#jo thornely

[tenth-sentence]

In 2005, Rodriguez made a video of himself calmly loading a gun and preparing other weapons, praising the Republicans for their lax gun laws and explaining to the camera that he was abused as a child, had contemplated suicide ever since, and that his mother must pay for the things she'd done.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[oh-dear-so-queer]

The second time around, he chose Marshall Applewhite to be his vehicle, and you have to admit that the idea of the return of the Messiah as a wild-eyed, bisexual former music teacher is a bit delicious.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Amphetamines to get him riled up, barbiturates to bring him back down, Jones had a bloodstream like the plumbing in jail on cell inspection day.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[todayisafridaynight]

matrophobia

[grimm-haven]

Beginning of Rose Gen // Previous // Next

[jo-from-saturn]

Guerì

https://pin.it/2ZfByrE

First Aesthetic to the protagonist of my First Fantasy Saga that I have yet to name, which is introduced in my first book, The Fall from Babylon.

I created her cuz I was struggling studying and having a perfect grade cuz I was still a freshman, at 18, and the shame further fueled my social anxiety. I was struggling with being a woman, a good Christian Catholic cuz I feared Hell, and I felt alone even if I had my family, but I didn't let them pick through my mind cuz I wanted meet the standard of the Golden Child and the Firstborn (honestly I felt a mix of Mirabel, Isabela y Luisa).

I was inspired by an owl movie which I don't honestly remember the name, when I'll remember I will give credit.

Now I revived her, and discovered that she is inspired from the an Ymbryme OC (a Peculiar specie from the Saga Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children) and from other OC of my Fanfictions that nobody has ever read and never read :).

The last time she talked to me feels like a century ago, I didn't let her take my hand for describing herself, I created her as a self inserted so I could vent out all of my problems, but she's not me, and now I finally separated myself from her so she can live.

I will make a video for introducing her, but now this is her Aesthetic. The song associated with this Aesthetic is this:

When I will know her better, I'll keep you updated. Thanks to anyone who stopped scrolling for just reading, just that means a lot for me.

P.S. When I was little I've gone with Firew°o°rk, and I'll still go cuz I owe her this. ^.^"

[rukialusia]

Somewhere only we know {MultiCouples}

[tenth-sentence]

Because no story set in Texas is complete without a minimum of two good old-fashioned Texan shoot-outs, a gunfight ensued.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[oh-dear-so-queer]

The company's public message focused on a mission assisting infertile or gay couples to have a child containing the DNA of the parents, provided they helped fund Clonaid's research and equipment via substantial financial contributions.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Crunches still suck.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[grimm-haven]

Beginning of Rose Gen // Previous // Next

[deadboyfriendd]

Volare (Remastered)

This is for you, Jo @jo-harrington . I love you <3

Eddie was gentler with you, fingertips dragging down sides with the softest form of reckless abandon. The sweltering heat of the midwestern summers weighing on your bodies hot and heavy in the baking orange glow refracted over darkened water. The bedsheet beneath you is ironed by the steam of teenage awkwardness dissipating from the body– kisses and touches growing less awkward and more tender, as if he knew that they were now supposed to be registered instead of received. 

His buckle made impressions on the inside of your thigh, metal warmed against the plush soft skin. The grass beneath you danced its wavering dance, a sway that welcomed the coolness of the breeze over the exposed expanse of your back, gracing the overlaying flesh in a ritual of human intimacy. 

Songs of, oh, God’s and small giggles composing intricate tincture waltzes– a gathering drum backing and an underlying hum of soul surrounding your form. You can feel the dirt on your back, his fingers unwrapping you from your cloth confines and introducing you to his home like an heirloom– a home in which he himself haunted.The palms of your hands felt the smooth surface of stone beneath skin, and the dewy droplets from his own flesh dampened them with a waxy residue.

He couldn’t decide if you were still human. You felt human, but the way you were in front of him– celestial and heavenly. There was no way you could be. Your quick, sporadic breath rolled humidity out onto his neck, arms folded over you in fluid angles, a flash of teeth and a breathy laugh. No, he was right, you had to have been an angel. 

+

He couldn’t help but to laugh as you plucked the cigarette from his lip, giving him a chide, “Y’know, these things’ll kill you.” before placing it into your own lips. 

He took it back from you, placating a long drag and a smooth french inhale. Showing off. 

“Yeah… so I’ve heard.” He paused for a moment, taking you in.

Looking into his eyes was a mirror reflection of all of the best parrots of yourself– everything you were supposed to be. His skin shone with a pearlescent haze of sweat, soft locks falling over his shoulder. He beamed your image back at you through long lashes and batted yes. 

“I guess there was never anything I cared enough about leaving behind to stop.” 

+

You held him close to your chest, the gathering drum of mumbles and clumsy sentences replaced by the lub-dub rhythm within you, the quiet gasps and scratching of skin replaced by your own melody of whispers into his ear. He sang along. 

Strings of I love you’s and Is this okay?’s replaced harsh staccatos and haste swears, learning the piano pedal overtures of lovemaking, replacing the spoken poetry of fucking.

An almost feline purr escaped the confines of lungs as you stretched your arms over his back, feeling the calf-skin-stretched-over-marble texture of him. You could feel the way life had toughened him through scars and vibrations of proclamations of love in your spine. 

He had never been loved this tenderly. 

+

Your laugh seemed to fill the entire world around him, burrowing into his brain like a botfly. He couldn’t get you to leave, and you ate away and attached to the pink matter within his head until there was nothing left but you. 

He ran with you through the clearing, only slightly wondering how you could move so gracefully as your bare legs scratched almost violently through the thicket and thorn. He could feel it through his own jeans, but he chased your hand- in search of the warmth and echoes of his own happiness as you cleared out to the blue lake before you. The hill overlooked an empty dock. 

He didn’t care about the way his own legs throbbed, or the way his tar-laden lungs struggled for air, it always felt like he couldn’t breathe around you. 

He pressed his fingers to your back, net yet forceful, but still an invitation into his arms.ou happily obliged, your cool breath wafting over his neck as he shivered. 

+

Toes curled and fingers grasped at the tremendously quiet mouse-rumble between you. Your thighs shook around him, and, as he explored your body tenderly, he silently begged for you to shake and tremble away all of the worries that have plagued him to the bone. Your body a flame igniting his wax candle core and melting his insides. 

Hot tears rolled from your sea-spray eyes and down your Cyprus cheeks, hair blown by Zephyr and a small cry left your birth-of-venus lips. 

To you, he was celestial and grounded all at the same time. You could hardly believe that you could even reach out and touch him. He was spiritual, yet attainable, able to be touched by the human flesh, but almost impossible to be in existence.  

+

His head lay buried in the pillow of your thighs, looking endearingly up at your face as you thumbed through the pages of the novel before you. 

You stumbled over words and paused for kisses in between syllables, and alarming lack of flow within your own space-cadet brain. At this rate, the book would never be finished. You would never see an ending, but he understood this as the only correct way to read from that moment on. 

He could never look at a word again and comprehend it without hearing your voice say it. 

+

He wrote his own history into the book of your life, his fingers flipping through the pages of your body. 

His hands, beginning at your thighs and running up the duration of your being, not only read your words, but studied them. 

His tongue rewrote love back into your lines, but not in the form of quiet mumbles.

He wrote the word "love" into you like fire. He wrote the word "love" into you with only the passion of someone who had seen enough heartbreak to truly know the meaning of the word. 

His words were the color of mulled wine, spilling onto you with intention- he spilled these words into you in the form of art, and soft moans of endearment. 

His tongue began at your neck, but all too slowly traced words that you didn't care to make out down your sternum, across your breasts, and further and further down. 

He spoke the word love in a way that he had never known it.

[mariahcarreyyy]

.ೃ࿐𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 𝐟𝐢𝐜 |

charles leclerc x max verstappen

summary. Roses leave a bitter aftertaste on Max's tongue; the flowers Charles had gifted him when he was thirteen and the thorns prickling his throat every Sunday as he walks past him.

𝐎𝐑. Max develops Hanahaki disease and Charles doesn't realize until it's too late.

wc. 5.7k

tags. mature, hanahaki disease, implied sexual content, emotional hurt/comfort, unrequited love (or is it?), jos verstappen's A+ parenting, angst, unreliable narrator, and friends with benefits.

[indouloureux]

basically you and Joseph are good friends since being cast together on s4. he comes over to your sleeping place one day, and asks you on advice on telling a girl he's known for a while that he likes her. little does oblivious reader know that the girl is us👹. basically you give him advice (choice), and he thanks you and walks out. in legit a minute he walks back into your house and does the thing you advised him to do.

I apologize for the crappy writing, I thought this scenario up at 3 am

THIS IS REALLY FUCKING CUTE SUKSJSKSJS

when he asked if he could come over and "hang out," you don't expect him to be standing like a lost, nervous child in front of you, with his hands on his sides and head ducked low, eyes on his gently tapping feet.

"what's up?" you say, cautiously, like one wrong word and he'd snap into something preternatural.

joseph's head lifts, wide and glossed with nervousness. he offers you what is a forced smile, laughing dryly before he sits on the couch beside you, patting his sweaty palms onto the denim of his jeans. so wet that they'd grown darker than their usual color.

"so, um, i need...advice," he begins, scratching the hair behind his ear. "it's um- relationship. related."

your heart drops to your feet, shattering on the carpeted floor because it didn't need the porcelain tiles to break it's structure. like a film reel does imaginations of joseph with someone else flip like a lugubrious flashback, but you manage to put a feigned surprised smile on your face.

"oh!" you raise your eyebrows. "tell me."

"i want to, um, ask this girl out," he laughs nervously, almost too forced like he's reliving a faux pas inside his head. "she's um, i think you know her."

"well, i hope i do," you match his de rigueur smile, top teeth poking out between your two pink lips to at least show him how genuinely happy you are. and you really are. really, really fucking happy. "because then it'll be easier to know if they'll treat my friend right."

friend friend friend

fucking friend.

"hah. well, um, she's really close with us," joseph's looking at your lap, hand stops scratching the spot behind his ear to gesticulate into the air. "she's, er, really nice. very kind. humor is out of this world. i really think she's the only person who can make me laugh hard other than my dad and, well, jamie."

you bite the scream that tries to escape, maybe you're even trying not to strangle him at the mention of some different girl making him laugh harder than you do. "what else?"

"she makes these, like, pastas that taste horrible but somehow i still love it because, well, she made it," he smiles, shoulder's relaxing into a slump. "we like to— she indulges in all my food tomfoolery. she listens like, like i'm the most important person in the world and...she's the only person who can truly understand me."

you wonder what his words could break if your heart's already broken down his feet. maybe its your lungs, the way the pain tightens the passage and hinders air coming through. or your stomach and the incessant pit that's forming down there. maybe your fingers as you clench them tightly to stop yourself from harming anything.

because after all this time, you thought you'd been that person he's talking about. turns out you were just delusional — your naive self grasping onto the hope that he might have felt the same, when in reality that hope's linked to a chain that leads into a void; where you wish you could fall into than fall for him endlessly despite the pain.

"that's, that's great, jo," you swallow the thorns around your throat, clearing it off. "w-what's the advice again?"

"i wanna ask her out."

"great!" you scratch your eye, joseph watching right on the corner of your vision. "um, well, obviously you have to buy her flowers. or something that she likes, like chocolate? maybe, if she wants that. then knock on her door and ask her out because asking someone over text is just really lazy."

joseph nods, taking a huge puff of breath, the slapping of his hands on his knees snapping you out of your miserable daze. "smart. great thinking. you're really smart, love."

before you say anything, he's pressing a quick, burning kiss on your temple, the aftermath of his fire still sizzling on your skin. he stands up as well, crossing over the carpeted floor in quick strides that by the time you had registered what he's done, he's already putting his coat on.

"wait, where are you going?"

"i'm gonna ask her out."

"today?" he nods. "i thought we were gonna hang out?"

"i'm sorry but i just, really need to do this," he gives you a sad smile. you stand up from the couch, joseph spraying alcohol on his hands before he twists the doorknob. "i'll see you tomorrow, though!"

the word stutters in your mouth, useless when he disappears behind your door. the loud slam is what opens the faucet, unknown to you that there's tears already dripping down your cheeks.

you drown in the sink of self-pity, bottom lip wobbling and sniffling the snot that drips down your nose as you sob, heart broken by someone who wasn't even your boyfriend.

feet dragging across the floor, they lead you to the kitchen where you take out a pint of ice cream — pistachio, the only one you have, which is very ironic. your hands reach for the wooden handle of the kitchen drawer, taking out a spoon for you to take the sorbet into the silver cutlery and eat the dejected ice cream.

but then the door knocks, and you accidentally choke on a sob as you take your ice cream with you, mind believing that it's impossible that it's him because his urgency to leave was quite obvious he was never coming back until tomorrow.

you twist the doorknob, opening it to see him with a box of chocolates tucked between his elbow, a smile so bright like he'd just won the grandest prize of them all.

"hi, will you— are you crying?" his smile falls, lips turned into an upside down crescent of worry, hands gently placing the box on the table to place them on your shoulders. "what's wrong? is that pistachio?"

you don't answer him, feeling the heavy rock around your throat come back and push your tears through again. you let yourself cry in front of him, pint tucked to your chest that the ice melts onto your shirt along with the tears that race down to your neck.

joseph comes in, closing the door behind him as he hugs you like he doesn't expect you to cry, pushing your head to his chest and it's like he wants you to hear his steady heartbeat, each thump a soft whisper asking you to calm down. he's gently shushing, hands running through your hair like he'd always do when you're sad, or when you're asleep in his arms (as a friend.)

"it's — is it because of the date?" joseph murmurs, pushing your arms away so he'd take a better look at you. he tilts his head down to see you better, eyelashes fluttering at his rapid blinks. he's unconvinced when you shake your head. "oh love—"

"did you leave anything behind?" you place the ice cream on the side, leaving the spoon stuck in the thick dessert. tugging on your cheeks to wipe your tears away, he takes your wrists to stop you, holding it down to the space between.

"is it about the date?"

his repetition makes you finally nod your head.

"aw. babe, i— i was going to ask you out."

you blink the tears away from your lashes. "what?"

"i was going to do what you said," he takes the box into his hands. "i was going to come here, with something that you liked and ask you out. it's — it's the only way that i could think of that sounded cute."

the film reel rewinds the way your heart that's left on the carpet has risen to mend itself. but instead of jumping into his arms with dire contact, you punch his shoulder, mad at him for an irrational reason of him giving you a temporary, fake heartbreak.

"you're such a jackass. a dickhead!" he laughs, in pain, rubbing the spot on his shoulder. "you made me cry and thought it was the end of the world."

"i'm sorry," his thumbs wipe the tear stains off your cheeks. "i'm sorry, darling. never again."

joseph pulls you into his chest, head deep into his tactile touch, smiling when he kisses the top of your head. "god. i was about to strangle you when you said someone else made you laugh harder than i do."

"‘m sorry," he chuckles. "now, will you eat these chocolates and go out with me?"

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

[elsaellaelys]

We can beat any shit together

summary: JJ finds scars on Y/N's thight and they don't look like an acidente.

pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!depressed reader

WARNINGS: Depression, anxiety, mensions of SH, kinda angst, but comforting.

800 words

a/n: I had to write about this. If you're going through something like that, look for help, someone you can trust, if you don't anybody call 211 or feel free to send a message. I wish somebody had told me this so I'll tell you. You are not alone.

--★--

JJ knows Y/N for as long as he can remember himself. Sweet John B's neighboor, living just down the road, joing all the times Big John took them to go fishing. He really liked her, the way she never judge him, always so kind and gentle, than he decided to take the self obligation to protect she no matter what - she looked like such a cute china doll and he wouldn't let she break. The pogues made fun of his behavior. Gotta pick her up from work! Gotta drop her at work! Save this for Y/N! No pickles, Y/N doesn't like it. He had to repay all the love she gave him, the love she made he feel. She barely realised it though, walking around with JJ just in front clearing her way, making sure there was no thorns.

That's why the discovery stabbed him right in the chest.

They were all on the beach, had just left the water to lay in the sand. Y/N stretched out, not really caring about putting a towel under, dead tired from the surfing. JJ watched she lay like a star, he couldn't help but stare at her, of course he had seem her in a bikini thousands of times, lately it's being different, hips wider, waist defined, boobs hanging in her top and thights... looking like they're melting?

"What's this?" He lean over, running his finger over the strange blur, skin color staying in his fingertip. She recoiled from his touch trying to hide the marks that appeared, eyes starting to water.

"Y/N?!"

She squirmed, hating to have the attention of the entire group now.

"It's just a little bit of foundation" she replies.

"Why you're putting makeup on your thights?" Kiara asks, face looking scared of the answer. Y/N wiped her leg, deep dark scars full on display.

JJ fliched, they were so deep, almost screaming sadness and pain. A nott formed on his throat just thinking about how much it must have hurt, how grotesque it looked. He looked back to her face, not finding the strength she must have to do something so... I mean she wasn't just cutting, that was mutilating.

"Fuck" She cried, she ruined the moment, it was a nice day, it felt okay, especially after she putted the right green concealer, the scars almost fading under it. The thought of the washing water faded from her mind.

"Tell me it was an acident, please."

"Does it look like one?" Y/N replied.

She wished they had caved the enourmous hole JJ suggest cause now she could bury herself on it. Pope's face looked full of pity like Kiara, John B. was confused - she made it herself? - but JJ, he was hurted, and she lightly pinched her arm for causing it.

"I'm sorry. I wanna go home." the girl said, grabbing her stuff, heading to the Twinkie. JJ followed her, trying to take her bag to care it.

"Wait." he begged, not really reaching her steps.

"No! JJ! Stop! Leave me, I just wanna go home"

"Give me the bag. Let me help you"

"You can't help me!"

It was not about the bag. She stopped, she fell, holding her knees close to her chest, crying the heart out. Lucky no one was around. JJ lowered next, stroking her hair.

"It's okay" he whispered.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" she repeated over and over.

"Hey, no, don't be. I am the one who should be sorry. Look at me." his hands reached her face to pull it up seeing her wet lashes. "Sorry I didn't realized before" he begged again, because the memories just hitted him. The way she was always complainnig about the fights her parents were having, but still refused to leave the house, how she was tired all the time, even though she just woke up. Too many alcohol, to many cigarettes, less hangouts, less calls, less partys, much thoughts, much silence.

He fastly wiped the tears down his face holping she didn't noticed, just hugged she tightly.

The pogues approxed and they were hugging she too, whispering sweet nothings. Sweet everythings.

John B. was the first to get up holding his hand out for her.

"Let's go home." he says. They all know where is home.

In the ride JJ made sure he held she close, hand on her pulse, time in time putting his nose between her hair, just to know she's there, safe, with him.

"Can I ask you..." he carefully began "Where is the thing... you used?"

"In my bag, the little left pocket."

JJ almost cried again, for knowing that she cared it around, like a thing she needed close. He found it, trew it out tge window.

"You're going to be fine." he reasured "I'm right here. We can beat any shit together."

[tenth-sentence]

It's important to note that the Elohim have about 25,000 years' worth of scientific and technological advancement over us – embarrassing – so even the simplest, most rudimentary examples of their world would seem like the most incredible miracles to us.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely