#december16

[felipeandletizia]

Felipe and Letizia retrospective: December 16th

2008: Visited ‘La Sexta’ Television Studios (1, 2)

2009: Stela Project Awards for the integration of people with intellectual disabilities into the labor market

2010: 14th CODESPA Awards

2015: Audiences at la Zarzuela & Received the credentials from ambassadors of Israel, Gabon, Colombia, Bangladesh, Tunisia and Haiti at the Royal Palace

2016: Meeting of the Board of Trustees of the UNICEF Foundation Spanish Committee

2019: 14th Meeting of Foreign Affairs Ministers of the ASEM Dialogue Forum (Asia-Europe Meeting)

2020: 17th Awards of the Victims of Terrorism Foundation & CEIM 2020 Awards

2021: Christmas Card 2021

2022: Visited the Units of the Marine Infantry Force, in the Tercio de Armada (TEAR) and the Tercio Sur (TERSUR) & Meeting of the Board of Trustees of the FAD Youth Foundation

F&L Through the Years: 1101/??

[kendal-hammond-blr]

Okay.. I think I gave y'all enough time to recover from @mainx24 . So.... With that being said.... Y'all make sure y'all come to this wonderful event on Friday December 16th at @millerparkcha hosted by @rivercitycompany !!! The #WinterbreakSpectacular2022 2:00pm-7:00pm!!! Ya boi @dj_smoothk will be on the 1s n 2s from 2:00pm-5:00pm!!! But stick around because they're showing the movie @elfmovie right after!!!! #MainX24 #RivercityCompany #WinterbreakSpectacular #DjSmoothk #Elf #BuddyTheElf #December16 #Christmas #Holidays #ChristmasMusic #HolidayMusic (at Miller Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClxE9g8N1KS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 14: A CALL FROM NINA

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Fluff

Note: This is just a cute little fluffy telephone call transcript between Cillian and his daughter Nina in this fic...

Cillian: "Hi Sweetheart, how are you?"

Nina: "Pretty good. I am actually just calling to let you know that Max and I will see you on Sunday evening for Grandma's birthday. Mum said we can come but you need to pick us up. We can stay with you until Tuesday mum said"

Cillian: "Really? That's awesome. I can't wait to see you"

Nina: "Me too. You know, we have this new dance teacher. Her name is Y/N. I am not sure if mum has told you or not"

Cillian: "No she hasn't, but do you like her?"

Nina: "Yes, she is super cool. She is really funny and she’s such a good dancer. She even has a couple of tattoos. I just don't think mum likes her"

Cillian: “Really? Why didn’t she like her?”

Nina: “I don’t know. Mum said that she is too young and doesn’t know what she is doing”

Cillian [chuckles]: “Right! You had fun though?”

Nina: "Yes, so much fun [pauses]...Did I tell you about her tattoos?”

Cillian: “You did”

Nina: “Can I get one?”

Cillian: “A tattoo?”

Nina: “Yes”

Cillian [sternly]: “No”

Nina [begging]: “How about a piercing?”

Cillian [sternly]: “No! I already got in trouble with your mother when I let you have your ears pierced”

Nina [firmly]: “I am almost 13 dad!”

Cillian [chuckles]: "I know but I won't let you have any tattoos or piercings until you are 18 and I am sure neither will your mother”

Nina: “You are so uncool”

Cillian [laughs]: "I know. Your brother reminds me of that all the time"

Nina: "I have to go now. Dinner is ready. Love you"

Cillian: "I love you too sweetheart"

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tag List

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

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@esposadomd

@etherealkistar

@ur--mommy

@throughgoeshamilton

@celverzonkwombatsludge

@cyphah

@atomicsouldcollecto

[runnning-outof-time]

Couldn't resist these prompts, so here you go:

placing a soft kiss on their forehead

For Arthur Shelby because I want all the soft things for that man.

Thanks for sending this in Akasha!!! I 100% agree with you there! 🥰❤️ also I promise blurbs aren’t going to be taking this same ‘encouragement’ vibe…or at least I don’t think they aren’t 👀👀 guess I’ll have to write them to find out haha. I should be writing Birmingham, but I had this idea instead…but don’t worry, the next chapter will be up before the weekend’s over.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

———

You’ve Got This

Arthur Shelby

Warnings: language

(Y/N)’s worried about the upcoming job interview that she has, so Arthur’s got to give her some words of encouragement.

“Whatcha workin’ on there, love?” Arthur’s voice came from the side of the room. It made (Y/N) look over to see him leaning up against the far wall, and she briefly wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“I’m making sure all of my papers are in order for the interview tomorrow,” she answered him, exhaling a huff then as she gathered her hair up into her hands, tugged on it softly, and then let it fall to her shoulders again.

“You nervous?” he asked her as he watched her movements, his brows furrowed.

“I am,” she sighed again, deciding to come clean rather than tell a lie.

“Why?” he asked another question. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped over to him and she shot him a deadpan expression as an inital reaction to his question.

He didn’t get the hint. “Why do you think?” she put the question back onto him, her words coming out more snarky than she intended to. Arthur stayed mum. “This is an opportunity that only comes once in a lifetime. What are the odds that a position opens up a week after we finally move here? I can’t screw it up or else…or else I…” she ended her ramble with a frustrated sigh when she couldn’t think of the words to finish off her sentence. She hung her head then, feeling like she was about to start crying.

The sound of footsteps echoed off of the hardwood then, telling (Y/N) that Arthur was approaching her. She didn’t look up though. Not until she felt the couch dip down next to her and the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Arthur waited until she was looking at him again to speak. Once she did, he spoke softly, “you’ve got nothing to worry about, (Y/N). You’re one of the smartest people I know, and any boss would be lucky to have you as their employee. You’ve got this, yeah?”

“But what if I choke? What if they ask me a question and I have no idea what to say?” she wasn’t on board with accepting his words of encouragement.

“Then you get to come back here and enjoy some time at home until something else comes up. I’ve told you before…you don’t need to work, we’ve got enough money to live off of for fucking years now,” he answered her, his stance not wavering.

“But I want to work,” she pouted slightly.

“I know you do…and that’s why you’re going to kick this interview’s ass tomorrow,” he said to her, a grin breaking onto his face when he saw a ghost of a smile appear on her lips. (Y/N) saw his grin and couldn’t help but smile wider. He always knew how to turn her mood around. “You’ve got this, (Y/N),” he enforced his previous point, leaning over to press a soft kiss on her forehead once he was finished speaking.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she breathed once he’d pulled back again. She now had a sincere smile on her face, and she couldn’t quite stop herself from reaching over and wrapping her arms around him. Of course she was still worried about tomorrow, but Arthur’s words of encouragement had brought her some much needed respite.

“You’re welcome, love,” he responded, a smile on his face again as he held onto her tightly, happy that she was now relaxed in his arms.

———

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mgcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut @zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @lora21 @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx @cilliansangel @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @christinasyellowflowers @insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder

MASTERLIST

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

What Happened on December 16th, 1773?

One of the most important dates in the history of the United States of America. On this night, the Sons of Liberty dumped more than 300 crates of East India Company tea into Boston Harbor. To many who were still loyal to the crown, this was an act of sedition and treason by “ill designing men”. But to those whose loyalty to King George III—and his taxes—had faltered; this was a galvanizing event. Bostonians from all statuses and walks of life came together, as equal citizens, to make a peaceful protest against tyranny and taxation without representation. It was their patriotism that sparked the American Revolution.

For years, the colonies had been taxed without receiving equal representation in Parliament. The first direct tax on the colonies was the Stamp Act of 1765, taxing all paper goods. This would be followed by the Townsend Acts which taxed glass, lead, paint, and tea. This taxation without representation led to protests, riots, and further unrest in an already tense city.

The Boston Tea Party was the culmination of a series of meetings beginning on November 29, 1773—two days after the first of the three ships bearing East India Company tea arrived in Boston Harbor. The arrival of the Dartmouth, with her 114 chests of tea on board, sent Boston into a frenzy. The Sons of Liberty demanded the tea be sent back to England, but those requests were refused by Royal Governor Thomas Hutchinson.

A few days later, the ship Eleanor and brig Beaver arrived with more cargoes of tea. With the deadline to unload the tea looming, Bostonians met at Old South Meeting House on Thursday December 16, 1773 to decide the fate of the cursed East India Company Tea. It was still the hope of those assembled that a peaceable agreement could be reached. Francis Rotch, owner of the Beaver and Dartmouth, was sent to Milton to obtain a pass from the Royal Governor so that his ships could be sent safely past the guns of Castle Island, and back to England with the tea still onboard. When Rotch returned and gave word that this request was denied, a mighty cry echoed through the historic hall. Samuel Adams stood up and said “This meeting can do nothing more to save the country.” This was a secret signal to the Sons of Liberty. They sprang into action as hundreds of men, loosely disguised as Mohawks, marched to Griffin’s Wharf and into history.

Copyright © 2023 December16.org

[intoanotherworld23]

Tag list for Chris Evans: @denisemarieangelina @kimberlydyan @patzammit @tinawritesstuff @princess-evans-addict @cevanstan29 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @inmoix @evansgirl7 @nina-sj @chris-butt @a-moment-captured @suchababie @colinbridgertonisbebe @d3vil-is-my-sugg4rd4ddy @sesamepancakes @justjulie1105 @r2gers @sweetllamaparadise @coldmuffinpartycloud @foxchild-v @evansphnx12 @breezykpop @sunwardsss @nathalienightmare @franfineashell @snowy992 @chrisgirl4 @rainbowkisses31 @mrspeacem1nusone @mayisdelanoche @fantastickoya @seaweedthewhale @eliluv1626 @ccmarvelxx @chelricki96 @justile @maceymae2704 @ysmmsy @cheerup-loki @nostxlgia18 @nicolarobertson89 @evansxchalamet @freerose11 @ace-of-spaids2 @gitasor @december16-1991 @allthingschrisevans @melissad1974 @starry-night-20 @maryann8913 @gh0stgurl @vaseoftulips @danireal17 @seattlexgirl @noplacelikehome77 @evansgal @sherlockzss @deandreamernp @chrisevans-4ever @rookiemartin @lowkeysebby @compulsiveshit @janaev4ns @justreadingficsdontmindme @elrw24 @ccrobbs @fangirl125reader @iminluvwthme @alexxavicry @ttomholland1996 @loumaaria-blog @ilybbg

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @rogersbarber @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98

Tag list for Miles Teller/Bradley Bradshaw: @mak-32 @florencediet @maverick-wingman @khaylin27 @angeeeelinx @allie131313 @phantomxoxo @katieshook02 @alanadetigy @bradleysgirl @acesofspadess @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @classyunknownlover @o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o @roosterforme @mushy-mushroom04 @rosiahills22 @pedrohoe04 @fandom-life-12 @noz4a2 @rossylightwood @itsdesiree86 @topgunbb @sexytholland @spaceygirly1 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @abaker74 @tallrock35 @ondina-granger @blackcatdhisgf @dreaminglandsworld @bangsterz @k-k0129 @roosterschanelslut @ishipit1420 @atarmychick007 @artemissunn @michaelaandthediamonds-blog @adoringsebstan @sydneejean @igotmajordaddyissues @m-rae23 @alana4610 @calsjack

Others: @sexytholland @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @fl0werfae @allmonstersxarehuman @lidiyabest @mjey12 @raven-blue3000 @sarahdonald87

If I’m missing some people I’m sorry I’ll try to get to everyone as soon as possible!! Welcome to my new blog I hope everyone stays with me and likes the new blog even better!! Don’t forget to reblog to all your followers as well, and I can be sure to give them a follow!! Thanks again everyone for being so supportive, and understanding of my decision! I’ll have old works posted sporadically, and new ones on the way! XOXO

[iracarterart]

#annuallage #annuallage2023 #sleigh #December16 #mycollagelab #Ignite October belated two-item collage - New Family Sleigh

[heartstoppermybeloved]

We ❤️ Sebastian Croft though. #benhope #charliespring #nicknelson #heartstopper #shorts #december16 via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsS7uzcW37g

[charnelhouse]

Reblog for Tags (some people i couldn't tag):

@ramadiiiisme @nikkidolson @kaiandthestrangespaghetti @lilxoswald @jonathansgf @lovieanda @motherspider @a-reader-and-a-writer @imkumichan @cybervei @alittleposhtoad @smoll-moffy @honeyrei002 @luminousbeings-crudematter @projectdaydreamer @seeking-a-great--perhaps @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics @hereforagoodtinenotalongtime @vermillionwinter @haydaphobia @chxosangxl @radishdoodles @graybraids @montenegroisr @wizardofrozz @december16-1991 @that-friend-in-the-corner @velvet-paradox @watchstarscollide @omeganixtra @strawberrykaeya0 @hellish-hussy @mrs-ghuleh @anosiene @2hot2sexy @spikespiegell

mausoleum (2)

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (other pairings later) Wordcount: 4.5K Warnings: gore. ptsd. references to captivity and torture. implied cannibalism. implied sex. there are mentions of hair. blood transfusion. needles. Summary: Red is grievously injured. 141 races against the clock to save her. A/N: Many thanks to @sprout-fics and @moondirti for reading through this because my damn eyes were crossing. Also, huge thanks to @ghostaholics who helped me with all the blood transfusion nonsense and ghost thots in general

Chapter 1

The rain continued to pour down with a violence. The pharmacy was cold-the kind of cold that was trapped in the linoleum and sunk into Price’s skin. Red’s hair had fallen out of its binding-spreading across the dirty floor. The blood was syrupy and dark as mud. Her eyelids hung heavy; her lips parted around uneven breaths. As if time had shifted, Price was suddenly seeing something else: Red Fox lying on that metal table in Kursk, her wrists bone-thin and strapped down. Her face so swollen it was nearly unrecognizable. 

It had only been a month. How could they have done the damage they’d done in a single month? 

But Price wasn’t an idiot, and he hadn't been an idiot then. He knew their enemies would have seen Red as something worth destroying. The sounds the men of 141 had made at the sight of her would never quite leave him. Incredulity. Shock. Rage. A wellspring of sadness had taken up residence within their circle. Red had been precious to them. Perhaps it was unfair to say that, but it was true. Regardless of what her and Simon had been, she’d also embedded herself into each of their lives and refused to move. She fought well. She survived better. 

Having to witness her be completely broken had destabilized them. It was as if the sky had cracked and fallen. The stars had collapsed against them and they could not push them back up.

Now, she had been nearly killed again.

Soap’s low cursing brought him back to the present. Johnny was hovering over her still form, his fingers gently pulling at the blood-drenched scarf Ghost had wrapped around her shoulder. 

She was conscious, but her coloring was worrisome. Soap worked on her vitals, revealing a penlight from his vest to check her eyes. The backdoor to the pharmacy jingled and Ghost whirled around, gun aimed. It was only Gaz.

“They had nothing,” he said, stalking down the aisle. “Guns had no bullets so it was all for show.” 

Price rubbed his jaw, feeling the tender hump of a bruise from a hit he’d taken outside. Cannibals. He hadn’t been surprised, though he felt like it was too soon for that level of desperation. They were probably the individuals who’d always wanted to-unafraid to commit something that barbaric when cans of food remained on the shelves. He’d seen men like that, especially in the military. They were the ones who signed up because they wanted a license to kill. 

He glanced to his left where Red’s attacker lay, his head twisted at the wrong angle. 

Good riddance.

If they hadn’t gotten here sooner…fuck. He didn’t want to think of that. She’d certainly been through enough with Kursk only a year or so before. Truthfully, it felt somewhat cosmic. Price was a logical man. He believed in what he could see, taste and feel. But after the outbreak, he had lost contact with his reason. 

Today had been lucky.

“Christ!” Gaz exclaimed once he spotted Red on the floor. “She alright?”

“Obviously,” Red replied before Price could. The words were faint, whistling past her lips. “Hi, Kyle.”

“Hey, darling.” Gaz’s eyes swung to Price. His expression worried. 

“Captain,” Soap murmured, turning to look up at him. The “captain” had stayed though Price had told them that they were all on equal footing. He supposed it was easier for them to remain in their positions. It allowed order. Familiarity. 

The fact was that there were no clear plans left. There were no predictable outcomes. Everything was belly-up, ass backwards. Fucked beyond comprehension. It made his teeth itch and his chest hurt. 

“What is it?” Ghost asked, striding past Price and crouching down beside Red. His gravelly voice was cut with a vulnerability he didn’t bother hiding. Ever since Red had been placed on leave, Ghost wasn’t himself. He’d been less cautious and more aloof if that was possible. He took mission after mission and then hid away in his room. Price watched as Ghost’s hand automatically went to her shoulder, his thumb finding her jaw to stroke it briefly before he moved it away. Another memory from Kursk shuddered through Price’s head. 

“You know what they fucking did to her,” Ghost choked out. He was losing it, completely falling apart. “You saw the reports. What the doctor said. What she said. She fucking remembers everything and-and I wasn’t there.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You know it is. If I hadn’t run…fuckin’ hell…if I hadn’t run…” Ghost couldn’t finish the sentence. 

”I can patch it for now,” Soap explained. “But I need more supplies. We’re runnin’ low.” He chewed his lip as he glanced down at the black bag beside him. “Everything is soaked in rain water and mud. I’m nervous she’ll get an infection.”

Red suddenly lifted her head, fingers twitching against her stomach. “House,” she rasped, lashes fluttering. She coughed and Ghost wordlessly curled his arm around her shoulders before subtly maneuvering himself behind her so that she could rest against his chest. It was an intimate move. She was a little thing and Ghost was unnaturally tall and broad. With her collapsed against him, it emphasized how Ghost dwarfed her in every way. They fit well together.

“What’d you say, love?” Soap urged, nudging her hair away from her face. “Your house?”

She nodded weakly before looking at Price. It took her a worrisome amount of effort to move her eyes. “Up the road. We-we have supplies…Price knows where it is.”

“I do,” he confirmed. “Soap—bandage her shoulder and we’ll get her there.”

“Aye,” Soap said as he began to rummage through his bag. Abruptly, he stopped. “Did she say we?”

***

The rain spat at them while the dense mud packed their boots. Thank god for the road. Gaz sat on the horse with Red, his arms secure around her waist as she rested against his torso. They’d swamped her in their dirty, sweat-soaked jackets to keep her warm. Beneath her hood, the tip of her nose and strands of her hair were the only things visible. 

The path was eerie, cloaked in a veil of mist and shadow. Price had seen the occasional body off to the side, rubbery limbs hidden in the grass or trees. He’d experienced a lot of fucking death in his life, but the kind he was witnessing daily made him prickle. It was wrong. You expect corpses on the battlefield, but not outside a quaint village and wearing giraffe-print galoshes. 

They walked in a single file line. He took the front with Soap. Ghost at the rear, shadowing the horse holding Red and Gaz.

“So,” Soap began as he inched closer to Price. “Have you been to her home before?”

“No,” Price’s fingers itched for a cigarette. “She recently inherited it from her parents. Before she left, she gave me the address.”

“It’s big I presume?”

Price chuckled. “It’s got its own wikipedia page.”

They’d come here for a few reasons. One-he’d wanted to find Red. She was part of their group. She was his family. She was vital and he wouldn’t leave her out here. Truth be told, he’d been scared. He knew her mental state when she’d been put on leave. She was in perpetual rigor mortis—her mind completely brutalized from what had happened to her in Russia. Even he didn’t know everything they’d done to her, though he could guess from her medical records. When he’d sat beside her hospital bed, she’d been so raw that he’d been terrified to say the wrong thing. He’d attempted to be a physical presence, offering her quiet words of comfort, but then she had left. She’d been effectively kicked out and Price wished he’d done better by her. 

It was why he’d been so adamant to find her. 

The idea of Red in isolation as the world ended left him stricken. He’d called and called, attempted to find her on the radio, but had only been met with static. 

The second reason was that he figured moving away from the cities and into farmland was their best option. Many of the great castles and estates had been running since the middle ages. They’d be ideal shelters when modern infrastructure ceased. No gas. No electricity. They’d go old school. 

He hadn’t really asked for the other’s opinions when he’d made the plan. 141 had been forced to flee the barracks, seeking refuge in one of their previous safehouses outside Edinburgh. After he was unable to make contact with Red again, Price had walked into the room, ready to declare the mission, but Ghost had beaten him to it.

“Red?” he’d asked, his mask pale in the dark. His head bent forward with his massive shoulders hunched. Ghost had been a fucking mess, forlorn and deeply angry. 

That was all he had to say. Red. The rest didn't matter. Where else would we go? What else would we do? Because they couldn’t move forward without confirming if she was alive or dead.  

“Yeah,” Price had replied. “We’re going to find her.”

We’re going to find our girl. 

In the distance, Price could see the road split. The entrance to the estate was to the right. He could make out the looming iron gate. There was so much greenery, overwhelming foliage.

Before they’d left the pharmacy, Red had described the traps she’d set up around the property. 

Be mindful of areas with too many leaves. Also, a bunch of trip wires. You’ll get your head shot off.

“God,” Soap drawled. “I missed you.”

“Such a sicko,” Gaz snickered, reaching out to take Red’s hand. 

Slowly, but surely the enormous house came into view. You could only make out the tips of the estate's spires rising above the trees. Red’s family crest gleamed from the center of the gate’s bars.

Soap whistled. “That ‘duchess’ nickname was a little on the nose. Thought Simon came up with that.”

“He did, but I don’t think he really knew Red was-” He gestured vaguely in front of him. “-all this.”

“Captain!” Gaz shouted and Price whipped around, gun raised and ready. Even from a distance, it was apparent that Red had gone boneless, head lolling forward. 

Simon was already beside the horse, his hands disappearing beneath Red’s hood to engulf her face and lift it up. Soap cursed and sprinted toward them.

“She wasn’t responding to me,” Gaz hissed, voice tense with unease. He grimaced as he lifted his arm to reveal the front of his shirt awash in blood. “I-I didn’t realize-everything’s fuckin’ soaked from the rain.”

“Open her jacket,” Soap ordered and Ghost ripped at the top of it, pulling it away from her body. Crimson sheeted down her chest, soiling her thin shirt. Ghost’s hands slipped from her arms to her cheeks, cupping them and incidentally smearing blood across her jaw and chin. 

“Jesus fuck, Johnny!” Ghost’s tone was one Price had heard only a few times in his life. It was wrinkled with nervousness–unhinged fear. “Did you not wrap it right?”

“I did!” Soap sealed his hand to her shoulder, but it was impossible to see shit in the rain. “Could have nicked an artery and we just—just didn’t know.” She was ashen, a waxy sheen clinging to her pallor. 

Price steeled himself. “How much can she lose?” 

He wouldn’t crack. Not here. He couldn’t afford it when everything was already bad enough.

“Twenty to thirty-five percent?” Soap checked her pulse. “Her heart rate is accelerating.” 

“God damn it,” Ghost growled, his eyes darting from her shoulder to her rapidly deteriorating color. “Red?” He shook her gently and her head lolled. She made a soft, whimpering noise before going quiet. “C’mon, Red—wake up for me.”

Her brow furrowed, her lids parting a crack before they shut again. Simon swallowed thickly, the muscles in his neck spasming. The hem of his black mask had ridden up to reveal blonde hair stained dark from rain and sweat. 

“Simon–” Price tried before the larger man suddenly straightened, snapping to attention.

Wordlessly, Ghost repacked the sodden gauze into the wound and rewrapped her shoulder. He shoved his gun at Soap and lifted her clean off the horse. He maneuvered her into his arms, cradling against his chest. 

“I can take her, Simon,” Gaz protested.

“No,” he replied flatly. “Have to avoid the trip wires and you can’t see shit from a horse.” He began to move toward the house. “Price-be my eyes here. Don’t want to get shot. Johnny–what do we need?”

 He was holding her like she was a fragile egg, stalking towards the looming iron gate without jarring her. Soap and Price jogged after them.

“Needle, blood bag, a rubber tube,” he replied. The storm had picked up again and Price wondered if God was fucking with them. “A donor.”

“I’ll give it to her,” Ghost said without skipping a beat. “I’ve done it before…” he trailed off and the rain washed out the rest of his words. 

***

Simon couldn’t think, at least not in a straight definitive line. Not good. He was capable of coldness on the field. He could patch one of his teammates up with one hand while shooting with the other. 

But, Red? Different. So fucking different. 

He’d broken the man’s neck in the pharmacy, but too little too late. She’d still been hit and she was now close to death. He rushed through the front gate, stepping over the wires that Red had described before she’d gone quiet. He should have been more aware. He should have been watching her the second she’d stopped speaking on that damn horse. It was torture as he attempted to race toward the front door of the estate while keeping her comfortable. He felt as if he was straddling a knife edge, kicking up gravel as rain water sluiced into his vision.

The air was frigid. The wind was biting at his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured through the wet seal of his mask. “You’ll be alright.”

 Simon hauled ass up the stone steps just as Soap barreled past him to open the door. It was locked.  

“Fuck,” Soap punched the wood before turning to Ghost. “We can break a window?”

“Ghost,” Gaz shouted–a warning. 

Soap punched the door again, his knuckles splitting. 

“Ghost!”

“What?” he roared, whirling around to find a woman aiming a gun at them that was far too big for her. She glared, long dark hair falling in limp strands around her face. She was dressed in only shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Her green rain boots were covered in mud. 

“Who the fuck–” Her eyes fell to Red and she blanched, her mouth gaping in shock. “Oh my god!” 

Soap stepped in front of Simon and Red. “Alright, lass-” 

She lifted the gun higher. “What did you do to her, you fuckin’ assholes.”

Gaz slid around her, hands up. 

“Nothin’,” Gaz defended, voice steady and calm. “Look–we’re friends of Red’s. She got attacked in the village and she’s bleedin’ out-”

“How do I know you didn’t do it yourself?” The girl's lip trembled. “You-you could be using her as bait and-”

“WE DON’T HAVE FUCKING TIME FOR THIS!” Ghost bellowed. The girl flinched and Gaz slipped between them. Always the voice of reason. 

“She’s dying,” he explained. “Please let us in-”

Price appeared behind her and seamlessly snatched the gun from her hands. “Safety’s still on, love.” 

Startled, she nearly stumbled backwards over the steps before Gaz grabbed her by the arms, tugged her to him, and locked her against his chest. “Will you open the door now?”

Simon was done. He felt real fear begin to pour out of him, his whole frame shivering with it. He was taking on water too fast. He was sinking. Rage. Terror. He could not accommodate them both. He glowered at the woman, vowing to kill her if Red died. “Open. The. Door.” His threat spurted between his clenched teeth. His tone was frigid-dark and unyielding. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay–Slim–Slim said never to open it for anyone even if-if-”

Gaz released her and when she stepped toward the door, Simon realized she was crying. The rain had disfigured her features. 

“Just open the door, love,” Price murmured. He squeezed her shoulder and guided her closer. She winced when she brushed past Simon.

Visibly shaking, she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked it. 

***

It was utter chaos. They’d placed on the table, her injury no doubt staining the expensive wood. Simon scanned the kitchen and found it unadorned. It was all stone and wood, enormous and obviously meant to be utilized by an entire staff. He assumed that only the appliances had been updated, the rest was centuries old. He blew out a breath, feeling uneasy. The corners of the room were shadowed by the storm that howled outside. The windows provided little light and the woman-Bambi-was lighting several candles. Price and Gaz were searching for medical supplies in the storage closet across the room. Red had apparently invested in a plethora of equipment and tools long before the pandemonium had begun. 

Good girl - Simon thought. Red had always been one to prepare rather than wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“What happened?” Bamb was hovering beside the table, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She looked dazed, eyes focusing on the crimson-drenched bandages at the base of Red’s neck. Soap removed a pair of scissors from his bag and began to cut through her shirt.

Bambi winced. “Oh-don’t-she doesn’t have many-”

“It’s fucked, lass,” Soap replied bluntly. “You should maybe sit in the next room.”

“I can handle it,” she returned with conviction. “I’ve…” she swallowed. “I’ve seen worse.”

Soap shrugged before removing the bandages. Heart thundering in his chest, Simon watched as Red’s blood spilled in rivers, pooling beneath her. Immediately, he flattened his palms to the wound.

 “Steamin’ Christ,” Soap rumbled before yelling at Gaz to bring him more gauze. He turned to Bambi. “You have small hands.” He gestured to the large first-aid kit on the table. “Find the sewing kit, clean and thread a needle for me.” 

There was red up to his elbows, everything drenched and slippery. The room stank of pennies. Tasted like he’d licked a metal instrument. Blood had never bothered Simon before, but he was beginning to feel lightheaded. That’s fear. 

“She’ll be alright,” Soap muttered, glancing momentarily at Simon before focusing on Red’s face. “She’s survived worse, yeah?”

Simon steeled himself, aware that he couldn’t lose his head here. It was bad. Her coloring was frightening and how could they have been so stupid to not have realized she’d been fading out? 

“Foolish girl.” Simon grunted as a deep, unsettling frustration began to simmer beneath his skin. Typical Red. Fucking martyr. Probably, felt herself losing consciousness, but didn’t want to be a bother. 

Anger was an easier emotion to carry. Anger had been the feeling he’d harbored when she’d told him about her condition right before Kursk. He’d run away from her. He’d been an immature fucking child and left her. He’d been inexplicably pissed at her and for what? Something totally out of her control. A complete accident that they were both responsible for. 

“We can figure this out, Simon,” she’d told him. “We don’t have to make any rash decisions. We don’t-we don’t even have to go through with it.”

“I-I just need some time,” he’d said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back and we can-we’ll talk.”

He’d gone on a mission. Left her. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days, but she’d been so upset and desperate for her own distraction that she’d taken on a mission herself. A simple recon assignment. 

He had never forgiven himself when she didn’t come home.

“Simon,” Price had said, meeting him the second he’d stepped off the helicopter. “Simon-”

His stomach had dropped. He’d known it was about her by the look on Price’s face. 

“Where is she?” he’d growled and Price’s expression dismantled into something distressed.

“We don’t know,” he replied. “There was an explosion. She got separated.We-we think the Kursk faction took her.”

Next to Red, Price had always been Simon’s anchor in certain situations. He was reliable and he withstood every horrible disaster thrown at him. But when Red had been taken prisoner, the Captain had been visibly shaken. 

“Alright-shit’s about to get really messy,” Soap said as he yanked on a pair of latex gloves. 

“Here!” Bambi passed Soap the threaded needle. Soap had become the resident medic only because he had nimblest hands from dismantling bombs. He’d also picked up quite alot when he’d been fucking one of the nurses a few years back.

“Hopefully she doesn’t feel this,” Soap murmured before he poured rubbing alcohol over the angry slit.

Red’s eyes flew open, mouth slanting into a gasp. She twitched and moaned before attempting to shove Soap away. 

“Hold her, hold her,” Soap gritted. “I won’t be able to close it.”

Simon placed one hand on her uninjured shoulder and the other on her face. His palm encased it-spanning the entire side of her cheek and temple. Price appeared at the end of the table and held her legs down. 

Simon said her name softly. Her real one. He said it the same way he used to say it when it was just them and the morning and her shitty narrow bed and they’d probably just had tender, desperate sex. Her eyes found his and Simon smiled before realizing she couldn’t see it due to his mask. 

She hiccuped, her chest hitching. She was beginning to cry. 

“She needs to calm down,” Price barked. “Simon-”

Fuck it.

Simon ripped off his mask and threw it somewhere. Even though all of his enemies were likely dead, the mask still served as a crutch. It was still his armor.

But Red needed him.

Simon readjusted his grip and lowered his face so that it hovered over her own. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he demanded. “Look at me.” She blinked at him rapidly before she seemed to focus. Her lips twitched into what could have been a smile. It broke something inside him. 

“I’m here, alright,” he continued. “We’re all here. We’re just sewing you back up so we need you to relax.” The stench of blood and disinfectant wafted from the table. It stained his boots and hands. He drowned in it. 

Her mouth moved, but he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. 

“Only a flesh wound, duchess.” His voice was dangerously close to cracking. He couldn’t find his direction. He couldn’t find much of anything when she looked so fragile. 

It’s fine. We’re okay now. Out of the woods. 

And then shit went south. 

Red’s lashes fluttered, her eyes rolling back. Simon reached down to grip her wrist. “Her pulse is elevating, Johnny.”

Soap cursed. 

“What’s happening?” Bambi asked. Simon took a deep breath in an effort to hold it together. He jammed his aching terror into his guts because he knew Red needed him strong. She needed him to be solid and dependable. 

“She’s going into shock,” Soap explained before he continued to stitch her now that she had gone fairly still, pinned to the table by Simon and Price. He was sewing faster than Simon had ever seen him do before. It would be a mess, but it would save her life. 

“Thatta girl, Foxy,” Soap cooed even though she was hardly cognizant. “Doing beautifully, lass.” He cast Gaz a sharp look over his shoulder. “Start on Ghost. Price can help me.”

Simon didn’t need to be told twice as he dropped into one of the chairs. It creaked violently beneath his weight. He ripped at the buckles and straps of his vest before removing it and his jacket. 

“Lucky for us, Red apparently stole multiple sorts of kits.” Gaz lifted an oven tray with a catheter set, elastic and needles. 

“She raided the medical facilities nearby before anyone even knew what was going down,” Bambi said. “Went a little overboard.”

“Typical.” Soap grinned as he poured antiseptic over her shoulder. She was unresponsive, which caused him to frown. “She used to tell us what she’d do in a zombie apocalypse. The girl was ready.”

Gaz slid next to Simon and lifted his left arm, flicking at the inside of his elbow. Simon curled his hand into a fist while Gaz secured the elastic around his bicep, the black rubber blended into the ink scrawled across his skin. It pressed deep into his Fox tattoo. 

Her gaze was locked to the top of his bicep. She squinted, her tongue darting along the cracked flesh of her lower lip. With a gentle finger, she traced the tattoo, her expression melded into a soft sort of wonder. After a moment, her eyes watered and she blinked it away.

“A fox?” she murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Is that for me or another lady?”

He scowled. “Don’t be cheeky, duchess.”

Undeterred, she grasped his bicep and kissed the tiny fox. His declaration for her. He couldn’t help the shudder that vibrated through his bones. The warm, wet pressure of her pretty mouth. A devastating feeling burned through him as he watched her, small and beautiful and his. He must protect her, curl himself around her. Destroy everything else. Start at the root and tear it from the soil. Any fucking threat to her safety.

Well, he had failed her. Spectacularly. 

Gaz pierced Simon’s vein with the needle before directing it into a tube. He sighed, shaking away the dizziness. He was dehydrated and hungry and on no sleep, but it hardly mattered. 

Soap took the other needle and elastic before tying it around Red’s right arm. The IV catheter sat between Simon and Red as the dark - nearly black blood - was transferred between them. 

Simon studied her intently, feeling that if he looked away she’d die. Her heart would stop right on that table and he’d never be able to speak to her again. 

Red had been human for him. He’d watch her cry after a tough mission and she’d allow him to hold her. Burrow her face into his chest, cling to him and sometimes they’d fuck and sometimes they wouldn’t. Simon demanded her tears. Give them to me, love. Let me take your pain and I’ll never fucking forgive myself for being so late—for being unable to find you when you needed me most. Yes - he had failed her spectacularly and it felt as if he’d failed her again.

Your heart is soft, duchess. 

It is not.

Soft as Soap’s.

Soft for you, maybe. 

Gaz taped the needle to his arm, helping Simon elevate it just enough. Simon braced his elbows on his knees as he studied her skin and its new scars. He hadn’t even realized she was completely bare on top. He felt a weight drop in his gut-a basket of stones turn over beneath his ribs. Most of those marks were from Kursk. He swallowed. Rage. Again, rage. It set his nerves on fire and made his muscles spasm. 

You killed them. You killed all of them for what they did. You tore them apart. 

Suddenly, Simon reached out and took her hand. Due to their size difference, it was utterly dwarfed in his grip. He dragged his thumb across the vein in her wrist and felt the delicious thrum of it. 

“Her color is coming back, L.T.,” Soap acknowledged before finally stepping away from the table and dragging both hands down his face. He exhaled loudly. “Christ–I think I’ve lost a year off my life.”

Bambi glanced at him. “She’ll live?”

“Looks like it. Just pray she doesn’t get an infection.”

Simon prayed. 

***

Please share/reblog your thoughts, babes!

[felipeandletizia]

Felipe and Letizia retrospective: December 16th

2008: Visited ‘La Sexta’ Television Studios (1, 2)

2009: Stela Project Awards for the integration of people with intellectual disabilities into the labor market

2010: 14th CODESPA Awards

2015: Audiences at la Zarzuela & Received the credentials from ambassadors of Israel, Gabon, Colombia, Bangladesh, Tunisia and Haiti at the Royal Palace

2016: Meeting of the Board of Trustees of the UNICEF Foundation Spanish Committee

2019: 14th Meeting of Foreign Affairs Ministers of the ASEM Dialogue Forum (Asia-Europe Meeting)

2020: 17th Awards of the Victims of Terrorism Foundation & CEIM 2020 Awards

2021: Christmas Card 2021

F&L Through the Years: 889/??

[artfromthefuture]

#annuallage #annuallage2023 #sleigh #December16 #mycollagelab #Ignite October belated two-item collage - Slack in a Sleigh

[conjcosby]

Stardate: 202312.16 ▫ Into the single digits now, not long to go but how? 😊🎄 #christmas #xmas #countdown #december #festive #season #yuletide #christmascountdown #xmascountdown #happy #happydecember #festiveseason #yuletideseason #christmas2023 #xmas2023 #december16 #december16th #9daystillchristmas #9daystilxmas #countingdowntochristmas #countingdowntoxmas #christmasmonth #xmasmonth #post #christmaspost #xmaspost #dailypost #postoftheday #potd #celebration

[pedrito-friskito]

frankie morales taglist 2

@dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @littlemisspascal @allthe-ships @fictionismyreality @mrsparknuts @arson-tm @december16-1991 @maggotzombie @pastafossa @boliv-jenta @m00nkn1ghts @iccedays @detectivecarisi-1 @Grotzu @paintlavillered @wakala_djarin @tusk89 @myguiltypleasures21 @alexxavicry @chaoticgeminate @phandoz @psychedelic-ink @jitterbugs927 @amneris21 @legally-a-bastard @geekrenaissance @janebby @thirddeadlysin @tintinn16 @iceclaw101 @withakindheartx @mandoblowmybackout @sherala007

I'm back with another!! Fluff prompt #1 for Frankie, please 😇💜 (sorry I'm on mobile so I can't copy and paste it 😬)

yay fluff!! this was actually the same request as the one I got for Joel from @iamskyereads - but this one took a very different turn!

(prompt was: “Should I stop talking?” “Don’t, your voice is very soothing.”)

this was VERY self-indulgent, and it got a little (a lot) spicy, but I would truly do anything for Frankie Morales so so here we go!

eventual smut under the cut!

requests are open until saturday midnight!

the cold

(word count 1.7k)

Frankie is a suck when he’s sick. Like, man-cold to the nth degree. He’s a baby, in every sense of the word. But you can’t help it, taking care of him every way you can.

Flu season is a bit of a write-off in your house. While you fill your body with antioxidant teas and immune-boosting vitamins, Frankie thinks it’s all bullshit, waving off your offers with a mumbled, “I don’t get sick.”

Except, he does.

It starts fine; it always does. A bit of a cough, clearing his throat repeatedly, rubbing at his nose and making that scrunched-up expression you secretly love (more so when it’s not the first sign of impending sickness…). He asks for soup for dinner, grumbles at you that his throat is sore, takes longer, hotter showers than normal. But he powers through, refuses to call into work cuz, “It’s just a bit of a cold, baby. I’m fine.”

Except, he’s very quickly not fine.

His truck is in the driveway when you get home from work, which is your first clue. Frankie’s almost never home before you, and as you pass his truck on your way to the door, you can see wads of tissues scattered on the bench seat, lozenge wrappers decorating the dashboard. You sigh as you fish your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the door and stepping inside. He whines as soon as he hears your shoes on the tile.

“Baby, I’m sick.”

You have to stifle your giggle, unloading your work bag and purse from your arms, toeing off your shoes and locking the door behind you. “You don’t say, Francisco.”

He’s sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in the flannel blanket that usually lives on the back of the sofa. He doesn’t look well, to start; his skin is pale, his forehead shining with a thin sheen of sweat, his eyes bloodshot. You step to the back of the couch, leaning over and touching the back of your hand to his forehead. He’s warm, too, and holds your hand to his skin with something like a whimper on his lips.

“Your hands are so soft, baby.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes as you head for the kitchen. “Have you taken anything?” you ask, beelining for the cupboard where you keep the meds, fishing out a package of cold and flu, along with another baggie of lozenges and one of the echinacea teabags you’ve been hoarding since he first started coughing. “Fish?”

“No,” he calls back, clearing his throat, which sends him into a coughing fit. You pop two of the pills out of the blister back, fill a glass of water, returning to the living room and perching on the coffee table as he stops, offering the water.

“Drink,” you command, and he listens, clammy fingers brushing yours as he takes the glass. “And take these, too.”

He makes a face as he takes the pills from you, wincing as he swallows. “I hate being sick.”

You shake your head at the big suck he’s turned into, reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead. “I know, baby.”

The rest of the evening is spent waiting on Frankie, and you go full nurse-mode on him. A box of tissues is left on the coffee table, along with more lozenges, a bottle of water, and a cup of tea with honey. When he starts coughing again, you find a tub of vapour-rub, and order his shirt off, perching on the coffee table again so you can smear the stuff on his chest. It helps some; you can feel his breathing even out a bit beneath your hands, his lungs less rattle-y against his ribs.

He whines when you take your hands off of him, and you settle onto the couch instead, pulling his head into your lap while you find something to watch on Netflix. One hand still rubs at his chest, the vapour-rub long absorbed, but every time you try and stop, he nudges at your arm, makes some unintelligible noise, begging you to continue.

“How was your day?” he asks, his voice a little nasally, sniffing loudly as you hand him a tissue.

You tell him about your day at work, launching into a story about your coworkers. You ramble a bit; usually you two have a big, long chat over dinner, which usually cascades out onto the couch after you’re finished tidying up, so you have lots to say. And you keep rubbing at his chest, his skin hot against your palm, his head rising and falling with your breaths.

You’ve been talking for nearly twenty minutes, and you realize he hasn’t said a word. He started out with quiet affirmations he was listening, uh-huhs and oh reallys interjected every so often, but it’s a been a while since you heard one.

“Frankie?” you say softly, not wanting to wake him if he’s asleep. “Honey, should I stop talking? Why don’t we get you to bed, hmm?”

“Don’t,” he rasps, turning over onto his stomach, burying his face in your lap. Your hand moves to his hair, curls sliding around your knuckles. “Your voice is very soothing.”

“Oh, is it?” you ask, smiling as you move your hand through his hair, making a little moan fall out of him. “I’m sure it would be even more soothing in bed.”

He shakes his head against you. “Don’t wanna move.”

“How about the shower?” you ask, and his head perks up instantly, sleepy eyes blinking at you.

“You gonna join me?” he asks, and you laugh.

“Yes, Fish,” you reply, ruffling his hair. “Don’t trust you to stay upright without me.”

It’s the fastest he’s moved all evening, kicking off the blanket and waiting for you to stand up. He wobbles a bit as he gets to his feet, and you fit yourself under his arm, leading him down the hall to the bathroom.

He looks dead on his feet as you shuffle him into the shower, the spray nearly as hot as it’ll go, filling the bathroom with steam. You strip yourself quickly, pulling the curtain back into place. Frankie slips his arms around your waist as soon as you’re within reach, leaning his head into your chest, his back pressed to the cold tile.

“Comfortable?” you ask, angling yourself so he’s not getting sprayed directly in the face. He nods into your collar, and you sigh as you feel his hands slip lower, palming your ass as he pulls you a little closer. “Frankie.”

“Huh?” he mumbles, kissing at your collarbone. “What, baby?”

“You’re sick,” you say, coming your fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back over his head.

“But I need you,” he almost whines, head moving up so he can suck at the skin of your neck. “Always need you, even when I feel like shit.” He pauses, wrenches his head up and coughs towards the wall. “Especially when I feel like shit.”

“Breathe deep,” you tell him, rubbing your other hand up and down his back. “The steam will help.”

He fits his face back against your neck, hands roaming your body again, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little. He knows your body better than you do, knows where to squeeze and caress in just the right way, sending sparks of heat to your core.

You feel him twitch against your thigh, and you can’t help yourself, moving your and around from his back, down his arms, over his stomach. He groans in your ear as you skim your fingers along his waist, over the curve of his stomach, and he twitches again, cock filling at your attention.

He squeezes your ass again, his other hand reaching between your legs, but you push him away. “Baby—” he starts to protest, nose still buried in your throat.

“I’m taking care of you, remember?” you mumble against his hair, kissing the crown of his head. “Let me.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll take care of myself later,” you say, revelling in the gasp that slips from his throat as your fingers close around his cock. “I’ll let you watch.”

He groans into your throat, arm going tight as anything around your waist. You stroke him slow, bringing your hand to your mouth after a moment and licking a stripe up your palm. He groans louder when you touch him again, your spit and the water easing your movements, making him pulse in your hand. You curl your fingers tight, thumb riding the thick vein along the underside of him, and he whimpers into your neck, clawing tighter at your waist, pushing his hips into your hand.

You know his body just as well as he knows yours.

You move your other hand to the base of his neck, fingers still knotted in your hair and tug lightly, just enough that you can press your lips to his forehead. “You gonna cum for me, Frankie?”

“Uh-huh,” he breathes out, nearly stuttering the response as you push him back slightly, until his back is flush against the tile again. You pump him fast and hard, just like he likes, thumb swiping against his sensitive head on every upstroke. “Fuck, baby, please.”

“Take it, Fish,” you whisper, holding him close, your hand moving faster on his cock. “C’mon, baby, wanna make you feel good.”

“Feels so good,” he groans out and pushes his head back as he cums, ropes of white spurting onto your stomach, over your knuckles, dripping onto his thighs. He stutters out your name as he goes, head tipped back against the tile, eyes rolling back in his head. You stroke him through it, savouring every sound he makes, the heat and pressure between your own legs pulsing in time to your heartbeat. Later.

You only slow when he starts to whine, one hand pushing at your own. You tug him beneath the water again, letting the hot spray wash you both clean, and he fits himself against you, hand roaming your body once more.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he mumbles into your neck. “So fucking good to me.”

[queenshelby]

Tag List One (Full)

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@cdej6

@kathrinemelissa

@landlockedmermaid77

@crazymar15

@damedomino  

@lauren-raines-x

@miss-bunny19

@skinny-bitch-juice

@odorinana

@cloudofdisney

@weepingstudentfishhorse

@allexiiisss

@geminiwolves

@letsstarsfalling

@ysmmsy

@chlorrox

@tommyshelbypb

@chocolatehalo

@music-lover911

@desperate-and-broken

@mysticaldeanvoidhorse

@peaky-cillian

@lelestrangerandunusualdeetz

@december16-1991

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@romanogersendgame

@randomfangirl2718

@missymurphy1985

@peakyscillian

@lilymurphy03

@deefigs

@theflamecrystal

@livinginfantaxy

@rosey1981

@hanster1998

@fairypitou

@zozeebo

@kasaikawa

@littleweirdoalien

[runnning-outof-time]

To Those Who Read Birmingham:

As I’m sure you probably could have guessed, this week’s chapter is going to be pretty intense. They will have arrived in Sheffield, and I think we all know what’s going to go on there……

With that being said, I am going to be proactive and use the community label function and mark the chapter for violence so that it doesn’t get flagged and disappear.

I wanted to announce this now so that those who may not have switched their settings to allow it can do so and will still be able to read the chapter.

More descriptive warnings will be placed on the chapter itself (which will refer to the why and the how of the event…that’ll make sense later).

That’s about all - I’m excited to share it with you…big things are happening!!

Adding the taglist below:

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[dreamings-free]

By Liberty Dunworth | 29th June 2023

Andrew Cushin has shared a music video for his single ‘It’s Coming Round Again’ — filmed during his tour with Louis Tomlinson. Check it out below.

The track was the latest single to be taken from his hotly anticipated debut album, ‘Waiting For The Rain’, which is set to arrive on September 29. Now, the upcoming Newcastle singer-songwriter has shared the visual accompaniment for the song, which he filmed while on tour with former One Direction member Louis Tomlinson.

Taking place backstage at one of the venues that he played at while supporting Tomlinson, the video shows the 23-year-old with his acoustic guitar — performing the tranquil ballad both backstage and in front of a sold-out crowd.

The single is the fourth to be taken from the upcoming album, released hot on the heels of ‘4.5%’, ‘You’ll Be Free’ and ‘Dream For A Moment’. Check out the new music video below.

Currently, emerging Newcastle singer is still embarking on his ongoing shows with Tomlinson, and playing various arena dates across the USA. Upcoming shows include slots in New York, Las Vegas and Los Angeles.

He will then head back to the UK, and is set to play his own headline show in New York at the Mercury Lounge on 31st July.

“This is insane – I’m taking songs I wrote in my bedroom and playing them to thousands of American fans,” he said, reflecting on the tour. “I’m in total disbelief. I’ll be forever grateful to Louis and his team for this opportunity.”

“I’m just trying to do the best I can, people are really into the tunes. I just can’t wait for the next show,” he added. “This is also the first time I’ve ever been to America! I’m trying my best to take it all in and meet as many people as I can.”

Cushin’s upcoming album was produced by Dave Eringa (Manic Street Preachers) and recorded at Rockfield Studios in Monmouth and The Libertines Albion Rooms studios in Margate.

Due to high demand, Cushin has also added an additional show in his hometown at Newcastle’s City Hall (December 16), set to take place as part of his previously announced Waiting For The Rain Tour. Find a full list of his headline dates below and visit here for tickets.

Andrew Cushin’s tour dates are:

OCTOBER 12 – Carlisle, Brickyard13 – Belfast, Voodoo14 – Dublin, Academy 216 – Liverpool, O2 Academy217 – Oxford, O2 Academy218 – London, Scala19 – Bristol, Thekla21 – Birmingham, O2 Institute222 – Portsmouth, Wedgewood Rooms24 – Brighton, Patterns25 – Milton Keynes, Craufurd Arms26 – Leicester, O2 Academy228 – Nottingham, Rescue Rooms29 – Leeds, Wardrobe31 – Sheffield, O2 Academy2

NOVEMBER 1 – Glasgow, St. Lukes2 – Manchester, Band On The Wall4 – Newcastle, O2 City Hall (SOLD OUT)

DECEMBER16 – Newcastle, O2 City Hall

Last year, Louis Tomlinson spoke about his determination to support upcoming new talent, particularly by bringing emerging artists onto his tours.

He discussed the subject during his own Away From Home festival last year, in which he told NME that one of the main reasons why he began the festival was because he had been wanting to provide a platform that would “showcase upcoming bands”.

“I’ve always been really interested in the development stage of bands’ careers,” he said. “I think they’re some of the most exciting times. So any way where I can help anything like that, that’s always been really important to me.”

He also discussed the increasingly difficult circumstances that new artists are faced with in the current day, as well as how he tries to offer advice to new artists who reach out to him online.