#arsonists and the tent

[nataliesnews]

arsonists and the tent, 7 blessings, fatma 8.12.2023

This is what I woke up to this morning. The people who did this are the descendants of the Nazis who sent up to the gas chambers and the Hamas which burnt our people in their houses. 

 During the night, while the people of the *encampment of the families of the murdered and kidnapped* in front of the Knesset were preparing for a night's sleep, they smelled the smell of a fire, *and heavy smoke enveloped the encampment.* The residents of the encampment succeeded in their quick reaction to put out the fire using fire extinguishers. The police and fire brigade were called to the place, which ruled out an electrical fault (the encampment operates with the approval of the electric company and accompanied by a qualified electrical engineer). *The possibility that the source of the fire is due to suspected arson is now being examined*. Fortunately, the fire was extinguished quickly and without casualties. However, it should be noted that the residents of the encampment, who lost their loved ones in the terrible disaster of October 7, *suffered in recent weeks several threats from passers-by who expressed themselves in an extreme and violent manner*. The thought that *freedom of protest and expression in Israel is under threat* emphasizes even more strongly the *danger of the leadership of the party and the instigator and the need to replace them with worthy leaders*. *The Shabbat reception will take place today as planned* at 13:00 at the Mahal. Kaplan 1, Jerusalem. *Now is the time to go to the Knesset!* 📢 Share *Follow us and join the protest*📢 *To join a silent group of eyes on the Knesset* https://chat.whatsapp.com/Ln2Bsudap0TExbyKyCvttt to column X of the encampment https://x.com/hamishpahot/status/1729194130881032568?s=46

This I wrote yesterday. 

A man at Nofim asked me if I could bring yellow ribbons (the ribbon we wear as a sign for the bringing back of the kidnapped) which seems further and further away. We had  a house meeting and I asked him to make an announcement that we would put the ribbons on the table at the entrance.  When I asked him why he had not done so, he said that they had all been taken while he was still holding them.

I invited Irit and Yaakov to go with me to see the film

Seven Blessings

The movie poster

The movie page on IMDb

Seven Blessings is an Israeli family drama film from 2023 , centered on the wedding of 40-year-old Marie ( Raymond Amsalem ), who arrives at the Hoffa accompanied by her biological mother Hana ( Tiki Dayan ) on the one hand, and her adoptive mother Gracia ( Reveka Bacher ) on the other. The film won 10 Ophir awards for 2023, including the best feature film , and as a result will compete for the representation of Israel in the Oscar award for the best foreign film at the 96th ceremony to be held in 2024.

The theme song of the film was sung by the singer Ron Peretz . The lyrics were written by Eleanor Sela and composed by Yogev Kinan.

plot [ edit source code | edit ]

At the center of the plot is the bride Marie ( Raymond Amsalem ), who was born to Hana ( Tiki Dayan ), the eldest child, and was given at the age of two to Gracia ( Reveka Bacher ), Hana's childless sister. This is according to a custom that existed among Moroccan Jewry and was called "borrowing a girl": a mother with many children would give one of her daughters to her sister who had no children, in order to prevent her divorce .  According to Jewish law a man can divorce a wife who is barrren!!!  I have heard, I think, of African tribes where this is done but did not know it had been done by Jews too., In fact, Hadas, their daughter who came with us said that her husband had an uncle who was given to a childless family member. It is supposed to be a comedy drama but was more sad than it was funny

Than last night I went with Karen to the Dormition Abbey where they had a rendition of Judah Maccabee.....such voices and all of them Jewish. And all I could think of was the first scenes which showed Hamas bursting into Israel.

 I am putting in this article from the Jerusalem Post about what happened to Israeli women soldiers ....I can't even write the heading of the article.  Don't open it if  you are faint hearted but if you want to prove to anyone what animals Hamas are..this is the way. This is not rape but sheer savagery. Although there are those who still try to deny it, the videos have been shown all over the world, although some people still deny it. 

קמא 

Also the danger of fake news which Sara Netanyahyu spread about a foreign  kidnapped   woman giving birth in  Gaza. She even wrote to Jill Biden about it. I put  in an article from Ha'aretz on the subject. The only good news on the tv today was that the army is beginning to realise how dangerous the hilltop youth are. to me they have all the makings of Hamas bolstered up by fanatics such as Ben Gvir.  

We are shown very little of what is happening in Gaza and unfortunately Al Jazeera is in Arabic....I do think of  what is happening in Gaza but, to be honest, my first thoughts are for the hostages.  Hamas could easily stop it if they would give the hostages back. and Netanyahu could also call for a ceasefire and have them brought back even if only as before in small groups and bring the fighting to an end. 

Fatma died of a heart attack during the night. I am happy for her. She died in her own bed, in her own house. What will happen now at Sheikh Jarrar, I don't know. For at least 20 years we have been demonstrating every Friday afternoon for the neighborhood where houses are continually being taken over by force by settlers. Since the beginning of the war there have been no demonstrations. In fact, in Jerusalem,Last Saturday when I went it was more a religious celebration of Shabbat than a protest calling for the freeing of the hostages and the fall of Netanyayyu. In Tel Aviv it is more a true demonstration but the problem is that it is so long.....the trip from Jerusalem, the long hours with all the speeches where nothing new is said. then waiting for the buse to fill, the ride home and then you still have to get to Nofim. 

Anyhow I felt I had to go to the shiva for her. It only lasts four days andI found no one to go with as they were all going at hours which  were not good for me. So I went alone, very uncomfortable and rather embarrassing. Bus,  train and then a long walk....which I was actually glad of as I am not doing enough walking. I have to force myself, not physically but emotionally. Eating is the same problem, I buy things which normally I would not allow myself to eat as being fattening and even they do not tempt me...or I eat them with lang tande.Anyhow I have never  gone to the neighborhood alone. Only for the demonstrations. Not that I am scared of going there. In fact I got to many areas where my friends would not go. But you stand out so. And then too there is the embarrassment of going into a house of mourning where you do not speak the language or know the customs. But I knew Fatma and I could not ignore her death.

It was very hard finding the house. I went to the place where I normally would see her but the door was locked and the way also was very uneven. There were hardly any people around and then a man recognized me and sent me around the other way. The stairs going down were very uneven but then  a woman came out who recognised me and helped me down. There were only women there.....the men were sitting in a different place. But the room was full and one woman was reading from the Koran. I went up to her and then they gave me a comfortable place to sit. I drank the traditional coffee and the traditional date. I did not speak to anyone as they were all praying and sat for about 10 minutes and then left. A woman helped me out and thanked me for coming. I felt I had to give Fatma the  last honour. 

Anyhow, let me make you laugh a bit. The last months at Nofim have been very annoying for me where the cleaning is concerned as the woman I had who was wonderful left and there were several people here making problems for the new house committee.  The new guy who is an Arab is not very efficient and I really blew up at him the other day/ I felt very bad about it as I have never had bad dealings with any of the workers. I phoned him and asked him to come up and we spoke it out. In the Arab fashion, he said I was like his grandmother to him....I apologized again and he said it was quite alright....that two days ago his father had been so mad at him, he had thrown his shoe at him!! Which by the way is very insulting in Arab culture. So we both laughed and shook hands.

Sometimes there is a light and a laugh however faint which gives you a reason to keep fighting.

Report: FM arranged diplomatic passports for top Likudniks, sought one for PM’s son

Despite professionals' recommendations, the prized documents were reportedly given to influential party officials; Cohen also said to have tried to arrange one for Yair Netanyahu. By the way evidently the little shit is back, very quietly!! He had the nerve to go and sit in the offices of Magen Davied in their uniforms and pretend that he volunteered there which is completely untrue and no one had the guts to  chuck him out. He is such a useless piece of shit. Netanyahu keeps saying that we are losing the best of our young man.......I guess that is why his two sons are not there. But it does not embarrass  him to say so.

-‘Life under Hamas is like under ISIS,’ says Syria-born journalist deported from Gaza

Manar al-Sharif tells ToI the majority of Gazans don't back terror group; says Oct. 7 was unsurprising but there's no vision for a better future in the fighting against Israel

https://www.timesofisrael.com/life-under-hamas-is-like-under-isis-says-syria-born-journalist-deported-from-gaza/-

Natalie Natanya Ginsburgar

[opencommunion]

The Stop Cop City movement has sought to prevent the expropriation of part of the Welaunee Forest for the development of an 85-acre police mega training center: a model town to prepare the state’s repressive arms for the urban warfare that will ensue when the contradictions of their exploitation and extraction become uncontainable, as they did in 2020 after the APD murdered Rayshard Brooks.  That murder, and all those that came before, were the lodestars of the Black-led movement during the George Floyd uprisings; their demands were no less than the dismantlement of the entire carceral system. Unable to effectively manage or quell the popular street movements, the Atlanta Police Foundation set out to consolidate and expand their capabilities for surveillance, repression, imprisonment, armed violence, and forced disappearance. One result is Cop City, which has been racked by militant sabotage, land occupation, arson, and popular mobilizations, in an attempt to end the construction and return Atlanta to its people.  As the Atlanta Police Foundation was unable to contain the 2020 Black rebellion, so too have they been unable to quell the resistance against Cop City. The press reports that the project is hemorrhaging money and is mired in delays and difficulties. For their part, the city, the state, and the federal government, have in turn employed every tool in their power to destroy the movement. Last week, the Georgia State Senate passed a bill to effectively criminalize bail funds in the state; RICO charges have been contorted to target networks of support and care that surround the fighters; and last January, APD assassinated the comrade Tortuguita in cold blood while they rested in their tent in the forest. It is clear that Stop Cop City represents one of the conjunctural spear tips for expanding the existing systems of counterinsurgency that span Africa, Asia, and the Arab world.  Today the system’s belly rests atop Gaza, whose rumblings shake the earth upon which we walk. Through its Georgia International Law Enforcement Exchange (GILEE) program, the APD has sent hundreds of police to train with the Zionist occupation forces. And in October 2023, after Tufan al-Aqsa, the Atlanta Police Department engaged in hostage training inside abandoned hotels, putatively intended to “defeat Hamas,” in an advancement of tactics for the targeting of Black people. With every such expansion, the ability of counterinsurgency doctrines to counteract people’s liberation struggles grows. The purpose of counterinsurgency is to marshal state and para-state power into political, social, economic, psychological, and military warfare to overwhelm both militants and the popular cradle—the people—who support them. Its aim is to render us hopeless; to isolate and dispossess us and to break our will to resist it by any and all means necessary. This will continue apace, unless we fight to end it. Stop Cop City remains undeterred: on Friday, an APD cop car was burnt overnight in response to the police operation on February 8; yesterday, two trucks and trailers loaded with lumber were burnt to the ground. An anonymous statement claiming credit for the former, stated: “We wish to dispel any notion that people will take this latest wave of repression lying down, or that arresting alleged arsonists will deter future arsons.”  As the U.S. government and Zionist entity set their sights on the Palestinian people sheltering in Rafah, as they continue their relentless genocide of our people in Khan Younis, Jabalia, Shuja’iyya, and Gaza City, the Stop Cop City movement has clearly articulated its solidarity with the Palestinian struggle. They have done so with consistency and discipline, and we have heard them. Our vision of freedom in this life and the next requires us to confront and challenge the entangled forces of oppression in Palestine and in Turtle Island, and to identify the sites of tension upon which these systems distill their forces. This week, as with the last three years, the forest defenders have presented us one such crucible.

(11 Feb 24)

National Lawyers Guild, Stop All Cop Cities: Lessons For a National Struggle (video, 1 hr 45 min)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

arsonist's lullaby

words: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, female receiving oral pregnancy, proposal <3, established relationship, arson, lots of talk about fire lol, camping, mentions of rafes bad childhood

you watch as rafe strikes the match. he prefers it over a lighter, holding it between his finger as the flame inches lower, lower, until it gets too hot and he's tossing it into the fire pit, right on the bushel of kindling that instantly takes light.

rafe looks up at you, the fire sparking in the reflection of his eyes as you make your way towards him. he doesn't have to say a word, the way he sits back in the camping chair, silently telling you to take a seat.

you slide onto his lap, placing yourself sideways with your bum on his thigh. you look at rafe for a minute, just admiring his illuminated features as the orange flame flares up and down with the wind. you listen to the sound of rustling leaves, the distant lapping of waves on the nearby lake.

“are you having fun?” you ask rafe. he may be your boyfriend of two years, but it can still sometimes be hard to tell.

rafe nods, before grinning and leaning forward to press a kiss towards your lips. “i always have fun with you.”

you weren't sure that he would enjoy camping, especially tent camping it, but you always used to go every summer with your parents, and when you asked if he would be down to go, he didn't think twice before saying yes.

“you're sweet.” you giggle, leaning in to press the side of your head against his shoulder, tucking your nose into his neck, inhaling his scent after a long day of relaxing on the beach and taking strolls through the well trodden paths through the woods.

“you're probably the only person alive who would call me sweet.” rafe places his hand on your hip, squeezing it gently. 

it's not that rafe puts on a scary demeanor with everyone else, it's more like that's his natural state and you bring out a side meant just for you.

you kiss his neck, it's not enough, but it's a thank you for his vulnerability, his willingness to please you.

you both sit in comfortable silence, your eyes closed as you recover from the day while rafe stares at the fire, the flames calling to him. he holds you tight to his side as he reaches and tosses another log into the fire, a spit of sparks shooting up.

“who taught you how to build fires?” you ask rafe, looking at the now smashed teepee of sticks he had built up.

“i guess i taught myself.” rafe shrugs. “i always used to build them in the fire pit in the backyard whenever my dad would take sarah to softball practice.

“mmm.” you hum, pressing another kiss to his neck, before moving to his jaw. “we should go into the tent.”

“yeah.” rafe nods, picking you up effortlessly, his pants already beginning to swell just from having your lips on him. he walks quickly to the tent, having to duck down to fit inside, placing you on the inflatable mattress.

you let out a giggle as rafe zips the tent closed before tugging his shirt off, opening your arms up as he sets himself over your body, one hand sneaking beneath your shirt to your waist while his other hand cups your jaw, holding you in place as he kisses you.

“i love you.” you whisper to rafe before picking your shoulders up off the bed, letting him pull your shirt off.

the windows of the tent are zipped mostly shut to protect your privacy from those camping nearby, but you left the top open to just a screen after double checking there was no rain forecasted.

you look up at the stars, your soft moans and rafes low grunts lost to the music of the forest as the wind moves through the trees.

--

“here, baby.” you hand a crumpled up newspaper to rafe. “we need it hot to roast our marshmallows.”

“mhm.” rafe finished building the fire, the embers still slightly warm from your fire last night before he places the newspaper at the center to get the fire going quicker.

“gosh, i can't wait.” you pat your stomach. “it's been so long since ive made s'mores.”

“i don't think ive had them in… ten years.” it may even be more than that. rafe hates the way it makes you pout. his lonely childhood hurts you as much as it hurts him. he fears sometimes even more from your reactions.

“come on.” rafe taps his knee. you really should have just packed one camping chair, it's not like you're sitting on your own as he pulls you into his lap, pressing kisses to your cheeks and jaw as you wait for the fire to grow.

“mmm, the s'mores…” you blink your eyes open, not even realizimg that you've relaxed so completely against rafe that you were almost asleep.

“ill make one for you.” rafe grabs the stick from the nearby table. “how burnt do you like your marshmallow?”

“just a bit.” you smile as rafe rolls his eyes. 

“i like mine burnt.” 

“oh im sooo surprised.” you joke as rafe sticks the marshmallow into the flames, just until it gets gooey before making your smore for you, adding extra chocolate for your sweet tooth.

“so good.” you moan when you take a bite, making rafe shift you slightly on his lap.

you eat s'mores as the moon rises, minutes ticking by until all of your graham crackers are used up.

you let out a yawn, eyes blinking the smoke out of your eyes as the wind momentarily shifts before blowing back in the same direction.

“gonna go put pajamas on.” you press a kiss to rafes forehead before moving to the tent, glad you went for a bigger size with enough room for you to get dressed and undressed. you sigh as you sit down to change your socks before laying back on the bed, not even realizing how exhausted you truly were as sleep takes you.

rafe checks on you after a few minutes, smiling when he realizes you're absolutely fine, just already in a deep sleep. he zips the tent back shut, keeping one eye on it as he goes back to the fire, building it up bigger and bigger as the flames grow, watching with excitement until he runs out of logs to add.

--

rafes fingers twitch. you've been home for two weeks from the camping trip. he wonders when is it an appropriate time to suggest going again. he longs to feel the heat of a blaze against his skin, to feel the ultimate power of building a fire to his will.

“hey.” your soft voice interrupts his thoughts, his face easily shifting from one of intensity to soft love.

“hi baby.” rafe presses his lips against yours in a greeting.

“missed you today.” you hum. you work two days a week at a local animal shelter, mainly just to keep busy and do something to feel accomplished, and they almost always coincide with rafes work, but today was a rare occasion where he was off and you were busy, leaving rafe to roam the house in boredom until you get home.

“missed you more.” he says, placing a hand on your waist to pull you into a more intense kiss, his lips smashing against yours. “how's casper?”

you blink, it takes you a second for your mind to start working after the passionate kiss before the corners of your lips turn down. “still no one wants to adopt him.”

you couldn't believe it at first when the adorable little white puppy came into the shelter, you thought for sure someone would snatch him up instantly, until you saw that he's missing his two hind legs. clearly people in the area don't want to take the initiative to have a dog with only two front legs.

“im sorry.” rafe sighs. he kisses you again, this time soft and comforting. “it's best he waits for the right family though, yeah?”

rafe echos the words you always say when a dog takes a little longer to get adopted. better to wait for a forever family than to wind up back in the shelter after a few weeks.

“yeah.” you nod. “so, what'd you get up to today?”

“nothing.” rafe says honestly. 

“nothing?” you raise your eyebrow. “what are you gonna do when im gone next weekend?”

rafe let's out a curse. he forgot you were going on a girls trip. out of town to some spa that he has the address and phone number, along with any other information he might need to know, typed out in his notes when you first told him about it. just in case.

“shit, i was trying so hard not to think about it that i pushed it out of my mind completely.” he says with a light chuckle, but his face isn't one of happiness. 

you swipe your hand through his hair, combing back the dark blond strands. “maybe we need to get you a hobby. you can build a lego set or do a paint by numbers.”

it's mostly a joke, but you do want rafe to enjoy himself while you're away. you make a mental note to yourself as you go into the kitchen to make dinner to find something to keep his mind occupied while you're separated for the first time for longer than a day since you began dating.

--

rafe looks at your contact on his phone. his finger twitches over the call button, despite you just getting off the phone after talking for an hour, skipping out on drinks with the girls to chat, but you didn't tell rafe that, telling him everyone was in their rooms and that you had plenty of free time to keep him occupied.

he sighs, clicking on your contact picture. you set it at the beginning of your relationship, a kissy face selfie and rafe hasn't changed it since.

“fuck.” he groans, heartbeat starting to rise as a bead of sweat forms on his forehead, anxiety building.

he walks out of the house, no set route in mind. rafe tells himself the walk will clear his head, but what he put in his pocket before leaving says different. he needs to get the feeling out somehow.

he walks and walks until it's dark outside, moving towards the run down side of town until he comes to a small shack, purposely taking mostly abandoned roads. rafe scopes out the area quickly, looking around to see if theres anyone nearby, close enough to see him.

when the coast is clear, rafe lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls the matchbox out of his pocket, a fresh one, having to repurchase after using an entire box camping. 

rafe isn’t sure how easily the place will light up. the shed looks dry and old, and when he looks inside, its empty other than some old long forgotten gardening equipment. rafe strikes a match and sets it on the wooden window sill, watching as it burns out. rafe continues striking the matches and tossing them at the shack as sparks ignite the scraps of wood. 

rafe steps back when he throws the last one, tossing the empty cardboard box into the flames as they slowly take over the structure. rafe smiles, the anxiety that was building up inside him blowing away with the smoke.

the flames eagerly ate up the wood, spreading quickly and before rafe knew it, the already unsturdy roof was collapsing in on itself, sparks adding to the stars in the sky.

he stands for a moment longer, the warm orange glow causing an odd comfort. rafe knows its wrong, but he can’t help that he feels better after setting the fire, walking away as the wood turns to ash, the shack long forgotten and reduced to nothing.

--

rafe paces, strikes a match and lets it burn to his fingertips before blowing it out, paces some more, then pulls out another match. he’s not anxious this time, doesn’t feel the itch to set a place ablaze as he did two nights ago, having to shower three times before he finally got the smell of smoke out of his hair.

now, he’s just impatient. the front door is open, letting in a cool breeze and giving him a view of the driveway as he walks around the foyer, waiting for your car to pull in, for you to finally return home.

rafe blows out a match right when he sees your car turn down the street, his eyes widening as he tosses the matchbox onto the hallway table, stepping out onto the porch, unable to keep himself farther away, moving down the steps as you pull into the driveway.

you barely put the car in park before you’re flying out the door, jumping into rafes arms as he spins you around.

“oh my god, ive missed you so fucking much.” rafes arms are wrapped firmly around your waist, not letting your feet touch the ground as he walks towards the door.

“wait, rafe-” you giggle.

“we can bring your bags in later.” rafe says. he has other priorities.

“no, the car is still on!” rafe sighs and sets you down. you quickly run to pull the keys out of the car and lock it, rushing inside with rafe quick behind you. you toss the keys on the table, noting the matchbox but you're too busy being swept off your feet and carried up the stairs by rafe.

he lays you on the bed, only now pausing to take a minute. you may have only been gone for three nights in total, but it felt like a lifetime to rafe. he leans forward, pressing your lips together before continuing to just stare at you.

“stop looking.” you tug at rafes collar. “do something.”

rafe listens to your command, moving quickly to sink down the bed, tossing the hem of your dress up, not even bothering to take your underwear all the way off, simply sliding them to the side and burying his tongue in your cunt.

 --

“did you see a second shack burned down?” you look up from where you were mindlessly scrolling on social media. 

of course rafe knows. but he certainly isn’t going to just admit that to you. he can’t have you leaving him, he’d probably burn the whole town down if that happened.

“oh really?” rafe says, keeping his voice level, disinterested.

“yeah.” you zoom in closer on the picture, nothing more than a pile of ashes and dust. “damn, i wish i could have seen it on fire.”

the fire department didn’t even get to it until it was completely burned to the ground with how isolated it was. just as rafe planned it.

“really?” his eyebrows raise.

“yeah.” you nod. “i love fire.” you give him a mischievous smile. you surely don’t mean it in the same way as rafe does, but he feels a little more at peace. if you somehow found out, maybe you wouldn’t leave him because of it, or at least hear him out.

“hmm.” rafe just hums.

“we should build a firepit in the backyard.” you mumble the suggestion, but rafe quickly nods. “yes.”

you giggle, setting your phone down to move off the armchair and onto the couch next to rafe. “you wanna keep practicing your fire setup for the next time we go camping?”

rafe smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “maybe.”

--

rafe tosses another log onto the flame, smiling at you as you rock gently in the hammock, set up precariously close to the fire so you can feel its warmth as you relax, the summer coming to an end.

“you look beautiful.” rafe says. the orange light illuminates your features, along with the twinkling fairy lights strung up along the back porch.

you just smile at him. you don’t need words, not anymore.

rafe pokes at the fire with a stick, opening up the center to allow more airflow into the bottom as the flame grows larger, but not too large, never when you’re around. 

“come lay with me.” you open your arms to rafe, who moves with ease onto the hammock next to you, the fabric pushing you both close to each other, glad you opted for the larger size so you could sit together. “i love you, baby.” rafe kisses your head, looking around the yard, at the fire, then up at the stars. “i love this life.”

“i love this life too.” you press your hand to your stomach. there’s a surprise you’ve yet to tell rafe. its only a suspicion, partially confirmed by a stick test, but you want the doctors confirmation to be sure before you tell rafe. you look up at him, tilting your head to the side so you can see his face. “you’re happy?” “yes.” he says honestly. “when im with you, i am.” 

“ill always be with you.” you grip rafes hand. you turned down opportunities for trips with your girlfriends. if they didn’t want rafe to come along, it was a no. you can’t blame them, but you refuse to leave him alone after putting the pieces together.

the first arson could have been a coincidence. but the second, on a night you were also away from rafe? you know its him. it’s why you suggested the fire pit in the backyard. why you won’t force him to spend another night without you, alone and anxious, having to face the demons of his past, his childhood. you know he’s not a bad man, not at heart, not deep inside. 

you turn to rafe, tears brimming in your eyes, overwhelmed with your feelings for him. “i love you so much.”

“baby.” rafe coos, bringing a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. your hands run all over each others bodies, the moon and fire illuminating you as you work bits of clothes off, just enough for you to sink down onto rafes cock, more grinding together than thrusting at risk of spilling out of the hammock.

“god, you feel so good.” rafe groans, hands gripping your waist as he pushes in before making a miniscule movement back.

“filling me up perfectly.” you undulate your hips. sex with rafe is often wild and intense, but moments like this, where you’re just indulging in each others bodies, relaxing and slow, just like the swinging of the hammock.

“yeah, gonna fill you up real good.” rafe smirks, the corner of his lip twerking up.

the words spill out of you. “i think im pregnant.” you immediately want to take them back when rafes eyes widen.

“rafe-” you lean back, a look of regret on your face, but rafe just pulls you back in, slamming his lips against yours, hips moving faster, hand gripping your ass, pulling you against him as he cums, cock swelling inside of you before releasing.

“if you're not pregnant, im gonna make sure you are.” he gasps out, chest rising and falling, keeping his cock pushed inside of you.

“you’re not worried?” you ask. clearly the couple glasses of wine you had at dinner are giving you a loose tongue. 

“no.” rafe says honestly, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i would be if this was anyone else. you know…” he swallows thickly. “you know how messed up my childhood was. how hard my dad was on me… i feel like this is a chance to heal that, to treat my kid better than i was ever treated. and i want this with you.”

“i want it too.” you coo, kissing him softly.

“oh, and i guess there’s no better time for this.” rafe chuckles, his softening cock still inside of you, fire dying to just embers as he reaches to his shorts, halfway down his thighs and pulled a small black velvet box out of his pocket, flipping it open with one skilled hand, turning the ring to glint in the orange light.

“will you marry me?”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysillycomics @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[tellius-to-fodlan]

I'm also challenging myself to make a Fódlan playlist with one unique song for each playable character. My tentative list so far:

Claude: Hieroglyphs - The Oh Hellos

Dedue: This Will End - The Oh Hellos

Dorothea: Canary In A Coal Mine - The Crane Wives

Edelgard: Arsonist's Lullaby - Hozier

Hubert: Voodoo Doll - VIXX

Jeritza: Hyde - VIXX

Marianne: Would Anyone Care - Citizen Soldier

Rhea: Harpy Hare - Yaelokre

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

‘It’s guerrilla warfare’: Brazil fire teams fight Amazon blazes – and the arsonists who start them

Firefighters and police in Rondônia battle fires intensified by both the climate crisis and a criminal assault on the rainforest

The occupants of the vinyl-coated military tents at this remote jungle camp in Brazil’s wild west compare the hellscape surrounding them to catastrophes old and new: the extinction of the dinosaurs, the bombardment of Gaza, the obliteration of Hiroshima during the second world war.

“It’s as if a nuclear bomb has gone off. There’s no forest. There’s nothing. Everything’s burned. It’s chaos,” said Lt Col Victor Paulo Rodrigues de Souza as he gave a tour of the base on the frontline of Brazil’s fight against one of its worst burning seasons in years and a relentless assault on the greatest tropical rainforest on Earth.

For weeks now, forests and farms here in the Amazon – and across Brazil – have been ablaze like seldom before thanks to a highly combustible cocktail of extreme drought affecting nearly 60% of the country, the climate crisis and a seemingly insatiable appetite to destroy the environment for immense financial gain.

At the front of the camp, an excavator has built a defensive firing position to protect the 100-or-so firefighters and police living here from a possible attack from the illegal loggers and land grabbers who have spent recent years cutting and torching huge areas of rainforest to create farmland and pastures. Beyond that 3ft earthwork lies an immensity of destruction: tens of thousands of acres of wood and ploughland that is going up in smoke, obscuring the sun and filling the skies with a toxic white haze.

“It’s been burning here for over 40 days,” said Souza as his firefighters prepared for their latest mission to put out fires that are also wreaking havoc in neighbouring Bolivia and Peru. “You couldn’t breathe at the base yesterday. Everyone was wearing masks … At 9am it was like it was night because you couldn’t see sunlight.”

The Guardian spent three days at the Rubber Soldier Ecological Station encampment near a logging outpost called Cujubim to witness government efforts to control the flames before they cause even more harm.

Continue reading.

[askacultleader]

lamb, we seem to have an arsonist, someone set serenes tent ablaze

"Huh? Why?!"

"Poor thing.. I'll build them a better one."

[hallowcryptidstudio]

have been tentatively drawing again… and a lot of it… is pigeons! XD

I’m pretty active… ish on a few different pigeon discords and this dapper little arsonist came across my feed and it was over.

I HAD to draw him!  

LOOK AT THAT FACE! LOOK AT IT!

Peace’s here belongs to jenpixelscapes

[calciumdeficientt]

I'm fighting with the rest of the asks in Ur inbox for dominance GIVE ME LENORA AND PARKER HEADCANONS!!! ESP PROM ONES

Oh no no no i cant reduce it to just hcs. You’re getting the full Nelson baby!!!!!!! As per the prophecy, link for custom longform writings is here dudes!

PROM NIGHT

5,329 words of pure SAP

Bullworth had always seemed very stuck in its ways. From the architecture, gothic, awe-inspiring and decaying; to the uniforms, unchanged since the school was merely a concept, a set of white lines on blue architect’s paper sometime in the early 20th century; and most especially, its ethos- the school rules sprawled over ten pages of the A5 student handbook each member of the student body received at the beginning of their time at Bullworth. These rules were unchanged, untested. A Time Capsule. Written in the prose of their forefathers, forbidding many things that were far from the taboos they were then. One such rule was for any and all school dances, parties and other such social events: ‘one’s partner must be of the opposite sex, students are permitted to attend alone but partners of the same sex are strictly foreboden’. This created a barrier for Lenora Harker, who took great pride in being Bullworth’s resident party girl. In years gone by she would have gladly paired up with Kirby or Dan or any other jock willing to have her on his arm for the five seconds they were under the watchful eye of the prefects on the door. But those were past days, distant and fading. Most of her friends were seniors, and they were settling down into relationships that would soon fray once they reached college. They were settling with real girls, or trying to anyway. Those that were her age just wanted to go solo, pick up, and leave. Lenora was chopped liver.

It’s not like she’d just assumed either, she’d asked everyone she could think of. It was a resounding ‘No’ from all parties. Once her entire mental checklist was ticked off, Lenora cut the rest of her classes for the day and drove out to Old Bullworth Vale. She couldn’t quite place why she liked it so much, maybe because it was quiet. Lenora always thought better when she hung around Old Bullworth Vale, possibly because the locals regarded her with intense malign and scrutiny. It promoted self reflection in a twisted sort of way, much like an arsonist promotes warmth by setting a house on fire, treasured family memories still inside. Presently, Bullworth was in that strange sort of limbo between spring and summer, the weather was still cool, but things were starting to look brighter, livelier, around the town. Everything was flourishing… apart from Lenora, who seemed to have shrivelled into herself, like a snail brave enough to pass through a ring of salt or a houseplant that an adventurous plant-mother bought, and promplty forgot about. It was such a stupid thing to get her heart broken over, a school dance; and yet here she was, sat on the splintering wood of Old Bullworth Vale’s dock, her running shoes and gym socks off and placed to one side, her feet plunged into the cool water of the harbour, letting it lap at her ankles like an excited terrier, like one of the dogs she had waiting for her at home… sulking. Like a child that had been denied a toy. Her heart ached and throbbed in her chest, call it karmic justice for acting like such a playboy, but she sure as hell wasn’t feeling happy about getting dumped by the guys she thought were her friends.

The boards groaned under the weight of another person, their footsteps light and tentative despite what the noises of the protesting wood would have you believe. There was a weight and a warmth beside her, a rich scent of warm wood, amber, and freshly printed money. It was Parker by her side. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he came to find her, she bailed on their Friday afternoon coffee, they’d been doing that every week for close to two years; and she wasn’t exactly incognito, her hair gave her away instantly. A wild mane of blonde ringlets, that seemed to settle around her face like a halo drawn by a monk with a nasty tremor. “Hey” he hummed, his voice held its usual sunny lilt but it also contained a modicum of concern, as did his face, lightly twisted into a mask of confusion “Hey Park” she responded, an unnaturally low tone to her voice giving her away “You okay? You look a little blotchy” “Hm? What, yeah I’m fine… I got that- that hay fever” he nodded, letting out a low hum to show his approval. “Yeah, I hear it’s going around. Tissue?” “Sure.. thank you” Lenora wiped her face off with the tissue, trying to stop the flow of tears before Parker saw. “So what’s really going on” he hummed, quirking a brow, his brown eyes fixed on her hazel ones “I told you man, it’s hay fever, seriously” “Lenora come on… a problem shared is a problem halved, so spill the beans” Lenora shook her head, it was so trivial she couldn’t even tell Parker. God she really was losing her edge. “Parks, c’mon. It’s nothing” “Lenora Harker I will push you in this water if you don’t tell me” Lenora shook her head again, it’s all she could really do. God how she needed a cigarette, or a toke… or a shotgun slug to the forehead. “You’re gonna laugh at me” Parker sighed, Lenora was a good friend to have but when she was difficult, she was bloody difficult. “I’m not… going to laugh at you” “Yes you are! It’s so stupid… look, okay…” she passed her hands over her face, despite all her attempts to wipe off the snot and tears didn’t work, a thin stream glittered beneath her nose. She pawed at it with the back of her hand, trying to look presentable “It’s prom, okay? No one…” she swallowed thickly, trying hard to keep her voice steady “No one asked me to prom”

Parker leaned back on his hands, admittedly, it was actually a little stupid but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that, he was raised to treat ladies with utmost respect. It was the first time he’d ever seen Lenora so fragile, so open. If he pushed her too far she might snap shut again. The wood groaned as his weight shifted “I’ll take you” his voice while still sunny, was also full of determination. If there was one thing being a prep had taught him: You don’t back down, you don’t surrender. You push until the other party relents and accepts the deal. Lenora pulled her feet out of the water and looked at him with surprise, her eyebrows shooting up until they reached her hairline, before dropping into a furrow, like one of those silly pauper rides at the carnival. “What? No. Parker you’ve got that- that thing I can’t make you skip that” “What, the cotillion? It’s the same every year. I don’t need to go again” Lenora tucked her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her kneecaps. It was a little painful, she had a zit on the underside of her jaw “Won’t they be mad at you?” “Sure, for a while. But they’ll soon forget once they’ve had enough to drink”. The preps were simple creatures, all could be forgotten with enough vintage port, Parker knew that better than anyone. Lenora felt her heart tighten in her chest. It was such a noble gesture, but she couldn’t make him abandon his friends just because hers abandoned her “Park, it’s not that serious, I just… I won’t go, okay? I’ll wait until the afterparty. You don’t have to do this” Parker set his jaw, his eyes narrowing into slits, he felt a little bit like Clint Eastwood in one of those old westerns; but instead of trying to best Lenora in a shootout, he was trying to make her stubborn ass change her mind “You’d do it for me, right?” “I…” she was almost too stunned to speak, all the crying definitely didn’t help her. Her mouth was dry, her eyes were wet and she just really really wanted to go home. “Yeah…. I guess I would” her eyes broke from his for a second to look down at their shoes. Well… his shoes and her lack thereof admiring the leather of his loafers. Likely Italian and likely more expensive than her entire existence. Parker straightened up as things started to go his way “That’s what friends are Lenora, equals. I’m not doing this for me… I’m doing it for you, because we’re friends. Because we’re equals, okay?” “Ok.” “Okay… now put your shoes on”

Lenora looked at her feet, still soaking wet from her little sulky paddle, and then to her socks. Wet feet and dry socks seemed like as bad of a combination as Jeffery Epstein being a keynote speaker at an elementary school graduation. In a purely mindless action she twisted her leg up to rub her foot dry on her track uniform “Eugh” “What?” “I’ll wait for you at the end of the dock, okay?” “What? What?!” she continued to call, not fully grasping Parker’s disgust, her head following his form as it rose from its sitting position beside her, to a standing one, to one in motion, treading the boards of the dock with practised ease. Eventually, her feet were dry enough for her to put her shoes back on and the pair of them walked up the steps off of the beach and onto the street. Lenora wiped her eyes again and looked to Parker “Where are we headed?” “Don’t worry about it, you’ll like it” Lenora scrunched up her face, sometimes she highly doubted Parker’s judgement, especially after having dinner at Harrington House… she’d never forget that poor pig’s expression. What a waste of a good apple. “You said I’d like caviar and it tasted like the floor of a tuna factory” Parker cringed at her severe lack of a refined palate but held his tongue, she kind of had a point.

They walked up and away from the dock, chatting idly about the latest happenings in their respective cliques. Lenora liked to know what sort of petty things Parker’s friends were bickering about, talk of fistfights over cutlery and severed friendships due to shirt colour made her giggle. Parker just liked to know how the other half lived, he managed to pry stories of bar fights, roller derby fights and fights with potential girlfriends out of Lenora with relative ease, and it was safe to say he enjoyed hearing her perspective on things around Bullworth, Parker didn’t like the rose-tinted aquaberry glasses he’d been sailing through life with. He needed a poorer perspective. A real perspective. “Hey, has Justin been weird with you recently?” he queried, looking over at her with concern. Lenora pulled a face “Define weird” “Like… clingy. Needy ""I mean he offered to help me carry my books… oh my god” her face fell, she really sincerely thought another Prep had wanted to be her friend “He was USING ME?!” “Lenora it’s not like that. Justin he just… he likes you guys, he wants to BE with you guys. He just has a funny way of showing he cares” “Man, go figure, I thought he was all up in Ted’s business.” Lenora wasn’t sure if she’d said something she shouldn’t but after seeing those two getting into some heavy petting in broad daylight, she thought it was fair game “He’s a cool dude, even if he ate all the nut roast last time I came over so I had to sit there and eat spinach for dinner” Parker cringed again, remembering just how sad Lenora had looked as she pushed a heap of sautéed spinach around her plate “Yeah, sorry about that. I did tell them your diet was…. restrictive but clearly they didn’t listen to me”

Eventually, they reached the point of no return, the entrance to Aquaberry. The neon sign captivated Lenora for a good long while. She stood, completely awestruck by its swooping lettering and green glow of the neon inside. She wondered how much it cost to make and light and, considering the temperament of some Bullworth residents… replace. Parker clapped her on the shoulder to stun her out of her daze “I have something I need to take care of, you go in and get yourself comfortable” Lenora looked at him like she’d just been asked to teach a dog Portuguese “What, me? Unattended?” she asked, looking behind at the Outlet and then back towards Parker “Yes, you’ll be alright.” she paused, looked at her outfit. Carefully examining the highly worn fabric of her track uniform, the taped soles of her running shoes and the general unkempt nature of her bare skin: grass stains, cuts, bruises. “Just go in, tell them you’re a friend of the Ogilvie's, they'll warm up, I promise. They’re not bad people they’re just….. wary” Parker’s expression softened and he ushered her in.

Lenora looked around, utterly dazed. She was too afraid to breathe in case she damaged something and had to pay for it. God knew she could barely afford an aquaberry sock let alone anything else. The steward on the door narrowed her eyes at Lenora, who widened hers and smiled in an attempt to look less criminal. It didn’t quite work, and the woman reached for her walkie talkie “Wait wait wait nononono I’m a friend of Parker’s…. Parker Ogilvie?” the steward’s eyes narrowed even further “And where exactly is young Mr Ogilvie?” Her tone carried an intense sense of superiority, despite the fact she was an employee and not a patron. “He’s doing something, honestly, I would never dream of stealing. I’m a good girl, really” “I’m going to put you behind the register… if he doesn’t show up in ten minutes. You’re banned”

Meanwhile, Parker had wandered down to a local craft store and was sifting through the many hundreds of poster paints they had on offer. He already had some poster board tucked underneath his arm and was deciding if glitter paint, or paint and glitter glue would look the best for a staged prom-posal. Eventually, he decided to get all three and some loose glitter and diamantes too. He wanted it to be extravagant and gaudy, Parker couldn’t half ass it. Lenora was counting on him to show up and show out, and admittedly he had been looking for an excuse to give her crappy friends what for. At the register, he artfully dodged questions from the cashier about the nature of his project when he received a string of texts from Lenora, he had a special text tone just for her, not that he’d ever tell her ‘PARKR HALP PLZ’ ‘THEY HAZ ME TRAPPED’ ‘PARKER PLZ HALP THEY R GONNA GET MEH’ He laughed at her stupid typing, but then managed to decode her message. His eyes widened and he snapped his phone shut “Keep the change, thank you have a good day!” he called as he was already out of the door. The cashier looked down at the note in his hands, utterly dumbfounded “This is a hundred…. it was seven bucks”

He was quick to approach Aquaberry, taking the time to preen himself in the window before he stormed in. The clerk scuttled over, all smiles. It wasn’t all that convincing; she looked palpably nervous “Mr Ogilvie, what can we do for you today?” “Well, you can start by releasing my friend” “Hm? Oh” she turned back to Lenora with a disgruntled expression, Lenora waved politely to Parker who was struggling to hold his stern expression. The woman allowed Lenora to go free, and she took her time strolling over to Parker. Hands in her pockets and a smug smile on her lips. “And might I just say how incredibly disgusted I am with your decorum. I have half a mind to take our business elsewhere” Parker stiffened, doing his best impression of Gord when he had one of his shopping tantrums. The woman’s face turned red and she seemed to droop a little, thoroughly embarrassed. “What is your name?” he snapped, knowing full well that he could just read her name tag “Uh… Lillian” “Well Lillian, expect a strongly worded letter from my father in the coming days… I suggest you begin making copies of your resume. I hear that burger place is hiring” He gave her the coldest glare he could muster and folded his arms “Now, we are going to have a private dress fitting and you are going to get someone else to relieve you of your duties of you will lose my family’s patronage. For good.”

Parker stormed off and Lenora followed, matching his stride as they walked towards a private dressing room. She leaned into his ear “Hey nice freak out man, was that off the dome?” “Nooooo, I’ve had that planned for months. It just seemed so fun” “So your dad’s not really gonna send a letter?” “Oh no he absolutely is. For fun if nothing else, he’ll humour me” “…Dope”. Parker opened the door to the dressing room and allowed her to step in, ever the gentleman, Lenora did a weird janky curtsy and took a seat on one of the resplendent teal couches. She pulled a rather large string of pearls out of her pocket, admiring the way they shone in the sickly white light of the room. “Where did you get that?” “What? It was just out, I thought I could grab one… for like, compensation” Parker wanted to be angry, but that was just Lenora. He couldn’t change that. “Okay, does it have a price tag?” “Uhhhhm” Lenora surveyed the necklace, looking for a price. Eventually she found one, showing it to Parker “Hey are these commas or decimals” Parker squinted “Commas. ” “30…. oh my god $30,000 take it off me. I should NOT be holding this. Take it off me now” Parker worked quickly, snatching the pearls out of Lenora’s hands and she lay back on the couch, still reeling. “I have to pee” Parker snorted at her sudden change of topic “Okay, do you know where the bathrooms are?” “There’s a big sign that says Laboratory, isn’t not that is it?” he snorted again, trying really hard to not outright laugh at her “Lenora” “Hm?” she asked, raising herself up off the couch “Lavatory. It means bathroom” “Whatever… same thing”

Parker was greeted by another attendant soon enough, and he shared with him Lenora’s dress size and his general understanding of her colour palette. The worker simply nodded and scurried off to make some selections for him. Lenora struggled with the automatic flushes and which fancy soap bottle was actually soap and not lotion. Rich people must have been confused all the time. Maybe they enjoyed it. Upon exiting the bathroom, she was greeted by a sullen looking Lillian who placed a flute of champagne in her hand. Lenora downed it and barrelled back into the dressing room, excited as ever “Hey you were right, I DO like this place. The creepy door lady just handed me champagne” Parker gestured for her to stand on the little pedestal in the centre of the room “Hey, just don’t have so much of that okay, don’t get drunk and buy an ugly dress”

They cycled through a good number of dresses, and it was usually Parker who turned them down. Lenora wasn’t used to seeing herself all dolled up, it felt alien. It felt wrong.The new attendant had tried her in every colour he could think of: Dark blue, navy blue, ultramarine, baby blue, sap green, sage, salmon pink, lemon yellow, burnt umber, baby pink. The list went on and on and always, it seemed, something was fundamentally wrong with the dress. Exasperated, he went into the archives and pulled out something more delicate, something that had been reserved in the 90’s and abandoned. Plum coloured, spaghetti strapped, a black mesh overlay, delicately beaded to create an intricate ivy design. It was his last resort. Lenora pulled it on, trying her best not to damage it. She could see the way he glared at her tattooed skin, and so tried to clothe herself quickly. He handed her a pair of shoes and sent her out to Parker. He was on the phone to Bryce, trying to convince him to play messenger and let Derby know he couldn’t come to the Prep Meeting that evening, he did a double take and quickly snapped his phone shut. Hanging up without a goodbye “Wow” he hummed, watching how the beads glittered in the light as she twisted to look at herself in the dress “It’s weird isn’t it… ugh” she did another twirl, smoothing her hands down her sides “I hate that I don’t hate it” Parker saw the apprehension on her face, and did his best to try and conquer it “It looks like it was made for we you, it’d be wrong of me to say that it wasn’t perfect.” Lenora paused, she stood stock still in the mirror, talking in her figure. She tried to remember the last time she’d worn a dress, a nice dress. Sometimes if it was free entry for girls at the club she’d put on a shitty, tight and altogether too revealing mini dress or something like that, she found the more leg she exposed, the less the bouncers cared that her ID was fake.

The last time she’d worn a dress like this had been when she was about 13. She had gone to a daddy daughter dance, it was the first and only time she’d seen her father in full military dress uniform and the last time she’d seen him smile. Remembering him, his grizzled face curled up into a grin, the low growl of his voice as he complimented her appearance, the hours he’d spent polishing his medals, it choked her up because now… he was half the world away in Iraq. “I look like… like a girl” she hummed, giving herself a final once over.

With the dress fitting all squared away, Parker paid in cash for the dress and Lenora drove them back to school. They sat back to back for the remainder of the evening, drawing up Parker’s prom-posal poster. Decking it out in so much glitter it was basically a flashbang. Holding it up for one final inspection,Lenora slid her sunglasses over her eyes in one fluid motion, this told Parker it was perfectly garish enough. He set it to dry and snuck her out of the building just as he had snuck her in. Tomorrow afternoon, he’d pull out all the stops on the football field and really make a statement to her two timing jock friends, he’d just have to endure a weekend of agony, waiting to pull his big showstopper… he had to make several calls.

Monday morning came and went, Lenora had slept in and missed most of her pre-lunch classes. She got her pitiful, slimy vegetarian lunch as usual and then retreated to the football field, as per usual, texting Parker to let him know their plan was a-go. She hummed a greeting to Kirby as he took a seat beside her on the bleachers “Hey we’re cool right?” “What?” “Like you’re not mad we don’t wanna go to prom with you?” he leaned a little into her, trying to read her face “What? No, I'm fine. It’s fine” “You missed the clique meeting last night” he hummed, stuffing what was supposed to be a meatball in his mouth “That was last night? Jeez I’m really sorry, I thought it was today” “Jeez? Really? Are you a prep or something man, just say fuck like the rest of us” she scrunched up her nose a little bit “I’m trying to cut down on the swearing… it makes us sound uneducated” Kirby snorted and went back to eating his lunch. Lenora was acting crazy weird, but it was likely she was just sober and bummed out. Kirby considered Lenora a good friend, but not good enough to rob him of some action at prom. She understood.

As if on cue to break up the weird tension, Parker appeared with a boombox on his shoulder, heart shaped sunglasses over his eyes, tailed by two large men in suits. Out of the boombox began to rattle the sultry sounds of Aerosmith. A band he'd never heard in his entire life. He placed it onto the grass and whipped out a megaphone from behind his back and began to sing, in key but it was clear he’d only barely learned the lyrics. The speaker was hardly good quality, so his voice was crackly as well as loud. “DONT WANNA CLOOOSE MY EYES, I DONT WANNA FAALLL ASLEEP, CUZ I MISS YOU BABE, AND I DONT WANNA MISS A THIIING”

Lenora put her hands over her face, to her confused meathead friends she just looked bashful, but underneath, she was giggling like a lunatic. He pulled the sign from his back as the instrumental soared, and Lenora was really losing composure. Then as a small crowd gathered, Parker’s large assistants released at least 200 beautiful turtle doves into the air. Lenora scuttled down the steps of the bleachers to partly to wrap Parker in a tight embrace, but also to avoid the hail of bird droppings pelting the football field “Oh Parker,” she sighed, lifting him off the floor to spin him around “You committed social suicide for me… thank you” “Oh don’t thank me, thank my father. He paid for the birds” “You got a little….” Lenora pulled back and giggled, noticing a small white streak in his usually jet black hair “Yes yes I know, I’m trying to ignore it” “Okay buddy, coffee?” “Sure” The pair strolled off, meanwhile the spectating jocks now found themselves fighting for their lives against a sea of very agitated doves “AW SICK! THAT PIGEON IS GONNA GET SOME SERIOUS POUNDCAKE” Lenora looked back over her shoulder to a very angry, very bird poop soaked Kirby “… we should leave” “Yes, yes we should”

Days turned into weeks and then in the blink of a lazy writer’s eye, prom night was upon Bullworth like a blanket over a misbehaving parrot’s cage, or some rare disease that makes students of all kinds raid cosmetics stores and costume jewellery sellers’ stalls like looters in the midst of an apocalypse. Parker invited Lenora into Harrington house freely, knowing full well that his friends were at each others’ throats about the cuts of their tuxedos and the fabric of their pocket squares. Harrington house was as close to chaos as it would ever come, Bif was not manning the door like usual, so she was free to waltz in, touch antiques and take silverware. Parker was yet to dress, he wouldn’t take long, he never did. He decided to get Lenora all set up with his expansive team of hair and makeup minions and get ready in his room. Lenora never wore makeup. Not because she didn’t want to, all the ladies she had crushes on had perfectly made up faces, she thought it looked so beautiful; but everything she needed to do her own makeup properly was too big to steal and too expensive to buy. She liked the feel of the brushes on her face. Sometimes when her mother wasn’t home as a very small child she used to run them over her skin to enjoy the sensation. “What do I ask them for?” “Don’t worry, I’ve already briefed them. Just sit and look pretty, okay?”

Downstairs, chaos reigned. It sounded like alley cats fighting over scraps of a discarded sandwich. Lenora swore she could hear vases breaking. She didn’t even know that jackets had different cuts, in her eyes she thought a suit was just a suit. Plain and simple: you get your little shirt, your jacket with big shoulder pads, your slacks and your little tap dancing shoes on, she also knew sometimes if you were feeling really fancy you’d put a tie on, so that when you got drunk you could tie it around your head and pretend to be Rambo. The hair ladies were ruthless, wetting and yanking at the knots in the mess of Lenora’s curls, slathering on about 50 sweet smelling products, twisting, pulling and pinning so close to her scalp she swore the bobby pins were scraping her skull. They didn’t hand her a mirror, but simply switched places with the loitering makeup artists, much like the football team swapped out their offensive players for their defensive counterparts. The makeup girls were significantly kinder but not altogether gentle. They talked her through what needed to be done, and what to do. Blink when they applied her mascara, suck her cheeks in like a fish when they applied her blush, pucker really hard when applying her lipstick. Eventually, they stepped back and handed her a mirror. Once she got over the absurdity of her hair all twisted up like a pineapple and a tiara of assuredly real precious gems slid into the cleft of it, the majesty of the beaded dress, neatly protected by a cape for a good amount of the makeup process and the half tonne of clown paint on her face she found that she looked rather… pretty.. Like a princess. Like a real girl.

Parker had walked into the room part way through Lenora’s base makeup having gotten bored reorganising some of the photos in files on his computer, and watched her talk so easily to his assistants. Chatting like she’d known them for years. Eventually, he crept up behind her and she, naturally, reacted with violence. After barely avoiding a mirror swing, Parker tilted Lenora’s chin up so she was looking at him. Her lashes fluttered over her cheeks for a second “You look like a penguin” she giggled, admiring his black and white suit, with little pops of purple just like her dress. He made a weird face and she rushed to rectify her blunder “That’s a compliment, I promise. Penguins are great, I love penguins” Parker released a burst of air through his nose, trying to keep a snort from leaving. it instead “Thanks” he hummed, not letting his hand leave her face “Yknow if I was straight I’d have a fat crush on you, those girls are missing out” “And don’t I know it… can I interest you in a corsage” “Indeed you can, thank you” He fiddled with it, getting it nicely on her wrist. The flowers were gorgeous, neatly arranged and all the most gorgeous shade of deep purple. He placed his matching boutonnière in her hand and proudly presented his chest for her to pin.

Lenora reached her hands up to smooth Parker’s collar. Slim, nimble digits smoothed out the small creases and divots in the fabric, and trailed down to his lapel where she pinned his boutonnière “You’re gonna make some girl very happy someday, Ogilvie” She said with a voice dripping in fondness, and a smile on her lips. He looked up at her with a wry smile, placing his smaller hands on top of hers on his lapel “Hey…. I already have” Lenora tried hard not to weep “Hey, don’t cry, I spent good money on that makeup, stop it” Parker chided playfully, using his thumb to gently wipe a tear that had betrayed her. Large and fat and glistening like a pearl in the dim light of the rising moon. “Sorry, sorry… thank you Parker” he smiled reassuringly “Hey, don’t be sorry for being my friend, It’s my honour and…” he checked his watch before offering his arm to Lenora, much taller than usual in her designer heels “Your carriage awaits, milady” “Milord” she replied, dabbing her eyes gently before the pair of them retreated from Harrington house to tear up the dance floor.

[outpost51]

The 51 Post

Figured I'd start some kind of digest!

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed:

I've got a taglist form now! Because who doesn't love a good form?

BRHP: Chapter 14 posted; Atria learns the meaning of touch starvation and really, really misses her dad.

WIP Intro: Caught in the Crossfire (18+)

WIP Intro: The Arsonist Chronicles (18+)

WIP Whenever (Open Tag): BRHP chapter 15 snippet; pop pop is having a time time

Crossing Over: the 5th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; a new player has entered the fray, and a familiar face reappears.

Vampire Council lore and vampire origins lore

Aria/Omega snippety snip

This Week's Jams:

friends like these || Brassie [spotify/youtube]

Little Girl Gone || CHINCHILLA [spotify/youtube]

EVERGREEN || PVRIS [spotify/youtube]

Eyes on Fire || Gold Souls [spotify/youtube]

WHEN THE PARTY'S OVER || Cami Petyn [spotify/youtube]

Lizard Lady || Laura Doggett [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns:

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 15 should be coming out later today, with 16 slated for release sometime late this week or early next week. I'm finally in the chapters that don't require a ton of rewrites; most of what I've been doing is adding content. The whole thing is outlined through chapter 30 though! Since this is my entry for WIP Big Bang, updates will "stop" at chapter 18, since that's what I had published before the rewrites. After that, you'll have to wait for the release date! Which also means I have to wait for the release date for the serotonin, and that's going to be a nightmare.

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

At this point, it's just a matter of making myself work on it. About a third of chapter 9 is written and the entirety of Act II is outlined.

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

nervous laughter

Stellar Parallax

Fuck, I missed this WIP. I missed Jane especially, she's so fun to write -- I'm about a third of the way into chapter 9 and it seems to be flowing pretty well? I just wanna get to the part where she and Saren beat the shit out of each other LMAO

Lighthouse in the Fog

Dunno if y'all saw, but the lighthouse keeper stories have a tag and a tentative title now! It's going to remain as a series of loosely connected shorts, and that may very well be what I end up doing with Xatal as well. Anyway, we have some lore groundwork laid! Look out for the 6th short later today!

In the Works

I still have questions in my inbox that I am absolutely getting to! I've also got a bunch of unanswered tags in my drafts and Notion. Losing a week and a half of planned answer time threw my schedule WAY off. Submission for SSSC #006 is in the planning stage. Hannah and the MILF Squad Get Up To No Good is about 30% written and fully outlined. I have... so many Kryterius prompts left to fill, and so many more spotify wrapped prompts left, send help. Still working on separating out the Daddy Issues smutshots, hoping to finish up the rewrites for the F!Shali one before the end of July. TIPYNTS is most likely going to come out in October, and by then I'm hoping to have a backlog of chapters to make posting more consistent.

From the Skwad:

Door's always open! 18+ writing server for both fanworks and original works! Camp is starting soon! We also have a flash fiction challenge and three bingo cards running until the end of the month!

@teamdilf continues to absolutely baffle me with her productivity here we go: A Cheesy Situation is now complete, ch 16 of Alice's Adventures in Andromeda is live, ch 18 of The In-Laws and the Grandparents is live, A Night in the IKEA dropped which I'm absolutely dying over, and that's not even all of it. holy shit J i don't know how you do it but i'll have whatever you're having thx

@thetrashbagswasteland dropped ch 4 of the Sunseeker rewrite and I'm adsfdafdadsf yes. thank you king

@sparatus is tearing me to fucking pieces with Make Less the Depth of Grief. i hate you (i love you)

@uraniumwriting also obliterated me with their FFF entry.

@wrathbites is back and I'm literally beside myself I missed the Vampire AU so fucking much.

oops @commander-krios got me invested in Star Wars please look at this.

@starknstarwars updated Smuggler's Ruin aaaaaaaaaaaaa

A few of our members participated in Shenko Summer!! @dandenbo wrote Volta and @mrsd-writes wrote both We Got Here the Hard Way and Forever Home!

@regalbois dropped a new original oneshot and has been going bananas over Bioshock lately and gifting us MORE mlm deliciousness, ch 3 of Magnum Opus went live last night.

@inflarescent has a new wippppp aaaaaaa -- intro post for The Roulette Paradox here!

@discoeffect updated Far From Any Road and I am devouring the first book so I can read this one!!

Around the 'Blr:

Have you checked out the Writeblr Directory or Writeblr Cafe yet?

I'm literally still thinking about @captain-kraken's Heitha translator.

@void-botanist dropped some witch lore I'm eating with a spoon.

@tc-doherty ALSO popped off with the conlang.

The dates IRL are lining up with the dates in @elshells's Agent Ace EXCITING also a new chapter is dropping probably by the time I post this lmao

@liv-is dropped this GOLDMINE of relationship writing tips also TIL what Liv does for a living not sorry

@writernopal first of all made me absolutely CRY being sweet in the tags last night and also dropped an aasoaf 3 sneep while i was composing this thank you my friend i needed the energy snack

did y'all see Find the Word XVIII from @artdecosupernova-writing i'm going FERAL

@tabswrites's Silver Sentinels has a second chapter, I am VIBRATING

@oh-no-another-idea just slid in with this little diddy that i LOVE.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

[buckets-and-trees]

The Ashes In My Wake

Fandom: MCU

Characters/Pairings: the dark vigilante side of Matt Murdock x female!reader (past relationship)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Corruption is a matter of time and circumstance, and those with power are most susceptible to it.

Content Warnings: NON-CON sexual situation, vaginal fingering, and I really do mean the dark vigilante side of Matt Murdock - the devil in daredevil

Additional Notes: Written for the week one @the-slumberparty game. The generator gave me POWER AND CORRUPTION for theme and MAFIA for setting. Reader is engaged to a mafia man. The title comes from Asronist's Lullabye by Hozier, the idea of an arsonist hitting with me when we look at the things that seem to burn down around/in the wake/because of Daredevil and the scene in 1.05 where he compares how he "sees" things to seeing fire.

Abundant amounts of pink and purple roses, hydrangeas, peonies, proteas, anemones, tiger lilies, and foxglove amongst luscious branches of eucalyptus. You buried your face again in the soft petals, inhaling deeply, then sat back straight in front of your mirror to admire them, a smile on your face.

As you put the lid back on your jar of night crème, you see the reflection of your drapes flit behind you, a soft spring breeze brushing through the room. You stand and readjust the tie of your short silk robe.

When you turn around, your heart races, surprised to see a man in red leather from head to toe – truly from head to toe with him wearing a type of horned helmet mask – leaning up against the frame of the window, as casually as if he’d been there for the last twenty minutes, though you know he hasn’t been.

You steel yourself, his infamy preceding him, and say, “I suppose I shouldn’t be that shocked to receive a visit from you, given who I’m in a relationship with.”

The man in front of you, for better and worse, a high body count in his wake if the rumors really are true, is on a mission to rid what he thinks is his city of any crime syndicates, and the man whose engagement ring adorns your finger is the son and heir to his father’s mafia enterprise.

“He has you in a diamond necklace.”

“What? Were you expecting leather cuffs?”

He smirks. “What’s the difference?”

“You seem to like leather.”

“I hear it makes me look good.”

“Clever,” you remark, a smirk on your lips as well. “So, you know he’s not here tonight.”

“I had to see for myself,” his tone darker.

“You’re clearly disappointed.” You narrow your eyes. “But why does the devil of Hell’s Kitchen have any expectations for me to disappoint at all?”

“Why are you doing this?”

You step slowly closer to him, cautious. “Tell me why I owe you any explanation.”

“You can do better.”

“Maybe I was tired of better. Maybe I decided I wanted easy. Besides, some of this is so much better.”

“You don’t believe that.”

You take the final step into his space, and tentatively reach out to touch his chin, just a shade of stubble where his helmet leaves the bottom of his face exposed. He stands up straight, closing in on you. He brings his hand up and traces his fingers along the diamond necklace and then your collar bone, and even though it’s been years, your body could never forget the feel of his hands on your skin.

“Damn you, Matt Murdock,” your voice is shaky. “Of course, you’re the vigilante.” You try to step away, but he grips your wrist and pulls you back hard against his chest. “No, he may be cruel and corrupt out there, but he treats me like a queen.”

While his one hand maintains a grip on your arm, the other hand is suddenly a soft caress over your cheek, a whisper down your neck, and a whimper falls from your lips as it drops to caress your breast.

Your head falls forward to rest on his shoulder. “Please don’t.”

But that’s the trouble with Matt Murdock: he never knows when to stop. You learned that in law school.

“You’re in the DA’s office, and you’re in his pocket.”

“You are far from innocent, Murdock,” you retort, trying to pull away again.

“You never called me Murdock.” He doesn’t let go, but turns and thrusts you up against the wall, pressing his hard body immediately into you, but only covering half your body with his. “But you’ll use my name again tonight,” he says, pushing your robe open and tearing away your panties. You try to push his hands away, but he pushes both your arms above your head, and pins your wrists there with one hand.

“No, Matt.” You won’t make yourself pathetic or beg, surely, he won’t cross this line.

But he does.

He wedges your legs apart and his fingers delve for your core, fingers that memorized every weakness, and your traitorous body remembers the feel of his touch there as well, too soon becoming slick for him as he starts circling your clit.

And he is in no hurry to end your torture – torture because this used to be your heaven, but now every sensation is hell. He’s trying to a punish you, but you don’t feel you’ve done anything wrong.

Your chest heaves against his, but he only pushes more of his weight into you. His finger moves from your clit into your slick folds, and he slips one finger into your vagina. “Still tight for me,” he whispers.

“Not for you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He adds a second finger and begins thrusting with vigor now, on a mission to prove you wrong.

You can’t help the whimper. You hate this pleasure, and your frustration forces hot tears down your cheeks, but you bite your lip to try to control as much as you can.

He begins to curl his fingers inside your cunt, and you both know when he finds the spot that will make you shatter for him because your breath hitches and your hips buck. He smiles against your neck and nips there lightly. He won’t leave a mark, but he will play your body for everything he can.

His thumb aggressively circles your clit now as you begin to clench around his fingers, and he knows it will be only another moment under his relentless ministrations now. You know it, too, feeling the muscles and nerves tense in your body, pulsing from your core, until–

“There it is,” he murmurs, cheek to cheek, and then he abruptly pulls away, releasing your body, and you stumble forward. Your left arm reaches back to steady yourself against the wall, and your right arm quickly pulls your robe closed.

He’s already moving to slip through your open window.

“He’s never made me cry like that, Murdock,” you say, and now your words make him halt.

His head drops almost imperceptibly.

It’s not enough for true remorse.

“Just never come back.”

He does nod, and then he steps over the windowsill and out of this horrific moment.  

At least you knew the self-righteous Matt Murdock was never one to break his word.

You fiercely brush away the tears on your face and go to draw a bath. While the tub fills, you move back into your room and retrieve the scraps of fabric, then use the flame from one of your candles to burn the panties over the toilet and flush the ashes away.

You won’t tell your man what happened, but you do know when he comes home to your bed tonight, he’ll put you back together, worshipping you as his queen, murmuring praises across your skin and drawing true pleasure from you to erase the sins of the devil who had tried but failed to ruin you.

And when the time came, you would take your own vengeance.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[inhibitcomic]

New INHIBIT page! Read it here!

Chapter 11 is tentatively titled Vic Gets Dragged Everywhere By Pissed Off Women

Read a month ahead on Patreon

On mobile? Read Inhibit on Webtoon or Tapas

INHIBIT is written & drawn by @evegwood​ and coloured by @spiremint​!

Victor is a resident at a home for kids who haven't yet proven that they can control their powers. With a transfer only a few weeks away, he has one last chance to prove he is capable enough to go home to a normal life. But just when he most needs things to go smoothly, everything starts to fall apart, and he finds himself tangled in the plot of a mysterious arsonist...

[ejzah]

The Agent and the Fireman, Part 10

***

After a short debriefing with the Captains Palmy and Bates, two arson investigators, and Deeks, they were given custody of the lighter and any other evidence. They’d also been given approval to use Deeks as a liaison. With that in mind, they’d decided to regroup at the boat shed.

“Is that a code name?” Deeks asked once his superiors had dispersed and it was just NCIS and him left. “The boat shed?”

“Nope, it’s literally a boat shed repurposed for our interrogations and meetings with non-NCIS staff,” Callen replied, folding his arms over his chest.

Clearly this was some kind of test, so Deeks just nodded along as though using a boat shed for classified business made perfect sense. He’d heard enough rumors about NCIS over the years from Bates to know they were decidedly quirky for a federal agency, which worked just fine for him. “Cool. I love the water.”

“Of course you do,” Sam commented under his breath. “Tell me, do you surf, Lieutenant?”

“Every chance I get,” Deeks confirmed. “Which admittedly isn’t so often these days, but I’m not complaining. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason. You just seem the type.” Sam’s grin in Kensi’s direction suggested otherwise. As did the way she suddenly dipped her head for a second before leveling the other agent with a glare fiery enough to burn a brick house down.

“Alright, are we done with the small talk? Because there’s an arsonist out there,” Kensi said with a “wrap it up” gesture.

“Right. Deeks you can ride with one of us—”

“I’ll do it,” Kensi volunteered quickly, interrupting Callen. Deeks just barely held back a grin at her eagerness. “What? There’s more room in the SUV.”

“Uh-huh. Alright, we’ll meet you there.”

“Don’t take any detours, kids,” Sam said as they walked through the tent flap.

“You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, all you had to do was ask,” Deeks teased quietly.

“I just don’t want to give them the chance to give you dirt on me,” she insisted.

“Ooh, that’s implies there’s dirt to know.” He wiggled his eyebrows a couple times.

Kensi shook her head, starting to brush past him, but he stopped her with a finger to her shoulder.

“Hey, just so you know, I want to spend as much time with you as possible too,” he informed her.

Her cheeks darkened slightly with a light flush, and she stepped back to look him up and down suggestively.

“Preferably some of that time is in private in the very near future,” she whispered in his ear.

***

A petite brunette woman and a man with short curly blonde hair were already set up with tablets and folders when Deeks and Kensi entered the boat shed.

Deeks detected a faint fishy smell and noted the various boats and surf boards hanging from the walls. He tried to imagine Agent Callen or Sam breaking out one of the boards in a spare moment, and had to conceal the resulting smile that thought produced.

“Deeks, this is Eric Beale, our technical operator and Nell Jones, Intelligence Analyst. Eric and Nell, Lieutenant Marty Deeks of the LAFD,” Callen said, handling introductions.

Beale gave him a short wave and a smile while Nell Jones tilted her head, clearly scrutinizing him. He wondered what she hoped to find.

“Nice to meet you,” Deeks said, nodding to each of them. “I’ve heard about you guys from one of our analysts and he’s really impressed with the kinds of results you achieve so quickly.”

“Why thank you, sir,” Eric responded with a small, but pleased smile. “We do our best.”

“Wow, cute, charming, and a fireman. What more could I ask for?” Nell responded, and Deeks huffed out a laugh of surprise.

“Nell, not now,” Kensi sighed, and Deeks turned his head enough to smirk at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Nell give Kensi a double thumbs up.

“Moving on to the case, did you get anything from the lighter found at the fire site?” Callen asked.

“Yes. The lab results came back on the fingerprints LAPD collected.” Eric tapped something on his tablet, dramatically gesturing to the large screen mounted across the room. “And there was a partial fingerprint that matches one Jason McHenry.”

A picture of a man with a medium build, short brown hair, brown eyes, and a truly unremarkable appearance popped onto the screen.

“McHenry is 37 years old. He dropped out of Cal Tech after one year before accepting an entry level position at a plumbing company. Since then he has lived in six different states and held a variety of blue collar jobs, most recently as a subcontractor for a cleaning company,” Nell added.

“Well, custodial work would certainly be a good way of getting access to a building,” Kensi observed. “I bet most people wouldn’t even look twice at a guy in a pair of coveralls and the administration wouldn’t even remember they had a sub in for a few days.”

“Can you check if he has any prior history of arson or similar criminal activity?” Deeks asked, drawing a nod of approval from Sam.

“Good thinking.”

“Let me see.” Eric tapped away, his fingers a blur as he typed. “Jason McHenry doesn’t have any prior criminal charges, not even a parking or speeding ticket.” He raised a finger, eye lowered as he read. “However, when we go way back to little Jason, a shed on his parents property burn down. They filed a police report, believing it was the work of some troubled teens in the neighborhood, but no charges were ever submitted.”

“And there we go,” Sam said quietly. “I bet if we look a little deeper, we’ll find a whole lot of small fires linked with this guy.”

“Mm, yeah. He seems to be a pretty smart guy, if a little arrogant. Based on the types of accelerants he used and the way he was able to conceal them, get past security, and time the fires when the building were empty for the most part, I’d say this is not the first time he’s done something like this. I think he’s just got cocky with this last batch.” Deeks shrugged, hoping he hadn’t overstepped, but he was there to liaise after all.

“You think he’s for hire?” Callen asked.

“For most of these, yeah, I do.”

“Ok, I need to make a few calls.” Callen grabbed his cell, stepping several feet away, Agent Hanna following him.

“Don’t you want to listen in?” Deeks asked when Kensi stayed by his side.

“They’ll fill me in when they’re done.” She glanced over his shoulder suddenly, and he followed her gaze, seeing Nell watching them with obvious interest. “Come with me.” Hand lightly on his forearm, she led him around a corner and out of sight of prying eyes.

“Ooh, junkyard chic,” he said approvingly of the small filled with an interesting collection of items, including a worn bike and flippers.

“It’s a cover. Who’d ever suspect that top secret operations go on here?” Kensi didn’t wait for him to answer question, drifting closer until there were maybe six inches separating their bodies. “That was very impressive, by the way,” she added, changing the subject and the tone as her voice dropped several notches.

“You mean my profiling back there?” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s part of what we’re trained to do.”

“Yes, but I found your confidence…appealing. Some people can be a little intimidated by Sam and Callen, but you’re not at all.”

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Deeks murmured, shifting a step forward, closing the distance by half. Kensi nodded, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. “There’s something about running into burning buildings that knocks the fear out of you. Plus, when I was younger, I tended to get a lot of flack for oh so many reasons, so I learned how to stand up for myself,” he explained.

As he spoke, his voice grew softer, the air between them warming with potential and the heat of their bodies so close together. Kensi swayed towards him and she settled her thumbs at the top of his waist, thumbs light on his back. He saw her eyes drop to his lips, the the rich brown even darker than usual.

Dipping his head, he lowered his lips towards hers as she tipped her chin up. He felt a whisper of her breath on his lips, the faint smell of lavender as her hair fell back from her face—

“Kensi!”

They both jerked back at the sound of Agent Callen’s voice, Kensi’s head swiveling towards the doorway, though she didn’t drop her hands from his waist immediately. She sighed heavily in frustration.

“We need to solve this case now,” she decided, voice dark with annoyance. With a final sound of regret, she slid her hand up his chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

***

A/N: Yes, I did create a temporary firefighter liaison position for Deeks. Because he’s special. And Kensi needs to spend more time with him. Even if it kills her.

As always, in these AUs, Nell is a little more feisty and has a thing for Deeks. Though she would never seriously go for him.

[penisbutterjellytime]

can we see more of ur rdr oc?? him and sean are so cute!

I unfortunately don't have much of him. Drawing or lore wise.

⬇️ When I was still figuring out his face || like a day ago ⬇️

Well educated guy, either went to school or apprenticed to learn about chemicals and such idk. I'm thinking he might of had family who worked in the factories as a kid and that's how he got a fascination.

Deaf / HOH after a failed experiment when he was younger blew up and fucked up his ears. Still has tinnitus and so severe that loud things like gun shots or explosions sound really muffled. But he got used to it probably after a few years. As long as he can read your lips and everyone's talking at a time he can understand. Would be cool if he'd knew some Sign Language but he probably wouldn't've. Could've been possible tho since French Sign Language didn't arrive in America until the 1810's and obviously PISL and such other indigenous sign languages. Probably has signs he does use with people to communicate from afar, but not enough to have a conversation.

After some time or whatever he made business off making his own tnt and other chemicals / explosives from his house. I'm thinking people as well as maybe the O'Driscoll's and other gangs would come to him to get resources (ranging many purposes but most his costumers being interested in things that can kill, loudly or silently). idk maybe Kieran heard that the O'Driscoll's get their explosives from this guy and a conflict between some O'Driscoll's and the Van Der Gang results in his home getting blown up. For all the other gangs know he's dead from the explosion so he's taken by the gang and stuck in camp making stuff for them. I imagine if he was an actual in game character he would have a little table/tent of his own, with all his beakers and viles and shit strewn about. He'd maybe have a few side missions (like Dutch's pipe, Sadie's harmonica, Charles' arrows, etc.) where you find materials for him and you get something in return.

He actually originated from a dream like a year or two ago. I don't get a lot of dreams that take place in stuff I'm invested in, even my own oc's in my own worldbuilding which really sucks so I had to draw him to remember that. Only difference is that I decided to make him the gangs tnt / chemist guy. Also makes more sense as to why the gangs arsonist would like him. Typa guy who will excitingly show you how to make a pipe bomb or explaining the chemical components of cyanide and the process in excruciating detail. Typa guy to recreate the German Thioacetone incident because he thinks he could do better.

[bethanydelleman]

Rochester vs. Crawford

Edward Rochester and Henry Crawford have a ton in common, which I could not help but notice as I read Jane Eyre. Jane and Fanny are also similar but I’ll leave them for later. Here are some strong similarities:

Physically unattractive but charming/valuable in company

Disdain for women who are beautiful but superficial

See no problem with flirting with said women because of their mercenary ways

Attraction towards women with a strong moral character

Justification of their misdeeds by “making up for it” (Henry pardons himself for flirting with Fanny because he will marry her, Rochester pardons himself for bigamy because he will treat Jane right)

Don’t spend any time at home (though for wildly different reasons)

“Love language” includes giving lavish gifts (necklace and brother promotion/silk gowns and pearl necklace) and making very moving speeches

Both are very jaded when it comes to women and marriage, but think that the woman they fall for will fix everything/is a very unique sort of woman

Ch 27 of Jane Eyre and Ch 30 of Mansfield Park are so romantic in what Rochester and Henry say that I just want to pitch a tent and live in them forever.

Now I ended up having far more sympathy for Rochester’s sin than Henry’s, mostly because it seems far more justifiable for me. Sorry Henry Crawford, but once you sleep with your crush’s cousin, you are beyond redemption (at least with Fanny). But Rochester I’m like, “You have been trapped for twenty years in a terrible marriage to a madwoman, I’m going to give you a pass on bigamy.” I’m also not very mad about the mistresses. What is he supposed to do? He longs for a meaningful relationship and going to visit your Attic wife and maybe getting stabbed or bitten doesn’t seem like a great option. So I will give you a French mistress or two, as a treat.

Rochester is also significantly older than Henry and shows far more ability to be responsible. He adequately cares for Adele and Bertha. He is well-respected by his servants and tenants as far as we can tell. That is a big point in his favour. Henry seems capable of this, but has not demonstrated it.

But here is the big thing that I cannot forgive: Mr. Rochester, you do not keep a kid and an arsonist in the same house! Once the bed was set on fire, it was time to either move Bertha or Adele and the eighteen-year-old non-consenting governess. And yes, Bertha never attacks Jane or Adele, but as we see later, fire can easily spread through an entire house and Bertha does go into Jane’s room once and rip the veil. Then Rochester is just like, “Oh, thank God that’s all she did.” Um, dude! It is just irresponsible to have someone who is murderussly violent and an EIGHT YEAR OLD CHILD together in a house. Fix up your other house, find a second guard like Grace Poole, put Adele in school, put Bertha in a cottage, do SOMETHING in the name of safety PLEASE.

I do wonder what Charlotte would have thought about Mansfield Park. Why didn’t they send her that one instead of P&P?

[7-ate-9]

So yesterday I rewatched two documentaries on Woodstock 99, because I still think it’s possibly the most interesting thing to happen in recent history. A bunch of white boys in their late teens to early twenties becoming an actual real life Lord of the Flies. And I have many thoughts and no one to share them with, so I will shout them into the void that is tumblr.

First, Lord of the Flies. Anger and freedom and no responsibility or authority. It becomes chaos. And I was thinking about how sometimes when teachers teach the book, they do a sort of experiment where they leave the class alone and see if they go crazy, and they never do. And part of that is because Lord of the Flies is about privileged white boys. But another part of it is the conception of authority; even if the teacher isn’t there, they’re still an authority figure and kids aren’t going to just go wild. You often see the delinquent teens just going insane right in front of school staff, but teens aren’t like that. Maybe they used to be twenty or thirty or eighty years ago, but the truth is that most “delinquent” teens just don’t care.

Now for another main thought that mostly just makes me angry for no reason. Fred Durst. Annoying as all hell. I’ve never really listened to Limp Bizkit but every clip they used just grated on my ears. And everyone kept saying something along the lines of “Fred Durst was the voice of the people there.” And every time he spoke, and especially every time he sang or rapped, all I could think was that he sounded like a whiny little white boy. He looked like a whiny little white boy. He literally was whining into the microphone in a weird high-pitched voice about how today’s not a good day and he wants to break some shit. And this is the person everyone felt was relatable? No wonder it all fell apart the way it did.

Now, if we’re being honest, each Woodstock was kind of disastrous. The first Woodstock in 1969 is remembered as this great beautiful thing, but there were difficulties. Woodstock 94 was probably the best, which is saying something considering it made no profit. And 99 was… well.

And you have to wonder why. Coachella happens every year and doesn’t end in riots, unlike two of the three Woodstock festivals. Because there were some small riots at Woodstock 69. So what was it? Was it just the Michael Lang of it all? Was it the effects of the counter culture of the time?

And why is Woodstock 69 remembered as an idyllic dream, and 99 is remembered as Lord of the Flies come to life? Why did it end that way?

The way I see it is that Woodstock 69 was an event to bring people together who were united for a cause: ending US involvement in the Vietnam war. The festival was a response to the cause. There were people organizing a free food tent. There were people who’d brought their children. They were unified under the banner saying peace, love, and music. They were embracing a counter culture that was calling for peace.

Woodstock 99 wasn’t that. Michael Lang wanted to say it was for the cause of gun violence, but nobody was there for ending gun violence. In fact, a good portion of the people there probably didn’t give a single shit about it. They weren’t there for a cause, they were there for music. They didn’t give a shit about the cause. And most importantly, they were embracing a counter culture that was screaming their anger.

These people weren’t there for peace, they were there for rock music. There was no sense of authority. It was lawless and without repercussions. And that resulted in disaster. I won’t even touch on the rampant misogyny and superiority complexes and what that resulted in. All I’ll say is the Offspring frontman Dexter Holland saw it and addressed it to a quarter mil people, and it didn’t do shit.

There weren’t enough arrests made. These men turned into rioters, rapists, arsonists, and thieves, over the course of just three days. And you could spend another hundred years studying the psychology of it all and still not come up with one reason for the disaster. But it’s a part of history that shouldn’t be ignored, because Lord of the Flies came to life, exacerbated in its ferocity by rock music and 250,000 people. Just disappointing.

[driflew]

hi it is six sentence sunday and i have... HOW IS THIS 12 SENTENCES. @ MY PAST SELF PUT THE COMMA AWAY GET AWAY FROM THAT EM DASH START USING PERIODS 

While the lantern allows Martyn to bring his god into most places, there are a few establishes that simply won’t budge. A particularly stubborn inn, for one, with an innkeeper who didn’t like Martyn’s cavalier attitude about alleged arsonist abilities. A festival of some kind, Martyn never actually figured out what—they’d had bunch of tents up, and the man charging the entry fee had been convinced Martyn’s claims of holy flame were, at best, the makings of a madman. 

Most places that bar Martyn entry are too uptight and paranoid, at least for Martyn’s tastes, and not worth the fight to get inside. The library, Martyn must admit, has some merit, and he would abandon his quest inside entirely if not for the fact it were for his god’s benefit. 

On the bright side, the man at the desk up front had at least been relatively accommodating about being asked to babysit Martyn’s lantern, even if he’d looked at Martyn like he was insane for asking.

Unlike most of what he does these days, Martyn hasn’t actually explained his mission to his god. He just doesn’t want to get his god’s hopes up—Research isn’t Martyn’s forte, and Martyn isn’t sure what writings would even exist on an isolated city god who died two decades prior. He’s not even sure if they’ll know of Dogwarts, let alone have record of the name of its god. 

Because that is Martyn’s mission—if his god can’t tell him who he is, then Martyn will have to look somewhere else. When Martyn had stumbled into [**TOWN NAME**], the first thing he’d heard had been boasts of a bustling archive, with records stretching nearly two centuries. If anywhere he’s encountered so far can tell him about his god, it’ll be here. 

i will name the fake town later. it’s not important. all you need is brackets sometimes it keeps from breaking your writing Flow. anyway, lamplight time! im stuck on heliography so im writing smth a bit later that hits a few beats ive been meaning to include

dunno when this one will be finished or if ill finish this or heliography ch2 first, but hey, cool fic stuff!