodbye. because there's no point in returning and attempting to continue this friendship, not when the priest must be so disgusted and would want nothing to do with lawrence any longer.

the priest says nothing in return and it hurts but lawrence knows he deserves it. he deserves far, far worse, and god, why can't he be punished now or just die and suffer eternal torment, and then, maybe, maybe, his soul could feel some bloody relief. but the priest said, make amends. can't make amends if you're dead.

so lawrence returns to his miserable apartment, to try and make amends, whatever that means. he decides to leave rome and begins to pack. he wanders the streets in a daze and gives all the euros he has on him to a beggar. on saturday, the day he would've gone to confession, he buys kahwah from a bemused shopkeeper.

he returns to find his next assignment on his kitchen counter in the form of a usb stick. he doesn't want to open it. but if he leaves it alone for too long, they'll send agents to track him down and he'll get an earful from aldo. better to open the assignment and fool them now. he'll disappear from rome right after.

lawrence plugs in the usb stick. there's a name he doesn't recognize. he clicks through the research on his next victim that ray had meticulously assembled. there is a video. he hits play. a voice starts speaking. and lawrence spills his hot cup of kahwah all over his keyboard and trousers but he doesn't care because fuck it all, he does know his victim after all.

it's the priest he sat next to week after week, chatting about the merits of herbal medicine and whether agatha christie or arthur conan doyle wrote better mystery novels and about the incompetence of world governments. it's the priest he just confessed to about his true nature, that he wasn't just some englishman adrift in rome, but a cold-blooded killer. it's the priest that heard this and offered him a way out, anyways.

it's vincent benitez.

the video continues, as benitez smiles and waves at a young child, his dark eyes luminescent and kind.

now he has a face and name to the voice, lawrence first thinks, in a daze. he’s even more beautiful than i imagined him to be.

his second thought: what the hell did benitez do to piss somebody off that badly that they want him dead?

[secndbest]

the hero ? reeve couldn't help it : he laughed— a humorless sound. he'd never been a hero. didn't really desire to be one either. a lifetime of fighting to be seen as more than a sidekick or part of the supporting cast had quite literally beat that dream out of him. no, heroism wasn't built for those with his kind of anger ( the kind that beat golden boys black and blue and would not have hesitated to crush every bone in thomas's grasping hand were it not for their audience ). at the end of the day, all reeve really wanted was respect, and he could get that just as well playing the villain as he could the hero. at least villain was a role people were willing to give him.

as the heavy auditorium doors clicked shut behind them, reeve reached his limit in being jerked around. rooting his feet to the ground, he yanked his sleeve out of the other's grip, fixing him with a blackened glare. ❝ how would they find out, thomas ? hm ? how would they fucking find out ? would you tell them ? ❞ he took a small step forward, pressing thomas's outstretched finger back towards his own chest. ❝ because i wasn't planning on telling anyone. hell, before today, i wasn't planning on giving you the chance. ❞ another step, each one like an inch burned off a fuse. he barely blinked. barely took a breath. no one was going to make him feel small, least of all a parasite like thomas ortesky. ❝ his last known location is public fucking record, tommy. is it really such a stretch to think he would have ended up somewhere nearby ? plus, it's only a matter of time before someone finds something. would you rather it be some random hikers that kick up his shit ? go through it all and go straight to the police with it ? at least this way we get to control the narrative. we get to decide what gets found. ❞

dark eyes danced between hickory brown, their faces only a short distance apart. ❝ i get that you're worried. i hear you. but maybe stop your neurotic bullshit for one second and think about how, as you pointed out, i'm the one that has the most at risk here. ❞ his thesis, his fight, his story. all thomas did on that trip was sit there and dig a hole. how he— or anyone else for that matter— thought they could dictate what reeve did with his feelings about any of it was beyond him.

❝ now, ❞ a step back, big enough to leave thomas's finger hanging in the air. in but a moment he'd gone from looking like he was about to blow, to his fuse being completely snuffed out, albeit perhaps only temporarily. ❝ if you have any other 'concerns,' i'd get them out now ; wasn't kidding about being in back to back meetings today. ❞

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎THOMAS CUT HIS eyes sharply to the company reeve had apparently been keeping , the lingering members of the theatre board resuming pleasant chatter and mindless conversation as they dotted the hall behind the man tom's focus was meant to be on. thomas's fury was pushing against the back of his eyes, clouding his vision with black spots he tried to blink away, reeve's voice ringing in his ears like the toll of church bells. " they weren't braindead. they were actual fuckin' concerns , reeve, " thomas bit , brooklyn clinging to his tongue as his anger bordered on seething. " — you know what fuckin' doors you just opened ?? ones i thought we had all agreed to lock and leave behind ?? where the fuck is this sudden change of heart comin' from , huh ?? this desperate need to be the hero or some shit ?? "

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ the anger made sense in his head, but it felt foreign in his limbs ; like it wasn't supposed to be there. he was being made to feel like something was wrong with him because he thought , and believed , this to be a stupid idea. he thought reeve of all people had felt the same until all of this bullshit about a docuseries came about. glaring at the lingering fingers behind them, thomas reached forward, grasping the fabric of reeve's sleeve whilst the other hand found the handle to the auditorium door — practically dragging the other through them with him before he could get away. once the door latched, clicking behind them, thomas got closer — a metaphorical steam pluming from flaring nostrils as his jaw tightened.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎" like i'm stayin' home while all of you go out there to do who knows what. yeah fuckin' right, " he grit through his teeth. then, pointing an accusatory finger to the man's chest. his voice was kept to a harsh whisper, words grated like he had swallowed a fistful of glass. " you're talkin' about MY friendship with luke ?? ‏‏‎you want the whole world findin' out you beat the golden boy til he was bleedin' right before he vanished into the woods ?? if this is some fuckin' way of clearing your name , draggin' a film crew out to the mountains is NOT the way to do it , man." thomas wanted to reason with him; getting on the reeve's bad side was not what he was looking to do, but when every skeleton he had tucked away in the closet was at risk of being exposed ??

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎tom couldn't see through the anxiety, not clear enough to stop.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏" you're putting everyone at risk and being an arrogant prick about it. have you even thought about what could happen if people put together that WE were the ones on that camping trip last summer ?? we'd be fucked, reeve. i'm allowed to have some concerns about that. " ‏‏‎

[spectrum-spectre]

Steve Harrington would absolutely love Matchbox Twenty. I said what I said.

[spookychiptune]

PRIDE MONTH BABY 🏳️‍🌈✨

[windybluebelles]

What Vaseline I think different Batfam members would wear

(Because I’m braindead and it’s the only thing keeping me alive atm)

Alfred: a really worn out blue one that he’s probably had for give or take a decade, would literally be rusty if owned by anyone else

Bruce: the green one but only the ones with the pride design

Dick: Nivea 😨 (Rose and Raspberry)

Cass: the funky Vanilla Daydream one (or just one of them BIG tubs)

Jason: Cocoa butter (the brown one)

Steph: None, only primark lipgloss

Tim: the boring blue one but he’s also prone to wearing actual makeup at the same time sooo

Duke: whatever is laying around, is not opposed to using the pink one. He prolly likes the tropical one most but he doesn’t really care soooo

Damian: none, he’s a crusty little boy who thinks that licking his lips keeps them hydrated

[p0rchc0ll4ps3]

The ship comes gliding in out of the fog, huge and cold and silent, her sails furled, though there is no wind at all, as if she were sailing on some motor, though by the total silence surrounding, Captain Fitzjames knows there is no motor aboard.

She is sailing without motor and without sail.

First Lieutenant Le Vesconte collapses his spyglass and smiles. "Let's board her," he says, and Fitzjames opens his mouth to respond when he catches Commander Crozier's eye across the way, his eyebrow raised, his mouth set tight.

Sails furled, no colors flying, this ship is unknown, unsafe, and you know better than this, James, you know we need to keep sailing, you know we're not at war.

"HMS Vengeance," Third Lieutenant Mair says, reading the name off the ship's transom before either captain can speak as he joins them at the taffrail, looking up at the vessel towering over them. "Was that not the scourge of the Royal Navy in those times before Napoleon?"

All eyes turn to him, and he shrinks into his coat.

"You know," Mair continues hesitantly, "The legends about Captain Rafferty and his black flag of England and how no one could catch him and all that..." He trails off, and now Second Lieutenant Little speaks, voice quiet and hushed and scared,

"She's signaling. She wants us onboard."

also have this doodle of Little and Mair bc it doesn't need its own post

[bellobambino]

you know the cctv video of the shooting, the full video?

he fires the third bullet and he turns his head and looks at Thompson bleeding out and dying on the sidewalk.

he hardly pauses before getting on that bike.

i wonder if Thompson was alive when he walked by him bleeding out, and if he got to look him in the eye at any moment.

[rogloptimist]

baby geraint call that a bbg….

[tannerkohli]

closed starter for @sebastianxthomas at rustica steakhouse

Tanner had spent enough time in Kismet Harbor over the years that familiar faces were to be expected. What she hadn't expected was to see a familiar face from her life in New York pop up at the steakhouse she opted to escape to for dinner. Having spotted Sebastian moving back into the kitchen, Tanner made the immediate request to the staff that she needed to speak to the chef before she ordered. Her insistence bordered on rudeness, but it was effective enough that a few minutes later Sebastian was walking out to her table. "This isn't New York, what the fuck are you doing here?"

[theseventeenstairs]

Apparently I cope by coming with crossovers that’s highly unrealistic but who the hell cares so may I present:

Bobby Nash cooking for Vincent Benitez (the pope! But he is very clear that he is just Vincent)

Vincent (the freaking pope!) liking Bobby’s food

Hot priest step aside, his new pen pal is now an even hotter priest (THE FREAKING POPE)

[secndbest]

HAD HE BEEN TOLD THE day before that he'd be bro-ing out with thomas ortesky at a beer pong table in 24 hours time, reeve would have snorted and rolled his eyes. as far as he was concerned, just because luke decided to turn the dope into his newest pet project didn't mean reeve had to do anything more than mildly tolerate it. and yet, there they were, a duo made : reeve aziz, a notoriously bad shot and even worse loser, and thomas ortesky, apparently the only soul willing to team up with that.

with every sweet syllable of encouragement, the bounce in reeve's step grew. between the alcohol in his system and the high of competition, his whole body thrummed with electric energy. under thomas' hands, he practically vibrated. ❝ jesus, ortesky, why aren't you like this all the time ? ❞ he teased, shaking the other off before throwing him a grin. maybe if he were, reeve would finally understand why luke insisted on dragging him around everywhere.

setting himself up at the table, he eyed the other end. only a few more cups and they'd have the cleanest win of the night so far— impressive, really, considering reeve's track record. he had to wonder if maybe thomas was just some freakish good luck charm. with that in mind, he stepped back, lining up to target a cup in the back row. he knows he's overshot before the ball even fully leaves his fingertips.

airball. a complete whiff. it soars past their opponents heads and lands, unceremoniously, at the feet of the crowd, never so much as skimming the table.

reeve's cheeks go hot immediately, lips pressing into a thin line as their opponents burst into thunderous, targeted laughter and buffoon-like hollers. a sharp, ruinous glare is turned their way, enough to shut up some of the snickers from the crowd at least, but not their opponents. they're young— sophomores maybe, don't know better. not yet, anyway.

❝ fucking morons, ❞ reeve huffed, lifting the cup nearest to him and downing it in one easy swoop as the rules dictated. being the cause for their first sunk cup stung, no doubt, but it paled in comparison to the realization that thomas now had to be the one to bail him out. he turned to him, tapping him two times on the chest with the back of his hand as he passed, trading places. ❝ up to you now, ortesky, ❞ he said, voice low, a warning in his words veiled beneath what could easily be read as simple expectation and 'friendly' team banter. ❝ don't disappoint. ❞

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘻 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦

" FUCK MAN , YOU ALMOST HAD IT !! " their opponent groans as their partner's ball bounces just off the rim of one of the red solo cups arranged on the table , ricocheting off plastic and landing somewhere amongst the small crowd that has gathered to watch the game and , impatiently , wait for their turn on the table . crouching down to scoop up the ball ( the room spinning as he did so , alcohol working overtime to ensure the world in which thomas existed was nothing short of a blur ) , the eldest ortesky grinned as he pressed the ball he had just gathered into his partner - reeve's - chest.

" they're fuckin' garbage , dude . they haven't even gotten a cup yet , " spoken low , an eager and competitive purr wrapping around his words as he moved behind reeve , clasping both of his shoulders , and giving him an encouraging shake . lowering his voice to a whisper , thomas leaned in closer ; like they were sharing some kind of secret . " you got this . we each get a ball in then we can ask for a new formation and we'll fuckin' smoke 'em . " a coach , revving up a player he was counting on . releasing reeve , scooping up his own ball from the table , thomas grinned as he moved back beside his teammate .

" first shots all yours . "

@secndbest

[here-a-lee-there-a-lee]

In honor of my absence, I present: