#lawrence ray

[mariocki]

Man on the Run (1949)

"Don't touch it! Leave that for the police. Ain't you ever heard of such things as fingerprints?"

"Hark at him! Who's been filling you up with that stuff?"

"A gentleman by the name of Dick Barton."

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

*Character designs of S, Ciel, the P4 (Edgar Redmond, Lawrence Bluewer, Herman Greenhill, Gregory Violet) and their flower/plant symbols (rose, gentian, holly and dahlia) from Volume 2

(*Like always, please link back when using the above images. TYSM)

[weirdlookindog]

"They are coming through the air and traveling along the ground," said Cecy, in her sleeping - Ray Bradbury

Lawrence Sterne Stevens - The Home Coming

(Famous Fantastic Mysteries - December 1952)

[gethighdropacidneverdie]

Starting y'all's day off (or whatever time of day it is for you) fresh with saw characters as Lana Del Rey lyrics 🎀

(Made by me, Feel free to use/post anywhere no credit needed whatsoever.)

[shakaprio]

my wife is so wise

[hiskillingjar]

Yoo what if Lawrence x mc with a knife kink and they be fuckin... like lawrence learns of the knife kink

i'm in the mood to write some stuff for law. be prepared for that!

1200+ words, cw for self harm mentions, same MC as this fic

"It was my grandad's in Vietnam,"

It was late in the musky apartment, and you were a little high (as you so often were) when you pulled the pocket knife from your messenger bag, unfolding it and holding it out for Law to look at.

The blade was probably shiny once, but it had been spotted with brown rust since you'd been given it, and its hollow, wooden handle was on the verge of splintering (wrapped up with white, packing tape) and black with mould, showing its age, what it had seen, the life it had lived before it was put in your hands.

“Cool, right?” You then asked, holding the dirty blade against your palm.

Law lowered the joint from their lips, sleepy (dead) grey eyes blinking as they sat up and stared at the knife.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling proudly at their somewhat impressed expression.

"I always carry it when I'm out," You explained nonchalantly, taking the burning joint as you passed them the knife, raising it to your lips for a slow drag, heat burning in your lungs as you quickly breathed out. You still weren’t very good at smoking weed, but you were getting better at it. "But I have more at my apartment, vintage ones, new ones. I collect them."

"You collect them?" They repeated, looking up at you with a raised brow. "That's probably-"

"Probably a little concerning, right?" You asked with a little titter, leaning back on the bed, spreading your legs lazily, your skirt hiking higher up your thighs, exposing dashed white scars under your fishnets. "Come on, don't play therapist with me, Law. It doesn't suit you."

"I was actually going to say it's probably a little stereotypical," They replied, a slight and uncharacteristic smirk on their lips. "You’re a trans girl obsessed with knives...that's kind of obvious, even for you, isn't it?"

You barked out a laugh, sitting up quickly (not closing your legs).

"Look at herrr though," You drawled through your giggles, pitching your voice up to the catty drawl you and your girlfriends sometimes spoke to each other in, taking the knife back when they held it out to you. "Clocking me for my phallic fixations. I didn’t know you had jokes, Law.” You grinned. “You're gonna have a field day when you show you my gun, aren't you?"

"You…really have a gun?" They asked after a moment, lowering their voice as they took the joint back for another drag. “Isn’t that illegal?”

They had the priorities sorted, it seemed.

"I mean, just one," You said with a shake of your head, watching as they breathed out a thick mouthful of smoke. "And it's, like...plugged up with so much junk that it doesn't work. It’s probably as legal as your joint," You gestured towards it and huffed out another little titter, feeling oddly defensive. “Like, I’m not gonna go flashing it to the cops, but I don’t think they’re gonna bust down my door for it.”

They nodded their head slowly, taking another drag of the joint.

You knew that they weren’t calling you out. They didn’t care about you owning weapons, just like you didn’t care about the dead animals they had rotting in barrels in the forest.

They were both parts of you that you didn’t make public to polite society but kept to yourselves and, occasionally, each other.

You knew how meaningful that was. And how important it was for you to have someone you could be authentic with.

You wondered…

"Sometimes…” You stared with a little sigh, slowly lowering the blade of the knife to your thigh, running it along one of your dashed, white scars. “I cut myself and I swear …I can feel the pain of everyone it's ever hurt inside of me. Like a pulsing heat."

You cut through one of the segments of your fishnets, exposing flesh and showing off your scars.

Law’s eyes glanced up lazily, just enough to make you feel desirable.

"You think it's hurt other people?" Law asked softly, lowering the burned-out joint to the ashtray at their bedside.

Figures, they wouldn't care about you hurting yourself, or give a second glance to your self-harm scars. 

That's what you liked about them though. They didn't ask questions.

"It's a product of war," You said like it was obvious, pressing a little more pressure against the knife, making the skin underneath it turn white. "Of course, it's hurt people…that’s, like, all it was made to do."

"Mm, that was lifetimes ago, though," They drawled, leaning forward and running a hand (big, made you feel small, made you feel delicate) over your knee, not stopping you as the rusty blade started to split your skin. They never did stop you, though. "You've kind of taken it and...made it your own, you know? It's kind of like you, in that way."

"Mm?"

"You...existed as one thing," They explained, reaching out for the knife with long, bony figures and waiting for you to give it to them, which you did readily, obediently. "And now you exist as something else. Just like this knife was once a product of war, and now it's a...tool for your pleasure, mm?"

"Pleasure," You repeated with a huffed laugh, trembling with pain as they pressed the blade against the bleeding cut, teasing the skin open more, making the wound that much harder to heal. "That's a funny way of putting it, Law."

"You're hard," They said, a little bluntly, using the blade of the knife to flick up your skirt (the gesture made your cheeks flush and your knees tighten together), showing your cock pressing tight against the bars of your chastity cage. It was less of a symbol of your submission to them (the two of you were above such binary concepts, after all) as it was a symbol of your devotion, your promise to remain faithful, your promise to not do anything they didn’t agree to. "Or, harder than you usually are. You must be enjoying something about this…"

"Okay," You huffed again, hissing as they dragged another shallow cut into your thigh, severing more segments of your tights. "Let me hold onto one phallic symbol, can you? If I’m now allowed the other…"

"Sure," They replied, taking your sarcastic retort seriously (they weren’t good at picking up on sarcasm) as they continued to stroke your scar-patterned skin with the blade. “Whatever you want…”

You breathed out unsteadily as their other hand reached up your thigh, their thumb tracing over the twin cuts tenderly, smearing blood and tracing the lines of muscle that they had inadvertently exposed.

“You have a good pain tolerance,” They observed as they dragged a third cut into your skin, their gaze going up to your face to watch you as you bit your lip, a bead of sweat running down your cheek as you tried, with all your might, to not flinch or whimper.

“Thanks,” You murmured with a sardonic smile, leaning back on the bed as they kept rubbing at your cuts. “Hh…I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” They replied with a smile, gentle and eerie and unnervingly sweet.

“I meant it as one.”

[whokilledray777]

just watched bad boys: ride or die in the Theater yesterday… armando pls one chance

[thingsasbarcodes]

Young Justice 2x12 - True Colors

[dame-de-pique]

H. A. Lawrence / C. Ray Woods - Solar Eclipse from Caroline Island, May 6, 1883

[garadinervi]

Shards, Facta est deserta, [from Byrd Song (2024)], (Digital track), Erased Tapes Records, 2023

Composer: Kieran Brunt Performer(s): Kieran Brunt and Hamish McLaren Publisher: Decca Publishing Design: Robert Raths

[generic-lab-assistant]

Quick shitty Richard Lawrence sketches for today while I’m at work

[nierh-a]

Mothers

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

The Kuroshitsuji Public School arc miniature pop-up, Numbers 1 to 3 (and a pair of cat’s ears behind them.)

[lovesalwayskay]

My favorite hunger games edit

[venusjailer]

“I just want a child… two perfect children”

“Will the baby be alright? Will I have one of mine? Can I handle it even if I do? They said that my mind - it’s not fit, or so they said, to carry a child. I guess I’ll be fine…”

‘Fingertips’; Lana Del Rey (2023)

[clipzicle]

screwed around on a whiteboard today,,