#not to pour fuel on the fire but straight up

[valentineish]

The term "walkable cities" makes me bristle. Despite the assumption that this is ignorance borne of U.S. citizenship, I do understand the term. I share a goal with the people using it.

But the focus on walkable perpetuates the exact design principles that makes my life hell: that anybody who isn't an ablebodied, healthy adult is not a consideration. The fact that other activists are telling disabled people to sacrifice our quality of life for a narrow vision of developed spaces is what's frustrating.

[comet-forgot-you]

Can we have fem!reader fucking river against a counter🙏🙏 also thank you for your service

ask

sister’s roommate!river x reader

summary: your sister’s roommate won’t stop teasing you.

warnings: 18+ pls, smut, fingering, smut, teasing, maybe voyeurism but i dont think so idk.

a/n: this probably isnt what you wanted, i can totally write another one if its not sorry. do not repost for reason.

coming home from college for spring break was supposed to be refreshing. you were supposed to feel relieved, but all you could feel was frustration, all because of your sister’s roommate that decided to tag along with your sister, staying at your family’s house the entire break. it wasnt like she was annoying, no, far from it. she would always find a way to be close to you, helping you cook, acting like she couldn’t sleep just so she could sneak down stairs where she knew you’d be until the late hours of the night just to talk to you.

it wasn’t annoying, not in the slightest. it was just the fact that ever since she found out you were into girls it was like it sparked something inside of her. she started to to “accidentally” graze you, the touches she left on your skin lingering too long to be considered an accident. then she started wearing that wife beater that looked sooo fucking good on her. the way her nipples would harden in the tight material, it tested every ounce of strength you had in you.

tonight was no different, river was non-stop teasing you, her actions hidden by the cover of the table. her hands trailing up and down the expanse of your thigh, pinching the fat between her fingers until you looked at her. and once you finally did, the coil in your stomach tightened. her eyes were blown with lust, eyebrows furrowed, a feigned look of innocence painted on her face. river was going to drive you insane.

you couldn’t think straight the rest of the night, your mind constantly going back to river’s touch on your thigh, how she looked at you like she wanted to fuck her, then to the nights before, that fucking shirt, the way it hugged her so fucking good. it was like the scenario was ingrained in your brain, replaying over and over and over again.

you were sat on the couch, head held up by your hand as you tried to rid yourself of the thought of river. you wanted her, of course you did, you’d be a fool not too, but you couldnt shake the feeling that your sister would lose her mind if it happened.

your mind drifted back to river the millionth time in the past hour. her hand on your thigh, the needy look in her eyes, that shirt. you wondered how she would sound, what her lips felt like pressed against your own, against your neck. what would she feel like around your fingers? what would she taste like? the thoughts racing through your mind did nothing but fuel the fire in the pit of your stomach. the fire river had lit.

you push yourself off of the couch, walking to the kitchen for a drink. the house was quiet, everyone had made their way to their respective rooms hours ago. you wanted to think that you were only still up and in the living room because you were caught up with a movie, but the tv hadnt been turned on since you had sat down. you knew the reason you were still awake, still in the living room. you knew that river would make her way into the living room if you waited long enough.

as if on cue, the sound of a door opening sounds from down the hall. you pour yourself a glass of water, taking a sip as footsteps pattered down the hallway. you set the glass down, gripping the marble countertops in an attempt to keep your composure.

“can’t sleep?” river asks, coming to stand beside you. you look over at her, eyes flickering down to the infamous tank top she wore, to her pebbled nipples, before returning your gaze to her eyes. a smirk had snuck its way onto her lips.

“tried to, kept havin’ the same dream, keeps waking me up.” you take a sip of water, river’s eyebrow raises.

“nightmare?” her voice is filled with concern.

“nah, its a good dream. somethin’ i want to happen,” you mutter, setting the now empty glass in the sink.

“what is it?” she asks, head tilting slightly. you smile, moving to stand in front of her. her eyes flicker to your lips.

“fucking you.” you mutter, fiddling with the hem of her wife beater. her eyes widen ever so slightly, a faint blush painting her cheeks. she leans in closer to you, eyes locked on your lips.

“then why don’t you do it now?” she asks in a whisper. her tongue swipes against her bottom lip in anticipation, and you cant hold yourself back anymore, cant deprive yourself of her.

your lips meet hers in a needy kiss, hands holding onto her hips as hers tangle themselves in your hair. she tugs ever so slightly, a quiet gasp falling from your lips. she takes the moment of surprise to her advantage, slipping her tongue into your mouth. you lift her onto the counter, tongues not leaving each other once. its sloppy and needy, its nothing like you imagined, but its everything you needed in the moment.

your hands squeeze at the fat of her thighs, a needy whine leaves her hot mouth, only to be swallowed by you. you part from her lips, taking in her form. lidded eyes meet yours, a slight pout on her lips. shes looks so good, so pretty, you want nothing more than to taste her. so thats what you do. you pull down the clothing that hides the heat your so desperately crave. a sharp gasp escapes from river’s mouth as her cunt meets the cool marble of the countertop.

“gotta stay quiet. don’t want em to wake up n’ see me fucking you, now, do we?” she shakes her head and you smile, scooting her to the edge of the counter. you spread her wetness with your finger, dipping ever so slightly into her entrance. before circling her clit, causing a muffled moan from her.

you dip two fingers into her greedy cunt, muffled moans threatening to fall from her lips. you tear your eyes away from her cunt that sucks your fingers in so deliciously to take her in. her lips was pulled between her teeth, her attempt at muffling the noises that threaten to escape her lips. you thumb at her clit, rubbing slow, sloppy circles against the nub. she hisses, hand flying to your wrist. your eyes flicker back down to her covered nipples. you free hand moves to twist them over the ridged fabric, her nails digging into the skin of your wrist.

“fuck,” you hiss, a wave of heat washing over your body. “feelin’ good?” you mutter out, scissoring your fingers inside of her. she nods. “use your words, had enough of not hearing the pretty voice of yours tell me how bad you want me,” her walls squeeze your fingers, her teeth freeing her lip from its previous confines.

“yes, fuck.. feels s’ good,” her words come out as shaky whisper, scared that if she were to say it in any louder she wouldnt be able to stop the moan that itches to escape. you smile, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“good,” you mutter, pinching her nipple. river’s barely able to muffle the moan that erupts from her chest. your fingers curl, hitting the spongey spot inside her that has her arching into you. your movements on her clit speed up, rubbing faster circles on her pulsing clit.

“fuck, yeah, js’ like that,” she mutters, a whine falling from her lips. you nip at the skin of her neck.

“quiet,” you mumble. she lets out a shaky breath, nodding the best she could. it doesnt take long for her to reach the peak of her orgasm, her juices coating your hand and the counter beneath her. you pull your fingers out of her, pushing them last her lips and resting them against her tongue. she makes quick work of cleaning them off, the taste of her own juices has her head spinning. you smile, lowering yourself until your face to face with her dripping cunt. you pull your fingers from bee mouth, wrapping your arms around her thighs to spread them open.

you take her pulsing clit into your mouth, groaning against it at the taste. river’s hand flies to your hair, keeping you in place. you trail your tongue down to her entrance, lapping up the juices, before returning your attention to her needy clit. you flatten your tongue against the bud, sucking on it.

you look up at the girl, her hand pressed against her mouth in an attempt to keep herself quiet. her back arches as your teeth scrape the bud, her grip in your hair tightening. you press your tongue flat against her clit, another groan against her cunt has her clit pulsing erratically against your tongue.

“don’t stop, please. feels so good, don’t want you to stop.” her words are frantic, voice full of need. you dip your tongue back into her leaking entrance, prodding at the hole that greedily sucks you in. you let out a small laugh, the vibrations on her cunt only bring river closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm.

river looks so fucking pretty. bottom lip wedged in between her teeth, eyes closed as she chased her orgasm. you wish you had a camera to keep the image with you, but you don’t, so you try your best to carve the image into your memory.

one stroke of your tongue against her clit and a twist at bed nipple has her toppling over the edge. muffled moans filling the air. you help her ride out her second orgasm of the night before standing up to press your lips against hers. river whines against your lips, fingers pulling at your hair.

“so fuckin good. needed you all week,” she mumbles, pressing kisses against your jaw. you chuckle.

“should’ve just asked, river.”

[theelementofsurprise505]

After the storm

Alex Turner x Reader

summary: a heated argument.

warnings: angst, swearing, blood?, some fluff at the end.

You and Alex were married, however during the last year things had changed. You’d often notice how he became cold and more distant, there was rarely a moment when you two weren’t fighting.

Tonight was no different, you were in the car driving home from a restaurant after an argument there, the car abruptly came to a halt, making you slightly jump forwards in your seat. Alex pulled over onto the side of the road, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles went white and staring straight out onto the dark road.

“get out” he said in a low and angry tone, not once moving his gaze off the road or unclenching his hands from the wheel, he didn’t care how you got home, he just wanted you far away from him right now.

“what?” you spat, turning to face him, bewildered as to his ridiculous demand.

“did i stutter? i said get out.” he finally turned to look at you, his tone filled with bitterness and anger, his face was cold, you couldn’t believe he was kicking you out the fucking car.

“don’t be stupid Alex i’m not getting out the car” he was being stupid, it was pouring with rain, no way he’d actually force you to get out and walk home.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel with a loud thud, the sudden action made me jump, he’s never acted out as harsh as this before,“please, just fucking get out!” he was shouting now, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, inhaling a sharp breath before letting out a lengthy sigh, refusing to look at me any longer.

“you know what! fine” you harshly undid your seatbelt and opened the car door, slamming it shut with a huff before watching him immediately speed off. The walk back home was only about 20 minutes but the rain didn’t show signs of stopping, you were getting drenched by the second.

As Alex drove home, he felt a pang of guilt for forcing you to walk home in the rain, but he quickly pushed that feeling to the back of his mind, still blinded by rage.

Once he arrived home he slammed the front door shut, heading straight into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of whiskey, he placed the glass down with so much force it smashed, he let out a sharp hiss as one of the shards sliced his hand, adding fuel to the fire he turned round and in a fit of rage punched his hand into the cupboard.

“shit” he immediately recoiled, the seething pain spreading through his knuckles as he walked over to the sink, running his hand under the tap and assessing the cuts from the glass, luckily they were only minor and didn’t need sever medical attention.

You debated on walking home or staying at a friends tonight, but ultimately you decided to just go home and try and sort things out with Alex, avoiding him would only escalate things when you got home. Sometimes you wondered where your Alex went, the man you fell in love with all those years ago, you ended up getting so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t even realise you were now stood outside your front door.

wiping away the few stray tears that escaped, you opened the door and stepped in, the house was silent. You took off your dripping wet coat and placed it on the radiator, walking further into the house.

“Al?” you called out after entering the living room and not seeing him. Upon walking into the kitchen you saw the broken glass scattered on the counter and the floor, you let out a lengthy sigh, grabbing the broom and cleaning up the glass, being careful not to touch any of it or hurt yourself.

You perked up when you heard a low grunt coming from upstairs, you wandered up to find Alex, walking into your bedroom and seeing the bathroom light on.

Slowly stepping in, you saw Alex sat on the edge of the bath trying to wrap his hand up in a bandage and failing miserably. without saying anything you walked over and took the bandage from him, putting it on the counter and reaching for the small first aid kit you kept on the top shelf.

“i don’t need your help, im fine” he spat, still pissed, great.

you simply ignored him and pulled out some anti septic wipes and began dabbing at his hand with them, he let out a small hiss as the liquid burned, seeping into the wounds. you grabbed a fresh bandage and wrapped it around his knuckles, securing it with some tape.

you sat down on the edge of the bath next to him, silence engulfing you, the only sounds being heard was your breathing and the quiet hum of the light.

“i hate this al, im sick of fighting all the time” you finally spoke, not turning to face him and still staring at the floor.

he lifted his hand to his face, dragging it down his chin before letting out a sigh, “i know” he didn’t want to admit it but he felt guilty now for letting one stupid argument escalate that far.

you chewed on your lip for a few seconds, debating your next words, “i love you, you know?” you turned to face him, his expression was unreadable. he was silent for a moment, finally averting his gaze and looking at you, his face softened for a second, no longer showing signs of him being angry and hostile, for a split second you saw your al, the man you loved despite it all.

“i love you too” he sounded genuine, he felt remorseful about how he acted out earlier, yeah you fought often but he had never acted out like did tonight. unexpectedly he pulled you into a hug, engulfing you in his arms and resting his head atop yours.

you were slightly taken aback, Alex was rarely affectionate towards you anymore, you’d missed this. You relaxed into his arms, breathing his familiar scent, bringing your arms up to wrap around his middle.

“i’m sorry” he placed a soft kiss on your head, his words merely a whisper.

“i just-“ he sighed, “things are just so stressful at the minute, everyone in the studio is on my case about the album deadline and its doing my head in, i didn’t mean to take it out on you”. He slightly hung his head in shame.

your lips pressed together, forming a line as you brought a hand up to soothingly rub his back, “it’s okay al, i get it.” you offered him a small smile.

“you do?” he held his head up to look at you, you could tell he was tired, the rings around his eyes prominent aswell as the small crease above his brows.

you nodded and rested your head on his shoulder, basking in this moment of peace, the first you’d had in a long time. He wrapped his arms around you and you sat there, together, with everything feeling right again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

a/n: sorry it’s been awhile, this has been sitting in my drafts for ages but i thought it lacked detail, atleast it’s something!

not proof read so if there are mistakes i apologise.

[inneedofsupervision]

Hey Mister Villain

Finally, I can present you the long-awaited Sequel to No Spilling Secrets. I recommend reading No Spilling Secrets first, as that is relevant for understanding the context of this story.

Summary: After getting out of the claws of Clint, Bucky, and Sam, Peter can finally take a rest. Or can he? A single glance at Mr. Stark is enough to let the teen know his mentor waits for an explanation, and it better be a good one. He really should have thought about how to get out of this one, didn't he?

Read on Ao3

"Care to explain why you hacked Friday, Peter."

Oh fuck.

"Not the words I would use, but that sums it up well enough."

The words had tumbled out before Peter could stop himself. At least May and Steve weren't here to catch that slip-up. Mr. Stark merely raises an eyebrow, leveling the teen with a glance. The man is still waiting for an explanation that Peter is more than dreading to give to his mentor. Heck, Peter endured the dishing out of the bird bros and Bucky. He couldn't fold now just because Mr. Stark came off as a little intimidating. Speaking of Mr. Stark, said man stands stern-faced in front of him, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at Peter in a voiceless dare to keep silent. 

Okay, cross that. Mr. Stark is more than a little intimidating. 

But still, Peter has come too far to spill. His mentor wouldn't let him live that down, not after creating a whole archive of Peter's embarrassing moments. It is pouring fuel straight into the fire.

Mr. Stark steps closer.

With one hand casually placed in the pocket of his three-piece suit while the other pulls down his glasses, the man glances over the rim. Peter gulps. He has to lean his head back to meet his eyes. Mr. Stark studies him for a moment, and Peter wonders what exactly the man is searching for when the sound of the man sniffing catches his attention.

Mr. Stark straightens, pushing his glasses back up.

"These three didn't manage to, but I know how to make you talk, Parker. Don't let it come to that." Peter lets out a huff in protest when his mentor suddenly pushes him, causing him to lie flat on the bench. The teen stares up at the older man in surprise before Peter's face contorts into a grimace as he finally registers Mr. Stark's words.

"You saw all of that?" Peter asks, hoping Mr. Stark would break out into that smug trademark grin, laughing as he pats him on the shoulder and tells him he was only messing with him. Mr. Stark, of course, didn't give Peter that. Instead, he is met with a slight tilt of the head as Mr. Stark gives him an unimpressed look. 

"This is my tower kid. What did you expect?"

The vigilante lets his shoulder sag in defeat. Of course, Mr. Stark watched the whole spectacle. Where is that hole in the ground to bury yourself? It's never there when you need it.

A finger flicks against his forehead.

"Don't go all kicked-puppy on me, kid. You wouldn't be in this predicament if you hadn't cracked the tower's system and left a security breach as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge. You bought this on yourself."

"Maybe that wouldn't happen if there was a better security system," mutters the teen under his breath. 

"Excuse me, what was that?" Peter's mouth shut instantly at the look Mr. Stark was giving him. How many times did he manage to piss his mentor off today? According to Mr. Starks expression, it was at least one time too many. Sensing that this wasn't going in a favorable direction, Peter made a drastic decision. 

He needs to escape. 

Now.

The man standing in front of the bench raises an eyebrow as the teen suddenly angles his legs up, bringing them close to his chest and bending his back, body forming an alarmingly accurate globular form. Without his trademark suit, the kid always seemed so inconspicuous it was easy to forget his powers and traits, counting in that inhuman flexibility. The kid tilts sideways, beginning to roll down the bench with an easiness that left the man wondering if Peter had done this before, the thought of that being a possibility alone giving him a mild headache.

"What- kid, you are not some overgrown roly-poly. What are you doing?"

Skillfully ignoring the bewildered tone of his mentor, Peter tenses his muscles while bracing for the fall, tilting his arms to avoid landing on his still-bound wrists. Mr. Stark takes off his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, tired of Peter's antics, before pocketing them in his breast pocket.

"Kid, you're not getting away without talking about this."

The older man rolls his eyes as Peter ignores him, the latter robbing his way forward on the floor, apparently on a mission to put the two super-soldiers in their team to shame. But it still wasn't quick enough. Peter wriggles forward as if his life depended on it, blatantly ignoring the pair of shoes moving at the same pace next to his head as Mr. Stark walks reversely next to him, hands folded behind his back as he looks down at the teen with mild amusement.

"Having fun, kid? How's the air down there?"

The engineer shakes his head when he doesn't get an answer, not even a sarcastic or snappy remark from his mentee. The latter keeps wriggling with a determined look towards the door still ten meters away. "And Rhodey calls me stubborn. Peter, kid, come on. Stop being silly." 

"Upfh!"

A tiny yelp escaped Peter's lips when he fell forward, courtesy of the polished dress shoe that pulled on the leg he had put on the ground in an attempt to stand up, only to fall flat on his stomach. 

"Come one, Peter. This starts to get boring, doesn't it."

The teen doesn't need to see the man know that Mr. Stark is most likely rolling his eyes at him as he continues ignoring him, only to further shuffle forward on the floor. 

"Friday, be a dear and give me and Mr. Parker some privacy."

Peter couldn't decide what let his heart beat faster, Mr. Starks words or the faint click of the door locking shut. 

"Mr. Stark!"

The boy's eyes widen as the dress shoe from before pushes under his stomach. He gets flipped onto his back, gazing up at Mr. Stark standing above him with a raised eyebrow and a corner of his lip turned up in unsuppressed smugness. 

Peter sucks in a breath at the sight.

"Mr. Stark, you look like a supervillain right now."

The man's lips qurik up as he strokes his clean-cut goaty. 

"If it takes a supervillain to end this nonsense, I might as well adapt to that role."

"Mr. Stark, no!"

It doesn't take a lot for the man to kneel and grab the squirming boy's wrists, pinning them over his head with one hand.

"Are you ready to talk, Spiderman?"

Peter feels the adrenaline kicking in as his lips twitch upwards in anticipation, his eyes focused more on Mr. Starks free hand than the man's face. Mr. Stark notices the glance at his hand. 

"You see this, webslinger?" asks Mr. Stark with a cold-toned voice that Peter hasn't heard the man using with anyone other than the press on a few occasions when reporters ask some too-invasive questions. He had even pulled the purple-tinted glasses back out and put them on, jumping at the chance to act like an actual villain, and Peter could only stare up at the man, feeling flabbergasted. 

Sure, Mr. Stark could act playful. 

But those mods were usually portrayed through a headlock with an easy way out, hair ruffling, and tons of jokes and banter. Occasionally, Mr. Stark tickles him during movie nights when Peter gets a little too sassy for the man's liking, ending with the teen nearly rolling down the couch giggling. Those moments usually last only a few seconds before Peter crawls back on the couch with Mr. Starks arm thrown over his shoulder, leaning against the man's side. Therefore, it was hardly surprising that Peter was a tad perplexed at the threat of getting tickled by his mentor. The latter seemed overly confident in getting Peter to talk, which results in the teen being curious and absolutely terrified at once. At least Mr. Stark didn't have super hearing, or he might have known just how effectively nervous his words alone were making Peter, going by how his heart was racing behind his ribcage. 

Unaware of the conflicting emotions Tony has caused to tumble around his mentee's head, he continues playing his villain act with a worryingly amount of perfection. The man holds his free hand up for the teen to see, moving his fingers down one after another in a quick motion like some cheap magician before pulling a bunny out of his top hat.

"This is the only tool needed to get you chirping, Spidey," continues the man, looking at his hand as if it were some weapon he had built and was particularly proud of. It leaves Peter gulping heavily.

"You might ask yourself why this," Mr. Stark waves with his hand, "is the way to break you. Well, let me elaborate, my wall-crawling little friend."

Peter opens his mouth to interrupt the cliche of the villain explaining his evil master plan in front of the bound hero. He gets silenced by a raised eyebrow and quickly clamps his lips shut, letting Mr. Stark have his moment.

"I happen to stumble over some interesting information about you, Spiderling. Some would even say it is a bit of a weakness."

Oh gosh, Peter didn't like the way Mr. Stark was grinning down at him at all. The hairs on his neck begin to rise at the sight. Although his subconsciousness was aware of the lack of a threat, Peter's brain couldn't stop the funny feeling of anticipation from accumulating inside him, leaving his muscles tense as he could do nothing but wait for something to happen. It feels like just before his spidey sense kicks in, but without the wave of anxiety rolling over him. At this point, Peter wishes Mr. Stark would get over it, but the thought of asking the man to do something leaves the tips of his ears red in embarrassment. He feels like a child all over again, becoming flustered over something silly, like the prospect of getting tickled.

"From what I gathered, there are parts of your body which, despite your genetic altering, are rather-" Mr. Stark leaves a short pause between the following words as his lip twitches upward into a smug grin, "delicate."

Mr. Starks free hand shots downward. 

Peter presses out a squeaky "noho!" while bringing his legs up to his chest to block the attack, eyes squeezing shut on instinct. 

But nothing happens. 

Peter lingers in that curled-up position, opening his eyes slightly to squint over his knees. The teen meets the highly amused grin of Mr. Stark, who wears the same expression as he does when he gets the affirmation of one of his more advanced calculations being correct, an expression of pure smugness. 

"A bit skittish, are we?"

Before Peter could even think of an answer, Mr. Stark's hand found a way between his pulled-up legs and his middle, fingers digging without hesitance into his stomach. The sudden attack caught Peter off guard, the laughter pouring out instantly.

"Mr. Stahahark! Thahahahat's plahaying dihirty!"

The man tilts his head at his mentees' words, the latter trying to press his knees closer to his middle, but that did little to hinder the man from tweaking his sides, grinning at the little shriek it earns him. 

"Oh, I didn't know this counts as playing to you. Might as well as much as you are enjoying yourself."

"I'm nohoht enjohohyinh anythIHIHng!" 

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes and switches spots, his fingers working quickly on the teen's stretched-out underarms. Peter kicks his legs out at the ticklish jolt when blunt nails softly scratch over the fabric of his shirt that does little to protect his sensitive armpits. His laughter changes into cackling, and he tugs on his bound arms, actually managing to bring them down. 

He only hears the click of a tongue, having shut his eyes when his armpits got attacked. He rolls on his side as soon as the tickling stops, trying to escape the attack, but gets stopped by a hand on his shoulder, effortlessly pulling him onto his back again. Not a second later, two hands are shoved up into his underarms, and begun to explore the spot, meticulously working on searching for weak spots. As soon as he found them, Mr. Stark kneads with his thumbs into the muscles, letting Peter jump with a squeak before bursting into another wave of loud laughter.

"NOHOO PLEAHAHASE! MR. STAHAHAHARK. Nohohot thehehere! I- I canahahan't ahahaha. I cahahahn't staAHAND ihiht, pleahashe nohohho!"

"That's unfortunate, as I don't show mercy to any of my enemies. And you, Spiderman, earned the privilege to stand on the top of my hit list."

He grins down at the teen who has his arms pressed to his side as much as his tied wrists allow it, body wriggling from side to side to avoid his hands, but Tony's fingers are following, never leaving up to pinch and flutter over all the places that bring out the sound of panic-laced giggles. 

"No! No! Nonononono! ACK NOHO MR. STAHAHARK, NOHOHOHO!"

"Hm? What's this? Spiderman has a ticklish belly?"

Peter manages to sends a glare at his mentor. "I doho nohoht! J-just l leahaheve ihit alohohohne. Mr. Stahark, I sweaAHAHR, I- ohmygohohod dohohohnt!"

Peter lets out a high-pitched squeal as a finger dips into his belly button. His laugh goes silent for a few seconds, during which he arches his back as the ticklish feeling overwhelms him before he deflates into a heap of hiccupy giggles, begging Mr. Stark to do anything but please let his belly button alone. The man smirks down at the blushing teen. Tony would lie if he said he did not find Peter's reaction absolutely endearing. 

"Now, that's just adorable. I almost feel bad having to end you."

"Youhuhu ahahre eheh- evil!"

"I beg to differ, Spidey. This -" Tony worms his finger into Peter's navel, wriggling it around teasingly and earning himself a snort followed by feet drumming against the floor behind him as the kid trashes around madly 

"isn't evil. I'll show you what's really evil."

Out of breath and lying on his side, Peter, at first, didn't register what was happening, too busy to get back to pumping air into his lungs. When he finally glances up at what Mr. Stark is doing, the man is already gathering his feet in a headlock and pulling his tie around his ankles. Peter's eyes widened. He was about to yank his legs out of the hold, and he certainly would have managed to, but at that moment, Mr. Stark had already tightened the piece of clothing, successfully binding his legs. After giving it a closer thought, Peter's panic begins to subdue. A tie was no match for his strength. He could easily snap it if he wanted to. 

"Before I forget it, that tie is a Christmas present from Pepper's parents."

Mr. Stark broke out in loud laughter at the sheer look of betrayal Peter sent his way.

"You are a monster, Mr. Stark."

Peter regrets the words as soon as his mentor grins at him before pushing him over, forcing the teen to lay on his stomach and pull his feet facing upward onto his lap.

"Finally, you are aware of the gravity of the situation, Spidey."

While talking, he let a single finger run down the arch of Peter's foot, grinning at the teen's toes curling up and the whole-body jolt the action brought. He repeats the action on Peter's other foot, getting the same reaction, which only encourages the man to let all his fingers, at once, drag over the wiggling soles. The feet in his lap squirm just as the rest of the teen trashes on the floor like an angry caterpillar, laughing his head off, occasionally shrieking when Tony pulls his toes back to scribble under them. 

"NO! Nohohot the toes! Pleahase, anythihing buhut thahat."

Mr. Stark let up, giving the teen a short break.

"Not the toes, you say? Do you mean these toes? These ticklish little toes right here?" He takes one of them between his fingers, shaking them a little while speaking, but that is apparently enough to throw Peter into a giggle fit and try kicking him. 

"Well, then I have to let these toes be. And tickle these instead."

True to his word, Mr. Stark left Peter's right foot in peace, only to jump onto the left one, resuming his relentless attack.

"ACK! I sahahaid NOT the toehes!"

"And since when do I listen to what my enemy tells me? Huh, Spidey, since when do we do that?" he teases the kid, letting up from his feet to pinch above his kneecaps. Peter shrieks and kicks his legs out as he laughs loudly, managing to roll onto his back. He quickly sets his legs up to press his soles against the gym floor, preventing Tony from getting a hold of them.

"You're trying to be smart about this? Well, what do you do about this then?"

Without pausing, Mr. Stark takes hold of the teen's wrist and softly but firmly presses them against the teen's chest to get them out of the way before pulling his shirt up, revealing his tummy. 

Peter's eyes widen. He couldn't move much with his feet sticking to prevent whatever Mr. Stark was planning. He had an idea, but surely Mr. Stark wouldn't do something as childish as that.

Right?

Peter screams before hysterical giggles take over after the first raspberry is placed on his stomach.

"Nahaha, stahahahap. Nohot fahair, ihihihi thihihs isn't fahahahahair Mr. Stark!"

"Anything is fair in a fight with your enemy. Even this."

Mr. Stark places another long-lasting raspberry, making sure to shake his face into Peter's stomach as that elicits just the most adorable squeal he had ever witnessed from the teen.

"Now, what do you say, Spidey? Are you ready to fess up?"

Mr. Stark takes in the sight of his red-faced mentee with something akin to fondness. Peter's hair is messy from shaking his head from side to side, his chest heaving from laughing, and a wide grin spreads over his features. The teen surprises him as he squints at him from a position on the ground, a determined look on his face.

"Is that all you've got?"

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow.

"Well, you brought this on yourself."

His head rushes down again, sending the teen into another ticklish frenzy. By the end of it, tears of mirth are gathering in the corner of Peter's eyes, which were Tony's clue to give up. Apparently, Peter didn't think his mentor would give up just yet, as he couldn't believe it when his hands and feet were free to move again.

"You're letting this go?" Peter stares wide-eyed at his free hands before directing his puzzled look at Mr. Stark, who flattens the wrinkles in his suit. 

"As you are so determined to not let a word lose about it, I will let it slide." He sighs at the bewildered expression Peter sends him.

"I trust you, Peter. Whatever you have done must have been important, and I trust you would tell me if it wasn't, alright?"

Oh wow, now Peter feels like an idiot. 

"Ehm, Mr Stark?"

The man in question glances at the teen, the latter rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes cast on the ground. Peter pulls his legs to his chest, biting on his lips as he wraps his arms around his knees, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed by the ground. He made such a big deal out of nothing, and now he has to admit to that and no other than Mr. Stark too. 

His fingers tighten into the fabric of his pants before he finally finds the courage to confess to the man.

"I did it because I was embarrassed."

The words came out mumbled as Peter pressed his face into his knees.

"I didn't quite catch that, Peter."

Using his name and not some nickname meant Mr. Stark had caught onto the mood. The man slowly steps closer, making only a bit of a show of sitting beside Peter and muttering about his joints.

Peter licks his lips, glancing at Mr. Stark before directing his eyes onto a stain on his jeans before repeating himself.

"I was embarrassed. Do you remember that folder, emh, the- the one where you let Friday save all that dumb stuff that I did? In the lab? Well, I know you like to tease me about that, and I usually don't mind, and I don't want to come off as whiny. I know everyone teases everyone on the team, and that's cool, yeah. But, you know, sometimes, I-" Peter stops to take a deep breath. Mr. Stark keeps sitting next to him, listening in silence, and while Peter is thankful for it, he still can't look at the man.

"Sometimes I get this fear that you'll show that stuff to the others, and they'll make fun of me. I know that shouldn't bother me. I'm not a little kid or anything. But this stuff that happens in the lab, I don't mind you seeing me do dumb stuff because, well, that's you Mr. Stark, and I trust you, like sure you'll think I'm silly, but when it's you, I kinda don't mind that? But if the others know I blow up the lap three times a week, that makes me kinda uncomfortable because everyone always calls you, Dr. Banner, and me the smart ones, but what will they think of me when they see all the messes I produce daily? I'm supposed to be smart and not blow stuff up and- and stumble over stuff when I'm literally Spiderman and yeah, I guess I'm insecure about that. I'm really sorry I hacked into Friday to prevent more footage from being taken, Mr. Stark. That was dumb, and I should have known that it was a bad idea, really."

Peter lifts his head, finally meeting Mr. Starks eyes, who had been patiently waiting for him, witnessing him stumble over his words. 

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter's voice grew quiet, close to a whisper. 

He watches Mr. Stark running a hand over his face, a sigh escaping the man, and it causes Peter to tighten to hold on to his knees. He is taken by surprise at the weight of an arm thrown over his shoulder before he gets pressed into a warm body, melting into Mr. Starks side as the older man pulls him closer.

"Peter, I want to apologize for making you feel that way."

Peter opens his mouth to protest but gets cut off by a hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Uh uh, broadcast break for the Spiderling." The teen huffs in light amusement, and Tony takes it as his sign to go on. 

"I want to apologize for taking it as far as it causes you to feel like you had to do something on your own rather than talk to me about it. I would have never shown it to anyone, but I should have considered that it could make you uncomfortable. I'll delete everything and stop Friday from saving further videos, alright?"

"You would do that for me, Mr. Stark?"

"Of course. I might be an asshole most of the time,"

"Language."

Tony raises an eyebrow at the rude interjection. His hand slips down to poke the teen in the side as a warning, which earns him a giggle.

"but I want you to feel comfortable and know you can trust me. That you can trust anybody on the team, okay?"

Peter nods with a small smile playing on his lips.

"Hey, Mr. Stark?"

"Yes?"

Peter grins up at the man.

"I'm really glad you're not a villain."

Mr. Stark squints at him before a sly smirk appears on his face.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Peter. We still haven't talked about the consequences of you creating a giant security breach."

Before Peter could crawl away, Mr. Stark had already slung an arm around the teen's middle, and for a third time that day, Peter's laughter echoed throughout the gym, this time a little brighter than before.

[synnamonroll666]

The Warmth Of My Light

Prompt 5: Temperature Play Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: Being a Zaterran, Syzoth needs heat. But your heat? He craves it... Warnings: Temperature Play, Heat Sensitive!Syzoth, HandJob (Male Receiving), Light Praises... Word Count: 542 Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri.

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

Nothing feels the way she feels when she presses herself against me and whispers sweet nothings in my ear. Her voice—smooth and sweet like honey—lures me in like a moth to a flame. That look in her eyes that she gets as she gazes up at me sends chills down my spine and has me craving more. And when she places her hand upon my chest and tells me she's mine, all my strength vanishes.

But despite all of that being enough to have me bend at her will, the one thing about her that gets me every time is her warmth.

The way she touches me is something I've never felt before. When her hands meet my skin and her heat sinks into my pours, it makes it hard to even think straight as I fall into a moment of pleasurable bliss.

My head falls back onto the pillows beneath me as the soft flesh of her palms and fingers slowly travel down my neck, leading to my chest and stomach—taking her sweet time to feel my hardened muscles under her touch—and eventually finding purchase on the area I find most sensitive.

All my shame and shyness goes out the window when I become encased by the warmth of her hands, so I let my gaurd down and give in, singing for my love as she massages me thoroughly. My lips part as I let lewd noises escape my throat, which she claims are the most beautiful sounds she has ever heard. But I can barely focus on the flattery as my mind is in a complete blissful state.

She presses her body against mine and I keen as her heat seeps into my flesh and travels through my veins, following down to create a spark within me. The fire within is growing more and more by the second, and I am unable to control it any longer. So I let her add fuel to it—I allow her to make it grow with the intent of causing a wild explosion to erupt within me.

I listen to her words of praise—to her telling me how good I'm doing—and it only makes these feelings within me grow more intense. She darts her warm tongue out to drag it up my throat, teasing my pulses as she does so and causing my eyes to roll into the back of my head. Then, I finally let that feeling explode into my climax, and I moan out shamelessly—not caring who hears my cries as I release my hot seed onto my stomach and her hand.

My body—being filled with so much warmth and pleasure from her presence alone—trembles in a way it never has before. And that's when she leans closer, caressing my hair with her free hand to soothe me as she whispers in a voice that only an angel could muster: "You did so well, my love. I love you so much."

I respond with a pleased sigh, since I am too tired and intoxicated by her heat and touch to speak. And not long after, I fall into a deep slumber while feeling her warm body curl up against mine. No, nothing satisfies me more than the warmth of my little sunshine.

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

[sentientgolfball]

A Sleepless Night

Finals have been kicking my ass so here’s a short self indulgent fic

Summary: GN!reader x Nameless Ghouls (platonic). Reader is found wandering the halls of the Ministry after a late night study session and invited to join the Ghoul Pile

The archives were still. It smelled of old leather and wood. Any candles that had been lit are long burnt out adding a hint of smoke into the air. Moonlight filtered softly into the massive room through the colored glass giving the place a bluish hue. It was the perfect picture of serenity. That is, until the ministry’s chimes ring out the hour. You jumped up from where you fell asleep at a desk, nearly falling backwards out of your chair. The books you had been studying, however, were not so lucky and had been flung in your frenzy. After the final chime of the bell you catch your breath attempting to calm your racing heart. Only once you had calmed yourself did you realize what time it was. Midnight.

“Oh shit” you jump out of your chair and quickly collect the displaced books, barely checking them over for any damage before putting them back in their rightful places. You knew either Primo or Omega or ,let’s face it, both would have your head if any of them were torn, but in your adrenaline fueled state you didn’t care about what may come. You were too occupied with trying to rush out of the archives, but you knew it was too late. At this hour all the dorms of the ministry would be locked and the only way you could get in is if you decided to wake the whole wing up by pounding on the heavy wooden doors.

You didn’t quite know where you were going after fixing up your desk to the best of your abilities, all you did know was that you’d be damned if you spent another sleepless night surrounded by ancient books and scrolls. After leaving the archives, you decided on seeing if there was any leftover food laying about in the ministry kitchen; maybe a snack would help you shake off your tiredness long enough to think of a good place to sleep that didn’t involve waking everyone. The halls were cold at this hour with no candles or fires lit and the silence was almost deafening. You felt a shiver run down your spine and a pit started to form in your stomach. It was almost laughable, you regularly spent your time working with ghouls summoned straight from Hell and conducting ancient rituals in the name of Satanas but it was a darkened hallway that sent your paranoia over the edge.

It was at that point you felt like you weren’t alone in the night. Your mind started racing with all the possibilities. Was it a Sibling? What if it was Omega pissed about the books? Could it be Copia wandering the halls unable to sleep? Whatever it was, you didn’t want to find out. You didn’t want to have to explain yourself in a half conscious state and you didn’t want to get in trouble for wandering the halls this late.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the body standing in the shadows until you walked straight into them. You tripped backwards almost falling over if it wasn’t for the figure grabbing your wrist to stop you. A flurry of apologies and explanations started to pour out of you when the figure asked “Are you alright? I felt something strong and came looking.”

You could practically feel your nerves settling at the sound of that voice. It was Aether. Of course it was him, quintessence ghouls could sense emotions and you weren’t exactly in the best state of mind at the moment. You looked up and met the quintessence ghoul’s purple eyes. His face was nothing short of concern and it was something in his gaze that sent you over the edge. You started rambling faster than your brain could keep up with.

“No! I haven’t had a good night's sleep in days. All I’ve been doing is slowly going insane under a mountain of translations and ritual instructions.” You would’ve continued but you could feel the back of your throat burning. You already ruined his night wandering too close to the ghoul dorm, you didn’t wanna bother him anymore. Aether didn’t say anything for a moment before closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. Here it comes you thought and prepared for the ghouls' anger, but instead you noticed that your mind started to clear. When Aether opened his eyes again they had a soft glow to them. Not only could quintessence ghouls sense emotions, they could also soothe. It was then that your exhaustion hit your body and you let out a yawn you tried to stifle.

“Better?”

“Better.”

“Now why don’t we start again hm?” He flashed a fanged smile at you. You considered what to say for a moment and settled on one thing. “I need to sleep.” The ghoul nodded in understanding and wrapped his spaded tail around your wrist to guide you. You assumed he’d just escort you back to the Sibling dorms so you wouldn’t get into trouble but after only walking for a few short moments he stopped.

“Here we are.” he said gesturing to the grand door in front of you both. It took a minute for you to process what was happening and then it hit you. “Aether…this is the ghoul dorm I can’t I won’t ask you to let me stay here” you paused for a moment “I already caused you enough trouble by waking you.” You held the ghoul’s gaze while he let out a soft chuckle

“You don’t have to worry the others don’t bite, well maybe Sodo, but that’s beside the point. You’re always welcome here and you look like you need it.” Your protests died on your tongue. He was right you were exhausted and despite not having looked in a mirror you had a feeling you looked a mess. Even so, you still hesitated. Sending this, Aether told you “don’t worry Omega isn’t in there. Him and the older ghouls hardly ever sleep in the dorm, they’re usually out doing their own things.” You dropped your head in defeat having no more excuses and allowed him to lead you inside. It was warm and dark but you could make out shapes of furniture and other decor. You thanked Aether and started to make your way to the couch in the middle of the room when you tripped on something and heard a sharp hiss. You jumped back and looked down only to be met with seven pairs of eyes of various colors looking back at you. They all looked half asleep and confused. Swiss looked like he was about to say something when he noticed Aether standing behind you.

“Ah so that’s where you went. I was wondering why I woke up with this attached to me” he motioned with his head to a bleary eyed Sodo using his stomach as a pillow. Aether responded “our friend here is in need of a good night's sleep, so I brought ‘em back with me.” The others didn’t seem surprised by this, leading you to believe this is a regular occurrence. You thanked Aether and the others for allowing you to sleep in their dorm and went to sit on the couch again. As you walked by the ghoul pile you felt a tail wrap around your ankle. You looked towards Aether confused and a bit scared, he just laughed. “Sleeping in the dorm means sleeping in the pile my dear Sibling” he said as he made his own way back into the throw of bodies. You hesitated for a bit wondering if he was serious or not. When the grip of the tail tightened around your ankle you realized he was in fact serious.

You awkwardly tried to lay down not wanting to disturb anyone in the pile. You came to realize the tail wrapped around your leg belonged to Mountain who seemed to be the foundation of the group.

That makes sense, you thought, he is the biggest ghoul after all. You then noticed that the air started to smell like a mix of vanilla and lavender. One of the earth ghoul’s abilities. You were still a bit tense being surrounded by all the ghouls, but that soon melted away with the heat radiating off of a now asleep Sodo curled up on Aether’s chest. At this point you have been fully integrated into the ghoul pile with tails intertwined around your limbs and clawed hands lightly scratching your back. You were fading in and out of consciousness when you noticed one of the ghoullettes had started humming a lullaby.

I could get used to this you thought before giving into the heaviness of your body and the warmth of the ghouls. That was the best night's sleep you had ever gotten.

Bonus:

Omega had finally finished his tasks in the archives when he noticed the sleeping Sibling. He recognized them, they’ve been doing research and rituals for the Ministry since they came of age. He enjoyed their presence in the archives on the long nights of work. He wondered why they chose to rest at their desk for the night.

Despite being one of the oldest ghouls currently at the Ministry, he still had a tough time understanding their behaviors. It was strange, he was a quintessence ghoul who had the power to read and soothe emotions, yet he still got confused by humans. He shrugged believing the Sibling just liked the atmosphere in the archives, he too has slept here on multiple occasions. He decided he would leave to bring the Sibling a blanket. At the very least he understood that humans get cold on account of not having any connection to the Infernal.

~~~

He had been gone for 10 minutes. Only 10 yet when he returned the Sibling was gone. He was a little disappointed until something caught his eye. Immediately he noticed a book placed incorrectly back on the shelves. The more he looked the more out of place texts he noticed and then he saw it. One of the Latin dictionaries had a slight tear on the spine. He could feel his eye twitch. He went looking for the Sibling stalking through the dark hallways when he stumbled upon them. He was going to approach when he noticed they weren’t alone. They were with Aether. He could barely hear what they were saying, but after the wave of emotion hit him he understood. He took one last glance before slinking away. Alright Sibling I’ll let you off this time he thought but starting tomorrow you’re stuck with me on cleaning duty.

[lemonzestywrites]

fuck it friday

tagged by the amazing and lovely @hippolotamus and @wildlife4life

heres a little continuation of my last wip wednesday! from ch4 of afotalwcs as always!!

(content warning for discussions of explicit sexual content beneath the cut!!)

God, the first time someone ate him out, he remembers his soul being sent up straight into the stratosphere. It felt near fucking divine. He could only imagine how that would feel like for Eddie. The kind of mess Buck could reduce him to. And judging from his reaction, Eddie definitely seems keen to the idea. Buck makes another mental note to himself for later. He is absolutely not forgetting this. Whines and moans filter through the other end of the receiver, every one adding more fuel to the fire burning inside his chest. Something nestled nicely within Buck's core purrs in wild deep satisfaction. Craving. Hungry “Dragging my tongue just about everywhere. I already know how much you love having my mouth on you.” “What-“ The words break off in a harsh gasp, stumbling out of his mouth as pleasure wracks his body. “What else would you do? Buck remembers the first time he’d heard of a flashover. The way he scribbled down the half-legible definition in his notebook while his academy teacher was giving them their lesson for the day. The near simultaneous ignition of all combustible material within an enclosed area. They’re deadly. The slow building of heat in a small space to the point where even random points of an area can catch ablaze even nowhere near the flames. People included. Granted, it’s not the most common fatalities for firefighters, but it’s definitely up there. And the worst part is, you rarely ever see it coming. Every nerve ending running along Buck’s skin ignites in a surging wildfire. What started with a match, an innocent ‘tell me’, has burned brighter and bigger than he’d ever even imagine. His body is scorched, flames claiming every inch of him. Want and eager pleasure flows through him. This game of back and forth can only go for so long, and right now, Buck is almost positive he’s losing. Cause all it takes is one question. One temptation whispered in his ear in the dead of night, all the while the most sinful noises pour from Eddie’s lips. And Buck feels himself become engulfed. “I’d have my fucking way with you, Eddie.”

tagging - @kitteneddiediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @goforkinard @devirnis @shyaudacity @aroeddiediaz

[squadron-goals]

A day at Staffel 11 (by Lothar von Richthofen)

The squadron was divided into two groups, so that half of the squadron always flew together. My brother, as the leader, sometimes flew with one group, sometimes with the other. My group was led by Schäfer and Wolff, Allmenröder and Lübbert were also part of it. That was the best number to fly together at the time. Later on, everyone in the group earned the Pour le mérite, except Leutnant Lübbert who unfortunately died before he got it. He had already done the most impressive things in his former unit. Only death could prevent our dear comrade from earning the Pour le mérite. On this day the group had the morning shift meaning that from dawn on we had to be ready to start any minute; that was very early – between four and five a.m. After waking up he sat in the starting shed when the telephone rang: “Six Bristol from Arras to Douai”. We got up. At 3,000 meters, a broken cloud cover. Just as we took off, we saw the Englishmen right below the thick clouds near our airfield. My brother's red plane was waiting ready on the field, the mechanics were working. But there was no sign of my brother. We caught up with the English but they flew very nimbly between the clouds so none of us was able to shoot one down. Every time you were within firing range behind a plane, it disappeared into the clouds. This was my first dogfight and I was very proud when I finally managed to get into position and land a few hits into the plane. I shot its fuel tank empty, but the next moment it disappeared behind the clouds. Since almost all aircraft have a reserve tank, he probably switched to it. At least he kept flying. Of course, I was very disappointed that he didn't go down, but that was too much of an expectation for the first fight, as my brother assured me later. None of us had managed to shoot one down and we returned to our airfield about half an hour later. There was my brother's plane again, but we could tell from afar by the hard-working mechanics and its position that he had been away. That was confirmed immediately by the mechanics: Yes, Herr Rittmeister took off about five minutes after us. He was still lying in bed when the message came. He quickly put on his flying clothes over his pajamas and off he went. After twenty minutes he was back and had shot down an Englishman. When we returned, he was already back in bed, sleeping soundly as if nothing had happened. Only a few hits in his aircraft and some reports of enemy aircraft being shot down bore witness to his flight. We were all a bit ashamed; we had been five, we had started earlier and landed later, and did not bring down a single plane. When we gathered for our second flight at eight o'clock, my brother showed up. He complained about the English, those nocturnal disturbers of the peace who force peace-loving people out of bed in the middle of the night. We congratulated him on his victory, told him about our experience and he about his. He had taken off straight towards the front. A few kilometers from the front, an Englishman suddenly came through the clouds and flew directly in front of my brother. After a few seconds the battle was decided. The Englishman crashed down in flames. The debris from his plane landed on our side of the lines. The breakfast we had just eaten gave us new courage and we put on our flying gear.

Fighter flying is rightly called that because it is a real hunt for enemy aircraft [explanation by the translator: in German fighter flying is called Jagdfliegerei, Jagd means hunt]. The game passes by consistently, but at the most indeterminate times possible. This time we had bad luck. The Englishmen were probably still sitting at the breakfast table. I made a commitment to always fly 50 meters next to my brother because I was convinced that this way, I was sure to get the first shot in. I managed to stay close to him and was happy that it worked so well. A lone English reconnaissance crossed over the front. I was so busy with concentrating to fly properly and stay on course that I did not even see him; my brother of course did. Out of the sudden he turned his machine around, positioned himself quickly behind the Englishman and at the same moment the plane already broke apart. The bullets had sawed one wing right off. As if a sack of large and small scraps of paper had been poured out, that's how the what was left of the English plane looked like. I observed the scene from a distance of around a thousand meters, although I had wanted to stay close to my brother. I had not been able to do this. He flew the same type of aircraft powered by the same engine, so it had to be me. Flying fast must be learned. Because you can fly slow and fast. You can fly so slowly that you almost stand on one spot. Then you have to the engine run very slowly and leave the machine in the same position; then the aircraft gradually hardly moves forward, but sags, i.e. it gradually lowers, and this carries the aircraft. In this case, it is very unpleasant that the steering no longer reacts properly, as there is no longer any air pressure on it. Such an exercise at low altitudes is of course not recommended for beginners. This is the slowest flying. Then you can always accelerate a little until you reach the average speed. At the average speed the aircraft climbs up. If I then turn the aircraft more and more upside down with the engine running at full power, I can achieve a considerable speed, if not twice the speed, then at least a very considerable increase. Of course, this puts a lot of strain on the machine and the engine. This must first be learned. It sounds very easy. But I know many people who never learn it. But I think this is more important than some other tricks, such as the loop. The loop is more something for spectators. It looks very nice, but has no value for the fight. The purpose of the loop is to be admired by amateurs and is usually practiced at home or in front of spectators.

After this one Englishman was shot down, we flew back to base. After the flights we mostly talked about the battles we had just experienced. A very funny image is that the person describing a dogfight is waving his arms around; he is talking with his hands. To teach us something, to tell us what we had done wrong and right, the air battles were usually followed by a meeting. But my brother also achieved his goal in other ways. For example, when he took over the squadron, Wolff and Allmenröder were there. The two of them had no experience at all at that time, and before an air combat fear outweighs patriotism. In the first few days my brother flew off with the two, attacked several Englishmen, and his plane received a lot of hits without any success himself, as the two did not help. Of course, my brother was very angry about this, but he didn't blame the two of them and didn't say a word about it. Wolff and Allmenröder, who both later earned the Pour le mérite, told me that this was more effective than the biggest tongue lashing. After the meeting, my brother had to take care of the rest of the tasks for which a squadron leader is responsible. At lunch a war correspondent came to visit. I´m not sure if Manfred was more admired by our guest or by his comrades. Right after the meal there usually was a half hour break scheduled. Sometimes we flew five to seven times a day; The golden rules to keep it up: Eat, sleep and not a drop of alcohol.

My brother shot down another English double-seater in the evening. The aircraft was still making a normal glide, despite the fact that the occupants had been fatally shot by many bullets. However, the plane continued to glide into the roof of a house and crashed completely. As it was very close to us, my brother drove with us in the car to the crash site to find out the number of the plane and other things. When we arrived at the spot, it was not a pretty sight. Half of the plane was still hanging on the roof, the other half was lying on the road. The English had dropped bombs nearby, so the dogfight was watched by many, and a crowd of soldiers looked at the wreckage of the English plane. When we had established everything, we started on our way home. In the meantime, my brother had been recognised by the soldiers, and we left the village accompanied by a thunderous cheer.

[oozeofthecovenant]

Hamato Yoshi & Oroku Saki

Hamato Yoshi and Oroku Saki were raised by the Foot Clan as best friends and sworn brothers for life. They were in the same class and ascended the ranks together.

They were often put together to spar as children because their Sensei, The Ancient One, thought that both had flaws that complemented each other, with equal potential. Thus, their fates started to intertwine; one could not exist without the other.

They connected by being two of the best ninja-in-training in the Clan, and having a matching passion for all things ninjutsu. They were once merely sparring partners, but now, they were like ink and paper. They were inseperable when young, sparring together during training, and playing together during break time.

In terms of fighting, Yoshi would beat Saki in a fight any day. Yoshi was praised in his fighting skills as a result, which fueled his ego consistently. However, Saki was way better in terms of leadership qualities and discipline. They were often compared to each other, but at that time, they were kids; why care about it?

The real tension started when Oroku Saki was elected future leader of the Foot Clan at 16. This fueled Yoshi with a jealousy that caused a strain in their brotherhood. This jealousy peaked when they both fell in love with Tang Shen— one of the best kunoichi in the clan— a few years later. Tang Shen got along with both of them, but in the end fell for the more handsome Saki. They married and had a child together. They grew apart.

One day, Yoshi and Saki had a dinner together to "catch up." They both had a great time there, and Yoshi took that chance to spike Saki's drink with a sedative. Once Saki felt tired, he excused himself for the night and went home.

That night, Yoshi confronted Tang Shen. Told her that Saki was dangerous, hot-headed, vengeful. Told her to run off with him, to New York, where it's much safer than Japan. She said no, as she was already happy with Saki and Miwa, their now 3-year-old daughter. She walked home.

In a fit of anger, Yoshi poured gasoline in Saki's home once Tang Shen went back inside, and lit it on fire. Tang Shen tried to wake Miwa and Saki up once she realised the building was getting hot, but Saki remained unconcious. She laid him on a blanket and dragged him with the blanket to protect him. She also told Miwa to walk next to her.

The fire was intense, but Tang Shen managed to get out with Saki; but not without excessive scarring. It was then when she realised Miwa was not by her side. She was trapped in the building; unconcious from the smoke. Tang Shen tried to save her, but the building collapsed on them.

Saki lived, but he lost everything. His looks, his wife, his daughter; his home.

No law enforcement was involved as the Foot Clan could not sully their name with such a trivial case as this. Saki was banned from getting the police involved. He reluctantly agreed. Yoshi was sentenced to exile due to murder of a kunoichi and attempted murder of the Foot Clan leader.

This turned Saki resentful; justice had to be served. He then realised that as the leader of the Foot Clan, he had all the power he needed to hunt down Hamato Yoshi and have his revenge. Once he caught wind of Yoshi moving to New York, he started a branch of the Foot in New York and appointed himself as leader there, and another leader to take care of the original one in Japan.

After a lengthy and strenuous search, Saki, now known as the Shredder, managed to find Yoshi on the beach walking together with his pet rat. He snuck up on Yoshi and sliced his back, catching him off guard. Once Yoshi turned around Saki took the chance and stabbed him straight through the chest. At long last, he could get his revenge. Two men who were once brothers in a clan, turned against each other due to jealousy.

However, this story isn't over. Lurking in the shadows is a certain mutated rat who just witnessed the death of his father. And he is determined to perpetuate the cycle of revenge.

[letsquestjess]

Blood Daughter - Chapter 1: Beacon

Story Summary: After Kallar Viren flees the Empire, his daughter sets out to find him, only to discover he has been taken by Imperials. With help from Clone Force 99, Zeraphine pushes through her losses in a race against the clock to rescue her father or face the galaxy as the last of her family.

Warnings: Mention of blood and injury.

A/N: Happy May the Fourth everyone! I'm so excited to finally be able to introduce Zeraphine and Amelina (and some oc clones later on in the story)! I hope you all enjoy the first chapter. Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

Chapter 2

-- -- -- -- --

Warning alarms howled their persistent cry, rising and falling in a series of undulating screeches. Emergency lights span in their casings and bathed the interior in a deathly crimson glow. 

A flood of smoke burst from the pipes and Zeraphine lifted her jacket collar over her mouth and nose, suppressing a cough at the acrid stench of fuel reserves and maintenance oil. “Secondary engine is completely shot,” she choked as she careened into the cockpit. “There’s some juice left in the emergency generator, but I don’t know if it’s enough to get us out of this.” 

“Only one way to find out,” Amelina sighed, her arm slung around her waist and the other gripping the steering controls. In a manoeuvre that would have made even the most expert of pilots nauseous, she jerked the wheel sideways and spiralled them out of a surge of turret fire.

Imperial ships shrieked behind them, hunting with unstoppable fervour. Every ruse to evade them failed until, with absolute reckless abandon, she threw caution to the cruelty of space and alternated between intense turns and dizzying loops. Mostly, they allowed her to dodge the projectiles, but it wasn’t enough to escape the enemy crafts. 

The radar lit up with at least half a dozen emergency dots, each fresh scan chiming until she silenced them with a quick slam of her fist. “Reckon you could get a warning beacon ready?” she asked, peering up at her sister hunched over the console and gawking at the approaching asteroid field. “I should be able to keep us steady for a minute.” 

Zeraphine dragged herself from the worrying view outside and tottered through the violent trembles to cling to the control panel behind her. She plucked a beacon from the overhead unit and inserted it into the launch tube. Once the system registered the device, she started the recording. “This is Zeraphine Viren of light craft AV-1836-2,” she spoke clearly, ignoring the tremor of her heart and the erratic shudder of the ship. “Do not enter the sector. Heavy Imperial presence. I repeat, heavy Imperial presence. Stay away from the sector.” 

She ended the broadcast and linked it to the beacon, tapping her foot against the grated flooring as though it would hurry the process along. “Ready for launch.” 

“Hold on,” Amelina instructed, her free hand flitting back and forth between the switches above her and the control wheel. “Just a little longer…” 

The readings bounced, and trying to grunt away the searing pain flaring up her left hip, she input the codes to shield the beacon frequency. The line flattened and the tiny device rocketed from the tube. 

Zeraphine hopped back into the co-pilot seat to track its trajectory. After a tense minute, it attached itself to the underside of a revolving asteroid and confirmed an active signal. “It’s in place. Have the Imperials picked it up?” 

“Don’t think so. They flew straight past.” 

“At least it will keep any wandering rebels safe.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if a few ignored it,” Amelina said with a snort. “You know what some of them are like.”

“Brave?” 

“I was going to say far too foolhardy for their own good, but brave works as well.” 

Rivers of smoke poured from the rear of the ship and triggered a second set of alarms. Zeraphine shot up and slammed the fire suppression button on the emergency panel by the exit ramp. Several jets of extinguishing fluid sprayed from the ceiling and soothed the flickers enough for her to get a better look at the protesting machine. “What are the readings for the communications unit?” she called. 

“About as much use as a dismantled droid.” 

Grumbling to herself, Zeraphine carefully inched her hand into the crumpled hatch, recoiling at the sparks and pinching the casing of the snipped cable. Adding in a set of clamps, she locked it in place and steadied her arm against another sickening jolt. 

As she wrenched the tool, a hissing torrent of steam engulfed her forearm and etched a path of painful burns up past her elbow.

“Leave it,” Amelina told her, casting a concerned glance over her shoulder as her sister rashly worked to repair the dying craft. “You’re only going to hurt yourself even more.”

“If we don’t get the communications unit back online, how will we call for help?” 

Amelina didn’t have the heart to tell her there was little chance of help. Sweat trickled down her temples, clinging to her short midnight strands, and she gasped with each laboured breath. The ship was becoming increasingly difficult to control, and even if she managed to land it without killing them both, the Imperials would be on them quicker than they could blink. With her injury added to the mix, their odds of survival decreased even more.

“Lina?” 

Her eyes shot open and adrenaline pumped an excruciating awareness through her veins. She squinted down at Zeraphine knelt beside her, slowly uncurling the clenched fingers compressing the bloodied bandages. Layer by layer, her sister removed them and winced at the deep gash opening up the left side of her abdomen. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Amelina said. 

“Tell that to your face,” Zeraphine quipped, grabbing the first aid box from the console storage compartment and staring at the meagre contents. “We’re out of bacta pads, but there are some wipes and fresh gauzes.” 

“I’m sure once we’re away from the Imperials we can pick up some more,” Amelina laughed. Her amusement evaporated when she caught the anxious expression on her younger sister’s features, and a hiss whistled through her teeth at the cold wipe pressed against her side. “You could have warned me before you did that.”

“Stop squirming, and I’ll get this done quicker,” Zeraphine said. As she cleared the crusted patches of blood, she spotted prickled blotches and forked paths creeping from the cut and into healthy tissue. She pressed the back of her fingers to it. “Are you feverish?” 

“Huh?” 

“Do you have a fever?” 

“What are you talking about?” Amelina panted. “No, I’m fine. Why?” 

“There are signs of infection in your wound.” 

Amelina paused. Another direct hit rocked the ship, but she didn’t feel it. “Zera, we are crash landing,” she said sternly, her previous light-hearted tone gone. “There is no time to be tending to my injuries.”

“There is always time,” Zeraphine insisted. “Now hold still.”

* * *

“I told you this wasn’t the right route,” Crosshair said, folding his arms and glowering at his brother. 

“We’re not heading the wrong way,” Hunter insisted. “The navigation computer reported this part of the system was empty.” 

“And I told you it wasn’t, yet here we are facing an asteroid field.” To prove his point, Crosshair swept a flat palm towards the floating specks in their path. He rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth before removing it, inspecting the blunted end and flicking it into the recycling unit. 

At the console behind the cockpit, Echo analysed the stream of data from outside the Marauder. The band of asteroids spanned hundreds of klicks, forming an almost impenetrable barrier between them and their onward destination. “Don’t know why it wasn’t registering before, but the system is pretty clear now. They’re not too densely packed, so there might be a way through.”

“I am running the estimations,” Tech called from the pilot seat. 

“Negative,” Hunter said. “I’m not chancing it.”

“Any other bright ideas?” Crosshair challenged, staring pointedly at the Batch’s leader. 

Hunter returned the glare, daring him to make another biting comment. In the silence, he mulled over alternative options. The navigation system had been struggling for some time, but it had never been this incorrect and they’d managed to compensate for small discrepancies in the past. But now it had brought them to a rocky belt and more disagreements. 

“Fine,” he huffed, begrudgingly accepting that he shouldn’t have delayed the repairs and allowed his over-cautious worries of remaining stationary for too long to fog his judgement. “I’ll admit that on this occasion, Crosshair, you were right. Still doesn’t get us out of this mess.” 

“It may be possible to double back,” Tech suggested, assessing the information filtering across his datapad and running a scan for alternate routes. “Unfortunately, this will mean missing the designated pickup time for the supplies.” 

As the others directed the blame at anyone other than themselves, Echo continued his examination of Tech’s proposed solutions. He explored the sector a few klicks away, and the transmission radar let out three successive beeps. The connecting light fluttered. “Got an incoming signal from the asteroid field. Patching it through, Tech.” 

The Batch abandoned their dispute and stayed quiet long enough to appease their curiosity. They all crowded into the cockpit and watched the receiver process the transmission. Turret fire infused the background of the audio as it hissed through the speakers. 

“This is Zeraphine Viren of light craft AV-1836-2. Do not enter the sector. Heavy Imperial presence. I repeat, heavy Imperial presence. Stay away from the sector.” The recording replayed, and Tech muted the broadcast. 

“Doesn’t seem like there are any Imperials anymore,” Echo said, breaking the tense lull. 

“Zeraphine Viren?” Wrecker mused. “As in Commander Zeraphine?” 

“The beacon was launched from a light craft registered to Amelina Viren,” Tech replied, already working on pinpointing any remnant signals and frequencies. “It would be appropriate to presume the woman in the recording is Commander Zeraphine.” 

“But what was she doing all the way out here?” Echo asked. 

“Getting shot at, by the sounds of it,” Crosshair answered. He slanted discreetly to catch the information appearing on Tech’s datapad.

“I don’t understand,” Omega said, the crease between her eyebrows growing as she listened. “Who is Commander Zeraphine?” 

Hunter shuffled his weight to the edge of the seat and rested his elbows on his thighs. “She worked with clone intelligence during the war and joined us on a few missions. We knew her squad well.”

“They were the nice regs,” Wrecker chortled. “Always up for a laugh.”

“Her older sister, Amelina, aided our tacticians,” Hunter continued, trying to clear his mind of the mischief Wrecker and Zeraphine’s small unit had caused when they’d shared shore leave on Kamino. 

“So they were Jedi?” Omega ventured, recalling what her brothers had told her of the war. 

“Not exactly. But they were both skilled in their field and did a lot to help.” 

“According to the ship’s logs, both sisters were on board. They made landfall on a nearby planet called Ciraden,” Tech reported. His eyes narrowed as he studied the charts. “Their signal cut out three rotations ago, but I have managed to determine the coordinates of the craft.” 

Pushing his hip from the side of Tech’s chair, Crosshair took in the data illuminating several screens on the console. “How likely is it they survived?”

“Admittedly, the chance is slim,” Tech responded. “There are no outgoing frequencies to alert potential rescuers of their survival, but there could be many reasons for that. One being that they did not survive the crash.” 

“Imperials on their tail being another,” Echo said from the navi-computer. “There’s no sign of the Empire. At least nothing coming up on the radar.” 

The ship fell into a solemn silence. Similar anxieties troubled each of them, crowding the nostalgic stillness with a sense of duty and friendship. 

“As long as we’re all in agreement,” Hunter sighed, “and providing there is a safe route through this asteroid field, we should at least check for survivors and recover what we can.”

One after the other, his brothers offered their approval, and a sombre quiet descended at the prospect of potentially having to bury more friends. Hunter felt the same. Zeraphine and Amelina had shown them a care and solidarity they’d all cherished during the conflict. But if they had fallen, they deserved to be laid to rest and remembered. He’d lost too many who couldn’t be afforded their final farewells. 

“Perhaps someone should stay behind with Omega,” Echo suggested quietly as Hunter exited the cockpit and settled beside him at the navigation computer. “Stars above only know what we may find, and it could be frightening for her.” 

“She won’t want to remain here,” Hunter said, “but we’ll make sure at least one of us can scout ahead of her.” 

Echo patted his arm. “I get you’re worried, but the commanders both endured worse.”

“This is the Empire we’re talking about,” Hunter whispered, as though invoking their name would summon them. “If they survived the crash, it’s highly likely they were pursued.” He breathed out slowly and massaged underneath his bandana to relieve the tension in his forehead. “It might be best we take some blankets and bindings. Should we find bodies, they deserve a decent funeral.” 

[1nn32dem0n5]

dry ink, empty bottles

in my younger days I danced with words for three, four hours at a time. I'd load up on the bottom shelf stuff and bust out 15-20 poems a session before I'd call it quits and let the self-pats on the back commence. I reveled in the lengthy content. I felt like a king. sobriety grays the page these days. today I fiddled with a poem, just one, one poem, an old work, for two straight hours and it's still not right. it no longer bursts from me, it looks odd on the paper, I'm not sure why I wrote it to begin with. I thought I had developed a good system with the drinking and the writing drunk because so much shit poured out and I never questioned why it came, or if the tenses were good, or what the punch line should be. i just wrote shit down for the sake of writing shit down. it was great for everyone involved. I was young and full of life, vodka-fueled fires scorched existence, searing memories to pages, consuming all. the words waited for me back then. now, it seems that, I must wait for them.

[howlingmidnightmoonlight]

Remains on a highway

Threw the cards down out on the town I am reeling from the heat of summer

Boiling in my skin I am living in sin tonight I am reading myself rights

Got no intention to find tomorrow I played too hard to borrow against myself

I am the devils deed done on the answer for the why as to where we will be

If you understand the riddle on the wall, ninety five reasons later they screamed

The message is misunderstood for the times are ever changing

Hear the stranger on the corner breaking beats out under the winter's glow

Death on the hearth burning in the flames licking away your heart as you grow old

Side street cold, cold and bought under the lamp light, what is your name

I should know the game by now, got no fame but I know where to frame myself

In the picture against the shadows no one ever sees where you're ducking through

Between the alley and the church wailing on the man in the park

Destiny is a stranger friend then you will ever know

Down on the avenue they working through the night under red light

Straight through to your heart their song reaches to find what remains of your mind

Pulling clean the strings of life in an instance pouring back the glass one last time

Record machine blaring neon straining life over its break beat streaming out on the highway

Hundred and three on the stop over at the dead man's curve wailing on the end tonight

Feeding light through the barrels of hope running down the river fueling nightmares here

In the land of the dead, no one understands the time quotes the preacher staring through glass

Breaking under foot no one listens as the devil scampers through moonlight to hide shadows

Between the footnotes of history the words are twirled round diamond rings

All the cards between the scenes reviewing empty highway framing midnight up

On the platter serving over easy the last thoughts turning minds over in the hot smoke

Rising on the fire burning in the cigarette swishing through the thin slices of soul

Smothering the last breathe s time intercedes for a chance but peace is gone

Too small in reference to the mirror growing in the memories drowning

Caught in the elastic vision of a plastic vice squeezing the last veins of a soul

Too much a cinder to watch the last sunrise coming over midnight ringing on the clock

The sage drifts off the soapbox as the soothsayer hides between the piper running

Cigarette smoldering on the curb slowly fading

[faithcorrupted-a]

Name: Matteo Castillo

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual

Ethnicity: American/Hispanic

Occupation:

Pimp, Sex Trafficker - Living

Manager of his fathers Sex Club - in Hell

Family:

Valentino - Father

unnamed mother

Background:

Matteo was born not out of love but more he was born to one of his fathers favourite girls. He knew of him and Valentino was excited to have a boy to take over the family business which he did when his father finally passed.

He learnt from a young age about prostitution and how to run the business. He was like his father when it came to how treated his workers. He was firm and fair, charming but you didn't want to get on his bad side.... so much so that he had killed a couple of the girls when they angered him.

He died young, a girl who wanted to out of the business managed to get one of his body guards to fall in love with him. He ended up being burned to death. His body guard poured fuel all over the room he slept in, making sure there was nowhere he could escape and lit the room on fire.

He was surprised when he arrived in Hell, not believing that there was a life after death but here he was, looking like he did when he was alive, expect paler and with a few burns scarred over his body.

Of course it didnt take him long to find his father, the Vees broadcast was everywhere and while he didn't recognised in looks, he knew exactly who it was. Finding him was easy enough and his father recognised him straight away, his father taking him under his wings and teaching him all about Hell.

His father soon put him in charge of the sex clubs while Valentino delt with the pornography side of things.

He ends up being known as the son of the Vees around Hell.

[forever-ridiculous]

Eyelids heavy, heart heavier

1/6 has passed

The hurt in my heart is holding me back

If u wanted to talk u wud make an effort

Loveless, cold, distant and uncaring

These adjectives cannot begin to describe the aching loneliness in my heart and phone

Why did i have to fall alone, in this dark well of despair. Why did i dream of sunshine, when all there was, was suffocating blue water all around me, drowning. Muffling my screams and filling my lungs with icy silence

Heavy eyes, heart and lungs..

Why do i see ur smile when i close my eyes

Why does ur laughter ring in the darkness of my room at night, faintly lit from the streetlights pouring through the windows

Why does ur warmth light up my duvet covers as if im being hugged

Why do i see ur eyes every time i close my eyes.. glinting mischievously beckoning me..

Clutching myself, i can hear my heart beating and i can feel u r alive, happy, the silent sobs that shake my shoulders, i can feel u within me. I have to accept that u r gona laugh , i have to accept that u r gona smile. The pretty ears are not gonna be mine, the companionable chatter is not gona be mine. I have to accept and keep a straight face. Even if im crashing and burning inside.

Why

Why did u do this to me. To me.

Did u not feel the love in my hands that u held when u were drunk and broken. Did u not feel the love in my skin, when u caressed my hair . Did u not see it in my eyes that melted into urs everyday.. every morning..

Why

Why then did u light that match. And throw it on me soaked in fuel. Watched me catch fire and smolder and burn and turn into embers and charcoal. That wasnt enuff, u poured acid on the charred bits and made sure i did not rise again. Dusted ur hands and pretended all is ok. Continuing ur conversation unbothered.

Why did u ruin me like this

Beyond repair, hopeless and absolute

[liesmyteachertoldme]

9/11: THE GREAT ILLUSION

“At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reaches us, it must spring up amongst us.  It cannot come from abroad.  If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher.”

                                                                             Abraham Lincoln                             

Construction on the WTC buildings 1 and 2 (North and South) was started on Sept. 11th, 1971.  At 1350 feet, they were the two tallest and most famous buildings on earth.  One fact most people don’t know is they were engineered and built like the proverbial “brick out-house”.  These buildings were over-engineered to withstand major storms and hits from large aircraft.  They were built with 47 enormous interior steel core columns, together with 236 large exterior steel columns, that were welded and bolted together with steel plates. In addition, there were steel trusses, which crisscrossed, making a mesh that connected every other exterior column; plus there was diagonal bracing and steel rods connecting the trusses.  There were also corrugated pans with poured concrete on every floor and all this was anchored in a very deep and heavy foundation.  The buildings were architecturally designed to absorb energy and sway in storms.

FACT: No steel structured building in New York, the United States or in the World has ever come down due to fire alone!  In the last hundred years, literally dozens of steel buildings have caught fire and burned for long periods of time and have not come down.  A good example is the Meridian Plaza in Philadelphia; a 38-story office building that in 1991 had a hot fire. It burned on 8-floors for nineteen hours and three fire-fighters died fighting the blaze, but it did not come close to bringing down the building.  In contrast, the WTC North Tower fire lasted 1 hour and 43 minutes and the WTC South Tower fire lasted 56 minutes.  The fires in both towers burned significant proportions of material (sheet rock, carpet, furniture, etc.) producing lots of black smoke, indicating they were burning inefficiently, and were relatively cool fires.

FACT: Steel melts at @2552-2822° degrees Fahrenheit (F).(Pocket Guide to Arson Investigation)

Jet fuel when mixed with air at precise proportions burns at               @1800° degrees F.

Building debris (carpeting, furniture, paper, paneling, etc.) burned at an estimated 1200 to 1300° degrees F. The mass of black smoke indicates a lack of oxygen and a relatively cool fire.

Consider that heating steel is like pouring syrup onto a plate. It just won’t stack up. The heat just flows out to the colder parts of the steel, cooling off the part you are trying to warm up. If you pour it on fast enough it will heat up temporarily but as soon as you stop, it will cool off. According to the photos most of the fuel burned outside of the buildings. So what was left was a relatively cool fire.

According to photographs, people were standing at or near the hole made in the North Tower.  So the heat could not have been that intense as the government claims

In frame by frame pictures, you can see a mushrooming gray cloud envelope the building.  One can then see debris being blown away from the building with extreme force. Then the whole building came straight down in an incredibly fast 10.4 seconds.  A 1350 foot building collapsed in a manner indicative of implosion.

The government’s story is that the building experienced a compression, or pancake demolition caused from weakened trusses and weight from above.  And that’s what it is a story.  The building collapsed from the bottom up, not the top down.  Remember the fire was near the top of the building, not the bottom and the building was over engineered to withstand massive amounts of force from either mother nature or commercial aircraft. Also compression demolition does not have enough energy to crystallize concrete or melt steel. Jet fuel at optimum expands at only 208 feet per second and there is only enough latent energy to crack or break cement in a compression demolition.

On Sept. 16, five days after the attack, NASA flew a plane over the site to take thermal readings to create a thermal map. During this five day interval hundreds of tons of debris had already been carried off and millions of gallons of water had been sprayed on the debris.  The results of these readings showed “hot spots” with temperatures of over 1000 degrees F. One spot had a reading of 1377 degrees F, this after 5 days and millions of gallons of water. 

It has also been reported that the steel columns at the base of the foundation-seventy feet underground-were melted. Which means temperatures had to exceed 2500 degrees F.

Since tons of jet fuel or compression demolition can not achieve, much less, maintained this type of residual heat for this length of time, one would reasonably have to conclude that something else caused these extreme temperatures.

With non-explosive caused collapse there would typically be a pilling up of shattered concrete.  But most of the material in the towers was converted to flour-like powder while the building was falling. If jet fuel could accomplish this it would defy the Laws of Thermodynamics.

Horizontal puffs of smoke, known as squibs, were observed proceeding up  the side of the building, a phenomenon common when pre-positioned explosives are used to demolish buildings.

Steel supports were “partly evaporated” but it would require temperatures  near 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit to evaporate steel. Neither office materials nor jet fuel can generate temperatures that high.

The facts surrounding WTC building 6 are interesting.  Shortly after WTC 2 was hit, there was a huge explosion that appeared to come from the center of WTC 6.  Only some time later did it actually catch fire.  It then burned violently for hours and was finally put out. The question is 3-fold. One, what caused the explosion in the first place. Two, what cause the fire to start sometime after the explosion instead of immediately after.  And Three, after the center of the building had been blown apart and it had experienced a prolonged intense fire, why did this building NOT collapse like buildings 1, 2 and 7?

WTC 7, which was not hit by hijacked planes, collapsed in 6.6 seconds, just 0.6 second longer than it would take an anvil dropped from the roof height to hit the ground. Where is the delay that must be expected due to the conservation of momentum, one of the foundational laws of physics?

There are many more questions to be asked if one is truly interested in knowing what really happen on September 11, 2001.

Almost 40 miles north of the WTC on the Hudson River is by far the deadliest terrorist target in the United States.  Indian Point and its 3 nuclear power plants, two of which were online, have 65 years of accumulated, stockpiled highly radioactive waste. Indian Point is only 24 miles north of New York City.  It is surrounded by the densest concentration of people in the United States.  Why did American Airlines Flight 11 fly directly over the Number 1 terrorist target in the U.S. and not hit it?

The terrorists would have known their best shot at bringing down the strongest country in the world would be to hit them hard and fast.  To bring lasting and terrible destruction in a single blow.  Striking Indian Point would have instantly turned the entire area for miles around into a radioactive wasteland for thousands of years.  Experts have said casualties could have exceed 20 million premature deaths from radioactive poisoning.

The Nuclear Regulatory Commission admits that these planes could have easily penetrated the nuclear reactors since they were not build with this in mind.  And they were just minutes away. So why didn’t they strike?

If the terrorists were targeting the WTC, don’t you think they would have waited until 10:00 or 11:00 am when these buildings would have been full, approx. 50,000 people? And to cause the most death and destruction isn’t it elementary to strike these buildings as low as possible instead of near the top. Why was the Pentagon hit on the so-called “peaceful” side, which was under construction as opposed to the command center on the opposite side.  Of course we “know” these terrorists are smart. The FBI and the CIA said so.  This attack was said to have taken years to plan, but our intelligence agencies said they knew nothing about it.  The taxpayers spent $40 billion a year on intelligence but let a religious fanatic living in a cave thousands of miles away outsmart what is considered the most advanced and sophisticated intelligence agencies in the world. (And hell froze over when?)

Give this some thought.  On September 11, 2001 the world trade center was destroyed. On October 24, 2001 just over a month later the original Patriot Act was presented to Congress.  The table of contents to this document is 342 pages long. This is just the table of contents.  In just 43 days they wrote a document whose table of contents is longer than many books. Think back to the research papers you did in college and how long it took you just to write a rough draft, let alone the final copy and how many pages was it.  Remember the table of contents is 342 pages long in 43 days. My point is this.  Given the bureaucracy of the federal government, there is no way that document could have been written in that short of time. It had to have been written long before 9/11 occurred and/or in preparation thereof.

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2005, New York City auxiliary fire lieutenant Paul Isaac Jr. asserted that 9-11 was an inside job. “I know 9-11 was an inside job.  The police know it’s an inside job; and the fireman know it too.”  In reference to the federal gag order by the FBI preventing police and fire departments from openly talking about inside information on what really happened, “It’s amazing how many people are afraid to talk for fear of retaliation or losing their jobs.”

For a decade before the 9-11 terrorist attacks, the World Trade Center has been protected by a “no-fly zone” and at least 1000 times pursuit aircraft have intercepted planes that have strayed too close.  In all cases the planes violating the no-fly zone have been intercepted within 4 to 5 minutes.  It was standard operating procedure to launch interceptor planes when air space was violated.  Officials had been on special alert since  the 1993 truck bombing at the world trade center.

Why would the U.S, government allow the terrorist attacks to happen?  There is historical precedent.  Serious scholars no longer debate over the fact that President Franklin Roosevelt had advanced knowledge of Pearl Harbor or that he gave Japan no choice.  Or that Woodrow Wilson used the sinking of the Lusitania to justify entering World War I. The Lusitania was full of illegal arms for Britain in violation of America Neutrality Act.  The German government had warned the ship would be sunk, even buying ads in newspapers to warn Americans when their public announcements were ignored by the press.  It was President Lyndon Johnson’s fabrication about the Gulf of Tonkin incident that prompted Congress to pass a resolution giving him license to go to war in Vietnam.  There never was a “Gulf of Tonkin incident”—as sailors on the ship acknowledged after they were discharged.

There is a common thread: all 3 were “peace” presidents. Wilson was elected because he had “kept the nation out of war”.  Roosevelt promised American mothers “again and again” never to send their sons to fight on foreign battlefields. Johnson promised never to “send American boys to fight a war Asian boys ought to fight for themselves.”

American presidents seem to love war, no doubt because it gives them power, creates “prosperity”  and gratifies the banks and “the military-industrial complex” to quote Dwight Eisenhower.

[stoptellinglieslois]

Principal of pleasure part 26

Clark decides to go to the manor for dinner and brings his family, Things get a bit heated between everyone for reasons not explained.

Superman x Nightwing pairing

Clark

I was in the car parked in front of Wayne manor drive way Lois and Jon were outside of the car, Lois was on her cell talking to the editor department about editing an article Jon is doing cartwheels.

I closed the engine I haven't been here since Christmas it feels strange it shouldn't but it does. I don't think I should have come here but it's to late to turn the car back around and take off.

I felt like this was an unexplained feeling I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

I walked the long drive way up as Jon does cartwheels alongside me.

As I reached the large heavy door Lois rings the bell.

Alfred opens the door and lets us in I get more nervous as we enter the place.

I have to play happy family not just me but me and Dick as well has to play part, And I feel so out of place here I don't know if I could do this Bruce is the first one to greet us the whole family was here.

As Bruce was talking to me my eyes found Dick in the room. " Thank you for coming why don't we sit how's everyone doing." I walked at the table I was sitting beside Jason and my son Dick was across from me.

He looked at me and then turned to Barbara and kissed her on the cheek. I had to breathe and stamp out the green eyed monster how vile head picked out and wanted to flip the table upside down.

I could feel Jason's eyes on me very briefly and then looked down on his phone. "Jason please put that away please eat." We sit and I opened a bottle of wine and poured it into a crystal glass red liquid looked so foreign to me I don't drink but since last Christmas I indulge myself today is one of those days to have drink.

Jason chuckled as I poured the wine. "What's so funny Jason let me in on the joke." Bruce replied watching us from the table drinking water. "Nothing funny you know I wish we could do this more often." Jason said pouring for himself answering Bruce.

"Yes we should do this more often if we have time then I don't mind at all." I looked over to Dick who purposely was not looking at me which fueled more gasoline to my fire.

"I mind."

"Shut it twerp no one's talking to you."

"Every time I open my mouth you come out snapping your razor sharp teeth to pick chips at me. What's wrong huh can't handle a little critic."

"I could handle anything you throw at me you little..."

"Boys please stop." Bruce looked at us and smiled a rare smile was thrown at me all white and straight.

I looked away and found Dicks eyes on me again it felt good but he looked down. And then the connection pulled away I didn't like it at all yes we are here with family and friends but you don't have to push me away.

"What's wrong Damian you don't like me." I said out of character I usually let things lie there but that little as Jason says "Twerp" is getting on my last nerves.

I pour more wine Jason smiles. "I never said that I just feel that there are more things we need to do and address then have dinner or a cup of coffee." I looked at Damian's direction where is he going with this.

"Come on Damian there's nothing wrong with a cup of coffee." I said to him I didn't even touch the food in front of me.

"Yes it does's it means a lot to some."

"Hey what are you talking about." Jon jumped in looking at both of us puzzled.

"Nothing Little Jon." Jason answer.

"Why are you drinking like a fish."

"I'm not drinking like a fish I'm enjoying this wine and I love the company I'm in."

"Don't be cute."

"You think I'm cute Damian."

"I think you...." He stopped himself from talking and looked at Jon fascinated with our conversation Lois didn't even look up at us too busy on her phone to engage in her work life.

"I think you're cute Damian." Jon said looking at Damian he shook his head. "No Jon that's not what I meant..." He keeps cutting himself not wanting to further his thoughts.

"It's fine Damian is just not happy that we are invading his space."

"That is not what I meant."

"Then maybe we could talk about later."

"Not if your drinking like this."

"Dude he's not drunk so just chill the fuck out." Jason interjected.

"Jason give me a break with your dirty mouth please." Damian said grimacing who hasn't eaten either.

"It's because you bring out the worse in me do you get me."

"I never got you Jason nor your ways and I don't intend to." Jason chuckled at Damian teasing him.

Tim and Dick were very quiet all though Tim looked like he was more ready to throw his dinner at someone.

I looked over at Bruce who seemed to eat his meal in silence He was listening and not saying anything that was a red flag.

I started eating slowly this was a bad idea I knew it when I said yes in coming here it would mean trouble.

I ate in silence for the rest of the meal as the chatter at the table was mindless maybe just to smooth things over.

Desert came around and we all just sat there talking about are upcoming plans I didn't feel it earlier but I could feel the wine kicking in.

The chocolate rum mousse was soft and smooth the meal did not fill me and the liquor took on its true nature. "I need to go to the washroom." I got up and left the large dinning room.

I didn't sense anyone walking behind me but I turned around anyway Damian was behind me. "I wanna talk outside." He was like Bruce in so many ways but he was not Bruce.

"You wanna talk can I go to the washroom first please."

"Yes that's fine."

I walked in and closed the door behind me and Dick came in the secret door of the washroom it startled me straight. "Don't say anything please I wanted to see you before you go back out." Dick said he leaned on the secret door.

"Shush Damian is outside the washroom." I said Dick's eyes went wide in surprise. "Ok then I'll make it a short visit I want to kiss you but I can't do anything right now." He didn't walk closer to me just stayed there eyes searching mine.

"I came cause I need to splash water on my face." I said turning on the facet splashing water on my face and drying it with a nearby face towel.

"Dick I have to go out there before Damian thinks something is going on in here."

"Damian..... ok I'll leave but maybe we could talk later then."

"I don't know if that's wise in this place."

Good yes I would love nothing more then to be with him but not here not now.

End of part 26 next is part 27

Thank you for reading