#lane gill

[saartje77]

The beginning of his life as a farmer / rancher.

[jomarchswritingjacket]

because it’s still one of the tumblr posts ever

also all options were ever mentioned in the posts or comments and tags except for the two i added at the end

[the12thnightproject]

Sunday Skating Content

Ahead of next week's Grand Prix and Junior Grand Prix finals...

On Ice Perspectives filmed a full practice run through of Piper Gilles and Paul Poirier's Evita FD - fun to see this program from a completely different angle than what you'd get on a TV broadcast or fancam.

And this from their training mates, Juniors Nadiia Bashynska & Peter Beaumont is probably one of my favorite free dances of the season. "The Red Violin" from their first JGP event earlier this Fall.

[gutsby]

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh

Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.

“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”

Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.

It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’

In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.

Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“HEY BIG RED!”

A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.

“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.

Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.

“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.

You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.

Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.

The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.

In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.

You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,

“Call me, daddy!”

The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.

“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”

You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,

“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”

Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.

You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.

You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.

“Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.

Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.

The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.

Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.

Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.

“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.

That only prompted your group to take off running.

You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.

Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.

Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.

Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.

I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.

This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.

Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’

The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.

“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.

You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.

You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.

To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.

“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.

His gaze darted back to you in an instant.

You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.

Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.

Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,

“I said don’t move!”

You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.

Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.

Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:

“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”

At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.

“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”

When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.

“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”

Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.

The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.

“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.

You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.

You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.

“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.

His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.

“Bitch bit me,” he spat.

You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.

“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.

At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.

“Quit squirmin’, girl.”

“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”

“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”

The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.

You decided to try your luck anyway.

“Make me, pussy.”

The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.

“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”

“Shane—”

Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.

“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”

“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.

“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.

You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.

“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.

“Fuck what Dixon said!”

“You cain’t just— you got no right—”

“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”

Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,

“You fucked up.”

You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.

Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,

“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”

“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.

“Huh?”

“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”

Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.

“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”

“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.

It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.

“Well who’ve we got here?”

Shit.

You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.

“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”

“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.

“Bit me, too.”

You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.

“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you muttered.

The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.

You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.

You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Daryl?!”

This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.

Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.

It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.

“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.

And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.

For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.

“You know this little hellion, Detective?”

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”

“No shit?”

The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.

“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.

Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.

He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.

“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.

You rolled your eyes.

“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”

Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.

“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.

“Alri—”

“What?” you cried, “For what?!”

You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.

Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.

The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.

Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.

“C’mon now,” he murmured.

“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”

Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.

“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”

When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.

“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”

You watched him reach for you again.

Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.

You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.

Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.

Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.

Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.

“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.

Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.

“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”

“Like four people saw us.”

In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.

“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.

“We were drunk!” you cried.

You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.

“So?”

“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.

“Oh?”

You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.

“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”

Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.

“That was yer room?” he winced.

“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”

“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”

You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.

“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”

“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.

Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.

“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”

“Really, pig?” you sneered.

“Yeah, slut.”

Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.

Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,

“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”

You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.

“Excuse m—”

“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”

“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.

“Oh, believe me, we will.”

Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?

Presently, you looked out the window.

Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?

Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?

You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.

The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.

You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?

There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?

You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.

Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.

“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”

Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.

You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.

“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”

You shook your head no.

“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”

You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.

“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”

You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.

“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.

You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.

Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.

He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.

“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.

You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.

“To Shane,” Daryl added.

Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.

You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:

“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”

Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.

And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.

Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.

“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”

At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.

They were there to fuck you, not fight you.

At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.

And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.

“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.

“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.

You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.

Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.

“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.

“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.

“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”

Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”

This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.

You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.

“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”

All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.

“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.

Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.

Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.

Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.

“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.

Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.

You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.

All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.

Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.

You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.

Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.

“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”

You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.

Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.

“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.

You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.

You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.

Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.

When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.

“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”

That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.

You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.

You clawed at his wrist.

“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.

Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.

Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.

“How bad?” he asked.

“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.

Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.

Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.

“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.

Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.

“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.

Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.

You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.

Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.

“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”

You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.

It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.

Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.

“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.

“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”

You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.

Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.

Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.

The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.

Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.

He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.

“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.

Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.

“Have you?”

You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.

“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.

You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.

Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.

The three of them had you circled in an instant.

Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.

He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.

When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.

“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.

You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.

At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.

You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.

You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.

You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.

The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.

Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Give her a minute,” he muttered.

Shane scoffed, shaking him off.

“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.

Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.

“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”

Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.

That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.

You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.

“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.

You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”

“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.

Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.

You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.

With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.

There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.

Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.

“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”

You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.

You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.

“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.

In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.

You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.

“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.

You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.

“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.

You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.

When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.

Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.

“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”

“Shane,” Daryl growled.

Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.

“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”

“Fuck,” Rick hissed.

You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.

Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.

Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.

“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.

“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.

Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.

Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.

A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.

You blinked and watched him closer.

As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.

Your eyes widened.

Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.

“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”

Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.

Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.

Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.

And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.

Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.

“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”

All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”

“Shit!” Rick hissed.

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”

“Is tha’—” Daryl started.

“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.

Another voice broke out over the line,

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”

Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.

“What’s—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.

[blamemma]

daniel ricciardo making his way through the pit lane at the circuit gilles villeneuve | 📹

[familyabolisher]

We often frame the medicalization of intersex children, as Preves puts it, as based in an “impetus to control intersexual ‘deviance’ [that] stems from cultural tendencies towards gender binarism, homophobia, and fear of difference.” Yet the clinical history of the Harriet Lane Home leads to a different argument. Wilkins’s labored attempts to reconcile electrolyte metabolism and its sexual version through the technologies of hormones, salt, and patient charts describe a scenario where “control” is at most a perpetually deferred horizon, not an outcome. Cortisone therapy is more consonant with Repo’s argument that “the hermaphroditic subject was a subject of biopolitical potentiality: a subject who, through the surgical alteration of genitals, could be psychologically managed into a different-sex desiring subject and hence become a subject useful for the reproduction of social order.” Cortisone therapy was meant to address the young child’s plasticity in a normalizing sense, to remedy the adrenals at the same time that it feminized the body, recalibrating development along a binary trajectory. However, in its salt-losing version, incredibly virulent embodied plasticity constantly interfered with the isolation of “sex” as a distinct “part” of the body, frustrating the metonymic slide from life-threatening medical conditions to arbitrary binary models of human phenotype and genitals. This inability to isolate sex was a dramatic incarnation of the epistemological crisis of sex that plasticity had generated over the first half of the twentieth century, and it manifested specifically on the endocrine ward as a radical metabolic openness to the environment. As Wilkins so often found, diet and stress in the clinical setting often overrode the action of cortisone in the midst of treatment, throwing resonance off without advance warning. […] The reason that Wilkins was willing to cling to binary sex in cases of salt-losing CAH, I argue, even when that could put the life of the patient at risk, is that the binary imperative was a racialized phenotype. The crucial detail was scrupulously recorded by Wilkins in a 1952 article he published in Pediatrics: each of the patients upon whom he experimented to produce the protocol for salt-losing CAH was “a white female” or “a white infant.” That whiteness names an investment in a racial normativity that had previously been articulated as eugenic stock during Young’s surgical paradigm. As the transition to the postwar era heralded the end of an explicitly eugenic language of race improvement and extermination in the life sciences, the eugenic preoccupations that had typified endocrinology during the interwar period rhetorically faded. It would be a mistake, however, to assume that the eugenic techniques underwriting modern endocrinology similarly ended in the 1950s. On the contrary, the experimental use of cortisone illustrates continuity in practice. Wilkins aimed to resolve a metabolic condition that would simultaneously normalize the growth rate, metabolism, and sex of the body, directing it toward a binary phenotype that was merged with the resolution of the salt-losing crisis. The whiteness of these children was so valuable as a racial formation that it allowed Wilkins to justify putting children’s lives at risk to achieve a binary sex as humane practice, presaging Morland’s argument about Money.

Jules Gill-Peterson, Histories of the Transgender Child

[baylardo]

what if chakotay was giving threshold!janeway (like shes still a lizard) some pets somewhere on voyager and tuvok through this whole process has been pretty like in his lane and i dont go there about janeway and paris being stuck as lizards but hes in the distance working silently at his station and halfhazardly watching chakotay give the captain some scritches and then he finally has it and tuvok stands up and hes like “commander, the captain prefers it when you scratch BEHIND the gills not in front of them 🙄🙄🙄” like hes been telepathically sensing janeways scratch preferences this whole time and hes had enough living it quiet agony watching chakotay pet her the wrong way lmao…. “she also enjoys the belly rubs…….” and then it becomes a thing of chakotay asking tuvok what her preferences are hes like the perfect pet reader hahaha

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 18

Request: Yes or No

Taglist: @nathan-no @hyubg @ash455  @gills-lounge

~~~

Never in his eighteen years of life did (Y/N) ever expect to be standing atop a train planning a full-blown heist. Searching old, abandoned property like Freedman's Church had been one thing. Sneaking onto a cargo ship to save his ex-girlfriend from her power-hungry family had been another. But planning a train heist to steal back a golden, crystal-encrusted ancient cross right from under Rafe Cameron's nose? With help from Topper Thornton? Discomfort settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't even imagine the lengths Rafe would go to get it back from them.

"Looks like there's at least a thousand trains here," Kiara sighed from her spot beside him, rubbing the palm of her hand against her forearm as the chill from the night gently nipped at them. Pitch darkness surrounded them and only the nearly full moon provided them with enough light to make out the trains lined up. 

"Well, we know it's car 750X on the track to Raleigh." Pope carefully recited the words scribbled on the paper, holding it so close to his face it almost brushed against his nose with the slightest movement. He dropped his hand down and leaned his head forward, squinting through the darkness and searching the trains around them. 

Kiara pursed her lips and moved her hand to the nape of her neck, fingers lightly squeezing. "Yeah, well, we're not getting out of here unnoticed with a giant cross."

"We won't have to," Pope murmured. "We can nab it somewhere further down in the country. Just gotta figure out how to stop the train." 

"You say that as if any of us have done that before." (Y/N) scoffed in quiet disbelief. The Pogues were troublemakers, everyone in Kildare knew that. They broke onto properties, ran from cops, smoked and drank from the minute the sun went up to the second it went down. Were they thieves? JJ sure was with his sticky fingers and charming smile. But Pope Heyward, the boy destined for Harvard or Duke, and Kiara 'Save the Environment' Carrera? The uncertainty was plain as day on Kiara's face but Pope had dropped the opportunity for a scholarship to help John B, and the bandana-wearing brunette hadn't even bothered responding to their texts.

"Leave that to me." JJ declared and the discomfort grew. "I got an uncle up in New Bern, right? When he got tipsy, he'd just thrown an old chain across the tracks, just for shits and giggles. And that little old chain would stop all the train traffic in coastal Carolina."

"He's right, actually. There's a low-voltage current that runs across all rail tracks. Throw a chain on it, you close that circuit. It would read as another train. Crossing lights come down. The science is actually pretty sound." Pope explained and JJ nodded enthusiastically beside him despite most of the words flying right over his head. "But, we don't have a chain."

"No, but I bet Topper's dad has jumper cables in the truck. Would that work?" Sarah turned to Pope, a smile breaking out on her face when Pope nodded. As if on cue, Topper began calling out to them from down below, his voice alone making the Pogues roll their eyes. (Y/N) lifted a thumbs up in his direction, pointedly ignoring the exasperated stare from Sarah.

"Alright, you all wait here. Me and Pope will go look for it and send a signal once we find it." Cleo said, and with the plan set in motion and beginning, the two of them climbed down the ladder. They stepped across the tracks and disappeared down one lane, the large boxy trains blocking them from view. (Y/N) nibbled on his bottom lip anxiously until he spotted movement up the side of one of the train cars. From the darkness, a flashlight flickered in their direction.

"That's it. We're green." Kiara laughed breathlessly, but the victory proved shortlived at the sound of a high-pitched horn and metal clanking. "Oh, shit-"

"Train's moving!" The train Pope had climbed on slowly inched forward, the horn blaring every few minutes. They quickly scrambled off the roof and down the ladder, approaching the truck and a pacing Topper. (Y/N) swallowed and clapped his hands over Topper's shoulders, spotting beads of sweat rolling down his temple. 

"This is so illegal, (Y/N)!" 

"I know, I know. I'm sorry you had to get involved with this, Top. I promise you everything's gonna be okay, alright? Just, take a deep breath." (Y/N) squeezed his shoulder and inhaled deeply, nodding for Topper to mimic him. Topper inhaled and his eyes squeezed shut, taking a few seconds before he exhaled and tried shrugging off the tension building up in his body. His eyes opened and flickered over to Sarah.

"W-What are you doing with the jumper cables?"

"Don't worry about it, Top," Sarah responded casually as she stuffed the jumper cables in JJ's backpack. Topper's head snapped back to (Y/N), jaw slacked and eyes widened. (Y/N) only gave a tight-lipped smile in return and patted his back apologetically. Sure, he hadn't exactly explained the whole plan to Topper during the drive to the tracks, but he doubted the blonde would've agreed if he'd known. Like Liv always said, better to ask for forgiveness than permission. 

Climbing into the passenger seat and buckling in, (Y/N) watched JJ and Kiara disappear into the night. With the jumper cables in hand, they had to beat the train to the first crossing and pray the 'science' actually worked. Topper drove down the same road until (Y/N) instructed him to drive off the road and through a small section of trees. Topper carefully maneuvered the truck and followed the tracks, anxiously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. 

"What the hell are we doing, (Y/N)?" Topper whispered as the halted train came into view. 

"We're helping someone, Top. You're making things right with the Pogues. That's a good thing." (Y/N) answered softly and offered him a reassuring smile. It did little to ease Topper's anxieties but he nodded and stepped on the brakes once they were beside the car Pope and Cleo were searching. Sarah hopped out of the car and took Cleo's outstretched hand, climbing inside with them and helping them search. 

"What are they doing?" Topper exhaled, brows knitting at the three as they began pushing a box that read 'Cameron Development' on the side.

"They're going to put that box-" (Y/N) lightly tapped the window and unbuckled his seatbelt. "-in the trunk."

"What?! (Y/N)-" He could only smile again, climbing out of the car and moving around the truck to pop open the back. He stepped toward the train and reached up, planting his palms firmly against the wooden box and cursing softly at the weight. He helped guide the box into the box, only managing to get it halfway onto the trunk before a horn sounded off. 

"Shit, we gotta move, guys." Pope and Cleo moved around to the back of the box and shoved as hard as they could, getting the box onto the trunk. (Y/N) reached up again and took Sarah by the waist before helping her jump down and getting the box secured with the straps in the trunk. 

"Hey! Stop right there!" A man shouted at them and they quickened their pace, clambering into the car while Pope got in the back to ensure the box would be okay. Topper stepped on the gas pedal, quietly muttering under his breath as he swerved around the man and glanced back toward the security truck following them. They reached the closest intersection where JJ and Kiara were and took down the road. Sirens blared behind them and JJ drove closer to the truck, calling out to Topper to keep the truck straight. (Y/N)'s widened eyes watched as Kiara climbed onto the seat and onto the back of the truck. JJ abruptly braked and turned his bike around, pausing for a brief second before speeding toward the cop car and throwing something at them.

"They're chasing him." (Y/N) breathed. Only JJ would pull off a stunt like that to save his friends. "Top, turn around."

"If they catch us-"

"Topper, they won't catch anyone. Just- Just listen to me, alright?" (Y/N) reached out and grasped his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Topper cursed and slammed his palms against the steering wheel, shaking his head repeatedly as he turned the truck around and stepped on the gas again, following after JJ and the cop car. He followed Pope's directions, swerving into different streets and roads until they were on the road just below the overpass where the two vehicles were. Then, dust and debris went into the air and the dirt bike hurled over the railing, clattering to the road below in pieces. The truck came to a screeching halt and (Y/N) flew out of the truck, heavy pants leaving him and eyes flickering around in search of JJ. Kiara whimpered and crumbled to the floor, panicked whispering leaving her and face burying in her hands. 

"I wish- I wish I could say I did that on purpose, but that was the gnarliest powerslide I've ever done." (Y/N) spun around and released a breath of relief at the sight of JJ, somehow miraculously alive and unharmed. JJ laughed breathlessly, face flushed and hair sticking out in all directions. Pope bolted toward him and enveloped him in his arms, shocked laughter leaving him. Sarah walked toward him, shoving him back only to pull him back into a hug. 

"You're such a dick, J." (Y/N) chuckled and wrapped an arm around him before they returned to the truck. (Y/N) climbed back into the passenger seat and spotted a flashlight beaming down on Kiara and JJ. The cop shouted down to them and everyone scrambled toward the truck. Cleo, Pope, Kiara, and JJ squeezed into the back while Sarah got in the passenger seat and sat squarely on (Y/N)'s lap. Without time to comment, (Y/N) wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest to prevent her from slipping. Topper stepped on the gas once more.

Despite their fleeting moment of victory, the truck soon filled with overlapping voices arguing and telling Topper to go faster. (Y/N) sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest, listening to Topper argue back until he finally gave in and sped up, only for the truck to jerk up and down after running over a bump in the road. Behind them, the box wiggled free of the straps and slammed into the road, prompting Topper to hit the brakes. They unbuckled their seatbelts and jumped out of the car, rushing toward the box only to see the contents within. Tires filled with cement. And not a single sign of the cross.

"It's fake." Pope stared down at the tires hopelessly and JJ sucked his teeth, ripping his cap off his head and tossing it on the road. (Y/N) took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face, the distant sound of sirens growing near and breaking the melancholy air. Pope remained by the box, frozen and eyes distant. (Y/N) gently set his hands over Pope's shoulders and squeezed lightly. 

"Come on, Pope. There's nothing else we can do."

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

"I'm sorry about... dragging you into this whole cross mess, Top." (Y/N) spoke softly, feet dangling off the side of the dock and barely skimming the top of the water. Topper sat beside him, cross-legged and holding a slightly crumbled beer can in his hand. After the previous night's events, he'd been radio silent until he pulled up on his boat with some beers and a willingness to talk.

"I won't lie that was probably the most exciting thing I've ever done. But, I definitely don't want to do it again. I mean, risking two or three years in prison? For a group of people you probably won't even be friends with in five years?" Topper shook his head and raised the can to his lips, drinking the remainder and crushing the empty can. He tossed it into the cooler and wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. "I mean, where the hell was John B? Ya'll said he hadn't been answering. If he turns his back on them, how fast do you think he'll turn on you? Shit, he might even convince them to drop you altogether."

"I know, Top. I know my friendship with them will be running its course soon with the cross gone and everything." (Y/N) sighed heavily and stared out into the horizon, finger lightly digging into the side of the can. No cross, no gold, and likely no El Dorado either. They had no use for each other, not with each of them safe and sound in Kildare. Even with Rafe's presence, he'd never do anything that'd hurt his father, and any of them could easily out the secret. 

"God, you two are such downers!" A smile automatically spread on his face and he turned to watch Liv walk down the dock. She'd changed out of her casual attire into a swimsuit and denim, per Topper's invite to a party on one of the more secluded beaches called Mase that most typically went to by boat. She flashed them a vibrant smile and wiggled a can loose, basking in the sizzle of it opening before chugging it back in one clean go. 

"Atta girl!" Topper laughed and stood up, picking up the remaining cans as Liv playfully bowed, her large hair bun flopping over in the process. (Y/N) snorted and took her outstretched hand, pulling himself up and finishing his beer. He swiped his tongue over his lips and helped Topper with the small cooler before offering Liv his hand and watching her climb into the boat as it softly rumbled to life. 

"(Y/N)! You have a visitor!" He heard his mother's faint voice call out. He peered over his shoulder and noticed her by the sliding doors, mood slightly dampening at the sight of Sarah standing beside her. He needed a break, not another little quest that could land in in jail or a hospital. But regardless, he jogged down the dock and cut through the yard. Sarah quietly thanked his mother and waited for her to head back inside, fingers toying with the strap of her bag. Once the door shut, she turned back to him.

"You didn't tell me they were back."

"You were occupied, Sarah. Did you need something?" She swallowed and he frowned, bracing himself for whatever request, question, or favor she needed. Sarah took in a deep breath and brushed her hair back behind her ears, lips rubbing together and gaze dropping onto the ground. He could only imagine what'd it be if she hadn't spoken yet-

"I need a place to stay." She revealed timidly. "I got into a disagreement with John B and- and I can't stay with him right now. He said some hurtful things and... and I think he's keeping something from me. I just can't live with him knowing he doesn't trust me after everything we've been through. I-I tried Kiara but she's in trouble with her parents and JJ wasn't even home when I went around so... I came here."

(Y/N) dug his teeth into his lip and grunted quietly. Part of him desperately wanted to turn her down, to turn the other cheek and be done with everything and anything related to the Camerons. Another, more louder, part of him reminded him of their friendship and how she'd take him in no questions asked if he ever ended up in her spot. Besides, nobody could say no to Sarah Cameron's puppy eyes. "Fine. You, uh... You can stay in the guest bedroom again. And uh..." Liv would surely kill him for even thinking about it. "We're going to a party right now. I still have some of Liv's clothes that you can borrow if you want to come."

And so, he dealt with Liv's death stare the whole ride to the island. Sarah, ever the observant type, kept her distance from the fiery redhead and stood by Topper, quietly chatting and pointedly avoiding even looking in Liv's general direction. Despite the death stare and annoyance with Sarah not only being there but wearing one of her bikinis, she stood up from the edge of the boat and plopped down beside him with a little twinkle in her eyes.

"You know," She began loudly, lips tugging into a mischievous grin that made his stomach twist. "I heard Josie was going to be at the party, (Y/N). Little ole Josie who just couldn't keep her eyes off you back at the academy. I've seen her photos on Instagram and damn, she's getting prettier by the day. I bet, my sweet (Y/N), she'd be absolutely thrilled to talk to you."

"Is that so?" No use in trying to ignore her, she'd only persist. Her plan, whether to make things awkward or annoy Sarah, appeared to be working, given how Sarah glanced over her shoulder at them and slowly sipped on her beer. As oblivious as ever, Topper nodded eagerly in agreeance with Liv and the redhead's grin grew.

"She's right, actually. Josie got her braces taken off while you were gone and she finally did something about that bird's nest on her head. She's bangin', dude. If I weren't with Elena, I'd definitely..." Topper trailed off, finally meeting Sarah's hardened eyes and swallowing thickly. He looked forward again, clearing his throat awkwardly and vaguely motioning to Mase. "Uhm, forget about it. We're here, anyways."

"Finally!" Liv groaned and stood up, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she waited for Topper to shut the engine off and ensure the boat wouldn't drift with the tide. Once secured, she leaped over the side and rushed down the beach, arms open and body barreling into the awaiting arms of her old friends. (Y/N) laughed and climbed out, setting the cooler down in the warm sand and greeting Kelce with a hug. A few other Kooks rolled around, embracing him and Sarah and welcoming them back with wide smiles and offers of beers and snacks. 

"You gonna hit some waves today or nah, bro?" Kelce asked, motioning back toward the many surfboards scattered around.

"I'm gonna chill for now." (Y/N) dismissed and Kelce nodded, slinging an arm around Topper and heading off with him to catch some waves. He watched them go and licked his lips as a hint of uncertainty settled in. Sure, he'd been popular for a while but it'd all been due to Liv and Sarah's own popularity. Parties had always been their thing, not his. However, as he began heading down the beach and listened to the enthusiastic greetings, he felt the uncertainty slip away. 

"Hey! I didn't expect to see you here!" He almost wanted to laugh. Josie greeted him with a wide, vibrant smile, the same smile she often hid behind her hand back during the days with the braces. The hair she often kept up in a tight, frizzy bun now cascaded down her shoulders. (Y/N) remembered her as one of the more meeker girls. Someone who attended parties once in a blue moon, hid under baggy clothes, and spent her days watching others from afar. Her newfound confidence made her brighter and even happier.

"Never thought I'd see you here, Josie." He commented with a friendly smile, graciously taking the beer she offered him. Josie laughed and turned her flushing face away from him. Something bubbled in his chest. Comfort? Amusement? Pride? He couldn't pinpoint exactly which one, but he knew he didn't mind it. Having spent a month watching others get cozy while he withered from boredom, he certainly didn't mind the attention or someone new to talk to. 

"And I never thought you'd end up stranded on an island and yet, here we are." Josie brushed her hair out of her face and took a step closer, head tilting to the side curiously. "How was it? It must've been... scary. I can't even imagine being away from my family for a week, let alone a whole month." 

"It was... tough, I guess." (Y/N)'s eyes found Sarah's figure as she strode across the beach in their direction. Josie followed his gaze and turned, her shoulders immediately sagging at the sight of the blonde fast approaching. Sarah offered her a smile, exchanging a quick embrace before she lifted her hand toward him and dangled a set of keys that looked an awful lot like Topper's. Josie smiled weakly at them and slipped away before he could speak. 

"Come with me to check something out." She smiled widely and took his hand into hers, an action so fluid and casual that for a split second, it felt as if he'd gone back in time. Hanging out with Topper, attending a Kook party, being close to Sarah. All things he used to do, and things that made him happy. He debated letting go. He debated letting her down and following Josie to see where things went. But Sarah fucking Cameron and her big brown eyes that enraptured others, the freckles scattered across her cheeks that were only noticeable in the sunlight, her smile that could cheer up even the saddest of people. 

"Fine." He sighed, and he kept his hand in hers. 

They took Topper's boat to the abandoned lighthouse just a ways off the boast of the beach. It was tall and old with the red and white paint beginning to chip off. It'd been occupied once, likely a beautiful sight for the sailors rolling in during its prime. Now, it stood old and deserted, replaced by the lighthouse near the town square that everyone knew well. Sarah basked in its glory for a moment and tossed a smile over her shoulder at him before she crouched down and sat on the edge of the dock. 

"Come, sit down." She patted the spot beside her encouragingly and (Y/N) took it, feeling the furious wind against his body. It swept around Sarah's hair and forced her to continuously tuck strands away and out of her face. He looked out at the water and took in its shimmering beauty, the rays of the setting sun bouncing off it and making it glitter like a diamond. 

"It's nice out here. Better than a deserted island." (Y/N) said and tilted his head back, peering up at the sky. Orange and pale blue clashed and danced together, having their moment before they'd be replaced by the deep blue of the night sky. Sarah hummed absentmindedly, kicking her legs back and forth. While his eyes remained on the sky, hers watched the waves lap up the dock support beams. She stared at the beams, at the barnacles and kelp wrapped around the wound, eyes focused yet distant at the same time. She picked at the strings of her shorts, tugging at the thread and threatening to break it until she lifted her head.

"(Y/N)," She began softly, voice almost carried away by the wind. Her eyes glazed over with fresh tears. "I'm... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry for everything. For- For kissing John B, for ignoring you, for hurting you, for dragging you into this whole treasure hunt. I'm so sorry for everything I did. You were one of my closest friends and I broke the trust you had in me. I never- I never should've done the things I did. I never should've said what I said. I acted as if you were a burden and you never were. I'm... I'm really sorry, (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) stared at her, the rushing wind and waves filling in the silence between them. Tears slipped down the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away with her fingertips, the heaviness on her shoulders more apparent than ever. He'd never gotten a proper apology, he realized then. She'd tried once, after her breakup with John B and Ward's fake death. It'd sounded too forced, too soon, and too wrong. But now, with the tears falling from her eyes and the regret laced heavily in her voice, it all sounded real. Genuine. 

"I know." He murmured, voice barely audible. (Y/N) delicately placed his hand over hers and intertwined their fingers in a comforting and accepting gesture. She sniffled and raised her head to meet his eyes, her quivering lips pulling up and her fingers gently squeezing his. (Y/N) leaned over and pressed his lips to her warm forehead, the last tears sliding down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. He leaned back and wiped the trails away, planting his feet on the dock and standing up. Keeping their hands intertwined, Sarah stood up as well. "I forgive you, Sarah." 

By the time they returned to the beach, many of their friends and former classmates had departed with the disappearance of the sun with only a select few having set up tents to sleep in. Kelce and Topper had started a bonfire and kept it fed with branches and sticks, tossing them in as they chatted and drank. When (Y/N) turned to them questioningly, the two pointed in the direction of one of the tents where Liv's bag rested on the outside. He snorted quietly and took a seat on one of the many towels placed around the bonfire. Sarah sat beside him and they listened in on Kelce and Topper's conversation until the two boys called it a night and headed off to Kelce's tent. (Y/N) lied back on the towel and stared up at the night sky, watching the twinkling stars and searching for the constellations Sarah loved oh so dearly. 

"Remember when we used to do this?" Sarah asked, her head turned upward as well. "We'd go out to the beach at midnight and just watch the stars for a while." 

"How could I forget when you were so insistent on it? Always calling right when I was about to fall asleep." 

"You never complained!" Sarah giggled and turned to look down at him. Her eyes softened as she gazed down at him, lips parting when she exhaled shakily. His brows furrowed slightly and he tilted his head, the words just about to leave him when she swooped down and planted her lips on his. He stiffened, mind going blank at the feeling of her lips before his brain slowly caught up and his muscles relaxed. His hand cupped her cheek and he kissed her back, the familiarity of it all making his brain woozy. Sarah moved, never once pulling away from him as she straddled his waist and kissed him back harder. He let everything slip from his mind. The gold, the cross, the Pogues, John B. He let them wash away with the tide.

[transmutationisms]

Your understanding of succession is very nuanced and I find reading your takes very enriching! All I wish is to have your literary analysis skills. If you could share where you started in understanding topics like psychoanalysis, bodily fluids as a symbol, using political lens to understand lit, or anything like that, that would be much appreciated! Sorry if this has been asked before, if you could direct me to that post I’d appreciate that

hi! i wouldn't consider myself any kind of expert in lit crit and i think it's something i continue to get better at just by doing more of it. so i'm not sure how helpful i can be here lol. but, some texts that have probably formed theoretical foundations for my reading of succession are:

history of shit, by dominique laporte, tr. rodolphe el-khoury

water and dreams: an essay on the imagination of matter, by gaston bachelard, tr. edith r. farrell

psychoanalysis of fire, by gaston bachelard, tr. alan c. m. ross

marx's 1844 manuscripts

anti-oedipus: capitalism and schizophrenia, by gilles deleuze & félix guattari, tr. robert hurley, mark seem, & helen r. lane

body fascism: salvation in the technology of physical fitness, by brian pronger

'malthus and the evolutionists', by robert m. young

the birth of biopolitics: lectures at the collège de france, 1978–79, by michel foucault, tr. graham burchell

discipline and punish: the birth of the prison, by michel foucault, tr. alan sheridan

faces of degeneration: a european disorder, 1848–1918, by daniel pick

capitalist realism, by mark fisher

three essays on the theory of sexuality, by sigmund freud, tr. james strachey

society of the spectacle, by guy debord, tr. donald nicholson-smith

le paris moderne: histoire des politiques d'hygiène, 1855–1898, by fabienne chevallier

we have never been modern, by bruno latour, tr. catherine porter

the arcades project, by walter benjamin, tr. howard eiland & kevin mclaughlin

french modern: norms and forms of the social environment, by paul rabinow

[rabidline]

2024 Four Continents Championships - February 4, 2024 Piper Gilles and Paul Poirier → Music from "Wuthering Heights" by Ryuichi Sakamoto: Main Theme and End Titles, Switching Sides, choreographed by Juris Razgulajevs and Carol Lane

[saartje77]

My precious boy is now an adult so he deserved a haircut & a beard :D

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lost Boys

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam

Summary: After Jonathan Lane Kent wipes himself from existence by canceling his own timeline, he finds himself stuck in the afterlife where he meets Jason Todd. He still wonders about the life un-lived on Earth, and how his parents would've felt about him.

Jason Todd, who is making the most of being dead, struggles with the reality of what he's left behind. He has one wish and one wish only: to send his family one final message.

Chapters: 9/?

Characters: Jonathan Lane Kent (Laney), Jason Todd, Catherine Todd, Boston Brand, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, John Constantine, Raven, Talia al Ghul, Ra's al Ghul, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake

Relationships: Platonic JayLaney

Additional Tags: Angst, Platonic Relationships, Magical Jason Todd, Resurrected Jason Todd, Queerplatonic Relationships, Canon Divergent AU, POV Multiple

Chapter Nine: Afraid (Laney's POV)

Dick was handsome. He also had a sort of stern, parent-like demeanor about him. Jason looked like he was going to throw up, but he held himself together just fine. "I didn't tell Bruce. I wanted to make sure you were really alive, and from how you reacted to me, I'm guessing you don't want him to know," Dick answered Jason's question. He sat down at the little table in the motel room. Jason sat back down on the bed, and I stood close by him. "Are you okay?"

"Kind of?" Jason replied. He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Dick drummed his fingers on the table.

"You're a lot bigger than I remember," Dick mumbled awkwardly.

"I was fifteen the last time you saw me," Jason replied, "Sorry... I know you're just trying—. If you want to yell at me, that's fine."

Dick looked confused. "No. I don't want to yell at you. Jason, why would I be mad at you?" Dick asked. His voice was soft and sincere, and Jason shrugged. He still couldn't look Dick in the eye.

"Because it was my fault that I died—."

"Whoa! Hold on!" Dick and I exclaimed. Jason shushed us and massaged his temples.

"It wasn't your fault that you died... I'm not mad at you at all. Actually, I'm confused. Why didn't you come home?" Dick asked. Jason didn't answer him. "Jason, do you ever plan on coming home?"

"Jason, try to answer one of the questions. He came all this way. Give him a chance," I whispered.

"Why would I come home? Why would he want to see me? He's moved on," Jason answered. Dick frowned. "If he wants me to come back, he can tell me himself... And he can tell me why that freak is still living and breathing."

I could tell Jason was only snappy to keep from breaking down, but I don't think Dick understood. I took Jason's hand in mine and squeezed it. Jason made a soft noise and excused himself before going to the bathroom. I sat there staring at Dick. "You can't hear me, can you?" I asked. Dick didn't say anything. "Good... I don't need him getting a big head when I say he means everything to me... But I needed to say it out loud."

Jason came back a few minutes later, looking green around the gills. He gave me his hand and closed his eyes. "You okay?" I asked. Jason nodded.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, and Jason said he was sorry. "Why'd you come?" Jason questioned.

"I came because I wanted to see you... Who do you keep looking at?" Dick asked. Jason looked at me.

Jason took a deep breath. "He's my friend, Laney. You can't see him or touch him because Lane's dead... We were friends in the afterlife," Jason explained, "He's sitting right here... And Lane's not a hallucination, I checked."

"Your dead friend? Lane?" Dick asked. Jason nodded. "And how did you two meet?"

"You think I'm crazy—."

"No. I'm just asking a question. This is all pretty weird to me," Dick interrupted.

"I don't remember how I met him. I just know that he knows things about me that I haven't told anyone else," Jason answered, "And I think he's saving my life. I don't know. It feels like so much is going on. I just want to be angry, but he's making me process this. I don't know what I'd do without him."

I smiled at him. "Without me, you would be dead in minutes," I joked. Jason laughed.

"What?" Dick asked.

"He said I'd be dead without him... He might not be wrong, though," he chuckled. He took a deep breath.

"I'll be here for a few more days if you wanna go back to Gotham with me," Dick offered, "You don't have to see him right away if it doesn't feel right... You can even stay with me for a little while. We'll figure things out."

Jason pushed both hands through his hair, and he let Dick's offer sink in. "If I don't wanna see Bruce, you want me to stay with you?" Jason asked. Dick nodded. "You won't ask a lot of questions after today?"

"I'll try not to. Does your—? Does Lane have any requests?" Dick asked.

Jason looked at me. "Can't say I need anything... Tell your brother that you love him," I whispered. Jason shook his head. "Tell him. It was one of the things you said you wanted to do if you could do this living thing all over again."

Jason opened his mouth to argue, but I gave him a stern look. Jason got up and looked back at me before embracing Dick. He said something incoherent under his breath. Dick chuckled. "I love you too," Dick replied. Jason tried to hide it, but Dick and I could both see the relief in his eyes. It dawned on me just then that Jason didn't say he loved the family he had left because Jason wasn't sure they'd say it back.

"You don't make it as difficult to love you as you think you do," I whispered.

"You love me?" Jason asked out loud in response.

"Shut up," I replied, and he laced his fingers with mine.

"Okay, I'll shut up," Jason whispered. Dick looked confused, but I think he understood what was going on.

They both sat back down, and Dick whispered, "Thank you for looking out for him." I knew he couldn't see or hear me, but I smiled and nodded anyway. I owed Jason. He taught me how to be a kid and how to love. All I was doing was protecting him from his own stubbornness and rage. I could do that forever if I had to.

[cinematicnomad]

what are your favorite episodes of mad men?

oh ho, so you're out here asking the REAL questions!!

god this is hard. i just tried to go through the list of episodes and before i'd even finished scrolling through s2, i'd already jotted down 6 "favorite" episodes. it's just!! SUCH a good show, and the episodes really span the gamut of what tv can actually BE. like, there are episodes that come to mind for just how absolutely buckwild FUN they are (3.13 is basically a heist episode! don tricking roger into getting wasted and throwing up oysters in 1.07 makes me laugh EVERY time! watching everyone in the office get high and pull an all-weekender to win chevy in 6.08 is a blast!) but then there's the poignant episodes. the one's that fucking break me. the culmination of s1 resulting in don's nostalgia pitch in 1.13. the exploration of don and peggy's bond in the perfect 4.07. the end of lane's arc in 5.12 and all of the grief that follows. the moon landing and the way these people have all shaped each other being laid bare in 7.07. the end of it all in 7.14!! peggy's voice any time she chastised don: "that's not true."

that doesn't even get into, like, every time we got to see the office throw a big party and all the characters got to interact with each other. THE MOWER!! betty and don going to rome, their last perfect weekend together before reality crashed down on them. father gill trying and failing to "save" peggy through catholic guilt. megan trying to love a man who only loves the beginning of things (faye!!). joan fighting tooth and nail for every ounce of respect she built for herself. SALLY! EVERY MOMENT WITH SALLY! the tragedy of sal romano, his crush on ken cosgrove. MICHAEL GINSBERG and his friendship with peggy and stan!! anna draper who knew don's secret and loved him anyway. the entirety of peggy and pete's relationship, simmering in the background but forever informing their interactions.

i'm sorry i could keep going. i really do fucking love this show more than words can capture. i have to stop myself or else i'd just ramble forever.

[crawlingkind]

Found a bunch of these guys in lane county, oregon and I've been taking care of them under the impression that they're trachelipus rathkii but I've never been 100% on that identification since they look similar to several other species to me.

I've found them pretty much exclusively in moist rotting logs and when scared they become stiff as a board and half conglobate into flat C shapes. What are your thoughts?

check pleopodal gill segments under the tail—you will find no white markings, in T. rathkii five pairs. these are Oniscus asellus

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork and The Peter Tork Project, early 1980s; photos by Michael Ventura/Alamy.

“Eventually, Tork moved to New York City, working odd jobs and performing ‘sporadically.’ In the early ‘80s, after he quit drinking, he started a couple of bands, Peter Tork and the New Monks, and the heavy-metal-leaning Peter Tork Project. But Tork says that heavy drinking had ‘left me with mediocre skills. Until I started working on my skills again, it didn’t matter.’” - Los Angeles Times, October 20, 1992

“In June of 1982, Peter Tork was in my face again. It was at a gritty, downscale, but packed-to-the-gills club in Boston called Bunratty’s. (Long gone.) Tork, then 40, was on a tour he described as the ‘I Have to Laugh to Keep from Crying Tour.’ It was billed as Peter Tork and the New Monks – Tork plus four crack musicians providing a hard-rock ride down memory lane. We talked a bit between sets. Me: ‘What it’s like going through life and to always be viewed as a former Monkee?’ Tork: ‘Compared to what?’ I paused for a moment and thought to myself, ‘Exactly! When this is the life you’ve known, what can you compare it to?’ (This was one of the best answers I’d ever had to one of my queries.) I re-used this anecdote when I talked to Ringo years later – switching up Monkees for Beatles in his case – and he chuckled. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘What can you compare it to? This is where I am and this is what I am.’ So, why were we Bostonians packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the post-punk heyday to hear ‘60s pop done live and loud? ‘A lot of people come out and they want to remember the old songs,’ Tork said. ‘They want to drift back to when they were fetuses or however old they were then.’ [...] ‘When I arrive at the gates of St. Peter,’ Tork quipped, ‘he’s going to say First one to go . . . okay, we’ll let you in.’ One Peter to another. ‘When I quit the Monkees,’ Tork continued, ‘the first thing I wanted to do was divorce myself from the whole thing entirely.’ Tork formed a ‘straight- ahead pop rock’ band, Peter Tork and/or Release, but it failed to go anywhere. In late 1971 and early 1972 Tork spent three months in jail for possession of hashish. Tork, who was a folk musician prior to Monkee-dom, resurfaced in 1977 to play an acoustic gig at CBGB’s, at the time New York’s prime punk club. In a sense, punk was responsible for bringing Tork back to work. The Sex Pistols did a vicious sloppy cover of ‘Steppin’ Stone,’ and other punk new wave bands have embraced the Monkees on two levels: 1) damn good pop tunes and, 2) potential kitsch value. Tork, who was married and living in Venice, Calif., was on a tour playing small U.S. clubs. (Dolenz and Jones, incidentally, had also formed Monkees facsimiles at that time and were rumored still to be big stars in Japan.) Tork has been around the area all week – he was playing an even dive-ier club in nearby Somerville the next night – unveiling a repertoire that consisted of some Monkees tunes, some non-Monkees originals, and some early rock ‘n’ roll covers. He wasn’t exactly playing the Monkees’ songs by the (Boyce & Hart) book. I’d venture to say this was almost hard rock/heavy metal Monkees music. ‘The [Monkees] records are a little thin by contemporary standards,’ Tork said. ‘People who are just into rock ‘n’ roll and had a lot of contempt for the Monkees phenomenon as a whole aren’t going to come in the first place. People who are on the borderline – they liked the Monkees and they like rock ‘n’ roll today – are going to come. If I play it like it was off the records, they’re going to say ‘Well, it was nice to see him but so what?’ If I play ’em right and they want to dance, I’ve got good musicians whacking away and they’re going to come back.” Tork’s musicians – Phil Simon and Nelson Bogart, guitars; Vince Barranco, drums; and Paul Ill, bass – have played variously with Little Feat, Dave Brubeck, Joe Beck and Carolyne Mas. [...] Although not signed to a label, Tork said producer Jimmy Miller (Rolling Stones, Traffic) was ready to record an album with them. (Jimmy Miller, who lived in our region, was had made maybe the greatest Stones album ever in Exile on Main St., but was drug-damaged goods by that point, sad to say.) ‘My goals right now are to make a living entertaining,’ Tork said. ‘Put away something for my old age, cookouts on the weekend, no big thing. You never know what’s going to happen. One of these days I might make a mark on my own.’”- Rock and Roll Globe, February 2022

[viornefni]

You're in my head

I had plans for the weekend

But wound up with you instead

Back here again

Got me deep in my feelings

When i should be in your bed

You and i go back to like '09 it's like forever

And you were there my lonely nights, yeah, keeping me together

So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby

But we say we're just, say we're just

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends

Just for now

Now I'm over pretending

So let's put the "end" in friends

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends are not supposed to get too close

And feel emotions that we're feeling now, now, now

We ain't slowing down, down, down

But once we cross the line, there's no denying you and I can never turn around, round, round

Know we'll never be the same

You and I go back to like '09 it's like forever

And you were there my lonely nights, yeah, keeping me together

So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby

But we say we're just, say we're just

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends

Just for now

Now I'm over pretending

So let's put the "end" in friends

V 'FRI(END)S' Release

🎧 Listen now: https://ingrv.es/friends​

Credits:

Director: Samuel Bradley

Production Company: Iconoclast TV

EP: Maeva Tenneroni, Jean Mougin, Guy Rolfe

Head of Production: Kate Sharpe

Producer: Martha Mcguirk

Directors Agent: Yoni Yosef

Casting: Road Casting

Casting Director: Coralie Rose

Casting Assist: Luis Torrecilla, Laura Meredith

Love Interest: Ruby Sear

Production Manager: Chanel Parkinson

Production Co-ord: Alice Hayes

Artist Liason: Jo Thompson

Cast Co-ord: Beth Rubery

Production Assistant: Callum Anderson

Production Runner: Mia Tessema

Intimacy Coordinator: Stella Moss

Movement Director: Yagamoto

Location Manager: Ryan Colaco

Location Assistant: Eser Savrin, Lois Constantinou

1st AD: Ben Gill

2nd AD: Gabriel O’Donohoe

3rd AD: Kitty Rajakulasingham, Aloha Kulieshova

Runner: Kai Rajakulasingham, Joe Heap, Danny Zanre, Anna Kovalevska, Grace Goodworth, Kwesi Mcleod, Darren Sintes, Tyson Douglas, Tiger Brewers

DOP: Jake Gabbay

A CAM Focus Puller: Rozemarijn Stokkel

A CAM 2nd AC: Ania Bahadrian

Trainee: Guillem Zamora

B CAM Operator Day 1: Juanjo Salazar

B CAM Operator Day 2: Jomar O’Meally

B CAM 1st AC - Alex Rawson

B CAM Trainee: Ollie Wesley

Camera Car: Davide Viera

Key Grip: Darren Quinn

Crane Tech: Henry Stone

Grip Trainee: James Quinn

Gaffer: Kieran Brown

Electrician: Shuan Clark, Ed Irvine, John Joe Besagni, Akeel Fleary, Cieran Nash, Amarjeet Singh, Laurent Arnaud

Master Rigger: Lee Doran

Rigger: Joe Parrott, Jamie Brindle, Ryan Ross, Alfie Berry, Scott Allen, Joe Knight

Video Playback: Liam Coles

Playback Assistant: Elvis Mcgovern

DIT: Lilly Palmer

Production Designer: Staci Lee Hindley

Art Director: Nia Samuel

Prop Master: Ezra Piers Mantell

Prop Buyer: Jessa Thorpe, Shopie-Mai Wigans

Art Assistant: Harry Beedle, Camilla Byles, Tom Hope, George Mein, Freya Wentworth, Alice Moles

Home Economist: Olivia Somary

Action Vehicle Driver (Car): Dan Chester

Action Vehicle Driver (Bus): Tom Burnage

SFX; Sean Harland

SFX Technician: Danny Matters

Stunt Coordinator: Jim Dowdall

Stylist: Justin Hamilton

Stylist Assistant: Samela Gjozi, Colleen Finnerty, Lorna Lane, Chris Atkins, Vania Monteiro, Katherine Somavia, Anna Menshykova, Mel Lyse

Hair Stylist: Simon Izard

Hair Assistant: Julie West, Aaron Dorn, Natasha Rose, Natasha Lawes

Makeup Assistant: Sophie Gia Moore, Marta Wozniak

Makeup Trainee: Rebecca Robinson

Medic: Alex Gardner, Richard Drakesford

Paramedic: Lynsey Shewring

Mini Winnego Driver: Phil Rainer

Honeywagon Driver: John Suttion

Production Sprinter: Jos Benschop

Minibus Driver: Rob Higgs, Gavin Baker, Granger Goodey, Dean Cumbers

Label Vehicle: Blerim Morina, Othman Abashikh, Peter Tarling, Steven Smith

Artist Trailer: Paul Haddock

Artist Wardrobe: David Czekalski

Honeywagon Driver: Martin Dean

Wardrobe Truck: Warren Smart

Hmu Truck: Wally Smart

Dining Bus: Andy Byrne

Location Security: Randal Berbick, Billy Bridger, Alan Laney, Kerri Mccann, Malakai Mars, Angelo Evangelou, Richard Johnson, Mathew Richards

Edit House: Assembly Rooms

Editor: Jack Williams

Edit Producer: Phoebe Armstrong-Beaver

Edit Assist: Bruna Manfredi, Tamara Ishida

Post Production: Cheat

Grade: Toby Tomkins

Post Producer: Joanna Dawson, Jen Saunders

Post Sound House: Soundtree Music

Sound Designer: Jack Patterson

Sound Producer: Neil Athale

BIGHIT MUSIC. Rights are reserved selectively in the video. Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws. Manufactured by BIGHIT MUSIC, Seoul, Korea.

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