#rip rig + panic

[musickickztoo]

Neneh Cherry *March 10, 1964

[spilladabalia]

Rip Rig + Panic - Symphony In Dave's Flat

[thevellaunderground]

The Echoes of Rebellion: Post-Punk Bands of the '80s and Their Quest for Peace

The 1980s were a tumultuous time, marked by political unrest, the looming threat of nuclear war, and a generation seeking identity and change. Amidst this backdrop, the post-punk movement emerged as a beacon of expression and rebellion. This genre, born from the raw energy of punk, evolved into a diverse soundscape that resonated with the youth’s desire for peace and a better world. Let’s dive…

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

✨ Logan x Reader Lyrics ✨

[possible-streetwear]

NENEH CHERRY

[page-28]

Rip Rig and Panic era Neneh in a squat in Grove

[sowhatifiliveinfukuoka]

Rip Rig & Panic

Storm The Reality Asylum (1982)

[strathshepard]

Rip, Rig & Panic on The Young Ones, BBC via MTV into my young mind circa 1982

[reidrum]

exile

note: happy december i hope ur all doing well <3 a little something to hold u over until next friday when i start 12 days of reidrumas ok love u

summary: in which you and JJ are the ones held hostage in truth or dare

cw: spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, hurt/comfort, angst, fem!reader, a heated makeout, reader wears a dress and heels, take a shot everytime reader tears up

wc: 3.6k

p.s. i am a glutton for praise if you couldn't tell from any of my fics but i love hearing what y'all think so plsplspls lemme know your thoughts in a comment or drop in my ask box!!!!

You’re not really sure where it went wrong.

When you joined JJ to pursue Casey, it was out of convenience. You both were simply closer to his last location. No one could’ve predicted he’d take you both hostage or make you play a twisted game of truth or dare at gunpoint.

No one could have predicted that Casey would force you and JJ to reveal details that hadn’t seen the light of day. He didn’t even care for those secrets, egging you both on to reveal something that would satisfy his masochistic itch. When he realizes that neither of you would break, he ups the ante by angling the gun to the middle of your head. JJ panics and speaks before she can even process what she said.

Because as you’re staring down the barrel of the gun clocked at your forehead, you realize the bullet isn’t inside the cylinder, it’s in JJ’s next words.

I’ve always loved Spencer.

You look at her mouth agape, blood draining from your face and tears springing to your eyes. She returns your gaze with one full of remorse and pity. To any onlooker, it would seem like a harmless confession. But they didn’t know the times you confided in JJ about your feelings for Spencer, the late nights at the office she’d stay with you giving advice and words of wisdom, when all JJ wanted was for her friend to be happy.

But now, how much of that can you believe to be true?

Casey seems to be satisfied with your reaction as he lowers his gun, with you reacting quickly grabbing your hidden second pistol and gunning him down. The only audible noise left is the heavy breathing of you both, the adrenaline rush starting to fade. JJ says your name remorsefully, but she’s interrupted by the rest of the team and police arriving to the scene.

The next thing you remember is sitting outside on the back of an ambulance rig, blankly staring out at your new reality. JJ loves Spencer.

You couldn’t compete, how could you? She was JJ. and you were, you. You had lost before you even began, you might as well toss the towel now.

It makes hugging Spence for what could be the last time—not to be dramatic—bittersweet. To know that this is an insignificantly normal moment he won’t remember, but one that you’ll play on repeat for the rest of your life.

Spencer holds you close into his chest with his arm smoothing out your back, “Thank god you’re okay, are you hurt?”

You scoff internally. Yes, but not in a way that can be fixed. In a way that you are not privy to yet, but once you are it will rip us to shreds.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches.”

He nods while examining you with his own mental checklist, “Okay, if your head starts hurting or your vision gets blurry you need to tell the EMT.” you nod as he adds on, “I’m gonna go check on JJ, you’ll be okay?”

No, no I won’t. There is no reality that exists where I can be okay anymore.

“I’m good. Go.”

He squeezes your shoulders and with another nod he walks over to where JJ rests on another ambulance rig, her arms instantly opening to welcome Spencer’s warm embrace. His back is facing you and JJ’s face rests over his shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a look of sadness, grief. You look away before you can read more into it.

Wrapping the foil blanket around you tighter you let your head fall back and stare at the night sky, hoping there was a message out in the stars that would tell you what to do.

Your relationship with Spencer was, on the surface, nothing more than a friendship. He had joined the BAU only a year prior to you and when you came along it was clear from the first second that you two would be inseparable. Small talks in the bullpen quickly turned into mornings spent at the coffee shop, into weekly movie nights debating the superior science fiction franchise, to holding his hand when he needed a friend.

To Spencer, you were his anchor. Through all the trials and tribulations his life had dealt him, he knew he didn’t need to worry so much as long as you were around.

To you, Spencer was all consuming. He was threaded through every neuron and vessel in your body, intricately and impossibly tethered to you that it would take the work of the divine to painfully separate him from you.

Or, one Jennifer Jaraeu.

You don’t even realize tears are falling down your face until the EMT taps your shoulder and asks if anything has started to hurt again. Quickly shaking your head, you unravel yourself from the foil blanket and hand it back to her. You spare one last glance back at Spencer and JJ, eyes immediately zeroing on their joined hands, his thumb gently brushing the top of hers.

Your feet trudge you back to where the team is set up, one look to Emily and she’s already excusing herself from her conversation. She walks over to you phone up to her ear, saying something about you. You’re not really sure, it’s all water noise.

“Anderson will be here in about five minutes to take you home,”

You nod silently, not willing to make eye contact. Emily could sense your turmoil from a mile away, chalk it up to the Pisces moon in her but behind the hard exterior she put up there lay Emily, your empathetic friend who just wanted to hug your shattered pieces back together.

“You’ll be okay?” The second time you’ve been asked, your answer is still unchanged.

No. “Yeah.”

She sighs knowingly. The reason the two of you were such close friends was because of your similar ability to remain emotionally bottled up until it was too late, resulting in an outburst enough to take out armies and yourselves.

Anderson honks the car as he pulls up, alerting you of his arrival. Emily looks from the car back to you,  “I should go check on JJ.”

“Woman of the hour, it seems.” you chuckle under your breath.

Emily gives you that look, the conflicted ‘I’m sorry our friend made you feel this way, I still have to check on her.” look.

You brush her off, your casualness hopefully sending the message that the situation isn’t that deep. For her, you think.

The sound of the car unlocking rings through your ear as you hop in the passenger seat. Anderson tries to make small talk with you to no success, settling for the late night 00s radio station as he pulls up to your house, driving off as you bid him goodnight with a wave.

The breeze of your empty apartment greets you as you open the door, the air chillier than you’d expect for the season. You tug your shoes off harshly, placing your keys on the mail table next to the door. Your heart drops as you catch sight of a floral embossed card lying on top of your mail on the table.

Rossi’s wedding.

The one you were told to absolutely prioritize, the one in which JJ had helped you find a dress for, the one where you hoped you’d feel brave enough to tell Spencer how you truly felt.

You sigh deeply knowing you still had to show up and look presentable tomorrow despite being held hostage only 24 hours prior. But, maybe this is how you make a clean break. All this time you’ve been in love with Spencer and nothing has happened, despite all the signs you think you’re giving him. Maybe this is the opportunity to save Spencer from further tension, albeit unknown to him at this point, and let him finally be happy.

You knew about the Redskins game, how excited he was to go with JJ and yet it turned into something he hadn’t anticipated. You were new to the BAU at the time but your heart still ached for him, unable to understand how anyone would pass up on someone so special like Spencer Reid. It seems she’s finally come to her senses.

You take your dead phone out of your pocket to place it on the charger and you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The hot water loosens your tense muscles enough to prick tears in the back of your eyes, and you turn off the water before you can get too worked up. Once you’ve dried off you check on your phone on the bedside table seeing it’s turned back on, a flurry of missed texts and calls showing up.

11:14PM - Emily: Get home safe?

You heart the message and reply with a simple ‘Yes.’, scrolling to the next messages.

10:09PM - JJ:  Did you get home? 10:10PM - Missed Call from JJ 10:15PM - (2) Missed Calls from JJ 10:24PM - JJ:  I’m sorry, please let me explain. 10:25PM - Missed Call from JJ

You consider leaving her on read, not willing to entertain a conversation at this point, but you settle for an ‘It’s fine.’ for the sake of having communicated your safety.

10:13PM - Spence: Hey, where are you? 10:20PM - Spence: The EMT said you took off? Did you leave? 11:34PM - Spence: Emily just told me Anderson drove you back. You could’ve told me, I would have taken you home.

Your chuckle sadly at the text, Spencer hated driving but he would do it for you. It almost makes you think that your relationship could withstand the harsh weathering it’s been subjected to.

12:07AM - You: Sorry, phone died. I’m home now.

A response dings through a minute later.

12:08AM - Spence: I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a portable charger to keep in your bag. You should get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding right? Well, the wedding that’s today seeing as it’s past midnight. You know what I mean.

A single tear falls down your face at his rambling words. Oh, how you’d miss this once he learns what’s really happened.

12:10AM - You: I’ll be there. See you tomorrow, or today? You know what I mean. Good night.

12:11AM - Spence: Good night :)

—

You smooth out your dress before going up the steps, making eyes with Penelope at the top. You’re wearing a silk chiffon dress in purple, deliberately picked for Spencer’s favorite color, some strappy heels and some dainty jewelry painting you in as the picture of elegance.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you!” Penelope exclaims squeezing you tightly, “You look sooo pretty, doesn’t she look so pretty?” she gestures to the two men behind her you now acknowledge to be Luke and Spencer.

“Like a dream.” Luke agrees.

“Yeah,” Spencer clears his throat, “You look…beautiful.”

Penelope the Oracle of All Time quickly senses the 

atmosphere created and grabs Luke’s forearm, “Come on, you owe me that dance now!” She looks back and slyly gives you a thumbs up before dragging Luke further onto the dance floor.

Spencer slips into the vacated space to be right next to you, “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about how you were held hostage at gunpoint, and not about how he’s about to become the loss of your life.

“ ‘M fine,” you swirl your champagne glass, “You?”

“Better now.”

A ghost of a smile creeps up on you, but you don’t let it travel further than that. He’s just being nice.

“Well, I’m just going to find the bathroom really quick.”

He holds a hand out for your glass, “Here, I’ll hold it.”

Your smile returns with bearings this time as you wander off in search of the bathroom. You’d feel embarrassed by how long it took you to find it but this place was massive, the Rossi money ran deep. Retracing your steps back to the main room you find Spencer and your glass not in the same place he was when you left. You scan the room looking for him and finally find him deep in conversation with—oh.

They’re too far for you to be able to hear them, but you can imagine that it’s the conversation. You watch JJ squeeze his forearm with affection and suddenly you can’t take it anymore. You couldn’t stand there and watch yourself become collateral in real time. Spencer turns at the sound of rustling up the spiral staircase followed by a door closing, catching the last glimpse of purple before it vanishes.

Spencer feels sick. He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated at the new information he’s learned about what really happened in the gas station. Then he comes to the realization of how walking in on him and JJ talking must have made you feel. His feet are carrying him up the stairs before he even realizes he’s made the choice. 

He finds you at the end of the hallway and calls out your name with a firmness you’d never heard from him. But you’ve cut all the strings of sanity by now, and you whip around and snap, “What?”

He doesn’t like that tone. “JJ told me what happened.”

You snort and don’t meet his eyes, “Oh, did she?”

His brows furrow, “Yes, she did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

And what? Is he serious? Did you have to spell it out for him? It borderlines sadist the way he’s putting you through the ringer.

“What happens now, Spencer?” you exasperate, “Is this the part where you tell me we can’t be friends anymore because she finally confessed?”

Confusion colors his face more, “Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

A halfway scream—groan leaves your throat in frustration. “Spencer, come on.”

“Honey, I don’t understand—“

“That! See, you can’t just say things like that knowing what has to happen, and expect me to react like a normal person.” you exclaim with hands flailing.

“I’m really confused—“

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cry, “Now do you see why?”

Time all but stills in the hallway you’ve found yourselves in. You don’t know how long you’ve been up here. It’s a little farther down from the stairways so there’s no threat of evesdroppers, but with how worked up you’re getting the proximity renders itself useless. The faint muffle of animated conversations and lively jazz music fills the silence between you and Spencer, who looks like…well, actually for once you can’t decipher what he’s feeling. 

He looks like he’s about to open his mouth when you both turn your head to the ascending footsteps—JJ looking for you, or Spencer probably, to come cut the cake. Spencer darts his eyes between the walls, a nervous tic you’d caught on to, before you realize he’s looking for a door and pulling you inside one. You yelp at the unexpected force and quickly quiet down again. The light switches on and based on the furniture you conclude that it’s a powder room, because of course Rossi’s venue has a powder room.

It’s a tiny room, big enough for a vanity table and a chaise lounge. Small enough to not have any room to leave without going past him. You stand an arm’s length away from him, the faint muffles of talk and music replaced by your sniffling. You shouldn’t have come, you start to realize. Having to say goodbye to him in person might actually rip you apart. Your chest weighs heavy with that familiar sad irony of mourning someone who hasn’t even told you they’re leaving yet. Preemptive measures that turned into routine practice. 

You sniffle, “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, not that it ever did. I’m sorry I just sprung it on you like that, that was unfair. JJ…I thought JJ was my friend, I guess she is still but I’m not too sure now. But…she’s JJ and I’m just me and I know both of your pasts with each other so obviously it would be her. I’m making this too big a deal, I think. I just want you to be happy, in whatever capacity that looks like and I know it’s not with me so—“

Spencer stops your rambling by silently reaching out for your arm to pull you right in front of him, his hands reach to cup your face up to his, thumbs naturally swiping away the tears. He says your name like a coo, with a softness and delicacy you don’t feel you deserve right now. It hurts your heart entirely.

“Please don’t make this harder than it is.” you whisper through soft sobs.

You don’t know when it happens. Maybe in between scrunching your eyes or staring at your feet—but it happens. A cold pressure, then warmth, his lips are warm when he kisses you. A little surprising that he still tastes like Penelope’s sugary mocktail from earlier. A welcome pressure on your face as he holds you in place, as if you’d slip away further if he let go.

He stills in place, thinking he’s overstepped, until you finally remember that his lips are on your lips. You return the force back with as much as he gave you and let your arms loop around his neck, his own sliding from your face to take purchase on your hips.

That’s when Spencer starts kissing you. His hands grip your hips and tug you even closer as he deepens the kiss, plunging deeper back into the plush of your thighs to sit you on top of the vanity table. He slots himself between your legs, your hands wandering up to tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. A soft groan leaves his throat and he detaches from your lips to amble down your neck, leaving a trail of lovebites in its wake.

This is wrong, like so wrong. You’re practically opening a salt box and pouring its entire contents on your wounds. But dammit, if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Spencer, you’re sure as hell going to make the most out of the fleeting moment.

He mumbles something in between kisses to your neck, you instinctively ask him to say it again not expecting a response, and you immediately regret it as you feel his presence get lighter as he pulls away.

One more kiss to the spot behind your ear, he feels you preening below him and makes note of this—amongst everything else—for later, he pulls back to meet your eyes again.

“I love you.”

Your face drops, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not being funny.”

Yes he is, he has to be. Because the universe in which Spencer Reid allows a piece of—the whole of it according to him, unbeknownst to you—his heart to be fully yours is not this one. You’ve never had luck like that.

“Then you’re lying to me, and that’s worse.” your voice cracks, Spencer feels the same crack imprinted on his heart.

“Sweetheart, I’m not lying. I love you.” He says it again to your surprise, the tenderness of his touch returning as he deliberates how to disarm you. The defensiveness you have isn’t surprising to him, it’s the note of insecurity in your tone he isn’t ready for, like you are unable to even believe it could be you. 

You’re a dandelion, he thinks, the puffballs teetering attachment to their base with one wrong move sending them astray into the wind. He’s wading treacherous weather but he finds that for you he’d do anything and everything eyes closed if he had to.

“…Really?” you ask meekly. He nods slowly, never breaking his gaze on you. “But…JJ.”

His eyes soften and he nods in understanding, “There was a point in my life where, yes that was all I was waiting to hear,” he starts, “But, I am no longer at that point in my life anymore. I’m here now. She knows that.”

You’re unconvinced, Spencer can see it clear as day. Maybe it’s more apprehensive than unconvinced, but no one could blame you. How are you to believe anything when you went through what you did in the last 24 hours? You look defeated if anything, like you’d accepted your fate of always coming second place.

Spencer racks his brain hard trying to think of a way to show you that the podium doesn’t even exist, it’s only ever been you.

He pulls out his wallet and rifles through the many things inside, finding what he’s looking for before handing it to you. You look up at him in confusion when you make it out to be a movie ticket stub from the Korean film festival you’d both attended a little after you started at the BAU, the first time the two of you ever spent time together. The edges are soft and smoothed out as a result of time, like it’s been held and comforted for many days.

“There’s more in my apartment.”

“Movie ticket stubs?” you ask bemused.

“Commemorations of you,” his fingers brush the span of your arm up and down soothingly, “I probably have something for every time we’ve ever hung out. If it reminds me of you, I have it.”

Tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time, a few spilling over rapidly.

“Hey no, you’re not supposed to cry at that.” he whispers softly between you, his thumb taking the rightful and familiar place under your eye to catch the tears.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I’ve ever been loved like this.”

His heart tightens, “No? Well, I think you have to get used to it now.”

“No choice?” you pout.

He catches the timbre of humor in your voice and smiles widely. He hugs you tightly, pressing your head into his chest, “I guess you don’t have to. Just because you’re not used to it doesn’t mean I’ll stop. If you’re like this now, wait till you see the box I have of our things.”

You sniffle again, your head reeling as your tears stain his shirt and the scent of him invades your being. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, just how you know Spencer to be. He doesn’t expect you to believe him right away, you’ve been through so much that it would be unfair to ask that of you. You don’t know what tomorrow holds, or even the rest of this night, but one thing you have learned is that to Spencer you are known, and therefore you are loved.

[genericamentegiuseppe]

Squid - Monolith

Non era mica facile per gli Squid con tutte le orecchie puntate su questo album, eppure invece di ripetersi cercano nuove strade...

Etichetta: WarpPaese: UKAnno: 2023 Continue reading Untitled

[the-californicationist]

Hiii

First of all I wanted to thank you for your amazing fics 🤩. They have become a part of my life and I can’t live without them anymore 🥹💖

Secondly, I wanted to ask about a fic if you would consider. 🫶

Price is injured in his thigh and we are a medic. When attending to the wound the tension rises and a little bit of teasing from our part? 😌

Also, Price can’t take us like he wants because of the wound but we can do 69?

Or maybe something more thrilling! I know you are the greatest in ideas and writing! ❤️‍🔥

Thank you a loooot. (*＾3＾）/～♡

Do No Harm

After being shot in the leg, Captain Price is put on strict bed rest by his medic: you. When he threatens to break your orders, you decide to use your rank against him.

AO3 Link

TW: female reader, face fucking, hurt/comfort, come play

When the captain got shot, all hell broke loose. Ghost and Gaz retaliated swiftly, and the bomb that Soap rigged to blow the enemy encampment was more than a little overkill. The four of them had shown up back at your makeshift base, sweaty, bloody, and exhausted. 

“What happened?” You asked the tall lieutenant, searching his face as he removed the skull mask, looking for signs as to how serious it was. 

“He took a hit to the thigh. Dead bloody center,” the tall Brit rolled his captain over, the latter of whom let out a torrid string of curses and shouts, nasty enough to make you blush. 

You inspected the wound, but his clothing was in your way. Ripping your scissors out of your chest armor, you set to cutting him out of his trousers, and you tried not to let the panic get the best of you. 

The truth was that you were keeping a secret. You were sleeping with their captain. You and John had broken a series of rules (and furniture) over the past four months, enjoying each other in the most primal, carnal way. Every night that he was on base, he sneaked into your medbay, aching with something other than pain and searching for his cure. 

You knew it was wrong. It was so far beyond protocol that you wouldn’t be surprised if they court martialed you when they found out, but you didn’t care. You were addicted to him. When he was away for too long, you crawled through the hallways and out into the common rooms with a slick problem between your legs. Something only his fat cock and filthy mouth could solve. 

He was terrible with you. Nothing was off-limits. He used you like a toy, and his fervid want was enough to burn you alive. In the darkness, his grasping hands and hot breath scorched your skin, searing across your belly, pinching your nipples, playing in your lips, all for the express purpose of making you come. It was his favorite thing. By the sixth, the seventh, when you were begging him to squeeze his pulsing rod inside of you, pleading in whispered cries for him to fuck you, he would chuckle with a dark joy. Teasing you, calling you his pretty little plaything, reminding you that you were fully at his mercy. 

It was hard to see him like this, but you were good at your job, and luckily, the bullet had gone right into the muscle. No broken femur, no arterial damage. Your predator would live to hunt you another day. 

“I need everybody out. Come back in an hour,” you commanded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Gaz replied, leading the others out of the clinic to debrief and regroup after a hard night. 

You sliced through his canvas pants, slipping the shears through the fabric to reveal his bare skin. He never wore any underwear, which you were always quick to rib him for. Then, you inspected the wound. They had packed it in the field, and as you removed the dressings, more and more blood pooled out of the hole, obscuring your view. You worked as fast as you could, administering as much anesthetic as you had on hand, knowing that it wasn’t enough. He was doing everything he could not to writhe in pain as you threw stitch after stitch. 

“Jus’ wanted to get me alone, didn’t ya?” He teased you through gritted teeth. His voice was weak, but he was feisty, which was a good sign. 

You smiled down at him, joking around,

“You know it. But, you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear today, Captain. Might have to get my fix somewhere else.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing the side of the table hard enough to make the metal frame whine when you hit a nerve with your needle, “Another man lays a fuckin’ hand on you, and he’ll wish he hadn’t.” 

“Can’t have you reopening this wound, John. I worked hard on these stitches.”

“How’m I gonna sneak in to see you tonight?” He looked up at you with softer eyes, a youthful gaze on his face. 

You pitied him, winking cheekily, 

“Might just have to keep you here for observation.”

His whole body relaxed then, relieved in a way you hadn’t expected. You had just been kidding around, but his reaction made you change your mind. If he felt better with you in your clinic, you’d add it to the orders. The last thing you needed was your headstrong man limping through the base just for a chance at some action. 

You finished up, cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, wiping down the rest of him as best you could. He was filthy, and the water in your bucket was full of sand by the time you were done. But, he still smelled like the sun and his sweat, and it was enough to make the animal part of your mind practically salver at the idea of how his skin must taste. The saltiness, full of his pheromones… you chastised yourself for even thinking about it. 

He was finally asleep, full of morphine and exhausted from his ordeal. Gaz popped back in, and you told him you’d be keeping their commander overnight. You thought you’d gotten away with your little game, but there was a knowing glint in the sergeant’s eye that told you he knew more than you thought. 

You tried not to stress about it. His men were loyal to him, and you knew they wouldn’t rat you out. But, still. You made a mental note to be more careful in the future. 

Your bedtime routine was short and easy. You slipped into some shorts and one of John’s abandoned tee shirts. Luckily, it looked like everyone else’s tee shirt, so no one was the wiser. You could always say you stole a larger one from the supply room. But, it smelled like him, and you slept like a rock when you wore it. 

You climbed into bed, and before you could even think about going to sleep, the ache between your legs reared its horny head, coaxing you to touch yourself, disguising itself as a tingle, an itch that needed to be scratched. As soon as your fingers pried apart your soft petals, you discovered the truth. You were soaking wet, and your core was hot like molten lead, giving your digits no resistance as you played with yourself, slipping them in and out of your slick folds. 

You heard a noise escape from your throat against your will, and you tried to hold it back, rolling your eyes from the slam of pleasure that rushed to your head. You were dizzy with want, and even though you tried to quiet the sound, you could hear your own wet flesh popping and sluicing with more and more of your precome, preparing you for an encounter you knew you couldn’t have. 

You came quickly, and without much warning, clenching down on nothing, biting your hand to keep from screaming for him. You peeked over your shoulder, and luckily, he hadn’t woken up. You thought about how nice it would feel to have his big body curled against you as you crashed into a deep slumber, the scent of your wet hand and his old shirt mixing together and lulling you to sleep. 

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but when you woke, it was still dark. Your eyes darted over to the clinic table, and John was… missing?

You sat up with a start only to find him fully naked at the end of your bed, getting ready to crawl in beside you. 

“John!” You hissed, “What are you doing? You can’t be walking around.”

“Gotta have you, love. I’m so hard, it hurts.”

“You were shot in your fucking leg, Jonathan Price. Let me see the dressing.”

“Quit fussin’ over me, girl. C’mere,” he covered you with his body and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to lay beneath him, flat and vulnerable. He set to pulling away your clothes, making quick work of it, sighing raggedly when he felt your naked body beneath his own. 

But, he was in pain. You could see him adjusting and readjusting, trying to figure out how he could fuck you like he wanted to, unable to find a solution. 

“John,” you whispered, feeling his mouth on your neck, “We can’t. You’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me order you to stop.”

“I’m your commander,” he breathed, threatening you with his teeth, leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin. 

“Don’t…” you gasped as his fingers found your gooey center, “Don’t confuse your rank for my authority, Captain Price. You’re under my care.”

He glared at you, coming to a pause, leaving his fingers in you to play in your hole, gently pulsing in and out, teasing you just enough to keep you on the edge, 

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

The more he teased you, the more hot slick collected on his hands, sticky and clear, covering his fingers and making him harden with every moment. 

Then, he took a sharp breath in through his nose, and paused, hiding his grimace in the crook of his arm. You canted your hips, removing his hand from you, fed up with his defiance, 

“John, that’s enough. If you make me restitch that wound, I will have to do it without drugs. We’re out of anesthetic.”

“Please, love,” he held you close to him, letting you feel his hard length as it rolled against your tummy, making a trail of precome across your skin, “I need you. I’ve missed you so bad. Lemme fuck you. Put my cock in you.”

“Hold on,” you shifted your body so that he would turn on his side. Then, you lay opposite him, your head laying at the foot of the bed, bringing you face to face with his swollen, hungry cock. 

In this position, you could suck him off, and he wouldn’t need to use his thigh. 

You licked your lips, trailing them across his cockhead, collecting his salty pearls of pleasure and wearing them like gloss, suckling from his tip as softly as you could just to taunt him further. 

“Ahhh, fuck…” His sigh was delicious. All of that pain and all of the stress that had made him so tense rushed out of him, making his skin pebble with bliss. 

Without hesitation, John bent his head, pulling your hips to his open mouth, and wrapping your leg under his arm, eating your pussy and groaning with a lurid, feral pleasure. 

The feeling of his soft lips and scruffy beard against your sensitive skin flung you into a spiral of pleasure. You could feel his warm tongue prodding and exploring through you, greedily splitting you to get to your hot, honeyed center. 

You wanted more of his taste, so you went to work, stretching your jaw to accommodate his girth, taking him deeper into your throat, using your tongue to trace a wet circle around his head when you needed to catch your breath, teasing him just beneath his foreskin. When you did, his cock throbbed for you, egging you on, eager to drip its load into your mouth. 

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Gonna make me come,” he threatened. 

Suddenly, you felt his fingers dip back inside of you. He was aggressive with his fondling, shoving two of his thick digits deep inside of you, curling them cruelly to press upon your most pliant, responsive spot. 

As he fucked you with his hand, he let his tongue lap against your clit, making you whine around his dick, muffled by his shaft. You felt his hips begin to thrust forward and back, desperately fucking your throat, getting closer and closer to releasing his orgasm inside of you. 

You couldn’t wait to taste him. You wanted him to use you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was — as hungry as he was for your body — you needed him just as badly. 

You felt your body begin to tense, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have you coming on his hands. He kept his pace, knowing your favorite rhythm, humming to himself as he devoured you, sucking up every drop of your wetness as if he’d never drink from your tight font again. 

Your toes curled, your legs tried to close in on themselves, stopped by his body trapped between them, and something snapped inside of your core, letting loose spiraling sparks of pleasure, breaking you apart over and over, only for each gentle lick from his tongue to put you back together. 

“Mmhm,” he praised you, “Good girl. Just like that. Rub your come on my mouth.”

You did as you were told, no longer in the driver’s seat when it came to your body, fully trained to submit to his will. You shamelessly smeared your pussy across his bearded jaw, humping lewdly against him, all for him to whisper gratefully between licks, 

“Yes, more. More. Give it to me. Fuck my mouth, love. Fuck, I love it. Fuck…”

All the while, he was thrusting into your mouth, deeper and deeper, choking you on his hardness. But, you let him. You allowed him to use you, holding onto his hips for dear life, breathing in every gap that he left, gasping for air, feeling yourself getting dizzy. 

“Are you ready for me?” He groaned, peering down at you between your bodies.

You moaned something you hoped sounded like a yes, and he turned his full attention towards you. You felt his fingers leave your pussy, only to wrap themselves through your hair, sticky and messy, making a strong, merciless grip at the base of your skull. 

He fucked you in earnest, then. It was gratifying to hear his satisfied grunts, and as you felt his cock swell even more, you knew he was about to come. Your mind wanted air, but your body wanted his load. You wanted to feel it slip into your  throat, hot and milky, pouring down your neck like a salacious prize. 

Finally, he went stock-still, and the only thing that moved was his cock. It throbbed inside of you, shooting rope after rope of heavy come down your tongue, painting your mouth white. 

He removed himself from you as quick as he could, pulling your head back up to your pillow, bringing you face to face with him, whispering in an animalistic tone, 

“Lemme see it, pretty girl. Open up. Let me… ahh, yes. That’s it.”

He dipped his finger into your mouth, gathering up his own orgasm onto the tip, smearing it around your lips like he was putting on your makeup. 

You were panting, gasping in the air you so desperately needed, and you tried not to swallow, gathering up as much of his foaming fluid on your tongue as you could, sticking it out for him, showing him what a good girl you could be. 

He took more of it onto his hand and dipped down between your legs, painting your swollen folds with his spend, mixing your come together like some ritual. 

You couldn’t help but whimper. You were overstimulated and raw, and he shushed you, bringing his hand back up to play with your soft nipples, 

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s okay. Kiss me.”

You felt his mouth crash into yours, and your own heady taste invaded your senses, folding in with his, making your body roll itself against him, begging him for more. 

“Leg already feels better. C’mon, love. Give us the go ahead, hm?”

“I will tie you to this bed, John Price. Don’t test me,” you looked up at him before laying your head on his furry chest, breathing when he breathed, watching his hairy belly rise and fall. 

“Promise?” He chuckled, pulling you closer and holding you there all night, unwilling to compromise, claiming you in every way he knew how. You dozed against him, sated and happy, wondering how long you could keep a secret this good. 

Sorry for the wait! Work is hellish right now, but as soon as this semester is over with, I'll be posting more. Thanks for letting me know your thoughts.

[theunderestimator-2]

Neneh Cherry, Andi Oliver & Paul Simonon captured by Adrian Boot backstage during the shooting of Big Audio Dynamite video for the band's 1986 song "Medicine Show", directed by Don Letts and featuring himself as well as Joe Strummer and Simmo in cameo appearances as cops, plus John Lydon and the two girls/former members of Rip Rig + Panic by that time.

In the wise words of Serge Gainsbourg "You're under arrest, 'cause you are the best".

(via & via)

[kayakima]

Hello I am back with more headcanons

How the 104th Cadet corps smokes 🍃 and what they’re like when they’re high

Plus bonus Porco and Pieck

Eren: Has every form of Rick and Morty paraphernalia in existence. Rolling trays, Tshirts, ash trays, you name it. Unironically says that people need a higher IQ to be able to “fully grasp” the message of the show. Used to smoke indoors but Mikasa pushed him to take it outside or at least open a window. Goes fully nonverbal (for once) but also can’t keep his hands to himself if he’s alone with Mikasa.

Mikasa: Doesn’t smoke a ton but she still somehow has an incredibly high tolerance. Has a pen that she named “Penjamin” and she discreetly hits it at the aquarium/museum. When she’s at home with Eren it takes one hit before their clothes are on the floor.

Armin: Tried smoking but it always just ends up giving him a headache for some reason. Edibles are a bit better but he never seems to really “feel it”, so he prefers to just not partake because he doesn’t want to waste money. Prefers CBD gummies and has a CBD pen on him so he doesn’t feel left out during sessions. A fiend for cigs though.

Ymir: WAKE. AND. BAKE. She can out smoke ANYONE, even Connie. Zeros her bong in one hit and does NOT clean it. Has a whole dab rig and puts grape-sized globs in it just for herself. Unironically watches Jackass and Filthy Frank videos when Historia isn’t around.

Historia: Smoked once and had a panic attack. Does not smoke or partake at all anymore and instead she drinks or hits her crusty ass juul from 2018 that’s covered with faded stickers, and she uses bootleg strawberry juul pods so she feels like she’s doing something. Babysits Ymir when she goes nonverbal and they also can’t keep their hands off each other. She’s the one to clean Ymir’s bong and yells at her when she leaves it on the coffeetable.

Reiner: Can rip a bong like nobody’s business but is classy enough to keep it in a cupboard when he isn’t using it. All his bags and pockets are littered with various brands of mint-flavored dispos because he vapes in public. Gets really calm and quiet and one time when he was with Jean the two of them got way too high together and started making out (they don’t talk about it and nobody else will ever know)

Bertoldt: Surprisingly chatty when smoking. Doesn’t do anything fancy and just has a glass pipe. Taught Reiner what a sploof was so he wouldn’t get caught by his mom. Has a decent tolerance but can sometimes overdo it because he underestimates edibles. “Man this edible ain’t shit” *Ten minutes later*: “dude do you ever think about how our fingers are just bony tentacles?”

Annie: Almost exclusively bums off of other people. Offers a drag of her cig in return. Also gets chatty but not nearly as much as Bert. She’s the one to pick out the movie and she’s the last one to fall asleep. Always jumps for nature documentaries or nostalgic things like Wallace and Gromit.

Marco: Does NOT smoke and sees weed as a gateway drug. Cried when he found out Jean keeps edibles on him and said he didn’t want him to become an “addict” until Jean invited him to babysit a JSC smoke session. Now he dislikes it but tolerates it for Jean.

Sasha: Munchies go with Sasha like milk goes with cookies. Full Mukbang channel with 2 million subscribers. The big draw to the channel is SJC antics and when Niccolo decides to make gourmet food for her to absolutely destroy when high. Eats all the edibles Pieck gives her in like 3 days.

Jean: Has those 5mg Caminos on lockdown in his back pocket to the point where they’ve worn a circular imprint in the denim and he has to clarify that, no, it is neither a tin of dip, nor is it Zyn packets. He keeps the Caminos on hand because they make him more social and relaxed in public without getting too zooted. At home he has a pen but rarely uses it. Prefers 20mg brownies Pieck makes him. Does not smoke with Reiner anymore. (He really enjoyed himself and is scared of the implications)

Connie: spent $600 on a gravity bong because he saw Seth Rogen talk about it. Has a YouTube channel under the name Con-man420 and the videos have titles like “REVIEWING SUPER LEMON HAZExGRANDADDY PURP HYBRID IN 4K HD”. Impossible to tell if he’s high or sober because you’re not ever entirely sure you’ve SEEN him fully sober.

Pieck: Makes edibles. Knows how to make canna-butter and runs a whole under-the-table edible business. Once it was legalized in her state she had a panic attack. When she’s high it’s like her brain completely shuts off and she has to do the little bicep hug with Jean or Porco if they’re out in public so she doesn’t get left behind. Falls asleep every time. Very cuddly and gets handsy depending on who she’s with.

Porco: Smokes out of a pipe shaped like an old-fashioned tobacco pipe. Pieck got it for him as a joke but he loves it. Can do smoke tricks with his pen. Plays Tame Impala and Glass Animals on vinyl and melts into the couch like that one DARE ad

[page-28]

[sowhatifiliveinfukuoka]

Smash Hits (September 2-15, 1982)

Rip Rig & Panic - Storm The Reality Asylum (lyrics)

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 62: Don't Count On my Sympathy

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Surely Ada is exaggerating Thomas’ reaction to my coldness. If he’s survived this long on the love of whores and Lizzie then there is no reason for him to act so hurt. 

I’m really doing this. Driving to the home of the man who broke my life. Arrow House is straight ahead, pale against the dim gray morning light. Even after all these years they still kept my Bentley in good shape. Another reminder of Thomas’ financial perks.

In no more than ten seconds after I park there’s a familiar sound of scampering footsteps.

“Hello, Charlie!” I smile as the young Shelby runs up the hill.

“Venna!” His face lights up and he tackles my legs for a hug. “You’re back!”

“Yes I am, dierbaar jongen. My my, you have grown so much!”

He giggles when I try to ruffle his hair and continues running to the house. “I’ve got violin practice now.”

“Oh! I won’t keep you, then. Go on!”

In one hand I grip the briefcase Ada sent with me. The very reason why I’m forced to be here. With my other hand I feel the comforting cross around my neck again. Lord, please give me patience-

What’s that?

Something white in an empty muddy field catches my eye. It’s very faint. Is that a person…? It’s a cross. Off in the distance, a giant wooden cross stands a single cross with familiar clothes. Thomas’ clothes. And the man himself is standing across from it. What is that? Is it supposed to be a mockery of faith? How dare-!?

Bang! Bang! Bang! Thomas lifts up a gun and blasts the clothes to shreds, causing sparks to scatter. What the Hell?! I drop the briefcase and break into a sprint. What the Hell is happening?! I nearly stumble and trip down the hill and by the time I reach the fence my dress is splattered in mud. Is he trying to kill himself-?!

Ka-boom!

A giant explosion rips a crater open in the field, sending dirt and rock flying everywhere. A blast of fire clouds over Thomas and I give a loud shriek. My stomach drops. He really was trying to die…

And he still lives. The cloud of ash lifts and Thomas walks back across the field, covered in mud. I nearly scream again. How can he look so- so… calm?! How far has his mind spiraled since I’ve been gone?

“What the Hell was that?!” I yell at the top of my lungs, my eyes nearly bulging out.

Across the dirty field, Thomas spots me as he walks closer and immediately panics.

“Verena? Fuck! Why are you-?”

“I come here to get your signature and this is what you’re doing?!" I screech and stand my ground. "What the Hell happened?!”

Thomas walks through the gate and looks me up and down with wild eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know! Just please-” He desperately grips my shoulders. “Please stay off this place. Now… What do you need signed? Wait, wait. I’ve got a call to respond to.”

He takes off towards the house, leaving me speechless and confused as to what to think of this. Did he rig that cross to explode? Was it a trap? A warning? I swear if there’s another bloody vendetta I’m going to punch him clean in the face! Reluctantly, I follow Thomas’ muddy footprints and retrieve the briefcase before going inside.

Grrrr.

A brown mutt walks out from the dining room, alerted to my presence. I calmly let him smell my hand. He doesn’t look too harmless. Since when did Thomas get a dog-?

“That’s Cyril,” Charlie beams from another doorway.

“He’s very charming,” I smile as the mutt wanders to the small boy. “You must be done with your lesson. Aunt Ada also told me you speak Rokka, Charlie?”

He nods. “Bits and pieces. Do you still speak Dutch?”

“Yes, I’m learning. You should be very proud of yourself for holding onto your heritage.”

Another set of footsteps echo down the stairs and I look up to see a little girl with dark hair. When she sees me she freezes and watches me as if I just threatened to shoot Cyril. She's Lizzie’s daughter, for sure. She has her eyes. And her look of judgement.

“And you must be Ruby!” I kneel down and offer a friendly wave.

“Hello,” Ruby says shyly. “What’s your name?”

“This is Veena,” Charlie introduces me. “She’s fun.”

Someone else steps down and now Lizzie herself joins us, wearing a very fancy fur stole. A vast contrast to my filthy dress and simple hair braids. She puts a protective hand on Ruby and looks down at me with the same lowly expression from four years ago. I should have been more prepared to feel her smug victory over me.

“Hello, Ms. Steenstra.”

I show no sign of friendly acknowledgement. “Mrs. Shelby.” 

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Why are you here?”

“Straight to the point, I see,” I quip and hold up the briefcase. “I’m here because Mr. Shelby has some papers to sign, ASAP.”

“What about me?” Charlie whines.

“And I’m here for you too, Charlie,” I assure him with a wink, then turn back to Lizzie with another cold glare. “I am not staying in England for long. Mr. Shelby is currently in the middle of a call but as soon as he is finished I will swiftly accomplish my ordeal with him.”

Lizzie, not amused by my agenda to conduct my visit as quickly as possible, leads Ruby back upstairs. At least Grace eventually let me interact with Charlie. I probably won’t ever be able to talk to Ruby again.

Charlie interrupts my thoughts by skipping over to wait by his vader’s office door. “I’m going to show him what I learned today!”

He proudly holds up the violin he’s holding and I almost chuckle to think of Thomas subjecting his kids to musical practice. Intriguing. Would Thomas ever learn to play music himself?

I lean my head to the door, hearing the phone being set down. Good. Time to get things over with.

Knock knock.

“Come!” Thomas’ voice booms through the door.

I enter slowly, deeply trying to forget about the last time I was in this room, and spot Thomas leaning against his desk. He looks like the walking dead. Lasting remains of mud still stain his white shirt. However, Charlie ignores his vader's troubled state and goes to stand at the center of the room.

“He has something to show you,” I tell Thomas. “Then you-”

“I know, I’ll sign.”

Charlie grips his violin and smiles. “I learned something today!”

Thomas, as usual, holds a whiskey. “So did I. And what have you learned, my boy?”

Charlie brings the bow to the instrument. A screech of strings pinches my ears and I do my best to not cringe. The young boy carries out the thankfully quick Hellish melody and Thomas sits blankly across from him. Perhaps the terrors conspiring inside Thomas’ head are horrendous enough to drown out any outside noise.

“Good start, Charlie,” I praise after Thomas fails to speak. “Why don’t you go get yourself ready for supper, eh?”

He nods eagerly and scampers off. I set down my briefcase and wave a hand in front of Thomas’ eerily quiet face.

“Here are the papers.”

Thomas blinks at me and seems to remember where he is. He slowly stands up and goes to grab a pen from his desk. Time to fire the next shot.

“I am also here for my next payment.”

A quick flash of anger colors Thomas’ eyes but it’s replaced by another blank stare. “‘S that why you came back?”

“For the sake of my familie, yes.”

“Are you sure?”

My eyes narrow and my jaw tightens. If he thinks he can guilt-talk me out of this he is dead wrong. I came for my familie and nothing else.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I respond firmly and reroute the subject. “I also heard about what happened to Finn. Please tell me you’re going to talk to him. He’s not the same man from two years ago. He’s becoming just like you. Drinking, chatting up girls, going in guns a-blazing. It’s-!”

“I will,” Thomas says evenly as he signs the documents. “Arthur and I are going to sit him down tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” The shadow of a smirk crosses my mouth. “How did your chat with Mr. Dixon go?”

Thomas takes another drink. “Your country has some of the oddest people. Half the time he wanted to talk about guns and mixing moonshine instead of actual business. I left him to some associates in London. Did your dad really make him come with you?”

“When you’re a single woman traveling alone it’s considered proper to be escorted, according to my parents. Now that I am here I plan to do things my way.”

I hold out my hand expectantly. Thomas hands me the papers and I store them away in the briefcase. Next he passes me a handsome stack of bills. There. Done and done. Now I can tell Ada I talked to him, sort of, and don’t have to see him again-

“Another thing,” Thomas calls once I’m halfway across the room. “Have you been in contact with Michael?”

Despite the raging voice telling me to flee from him, I turn around to face Thomas once more with a lazy head shake. “No. I’ve stuck to the west side of Michigan and practically avoided him, honestly. He’s grown just as arrogant.”

“Yet you still agree to work for us,” Thomas points out as he lights another cigarette.

Stay calm, Steentstra. “Now that the depression is underway, what choice do I have? Anything I earn goes to my familie.”

“Hm. Well, do not trust Michael. That call just told me he was making deals to kill me.”

“Sweet Jesus-!” I gasp and stop myself short.

Nothing could prepare me for this! I’m supposed to distance myself from Thomas, not panic over another death threat! Calm the Hell down, Verena!

“Now don’t get your skirt in a bunch, love,” Thomas implores. “‘S for me to handle, eh? Did you ever notice any strange transactions from Ireland?”

I shake my head. “My uncle would have told me. If you doubt it then you can talk with him yourself.”

“Alright. I might.” Thomas gets a look that says he’s lost in thought again and waves me off. “Now go play with Charlie before he starts whining again. He missed you.”

I slip over to the door and offer one last remark, a sort-of peace offering. “Ruby’s a darling, too.”

“That she is,” Thomas murmurs and looks at me again. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

No no no! Get out, get out. Lizzie’s going to have my head just for him suggesting that! I’m supposed to get paid and leave-!

“I do not think I will be welcomed by all-”

“Lizzie and Ruby have been staying in the Midland Hotel,” Thomas explains and takes another puff on his cigarette. “‘S just me, Charlie, and Frances.”

So their marriage isn’t so peachy after all. Lizzie finally realized what she dug herself into. Say no. Say no! Thomas knows I want no part of his life anymore. Even though it is nice to see Charlie again…

“One hour.” I hold up a finger. “One hour, and then I’m gone.”

Before Thomas can react I slip through the door and back down the familiar hallway. A few maids give me quiet greetings but for the most part the house is empty. So this is the life you wanted, Thomas? It’s awfully lonely.

“Hello again, Charlie!” I announce when I spot the boy sitting at the long dining table.

His face scrunches with hopeful confusion. “Are you staying for supper?”

“For tonight, yes.”

I take a seat next to him and take a moment to observe the young Shelby. He’s definitely grown up. Instead of a boyish carefree smile Charlie has traded it for a rigid frown. Oh, Thomas. You’re turning your son into yourself. 

A deep whistling sound draws my attention to the window. Outside a strong wind blows fiercely across the pastures. Dark clouds churn overhead, drowning out the little sunlight that’s left of the day. The dark skeletons of the leafless trees sway and stand as ghostly figures left to the imagination.

“It looks really spooky outside,” I observe mysteriously, playing at Charlie’s remaining curiosity.

He shrugs. “That’s appropriate for this time of year.”

I try again. “Do you know about the Samhain celebration, Charlie?”

His eyes widen. “What’s that?”

Bingo!

“It’s a Celtic tradition celebrating the autumn harvest. It was last week on October 31, between the fall equinox and the winter solstice. I went to Belfast last year for the Samhain festival and it was incredible!”

In the corner of my eye I see Thomas appear. He silently makes his way to the end of the table and takes a seat. He's changed into clean clothes. As if on cue, a couple servants appear with trays of food. My first instinct is to stand up and help but then I remind myself I’m not in America anymore. Things are still done differently here.

“So you still celebrate Samhain even though you’re American?” Charlie asks after a few bites of pork.

“Yes. Samhain can be a very spiritual time for me. It’s believed to be a period when spirits can cross over and interact with the living.”

Thomas stops eating for a second. Does speaking with the dead intrigue him? Maybe reconciling with spirits is one way to deal with yourself. And I need to deal with myself before I start feeling sorry for him again.

“Thank you for having me,” I start off and stand up from the table. “But I’m afraid that I need to be going.”

“Really?” Charlie grumbles but doesn’t dare to complain more in front of his vader.

Thomas keeps quiet but watches me leave with noticeable emotionless eyes. One hour, Thomas. That’s all I will allow to make up for nearly four years of absence. After what I’ve seen today it’s not only my life that’s changed. Thomas, Lizzie, Charlie. They’re different. Even Ruby seems different than a normal girl. Not that I would expect any Shelby to be normal.

As I begin the drive back to Birmingham I can’t help but wonder if the Shelbys were right. Do I really have such an influence? That my presence helps in more ways than one? How have things become so gloomy in the past years? Well, now there is a depression to add to this and it will confuse my thoughts even harder.

@meadows5