#Marble Cutter

[theviceenforcer]

Team Fortress 2 - Fine Engineering

Engineer cheers to the newly constructed marble cutter. Hopefully nothing happens to it like an explosion from a bomb cart.

[goodyeartools]

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[machinesguide]

Best Marble Cutter Power tool in India | How to Buy

There are several popular marble cutter power tools available in India, but some of the best options are:

Bosch GDC 120 Professional Marble Cutter: This is a high-quality marble cutter that is known for its excellent performance and durability.

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When it comes to buying a marble cutter power tool in India, there are several options available. You can either purchase it from a local hardware store or online through popular e-commerce websites like Amazon, Flipkart, or Snapdeal. Before making a purchase, make sure to read reviews and compare prices to ensure that you are getting the best deal. Additionally, it's essential to check the warranty and return policy offered by the seller to ensure that you are protected in case of any defects or issues with the product.

[vintagehomecollection]

100 Designers' Favorite Rooms, 1994

[muntitled]

Hangman

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: What's a broke girl to do when her university bills keep piling up and a sadistic Salesman offers to take all her problems away? All at one tiny little price.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Kidnapping, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Suicide, Restraints, Anxiety, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Oral Sex (m!rec), Deepthroating, Blood Kink

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

You hadn't initially intended on slitting your own wrist. That idea was birthed almost vicariously in the moment. If he hadn't stopped you, your corpse would have been found laying on a park bench, covered in its own wet blood that would have been dripping from its open wrist like a faucet. Surely his proposition would be better than that.

With your vision obstructed by a heavy blindfold, your hearing is ten times more prominent. You hear the sound of your own breathing, as if your body was taunting you with all the life it still begrudgingly held inside it. You also heard heavy yet elegant footsteps cross a marble floor. Then you hear the scratch of a vinyl as the very sounds of an orchestra bleeds into the atmosphere.

"Hello," said the Man in the gray suit who had accosted you in the park. You remember the way in which he had sat beside you.

No one had ever sat beside you. Not even any of your peers that roamed the university. Everything about your countenance was so worried and severe. You wore your money problems on your sleeves and that evidently warded off any chance of a social life you had hoped to have.

The moon was shining particularly bright and the stars were twinkling little spectators to your silent meltdown on the park bench. Your eyes had been reading and re-reading the email sent to you by the university. An urgent email amongst a sea of urgent emails begging you to 'please just pay them'.

"Don't slit your wrist," he had said, "Not before you've given yourself a chance to win at life first."

You had looked up at him with bloodshot eyes from all that crying over potentially getting kicked out of university. He hadn't melted at your expression, in fact he only smiled softly. "We ought to play a game-"

"I wasn't going to slit my wrist."

"You were just holding that boxcutter for fun, then?" He curled up an eyebrow, leading both of your gazes down to the pocket box cutter that sat in your lap, the blade extended.

"I'm not in the mood to play a game."

"Not even at the cost of your university fees?" Your eyes snapped up to him then. He sat a healthy distance away from you. The space between you both was filled with possibilities so endless it was becoming uncomfortable to breathe. "How much do you owe them now?"

"That's none of your business," you were on the verge of gathering your things. Your boxcutter and your pride.

Perhaps you could kill yourself somewhere else, preferably without a man accosting you about the embarrassing state of your funds.

"I could pay for your university fees, you know," His words morphed into an anchor, keeping your butt firmly planted to the park bench. A midnight runner passed by you two. An evening breeze blew through your scalp and the goosebumps descended.

"Of course, you'd have to win first."

Anyone could see the conflict warring within your irses.

"This is how people get sex trafficked," you'd said, "Absolutely no thank you," How utterly in control you had been! A girl with a firm head on her shoulders.

He only laughed then. He laughed and laughed, so much so he had to politely clear his throat.

"You were about to kill yourself. Don't pretend to have any self preservation now," his words had struck a cord deep within the inner workings of your soul. Your face heated as you hid yourself, tucking your chin against your chest. You did suddenly feel remarkably silly and so incredibly juvenile.

"Don't worry," he had said with an almost lopsided grin, "It's your lack of self preservation that I find so incredibly intriguing, hence I'm asking for one game."

It was only one game.

One game and if you were lucky enough to win, you might coast through the rest of university stress-free. Like a normal 20 year old with normal 20 year old problems. Boyfriends. Clubbing. Whatever else all those girls did when they huddled together in their magnificent little groups. You could be a part of them. For once you had to give yourself the opportunity of feeling like a member of society.

"Are these restraints a necessary element of our game?"

As you sit in this room- a room he had brought you too- blindfolded- you tell yourself that you are giving yourself a chance to be a normal 20 year old. That's why you were currently restrained to a leather chair. The restraints held your wrists to the armrests and your and your ankles to the feet of the chair. This led to the slight and uncomfortable spreading of your legs- a dangerously vulnerable position to be in when you were wearing nothing but a university jumper and a pleated skirt.

You quickly find out that you didn't like to be restrained.

Your chest rises and falls a little higher with every sharp intake of your breath as you will yourself into calmness. Freaking out now seemed completely silly.

Almost as silly as letting a stranger bring you to his hidden location.

Had you no sense of self preservation at all?

Were you a walking piece of meat, waiting for the first predator to sink its teeth into you?

Has that predator finally arrived?

"The restraints are unfortunately a necessary element.” He says, softly, “The human body tends to get jittery when it's met with unforeseen stimuli, and I don't want you running out on me."

That lets the panic solidify itself even more in your bones. This man walked as if he was a perfectly stand up guy and that helped in your decision of letting him bring you here.

Nothing seemed particularly wrong with him at first glance.

His face has all the workings of a perfectly normal man. He looked like he was in possession of a cushy, stable job with pensions and benefits. A salesman.

He looked like he attended his kids soccer matches on the weekends.

He looked married to a beautiful woman who looks good in mom jeans and baked brownies for her Wednesday night book club.

He looked so painfully normal.

But the panic is rising, the more that ‘danse macabre’ fills the room.

"C-Could you at least play something else," You are fidgeting now and it causes him to raise a brow. "Danse macabre is just," you attempt to swallow but your tongue is completely dry, "-incredibly unnerving, right now."

You try to massage your wrists in the restraints and you breathe through your nostrils as a phantom pain shoots through your legs. The need to move was eating you alive.

"You know your classical music," The man regarded you with slight intrigue as he folded the piece of material he had once used to obstruct your vision. He places it on a tiny coffee table before you. "Interesting for a kid your age. Do you know the story behind it?"

"Of course, I do, why do you think I'm nervous?" You had his full attention now. You were almost drowning in it as he lowered himself to a leather chair directly opposite you.

You had never had anyone listen to you as intently as he does. No one bothered to hear what you had to say. The voices in your head were your only audience…

Now you have someone seated before you, so lax as he urges you to, “Go on, explain why it makes you so nervous.” It was completely addicting.

“W-Well,” you swallowed the air again. “Danse macabre quite literally means dance of death,” he sits back in his chair, his fingers tapping against his mouth.

“Why?” he asks in deeply monotony, as if you had captured him as much as he, evidently captured hou. Like you weren't the only one in restraints.

Your brows furrowed “Is this quiz apart of the game-”

“No. I just want to hear you talk.” He says as he reaches over the side of his chair uncovering a sleek black briefcase veneered in expensive leather. He assures you with a single nod of his head that he's listening as he clocks open the briefcase.

“Well,” your eyes are on the whiteboard he pulls out, “Camille wrote this symphony all dark and depressing because it's supposed to sound like it's being played by death himself,”

The suited man smiles down at his busy hands as he lays your boxcutter on the coffee table beside the whiteboard. “I-It tells us that death is the great equalizer. It doesn't matter if you have money or you're about to be kicked out of university for insufficient funds-” he cracks a small smile at that, pulling out a whiteboard marker in the process, “the dance of death is inevitable for us all. Money can't buy you out of it.” You shake your head, “It's real medieval shit.”

You watch him smile again. It's devastatingly attractive which immediately raises the alarms in your own head. This man has restrained you in a chair, in an undisclosed location. For all you knew, death was very well the thing waiting for you at the end of all this.

But he wouldn't stop you from killing yourself, only to kill you himself, would he?

You'd heard about serial killers being raging narcissists. You would virtually be a lousy victim, having already wanted to die.

That thought calms you somewhat.

“We're going to play ‘Hangman’,” he turns the board to reveal a simple drawing of a gallow and a man hanging from it.

“Are you familiar with it?”

“Of course,” you nod your head, your nerves level somewhat at the sight of the little stick figure.

Just guess a letter to a mystery before the Hangman is drawn. These were children's games.

“For every word you get right, a semester of your studies is paid in full.” He smiles, warmly, watching the awe blossom across your face. “You'll get your degree and become the psychologist you've always wanted to be.”

Your brows furrow, “H-How did you know I-”

“Of course there's a penalty to the game,” you watch him erase the little stick figure, as he draws the little lines corresponding with the amount of letters in the mystery word. “If you don't guess the correct words in time,” Time stands still. “Well… The word get carved into your skin.”

You had never been a cautious individual. When your mother would fret and nag about your safety, you would roll your eyes. Everyone else always had self preservation for you. Why would you need it? Bad things rarely happen to boring people. The news coverage worthy stuff? You?

But here you were, fucking drowning in the Bad stuff.

"I'm not playing,” You begin to try and twist your wrist out of the restraints as your panicked eyes zero in on the blade seated on the desk. “I'm not fucking playing-”

“I'm afraid that isn't an option. What's your first letter?”

Despite the soundproof padding stylishly plastered against the sleek black walls you still scream "HELP-Oh my god- HELP”

He walks over towards you in large strides, clamping his hands in your skull and pulling your head back. He's much closer now. Closer than he had been at the park. His eyes are sparkling with intensity and a manic sort of quality that escaped you on your first meeting. Where were these eyes when you were still on that park bench, still able to choose to run far, far away to the nearest police station.

Where were these wild eyes then?

“Look at how scared you've gotten...” He laughs, in your face, “A scared, terrified little Doll-”

“Please let me go-”

“I'm not the one keeping you restrained here.” He lifts his hands as if he were completely crime-free, “You decided to play this game out of your own volition. You're restraining yourself, Doll”

“Jesus, that doesn't even make sense-” you cry, “HELP-”

He pulls a tighter grip around your hair, silencing your cries as a wince bleeds out of your instead..

“You don't wanna do that,” he says, staring deep into your glassy irses, “I have a thing for little girls with pretty tears-”

“Please don't hurt me-” you didn't wanna be a newspaper girl. You didn't want to be a nobody-turned-somebody because her death was so grisly it graced the front pages of a newspaper. That isn't the way your story was supposed to go and so you plead with the humanity inside him. You search for it under all that black ink filling his almond eyes.

Nothing.

They're absolutely black.

“Guess a letter, Doll."

You steal your nerves. Your shoulders slump.

“E-Every word has a vowel in it right?” his eyes flutter shut as he presses his lips against the side of your face. He seems like he's transforming into a completely different person right before your very eyes and it set you alight with fear.

Fear and something else.

“That's it, now we're getting somewhere,”

“I'll go with ‘A’,” a tense, mortifying silence stretches between you too. He begrudgingly removes his hand from your hair, patting down your head like the child he regressed you to as he strolled to the white board.

“Correct.”

He writes the letter ‘a’ twice on the little lines. The first one of the second line and the second one on the fourth line and almost with your brain slotting into place you raise your head. you wipe a stray tear on your shoulder before saying, “I-I- know what the word is.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Already?” Intuition was a scary thing. It was like a last resort, leaving you clamouring for hope.

“Care to share,”

“Is there an ‘r’” you look up at him. “I need to be sure.” Your legs are fidgeting in anxiety. Your fingernails dig into the leather under the armrest.

He is quiet as he draws an ‘r’ over the second last line.

“Macabre. The word is ‘macabre.’”

A slow almost predatory grin stretches across his face.

“How much did you say tuition was?”

Your heart stammers in its chest.

For those few moments you don't think about death. You don't think about blood. All you think about is that outstanding amount as you murmur a quiet, “₩3,893,852.”

You had it memorized.

The number that haunted your every waking hour, bleed from your lips like a prayer.

You watch as he lowers the white board marker to uncover a phone in his back pocket. He taps a few buttons and in a matter of moments- he turns his screen towards you.

What a remarkable day this had turned out to be.

“How do you know my banking details?,” you ask, squinting your eye at the screen, “Who are yo-”

“That round was too easy.” He moves to sit back down, “Here's your next word,” your heart falls when he only draws three lines underneath the gallow.

Three letter words could be the easiest or the most difficult when it comes to a game like this.

“A?’” you ask through wet lashes. Your only option was to hammer through the list of vowels.

“Ooh-” he pouts, before drawing a Hangman's head. “Try again.”

“E?”

He's silent as he draws a stick for The Hangman's body. The panic kickstarts once more.

“Shit-”

“That's not a letter?” He jests, “One more non-word and you're Disqualified, Doll.” His knee is bouncing up and down. As if everything in him was anticipating the end of the game. Your nerves are drowing in anxiety.

“I-”

“You can't just name every vowel under the sun, Doll. You don't have very many options remaining.” He draws the stick figures first arm.

4 chances left.

“O?” Your breath catches in your lungs. You watch as he throws his head back to lift his hips slightly, as if adjusting his pants. It almost immediately lowers your gaze to the prominent bulge there. Fuck. Not only was he anticipating your loss, he was getting off to the thought of it.

“Well done.” He writes ‘o’ in the second line. Right between the middle and end lines.

“Uh- ‘c’”

He adds another appendage to the stick figure. “3 more chances remaining.” He says, standing up. His arm jitters as he picks up the boxcutter in.

“G-” you ask through tears. He kneels in front of you, his eyes are almost as desperate as yours.

“You are the most fun I've had in years,” he admits, before turning to draw another appendage.

“Guess again, Doll,” the boxcutter extends and you cry.

“You don't have to do this,” You plead and he only sighs as he places his forehead against yours.

“You are such a brave little girl, you know that-”

“Oh my god-”

“2 more guesses.”

“‘T?” You squeak out so quietly, as your eyes squeeze shut.

He presses his lips to your right cheek and you melt. The fear all disappears and it's just you and him. Even on his knees, he's so large, so towering. It sets you alight with incomparable need.

“Well done, Doll- I'm so proud of you, " he sighs, “One more word, baby.”

“P- wait, No!" the sound barely makes it out of your mouth and looks down at you, chest rising and falling.

You hold your breath, eyes wide and wet and it makes him so fucking hard.

“Y- my answer is ‘Y’.” He exhibited all the signs of a sadist. Of course his word for you word be-

“That's my answer. “Toy”

A tense silence bleeds as he brings the boxcutter into your field of vision, and you're once again writhing in your seat. “Please- please no-”

“Fuck I'm gonna need to cum-” He admits gravely. Even more grave, even more harrowing, you're squirming in your seat. Lust balling deep within your cut. You're terrified but so utterly turned on.

Is masochism a symptom of loneliness?

“Please-”

He presses the blade to your leg and you both watch as he sinks the tip down onto your skin. For all those moments, you revel in the pain. The blade breaks skin and you cry out as droplets of blood grows pregnant along your thigh. Danse macabre crescendos and tears fall. As he swipes his finger along the drop of crimson.

“D-Did I not get it right?"

“”You got it right,” he admits, undoing the buttons of his blazer as he stands to his heavy feet once more. The menacing shadow of a God. He's humongous and you crane your neck back to look at him.

“my little winner-” he mumbles, planting a heavy hand on your head as his other hand rubs over his erection.

“I-If I got it right,” you mumble through your sniffles, “Th-Then why did you cut me?”

He looks down at you. The hand planted on your head moves down to the side of your face as he unzips his pants. Your heart is banging out of its cage as he lowers his pants just enough to have his hand slipping into his boxers.

He watches the blood smudged across your thigh.

“I just-” he curses as he uncovers his fully erect cock, leaking precum,“I just wanted to see your blood.” he admits gravely before bringing his cupped hand to your lips.

'Spit.’ He commands.

You're unable to look away. The precum beading the head of his cock slides down the thick veins along the length of it- all the way to the base. You want him in your mouth. Inside you. The need and the pain is an avalanche of contradictions.

He makes you feel so scared, so wanted.

“Don't make me ask again.” He says darkly, tilting your head up to look deep into his eyes.

His fingers prod at your lips and your mouth falls open as his hand delves inside. “Tongue out.” He whispers hoarsely, cursing once again when you roll your tongue out. Somehow incredibly obedient.

“You're gonna be a good girl for me, Doll?” He asks, bringing the tip of his cock to your lips. You nod cautiously, feeling yourself descend into a state of mind you'd never been at before. You feel so pliant with his hand still on your cheek as he guides his cock into your mouth. You feel completely reckless. Someone like you who spends her time studying and worrying. Right now you were made to feel completely empty.

“That's it-” he coos, looking so utterly pained as his cock slides against your tongue, “That's my Doll,” he thrusts in and out of your mouth and you just sit there. Quite literally a doll. You let him use you, feeling more useful now than you've ever felt in all your years of living. There is beauty in submission that has a wet spot forming along your panties. You writhe as he begins to fuck your throat, drawing out a moan from him in the process.

“Shit- you're such a good girl-” there's fire in his eyes as he thrusts in and out. His hands move to the back of your head, forcing you down deeper on his cock. The sounds of your struggle -the gagging- it has his cocm twitching in your mouth

“Fuck-” he grunts, breathing so heavily as you begin to writhe in your seat, needing air.

“I knew you were special, Doll- I knew you were so far beyond self preservation- it borders pathetic” the saltiness of his precum trickle down your throat and you attempt to stomp your feet as your cries vibrate around his cock.

“Look at your hips moving baby,” he says, “You like this as much as I do. You're on my side. Even if you think you aren't.” Your hips are circling as if you're searching for friction along the chair as he groans. “Tell me you're on my side.”

He pulls your mouth off his cock and you breathe in deeply. You're coughing as droplets of spit run down your mouth. Spit and tears. Your face shows it all.

Your voice is hoarse. “I'm on your-”

“F-Fuck- I'm gonna cum-" He brings his cock back to your lips, “All over that pretty fucking face- fuck,” your tears fall as he strokes cock, emptying cock over you face. You keep your eyes shut, letting the sound of his pleasure-filled groans shoot straight to your puffy clit.

“I'm not letting you go,” his thumb moves over the cum coating your face. He moves his thumb past your lips, letting the cum seep into your mouth. Saltiness and need.

He needed you.

“You're not?” You ask petulantly, sucking on his thumb like you've regressed right before him.

“I'm not.” He confirms, “My little winner.”

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[cupidkenji]

If you think I'm pretty

Now playing: if u think i'm pretty - Artemas won't you give that shit a rest? Pairing: Homelander x afab!reader CW: fingering, praise, slightly OOC homie, threats of captivity (he says hes gonna keep reader in the penthouse that's it I promise it's not genuine), cursing, sub!reader, porn without plot (I think this is applicable), they're in a relationship before this, reader says 'John' cause moaning homelander is funny as fuck Summary: Being a perfectionist, you're unsatisfied with a recent test score. Homelander has a cure for that. Disclaimer: reader is always thought to be chubby/fat but there are no physical descriptors here, just an FYI WC: 1,955 Genuinely idk I'd like to apologize for this. I fell out of my Criminal Minds hyperfixation like months ago and haven't written since so I'm really rusty. This is 100% a self-insert but reader is gn and not described other than the fact that they're AFAB. Also this was only proof read once so please point out typos if you see them <3

Your mother used to scold you for being too hard on yourself. Her face is virtually the only thing you can picture as your screen burns your eyes a bit. It’s too early for the high brightness of the device, having woken up before the sun could reintroduce your eyes to light. You’d set yourself up to wake slightly after midnight, intending to check the score of a huge test you’d taken months ago and simply go back to sleep in a matter of minutes. A rather stupid plan, in hindsight. You were questioning now if you knew yourself at all. Your phone had nearly been in your hand when you felt the cold burn of anxiety in your lungs. This test was a huge fucking deal. You were a hardcore perfectionist on top of that, trying with countless futile attempts to surrender your idea of the model score. You just needed to pass, not get your professor to memorialize you in marble for your pure genius. You’d gotten up instead of turning on your phone, brushing your teeth and making your bed before pacing the room slightly while you thought. Essentially, you were just allowing the mantra of ‘cope’ to bound back and forth between your ears for a couple minutes. You weren’t sure if you wanted to cope with the disappointment of a lesser score, or you were telling yourself to come down a couple pegs and be happy with getting by. The repetition of the word soothed that icy-hot feeling that had festered from your lungs to your fingertips, and you checked.

You were fine. Not the score you wanted, but you were fine. 

Mentally you writhed against the slump of your shoulders, but the weight of this self-inflicted shortcoming hit harder than you were capable of defending yourself from. The long sigh you let out was all frost as the tension left your airways. How underwhelming. You laid down on the bed you’d made not ten minutes ago, hearing the window slide open a few seconds into your pity party. You normally left it unlocked for him, knowing if anyone else attempted to enter your home, he wasn’t far. He told you himself that he seemed to have tuned into you specifically; swearing he’d be able to hear you on the other side of the city if you needed him.

“It’s way too early for you to already be having a bad day. The sun’s not even up.” He was closer now, fully sealed into your space and approaching you with comfortable footsteps. You never fully got over the irony of seeing America’s greatest hero flying through your window in sweatpants. “What’s wrong?” You always noticed the subtle way he changed how he spoke around you. In every interview or interaction you’d ever witnessed of his, he’d spoken like a character. For a man who hated having his words scripted, he spoke the same as every cookie-cutter movie he’d starred in. He didn’t talk that way with you, something you hoped was subconscious. A demonstration of the safety he felt around you.

You shrugged in response to the question. You acknowledged the trivial nature of your feelings, knowing you probably reeked of sadness to him but attempting to downplay it anyways. “Bad test score.”

He sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, allowing you the space to remain sprawled out. “Doubtful.” He laughed slightly as he said it, shaking his head and smiling. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowing minorly. “What’d you get?”

“A four.”

“What were you hoping to get?”

Your voice was barely audible as you spoke, knowing he would pick it up but also trying to spare yourself the rush of immaturity hearing yourself speak would bring. “A five.”

He sighed - a sigh full of endearment that his eyes reflected as he looked at you. You told him once that his eyes were the first thing you’d noticed. It was sunny the day you’d met, and they looked practically ethereal. You’d seen such chaos reflected in them even from day one. The masses called him ‘soulless’ often, but you couldn’t understand such an accusation from anyone who had ever seen him. His eyes were practically overflowing with soul, every time you looked at him it was all you saw. They were capable of incredibly dangerous things but they were so entrancing. He was so fucking enticing. 

You broke the eye contact, but he nudged your leg and moved his head to try and follow your eyes. “Hey-” He called for your attention, so you looked back at him. “You know that’s a good score, right?”

You smiled small at him. “No- I know. I’m just…I don’t know- strict with myself.” You found it hard to put into words. You knew you’d done well, but the ability to feel pride felt withheld from you. Like your eyes bore into it but your mind refused to distribute the feeling it brought to something tangible.

“I think you’re just too much of a fucking perfectionist.” His hand was splayed across your upper thigh from where he sat. No matter which part of you he touched, he had a grip that made your head spin. He was so sure of himself, the strength demonstrated from such an unassuming form never lost the novelty that it’d held when you met him. “Can’t let yourself admit when you did good.”

You tried to be dismissive, but it was hard to fake anything with a man like him. “As if you aren’t, John.” His jaw got the slightest bit tighter at the use of his name. Such a miniscule action that easily dodges the eyes of people who aren’t looking. You couldn’t really imagine not looking at him.

“I’m serious.” His face was still relaxed, but the expression in his eyes had shifted. His pupils dilated and his full attention was on you. “You did good.”

The only con of being with somebody with abilities such as his was the lack of secrecy. You used to laugh with your friends about how grateful you were for the discrete nature of arousal when living without certain body parts. That went out the window when you started seeing him. He knew the second anything shifted within you. He had every perversion you’d ever dreamt about practically categorized by the time your two month anniversary had rolled around. One of his favorite pastimes was casually working a turn-on into conversation and just watching you squirm.

You fought the urge to pull away from his hand, feeling your stomach drop slightly at a declaration like that. “Thank you.” You looked away from him again. Something you knew he didn’t really like but choosing to try and save face over anything else. 

“Yeah…I don’t know.” You could see his focus on the topic increasing by the second. His disposition was happy, but he held serious and almost threatening undertones. He tightened his grip on your thigh and you looked at back to him, hesitantly following the silent command to keep your eyes up. “I think you should say it.”

“John-” His assertiveness was starting to get to you, it always did. You sat up on your forearms to be a little more level with him but he moved his hand from your thigh to your stomach and pushed you back down. The thought of having to lay there and explicitly state that you did well on your test felt like a kid having to write in repetition on a chalkboard in detention. 

He was looking down at you, the eye contact making you slightly dizzy. His face was kind, it almost always was when he was around you, but the conversation was derailing. “I just think it’s important that you understand this.” He was so good at making you want what he thought was best.

You inhaled, swallowing your pride and licking your lips. “What do you want me to say?”

That familiar, condescending smile was starting to creep onto his lips. “Just tell the truth.” His eyebrows raised slightly in a silent prompt. “Say you did good.”

His hand was descending from your stomach, making it’s way to the hemline of your underwear. You hadn’t bothered to change out of what you were sleeping in, only now realizing the vulnerability of it. You held your tongue for a moment, breathing out a quiet “I did good.” 

He tore the only fabric between his hand and you off your body as easily as ripping a sheet of paper and leaned in a little more. “Say it again.”

“John-” You said it as barely an exhale as he skimmed his hand over you. You hadn’t even registered just how sensitive or how wet you’d gotten in the few minutes you were talking to him.

“I don’t know why you act so fucking noble. You should be running Ashleys around in circles or giving interns your coffee order. Not any of this testing bullshit that you’re too good for anyway.” His tone elevated to that mocking, cocky tone that swept into the most shame filled crevices of your mind and tugged the most deprived parts into the driver seat. He thumbed at your clit while he spoke, increasing and decreasing the pressure whenever he felt like it and effectively snatching any remaining ability to form coherent thought from your grabbing hands. “You’ve been chosen by a God, honey. You can do anything, I can give you anything.” He got breathier as he spoke, seemingly soaking up the desperation you were excreting and matching it in a tenfold.

You felt two of his fingers enter you effortlessly and you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping his arm. You always felt the power imbalance most in times like these. A feeling like pulling an angel away from heaven just for yourself, combing through it’s wings with your fingers or trying to lap up a fraction of that status in a wildly inappropriate disregard for the natural roles of nature. He was so much more than you, but he just wanted you to feel good. You swore under your breath as he started circles on your clit. He never got hand cramps, never got tired. He would go until you couldn’t anymore.

“That’s it.” He had barely said it, more just exhaled the assurance under his breath. You were close, you’re sure he could feel it. “Gonna move you to my penthouse. Keep you braindead and needy.”

 It shouldn’t have hit you the way it did. Considering who he was, he could easily fulfill that promise with nobody at Vought even thinking twice. It was the way he said it, the way he acts. Always needing control and always right. The most powerful man alive spent his time fantasizing about control over you, and your stomach twisted in disgust at how badly it got you off.

He slowed his movements as your high declined. He was breathing heavy, but your heart was beating like a drum. He had the smallest smile on his face like the sound gave him a sense of satisfaction. You rose to your forearms, this time with no protest from him, and watched him stand up. He held the back of your head with the hand that wasn’t nearly dripping and kissed the top of your head. It was chaste and quick, but the domesticity of it made your throat ache. He uttered something about getting a towel to clean up, stating he’d be right back before exiting the room. 

You rushed the words out before he could leave. “But you didn’t-”

“Next time.” He just waved you off. “I just thought you deserved a little reward.”

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Bruce Wayne x Bat!Mom

Title: Please Come Home for Christmas

Warning(s): NONE

Character(s): Bruce Wayne, f!x reader/Batmom, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Prompts used are in bold and italicized; italicized paragraphs are flashbacks/memories; song used is Please Come Home For Christmas (words are in red/italicized.)

SONG CAN BE PLAYED AT THIS SYMBOL 🎵 and the song should end about the time the last verse has been typed out. Song will be linked at that music note for your convenience. But here’s the link to song

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE TRANSLATED OR POSTED ANYWHERE ELSE! ©️

______

Christmas was your favorite holiday; the Christmas lights, the ambiance, the decorations, and being surrounded by your family made you feel complete.

The boys were in charge of decorating the seven foot Christmas tree. It was the first year you and Bruce had decided to let them take over putting up the tree and decorating it. While the boys decorated the tree in the living room, you were in the kitchen baking sugar cookies with the assistance of Bruce, while Alfred instructed the boys.

Bruce was going through the box of cookie cutters, “Seriously? You have a Batman cookie cutter?” He asked and you smiled, while pouring the two of you a glass of wine. “Of course. I figured we could do a Batman Christmas themed cookie.” Bruce rolled his eyes, and found the ziploc bag full of the normal Christmas cookie cutters.

As the two of you rolled out the cookie dough and began cutting out the festive shapes, the boys could be heard arguing in the living room. You wiped your hands on your apron, and Bruce followed quietly behind you.

Jason and Dick were trying to pull the Christmas tree out of the box, with Damian instructing them. “You have to shimmy it!” He yelled at his two older brothers. “SHIMMY!…. SHIMMY!….. SHIMMY!!”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Jason yelled. Alfred walked over to the credenza and poured himself a glass of bourbon before downing it in one gulp. Tim was in the corner testing the lights, and Damian turned to look over at you and Bruce. “Don’t we have people to do this?” He asked and Bruce shook his head.

“No. Since your mom and I got married, we always decorated the interior of the house. You don’t need hired help for everything, Damian.” He said, and Damian flung back on to the couch.

You walked over to the couch and ruffled Damian’s hair, “These type of things take time. Decorating is supposed to be fun, and not a chore. So c’mon. Get up. Dad and I can help get the tree out of the box.”

You and Bruce helped get the tree out of the box and then fluffed out the branches. “There, now all you boys have to do is decorate it.” You stood up from the floor, and the tone in the room seemed more bright.

Alfred walked over to the record player and put on an old Christmas record, “It wouldn’t be Christmas decorating if we didn’t have on a record.”

The boys agreed with him simultaneously, and then got to work sorting out the different ornaments. Bruce followed you back into the kitchen, and continued to cut out and bake the remainder of the cookie dough. When you had placed the last sheet of cookies into the oven, Bruce pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

You sipped from your glass of wine, and Bruce brought a smaller record player into the kitchen. He delicately placed a vinyl down, and music filled the kitchen.

The all too familiar tune of Please Come Home for Christmas filled your ears- the voices of the Eagles (one of your favorite bands) sang the first lyric. You smiled at Bruce, and he walked around the kitchen island.

He took the glass of wine from your hands and sat it down on the marble counter top. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Wayne?” He asked and you pulled his body into yours. “Always.”

He held your hips firmly and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

My baby’s gone, I have no friends

To wish me greetings once again..

His forehead leaned against yours, and the two of you swayed to the music. Unbeknownst to you, Alfred and the boys watched from the pass-through window, but the two of you were too lost in each other to notice. “Why are they dancing to a sad song?” Jason asked and Alfred watched the two of you in awe.

“Let me tell you a story.” Alfred started and the boys turned their attention to Alfred. “Your parents had married on December 15th— this year will be their 15th wedding anniversary. Your mum was 22 years of age and your father 25. They had decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.” The boys listened intently,

“Your father, had just become the Batman, and didn’t want to take a break from it. Even if it was taking time from them celebrating this new adventure in life. Your mum had left, because he decided that being Batman was far more important than staying home for a couple of weeks.”

You and Bruce had insisted on Alfred taking the night off so the two of you could celebrate your honeymoon, and decorate the Christmas tree alone. Bora Bora was the plan, but you had wanted to celebrate Christmas at home, and Bruce agreed. You were sitting on the floor next to Bruce as he opened a box of Christmas tree lights. “I don’t care what the box says, these lights are definitely not untangled.” Bruce mumbled, and you smiled.

“There’s glitter in my hair, on my clothes, and somehow, in my coffee. This is chaos.” You replied and Bruce pressed a kiss to your temple. “Well, you look hot covered in glitter.”

The two of you helped each other decorate the tree, and shared kisses in between. Wayne Manor was being filled with Christmas music, laughter, and lots of love.

The Christmas tree was big, bright, and beautiful. It lit up the entire room, and the fire crackling set the perfect ambiance. Bruce laid out blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace, and he convinced you that instead of sleeping in the bed, the two of you could sleep in front of the fireplace.

The two of you had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped up in nothing but the blankets. When you had woken up, your watch read 11:47 PM, and Bruce was no where to be found.

You had checked the bedroom, bathroom, the study, and even the garage. Then it had dawned on you; he was probably down in the batcave. You slipped on your silk robe, and pressed the keys on the piano, and the bookcase had opened, revealing the long, dark cave entrance.

The cool air nipped at your skin, and sure enough, there was Bruce on the platform in the middle of the water. He was pulling on his armor, and you started to walk across the short bridge; the sound of the waterfall covering the sounds of your feet.

“Bruce, what are you doing?” You asked and he jumped a little.

“Well, I decided to patrol. There’s a lot of criminal activity tonight.” He said as he turned around in the chair to face you.

You stepped in front of him; his hands traced up your bare leg, then pulling you closer to his body. You looked down at him, your fingers running through his hair, “I thought we had agreed that you wouldn’t patrol for two weeks. That we would enjoy our honeymoon, and Christmas together.”

He stood up from the chair and he sat his cowl on the desk. “It will just be tonight, baby.” He said as his fingers combed through your hair.

His eyes were your weakness, and he knew you would break underneath his gaze, “I promise it will just be for tonight.“ he whispered, and you loosened the tie to your robe, revealing your naked frame to him. A smirk worked its way across his face, and he pulled you closer to him, “When I get home, I’ll make it up to you Mrs. Wayne.”

Bruce pressed a kiss to your neck, and you sighed while covering up your body. “Fine. But only for tonight.”

But ‘only for tonight’ turned into a week. He went out every night that week, and you had decided enough was enough. One night, when Bruce had left, you packed a suitcase and booked a trip to London. If you were going to spend your honeymoon alone, you were going to have fun alone- in a different country.

“So your mum left the country and went to London. Your father, of course, did not notice she was gone until the afternoon of the next day.” Alfred stated, and he brought the boys to the living room to finish telling the story.

“Master B called me in a panic, and I came home straightaway. I feared that one of the adversaries had figured out who the Batman was, and took Miss Y/N.” Alfred pulled a piece a paper from the display books on the coffee table. “I found this note on this very coffee table, explaining where she was. Your father back then… He could be quite oblivious to these sort of things.”

~~~~~~~~~

Dearest Bruce,

I love you with all of my heart, but spending these nights alone made me realize that maybe I wasn’t meant to be the wife of the Batman. I married you, Bruce. I find it tough to share you with the people of Gotham. Deep down, I know this city needs you- desperately. But I need you too. I am going to London for the remainder of our honeymoon, and I promise I will come back to Gotham so we can sort all of this out.

With love,

Y/N

~~~~~~~~~

The boys passed the letter around, “Why didn’t she just stay and tell him?” Jason asked and Alfred shrugged his shoulders.

“Your father could hear words, but he never truly listened. They were young, Jason. Communicating is something that is learned throughout the course of marriage. It’s not always easy, and it takes two to learn, grow, and adapt with one another. Luckily, your parents worked through it, and learned.” Alfred stated and no one noticed you and Bruce standing in the doorway.

“Well, what happened next?” Tim asked and Bruce answered.

“When Alfred found the note, I read it. I realized I promised to take time off from Batman and spend time with my wife. And I didn’t keep that promise.” Bruce sat down in the recliner, and you sat down on the arm of the chair.

His hand rested on your lower back, “I didn’t know how to distribute my time- she was my girlfriend when I started Batman. She had her own life, and it wasn’t until after she left I realized that she gave up a part of her life to create one with me. She couldn’t do that alone.”

You turned to look at Bruce, “I went after her, and the entire trip there, all I could think about was the promise I made and didn’t keep. Most people wouldn’t see it as a big deal, but I made a commitment to you. A life long commitment- and if I didn’t keep my promise for those two weeks like you had asked, how would you ever trust my future promises, or the promises I made when we exchanged our vows?” He spoke to you directly now.

Bruce stared up into your eyes, and he pulled you down to his lap, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Going after you, was the best decision I ever made.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, and the boys made gagging sounds.

“Ew! Please stop!”

“Get a room!”

“Wait- what did them dancing to that sad song have anything to do with their marital problem?” Damian asked, and you turned to look at them.

You looked at Bruce for confirmation to finish the story. Bruce nodded and his cheeks turned red, “Well, I left the 22nd, and he didn’t find out where I was until the afternoon of the 23rd. Then it took him until the 24th to find pilots to fly the Wayne jet, and that night he arrived in London.” You smiled at Bruce. “So on the night of Christmas Eve, I decided to have dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. I wore my best dress, and strange enough, there was no one else in the dining hall. The lights were dimmed, and the waiter took me to a table in the middle of the room.”

Alfred took a seat on the couch, and smiled. “There was a candle, and two wine glasses and a bottle of my favorite red wine. I turned to the waiter and explained that it was just me, but he pushed my chair in and walked away.”

Bruce hid his face in your hair, “The stage lights turned on, and there was a group of men on the stage, and the opening notes to Please Come Home for Christmas started to play. 🎵

When my eyes had adjusted to these lights, lo and behold, the Eagles, were standing in front of me.”

“Bells will be ringin' the sad, sad news

Oh, what a Christmas to have the blues

My baby's gone, I have no friends

To wish me greetings once again”

You sat there in shock, and then through the corner of your eye, Bruce was standing at the edge of the stage. Slowly, you stood up and Bruce walked over to you; he was wearing his best suit and tie. All you could do was stare at him and then back at the stage, “You did this?” You asked and Bruce nodded.

“May I have this dance?” He asked and you gave him your hand.

Bruce pulled you into his body, his right hand held your waist, and his left hand met your right hand. You stared up into his eyes, and he leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, as he spun you out away from him, and then he pulled you back into his strong embrace. “I didn’t keep my promise. I feel terrible about it. But I feel even worse that it took you leaving for me to notice the broken promise.”

“Sure as the stars shine above

But this is Christmas, yes, Christmas, my dear

It’s the time of year to be with the one you love.”

“Will you forgive me, Y/N? There is no one else I would rather solve problems with, or experience life with. I only want you. Please come home for Christmas.” He whispered in your ear, and you pulled away from him.

All you could say was “Yes.” And Bruce’s hand held the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain

And I'll be happy, happy once again.”

When he pulled away you pulled him back and pressed a long, needed kiss to his lips. “Thank you for coming after me.” You said against his lips, and then you smiled. “I guess there was a less dramatic way to discuss this. I’m sorry.”

Bruce shook his head, “Thank you for leaving. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have realized the error I made. I tend to hear, but not actually listen.” He said as he kissed your forehead.

“Ooh, there'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain

And I'll be happy, Christmas once again.”

The final piano notes of the song played and you turned to Bruce, “How did you manage to get the Eagles to sing in a hotel restaurant? And why is there no one else here?” You asked and Bruce smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I bought the restaurant. And as for them, I bought out an entire concert to get them here, plus some since it was Christmas.”

Bruce pulled you into a hug, and he waved for the band to play the song again.

_________

“He paid a for an entire concert? To play one song?” Dick asked and you smiled.

“No, they played their whole set list, and we had dinner with them. But it was after all of that, that meant the most to me.” You said as you looked at Bruce.”

“Ew, mom, we don’t want to hear this.” Jason said as he buried his face into a throw pillow. “Not that, Jason.” You stood up and picked up a small Big Ben ornament. Bruce stood up and followed you to tree, and his hand wrapped around yours, and he helped place the ornament on a branch in the middle.

“The clock is set to the time that your father and I kissed at our wedding, after saying I do.” You said and Bruce pulled you into a hug.

The boys surrounded the two of you, and even Alfred joined in on the hug. “So that’s why we take off from December 15th until the 29th.” Tim said and you smiled.

“Unless Gotham is in dire need of its Dark Knight. I too, have learned sometimes the city needs him more than I need him. But he somehow manages to be there for both.” You say, and Bruce pulls you into another breath taking kiss.

“Shall we go ahead and take our annual Christmas photo?” Alfred asks and you smile.

All of you gathered around the tree, and Alfred set the camera’s timer. He raced over and straightened out his suit and tie, “Everyone say SHIMMY!” Alfred shouted and everyone burst into laughter.

“SHIMMY!” Everyone exclaimed and the camera flash went off. In the photo, Damian’s mouth was agape, and he looked over at Jason who was laughing.

Then the fire alarm started blaring in the kitchen, “THE COOKIES!” You and Bruce screamed, and the two of you raced into the kitchen.

Bruce opened the smoke filled oven, and pulled out the cookie sheet with a dish towel. He dropped the pan into the sink, and after the smoke had cleared, everyone had a clear view of the cookies.

They were completely burned. All everyone could do was laugh, “They’re cookies are as hard as hockey pucks!” Jason said as he banged them in the counter. “I wonder if a bullet would go through them?” He asked out loud.

Bruce pulled you into his body and pressed a kiss to your lips. After what Jason had said processed, you looked at him, “Don’t you even think about it! No guns in the kitchen, and not shooting at the cookies!”

That night after cleaning the kitchen, the seven of you sat in the living room enjoying sugar cookies in front of the fireplace, and enjoying the view of the tree, all while playing some Wayne Family Christmas Games.

The End!

Authors Note:

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this! Comments, likes, and reblog are always appreciated. Please let me know what you thought!

xoxo

[drurrito]

Home

A/N: You're going to have to pry retired!avengers reader x Natasha au from my cold, dead hands. Anyway, I wanted to see if I could quickly churn out a little something before needing to focus my attention on this stupid MSJ memo.

From a drabble list: #34 - "The boxes are all labeled incorrectly."

Parings: Natasha x Reader

Warnings: time...and it's a little angsty ig but there's a happy ending.

----------------

You slice through the tape with ease and toss the box cutter to the side.

"Huh, so that's where I packed my boxing gear," you lift your gloves out of the box and set them aside. Moving has been anything but a breeze. Natasha finally pried your last remaining stubborn fingers that had a death grip on your life as an Avenger. Your retirement party was too-perfect. Even Fury was there to send you off. You hated it. Natasha knew from the jump you wanted to die an Avenger, not some washed-up hero that spent retirement trying to find anything to fill the bottomless void left from no longer being needed by the world anymore.

But you love Natasha much, much more than you hate not being an Avenger.

She tried to make it up to you, even picking a house that has a home theater and game room for your poker nights with Tony and the boys. Someplace by the beach while being close enough to the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility so you can sleep in as long as possible before having to train recruits.

Your new life scares you much more than any bullet, bomb, or power-hungry warlord ever could.

You hear the front door open and keys drop onto the new marble counter that Natasha spent weeks curating. The familiar clicking of heels draws nearer. You feel your wife's nails drag across your back before her fingers dig into the knots between your shoulders.

"There you are," Natasha's voice is so gentle, it has been since your retirement party. She always knew what she wanted with you, and you never gave her reason to doubt you would meet her halfway. Retirement was the last step she needed you to take into this new chapter of your lives. Most people would have rather opted to watch paint dry, but she would have waited forever for you if you needed it.

"How's the unpacking going?" Natasha rests her head on top of yours, letting her arms drape around your neck. You instinctively lean back into her and take a few breaths. Among the most chaotic scenes, Natasha has always been your safe place to land.

"We're making some progress," you trail off, both of your eyes scanning the room that's littered in torn, sliced, and otherwise unopened boxes. You feel Natasha heave a loud sigh against your back. Her arms come up to your shoulders to give you a sympathetic squeeze.

"Wait, why are my dishes in your underwear box?"

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment to buy yourself some time, "because...the boxes are labelled incorrectly."

"And who was in charge of labelling the boxes?"

"I was," you try not to sound so deflated, Natasha's laugh echoes through the mostly empty house.

"Should've hired the recruits to do our dirty work," she smirks and pulls out her phone, "I'll get us take out."

You watch her rattle off your favorite order as she walks down a barren hallway. Maybe retirement won't be so bad after all.

[gunnrblze]

City Dweller, pt. 1

�� Hesh x Reader, 2k+ words, SFW

New fic based on my little Roomate!Hesh drabble :)

Hello friends, so happy y’all liked my little drabble so much! Loved seeing the comments n feedback, I’m naturally pretty iffy about my own writing so I appreciate it a lot! Here’s this lolll :)

Santa Monica was beautifully warm. Palm trees littered around, sunshine beating down during the peak hours of the day. Only remnants of a past war, a ghost of what was. Your ‘fresh start’ as you’d been calling it felt almost…conventional, all things considered. Hallmark movie-like, the apartment you’d found yourself touring looking almost suburban, but distanced enough from what you imagine the suffocation of a cookie-cutter neighborhood would feel like.

Years after the Federation had been defeated, the world attempting some chance at peace and uniformity, you needed something new. With a decent job offer, and an already established friend living in the city, you figured it made more than enough sense.

Knocking on the door of a decently sized complex, you didn’t have nearly enough time to really zone in on your anxiety and attempt to squash it. Instead, your endeavor was halted by a large, athletically sturdy man appearing in the doorway with a warm, ice melting smile. Your eyes tracing over him instead of the 207 plastered on the door.

You didn’t know what to expect, honestly. Hell, you didn’t really have many expectations for meeting Hesh, other than the involuntary assumptions you made based on the bit of information your friend had given you. But all that information came from their friend Logan, Hesh’s brother. Considering that you’d hype up your sibling in the same scenario too, you were counting on having to gain your own footing. Going in blind to meet a man you didn’t know and touring his apartment almost felt like a poor decision. But hey, if this guy was a freak, you at least had a friend who knew where you were.

Of course, you couldn’t quite form any actual thoughts for a moment, a bit too stunned with how pretty he was.

A physique damn near sculpted from marble. A smile so gentle and welcoming it made your teeth ache. Bright green eyes that made you wonder how it was possible to have a simultaneously easy-going yet poised energy. A beard that was almost starting to border into mutton chops territory, that he somehow pulled off in your eyes.

It was no wonder your internal monologue blacked out for a moment.

He welcomed you in, introducing himself first as David, then explaining that you can call him Hesh like everyone else does. You only wondered for a moment how that nickname must’ve been born from ‘David’, before he insisted showing you around the apartment.

The apartment was nice and clean, almost verging on dull, but you weren’t too surprised after being told he was an army Lieutenant. Usually gone for work, absent more than he was present. It made sense the way the kitchen nearly looked straight out of a Home Depot display. All sharp edges and clean surfaces, new stainless steel appliances that almost made you swoon. But with enough personal touch to let you know he dwells here, at least.

It got even more convenient when he showed you down the hall toward what would be your room. You tried to breathe regularly, but something about him was both refreshing and suffocating. Your eyes swept over picture frames on the wall, both new and dated photos of him and his brother Logan. A man who he vaguely resembled, perhaps a father. A woman that looked eerily twin-like to his brother…you were starting to get the picture. He gave you a cursory peak of his own room just to acquaint you with everything, the details you caught before he shut the door again already conjuring more assumptions about him. What kind of games does he play on that setup? He must really be partial to the color green. How do you even make a bed that neat? Was that a dog bed-wait, was that an actual dog too?

You must’ve been daydreaming a bit, when his slight chuckle broke you out of the trance you’d tripped into.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know if Logan mentioned to your friend that I have a dog, Riley. Is that a problem?” He’d ask, voice smoother than whiskey, warm and heavy and settling into the few feet standing between your bodies. His tone was lacquered with kindness and welcoming, but his firm, assured nature stood next to you like a brick wall. Unwavering and almost comforting, for a stranger.

You explained that you didn’t mind, you liked dogs well enough, after all. And with the way he assured you that Riley was indeed, a very good boy, and went to work with him everyday, you suspected it wouldn’t be a problem. “You’ll hardly even know he’s here, usually stays in my room. He’s fully trained and housebroke, too” he followed up after seeing the quick mental debate you were going through. Just an extra, furrier roommate, no? Maybe a piece of info you’d like to know beforehand, but something inside you just didn’t care too much. Maybe it was how casual he acted about it. Just a dog, man’s best friend and all, you figured.

After the little German shepherd shaped surprise, he showed you to the second bedroom. Smaller than his, which you didn’t mind considering he claimed his stake a while ago, and it was just like the rest of the apartment anyways.

Perfect.

Or did he feel perfect? Did he, in this apartment, perhaps feel perfect? Were you being ridiculous, since you’d only known him for a mere 10 minutes so far? Surely a David Walker sized miracle didn’t just land in your lap like this. He’s just some guy, with a dog, and an empty bedroom.

There’s plenty of those. But you were starting to want this one.

Clean and spacious, perfect for all your belongings, you wondered how you lucked out. The light filtered into the room from the open blinds, and it all felt a bit tranquil and relaxing. Cream colored walls surrounding you, sturdy hardwood flooring that your shoes clacked on with every step. Hesh stood a reasonable distance from you the whole time, however you couldn’t help but feel as if his presence lingered closer. As if he were right on your heels, instead of being a respectable few feet away.

After showing you the rest of the apartment, the laundry area and bathroom just as seemingly spotless, you were already fantasizing about how you’d decorate your room and slowly worm your knickknacks throughout the rest of the apartment. When he asked you a bit about yourself, you almost looked unsure for a moment, caught off guard. Why you were faltering so much, you had to mentally blame on your lack of consistent human connection. Usually being holed up away from everyone else for work made you a bit of a recluse.

And how you could even begin to think about yourself when you had a large, square shouldered man leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen was beyond you. Those forest eyes narrowed in on you, and you only. Both staring a hole through you, and somehow keeping you all in one piece at the same time. His composed demeanor couldn’t possibly lack personality, though. His smile was something warm. That cup of coffee on a chilly morning, the one that you can feel blaze a trail all the way down your throat and throughout your chest upon first sip. So heedlessly friendly and hospitable, like a frosting that’s just a little too sweet. One that makes your stomach hurt a bit. But the ache is so tender, isn’t it?

You gave enough of an idea about yourself, not too much information for a stranger, but enough to hopefully warm him up to the idea of you moving in. And it seemed to help, or maybe it was that slight ‘when are you ready to move in?’ attitude he already seemed to harbor. As if he were just waiting for you to agree. Like he’d already decided it would work out the moment you stepped inside. It took you by a quiet surprise, the way he held the conversation in such a tone that he’d already made up his mind on you, and now it was simply your turn to decide how you felt. So self assured, so nonchalantly confident that it even made you want to stand up a bit straighter.

. . ・ 。 . ・ ゜ ✭ ・ ☽ ・ ✫ ・ ゜ ・ 。 . .

You weren’t expecting your first apartment touring to be so…immaculate, when are they ever? But you found yourself dotting your I’s and crossing your T’s on the lease paper by the end of the week, and moving your stuff in.

Not without his help, of course.

You’d insisted you could have a friend help, or call a moving company, to which you nearly watched him laugh at. The idea of paying someone money when you had him to help, seemed out of his scope of understanding. So he helped, not busy enough with work for once to assist you in moving boxes upon boxes up the stairs and into the apartment. Logan even came to help with the heavier furniture you had. You’d only briefly met him once through that mutual friend that’d recommended you as a potential roommate, and he seemed to be just as kind and friendly as his brother, only quieter. You could see clear as day how they were related, moving like a well oiled machine as they carried your bed frame up the stairs.

The two of them shared a couple looks when they naturally assumed you weren’t paying attention. But you had eyes in the back of your head while inside an apartment with two men who were technically, still strangers to you. Looks you couldn’t quite decipher, and decided to willfully ignore, lest you start jumping to conclusions and psych yourself out of this arrangement. A little smirk plastered on Logan’s face whenever he caught Hesh glancing at you. Always glancing, always looking. And you couldn’t help but notice. Your eye contact with him felt like a game, both eyeing one another and trying to pretend you really weren’t. How he managed to keep an eye and his focus on two things at once though, you just chalked up to his skills as a soldier, maybe. Because you couldn’t focus on much else whenever your eyes roamed over the back of his head, the slightly grown out brown hair that curled up around his ears, or the way his t-shirt fit across the broad expanse of his chest.

After all your things had been lugged up the stairs and into the apartment, you could take a little breather. Unpacking and really settling in would be another feat, and you wanted to start as soon as you could, despite the exhaustion from the busy day.

After thanking Logan again for helping, he left the, your, apartment. And it was odd, that this was also your apartment now. Boxes stuffed inside and name on the lease next to his. You felt like an intruder, like you couldn’t mark your territory properly since he’d done it first. Not that he felt that way, of course. It was your space now, too. Your room, your bathroom, your kitchen, your living room. Just with a man and a dog inside, too.

A man who seemed to have been harboring a spot in your thoughts since you met him a few days ago. Always on the back burner, always bouncing around like the ball in a pinball machine. That charming cadence in his voice, his little grin that seared itself into your brain. What was it about him? You didn’t know. You didn’t really want to know. He was your roommate now, you couldn’t have yourself swooning for a man who was simply kind and respectful towards you.

But now you were alone with him. And it almost didn’t even feel odd. Being alone with a man in a new city, a new apartment, would normally put anybody at least a little on edge. But he made it more delightful and pleasant than you thought he’d really even attempt to try. Was he even trying? Or did he just have the energy of a snake charmer?

It was difficult to tell, since he didn’t at all seem to regard you as a snake. No, he looked at you like you were the finest wine. Something he sought to cradle in his large hands, careful not to squeeze too tightly incase you decide to hightail it. He was charming and respectful and sweet but it felt heavy. He tried to be casual, or maybe he just was, and it worked, but his near reverence for you slipped from the cracks, and it sparked up something light and fuzzy in the bottom of your chest.

Maybe you were both being a little silly. Perhaps he didn’t get much personal social interaction outside of his own working hours either. Maybe that’s why the apartment felt both calm yet cramped with both of you inside now. You’d only known him for a handful of days so far, but he made it feel as if it were longer.

All you could do for a moment was sit on the edge of your unmade bed, and take a deep breath. You had mountains of boxes and emotions to unpack, one of which you decided to close the lid on for now.

[writer-rubes]

Tickletober - Day 3

A/N: First of the DCA/Sun and Moon show pieces uwu I had this idea for a while, I just never had an excuse. Well, now I have one! I feel like this might be a little in character. This takes place after Old Moon's return.

--------------------------------------------

Below the Belt

Tickletober - Day 3: Prank

Summary: After their Premium Member QnA, Sun tries to get Moon back for tickling him with one of Nexus' scrapped inventions, before he went crazy. But Moon finds out, and decides to have a little fun of his own.

Sun was cleaning out some old boxes at the Daycare. He was still a little flustered from the QnA he and Moon did a few days ago. He couldn't believe Moon did that! He was a bit embarrassed, and his family has not let him live it down yet. It was all out of love of course.... but still.

"I need to get Moon back for that! But every time I try, something gets in my way, or Moon just gets me instead!" He said, still a little flushed. He took down one of the boxes, and realized it was a box of Nexus' old inventions. Before he betrayed everyone.

Why did he still have these? He thought he got rid of all of Nexus' old inventions. Either thrown away, or having Moon repurpose them. He decided to finish that, and he started to go through the box.

Many of the inventions were rather weird. A wire cutter with a circuit board in the blades, a high tech hamster wheel, and a few other things. But one thing at the bottom of the box caught Sun's eye. It was a blue belt, with a keyhole attached. It also came with a remote. Sun recognized the design from a cartoon that Jack and Dazzle watched.

"Wait... is that- wait, why would he make this?"

He wondered if it actually worked. He attached it to his waist, and he pressed the red button on the remote. He didn't know what he was thinking. Because as soon as it turned on, Sun shrieked. He burst into squeaky laughter, squirming on the padded floor. The belt tickled all over, but mainly on his tummy, where the belt rested. Really? Nexus invented a tickle belt before he lost his marbles?

In Sun's hysterical laughter, he grabbed the remote and shut it off. The belt stopped, and he took several breaths to calm down. He hoped no one saw that, it was rather embarrassing...

Then an idea hit him.

--------------------------------------------

Sun had gotten home, and made dinner for Dazzle and Jack. Once they ate and went up to play, Sun snuck into Moon's room. Moon was out at his lab with Solar, so he was completely safe to do this.

He grabbed a spare pair of pants from Moon's drawer, and he stuffed the belt inside, concealing it with the cloth. He folded it, and set it on the top of Moon's clean pile. So it would be the pair he wore in the morning. He smirked, and held the remote, almost in a teasing manner as he went to his own room.

--------------------------------------------

Moon returned to the house with Solar behind him. They were both tired, as they spent all day working on building some new negative star power defenses. They both went to Moon's room since they needed to talk a bit longer.

"Do you think it's enough to keep Sun safe?" Solar asked.

"I hope it is. I can't let him get hurt..." Moon went to his drawer to get his pair of pants for the morning, but he noticed a weight change. His pants aren't normally that heavy.

He investigated, and he pulled out the tickle belt that Sun hid in his pants. Moon was a little surprised. He had no idea how it got there at first, until he remembered how he tickled Sun on their QnA. So he wanted revenge...

"Well, I gotta say... At least this was unexpected." Moon shrugged. Solar looked over at the belt, his eyes widening a little.

"Wait, is that... the thing from Spongebob? Jack told me about that thing!"

"Right... a tickle belt. Where did Sun even get one of these?" Moon asked as he thought for a moment.

"Well, what will you do with it? Sun probably planted it in there to mess with you... He'll be disappointed." Solar muttered. Moon continued to think, and a fun idea came to his head. He smirked.

"Sure... but he might be in for a shock in the morning." He walked to Sun's room. Sun was asleep, and he was good at being quiet...

--------------------------------------------

The daycare had just been emptied for the day, and Moon had just gotten back to was talking with Earth and Lunar. He was asking about their days.

"How did a kid throw the Moon plushie all the way up to the ceiling lights?" Moon asked, while Lunar shrugged.

"I don't know! Kids are crazy these days!" Lunar cried. Earth just smiled and rolled her eyes playfully. Sun walked over to them, a soft smirk on his face.

"So, you enjoying hanging out with us, Moony?~" Sun asked, with a playful smirk on his face. Moon nodded.

"Yeah, it's nice. It's nice having such a great sister, too." Moon commented.

"Aw, Moon!~" Earth smiled, her cheeks a little pink. Sun nodded, smirking.

"So, Moon... I must ask, have you laughed enough today?~" Sun asked teasingly, and Moon just smiled and shrugged.

"Solar told me a pretty good joke. I laughed pretty hard." Sun nodded, his smirk growing.

"Well..." He held up the remote. "Let me give you something to really laugh about!~" He pressed the button on the remote.

What he wasn't expecting was for him to feel the tickles instead. He burst into laughter, and fell onto the floor. He dropped the remote, and Moon picked it up.

"Moon?!" Sun cried as he laughed. Moon chuckled.

"Oh, Sunny... Did you really think I'd fall for that?~" Moon asked teasingly. "I figured out your little prank last night. I figured I'd tuck that tickle belt under your frills and get you laughing. You didn't suspect a thing."

Lunar's cheeks turned a little red, but he smiled at the scene. It was so funny. And Earth, she smiled sweetly, thinking it was very cute. Moon just smirked, enjoying the show as Sun writhed and laughed on the floor.

"Okay, Moon!" He said while laughing and squeaking. "You got me, turn it off!" He begged. Moon thought about it, and shrugged.

"Oh, I'll turn it off in a few minutes~" Moon chuckled. "You still tried to pull this on me. I think I'll let you squirm and laugh for a bit~"

Sun just let himself melt as he laughed, and his siblings watched the scene. Even if he tried to get revenge, he was still okay with this outcome.

He always needed a good laugh.

Prompt List

[aley-nag]

Making my own bookcloth

Back in february I went to a convention for all kinds of crafts and found a lot of cool materials I wanted to try in lieu of bookcloth. This was my first foray:

Finished book!

In a workshop back in 2023 I learned how to back normal cloth with silk paper so that it can function as bookcloth. I was taught, that this is necessary because otherwise the glue would press through the cloth and be visible on the front. With this dragon scale styled cloth I wasn't afraid that would happen. It is very thick and has kind of a plasticky coat. So I disregarded all of that advise and just tried to do it like I would with regular bookcloth:

I noticed very quickly that the cloth kinda soaked up the glue and I needed a lot to get it wet and sticky enough. Than I ran into the problem, that my newly fashioned edge cutter was a little to narrow for such thick material. I had little holes at the corner where the cloth didn't quite overlap. It also would not really stick to the carton. First I tried pressing it down with my fingers, than with a vise. Nothing worked, it just wouldn't stick. That's how I learned there's a second reason for backing the cloth: So that it will fucking stick. The glue is not suitable for things that are not paper. So you have to adhere paper first to the cloth and then you can connect that paper to the carton.

This is how I learned to do it:

Iron the cloth until all the creases are gone. Otherwise they will stay permanently. Leave the iron on. Dilute your glue with wallpaper paste (I used the regular one for paper from a hardware store and used the strongest water/paste ratio; the paste/glue ratio I kinda eyeballed approx. 1:3). Then put it in a laquer dish like in the picture and use a roller without this really fuzzy stuff (this one is more like foam). This will help you put the glue on very quickly and evenly. Lay out the silk paper (normally you should measure the cloth larger than you need it and the silk paper a little smaller than the cloth so that you don't have glue remnants everywhere. I already cut mine so the silk paper is larger here). Roll on your glue (very quickly but make it thin and even). Then wait. Test it with your fingertips. It should still stick but not be really wet anymore. Otherwise it will press through your cloth and you will have stains. If it gets to dry it will not stick. Then carefully stretch out all the creases. If you think it is right, put on the cloth, flip it and go over the silk paper with an iron. Be careful not to rip the paper (this will happen if it was still to wet). Check that the cloth isn't creasing. Try to get it as flat as possible. After the paper is dry, flip it again and go over the cloth side.

After I did that I had less problems. The cloth still needed to be pressed with a vise because it was so thick, but it held.

I mismeasured the back of the bookblock though and had to do it all over again... Well, you learn through practise and the second attempt was much prettier as well.

I used marbled paper I got from that retailer from hell and then I again fucked up with the Cricut (forgot to mirror the letters). Otherwise I am very pleased with the result and my cousin (the recipient) was also quite happy.

Binding Details

Bookblock was premade from schmedt.de

Endpapers from the retailer from hell (that I'm not gonna link)

Cloth from taschen-zubehoer.de

[goodyeartools]

Shop our Goodyear Marble Cutter 4" (1300W) at lower Prices | Limited Offer

Goodyear marble cutter machine can be used for a variety of tasks such as : –

Cutting marble slabs and tiles to size Creating custom shapes and patterns in marble Trimming and beveling marble edges Scoring marble for breaking

Features of Goodyear Marble Cutter :- Dia : 110mm Speed : 13000rpm Voltage : 220V 50/60Hz Maximum Cutting Capacity : 34mm Power : 1300W

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Helping Hand 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“I don't want them,” you try to wave Jonathan off as he offers a pair of pills, “I don't, urgh, need them, I'll deal–”

“You can barely speak for the pain, darling–”

“Stop calling me that,” you hiss, shaking as your hip throbs. Even the bed offers little comfort. Bigger and softer than your own yet entirely unwelcoming. “Can I… Can I have the coffee? My head is pounding.”

You reach past his hand and he clucks, “better reason for you to take your pills.” He moves the mug away, “take them and you may have some coffee.”

“Are you ser–”

You try to sit up straight and fall back against the heaped pillows, “argh, why are you doing this?”

“Why am I taking care of you? Well, anyone with decency–”

“You did this to me–”

“You tripped on the rug. As for your shoulder, I believe that was the creature you call an ex-husband. You would do yourself a favour by letting him go… like he did you.”

“You don't know shit about my marriage,” you growl, eyes pricking hotly, “fine, fine,” you wince as your muscles raze with fire, “I'll take the damn pills. I can't stand it.”

You grab the pills, scratching his palm, and throw them between your dry lips. You moan and gurgle as you try to force them down. He offers the coffee and you take it without a second thought, gulping down the bitterness and pasty tablets.

“Why… why don't you find someone who isn't broken? Someone younger?” You croak, resting the hot mug over your chest.

“You speak so unkindly of yourself, it's no wonder you refuse my kindness,” reproaches, “you're not broken, you are malleable…”

“Jonathan,” you breathe, his words slicing to your core. He's not wrong, you let Andy mold you into his cookie cutter and all for what?

“Enjoy your coffee, please,” he grins, “you've earned it.”

You flinch. You feel so small and weak. Exactly how you felt with Andy. How you've felt ever since. And now this man, no better than the last, only better at playing the gentleman.

“I want to sleep,” you murmur and look away from him.

“Yes, lots of rest,” he coos, “darling, I only want you happy and healthy.”

🩵

You only drink half the mug before you give in to dread. You're trapped here. Not just in this house but your own body.

You close your eyes as the painkillers kick in. They cannot soothe your anxiety but dull the world enough for you to doze. You have no way to track the time but you wake in a similar light, still racked and cramped.

You push your elbow into the bed and lift yourself. Even just a half cup has your bladder urgently full. You rock and writhe until you manage to sit up and sidle to the edge.

You look around, just the idea of standing is defeating. You need to stop assuming things can't get worse. You brace the bed with one arm and repress a yowl as you force yourself to your feet.

You lean on one foot, your hip giving a frightening thrum as you slowly move your leg. You limp, inch by inch, shuffling as you whimper with each step to the door. You sniffle as you enter the hallway, leaning on the wall as your body shakes.

You feel along and find a bathroom and nearly fall through the doorway. You catch yourself on the sink and sob. You kick the door shut but it doesn't catch. You don't care.

You use your unslung arm to get your pants down and angle down onto the toilet. You lean back with a heave and let go. The soft trickle underlines your mewling.

You finish up and pull yourself up with the counter. You flush, bent over the marble as you slide over to wash your hands. You just need to get back to the bed. One thing at a time.

You put a foot flat and push yourself straight. Your lower back spasms and you cry out, crumpling onto the bath mat. You curl on your side and whine, gulping as your eyelashes stick together.

Footsteps near softly and you look up at the figure standing over you. Soft tisks tickle your ears as Jonathan bends to touch your forehead. He lets his hand wander down your cheek.

“Darling, you should've called for me. You know, that's your problem,” he shifts around and scoops his arms under you. He grunts as he stands straight, his strength a harsh contrast to your futility. “You try to do everything on your own. I'm here, darling. Whatever you need of me.”

You drop your head, hunched in his hold as he carries you into the hall. You don't argue. You learned better than that years ago. You should have realised then too that trust is a dangerous thing.

[kebriones]

Kostas Varnalis' poem "Alcibiades"

Translated from greek by me.

I decided, since it's poetry, and I'm not a poet, to translate it as directly from greek as possible, maintaining the syntax even where it's not making too much sense in English, just so it can be as close to the original as i could manage.

With myrtle's bend, woman's hand

you drag with you eternal summer,

steams of wines and moans and honey

on your tongue, poisonous star

on Athena's fort

Enmities and friendships you put to sleep

with your quick and whistling lie,

dyed in your homeland's blood,

and Erinyes were bathing and Muses

in your deep and clear spirit.

Fires seven at holy olympia

lit your chariots. Your horses

your generation's they lifted, with pegasus'

Wings, in the azure glow,

the nobility and the freedom.

Staggering one night from the debauchery,

you broke the gods in the narrow-alleys

like empty glasses of crystal.

Oh! How from the marble ruins

of Sicily echoed the grand

laments, and like nightingales Euripides'

Choruses, final comfort!

But yours, your light blade

and your warm heart and the cold mind

would beat fate, Hermes-cutter.

Come look! At the dawn's reddening

Sing the riggings and the flutes.

with divine crowned bay-branch

you drag tied onto you as a flock

The enemies' ships like hetairas

Undefeated at land and seas

and only by the passions defeated,

at your twenty-two always blooms

your youth, apollonius, fragrant,

Sweet lover, sweetest beloved.

[gabbbyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy]

So y’all know about my Will Wood x TNMN AU that i posted about right…

welp. It’s a thing now!!! Here we go!!! The Lineups + little lore stuff drizzled here and there!! NAMES AND DESIGNS WILL BE COMING SOON I SWEAR

Some ideas were influenced by @gmanwhore and @core-bagg they r super duper awesome + encouraged me to take this Au out of the drafts

(Everything else under the cut!!)

THE INHABITANTS OF THE TAPEWORM ASYLUM HOTEL!!

Floor 1 + The Normal Album

F1R1:

Roman- Suburbia Overture/Greetings from Mary Bell Township!

Lois- (Vampire) Culture

(Ooh, typical cookie-cutter white middle class 50s household? WRONG!!! BLOOD HARVEST ATTACK!!!! (The guy who’ll be in Roman’s is completely unaware of the shit his wife does. And was probably lobotomized by her to prevent said shit from being acknowledged, and properly comprehended by him)

F1R2:

Robertsky- Outliars and Hyppocrates (A fun fact about apples)

Albertsky- BlackBoxWarrior OKULTRA

(Ok so what if the Peachmans…were APPLEmans…think abt it…o and Albertsky’s gonna be based on a short story i like (the Lottery by Shirley Jackson))

F1R3:

Angus- Laplace’s Angel (hurt people? Hurt people!)

(Self explanatory. Fucked up Omnipresent demon buisnessman that makes deals with criminals and further ruins their lives. Yeah!!!)

F1R4:

Selenne- Love, Me Normally

Elenois- Memento Mori (the most important thing in the world)

(What if a Seraphim/Cupid hybrid and a defective Grim Reaper were sisters that were banished from their homeworld for being “defective” and “not taking their jobs seriously”. Basically their entire story!!)

Floor 2 + Self-Ish

F2R1

Arnold- The Song with Five Names

Gloria- Hand me my shovel, i’m going in!

(Tfw your wife and her nightmarish alter ego become a singular entity, and mangle your body and memory beyond mortal comprehension, love when that happens!!)

F2R2

Izaack-Mr. Capgras Encounters a secondhand vanity

(Local psychologist loses his marbles, and slowly regresses into his own client. Bro is playing doctor with himself 😭🙏)

F2R3

Margarette- Dr. Sunshine is Dead

(A once Beloved Astronomer goes WAYYY too far into her studies and loses herself in the process. She’s completely unrecognizable, a tarnished shell of her former self. She doesn’t quite get it, drowned in a hodgepodge her own ego, tears, and delusions.)

F2R4

Nacha- “Self-“

Anastacha- “-Ish”

(2/3 of a whole family. stuck in a time loop, due to a contract the deadbeat father just HAD to sign. What the fuck, Jimmy.)

Floor 3 + Everything is a Lot

F3R1

Mia- Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones)

Dr. W.-¡Aikido! (Neurotic/Erotic)

(An all-powerful being of divine machinery who worries too much for the safety of his hammy, awesome, but frail evil skeleton wife)

F3R2

Francis- Jimmy Mushrooms’ Last drink: bedtime in Wayne, NJ

(Time traveling Cordycep man who broke an oath and failed up his entire homeworld, now forced to reside in this nuthouse of a hotel, left to soak in the ruins of both himself, and his family. His family.)

F3R3

Steven- Lygerside Daydream

McLooy- Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D

(The personifications of tranquility and joy—and deep, writhing hate. Living together. Ain’t that silly?)

F3R4

Alf- Red Moon

Rafftellyn- White Knuckle Jerk (Where do you get off?)

(A corrupt victorian surgeon who mutilates her patients and anyone who dares cross her path, and her vampiric mothman plaything that follows her around like a shadow. (She reminds him of the moon))

Also before ppl ask: “but Gabby!!! Alf is a LAWYER!! Why not have his Au self be based on Thermodynamic Lawyer?” Because :]

[omegaremix]

Finds For 2017.

Burial “Nightmarket”

Vatican Shadow “Take Vows”

Powell self-titled

Salah Mustafa self-titled

Uniform Wake In Fright

Post-TrashVolumes 1 & 2

We Are Not Trump Volumes 1 & 2

Richard H. Kirk “Martyrs Of Palestine”

Aster Aweke self-titled

Richard H. Kirk “Never Lose Your Shadow”

Horse Jumper Of Love “Nature” (demo)

Dame Charm School

Nine Inch Nails “She’s Gone Away”

Eric Gale “Morning Glory”

JJ Doll “Dirge”

Miss Red “No Guns”

Bombshells, The Bake-Sale Hotties

Zoviet France “Rattle Stick Cruss”

Appetite “Kiss Of Judas”

Health “L.A. Looks”

Crim3s “Militia”

Girl Pusher “Best Ever”

Unstoppable Death Machines “Space-Time Continuum”

Pharmakon “Transmission”

Isn’t Ours “Osseous”

Blanck Mass “Please”

Ngly “Speechless Tape”

Tala ft. Mssingno “Tell Me”

Eagulls “Requiem”

Isolated Showers “Death Through Open Eyes”

Clams Casino “I’m God”

Current Affairs “Eyes”

Death Of Pop, The “Sun In My Eyes”

Eagulls “Skipping”

Ngly “Psychosis 1”

Mary Bell “I Hate You”

Nite Jewel “2 Good To Be True”

Giant Drag “Kevin Is Gay”

3ndles5 “Polyester”

Sonic Arts Union Electric Sound

Steve Khan “The Blue Man”

Alan Parsons Project, The “Fall Of The House Of The Usher (Pavane)”

Rasa Everything You See Is Me

Black Merda “Lying”

Negril self-titled

Lost Peace self-titled

James Clarke “In Suspension”

Link Wray & His Wray Men “Rumble”

Asylum First And Last

Raul Lovisini & Francesco Messina “Hula Om”

Tomorrow’s People Open Soul

Bad Zu KllKllKll

Chino Amobi “Warszawa”

Alice Glass “Without Love”

Thee Oh Sees “Tunnel Time”

Priests “No Big Bang”

Algiers “Cleveland”

Aphex Twin London 03.06.17

Dreamcrusher “Fear And No Feeling”

Fuzzoscope label Earwax Shelf Life

Wolf Alice “Yuk Foo”

Breakfast Muff “R U A Feminist”

Omar Souleyman “Heli Yuweli”

Alan Vega “DTM”

Black Marble It’s Immaterial

Zola Jesus “Soak”

Believer/Law “Task At Hand”

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard “Gamma Knife”

clipping. “Story 2”

Ho99o9 “United States Of Horror”

Nine Inch Nails “Less Than”

Nnamdi Ogbonnaya “Hop Off”

Oldbills “smoke.mirrors”

Shapednoise “Witness Of A Heart Attack Death”

Sun Ra “The Star Gazers”

Thee Oh Sees “Toe Cutter / Thumb Buster”

Hysterics “Leave Me Alone”

M.I.A. “Born Free”

Martin Rev “My Street”

Pris Love, Labour, Loss

Rhyw “Vixen For Society”

AD/S “Transversal”

Harry Pussy “There’s A New Sound (Coming Through Your Town)”

Kamixlo “Splxcity”

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard “Mr. Beat”

Pygmy Shrews “Catheter”

These Are Powers “Little Sisters Of Beijing”

Chromatics Just Like You EP

Covered In Sand “Heaven’s Gate Suicides”

Dreamcrusher “Trapdoor”

Pris Unbeknown02

Antwon “Helicopter”

SHXCXCHCXSH “Strghts Rrcnstrcns”

Stormzy “Big For Your Bootz”

Tourist “Placid Acid”

Algiers “Walk Like A Panther”

Counterparts “Bouquet”

Martin Rev “Stickball”

MPIA3 “Casual Welding”

Westside Gunn & Conway “Machine Gun Black”

Cold Cave “Rue The Day”

Eric Random & The Bedlamites “Call Me”

Bereket Mengistaab “Lebay”

Jaye P. Morgan self-titled

Jah Wobble & The Edge & Holger Czukay “Hold On To Your Dreams”

Couch Slut “Summer Smiles”

Appetite self-titled cassette

Wilbert Longmire “Pleasure Island”

Drvg Cvltvre “United States Of Fuck You, The”

Annette Peacock & Paul Bley “A Loss Of Consciousness”

Gordon’s War “Got To Fan The Flame”

Moon Diagrams “Nightmoves”

McNeal & Miles “Ja Ja”

John Carpenter “Assault Theme” (Legowelt RMX)

Drvg Cvltvre “Analogue Warfare Pt. 1″

Ciarra Black Pendulum

V/Vm “All Night Long (Butcher All Night)”

Marijuana Deathsquads “Crazy Master”

Unsane Sterilize

Ninos Du Brazil Vida Eterna

Zola Jesus “Vessel”

Cold Cave “Glory”

Eric Copeland “Neckbone”

Bernice Chardiet “All By Myself”

Happy Meals “Tomorrow Could Be Heaven”

Traces Of Ghosts “Nasty”

Couch Slut “Penalty Scar”

Jah Wobble & Jaki Liebezeit & Holger Czukay “Twilight World”

Pharoah Sanders “Greeting To Saud (Brother McCoy Turner)”

Cansei De Ser Sexy “Honey”

Prurient & The Rita “Side A”

Eric Random & The Bedlamites “Father Can Yell”

Jah Wobble “Blueberry Hill”

Damn Whore “Sadie Pinn”

Slothrust “Sex And Candy”

Metz “Drained Lake”

Marijuana Deathsquads “Crosstown Crippler”

M.O.T.O. “It Tastes Just Like A Milkshake”

Guitar Wolf “Fujiyama Attack”

Dedekind Cut “Fear In Reverse 2″

Birthing Hips “Sex Bias”

Hirut Bekele “Lishekem Fiker”

Sakura & The Quests “My Boy Lollipops”

Krimewatch 2016 demo

Orphx “What Will Burn”

Roman Cross Winter Cross Reh

Daeva Pulsing Dark Absorptions

Farah “Into Eternity”

Pharoah Sanders “Creator Has A Master Plan, The”

Godflesh “Post Self”

Bill Orcutt “Collective Action” (live)

Moon Diagarms “Magic Killer”

Snakehole “Something To Become”

Symmetry Themes For An Imaginary Film

Demdike Stare “Savage Distort”

Bathory self-titled

Subtle Turnhips “F* The People F* The Power F* The People To The Power”