#into your hands

[justana0kguy]

2023 SEPTEMBER 15 Our Lady of Sorrows Memorial Friday

"But my trust is in you, O LORD; For You are my God. In Your hands is my destiny [and] into Your hands I commend my spirit."

~ Psalms 31:15-16a,6a

[mildelectrocution]

Inspired by Darwyn Cooke's iconic Batman & Robin illustration, and the New Batman Adventures.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

ok looks like we're gonna be doing the same thing, different verse, now that it's Kamala Harris on the Dem ticket instead of Joe Biden.

friendly reminder that one of these 2 people is getting elected. there's not a magical 3rd party person who's mystical and perfectly progressive who is gonna come out of the woodwork and save us. not voting or voting 3rd party isn't a "protest," it's capitulation. so let's do a comparison:

On Gaza:

I forgot to add to this that Trump also stated he will deport any non-citizen who protests the war in Gaza.

On LGBTQ+ rights:

On criminal justice:

On reproductive rights:

On the border:

In case you don't believe me re: the last Trump point.

On voting rights:

On climate change:

On the working class:

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

The worst trauma comes from those who you love

[wanologic]

sorry danny, sam will never think you’re cool

[theeroticlover]

Us....

[slushy-sash]

give paw?

[edlucavalden]

Learning to eat with your hands.

[kindinb00]

[dwuerch-blog]

My Redeemer's Hands

We read several devotions daily, plus we read a chapter from the Bible. A few days ago we read Psalm 31. As we read, my spirit was quickened by David’s plight as He was praying in distress, but fully trusting in God. He prayed Psalm 31:5 — “Into your hands I commit my spirit; deliver me, LORD, my faithful God.” Those words sounded familiar. That’s because we heard them on Good Friday by our…

[nalonzooo]

you ever like someone so much

[ahbeduo]

i just wanna draw him rollerblading

[shotmrmiller]

sex pollen trope where you're the one affected, having been exposed to some dense gas while on an op that felt like harsh sandpaper across your throat and lungs, and now you're a feverish mess on some ratty cot in a safe house and with only ghost as company, it's miserable, as the saying goes.

hair sticking to your sweaty skin, plastered onto your forehead and neck, every swallow feeling like you've got a mouthful of sand, your fluttering pulse wild and deafening in your ears, and the throbbing ache deep in your core, the blistering heat right below your navel— it'd only been uncomfortable in the beginning, the faint throbbing incredibly familiar, but the more you ignored it, the worse it got.

and now you're here, with arousal sticking your underwear to your pussy, unable to do anything about it because your lieutenant is seated in a corner that lets him have both you and the front door within his line of sight. a quick, discreet rub under your clothes is not an option.

someone put you out of your foggy misery.

"squirmin' like a worm on a 'ook isn't gonna help." his staring doesn't either, yet he does it anyway.

"got to make sure ya aren't dyin' on me." you want to snap that you don't think proof of life is on the darkened stain between your legs, the retort pressed behind clenched teeth but another thick wave of bestial need rolls over you and god, you're about to shove your hand into your underwear, propriety be damned—

"best you don't do tha'." why the fuck not? "you'll only get relief for a moment 'fore it comes back twofold." he says as if he's reading off the morning paper and not watching you fight tooth and nail to not fuck yourself against the pillow your head is on. (soap's offer to be friends with benefits is only looking better by the hour.)

you hastily decide that it'll be better than nothing. you'll just have to rub your pussy raw until this drug runs its course and you're telling him to piss off or don't, but you've had enough. you're stuck here with him anyway, no flight home until the morn and you're not about to spend it writhing around.

"if tha's wha' you want," ghost bites his gloves off, spitting them out onto the ground before curling his hands around your ankles and dragging you toward him. "i will help." your entire world narrows down to the feel of him touching your skin, his fingers searing as they hook into the waistband of your pants, and you almost kick him in the mouth trying to get them off faster.

"but 'm not fuckin' you." the bite of disappointment is quickly forgotten, his breath warm against your slick pussy, and after three quick glides of his tongue over your pearl, your orgasm crests, pulse after pulse of pleasure so potent it stung.

in less than a minute you're burning again, need thrumming through you and with the heady push and drag of his middle finger over your sensitive nerves, curling in you until he can fit two, three—

you're lost.

(ghost telling you that he's not doing anything else because if he's going to fuck you then you're going to remember it falls on ringing ears.)

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

not "i ship these characters" or "i want them to bond platonically" but a secret 3rd thing (I want them to be forced to interact by the Narrative bc they would HATE that)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!