#bike kill 2023

[bluntfullofmid]

[cynderrfall]

Hold on, we’ve got places to be

[motogpnewbie]

Tik Tok decided to make me feel things today Pt1

[inhidingxoxo3637]

[insanethrottlebikernews]

#1 REASON HARLEY DAVIDSON IS KILLING ITSELF

#1 REASON HARLEY DAVIDSON IS KILLING ITSELF

What do you think is the #1 REASON HARLEY DAVIDSON IS KILLING ITSELF? Many are going to say that it is the price of a new Harley, others are going to say it’s the demographics of the company. Sure, this is one of the reasons Harley Davidson isn’t attracting younger riders. I believe it comes down to not only those arguments but something as simple as customer service. 00:00 Let’s ask ourselves a…

[kingofthecotas]

twin skeletons | read on ao3

soulmate au, 2023 season | ~3k

it's uhhh kind of getting better but not really lads

——

Oberlungwitz, Germany 

The last thing Marc wants is to answer the phone. He’s sore, pissed off, and fucking humiliated.

But he answers, because Valentino had called after Mandalika. And he’d called about the fourth surgery, sounding almost guilty—as if, for the first time in years, Marc had said something and he’d listened. 

You didn’t call after Jerez.

He’s calling now. In fact, he won’t stop fucking calling.

“That bike is going to kill you.”

Marc sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t ask why do you care? because that answer is going to be more than he’s equipped to handle today. “It—it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Marc.”

Despite it all, he’s never getting tired of this, of the sound of his name in Valentino’s mouth. It’s something, at least. 

“Whatever. It’s bad. Not a lot I can do about it.”

They haven’t been careful, haven’t crept around each other to figure out this new version of themselves. Valentino calls, tells Marc he’s an idiot, almost cracks the lid off the pressure cooker of the last eight years, and Marc will hang up before it gets too dangerous. 

And next time Valentino calls, he will answer.

This is an old argument, a well-worn path, one that’s hung between them since 2013. 

“Shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Marc mutters. “You run fucking Ducatis.” 

“Everyone can see the bike is bad,” Valentino says, pointed. 

“Fucking—obviously.” Because this is Marc’s circuit. He doesn’t like expecting things, but he should be head and shoulders above the rest. He should not be riding a bucking animal down the waterfall, feeling it writhe underneath him like it wants to leave him a smear on the asphalt. 

He should not be crashing five times at the Sachsenring. 

He didn’t race in Indonesia, in the end, and he’d told himself it was Álex that persuaded him. Maybe that was easier than remembering how his name sounded when Valentino called that first time. 

“I think I will not race,” he forces out, mirror-inverse of that conversation. “I might get hurt.”

Nothing. Just the silence to let him breathe. Marc’s grateful for it. 

“I’ll be in Misano,” Valentino says softly.

“Of course you will.”

“Marc.”

“This is not—” He doesn’t know what he wants to say. This is not me forgiving you, maybe. Except he probably already has. 

His arm aches, something deeper than his twice-broken bone, pulsing with his heartbeat. Valentino used to run his fingers over it, brushing the piece of his soul that lives under Marc’s skin over and over again. They used to—

Valentino used to curl his lip, used to act as if he thought Marc belonged to him. He doesn’t make the same demands he did back then, not since Mandalika, but they hover in the silence nonetheless. The worst thing is that Marc understands him now, understands why it scared him to have his life so intertwined with someone else’s. 

But they’re still not okay. 

Not for the first time, Marc wonders where they might be if he’d only lost the front in Indonesia, or if he’d only been flung over the handlebars, if his head hadn’t cracked against the asphalt. Not here, that’s for fucking sure. 

He doesn’t say that, because Valentino isn’t a hair trigger anymore but he’ll make a guilty little sound that twists Marc’s stomach. 

“I’ll see you in Italy,” he says instead, and the relief is visceral through the phone. 

——

Misano Adriatico, Italy

As promised, Valentino is in Misano.

Of course he would be. 

It doesn’t take him long to find Marc; he knows the place well, knows how to slip through the motorhome lot without being accosted. He knows just where to wait to catch Marc after his track walk, to beckon him with a tilt of his head.

Marc follows. Of course he does. 

It’s—

They’ve seen each other, looked each other in the face (refused a handshake), since they fell apart, since Valentino retired. Since Mandalika. They haven’t truly looked at each other for a very long time. 

He’s different, Marc realises. Older, yes, more stubble, curls winding out from beneath his cap, but more than that, he’s tired, mouth tight, eyes shadowed. 

“It was a, ah, scary moment in Germany,” Valentino offers to the silence between them.

“Which one?” Marc mutters, then, “Scary for you or for me?” Another jab. Maybe he just wants to see if the soft underbelly is still there. 

“Ah…” Valentino looks up, away, shrugs with his left shoulder. “Why are you—?” He stops. 

“Why what?” Valentino should not get to ask anything, really, but Marc had answered the phone. He keeps answering. Keeps cracking the door a little wider. 

He should stop. Probably. Maybe. 

Valentino finally meets his gaze, eyes blank—hiding—and tilts his chin at Marc’s arm, at the healed scars, the ruined skin, the mark hidden under his T-shirt sleeve. “Does it still hurt?”

“It’s been worse,” Marc says slowly. It had been worse after the surgeries. It had been worse after Sepang. 

Valentino half-reaches a hand out, eyes boring into Marc’s shoulder.

Marc swallows. “No.”

“Marc,” Valentino breathes, and before Marc can move away, there’s a hand on his right arm, a thumb brushing his mark.

It’s—

He closes his eyes, because then at least Valentino can’t see—but his body must give him away, must shudder as electricity snaps outwards from the contact. He doesn’t make a sound, thank God.

And then—he rips his arm free, slaps his hand over his mark, because Valentino does not get to do this. He was the one who didn’t want this, didn’t want them. He was the one who held Marc up in front of the world, in front of snapping jaws and hungry eyes, and said here, this one. 

He was the one who—

“Fuck you,” Marc manages, and his soulmark throbs with the echo of a kick. Inch given, mile taken. He won’t make that mistake again. (He’s made it so many times before.) “Don’t do that.” 

Valentino’s eyes are huge now, like he can’t understand—there’s the chink in the armour, Marc thinks with grim satisfaction. Except why is Valentino reaching out to him? 

They stay as they are for an excruciating moment—Marc covering his soulmark, Valentino’s arm still outstretched—before someone rides past on a scooter, too close to their hiding place, and the scene shatters. 

Valentino hasn’t touched his mark for nearly eight years. It had felt so good that Marc wants to throw up. 

He flees before he can think too hard about it. 

——

It must have been—

Here, Valentino was saying. Remember you belong to me. Remember I can do this. 

Right? 

I don’t want you, but we’re soulmates anyway. I hurt you. You can never really get away from me.

“Marc.” Álex’s voice makes him jump. “You’ve got the call in ten minutes, remember? Nadia and the team.”

“Yeah.” He stares at the kitchenette worktop, at Álex leaning over, at the part of himself on his brother’s wrist. 

“Are you okay?”

“Is this the right thing to do?” Marc whispers.

“It’s just a meeting.” But Álex knows him, knows what he means. “You can’t stay on that bike. It’s going to kill you.”

The echo of Valentino’s words—Marc snaps his gaze up to his brother’s face. “I thought Honda—I thought I’d be there forever.”

“Forever is a long time.”

It is. Marc didn’t understand that when he was twenty-one. 

“It’s just a phone call,” Álex continues. “No decision yet. You have some time to work it out, no? Remember your plan. You deserve to be on a fast bike.” Then he tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” 

“The team—” 

“Something else.” Of course Álex knows him better than anyone else.

(That’s what it should be like.) 

“Valentino’s here.” 

Álex makes a face. “It’s Misano.”

“He’s—he still calls me.”

Another face. “So?”

Marc rubs his right arm, an unconscious movement. 

“You know what—I won’t tell you what to do.” Álex twists his lips together. “But you know what I think.” 

“Yeah.” Marc taps a finger on his arm: skin, scar, soulmark. “But you—you felt it? When it happened?”

Álex’s expression twitches. “I felt it.”

——

He manages to avoid Valentino until Saturday morning; nowhere near long enough to gather his thoughts, but also—

It feels too long, somehow. He’s looking between motorhomes as he passes them, half-expecting to see the lanky figure waiting for him. He’s on his guard, that’s all it is. Can’t be caught unawares again. 

It’s a tightrope, a careful tread, and they could fall, they could plummet. Valentino could kick his feet out from under him. Again. 

Marc might believe it, if he didn’t know that Valentino has no need to: acts of self-sabotage well and truly over, he would never choose to reach for Marc again, would never pick up the phone, would never run his fingers over the imprint of himself unless he wanted to.

Maybe Marc hit his head so hard in Indonesia it knocked something loose in Valentino’s too. 

He’s not surprised when Valentino appears, waiting. And Marc moves towards him, thread-pull, caught on the line of his unreadable stare.

“I’m sorry,” Valentino says when he’s close enough.

“You’re sorry.”

“Yes.”

Marc controls his expression after a long moment, snaps his mouth shut. “Um. Thank—thank you.” 

“It was, ah, not right. To—” He makes a loose gesture. Can’t even say what he’s done, the line he’s crossed. 

And yet Marc would have given anything, once, to hear Valentino apologise to him. “It’s—fine. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a flicker, not disappointment but something close, as if he were expecting more of a struggle. Marc is past fighting. 

His arm hurts and the bike is shit and he thinks—he thinks he’s going to Gresini. Giving up the fight. 

Ho turns and walks away. 

——

Valencia, Spain

He throws a bottle of water at the door once it’s closed behind Bezzecchi; it makes an unsatisfying thump, then a second one when it drops to the floor.

Fucking—kid. Holding Valentino’s grudges for him, so simplistic in his belief. Determined to make Marc’s shit day even worse. 

Then he wipes his eyes, crusted with an afternoon’s worth of tears, and collects the bottle, quietly embarrassed at himself.

Santi’s hands on his shoulders had been a weight like never before, and he’d sobbed like a child—that’s his team, his family. And he fucking left them. He couldn’t stay, but—

But. 

He scrubs underneath his nose, tries to sit in it just enough that he’ll be through it by tomorrow. Tomorrow means Gresini. Ducati. Start again.

There’s another knock on the door—not Álex, he wouldn’t bother—and if it’s Bezzecchi again, Marc is going to do something really stupid. 

It’s not. It’s—

Valentino has his lips twisted together, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He’s staring somewhere to the left of Marc. “Hello.”

“Fuck, Vale, not now.” A slip. Marc curses himself, but the vitriol quiets when Valentino looks at him, finally looks at him again. 

“I just wanted—” A long shrug. “It must be difficult. I—”

There’s no reason for him to be here—not a hard crash, not like in Germany or Indonesia, no reason for him to extend a hand again. It must be the same as Misano, as saying here I am, remember how we’re connected. 

And—fine.

If Valentino wants to play that game, if he wants to reach out and say look, I’m here, I’ll always be here, then—Marc lives under his skin as well. He’ll always be there. 

He steps to the side, stares at Valentino until he slips through the door, and makes sure to drag his gaze up Valentino’s arm, his shoulder, lingering on the piece of skin where both their soulmarks sit. 

Valentino notices, says, “Marc,” like he’s facing down a feral animal, and follows it up with, “You’re upset,” as if Marc is the one being unreasonable, as if Marc is the one who’s been unreasonable for the last eighteen fucking months. 

“No shit,” Marc hisses. The space between them may as well be an abyss. There’s a burning coal lodged in his sternum. 

Valentino solves half the problem for him, drifting around the end of the sofa and coming to a halt half a step away. Uncharacteristic of him, to be so off-kilter, so unsure of himself. 

Marc plunges in. His hand finds Valentino’s mark. 

It’s barely a second, a gulp of breath, a thread wound between them, and then Valentino pushes him back so hard he almost stumbles. Marc opens his eyes, the instinct of an apology forming on his tongue—

Valentino kisses him. 

It’s desperate-frantic-starving, teeth and gasps, hands in his hair, a grunt when his shoulder blades hit the motorhome wall. Finding his own hands useless at his sides, he blindly grabs at Valentino’s sleeve until he can touch it again. Familiar. As if it’s been minutes rather than years.

Valentino makes a noise like a groan, like he’s aching, and traces around the branch-twist of scars until he finds the mark. If Marc hadn’t been pressed against the wall, his legs would have given out when stars explode at the back of his skull.

They used to be so gentle, until they weren’t, until Marc rolled into the gravel or raced too hard or did something that made Valentino think of a future or a hundred other unconscious transgressions. They used to be so careful, except when they weren’t.

Marc grins, sharp against the corner of Valentino’s mouth, and curls his fingers into claws. 

This is what you wanted. He digs in, just a little. Remember? You wanted to tear me out. 

Another gasp, shuddering, and yeah, he can do it too. He’s still there. 

He expects retaliation; it’s not as if he hasn’t had worse, after all. Valentino used to get there first, used to fight with nails and teeth, and Marc would capitulate. He expects the same now: a scratch, a bite, have nothing on the lingering shadow of his boot. 

When Valentino says, “Marc,” he sounds like he did on the phone in the hospital in Lombok: the same wretched noise that meant stop, please, don’t hurt yourself; that made Marc listen when Álex told him not to ride; that meant you terrify me; that meant—

He swallows, relaxes his hand. Fucked it, maybe. 

Except Valentino noses around Marc’s jaw and whispers, “Bed?” Like he’s asking. Like it’s ten years ago. 

Like he cares what Marc wants.

For once, they want the same thing, so Marc twists his left arm and, impressing even himself, manages to open the bedroom door. There’s a huff into the crook of his neck, and he finds himself pushed backwards once again, going willingly this time because—

He doesn’t know why, and when Valentino drags his sleeve up, leans down, presses lips to his mark, it doesn’t matter. 

It could be nine, ten years ago. It could be Marc, twenty-one years old, biting back a desperate sob at the shivering heat, lightning arcing through sinew, and it’s not ten years ago and he’s not twenty-one but he wants, he wants, he wants. 

“Marc.” His name. Despite it all, he’s never getting tired of the sound of his name in Valentino’s mouth. “Marc—”

He tips his head back, allows himself to relax into it; his fingers wander through Valentino’s warm hair, gentle. An apology of sorts. 

Missed you, his brain hums, and when Valentino rubs his mark, he can almost pretend they’re thinking the same thing. 

Valentino’s hands move to his waist, to his jeans, careful now—he used to tug at Marc’s trousers, used to fumble the button in his eagerness, and this is foreign, delicate, so gentle. 

“Okay?” Asking again.

“Fuck’s sake—yes—”

Another laugh. Some kind of record, surely. It’s insane. They must be going insane together. 

He wishes he cared more. 

He kicks off his trousers and lets Valentino push him onto the bed, lets him trail kisses across his neck, like they’re something after all. He pulls back, searching, eyes darting side-to-side, wanting—

Marc almost slams the brakes, almost sends himself crashing to the ground, but he wants and Valentino wants and like it or not, the universe chained them together for a reason.

And they were good, before it burned to ash. Before Valentino dropped the struck match he’d been carrying since Laguna Seca. 

When Valentino rests his forehead against Marc’s shoulder and kisses his soulmark, Marc can almost believe it’s I’m sorry, I’m here. When he traces the outline of his soul on Valentino’s skin, he hopes it means I’m here, I’ll always be here, I didn’t leave you. 

——

When Marc wakes up—

He’s warm, sheets kicked around his ankles, solid heat against his back, and Valentino had been here, had let Marc scratch and snarl, had kissed his soulmark like it meant something. 

When Marc wakes up, there’s a hand on his arm, over his scars, over his mark, and it’s golden in his veins. For the first time in years, the bone-deep ache isn’t the only sensation in his right arm.

He doesn’t open his eyes. 

It’s not long before Valentino shifts, inhales sharply the way he always did—still does, apparently—when he’s falling out of sleep. He groans deep in his chest, and freezes. 

For a long moment, there’s nothing: no sound, no movement. Nothing, until Valentino extricates himself, moving as gently as if Marc is made of porcelain, and the warmth of his touch is gone from his mark. 

Marc can’t help the sound he makes, pitiful, when Valentino disappears and the familiar bruised ache is back. He’s carried it in his soulmark for so long he’s forgotten how it feels, how it should feel—

Valentino sighs. His footsteps, halfway around the room, halfway through collecting shoes and his shirt, pause. 

Marc does his best to smooth out his expression, to turn his face into the pillow like he’s still sleeping. If he opens his eyes, this will crack, splinter, collapse at his feet. 

Another exhale, and impossibly, the steps move closer again. Valentino brushes his hand over Marc’s forehead—pinched, despite himself, like it so often is—then rubs a thumb over his soulmark.

And fuck it—Marc can’t help that he sighs, that he relaxes, that it feels so good to have his soulmate touch him again. 

When Valentino says, “Marc,” on a breath, he sounds like he did at the start of them, in the hotel room in Monterey: reverent, careful, infinitely pained. The same way he used to say I love you. 

The hand disappears. The door opens, closes.

Marc opens his eyes. 

[ser-zoras]

In modern asoiaf brienne still swears fealty to cat because she breaks her arm while she’s out dirtbiking with renly and co. and since none of them have ever broken their arm before, brienne convinces herself she’s faking it and continues biking and all of her friends are a little bit high and manage not to notice. the only reason brienne gets to the hospital at all is because loras was forced to bring margaery because mace is super overprotective and wouldn’t let her stay home alone even though she’s fifteen so she’s sitting on a lawn chair outside the bike loop wearing yellow heart shaped sunglasses and drinking lemonade while drawing a star chart for sansa, and she sees brienne ride by with a clearly broken arm and is like “dude. the fuck happened to you” and renly hears this and is like “shit your dad’s gonna kill me” so he and loras drive brienne to the emergency room but they ask if they can leave because hyle and the gang are still dirtbiking and brienne says sure she’ll be fine so she sits in the emergency room for a few hours until someone gets her and cat turns out to be her nurse and sets her bones all the while talking about her various problems because she is Stressed Out™️ (her son bought his girlfriend a promise ring, her younger son’s physical therapy isn’t going well, her daughter bit a kid yesterday) and brienne is totally unresponsive, like not even blinking, so cat assumes she can’t hear her, and when cat finally finishes, brienne, who is actually just super nervous and was trying to be polite by not interrupting, looks up at the woman who has just given her attention and mild painkillers and fixed her bones with eyes full of love and is like. Do you know that I would die for you and cat, unsure of what to say, is like 👍.

on the way back from the emergency room renly and loras manage to crash renly’s 2023 Subaru forester into a tree for unrelated reasons and this is somehow blamed on brienne.

[badnewswhatsleft]

scanned the little patrick interview from kerrang winter 2023<3

transcript under cut:

Patrick Stump’s mum is a methodical accountant who likes to plan ahead and think things through. She would bestow this organisational wisdom upon her son when he was growing up. When his band Fall Out Boy got signed, however, thereby kick-starting one of the most exciting trajectories of the past 20 years, Mrs Stump quickly realised there were limits to what she could assist him with.

“She said to me, ‘I can’t help you anymore - you’re beyond my area of expertise,’” Patrick recalls with a laugh.

In the years since, there has been no end of through-the-looking-glass moments for Fall Out Boy, a litany of incredible achievements highlighted by the ever-growing shows the Chicago four-piece - completed by bassist Pete Wentz, guitarist Joe Trohman and drummer Andy Hurley - have played. It’s an upscaling Patrick admits he still can’t fully process.

“I’m probably never going to get used to it, and I think I’m at peace with that,” he admits, taking time out backstage at Hamburg’s Barclays Arena on the band’s epic So Much For (Tour) Dust jaunt, which recently visited the UK.

Thankfully, Fall Out Boy will be back on these shores next summer, having been announced as headliners for Download Festival 2024, alongside Queens Of The Stone Age and Avenged Sevenfold. The news has given Patrick cause to reflect upon the pivotal shows and tours that have made FOB the band they are today, with a self-deprecating appraisal of the good times and the bad, the tiny gigs and the Hella Mega ones.

“A lot of my life makes sense to me, where I understand the various points of what happened and why, but there are moments with the shows we’ve played that make no sense at all,” Patrick reflects. “You go to arenas and they have pictures in the hallway of all the big artists that have played there, then they’ll have pictures of us, which sticks out to me!”

THE BAND’S FIRST-EVER SHOW AT DEPAUL UNIVERSITY CAFETERIA, 2001 “We were playing with some pretty cool math-rock and emo bands. When we got out there, we were horrible - I mean really terrible - and there were about three or four people there. I can’t remember what our band name was at the time - it wasn’t Fall Out Boy, and we were tossing some names around. I remember suggesting one of the names we had in mind to the drummer in one of the other bands and him telling me it sucked. We had a guitar player who I’d only met the week before and I’ve never seen since. I hope he’s doing good things. I heard he became a bike messenger. I cannot imagine a humbler beginning for a first show!”

FALL OUT BOY’S FIRST GIG WITH ANDY HURLEY, 2003 “I think it was with Andy’s other band, The Kill Pill. Andy played in both bands that night. It was a bigger show for us, opening for [Florida melodic hardcore band] As Friends Rust, and we didn’t have a guitar player, so I was playing guitar. It was weird because we were playing some newer songs, which stood out, so it felt like we’d started to actualise the band. I’m a drummer originally, so I was picky about drummers. But when we played with Andy, it was the first time that it felt right. I remember saying to a friend of mine who was there at the time that we were still a bad band then, and she said, ‘You guys couldn’t see it, but even then, it felt like the beginning of something.’”

THE FIRST UK TOUR, 2004 “One thing I remember was going to a Mexican restaurant, ordering tacos, and being unable to describe the things that arrived at the table - and not in a good way. That first UK tour was with Mest, and it was surreal. I think that might have been the first time I’d ever left the States, so going to another country felt like a big deal. When I got there, I realised the UK is similar in a lot of ways - particularly thanks to our shared musical history. One difference was that the venues all felt so much more punk rock than those in the States, with an unhinged basement vibe, which surprised me but was also thrilling.”

HEADLINING DECAYDANCE FEST AT THE HAMMERSMITH APOLLO, 2007 “I look back on some moments and realise they were bigger than I noticed at the time. The other bands on that bill - Panic! At The Disco, Gym Class Heroes, The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship - were all bands we’d played with a lot before that and were friends with, so at the time I thought, ‘Every show we do is Decaydance Fest!’ Then that moment in time was gone and I soon realised that it was crazy that we were able to get all those people together to do that show. You don’t necessarily realise you’re part of a thing when you’re part of a thing, so when I think back now, I’m amazed.”

THE LAST GIG BEFORE GOING ON HIATUS AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN, 2009 “It was such a strange show. I had checked out at the time, and was busy thinking about solo stuff, but really I just wanted to make lots of music. One of the things that was crippling was making a record and then going on the road for two years to promote the record. For me, making records is what’s important, so the grind of having to make them so slowly was killing me. I was therefore in a bad space with the band. I think we were out with +44, and I remember Mark [Hoppus] shaving Pete’s head onstage. Pete had the famous haircut and that was the end of it. It was kind of a joke to do that, but it ended up proving to be fairly symbolic, as it really was the end to that whole moment.”

FALL OUT BOY’S FIRST GIG BACK AT SUBTERRANEAN, CHICAGO, 2013 “The whole thing happened so fast and so suddenly! We had a meeting in New York. The four of us met at our manager’s apartment and we talked about maybe getting together and seeing what happened. It was tense, actually, as we hadn’t talked to each other in a long time and there were all these old grievances - but there was also this sense that we were older and wiser. We put together some songs, and one of them was My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up). On the morning of the show, we appeared on a radio show and the whole station felt excited about the song. It felt like the beginning of a rollercoaster. That night, when we played Light Em Up, a song people could only have heard hours ago, the room exploded!”

CO-HEADLINING THE MONUMENTOUR WITH PARAMORE, 2014 “That was one of my favourite tours! Andy and I would do a drum-off, so we got to play together, which was a full-circle thing for me, as I had never got to play drums in front of people with the band before then - so that was fun! I remember thinking on that tour that we were really getting somewhere as a band. Our first show, we were a pretty bad band. For a while in the early days, we wrote better than we played, and we thought better than we wrote. But as time passed things really came together. That tour was a point where we felt that we were really getting somewhere. Plus, the audiences were great on that tour - incredibly excited and giving.”

HEADLINING WRIGLEY FIELD BASEBALL STADIUM IN CHICAGO, 2018 “When I was a kid, the height of my ambition was to play the [1,100-capacity] Metro in Chicago. I never thought in a million years that we’d get to play Wrigley Field - I didn’t even know that bands played there. It’s not a venue, it’s where the Cubs play. I’m still in disbelief that we’ve now played it three times! That doesn’t make any sense to me. The first time we did it was terrifying, but also familiar. We used to have an apartment in Roscoe Village, which is walking distance from Wrigley Field. I remember Pete and I writing [2003 single] Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy together, then we went jogging around Wrigley, and a group of drunk Cubs fans shouted ‘Fucking losers!’ at us. Being inside that structure years later, singing that song, was therefore so surreal.”

HAVING A FREDDIE MERCURY EXPERIENCE HEADLINING READING & LEEDS FESTIVAL, 2018 “I think about that regularly. I’m not a natural performer. I used to act, so I could act as a character, but I couldn’t really be me and sing onstage - that never used to be comfortable for me. I have this very specific memory of This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race. There was this part where I sling my guitar to the stage and I’m just singing and having the crowd sing with me. The way they responded at that point made me suddenly think, ‘Oh, I can do this!’ I remember running towards the audience with the microphone and the life that came back at me just blew me away. When you have an audience like that, you’re Freddie fucking Mercury! I think about that on an almost daily basis when we’re on tour. That song has a whole different life now because of my experiences at Reading & Leeds.”

PLAYING THE HELLA MEGA TOUR WITH GREEN DAY AND WEEZER, 2022 “I couldn’t have been more obsessed with a band than I was with Weezer in 1998-’99, when I was in high school. Then, years later, they’re your buddies and you’re playing with them and they’re playing some of your favourite songs ever. That is so strange. One of my musical origin stories was in fifth grade, when this kid in the middle of class beckoned me over. We snuck under a table, and he puts headphones on me and he plays Dookie. I was like, ‘What is this?!’ On that tour, Billie Joe Armstrong said I was a really good singer. I’m still recovering from that.”

[leifygreeens]

hello! ^_^ can i ask for the bachelors/ettes love languages both giving and receiving thank you! <3

(Gary Chapman, the man who came up with this theory, is a Not Great™ person, and his theory is filled with justification for misogyny and other general weirdness. The podcast If Books Could Kill did a fantastic episode on it in April of 2023, you can find it on Spotify or Apple Podcasts under The 5 Love Languages.)

I had a lot of fun with this! I will admit I kinda ditched the OG categories, but I did stick with the theme and overall you can probably figure out where everyone would land anyway. But MORE IMPORTANTLY, thank you for your request, anon. I appreciate you and I hope you enjoy this! Also this is really fucking long!! Almost 5k words!!! Holy fuck!!!!

Everyone say thank you to my best friend and editor in chief @lendelleaves for helping me with this. (I love you! <3)

Sam is a very tactile person, and I’ve said this before, but like a giant puppy who does not know he is giant, Sam likes sprawling himself all over you, no matter where you are. If you’re lounging anywhere together, his head is in your lap and his thumb is rubbing back and forth over your thigh. There have been many times when he nearly knocked out on top of you on the couches at the saloon, but his favorite place to sprawl all over you is at home.

He often traps you on the couch, and it’ll take a lot of bargaining and bribing to get him up—make no mistake though, he knows when not to push it. Sam is so observant when it comes to family, and he learns to read you quickly. He knows when you’re lying, or when you might be pretending to be okay, and is quickly able to discern whether you need support, or some space. 

When you don’t need space, Sam talks. And talks. And talks. He’ll fill up a silence like nobody’s business, or drag you out to exist in the world when you’re feeling like abandoning everything. When things are really bad though, Sam takes the reins and runs things for you. In the early stages of your relationship, he wasn’t very confident helping around the household, but he’s stepped up, and he’s gotten quite good at it.

Growing up with Jodi as a mother allowed him the space to dick around and act like a slob, and he’s a little ashamed of the way he took advantage of her. You try to remind him he was a teenage boy for a lot of that time, but he’s determined not to continue that cycle, and so his favorite part is cleaning—yes, you heard me right. He loves cleaning, because it makes him feel responsible, and it also lightens your load. When the dishes are cleared after meals, or when he’s taken care to sweep and steam the floors, he adores the feeling of productivity and accomplishment afterward. While he doesn’t expect any praise or compensation for it, he does cherish the moment when you realize you have time to relax (in a clean home, no less). He doesn’t ever want to sense the same regret from you that he did from his mother.

Sebastian struggles with verbal shows of affection, and tends to express his love with actions rather than words, but he’s kind of subtle about it. It took you a while to figure out what he was trying to say when he did these kinds of things. Sebastian is the type to cut up a plate of fruit for you after a long day working on the farm, and hand it to you wordlessly. He’ll help you unlace your work boots, rub any aches or cramps out of your feet, and make you a cup of tea—anything that could help you unwind. 

He loves taking you on dates! He’s taken you quite a few places on his bike, and while he’s not a huge fan of overcrowded places, he can handle them a little more easily with you by his side. You’ve gone bowling, to the arcade, mini-golfing (which he was surprised to find he absolutely sucked at), and to a few theme parks as well. He feels braver with you around, and his confidence has definitely improved since you met. He’s not concerned with the people that stare at you while you’re in public, because he knows without a shred of doubt that you’re not interested. Especially when you buy a funnel cake to share and wipe chocolate from the corner of his lips, or win him cheap plushies at a festival. He’s got a little collection of those going, by the way (and he’s named them all after fantasy characters, obviously).

When you’re not around, Sebastian likes to play some of the voicemails you’ve left him. He never clears them from his inbox, just so he has something to remind him of you when he’s lonely, and it may or may not have resulted in his inbox being completely full more than a few times. In a similar vein, his favorite messages from you are videos and voice notes, and whether you’re telling him about your day, showing off a successful harvest, or just popping in to say hello, he replays every message at least four times before melting into a puddle. 

Sebastian worried you might think it’s creepy, but he has a folder on his computer just dedicated to you, full of photos, videos, and voice recordings. He also has a candid photo of you in his wallet and refuses to talk about it, but one time you showed up at his place and found him sitting on his bed staring at it. You still don’t know how long he was like that for, and he adamantly refutes your claims of seeing him doing it at all. The walls of Seb’s office are covered top to bottom in pictures of you, and you’re pretty sure that all of his devices have you as the homescreen. It’s terribly endearing.

Alex likes spending time with you. Whether it be brushing your teeth together, doing the laundry, or loading up the shipping bin with your products and produce for the day, he’s calm as long as you’re nearby. He likes the physical reminders of your presence as well—stained coffee mugs sitting in the sink after you leave to work in the fields, the residual smell of you clinging to his clothing after you steal it, your personal items scattered around the living room, and anything else you leave in your wake. He wants to spend time with you constantly, but when that isn’t realistic, he walks into the bedroom and flops onto your side of the bed, just to shove his face into your pillow and inhale the smell of you.

When you are together, he’s always holding you. Whether it’s excitedly swinging you around in a circle in the entryway after you get back from work, gluing himself to your back while you waddle around the kitchen making dinner, or even walking through town together, he’s got to have his arms around you in some way. Granted, he’s not huge on PDA, unless someone stares at you too long and he wants to make a point, but he loves hugs, and especially playing with your hands! Rubbing his thumbs over the backs of your hands, threading and rethreading your fingers together, swinging your hands back and forth while walking through town, and making sure to remind you about the existence of hand cream when it’s the thick of winter.

Granny Evelyn was always very pointedly teaching him how to take care of his personal hygiene, so you can trust that he learned from the best of the best. When he is messing with your hands, you often find him admiring your calluses. He loves how strong your hands are; he says it’s a testament to your hard work and dedication. 

His life is so much better with you in it, and he’s finally comfortable just existing. Of course he still cares about gridball, but the guilt he felt about never going pro has dissipated, and he’s perfectly content in his life with you. He does wish he could’ve properly introduced you to his mom, but when you smile down at him in the morning, he likes to think the sunlight kissing the top of your head through the window is his mother’s way of showing her approval.

Elliott has a wonderful way with words, but if you want my professional opinion, this man gets tongue tied whenever you’re too forward with him. The more blunt you are, the more red in the face he gets. He’s always up in the clouds, and having someone like you there to ground him so solidly in reality switches his entire perception of love and attraction. It’s such a strong juxtaposition, against what he thought he liked, that many tropes within the romance genre have actually started to irritate him—love at first sight is probably the worst offender—and it affects the way he writes his own characters as well. 

Make no mistake, he’s still very much head-over-heels for you, but he doesn’t idolize you the way he did when you first met. There’s something so overwhelmingly human about you, to him, and he loves every part of it. 

So, he compliments you constantly—but almost always about something mundane or silly. The way your eyes look all droopy and clouded with sleep in the mornings, the way toothpaste surrounds your mouth while you’re brushing your teeth, or when you occasionally get your jacket pocket caught on a door handle and get jerked back with the force of hurricane level winds—and once, when you were struggling to put on your boots before a full day of work, and you tripped and toppled over in the entryway. You made the silliest sound as you went down, and even though he was quick to help you up and check you over for any potential bumps or bruises, he was laughing fondly to himself for the rest of the day. 

Even the way you look rumpled and filthy after a long trip in the mines makes him soft, and he always makes sure to tell you how wonderful you are. With your influence, he’s allowed himself to abandon his forced persona of perfection, and he’s never felt so authentic and comfortable in himself. He’s free to just be, and he’s eternally grateful to you, because you’ve shown him what love is supposed to be.

Shane always checks on the animals with you in the mornings, and he likes the physical labor that comes with repairing things or clearing debris from the farm on the first day of a new season. He’ll happily repair a fence or pathing, and he’s becoming more of a DIY expert himself the longer he lives on the farm with you. Shane is aware of how overworked you were when it was just you running the farm, and taking half of the shit off your plate makes him feel productive and useful—it gives him a little more purpose. He feels guilty about some of the habits he’s still holding on to, sometimes, but waking up next to you every day reminds him just how much makes life worth living. 

He gets a little down when there’s nothing to do on the farm, so if you want him to have a little more pep in his step, you know to ask him to do the usual chores while you dive down into the mines for the day. You do this the most often in winter, when the crops in the greenhouse aren’t ready for harvesting. He’s grateful for the work, and the knowledge that you trust him to take care of things while you’re fighting monsters makes him feel fulfilled. 

After a long day in the fields and with the animals, he likes lounging around before bed with you. His cheeks get so pink when you rub his back and give him massages, and when you shove a hand under his shirt while cuddling to rub his belly. He enjoys talking to you about anything and everything, and there have been a few late mornings because the two of you stayed up past midnight talking. 

He’s gotten pretty good at cooking, too! With all the extra time and a lot more of a sense of purpose in his life, he’s allowed himself to build interest in things he didn’t used to have the energy or time for, and that includes cooking. Make no mistake, he’s still comfortable with popping a frozen dinner in the microwave when neither of you have the time or energy to make a meal from scratch, but he’s become quite the chef! He tries to cook dinner for the two of you at least a few times a week, and he melts a little inside when you do the food dance after trying any of his recipes. He’ll smile so wide, and the tips of his ears will turn peachy-pink if you dare compliment his cooking, so you make sure to do it as often as possible. 

Harvey is always feeding you and making sure you’re dressed appropriately for the weather. He will absolutely run out the door after you in his robe and slippers if you forget a scarf, and a portion of your backpack space is reserved for the lunchboxes he makes you in the mornings. When you come back from the mines, regardless of how well it went or not, you have to let him give you a mini-checkup. He will not be able to sleep soundly if you don’t let him look you over, and he will nag you the entire time. He’s never mean about it, and he doesn’t treat you like a child, but it typically lasts fifteen to twenty minutes, and he might get weepy if he finds out you’ve been hurt. 

He’s just afraid for your safety, and he doesn’t want his life to go back to the dull and lonely repetitiveness it was before. Despite all of that, though, he’s calmed down quite a bit. He still has anxiety, but he’s no longer choked by it, and he’s relieved to have someone in his corner who can help ground him when his brain gets a little too ramped up.

He’s still totally socially awkward, though. He loves to hold your hand, but can’t do much more than that in public, because all of his blood rushes to his face and it makes him dizzy. He loves taking walks on the beach with you, and is the type to draw a heart in the sand with a stick and put your initials in it, but he’ll immediately scribble it out if you make a big deal out of it. 

In private, Harvey is a huge fan of parallel play activities; if you’re at the dining table reading a book, he’s probably going over medical papers or reading about fighter planes beside you. He doesn’t usually speak during these quiet moments, but occasionally he’ll reach over to grab your free hand and pull it up to his lips for a quick kiss. If you whine about needing your hand back, he purposely tickles your hand with his mustache and won’t let you pull away until he gets a real, full smile out of you. Since being with you, his life has become more rich and lively, and he gets more excited about things that would’ve gotten nothing more than a mild smile out of him in the past. You really have changed his whole life.

Maru pays really close attention to anything you express the slightest interest in. If you mention a particular candy that you’ve become obsessed with, she buys a full box the next day. If you mention liking a particular recipe, she’ll make it as often as possible until you get sick of it, and then she’ll move onto the next interest. The few times you took her to the city to visit your family, she made sure to take note of anything you looked at twice in any shop so she could buy it for you later. She’s surprised you with plenty of gifts this way, but there have also been a few times where she made the thing herself, and was very proud to say that her version was both better and worked smoother. 

Your farm has become a lot more automated, due to the sheer amount of tech and machines she’s built. She wants to make the harvesting process as smooth and as light in labor as possible, so that you have more time for yourself and your interests. She watched her mother’s physical state deteriorate over the years due to how often she’s lugging giant logs around, and doesn’t want the same thing to happen to you, so she’s constantly looking for new ways to lighten your load. 

She loves info dumping about her newest inventions or discoveries, and her favorite shared activity is stargazing. You commissioned Robin for a rooftop deck shortly after moving in together, and there have been many nights spent up there, with you pointing out different stars to Maru and allowing her to go on and on about nebulae, star systems, and giant interstellar clouds. She loves answering all of your questions, and never belittles you for not knowing something, or for asking an “obvious” question. It helps her brush up on her own knowledge as well! 

Beyond that, she likes roping you into shitty movie marathons. She’ll pop a few bags of popcorn and get out several bowls of snacks, and maybe if you’re feeling frisky she may just bust out a bottle of wine to enjoy between the two of you. She doesn’t think the movies are fantastic, but that’s the point! Her favorite parts are when she looks over at you after a particularly ridiculous scene, and she gets to watch you go through the five stages of grief in as many seconds. You’ve created a fair amount of inside jokes through this little ritual of yours, and it always makes her laugh, no matter how ridiculous the references are.

Penny takes immense care of the farmhouse, and loves decorating and redecorating your spaces. She’s always looking for the coziest pillows, or the prettiest wallpaper, and she includes you in every step of the process. If there’s anything you don’t jive with, or something you want to get done on the house but can never get to with all the other work you’re constantly doing, have no fear, because Penny will either find a contractor (Robin) to complete the project, or she’ll pick up a hammer and do it herself. 

She likes being a homemaker, and she’s good at it, and seeing you enjoy or react positively to any renovations and additions will make her whole month. You especially enjoy the home library she’s curated, because it’s by far the coziest room in the house, and because that’s where she loves to read to you—it’s something of a nightly routine for you both. After you’re finished getting ready for bed, she’ll sit on the thrifted chaise she restored, wait for you to get comfortable against her shoulder, and she’ll read until you’re sleepy enough to go to bed. (Sometimes you do pass out in there though.)

Your library is full of annotated books she’s given you, though she uses sticky notes to avoid writing directly on the pages, she will write an inscription inside the front cover with a short address to you about why she thought you’d like it. It’s pretty sweet, especially when she gives you romance books and explains with bright red cheeks that the main love interest reminded her of you. That’s always a cute moment, even though you’re a little shit sometimes and will quote the love interest in private moments, just to fluster her.

Penny secretly likes it, though—especially when you try to woo her. Whether it be with roses, dates, gifts, or flowery words, she loves every bit of it. Even though you’re together and she isn’t going anywhere, you don’t abandon those habits later on, and it reassures her. She initially figured the effort would be too much for someone as busy as you, but you always make time and plan romantic things for her, and she’s happy to know that her romance novels aren’t wholly fictional. You’re living proof of that.

Abigail has softened up quite a bit during her relationship with you. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still pretty passionate and bullheaded, but overall, she’s much calmer. She’s comfortable being herself and doesn’t feel the need to get defensive about who she is or what her interests are anymore, and it’s opened up a lot of avenues of self expression for her. She tries new things all the time, and she’s never shy about sharing her experiences or the results of them, because she knows you’re not going to judge her for it.

But because she feels so secure with you, she’s much more comfortable showing affection without fear of rejection or humiliation. That said, she stares at you a lot. Before you may have gotten a pillow launched at your face for bringing it up, but now she’s perfectly okay with being caught. She actually uses it to her advantage most of the time, and will take the opportunity to compliment you, like, “What, I can’t stare at the love of my life?” 

She loves flustering you. It’s mostly genuine, but she does do it just to be a little shit sometimes. When you play video games together (especially ones where you’re competing), she’ll grab your face and pull you into a kiss just to get ahead. It works 90% of the time, even when you know what she’s trying to do. She thinks it’s really cute, and loves seeing you get all worked up when she messes with you like that, but sometimes she does get lost in it and will abandon the game entirely.

On a more serious note, Abigail never lets you go down into the mines without her. She hates having to hear from Harvey, and she’d rather be there with you to prevent any accidents or injuries. It’s easier to get through the shafts with a second pair of eyes and another sword handy, so you’re alright with it—and another upside is that you’re never short on ore and coal anymore. When you get out of the mines afterward, she always suggests a dip in the spa. It helps you both relax and recuperate after a lengthy trip, and she gets to see you in a swimsuit. She may like the second part more, but hey, can you blame her? She thinks you’re hot, let her stare a bit more.

Haley is extremely tactile with her affection—she was pretty embarrassed about it at first, and tried to keep it at bay initially, but it caused some problems early on and that talk was not fun, so she doesn’t repress it anymore. If she wants to kiss you, she’ll ask for it, and the same can be said for any other physical affection. She wants you as close as possible a lot of the time, and when you do meet her need for touch, she all but turns into a cat.

She’ll push her face as far into your chest as it’ll go, latch herself onto your torso with all her strength, and if she’s feeling particularly goofy, she’ll jump into your arms like a koala. It’s very silly (and incredibly endearing), and she always giggles uncontrollably when you drop everything you’re doing to support her weight. She always warns you beforehand, and she does know when it isn’t safe or appropriate, so rest assured nothing goes wrong when she does decide to launch herself at you. Her favorite part about those moments is when you finally get a good grip on her. Again, she’s a tactile lover first and foremost, so your touch is going to make her happy no matter what. 

Besides touch, she likes how little you care about her appearance—make no mistake, she does appreciate when you take notice of all the effort she puts into her appearance—but she loves it when you wake her up in the mornings with a kiss, uncaring of her morning breath and eye crust. Like, sure, she grew up attractive and wealthy, and that meant she was popular, but it also meant she was highly criticized for everything she did. She could never have a blemish, a single hair out of place, or an embarrassing moment, and if she did, she’d be verbally torn to shreds. Always the topic of gossip, she learned to close herself off and pretend, pretend, pretend; but with you, she doesn’t need to.

She doesn’t feel the need to go to sleep with a full-face of makeup on, the way she did when she spent the night at her previous boyfriends’ places, and she’s perfectly content lounging around the house with a bare face and a tangled bun piled on top of her head. She can make all the hideous faces she needs to when applying her makeup and not agonize over whether you’ll still love her afterward. You’ve allowed her the space to let loose and let herself be imperfect, and it’s comfortable. She’s happier than she’s ever been, and a lot of it is thanks to you.

Leah is an artist, and it permeates her entire life—including the ways she loves you. She wants to make art out of you in a million ways, especially tactile ones, like braiding your hair or helping you dress yourself. She frequently stops you at the door before you head out for work, and she’ll fix your shirt collar or put your hat on for you, and adjust your hair until it lays perfectly.

She has paintings of you scattered around the house, but they aren’t always portraits. If you look hard enough, you can find hints of her love for you in all the art she creates; a canvas covered in your favorite flowers, a picture painted only with your favorite color, or subtle snapshots of your life together. She does have a portrait of you above her work desk, though, and it is by far her favorite piece. (She has rejected multiple offers for it, and she always will.)

She loves working on her art projects while you watch, and it’s become something of an inconsistent routine for the both of you. It started after dinner one night, when she was cracking down on a deadline for a commission, but you still wanted to keep her company. Not wanting to leave you hanging, she grabbed two glasses of wine, and you sat comfortably on her studio couch while she painted the piece for her client. She never demands silence from you in these moments, but when you are quiet, it’s easier for her to fall into the cozy atmosphere. Her work often feels less stressful with you watching, because if she gets overwhelmed or irritated with stubborn mediums, she can just flop next to you and take her mind off of the problem.

When you’re not home and she has no immediate commissions, she paints tiny hidden meadows on your furniture: on the bottom leg of your dining table, the inside door of a dish cabinet, the underside of your desk, the top of your front door, and even around the farm as well. She’s always so excited when you find another mini-meadow, and it’s like a special treasure hunt for the two of you. She’s gotten pretty good at hiding them, and she’s quite sneaky about it—except for the one time she fell into the pig pen trying to paint on the rafters in the barn—but that’s neither here nor there. (Don’t let her find the picture on your phone!)

Emily is like a crow. You’ve developed a mini collection of random trinkets, rocks, sea glass, shells, and feathers over the course of your relationship, all found and gifted to you by Emily. She sees a pretty shiny thing and immediately thinks of you. Sometimes she follows you around during your daily errands, just to keep you company. She absolutely steps in to lighten your load when you need it (or rather, when you let her), but usually she’s fine just listening to you talk, and vice versa.

She also likes taking care of you. Emily makes her own homemade soap and body oils, and if you’re ever worn out after a particularly long day, she’ll set up a mini-spa for you, and pamper you for however long it takes to wring out any lingering aches and pains. She’ll bust out dried flower petals and draw a bath for you, making sure to light candles and turn on a diffuser filled with calming oils to help you relax while you bathe. She doesn't want you to lift a single finger, and she may go so far as to dress and feed you after a bath; she likes to use warming oils and massage your entire body before bed. It’s both very vulnerable and incredibly relaxing—but that is her goal, after all—and she always finishes off her pampering with a healthy dose of kisses pressed all over your face.

While not everyone has as strong a connection to the spiritual side of the world, Emily does—and she likes sharing that with the people she cares about. Regardless of whether or not someone believes in the same things she does, she likes to look over your birth chart and horoscopes together, and sometimes she’ll do a tarot card reading for you, just for fun. She’s aware that people think she’s weird for being into these things, but you’ve never shut her down or made fun of her for her interests, and she’s both grateful and overwhelmed by how it makes her feel. No one else has taken such care to understand her, and she feels safe enough to be her most authentic self when you’re around each other. 

It’s also why she likes to dance with you! Whether it be a little dance-off in the kitchen while you’re preparing dinner together, or a slow dance in the living room, or even acting like nutcases at the saloon after a few too many drinks, she’ll have fun as long as it’s with you. She always has fun when it’s with you.

[caarpenters]

POISON

amber freeman x reader based on this request.

summary: the only one that can have you is amber.

rating: mature so minors DNI. beneath the cut there is unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, and jealousy-fueled murder.

word count: 1,188 words

© caarpenters 2023

Wes Hicks vexed Amber Freeman more than she cared to admit. Not because of his borderline concerning level of paranoia. Not because of his deep-seated motherly issues. Not because of his horridly box-dyed blonde hair. Not even because of his deep attachment to her friend, Tara Carpenter. No, her vexation toward Wes could be traced back to one thing and one thing only: you, Y/N L/N. As of late, Wes had grown close to you, too close. He trailed after you like a dog with a bone, happily taking any scrap of attention you threw his way. For a time, his antics had been annoying, nothing more. Eventually, though, you began to inadvertently entertain those antics, to entertain him under the belief that he treated you the same way he did the rest of your friend group. You seemingly did not notice that the only friend he walked to and from class was you. You did not notice how whenever he stole a hug, he lingered just a moment too long, soaking in your warmth and taking in your all too sweet smell through his nostrils. Amber noticed, though. She noticed it all, and it sparked an anger within her that she had not known herself capable of. 

Because you were hers. You had always been hers. Her friend, her steadying force, her person. You were the first person she had met when her family moved to Woodsboro all those years ago. She had been out playing in her yard, messing around with her collection of Chucky dolls, when you had ridden up on your rickety old bike and offered her the brightest smile she had ever seen, a smile that had rivaled the sun in intensity. You had asked to play with her Tiffany doll, the bride of Chucky, and that alone had been enough for her to know in her bones that you two were well-suited. Most children your age had frowned upon the dolls, deeming them creepy, but not you. You adored them, treating them with as much care as Barbie dolls or action figures were treated. 

From that day, you and Amber had been thick as thieves, being one half of the other, which was why she could not tolerate Wes trying to weasel his way between the two of you. How would she handle him? Well, a more sane person would have likely come off with a lie, would have spread gossip meant to sully his name and ruin your perception of him.  You were so good, though, so forgiving, so mere gossip would not be enough. Perhaps that was why when Richie Kirsch proposed a dark, blood-bathed plan to recreate the 1990s Woodsboro killings, she agreed without hesitation or regret. If pushed for her motive, she would without a doubt chalk it up to her love of the Stab franchise. She knew it is not that simple, though, for when Richie proposed his list of victims, she wasted no time in adding Wes to the list. C'mon, Richie. It'll add shock value. He's the son of a legacy character, after all, she had pointed out, even though Judy Hicks could hardly be considered as such. She had, in Amber's opinion, contributed little, the same way that her son had. Richie had thought her important, though, for he had agreed and added him to the list of victims.

That was why now, Amber waited outside of the Hicks residence, donning the typical Ghostface costume. The black material of the robe felt hot against her skin, itchy, but the knife felt right in her hand, its hold so comfortable that it felt as though it was made for her. From the shadows of the porch, she waited, anticipation strumming wildly through her veins. Richie was on the phone now, no doubt, luring Judy back to the house. She could put up a fight, could try her best to preserve her son’s life force, but her efforts would be for naught; her son had sealed his own fate when he had tried to take you, to steal you from Amber. Did he really think that she would sit idly by and let it happen? No, it was not in her nature to do so. To take such a profound loss sitting down was weak, and she was not weak, not when it came to you.

When Judy pulled into the driveway and ran up to the front door, her face a storm of fear, Amber jumped out, emerging from the shadows like a harbinger of death. And oh, what a perfect harbinger she was, for she mercilessly stabbed Judy, delivering upon her one devastating slash after the other. It was a wonder that she had ever become the sheriff of Woodsboro, because she went down easy, so easy. 

Her son went down even easier.

After slaying Judy, Amber left her lying there in a river of her own blood to be found. That was exactly what Wes did, for as if sensing something was amiss, he pulled open the front door of the house and was met by a most horrid sight: the lifeless, cut-up body of the woman who had given him life, who had cared for him when no one else had. Unbidden, a grief-stricken cry tore its way out of his throat as he threw the door closed, trying to prevent the killer from getting in. Little did he know that Amber was already in the house, watching him, waiting. He leant against the doorframe, wheezing from a mixture of pain and fear. “Oh, God. Oh, God,” became a litany, the only words he seemed capable of . . . until Amber came out, her knife poised, aiming for his neck. In an act of pure desperation, his hands flew out, catching hold of the knife before it could make contact with his neck. “Fuck you,” he gasped as they struggled, fighting for control of the knife. He was distressed, willing to do whatever it took to survive, but she – she was incensed, rage incarnate. Months of pent-up vexation and jealousy came out, giving her the strength to win, to gain back control. This saw the knife plunging into his neck, immediately stealing away his breath and drawing out his scarlet blood. “No, fuck you,” she snapped, her tones cold as ice. The voice, it was her own, not that of Ghostface. “Now, die like the pussy you are.”

And he did . . . It was oh so satisfying to Amber.

Wes’ death seemed to hit you hard, to cause great pain to overcome you, which was why Amber stayed loyally by your side, doing everything she could to ensure that you were okay, that her actions did not break you. Little did she know that you took notice whenever she snuck away, believing herself to be discreet. You knew what she had done, but could not bring yourself to care all that much. Wes held no true place in your heart, after all, not the way that she did. And, perhaps, deep down, you knew that his murder, unlike the others, had been personal . . .

i HC amber as a child's play stan. idk why, it just makes sense, so here's a bonus fact: one year, for halloween, y/n and amber wear matching chucky and tiffany costumes. you can decide who wears which.

ALSO i know richie killed wes, but i changed it for the sake of this one-shot.

sign-off template.

[pinkpogiclub]

comprehensive list of my favorite cycling moments in no particular order

the Mont Ventoux incident: twelfth stage of the 2016 tour de france. Sir Chris Froome is comfortbaly leading both the stage and the GC, wearing the maillot jaune. Less than 1k to go and the unthinkable happens: too many people are standing on the road and one of the motorbikes at the front suddenly brakes, resulting in one insane shot of Richie Porte face-planting against the camera. The result? Both Bauke Mollema and Chris Froome crash (no injuries for them, luckily) and Chris Froome's bike BREAKS. PANIC. It's very important to note that at this point team cars are stuck behind and are unable to reach him (both because of the narrow street and the absolutely staggerig amount of people there). So what does Chris Froome do? He starts running marathon style, ready to defend his advantage on the other GC guys tooth and nail. In the end he did keep his lead (after a bike swap from hell and twenty minutes under an amount of stress that could have killed a horse) but BOY was it an Experience to watch live.

the tiny couch of Milano-Sanremo 2023: otheriwise known as the one bed trope cycling adaptation and, in my opinion, a mandatory addition to every post-race waiting room. Not a single person on this couch wanted to be there apart from pippo, who was doing a very bad job at hiding his amusement. Look at this, incredible.

Lorenzo Fortunato's win and Alberto Contador's consequent metal breakdown: overall an incredibly wholesome moment from the 2021 Giro D'Italia. Lorenzo Fortunato (then 25 years old, relatively new and upcoming rider) attacks on the Zoncolan, one of the most famous and gruelling climbs of the Giro: everybody’s rooting for the kid, who then goes on to win the stage all by himself, reaching the top through apocalyptic weather. Admirable, right? Well, while all this was unfolding, Alberto Contador (who was at the time Eolo-Kometa's team manager) was live on Insta pacing around and having an absolute Moment on camera, literally hyperventilating and crying, begging everything and everyone for his protegé to win. He then went on to promise to ride from Pinto (his hometown) to Milan as a celebration. Iconic.

Sepp Kuss' Vuelta victory: AKA the birth of a legend and of my personal GC Kuss agenda. Vuelta de España, 2023: domestique extraoirdinaire Sepp Kuss wins his first stage and he's VERY elated about it (as we all are, tbh), smiling and high-fiving people even before crossing the finish line. On the podium he truly becomes man of the people by chugging down half a bottle of champagne without batting an eye: man of the people right there. By this point no one is really thinking anything of it, we’re all just vibing, happy for a rider who is partecipating in his THIRD CONSECUTIVE Grand Tour of the year. But THEN. It slowly starts becoming clearer and clearer that Jumbo-Visma (rip) has not one, not two, but THREE (3) possible final GC contenders, which is alone a very bonkers concept. In the end Sepp manages to keep the lead despite what looks like a messy (?) situation management from Jumbo-Visma and a stage finish on Angliru where the Jumbo-Vismen seem to be riding all for themselves, sprinting away from Sepp. All in all a display of incredible strenght by both the team (winner of ALL three Grand Tours with THREE DIFFERENT riders. INSANE) and Sepp himself.

Last time trial stage of the 2020 Tour de France: I could easily write a PHD thesis about this day alone. NOTHING encapsulates the drama of sports quite like this particular moment. In one already very odd Tour de France, ridden in mid-September due to Covid restrictions, Primož Roglic absolutely DOMINATES the GC from the very beginning: his team is strong and he keeps the yellow jersey up until the end, to the point where nobody really expects anything major to happen. Cue Tadej Pogačar (called by the italian commentators "il ragazzino terribile" aka "the terrible boy"), fellow countryman of Primož: he’s won a couple of stages and he's shown his worth, finding himself in a very honorable second place in the GC with a 57'' gap from the leader. Which could mean nothing. SO. Here comes the final TT, the very last chance for riders to try and make up some time before Paris: Primož is an excellent TT rider and he's got enough time over Tadej, which should grant him a comfortable victory or, at least, not too much lost time, right? WRONG. OH BOY. Tragedy unfolds as soon as Tadej starts his race and makes it clear that he's out for BLOOD: he clearly doesn't care about second place, he wants the yellow!!!!!! And so we're stuck at home, watching silently as this KID slowly makes up time, second by painful second, all while Primož is having the mother of all shit days on the bike, struggling so much that it becomes harder and harder for him to maintain his hard-earned lead. Tadej goes on to win the stage (surpassing Tom Dumoulin and Wout van Aert, who had both ridden an incredible TT) and, more importantly, his fist Tour at just 21 years old. I still get chills thinking about it. Fun fact: in Paris, Tadej wil also wear both the white and the polka-dot jersey. Totally normal behaviour.

Giulio Ciccone and his close call with excommunication: Tirreno-Adriatico 2023. Giulio is giving out an interview to a fellow italian journalist after the stage, when suddenly one team car speeds up behind him and very narrowly misses him, almost clipping his bike in the process. The result is Giulio breathing life into the infamous "porca mado.....nza", which is a revised version of an extremely NASTY type of blasphemy against the virgin mary. Iconic in its own way, threatened to take down catholicism as a whole in one clean swoop. 10/10.

Geraint Thomas' leadout for Mark Cavendish: last stage of the 2023 Giro d'Italia, Geraint Thomas has made peace with the fact that he’s lost his chance at winning La maglia Rosa. The peloton is steadily approaching the finish line and sprinters are getting ready to give it all for the win: suddenly, we see Geraint Thomas putting himself right in front of the leading group, effectively becoming Mark Cavendish's leadout man, guiding him to a beautiful final win in Rome (mind you, this was supposed to be Mark's last year before retirement). They're not teammates, so Geraint Thomas had no reason to do it except for the fact that he's known Mark for the better part of twenty years and he wanted to help him: INSANE narratives, we all cried at the sight of the two old men embracing eachother like little kids. SIGH

2023 Road-Race World Championship. This place has everything: rainy weather, beautiful landscapes, highland cows, Mathieu van der Poel taking a dump in a newly renovated house, childhood rivals standing together on a podium, Pogi in neon green. Also known as the day Mathieu van der Poel went from Good Rider to Insane Supernatural Being: from attacking with 20k to go in what probably was the hardest course ever designed in a Road Race World Championship ever, falling down while all the team cars were unreachable, tearing off a piece of his own fucked up shoe because it was bothering him, to winning while sopping wet and crying. INSANE. Bonus: this absurd newspaper front page that I wish I had framed in my living room.

[norafaye]

ˋ°•*⁀➷ BLACK CHERRY KISSES ˊ˗

re2!claire redfield x fem!reader

contains ─┈ · · · 18+, explicit : modern!au, exhibitionism(?), use of petnames e.g. (babe, honey), she fingers you on her bike...that's all, that's the blurb. wc : 500+

a/n ─┈ · · · annnd it’s back up!

꒰ 𖥻masterlist ꒱

CLAIRE REDFIELD hit the kill switch of her red harley davidson moments ago. stopped in some dingy alleyway, darkness surrounded you both on the cold breezy night of raccoon city—with one streetlight illuminating the two of you doing something so...tainted, so impure.

she was sat perched and confident on the seat of the bike while you were infront of her—back laying flat against the gastank, legs draping over the fat of her thighs. the only thing that heated your body up came from her long slender fingers pushing in and out of your dripping folds.

"Claire—hah!… not so rough."

you don't know how you got in this situation... okay, maybe you did. but with her digits curling with every pump it was the last thing you cared about as your brain succumbs to the mind-boggling pleasure.

“isn’t this what you wanted babe?” she licks the pad of her thumb on her unoccupied hand before bringing it to rub circles on your clit, “couldn’t have waited ‘till we got home hm?”

ah right.

you were backpacking her as she drove, intending to take you both home as it was getting late after your little date night but she just felt so supple and cozy in your arms that you were unable of resisting at pawing at her under the leather jacket that she wore. she was like a missing puzzle piece, fitting in-front of you perfectly while you snuggled behind her tightly.

"i-i should say the same about you,” you stammer breathlessly, the helmet over your head muffles your voice and covers the teasing grin plastered on your face, "should've ignored me—mmh!…and kept cruising."

"i can't. not with you touching me like that.”

walls fluttering from her words you moan out as she continues to plunge her fingers in your hole. it was messy. so wet. her hand was covered in creamy clear liquid, it encased down her palm and trickles below onto the pretty cherry red metal underneath your plush ass. the sounds of your broken whimpers and the squelching of your pussy makes her grind her hips onto the seat—getting excessively wet herself.

her own helmet was thrown and forgotten somewhere on the floor before she pursued this, so your eyes were able to catch her furrowed brows and awed expression through your tinted visor.

"you're s’pretty Claire."

she flashes a genuine smile your way, circling your clit with added pressure gaining you to clamp down on her fingers. leaning in close, she kissed the helmet that separates you from feeling her plump lips, "i should say the same about you."

with her using your own words against you, a giggle comes from you, the teasing banter never ceases even while you two decide to get intimate—that even while she was mere knuckles deep inside of you, she manages to make the moment so heartfelt and memorable. you loved this about your girlfriend, how she was able to reciprocate the fondness you carried for her—giving it back to you only ten times stronger to show her deep devotion and appreciation she has for you.

it seems like you both just couldn't restrain yourselves from eachother.

with your head thrown back just seconds later, you're keening so sweetly due to the orgasm building up in your core from the tender treatment, "you're gonna make me come.”

"then come, honey."

© 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞 2023 please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works. reposting on other media platforms is prohibited.

— reblogs, comments, & feedback are appreciated!

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2024 Round-Up Post | Week 4

On Sundays during our posting period, we won't post a new work, instead you have time to catch up with the works that posted during the week and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators.

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information. Thank you!

PPS: Please share far and wide! Thank you!!

***

Podfic

***

"My Big Fat Weasley Wedding" by slyth_princess

Prompt: “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, 2002, Joel Zwick Written by: slyth_princess Narrated by: Anonymous Podfic Length: 07:17:21 Rating: Mature Warnings: None

Summary: A decade after the war, Harry Potter is lost. There was a time when he knew exactly who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted. He is not that man anymore. Until one day he decides he is done. No more wearing clothes that don't fit, stuck in a job that was meant to be temporary, and simply coasting through his life. He has a plan. And, unsurpisingly, every single Weasley and honourary Weasley seems to have an opinion about it. But it's fine. Harry knows he is doing the right thing.

What he didn't plan for, however, was to find love in the most unexpected place. And with the most unexpected person. Still, it's going to be fine. Like he said, he has a plan. Weasley opinions be damned. He's got it all under control. Doesn't he?

Featuring a million Weasleys, a daft labrador, and a whole bunch of people just trying to figure out their lives.

Listen to it now on AO3.

***

Fic

***

drag the past out into the light

Prompt: "Se7en", 1995, David Fincher Prompted by: MoonyEmilie3017 (ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 20,796 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: There's a serial killer stalking magical London. The murders are gruesome, bizarre, and somehow connected to the Voldemort wars. Auror Harry Potter is paired up with an analyst from the Department of Mysteries to piece together the clues in the killer's unsettling game before they kill again.

The good news? This analyst is the best one on offer. The bad news? It's Draco Malfoy.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Count On Me

Prompt: "Put Your Head On My Shoulder", 2019, Netflix Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 23,044 words Rating: General Audiences Warnings: fake dating, forced cohabitation

Summary: University students Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy run into each other one day. Literally. On bikes. After that, they can't get away from each other, no matter how hard they try. And then, it seems, they might not want to. Based heavily on the C-Drama "Put Your Head On My Shoulder" on Netflix.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Theme and Variations

Prompt: "Rush", 2013, Ron Howard Prompted by: @sleepstxtic Author: Anonymous Word Count: 24,890 words Rating: Mature Warnings: brief mentions of (canonical) child abuse

Summary: Draco had fucked him over, yet again. Harry was sick of it.

With music swelling from the orchestra below, lights beating down on him hard enough to break a sweat before the first variation, the audience rapt with attention, this should have been the greatest moment of Harry’s life. But it wasn’t. Of course Draco fucking Malfoy had to ruin this for him too.

Harry took a shaking breath and began to dance.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Happiness Seems to be Loneliness

Prompt: "Saltburn", 2023, Emerald Fennell Prompted by: @themiddleofwonderland (Amazuppai on ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 29,811 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unhinged Harry Potter, Dark Harry Potter, Obsessive Harry Potter, Character Death, Animal Death, Fat Shaming, Minor Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Inspired by Saltburn (2023), References to Frankenstein, Necrophilia, Off-scene suicide (mentioned)

Summary: Fucking Pansy was like fucking a fish. or Drarry meets Saltburn

Read it now on AO3.

***

Love Will Abide

Prompt: "The Last of Us", Episode 3: "Long, Long Time", 2023 Prompted by: @somethingveryodd (newskyillusion on ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 39,547 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death, Suicide

Summary: Harry and Draco survive the apocalypse. This is what happens after.

Read it now on AO3.

***

White, Blonde & British

Prompt: “Red, White & Royal Blue”, 2023, Matthew Lopez Prompted by: Moon_Peach Author: Anonymous Word Count: 40,058 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Mentions of death, drug and alcohol use and abuse, homophobia, racism, discrimination

Summary: Prince Draco Malfoy is known all over the world as “The Modern Day Prince Charming”, ask anyone - well, anyone except for Harry Potter, first son of the Indian president and (self) sworn rival of said stuck-up, snobbish prince.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Creator reveals are on 15 June.

[ravennaortiz]

Elf in Templo

Summary: Bonus content from A Mayans Christmas 2023 Day 29: Elf. Requested by @darqchilddaydreamz Word Count ~2300

Bishop is being terrorized by what he believes to be a demon.

The first time Bishop saw the devil was in the early morning hours as it sat a top his bike. Bishop had been awoken by something and saw lights out front. Grabbing his gun he had walked through his darkened house until he could peer through the window of his porch. There he sat illuminated by a bright light before everything went dark and when the light came back he was gone.

Bishop figured he had put back one to many Inferno Whiskys at the club with the boys and that his mind was playing tricks on him. The next morning though he had found a small note taped to the handle bars of his bike. "I saw you peeking. Very Naughty". Bishop pondered the note before setting off for the clubhouse figuring it was just neighborhood kids up to mischief.

The next couple of days he caught glimpses of the devil and heard his eerie giggles and loud thumping foot steps. Always tempting him to follow into the darkness at the clubhouse when he was shutting it up or taunting him to come out of his house late at night. Bishop wondered what he had done to bring on this creature of what he presumed was death. Notes kept appearing either typed or written in paint occasionally drawn in white powder on tables and floors. They were innocent enough but Bishop could see them for the thinly veiled threats they were. Logic could not prevail because none of his men saw or heard the devil or any of the messages.

One day the little psycho had lit the whole bar top on fire and not a single man batted an eye as the flames spread and the pyromaniac demon darted off into the back storage room. The only commentary had been from Angel and Gilly after Bishop had emptied the fire extinguisher.

Bishop wasn't sleeping well and was hyper alert at all times. His home had become a battleground as well. He would go to use the sink and the sprayer would be taped, salt and sugar were switched around. Windows opened and doors closed on their own and little foot prints and sprinkles littered the floors and counters. Nowhere it seemed was safe. Bishop recalled trying to use the bathroom at the clubhouse and finding the seat to have been lined with popper fireworks

Eight days after the siege began the devil tried to take one of his men but Bishop had prevailed. It was a day like any other. Templo was in session and coming to a close when Bishop heard it. The eerie childlike giggle of his adversary. His men were all still discussing matters and did not seem to hear anything amiss. Looking around he spotted the devil descending from the ceiling with a large butcher knife in his tiny gloved hands over Gilly. With cat like reflexes Bishop launched himself across the table causing the room to erupt into chaos. Drinks, men and bullets went flying as Bishop shouted he has a knife get down as he started shooting. After several minutes of adrenaline pumping chaos Bishop started laughing manically as he picked up the bullet ridden devil off the table as his men stared wide eyed from where they had taken care of. "I told you all he was real!" shouted Bishop as he dangled the creature before discarding the body in the trash and leaving the room.

Later that night

"We should probably stop right?" inquired EZ as he sipped his beer as he sat across from his brother Angel at Gillys house. "I mean.... like someone could have been hurt or killed today" he added as the other two men remained silent. "I say we double down. Resurrect the little motherfucker" stated Angel as he grinned. He was having to much fun with this weird Christmas elf to stop now when it was getting good. "I agree with Angel" replied Gilly as he chuckled. "Besides I got like ten more of these guys" he added as EZ shook his head. "We should warn his wife" stated EZ knowing she would be back from her business trip tomorrow night. "Nah. I wanna see if and what he tells her since she is a witch an all" replied Angel. "You just love to play with fire" laughed Gilly. "It only burns for a bit" replied Angel. "

Next Morning

Bishop woke up feeling elated that he had fought the devil and won. How many men could say that he thought to himself as he whistled while getting dressed. He was also ecstatic to have you back home and to tell you about his battle. You had been gone for a couple weeks and he missed you dearly. Bishop had just stepped outside his door when he saw the note in dripping crimson on his porch. "You can't kill me Bishop".

*****

By the end of the day Bishop had been sprayed with water, had his bike breakdown, had his coffee cup explode, flour and honey dumped on him and been locked in the bathroom for hours after the door knob had fallen off and when he tried to climb out the window he found it covered in bike grease and a laughing face was taped to the window. All done by the demon he presumed as he had heard the laughter and caught glimpses of him. When you texted him you were back he all but ran the four miles to the house in the hopes you would be able to help him.

***

You had just stepped out of the shower when the bathroom door flung open. Shrieking you yanked a towel off the rack. Unfortunately you pulled to hard and the whole thing toppled to the floor with a clang. Seeing your husband standing their with a shock on his face you huffed. "Bishop, what the hell is wrong with you. I had no idea you were on your way" you complained as you crossed your arms and waited for a reply.

"I think I'm haunted" stated Bishop before bending down to pick up the towel rack, your nudity not even registering with him. "Little demon has been following me for days. Though I killed him but he has rose from the ashes like a phoenix" he continued as you just stared at him unable to figure out what he was saying. "I don't know what to say" you stated as you moved out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. "I need you to help me exorcise it" stated Bishop as he followed you.

"What does it look like?" you asked as you started to apply lotion and put on your pj's. "Red and white suit with a hat. Brown hair, big soul sucking eyes, pointed shoes" listed Bishop as he sat down rubbing his face with his hands. "He writes to me" he added as you nodded. I see" you replied as you grabbed your phone off the dresser and sent a group text to the usual suspects.

****

you: bish thinks a demon is following him. Wants me to exorcise it.

Angel: Lol

EZ: Easy target

Gilly: Elf in the Templo is sketchy. I don't recommend you interfere.

You: I knew this had to be the three of you lol

You: I leave for a couple weeks and all hell breaks loose. What was the end game?

Gilly: Honestly the Reyes brothers are bad influences

EZ: Says the man who has a stash of weird elfs

Angel: We were just gonna leave a note saying he left.

****

"You think I'm nuts" stated Bishop as he looked at you solemnly as you texted. He thought of all people in his life that you would believe him. "No, I think maybe someone is playing a trick on you. This demon you describe sounds like this thing called Elf on the Shelf. Its used around the holiday season for kids. I think mostly to make them behave" you replied as you moved to sit next to him and cupped his cheek giving him a kiss. "Is this the demon" you asked showing him a photo on your phone. Bishops eyes widened in recognition.

"Hmm" replied Bishop as he considered your words. Maybe you had a point he thought to himself. This type of childish behavior would not be above the so called men in his club. They were always pranking each other and horsing around. A few weeks ago Bishop had mentioned he was unprankable and had made a rule he was not to be messed with as he would not participate.

"Where are you going?" you called as Bishop stood and made his way to the door. "To catch some devilish elfs" he replied with a mischievous grin and laugh as he disappeared into the dark hallway. You sighed heavily before sending one last text. "Guess I'll be spending my first night home alone" you muttered.

You: You all should not have poked the bear.

****

"Do you think she told?" asked EZ as he read the message while Gilly and Angel played a round of pool. "Nah" answered Angel as he shook his head. "She probably just told him something logical like its an elf not a demon" replied Gilly as he took his shot before looking over at EZ. "We just gottta be careful now. Bishop will retaliate" he added confidently as Angel nodded. "You think so?" inquired EZ skeptically. "Oh yeah, he is not a man who will let this slide especially after the bathroom incident and the gun battle in templo" replied Angel as he gave his brother a pointed look. "I was just trying to be creative" muttered EZ as he looked away with a grin.

2 Days Later

"You all need to chill with this elf shit" stated Coco as he slammed himself into the empty chair next to Gilly. "Bishop is loco. Just lassoed me outside and patted me down muttering about diablo. Not to mention how he kidnapped Creeper the other day practically waterboarding him trying to get a confession" he explained as he looked around the table at Angel and EZ as they laughed. "Coco may be right" stated Gilly as he drew the others attention to Bishop as he walked through the clubhouse door whistling and carrying a large cross before going into Templo.

There was silence followed by loud bangs. " Can one of you bring me some stakes, saw and a hammer" called Bishop from Templo. "I got ya" called Guero as he walked by the open door glancing in before walking over to where the other guys sat. "Yall know he is wearing the body of that elf he shot the other day as a necklace right?" inquired Guero before continuing on his errand to gather items for Bishop.

A few hours later

"Bishop wants everyone in Templo immediately" called Hank as he walked into the clubhouse quickly. "Everything okay?" asked Angel as everyone headed to the door. "Don't know he was chanting and shit" replied Hank his face full of worry. Angel and Gilly exchanged looks as they made there way in to the room. "The fuck" mumbled EZ as everyone stood in shock at the sight before them. Bishop was standing on the table in just a santa hat, wearing a bullet ridden elf around his neck and what could only be called a speedo as he smoked a cigar. "I'd say take a seat but as you can all see we have guest tonight" chuckled Bishop as he used his arm to draw attention to the chairs that had the staked heads of elves in them.

"Bishop" started Hank concern for his Presidente all over his face. "Shhhhh. I am Krampus now for the demon elves have spoken. I am to be the new ruler" whispered Bishop as he crouched on the table his eyes wild. "The hell is a Krampus?" asked Coco as he shoved to the front of the group putting his hands on the table. "The punisher of misbehaving fools" snapped Bishop as he lunged at Coco grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him. "Hey" called Angel as he yanked his arm back after Bishop bit him for trying to get Coco away.

"Kneel before me" snarled Bishop as he shoved Coco away baring his teeth at everyone. "I'm going to call his wife" mumbled EZ as he started to grab the door. If anyone could help them reel Bishop in it would be her. "Kneel" shouted Bishop as he launched himself off the table onto EZ's back knocking him down. "The fuck is happening" muttered Angel to Gilly as the others worked to restrain Bishop who was failing and trying to bite. "I think we pushed him to far" replied Gilly as he looked at his friend.

The power going out brought silence to Templo for a few minutes. "It is time" stated Bishop as a dim red light came from the ceiling and the sound of wind began as well as eerie giggles. "The door is locked" called Coco his voice full of panic as the light got brighter and the wind louder. "Time for my elf army to claim their true vessels" stated Bishop as he appeared in front of Angel with a knife before grabbing Hank and slicing his throat. "No" yelled Angel as he grabbed at Bishop. "These were just pranks" screamed Gilly as he grabbed Hanks' body as it fell drenching him in warm liquid. "Krampus knows no pranks just resurrection" laughed Bishop as he stabbed Angel with the knife. "No" screamed EZ as Angel mumbled something but didn't fall down. "Lights Coarzon" yelled Bishop after a few minutes of confused silence interrupted by laughter from Hank, Coco and Guero.

"Boy the looks on your faces" chuckled Hank as the lights came back on. "What" stated Gilly as Angel and EZ just looked around bewildered. "I told you boys I was off limits. let this be a lesson" stated Bishop as he shrugged before walking out of Templo laughing.

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Palestinian residents and journalists run, bike and drive away as fast as they can as the Israeli occupation forces fire directly at the civilian population in the city of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip on Saturday, June 29th. 📈 The current death toll figures: 37'834 Palestinians killed, while another 86'858 others have been wounded since October 7th, 2023. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

ISRAELI OCCUPATION CONTINUES GENOCIDAL WAR ON DAY 267: 66% OF ISRAELIS WANT NETANYAHU OUT OF POLITICS, MAJORITY OF ISRAELIS WANT ULTRA-ORTHODOX TO BE CONSCRIPTED, UN HEALTH REPPORTEUR CALLS ISRAELI WAR "GENOCIDE" AS SLAUGHTER CONTINUES UNABATED

On 267th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 3 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 40 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 224 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands, of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

A new television poll conducted inside the occupied Palestinian territories and published on Friday has found that 66% of Israelis believe occupation Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu should leave politics and should not seek re-election, while just 27% said he should stay in office, and 7% answered they weren't sure.

Among right-wing Israelis, a different picture emerges, 37% of right wing Israelis opposed Netanyahu seeking re-election, while 53% said Netanyahu should stay in office.

At the same time, a full 85% of Israelis overall support a probe to look into the October 7th Palestinian resistance attacks on Israeli settlements.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation's leadership continues pushing for a war in Lebanon, worrying the Zionist entity's US ally who has maneuvered warships closer to the border between "Israel" and Lebanon, supposedly with the purpose of preparing to evacuate American citizens and soldiers as fighting between Hezbollah and the Israeli occupation army continues to escalate.

According to reporting on the moves by the United States, the American amphibious assault ship, the USS Wasp, which carries a force of US Marines, moved last Wednesday to the Mediterranean Sea in the vicinity of the region, joining the USS Oak Hill and another ship and forming a readiness group in the case of escalation.

The US warship group is trained in evacuating civilians from dangerous war situations, but also has offensive capabilities, as well as espionage and surveillance capabilities, and can also be paired with the F-35 attack aircraft.

According to one source, the warship group is also intended to project American military power in the region, in the hope that this will act as a deterrent against the axis of resistance led by the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Sources speaking with US news outlet NBC have said the United States is increasingly concerned with possible Israeli attacks on southern Lebanon in the coming weeks, this despite pressure exerted by the Biden administration for both sides to show restraint.

The Israeli occupation, however, is sticking with its position to keep Hezbollah away from its northern border, while the Zionist security establishment demands the creation of a buffer zone 10 miles deep along the border with Lebanon.

American officials are intent on settling the nerves of the two sides, publicly playing down the chances of war between the two sides, and claiming they see no evidence that a major escalation on the border is imminent, but then warned that a single miscalculation could spark a major regional war.

However, public pressure continues on the Israeli leadership to act against Hezbollah, and to ensure Israeli citizens can return to their homes in the north. US officials said this pressure is "very real", adding that the Israeli leadership feel the need to "do something" about the threat in the north.

Since the beginning of the Israeli genocide in the Gaza Strip, the Hezbollah Lebanese resistance movement has launched daily waves of rocket, drone and mortar strikes against Zionist military targets, and colonial settlements, in the occupation's northern territories, threatening to escalate the situation if the Zionist entity does not end its slaughter of Palestinian civilians in Gaza.

In other news, it is being reported that since the start of the Zionist entity's ongoing genocidal war in the Gaza Strip, the United States Biden administration has sent the Israeli occupation thousands of highly destructive bombs and enormous amounts of ammunition.

It was explained the Americans have sent the Israeli occupation "at least 14,000 MK-84 bombs weighing 2,000 pounds, 6,500 500-pound bombs, 3,000 precision-guided Hellfire (surface-to-air) missiles, 1,000 bunker-buster bombs, and 2,600 small-diameter air-dropped bombs were transported," along with other ammunition.

Additionally, the Biden administration intends on sending further shipments of US bombs and ammunition, including the shipment that was previously suspended out of concern that the Israeli occupation forces would continue to use the giant bombs to target civilians.

According to American officials, the US intends on sending the Israeli occupation army another 1'700 bombs weighing 220kg, which are expected to arrive shortly.

Reporting in the United States is also stating that the Biden administration has come under enormous pressure from some members of Congress following their decision to suspend the single shipment of bombs, including a bizarre series of comments and videos published by Netanyahu, leading the administration to reverse its decision.

In more news, on Friday, the United Nations Repporteur on the right to Health, Tlaleng Mofokeng, has made public comments stating that groups of people were being literally exterminated in the Gaza Strip, and that no other word but "genocide" can be used to describe what it happening.

Speaking with Turkish news outlet, Anadolu News Agency, Mofokeng pointed to the humanitarian catastrophe unfolding in the Gaza Strip, noting that residents of Gaza were being deprived of essential services and basic needs.

"We know that people are trying to survive, but that’s really all they can do," she said, adding there is no food, safe drinking water, or safe housing in Gaza.

Pointing to the increasing death toll in the Israeli occupation's ongoing war, and the horrific conditions for those trapped under rubble or living with disabilities due to the war, the special repporteur said that "When you look literally how small Gaza strip is and the kind of destruction that’s happening, it’s really impossible to understand how this is still going on."

Speaking about the reports coming from international aid organizations that depict a dire healthcare situation in the enclave, Mofokeng went on to say that "when they (hospitals) cannot get supplies and essential medicines, and when healthcare workers themselves are being killed and harassed, it makes the attacks on the right to health even more prominent."

Mofokeng went on to condemn the support the Israeli occupation receives from the United States and Europe, which she says supports a "genocide."

"How many more children must die?" she asked, adding that people in Gaza are living a "daily nightmare."

The special repporteur asserted that the situation in the Gaza Strip reflects an "apartheid regime", and that the Israeli entity's attacks on civilians meets the definition of "genocide".

She went on call for a global conversation to recognize the events in Gaza as a genocide, and to hold the perpetrators accountable in International courts.

"I’m not in charge of prosecuting anybody," she said. “But when you have a group of people who have literally been exterminated, what else is there to declare it a genocide?"

She ended the interview by declaring that Israeli violence against healthcare personnel in Gaza, along with its denial of human rights for Palestinians are entirely unacceptable, and further urged the international community to take action to address the crises.

Meanwhile, the genocide continued in Gaza over Friday night, and renewed again on Saturday morning, with several deadly airstrikes responsible for killing a number of Palestinians and wounding even more.

North of Gaza, Israeli occupation warplanes bombed a residential house in the Yarmouk area, adjacent to the Al-Jazeera Club Stadium in Gaza City, resulting in the deaths of two children and wounding at least 5 others.

Several citizens were also wounded after an Israeli airstrike targeted the Al-Maghazi Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, while Zionist soldiers opened fire on the tents of displaced Palestinian families near the Al-Shakoush area and the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of the city of Rafah, in the south of Gaza.

At the same time, Zionist warplanes bombed a residential home belonging to the Abu Khadra family on Al-Wahda Street, in central Gaza City, killing four Palestinians, including two children, and wounding 10 others who were taken to the Baptist Hospital in the city.

Meanwhile, at dawn on Saturday, Israeli artillery detatchments renewed its shelling of civilian homes in the Al-Shujaiya neighborhood, east of Gaza City.

Similarly, occupation artillery forces shelled more tents of displaced families, along with agricultural greenhouses in the Al-Mawasi area, northwest of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip.

Local civil defense crews reported recovering the decomposing bodies of 5 Palestinians after the Israeli occupation forces withdrew from the Shakoush neighborhood, west of Rafah City, while Zionist forces continued firing on civilian homes east of Khan Yunis.

Israeli fighter jets also bombarded a house in the Al-Maghazi Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, killing at least one civilian and injuring dozens of others, which coincided with the bombing and shelling of the Nuseirat Camp.

At the same time, the Israeli occupation's warplanes launched two raids on the Tal al-Hawa and Sheikh Ajlin neighborhoods, southwest of Gaza City, while occupation drones and armored vehicles targeted residential homes near the Candle Mosque in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, along with the Al-Shujaiya neighborhood, resulting in a number of casualties.

The slaughter continued when Zionist warplanes bombed two homes belonging to the Abu Kamil family in the Al-Daraj neighborhood, along with the Qwaider family in the Al-Sabra neighborhood, in the south and center of Gaza City.

Also in the Al-Sabra neighborhood, an Israeli drone fired a missile at a civilian vehicle, killing several Palestinians and wounding others, while occupation fighter jets bombed the Municipal Park in central Gaza City, killing and wounding a number of others.

The Israeli occupation army also launched a bombardment of the Al-Saada Towers area in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood, southwest of Gaza City.

In yet another atrocity, the Israeli occupation forces bombed a residential house in the Bureij Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in the deaths of at least four civilians, and wounding a number of others who were transported to Al-Aqsa and Al-Awda Hospitals.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing war of extermination against the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, the endlessly rising death toll now exceeds 37'834 Palestinians killed, including over 15'000 children and in excess of 10'000 women, while another 86'858 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

June 29th, 2024.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 22 Glass Shard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Injury, Blood

“Don’t take it out!” You swatted Daryl’s hands away from a large glass shard protruding from his right side. “You might bleed out. We don’t know if it hit anything vital.” He scowled at you and murmured something you couldn’t hear but dropped his hands to his sides. “Shouldn’t be picking fights.”

“Ain’t pickin’ no fights. We needed the meds n’ we got ‘em.” He snapped, walking toward the bike with his left hand below the injury. 

“Wait a minute! You can’t possibly think you’re driving us back like that!”

He looked at you like you’d sprouted another head. “Why wouldn’ I?”

Lord, give me patience. Don’t give me strength because I’ll kill him. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’ve been stabbed, Daryl. You’re bleeding. When someone bleeds a lot, they sometimes pass out. I’d rather not be behind you on a fricking motorcycle if that happens.”

Scowling again. Typical. “Ain’t gon’ pass out. Le’s go.”

You started to follow but decided against it. Appeasing his pride would get you both killed. Planting your feet, you crossed your arms. “No.”

Daryl had thrown his leg over and plopped heavily onto the seat, raising his brows at your brazen refusal. “Wha’?”

“You heard me. I said no.”

“Woman, don’ make me leave ya here.”

“You would never.” Your eyes narrowed in challenge, flickering down toward his boot when he toed up the kickstand. He really would never, right? When he started the engine, you really started to doubt but would not be swayed. He was already pale and sweaty, droplets of blood pooling behind his boot. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Daryl cared about you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t leave you. 

He watched you with a stoic expression, only faltering once you stood straighter. He must look like shit if you wouldn’t trust him to get the both of you home. Lowering the kickstand, he shut off the bike. “Wha’s the plan?”

You blinked at him. 

“Ya let me start up the bike n’ make enough noise ta attract ev’ry walker in there n’ ya didn’t have a plan?” 

“Well I didn’t exactly think you’d try to bully me into letting you kill us, Daryl!” You dropped your arms and looked around while he muttered to himself. You spotted a pick up next to the gate. It must have belonged to the men that attacked you. The driver’s door was still open. Maybe they just happened to leave the keys and you wouldn’t need to hotwire the stupid thing. “Wha’re ya doin’ now?” The archer called after you when you sprinted toward the truck. 

You leaned inside with a spirited ‘yes!’ upon finding the keys in the ignition. Next up: fuel. “Please be enough. Please be enough.” You turned the key and watched the fuel gauge before leaning out. “Will just below half get us back?”

“Should.” He yelled back, getting off the bike. He stumbled but caught himself, leaving your heart hammering. You definitely couldn’t drag him to the passenger side, much less get him in there.

Climbing back out, you jogged over to help him. “Let’s get the bike in the back and I’ll drive, okay.”

Daryl only nodded. You pushed down your concern and opened the tailgate, helping him lift the bike into the back. Damn thing was fucking heavy but if you were hauling it, that was the only way to get it loaded. Panting, you closed it up just in time to see the man beside you sway on his feet. 

“Whoa!” Small hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “You okay? You’re looking a little pekid.” He was panting just as hard as you were, which wasn’t a shocker since the two of you just bench pressed a 400 pound bike into the back of a pickup. Probably not the best idea when one of you has a large piece of glass playing poke-the-vital-organ. 

He lifted his hands to gently grab your wrists, lowering your arms from his shoulders. “M’fine. Le’s jus’ get outta ‘ere. We got company.” A nod toward the area behind you had you turn toward the group of walkers approaching. 

“Okay, hop in.” You walked around him but slowed your steps to make sure he made it all the way to the passenger door. Sure, he was using the truck to steady himself the entire way but he finally climbed inside. You quickly slid behind the wheel and started up the engine. Once you pulled out onto the road, a little of the anxiety churning inside your chest dissipated. “We’ll get back just after dark, I think. Get Hershel to take a look at you.”

When he no more than hummed in reply, you glanced over at him. His head was against the window, eyes closed, lips parted to release shallow pants of breath. His skin glistened with sweat while holding a sickly pallor in stark contrast to the dark circles around his eyes. You would bet anything that if you touched his skin, it would be cold.

“Daryl? Daryl, your wound. How’s your wound?” You asked frantically, trying to split your attention between him and the road. 

“S’fine, Y/N. Jus’ drive.” 

“Let me see.” You requested softly, still trying to stay on course. 

“Drive. M’fine.” Daryl replied. He hadn’t opened his eyes at all. 

Mindful that neither of you were wearing seatbelts, you slowed to a stop and turned in the seat, grabbing at him to turn where you could see. He was slow to open his eyes. 

“Knock it off. Why we stopped?” The shove he gave you was gentle but enough to put some space between you. He didn’t expect you to come right back, this time to roughly grab his vest and pull him down across the seat. 

“You pulled it out?!” You yelled, pressing your hand over the steadily bleeding wound. His blood coated the interior of the door, the seat, and had puddled on the floor. “I said not to take it out, Daryl!”

“Didn’.” He replied quietly, sounding more than tired. “Got…got pulled out loadin’ the bike.”

You gaped at him. “And you didn’t think to say something?”

“Didn’ wanna worry ya. ‘Sides, m’fine.” His eyes slowly closed. “Doc’ll fix…me…righ’…”

“Daryl?” You kept one hand on the wound and used the other to shake him. “Daryl?! Goddamnit!” Peeling off your flannel overshirt, you folded it and pressed it against the injury, laying his arm over it to hold it in place. You climbed back behind the wheel, glad to have him lying across the seat so you could check his pulse while you hauled ass back to the prison. 

You found yourself carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his jaw, feeling his pulse, anything that let you know he was right there. His skin was so cold, his breaths so shallow that you could hardly feel the exhale at all. 

When the prison was within sight, you almost didn’t even stop to let them open the gates. 

Carol found you pacing outside by the picnic benches three hours after you had returned with Daryl. Three hours after you had leapt from the cab of the truck screaming for help. Three hours after you had collapsed to your knees watching Rick and Glenn carry Daryl inside. Three hours after you couldn’t find a pulse.

“He’s alive, Y/N.” The woman said softly. She sat down on top of one of the tables and watched you. You were thankful she had led with that but still couldn’t bring yourself to stop wearing a hole into the concrete. 

“But?” You weren’t naive. There was something more if she wanted to give you the good news first. Wanted you calmer. A very Carol tactic. You loved her for it but couldn’t entertain it. Not now. 

Carol could sense that. “Whatever he was stabbed with nicked his liver. Hershel was able to repair it but there was some internal bleeding. Hey,” she reached out to grab your hand. “He lost a lot of blood so he’s not out of the woods yet but he’s tough.”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?” You laughed wryly. “Everyone thinks he’s invincible, so he feels like he has to be. He didn’t even tell me that he was bleeding out, Carol. He was just gonna sit there and…and…”

“Okay, okay, come here.” Carol pulled you to sit next to her, hugging you tightly. “You’re right. We need to make sure he knows that it’s okay to need help.” Pulling you back by your shoulders, she swept your hair out of your face. “And when he is better, we’ll get to work on that, okay?” You nodded, allowing her to wipe away your tears. “He’ll be okay.”

You sniffled and nodded again, more softly than the first time. “Can I see him?”

Daryl made it through the night. Hershel had said his chances of a full recovery only increased after that. You hadn’t slept much, but couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes just yet. So you just sat in a chair by the bunk with your head lying on the mattress by his hand. Your own hand looked so small wrapped around his, your skin so much paler than his tan. You counted any freckles you found on his arm. You even cleaned from underneath his nails. 

Carol eventually came by with two bowls of oatmeal. You thanked her quietly while never raising from your spot. True to form, she came over and kissed the top of your head, giving your shoulder a squeeze. Her dainty hand then on Daryl’s bicep, gently rubbing up to his shoulder and back down before she walked out of the cell. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. When you opened your eyes again, it was dark inside the cell. An almost burned out candle filled the room with dancing shadows but it was the eyes that reflected the flame that had your attention. 

“Daryl!” You leaned closer, touching his face, his neck, anywhere you could while his eyes followed you. “I’m so glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” His voice was rough from sleep and lack of use. He coughed weakly, face scrunching in pain before smoothing out again. “Thirsty.”

“Be right back.” You jogged from the cell to fetch some water and to let Hershel know Daryl had finally awoke. The veterinarian came not long after you had finished settling Daryl against the pillows once he had taken a few sips. 

“Blood pressure is a little lower than I’d like but that’s likely from the blood loss. Everything else looks real good, son.” He patted Daryl’s leg before standing with his crutches. “I’m sure you know you’re benched for a while though.”

“Yeah, figured.” Daryl shrugged a shoulder. He looked as though he could fall back asleep at any given moment. 

“Alright. I’ll check in tomorrow morning. Get some rest.” The older man stopped beside you and added “the both of you.” You gave him a nod and wished him goodnight. 

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked before you could even sit back down. You chose to sit on the edge of the mattress instead of the chair. 

“I’m fine now that I know you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He answered quietly, his gaze falling away from yours. He knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “You should have told me.” 

“Hey.” You reached up to brush his hair away from his face, smiling and letting your hand come to rest on his cheek. “Don’t worry. We will be talking about this but I won’t yell at you until you feel better.”

“S’real comfortin’, Y/N.” His smirk was half-assed at best, either from fatigue or guilt. 

“I know. I have a great bedside manner.” You beamed. Getting to your feet, you moved closer to his own and crawled onto the bed and across his legs to his left side. He turned his head to watch you, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. 

“Guess it ain’t half bad.”

“Oh come on, it’s phenomenal. What other caregiver’s gonna crawl in bed with you and snuggle?”

“Hope ta hell Hershel don’ take notes from ya.”

“He had a hard time with the missing foot but you two looked super cozy when my shift began.” You snorted when he shrugged the shoulder you had cuddled against, jarring you back a little. 

“I can’ stand ya sometimes.”

“Pft, you love me.” You nuzzled your nose against his cheek before kissing it. He huffed a tired laugh and let his eyes drift shut. 

“Eh, I migh’.”

“Wait, what?” You blinked. “You might what? Daryl?” The only replies were his deep, even breaths. You laid your head back against his shoulder and watched him, biting back a wide smile. Now you had even more to talk about.