#ezra steele
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taiyo-to-tetsuu · 1 year ago
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song from new thing, thinking of name change not sure yet. album title/new artist name inspired from your best is an idiot by father figure, sometimes like to listen while playing stalker
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wwprice1 · 6 months ago
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The announcement to beat all announcements happened four years ago today!
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autism-disco · 10 months ago
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i love music so much you don’t understand i’m it’s. bejdbdbbdbdbvvbv
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buthigor · 2 years ago
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Zack Snyder: DC universe
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(DC studios)
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thebusylilbee · 2 years ago
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interesting that since the new CEO from hell took over Warner Bros Discovery the only new DC projects that are confirmed cancelled are the ones lead by women...
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comicweek · 2 years ago
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youtube
The Flash - Big Game Spot
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loudlylovingreview · 8 months ago
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James Laughlin: Easter in Pittsburgh
Even on Easter Sunday when the church was ajungle of lilies and ferns fat Uncle Paulwho loved his liquor so would pound awaywith both fists on the stone pulpit shoutingsin sin sin and the fiery fires of helland I cried all after-noon the first time Iheard what they did to Jesus it was somethingthe children shouldn’t know about till theywere older but the new maid told me and bothof us cried a lot…
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lovethatlaiduslow · 2 years ago
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37 and 91 for the wrapped asks!!
37. in the light- the lumineers
oh this song makes me incredibly weepy. every time i hear his voice breaking singing the line 'fate dealt you a tricky hand, now you're just left alone in your mind and I have gone away' i want to fling myself off a building
91. giving up the gun- vampire weekend
there was a good like... two weeks? in september where i was only listening to contra vampire weekend. absolute banger
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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year ago
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there's hope for us yet - (1/2)
Anakin Skywalker x f!reader
After being overpowered by Baylan Skoll, Ahsoka and the reader find themselves in the World Between Worlds, each confronted with a version of Anakin. The reader meets the Anakin she fell in love with. Or, still loves.
masterlist ▪︎ part two
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"Hello, stardust."
Two words. Two simple but poignant words to send you out of orbit. Wherever you are.
You had opened your eyes to an endless picture of the galaxy, stars and planets as far as you can see. Planes of light acting like pathways, one of which you found yourself lying down on.
Then you stood, head light.
And then you hear him.
Anakin.
You swear there is nothing else like it, the sound of his voice which used to be your very anchor.
"Impossible." You whisper, before finally turning around.
There he stands, as real as the last day you saw him. Donning his dark Jedi attire, blonde curls atop his perfect face.
"What did I tell you?" He tsked at you, shaking his head fondly. "Nothing's impossible."
"I'm dead, aren't I?" You take a step closer, as he walks towards you. This must be heaven, you want to add, but that seemed too hopeful. Desperate.
Heaven, after all, would always be with him. Anakin, who was lost after the duel on Mustafar.
"Do you really think that, stardust?" He reaches you, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. "Look around."
So you do. But truth be told, you don't want to look at anything else apart from him.
"Another... realm," you try to figure it out. "You've mentioned this, haven't you? Obi-Wan talked of a realm that encompasses all realms. All of time and space."
Anakin hums in approval, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. "If in here I still have you... then here is all there ever should be."
You feel tears pricking at your eyes, trying hard to fight them off. He swoops in at your rescue, bridging the gap between you two with a searing kiss.
It feels real, you think. And it must be, because how else can it make your entire being ablaze. His lips are softer than your memory serves, the sweet taste of him ingrained like a branding. Ani, Anakin. Your Anakin.
His tongue snakes past your teeth, begging for more. His hand tilts your head back to gain leverage.
"My stardust," he whispers against your skin, when he pulls away to drag his lips on your cheek. When he repeats it, his words take on a different tone. "My stardust. Mine." He nearly growls at the end, the sound of it low and grating in your ear.
The Force shifts. Where you felt uncertainty and hope, now you feel something darker. Something's not right here.
"Where is Ahsoka?"
"That's nothing you should concern yourself with." Anakin steps to your side, one hand toying with your hair. When he is behind you, you feel his breathing on the back of your neck, just imploring you to give in. "What matters is us, stardust."
"This isn't real." You shake your head. "At least, this is not my time, my current path. I have to go back. We have to find Ezra."
"This is real." His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing your back to his chest. "You wound me, stardust. Do you not want me? Just like this?"
"I can feel you," you step away from him, immediately deflated at the lack of contact, as wrong as it may be. "and you're not really my Anakin, are you?"
He chuckles, low in his chest. There is nothing friendly about the gesture. "I am who I have always been meant to become. This is me. This is the man you love."
"No." You circle each other, akin to predator and prey, and you're not sure which one you are. "The man I love ..." you raise your voice, resolve weakening, "... is dead."
A moment hangs between you, filled with silence, but electrifying all the same. He holds you in his steel blue gaze, and for just a second, you can believe that he is truly yours. His mouth curls up in that familiar smirk, his eyebrows raise toward the center.
Please, he seems to say, this is me. I love you now, as I always have.
But the moment passes, and a gloom casts over his expression.
"Fine," he sneers. "Have it your way, stardust."
And the world falls all around you.
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Everything is burning.
The Clone Wars rage at all sides, smoke filling the air and impairing your line of sight.
Anakin was by your side one second, the next he was lost to you in the midst of all the fighting.
You think you can hear him calling your name, but it seems so far away. Your main focus is on the open wound by your ribs, sustained from a blaster shot, staining blood through your white tunic.
You groan due to it all, but the familiarity of the pain somehow dulls the sensation.
I've been here before.
Anakin calls your name, much nearer now, and soon enough he is right in front of you. Face contorted in a mixture of rage and relief.
"Stardust!" He yells. "I told you to stick with me. Why do you never listen?"
"It's not my fault! I was..." Pain shoots through you, bringing you to your knees, and you press your hand against your side. "I was sidetracked by all the..."
"You're hurt. Kriff's sake, stardust. How can you do this me?"
"To you? I'm the one injured here."
He babbles on, inspecting your wound with precise movements. "I don't know what I would do without you. You can't get hurt, do you hear me? I would not be able to fight in these wars. You have to be alright."
His sincerity tugs at your heart, and you reach for his face. He takes a deep breath, pressing his nose against your palm.
"I'll be alright, Ani," you try to calm him down. "Nothing a little bacta spray can't fix."
"Right," he reaches inside his pocket, revealing the spray case. The immediate relief you feel as the solution comes in contact with your wound makes you sigh deeply. "This should tide you over until we get you to a medic."
"Snips alright?" You look around, trying to catch a glimpse of his young Padawan.
"She's alright," he confirms, helping you up with one arm firmly around you. "Worry about yourself for now, okay?"
"Are you alright?" You completely ignore his sentiment, giving him a once over. Well, what are you thinking? Of course he's alright. Anakin can face a thousand belligerents on his own and come out unscathed.
He pauses, a smile encroaching upon his face.
"Oh, stardust." He sighs, moving in front of you, and holding your face with both hands.
An explosion erupts from behind him, billowing fires. The atmosphere is red, an intense haze of destruction looming over the scene. There is screaming from all sides. Cries of attack and defense.
But Anakin only has eyes for you.
"I'll always be okay, as long as I have you by my side."
You remember this moment. You remember how you clammed up, and merely nodded in response. The gloom of battle like an assault to your senses.
Say something. But you can't, because you didn't.
Anakin presses a kiss to your forehead, and your eyes close.
And then he is gone.
I will always be with you, Ani.
But it is too late.
Always.
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This is just a two-parter, and the next part will be sad/angsty, so brace yourselves. He is Darth Vader, after all.
update: part two is posted!
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crownedinmarigolds · 5 months ago
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All of the VTM collaboration art so far! Sorry to re-post, I just wanted to have a big post where I can put them all one spot! I will link to the original posts and perhaps update this the more we all do! I hope we get to do more soon. <3 Hecata Family Portrait! Gangrel Fall! Thinblood Renaissance Faire! Malkavian Lupercalia Valentine's Day! Nosferatu New Year!
All of the characters and art are provided by the VTM Tumblr community who are all so gorgeous and talented! All of the artists are listed on the original posts but I will also try to list them all beneath the cut as well to make sure they get the praise they deserve!
Hecata Family: Anansi, Imogen, Aydan, Rocco, and Holly @confusedwithglitter Bryce Milliner @salubri-outcast Dr. Winston Mccaine and Bacia @morticrows Lucio @hunter-slime-660 Sabina Rico @squiretinnion Demetra "Demi" Giovanni @salubri-outcast Marcello Marchetti and Ash @superfastsquiddle Dionosio "Dio" Giovanni @salubri-outcast The Hidalgo Coterie - Crystal, Noa, Nythanel, Bravo, Cori - by myself! Amadou @holly-bearie Sasha @rattenprince Diego de Mondellis @cynical-tuba Xochi @urbanknightart Mattia Faulkner @harbingerofskulls Marcello Giovanni and Mirabella @squiretinnion Rosin @milk-crafting Deirdre and Mallory "Mal" Corvinelli @wizzsp Bernadette and Beatrix Beaumont @renaissancebadboy Gangrel Gang: Misha - @m4rloe5 Jensen - @satteredhunter Saffiya - @spell-fox Corvus - @renaissancebadboy Aidan - Spell-Fox Nixie Tube, Lexi Lyall, Darius, Hannah, and Mouse - @problemsynth Kuro - @urbanknightart Eli - Spell-Fox Dayo - @enderkriller77 Beepli Alison - @salubri-outcast Trixie - CrownedinMarigolds Damaris - @thesixthplaneteer Hugo Pitt - @squiretinnion Annette and Bones - @sheriff-shitstarter Alyssa and Lisa - @anarchswild Marcy - @confusedwithglitter JJ Slayter - @lealdog Ajax - @wizzsp Blake Moore - @vtmgremlin Fern - @lylailaeth Marina - @knuxtiger4 Wallis and Reynard - salubri-outcast Snare - TheSixthPlaneteer The Mariner - @holly-bearie Gaius - @ollieanderr Thinblood Faire: Jesse Steele - Fullblood Caitiff Scourge - @discodiablo (art by me!) John Carmichael - @emissary-of-stuff Ezra and Skye - @wizzsp Havi - @m4rloe5 Camilla - @renaissancebadboy My Stakebait Coterie! Ralph, Khloe, Kyle, and Christian! Gabbie - @del-uxie Leo - @cynical-tuba Ramona - also @renaissancebadboy!! Lucian - @squiretinnion Miles - @confusedwithglitter Cecil and Perry - @zyurp Blanche - @holly-bearie Del - @kentuckycaverats
Malkavian Valentine's: Monday - @zyurp Sophia - @holly-bearie Rigby - @themarginalthinker Emil - @morticrows Mir and Marie - @problemsynth Claire - @pretend-pretend-vampire Thom - @socialprawn Charlie - @osatokun Quinn and Sunspire - @tzimizce Niko - @shaydh Daimund - @thesixthplaneteer (art by me!) Shivers - @kmpshitposter Andrea - @bugcouncil Heleen - @m4rloe5 j and clemency - @luoniiel and @kermitted-cause Brooklyn - @svampira Wyrd - @clompe Apollo - @mountainashfae Lucas, Noelle, and Zeus - @supersquiddle Finn - @confusedwithglitter Lyla and Thirteen - @problemsynth Father Emir - @urbanknightart Monroe - @cynical-tuba
Nosferatu New Year: @its-sixxers - Elaine de la Saules, Casimmir, Briar Mary, Adam Romaniuk @themarginalthinker - Blue, Charlie, Tweak @tzimizce - Quinn @confusedwithglitter - Orpheus @the-art-block - Oginn, Atena:ti, Lamb, and Wolf Mother @holly-bearie - Angelo @problemsynth - Nere @m4rloe5 - Charlie
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meli-writes · 5 days ago
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Bitch-Princess of Toronto
“Cute, right?” Tamsin grins. She gestures to the small, pale mess curled up on the sidewalk couch with her — into her — the 6-foot, mullet-topped werewolf draping her own leather jacket over it to keep it warm. “Got the Bitch-Princess of Toronto purring in my lap.”
“I don’t purr,” the mess purrs back, echoing off the motor-repair shop’s walls, with an idle flash of fang catching Ezra’s eye.
“You want me to use the word ‘snore?’” Tamsin asks, irritatingly casual about it all.
Because Ezra, well they have been watching those fangs every day this week, waiting to see if the little caught vampire is gonna try anything; keeping her leashed in silver chains, some regular mechanic’s ones too, to one of the steel columns while the pack-elder fucks off to debate what to do with her. Ezra’s been looking into things themself — the usual rumours of vampires prodding into their territory, making sure it’s no-one who belongs to the Prince — because this one hasn’t been much in the way of forthcoming.
And in the two days they've left Tamsin in charge, she's got the bitch on a dog leash.
Ezra exhales, pulling at their septum ring and breathing the stress back in. “That’s the part you take issue with.” Not looking at Tamsin — but the vampire. The silent perfection with which she seems to not even notice Ezra is a screeching brake rotor in their head.
“Still only responds to what she wants to,” Tamsin uselessly informs them, flat-toned with a barely hidden smile that also says, but i’m what she wants.
And what does her owner want? The Prince, Ezra doesn’t say aloud.
“Why is she in your lap?” they manage to ask.
“I don’t know,” Tamsin says. “We were chattin’ and I felt bad about leaving her chained to the post.” She rolls her shoulders back, stretching, and pulls a massive, thrice-bitten arm up to ruffle at the vampire’s ruby-red hair. “She’s so warm after feeding.”
“You did what!?” Ezra shouts, their hands convulsing in an electric gesture of sheer-fucking-disbelief before managing to clamp them into fists on their temples. “Tam! If Lucerne comes back from the Eldermoot and sees this-leashed-bitch and that-shit-on-your-arm she’ll fucking kill us both!”
“I don’t know,” Tamsin offers in a smug-salted, doubtful smile, “seemed a whole lot less messy than feeding out of the bowl — and she’s been so good. Two taps when she needs me to pull her off, ‘cos she struggles to herself. Very polite.”
Just to annoy Ezra even worse, she gestures it out — Tap! Tap! — on her arm.
“You think she's imprinted on me?”
“So she’s a stray cat now?” Ezra says, knowing in an instant that Tam is going to—
“Ohh, she’s such a good kitten. Ain’t that right, Red?”
Not much more escapes the pile of leather and frizzy, red hair than low, pleased grumble and the soft scrape of blood-full cheeks rubbing into Tamsin’s half-dressed chest.
Ezra’s hands run from temple-sides down their cheeks, like a squished bagpipe dragging out the last few thimblefuls of air, “I guess. If it helps.”
They’re not able to think of what else could even keep ‘Red’ on her leash, nothing short of the brute-strength that seems futile on a now barely-restrained, blood-full vampire. Marde. She’s one of the Prince’s fledglings too.
But if it is, at this point, all about what ‘Red’ is choosing to do, maybe Ezra can—
“Can I— pet her?”
Tamsin’s eyes lock to her, face still for a few contemplate moments, and then— well, she kind of nod-shrugs.
It’s when Ezra has reached a wrench’s length away that ‘Red’ finally does ‘notice’ them, stirring from her wretched repose to swipe at them; Ezra has to stumble back, falling ass-backward onto the stacked-tire coffee table.
Nothing got scratched, but Ezra can definitely feel their ego bleeding; looking at Tamsin who should be pinning the bitch to the floor, snarling, fur sprouting from claw-to-delt, and is instead pissing herself laughing.
“Don’t think she’s imprinted on you,” she adds, and Ezra is sure the vicious fang-bitch is smiling herself. Probably didn’t scratch me ‘cos she didn’t need to — with Tam playing pet-mom to her. “Gotta let her feed on your first.”
“Oh-ho-ho! Ha! Ha-ha! No chance,” Ezra mutters, twisting their swiped-at wrist in the other hand to soothe the emotional agony of it. “Tam — what if she tries draining you and uses that strength to escape?” 
It’s a perfectly sensible question; one that should point out what a bad idea this is; one that not even Himbo Tamsin should be able to—
“Don’t want to,” interrupts ‘Red,’ boredom effusing into Tamsin’s tits.
“What?” Ezra asks.
“Ugh!” they squeal, throwing their arms up in the air. “Tamsin, can you ask her—”
Tamsin merely coos at the fucking beast, rubs one of its dumb cheeks and, “you like it when I keep you, don’t you kitty?”
“Mhmm,” she replies, like once-again Tamsin is the only other person in the room. Ridicule! 
But it crawls into them then, why doesn’t she want to.
“Also,” the vampire adds, as if listening to Ezra’s thoughts more than their words, “the Prince’s current truce is a lie. Doubtless I’m no longer his favourite too, if he’s not bothered to take me back from you guys.”
There’s a roll of Ezra’s eyes that hurts more than an unplanned, full-moon turning, “Oh my god! Then we’ve been hiding a worthless hostage this entire time.”
“I don’t know,” ‘Red’ tells them. “Seemed obvious to me.”
“And you never told us!” Ezra moans, glancing up to Tamsin who’s pathetically infatuated with the attention-whore clamped around her like a bench vice. “So what, nowhere to run now? We would’ve let you off leash at least. The silver one, not this shit.”
“Seems kinda hot to be honest,” ‘Red’ says, and Tamsin hums in satisfied, deferential agreement.
When Ezra stares her down she shrugs, “What? I was comfortable,” and seems to want to send a message back, “Scared a little, okay. And I’m patient. Wanted to see what happened, because again, if he wanted me, a truce — fake-or-not — wouldn’t stop him; and he knows I’m here, for sure.”
There’s a wince now, but she doesn’t stop, “I don’t feel him but— ugh, I’m sure he feels me. Even this far from his ivory tower. Wasn’t really my choice to be there y’know, or any of his ‘princesses.’”
Ezra wishes they were the one borrowing Tam’s jacket, just to hide in it.
Silver chains and a bowl. Next to a mattress you needed Tamsin to find a blanket for. What an asshole, a wonder she doesn’t listen.
Practical feels the best way forward, “So what now? You gonna tell us about some secret attack or plan or whatever it is?”
After a moment they realise, and look to— “Tamsin?”
Tamsin’s got a hand under the girl’s borrowed shirt; fingers nipping at the trim fat, forehead rocking into the top of her head. “You know this sounds awfully dangerous, kitten,” she chimes. “You don’t want the Prince to hurt me, do you? There’d be way less cuddles then.”
‘Red’ takes a moment to weigh the bargain.“Mmm, sure. But I want dinner first.”
---
(Masterpost)
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cookie-crumblr · 8 months ago
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What would happen if we ignored Ezra and didn't care what he did for a day?
SORRY ITS TAKEN ME LITERALLY SO LONG!!! TYSM FOR THE ASKS!!! ily all 💋✨
He’d get so angry.
So toxic,
ecstatic and sad all at the same time.
!!!MINORS DNI!!!
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CW: GN!Reaader, no body descriptions for reader, not proofread, explicit language, violence, NON CON SA. VIOLENCE AGAINST READER. names used against reader(Cunt, ), assault, loud “noises”, general bullying against reader!
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Status: Not even close to dating
“Fuck off! Just, leave me alone already!!” You stormed off, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded with a lust filled smirk cemented to his face.
He fixes his jaw.
“, finally” He swaggers away in the other direction, for now.
Later~
“Are you still ignoring me, Y/N?”
You pick up your things and go to move seats without a word.
He watches you through twitching lowered brows, gaining annoyance as a ripe little cherry on top of everything else he’s been feeling since you left in a huff this morning.
Ignore him will ya? Welp, he’ll just have to make it harder for you to do so.
He moves seats too.
You move seats again, before, “Y/L/N, You’re disrupting class. Either stay seated this time, or get out.” The professor says.
Fuck.
Well now you’re stuck next to him…
You sit on the side edge of your seat as far away from him as possible, in fact only one freakin butt cheek is even on the dang thing. You’re even facing completely away when, he start rapping his fingers against the desk. His head is in his hand.
“Uhhhhg just stop already!” He moans. He’s so loud, you’d swear his noises are way more disruptive than you moving seats maybe if you just—
“Sit back down, or leave.”
You groan loud and draw it out. HES WAY LOUDER! Why is he NEVER in trouble???
Whatever. only … Fuck… sixty more minutes… Gods why are courses so long!
He huffs loudly next to you and blows some strawberry blonde hair out of his face.
It’s too bad he’s so hot, his looks are wasted on such a nasty dude.
A hand slaps your thigh and grips your inner flesh tightly to where it stings! “Ow!!”
“Shhh!” the professor turns from the screen toward your direction.
“Sorry Sur…” UHG. Whatever.
“Pfft,” He’s laughing. He’s seriously laughing at you!
You know what! Fine. You will leave. And you do.
Ezra follows you to the hallway.
You speed up and try to go hide in the restroom.
Once inside you sigh, but relief is cut short when the door opens.
You clamber into a stall, Fuck fuck FUCK. No! now you’re alone with him! Oh shit. Oh no. Oh gods…
*SLAM! BANG! CRASH!*
You jump. You think he kicked in a stall door, it sounded like it flew off its poor hinges. You cower with your whole body scrunched on top of the toilet.
You realize you’re shaking.
You cover your own mouth to silence yourself but—
*BANG-CRASH!*
You muffle a whimper but you know he heard you.
“Y/N~ I know you’re in here,”
*BANG-CLANG-CRASH*
FUCK!
There’s only one left before yours…
*Flick*
Huh? A lighter…
You smell cigarette smoke, and a tear forms at the corner of your eye. He’s just toying with you as always, he has to be… Right?
“Y/N~” He’s cooing in an almost sing-songy voice. “If you come out now, i’ll give ya a reward…”
You wipe your face, and steel yourself for a second…
Okay… Fine.
It’s probably better than whatever he’d do to you if you keep cowering until he inevitably gets to you, in two more kicks.
You open the door.
“There~ That wasn’t so hard wasit?” His voice is so gentle right now, but it does little to calm you.
You turn your head in defiance.
“You really wanna do this, huh? Ignorin’ me or whatever,” He flicks away his cigarette and you can’t hold in the air that leaves you in actual relief, that’s one less weapon against you.
He closes the distance in a single movement, grasping your face by the cheeks and squeezing them. “Y/N. Look at me.”
You don’t.
“Look. At. Me. Now.”
You remain stead fast.
“You finally got s’m balls, eh.” He smiles and drops your face with a soft uncharacteristic caress to your jaw.
You break and take a quick glance at him.
“ahhh, you want that, huh?” He brings back that sweet voice… “You want me to be all lovey and soft huh?” Your heart thumps in your chest hard. He doesn’t mean it, he’s not gonna change and you know it. “Too Fuckin’ bad” He grabs your face again before throwing it down, he grabs your body next and throws you down onto the dirty bathroom floor.
“Please!!” You cover your face with your arms, but it’s no use hes on top of you, pulling your arms away from you, ripping open your legs and pulling them up on either side of him.
His buckle is loud in your ears as he undoes it, before your hearing cuts out, did he punch you? Your whole head hurts and your vision is fuzzy.
Your skull must’ve bounced off the ceramic tiles.
He punches you again, he’s not using his full strength but it might still knock you out.
“Stupid cunt, you think you can ignore me?” He spits.
“Please, Ezra!!! Sto—op—p” You’re choking out sobs but you can barley hear yourself as if your in another room from your own body.
He spits on his own dick and spreads it around before entering you, at least he’ll give you that.
It still hurts.
He’s rough, not caring that your already damaged skull is continuing to bounce off the floor.
eventually you’re out cold. It’s a small mercy. But a mercy nonetheless.
When you come to you’re still on the floor, naked and afraid as people surround your battered body and snap pics and laugh.
“Aw shit, they’re awake” one says.
“Damn” another adds.
You grab your stuff and bolt, new tears streaming down your puffy face.
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buthigor · 1 year ago
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The Flash
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(DC Studios)
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lunarflux · 3 days ago
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x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?
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a/n: midway through writing this, i realized it got too romantic, and then i changed my writing music and it suddenly all became clear looool here's your smut (even though i initially thought this fic was going to be way smuttier)
part 15: the king and his queen
word count: 2,831 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @immyowndefender
✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒
Tommy sat in the office of the Garrison, cigarette in hand, staring at the reports spread across his desk. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp set of his jaw betrayed his tension. The fire at your bookshop had been days ago, but the fallout lingered like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.
The door creaked open, and Arthur, John, Finn, and Michael filed in, their faces unusually grim. Arthur carried a small red notebook and what looked like a charred photo in his hand.
Tommy barely glanced up. “How bad was it?”
“There wasn't much we could do, Tom,” John said, his tone unusually subdued. "There were some books in the back that were saved, but the structure is lost."
Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “What else?”
Arthur stepped forward, dropping the photo and notebook onto Tommy’s desk. “Thought we might find somethin’ useful, but a lot of it was gone.” He hesitated, his usual bravado replaced with an uneasy edge. “Found this instead.”
Tommy reached for the photo first. It was warped at the edges from the fire, but the image was clear enough. He studied the man's features. Photographs usually told so little, but from this small glimpse of a face from your life—one he assumed had not resurfaced since your time in Birmingham—he found himself retreat. His usual firm hold on his emotions faltered at the sight of a man who could have meant so much to you.
Finn, standing off to the side, muttered, “Guessin’ that’s someone she cared about.”
Michael crossed his arms. “We found it in her desk. Buried under a pile of papers—like she didn’t want to see it but couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.”
Tommy turned the photo over, finding a date and a name scrawled in your handwriting: Ezra—1919.
“What else?” Tommy asked, his voice calm but commanding.
Arthur put his hand on the red notebook and slid it forward. "Haven't opened it yet, but it's hers."
Tommy ran his fingers over the leather. The temptation to pry it open and dive deeper into your thoughts coursed through his arm, but he resisted. He placed his hand down firmly on the journal with a heavy sigh. The last time he pried into your life, you met him head on. Unlike then, you wouldn't have expected anyone, let alone him, to see into the very depths of your soul. He didn't know why, but the thought unsettled him. He wondered when it had become such a priority to consider your privacy as something of importance.
Michael leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Should we try to find him?”
John tapped the photo. “Whoever he is, he meant something to her. For all we know, he's the cause of all this. Maybe he's involved.”
Tommy stared at the picture again, his mind working like clockwork. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s the reason she’s running.”
Finn frowned. “Think he’s dead?”
Tommy didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the man—Ezra's face until the features had solidified in his mind. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, standing up and pocketing the photo. “I’ll talk to her.”
Arthur scoffed. “And if she doesn’t tell you?”
“She will." Tommy’s eyes were cold as steel. "In time. Don't tell her what you found. She's still healing.”
As the others filed out, Tommy stayed behind, his hand brushing over the photograph in his pocket. Whoever Ezra had been, whatever happened to him, Tommy knew it held the key to understanding your past. And perhaps, at last, everything would finally unravel.
✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒
The early evening light filtered through the tall windows of Arrow House, bathing the room in a golden glow. You sat in a plush armchair near the fire, a book balanced on your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in some time. Your wounds had closed, and what remained was the budding presence of scars, ones that wouldn't soon fade. The physical wounds may have mended, but the ache beneath the surface lingered, more persistent than you wanted to admit.
The sound of footsteps drew your attention. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Tommy always walked with a deliberate purpose, a rhythm you’d come to recognize.
“Come to regale me with another story of a good day at the race?” you said without looking up, your voice tinged with dry amusement.
“Not today,” he replied, stepping into the room. “If those stories don't interest you, I will tell Arthur to stop.”
You chuckled, just loud enough for him to hear. “If that is what enthuses Arthur, then who am I to stop him? Better than him trying to watch me like an injured bird trying to take flight.”
Tommy moved to stand near the mantle, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they studied you. The photograph of Ezra still lay safely in his pocket. He continuously tucked it away, convincing himself that now wasn't the right time to ask you. Eventually, it became routine to slip it back into his pocket in the hopes that it was finally time. His fingers toyed with its edges, the presence of your past trying to escape into the open.
But he couldn't. As the days past, you looked more and more at peace. You'd settled into a new routine. Finn brought books back to Arrow House, and while none of them knew what it actually was that you liked to read, they all started to recognize your true glimpses at contentment. Whether it was a book or a conversation that had no hint of duplicity, there was a part of you that was perfectly capable of what some considered to be a normal life. The possibility of shattering this and bringing you back into his world weighed heavier on his shoulders than he would have ever imagined.
Eventually, you grew used to his presence. You sighed from your place by the fire, gently massaging your shoulder. With one hand, you unbuttoned the first few inches of your shirt and eased the collar down to reach the ache. Tommy's eyes drifted to the newborn scar, but then his gaze wandered to your chest. Your breaths were soft and steady, a tempo that matched the ticking of the clock behind him.
“You're healing well." He broke the silence. Your eyes flickered up to him with a soft smile in acknowledgement.
“Like I said before,” you replied, closing the book and setting it aside. “I do not control how a body heals, even less so, my own.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. With the slightest movement of your shoulder, Tommy found himself staring at the scar again, and, as if it were a reflex, he reached for his own. Now a part of his chest, he realized it was just like yours. Tommy’s eyes lingered on your face, searching for something beneath your composed exterior. You tilted your head to the side, eyes fluttering shut with a melodic hum.
No—not now. He couldn't ask you about Ezra now. This moment was so fleeting, and the second he asked, it would be gone forever. If only for today, he wanted to savor this—you both peacefully existing in the same room without any threats from the outside. It was a selfish decision, and he readily accepted that it was his own.
Tommy didn't know what he was doing when he approached you and reached for the scar, but as if sensing this was a gesture of curiosity, you let him. His fingers were warm and almost soothing as they ran over the fresh patch of skin like he was studying it.
For the briefest second, you tensed, your hand brushing absently over your side where the second wound lay tucked away. Tommy quietly retreated, but before he could step back, you grabbed his wrist and stood.
You let out a heavy breath, eyes shutting again in thought. Still holding his arm, you guided his hand to the buttons that were still clasped and nodded.
"You were a gentleman then," you nodded, mostly to yourself. "Telling Arthur and John to leave. I already felt... Exposed. Naked—just from the wounds alone and being seen like that. But, still, you told them to leave, so it wouldn't be so bad. Don't think I didn't notice, Tommy."
Tommy's fingers stayed on the top button like he was still processing if the gesture was an act of repayment or the giving of permission.
"If you need to see it for peace of mind, then you can," you whispered. The usual confidence in your tone dampened into a soft pitch.
He told himself he was doing this because he needed to see if you were telling the truth—that the wound had actually closed and was now just another scar. In reality, he didn't know his intentions. It could still have been a need, but it was one with weak conviction.
Tommy undid the rest of your shirt and parted it just enough to see the second scar. Your arms stayed relaxed at your sides, your face still but forlorn, as he touched the wound gently enough to make you shiver. He pressed the palm of his hand against your waist, firm and steadying.
He stepped closer, and your lungs filled with the scent that had accompanied you to dreams for many nights, always by your side. Tommy looked down at your as if he was silently seeking permission. Though, in truth, he didn't know what he was asking for.
As if seeing the war raging in his head, you reached for his neck and pulled him towards you. You rested your lips against his with a sigh—at last, feeling what you denied yourself weeks ago. Just a taste of him was enough, you told yourself. Just one.
Unlike then, he didn't move with urgency. He simply waited for you to make the decision. If it was just a kiss, then that's all it was. For once, he accepted this was out of his control.
You pulled back, eyes bearing into his with a seriousness one only experienced in the face of a choice that would not soon be presented again—or at all.
"Listen to me, Thomas Shelby," you whispered. Your stare commanded his to never tear away from yours as you spoke, insisting without words to hear you clearly because you wouldn't repeat yourself again. "I am not something to be won because I am earned."
Tommy's breath flitted across your skin as you spoke, and in your words, you showed him that your guard could go up at any moment. But for the moment, you were letting him acknowledge the mask of pain and power, one that only you possessed and chose to grace him with. The burden of understanding you wasn't not something easily given.
"If I give myself to you, I'm never taking any of it back." You spoke so firmly, the weight of your words forcing him to listen. "And if you give yourself to me, I am never letting you go."
He told you once that your purpose of being here would come out whether you dared to say it out loud or not. While you couldn't bring yourself to say this gently, you said it regardless.
"Every mistake you've ever made until now means nothing to me. But if this is a mistake—one you will come to regret, then tell me now. Tell me what you want." Your grip on his neck intensified with the slight twitch of your fingers. "That's why I'm here. That's why I made my choice. It scares you to crave, but it terrifies you to need. If you tell me now that I am a passing craving, then you've proved a point—that this was just business. But if you need me, all I want is for you to say it. And mean it."
It wasn't a threat. This was a declaration of self-preservation over the fantasy of possibilities.
For a moment, Tommy stayed silent.
He'd loved before, loved countless times to the point where it all might have been meaningless—just fleeting moments where he felt love, but it never lingered. And now, with your intentions finally out in the open, he understood. Your goal was to force him to experience it all—the pain and the loss. To be loved and respected. To choose to be alone no longer, and to understand what it meant to choose someone because he needed them and not because he wanted them for the moment.
You wanted him to face the inevitable—that loving someone wasn't a choice. But to love someone who was truly good for him, who didn't just love the idea of what he could be—that was a choice.
And he made his decision.
Tommy gripped your waist, sliding your shirt over your shoulders until it fell to the floor around your ankles. With a solitary sigh, he kissed you again, still as gentle as the first.
"I need you."
The words rang in your ears like an autumn breeze numbing summer's heat. And all at once, his lips found you again. His touch was tender, methodically moving in a way that still treated you as fragile beneath his fingertips. He carried you to the bed, his lips trailing down your neck, peppering you with kisses until all you felt was the need he'd suppressed for so long.
You sat up, taking his face in your hands. His eyes searched yours for permission, and with the soft nod of your head, his hands wandered your body, discovering and adventuring across your skin. He slipped his shirt off, and your eyes landed on the scar on his chest.
You reached for it, seeing in a different way how similar you both were. This was not an attempt to put the other back together, but a way to hold the broken pieces to the light and admire the sunlight between the cracks. To love the other earnestly and honestly, and to hope in desperation and the fear of never loving again.
Tommy watched you as you straddled him. You eased him into you with a long drawn out sigh, pressing your forehead against his. With one hand, he steadied your waist, guiding you as your hips moved, and with the other, he held your cheek with the gentle stroke of his thumb.
He sighed against your neck, groaning every time he slid inside you, the full length of him feeling the warmth of your walls. He admired you as you grinded into him, the last of your defenses crumbling down at his touch. There was no more need for words. Tommy let you take him in whatever way you desired. He didn't care if you were using him for your own pleasure. All that mattered was that you accepted his need, reciprocated with your own carnal desire to claim him.
Slowly, the mood changed. Your eyes darkened as it suddenly settled in that, together, this was something new. It wasn't just romance. It was the molding of the power you both held. Others only alluded that together, you and Tommy could set the world on fire—if that was what you desired. He held the match, and you soaked it with gasoline. At your command, he would set the world ablaze and build you a throne from the ashes and debris.
Tommy laid you back down on the bed and lowered himself in between your legs. He gripped your thighs, taking pleasure in how you writhed from the motions of his tongue. He hummed against your core, his mouth moving with an urgency that mimicked his need and hunger. You threw your head back with a gasp as his tongue plunged deep inside you, curling and pulling you against his face.
He pulled you closer, lapping up the dampness dripping down his chin. You gripped his hair, urging him to keep going until you felt that tug in the pit of your stomach. Your legs clenched, and with a guttural moan, you came until you twisted onto your stomach, riding the high as you spilled out onto the bed. Tommy positioned himself above you and slid back into your pulsing core. He eased himself inside you, taking a hold of your chest and holding you against him. He panted against your neck, his tongue dragging against your skin like no amount of your taste was enough. With a final thrust, he collapsed, his hips still grinding against you to draw out the ecstasy.
You panted, keeping a firm grip on the sheets until he was gentle once more. He kissed your shoulder with a sigh. Tommy's lips curled into a knowing grin, and you met his expression with equal satisfaction.
The game has changed with an entirely new board. The King has his Queen, and it was only a matter of time before the world would feel the ground rumble beneath their feet.
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comicweek · 2 years ago
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The Flash - Trailer
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loth-creatures · 1 month ago
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do tell about swordforbine :D
@mystical-salamander and @toxictrannyfreak also :)
So I've mentioned here and here that in Lothwolfwalkers, Ezra and Sabine's lightsaber gets blown up (rip 😔), which is set in stone for the storyline but there are two problems: 1 it makes me sad and 2 there was a later part of the story where Sabine needs it that I forgot about. So instead she acquires a Night Sister's sword (won in combat or stolen idk) and keeps it, though she might forge her own later on, with help from some of the sisters who don't trust Thrawn...I have a half-baked subplot about that that may or may not make it into the comics.
And now I'm just really excited about Sabine having a good old-fashioned steel sword :D
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It can do magic stuff like Morgan's swords, but Sabine can't really use it. The Sisters are like. We could light that up for you if you want. And Sabine is like. I don't fuck with magic (is holding a grudge from getting posessed on Dathamir) and the Sisters are like 🤨 girl you literally turn into a giant wolf every night but ok.
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