clenched-fist

for your own peace of mind, maybe dont pay too close attention to the lyrics of some christmas songs.

this is the christmas card im sending out. steve didnt know what text i was gonna put behind it when he drew the picture.

(You can get this on redbubble!)

and it turns out that clint, who has been humming christmas carols for weeks now, doesnt actually know any of the real lyrics, and has just been making them up as he goes along. this is his latest masterpiece:

Winter Soldier’s Gunnin’ You Down (To the tune of Santa Claus is Coming to Town)

You better watch out, you better not cry

You’ll probably bleed out, I’m tellin’ you why

Winter Soldier’s gunnin’ you down

He’s got a hit list, he’s starting a fight

He’s clenching his fist, it’s shiny and bright

Winter Soldier’s gunnin’ you down!

He sees you when you’re sleeping

He knows when you’re awake

His aim is really fucking good and he’s gonna assassinate

You better watch out, you better not cry

You’ll probably bleed out, I’m tellin’ you why

Winter Soldier’s gunnin’ you down

He’s yanking out wheels and firing guns

If you were smart you’d probably run

Winter Soldier’s gunning you down!

Winter Soldier’s gunning you down!

7

i wanted to draw shiro..thats all..also shallura.. 

a really rough sketch bc i was gonna actually draw it but i felt like the lines would  lose their flow ://// you can tell bc i was tryna get some sort of style down..found it by the end though (?? i think)

also bc angst:

Keep reading

Carl’s back home pt.2

Originally posted by justnegan

Summary: After Negan brings Carl home, to your surprise, he eases you into spending quality time with him around the house the rest of the night while your father is gone scavenging for the Saviors.

warnings: language and negan’s vulgarness.  

“I believe I’ll spend the night. I mean, poor Rick wouldn’t want his little darlings to be left all alone.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a grin written in mischief that made you clench both of your fists in frustration.

A part of you was oddly anticipating him staying the night. Though, the other half remembered how psychotic he actually really is.

In the middle of the night he could be standing over you with Lucille, or on the other hand, he could invite you for a drink in the kitchen and have a brief chat about his attraction to you.

“Negan, I think I’m mature enough to watch Carl,” You pointed out with a hand resting on your curved hip. “And myself. Could you please leave?”

He chuckled softly as he shook his head; denying your suggestion. “This shit isn’t about Carl, sweetheart. I think you and I would get along very well tonight. Besides, I have to wait to get my treasures from your daddy. Till then, I’m shacked up here.”

Your hands once again clenched into a fist at your sides, bringing him to notice as he smirked devilishly, his large hands overtaking yours as he laid them over yours which made you shut your eyes at the pleasant feeling.

“I know your father is the leader in this equation, baby doll, and even though he and the Alexandria group is against me with a fiery passion, that doesn’t mean you have to be. Have your own motherfucking feeling. If you’re attracted to me, just say it.” He exclaimed with a smirk resting upon his pink lips causing your cheeks to redden as he waited for your hesitant reply.

You laughed dryly, turning the different cheek. “Oh damn it, you caught on, Negan. My little plan was to make sure you never how hot and bothered you really make me.”

A considerable amount of giggle erupted from your throat as you joked with him which made him lick his lips sensually, running his fingertips along both your cheeks.

He groaned your name which caused you to slightly melt in his arms. “You know that’s the cold hard truth, kitten.”

Your chest raised up quickly as you held your breath, chewing on your bottom lip.

You knew it was the cold hard truth and that angered you knowing he knew he was right about your attraction to him.

Oh yeah, so what are you going to do about that now since you know I’m attracted to you? Are you gonna mess with me all night?” You inquired with your arms crossed along your chest.

He chuckled once more, “Shit, you know it. Now how about you show me where the princess herself lays at night.”

Your chest tightened as you remembered you moved Judith’s crib up to your bedroom to watch after her once your father left as you promised.

“N-No, Negan. I’d rather us stay down here,” You stuttered, almost feeling sweat droplets stream down your forehead because of your anxiety level at that very moment.

He cocked his head to the side, resting his tongue along his bottom lip. “Why? What’s the matter with going up there to your room? Oh, do you have a boy up there?”

He pouted his bottom lip out playfully before smirking. “I’d be very jealous if so.”

You instantly shook your head which made him squint his eyes at you in disbelief.

He jogged up the stairs causing you to be on the verge of crying.

You quickly followed him upstairs, blocking the entrance by guarding your body against your bedroom door with your chest raising up and down.

He glanced down at your cleavage, then back up to your terrified expression which only amused him.

“Get out the damn way.” He hissed but you didn’t budge.

You quickly pressed your body against his, removing his red scarf and leaving kisses along the side of his neck which pleased him.

“Damn (Y/N), if that’s what you wanted, you could have said.” He dug his nails into your exposed upper back making you latch onto him; giving him access to your bedroom as he smirked against your lips, moving you to the side as he pushed the door open.

You gasped at his cunning trick, feeling awfully embarrassed.

He chuckled loudly, “I’m not a dumbass. I’m disappointed you’d even think ‘d fall for that, but shitt, that was great.”

He rubbed his scruff, his eyes traveling to the corner of your room where Judith stood in her crib, chewing on a beanie baby.

His eyes lit up, “Oh, would you look at that little angel.” He handed you Lucille and you slowly grabbed it, shaking in fear.

“N-Negan.” You croaked, moving closer.

His arm brushed against your chest as he held you back, grabbing Judith out of her crib in astonishment.

“She’s a precious little girl. She yours?” He looked your way as he rocked her gently.

You quickly shook your head, “M-My sister Judith.”

He grinned as he kissed her forehead, whispering to her in a baby voice.

“Judith, don’t you have such a pretty wittle big sister?” He sat in the rocking chair near your bed after removing his leather jacket, gently bouncing her on his knee.

You couldn’t help but crack a slight smile at his interaction with her.

You sat at the edge of the bed beside him where your knee was touching his.

“You know, the other knee is yours.” He replied, slipping you a wink.

Even though you loosened up at the idea of him holding your baby sister, you still feared his intentions if you angered him so you obeyed him; sitting down on his other knee which made him smile happily, leaning down and kissing both of your foreheads in admiration.

After a couple minutes of sitting there peacefully, the anxious vibe finally went away. Negan had no intention’s of harming Judith.

He softly whispered your name causing you to raise up; looking up at him.

“Mhm?” You whispered back.

“This shit is the most fucking relaxing thing I’ve ever done.”

You playfully gasped, covering Judith’s small ears with a scolding expression.

“Shhh, the baby.” You giggled softly at his sudden fear of ruining Judith with his vulgar language.

“I’m sorry Judith.” He quickly apologized, rocking her in his free arm.

“It’s okay.” You whispered back as you looked into his dark eyes, feeling your heart flutter again.

He caressed the side of your face, running his finger over your full bottom lip.

You watched in amazement, feeling numb all over but the numbness quickly replaced with the feeling of satisfaction as he pressed his lips against yours.

You smirked against his lips, “I’ve changed my mind. You should stay the night. I don’t think I‘m mature enough to look after Carl and Judith.”

His familiar laugh escaped from his lips as he gripped your butt. “No longer afraid of the big bad man, doll?”

“Nu-uh.”

“Careful. Once I put Judith back in her crib, I ain’t playing nice with you.” A smirk plastered on his bearded face causing chills to travel up your spine.

Scribble-Doodle: Little Choice

I felt like writing a Maryse and Alec story again. Based on the trailer. 


She understands. Maryse understands why Alec’s doing this, why he’s trying to sneak out of the Institute, even though it’s on lockdown, she gets it - still, she can’t let him do it. She’s sacrificed too much to let him destroy all her carefully laid-out plans.

And that’s why she does it, though her heart’s breaking. 

Keep reading

Ric had followed the scent that led from his home out onto the streets of New Orleans. Caroline acting reckless attacking humans on the street and the fact a hunter was not only in his home but threatened the safety of his family. What if they girl were there? What if he had ended up hurting them? He had to admit as much as he hated being a vampire it came in handy when he needed to track someone. His experience with being a hunter told him that the man would of course be at a hotel in the city the issue was how many there were. The power of his sense of smell came into play there. He stood in front of a door that reeked of the man, he clenched his fist before opening it again, he would be smart about this, not overreact. He knocks on the door, looking around as he waits for an answer.

I love the anarchist salute, it’s like a gentle fist, not clenched, placed softly by your face full of fire and defiance but also happiness and solidarity. Like not imposing like it’s powerful but I see it as like full of love and stuff more so than any other type of hand gesture of formality or signal like just the subtleties of it always get me wherever I see it idk if I’m being a dork but whatever I love the anarchist salute

Passion Aflame [Oda Nobunaga - Samurai Love Ballad Party] Chapter 3

Passion Aflame [Oda Nobunaga - Samurai Love Ballad Party] Chapter 3 The Douchebag Magis and A New Haircut

“Wait- what the hell happened in here?” Meiyo all but shrieked upon reaching her home. Several tables and chairs were splintered and broken, some customers were shooting her wary looks, and worse of all, her mother was on her knees sobbing into her younger brother Yahiko’s kimono.

Yahiko, what happened?” She turned to her brother, whose fists were clenched and eyes red and watery. Her mother didn’t seem to be in quite the stable mind to answer any questions.

Yahiko wiped his eyes furiously with his sleeve. “It’s nothing, just that pervy magistrate came and trashed the shop. He claimed to find something dirty in one of our soups and said he couldn’t stand by and let his people eat such food, so he said that if you don’t marry him, he’ll close the restaurant.”

At that moment, Meiyo felt faintly sick, as if she were going to throw up whatever she had eaten for lunch. Marry that perverted, dirty, balding, potbellied magistrate? Fat chance! 

But… the restaurant. It had been her Father’s last legacy, the place he had poured his blood, sweat and tears into building from street dust, from a roadside stall to one of the most popular eateries in Kyoto.

She swallowed, before looking into her mother’s eyes, about to apologize for all the trouble she had made them, when she caught the shifty look in her brother’s eyes.

“There’s something you’re still not telling me, Yahiko. Spill.”

He looked up at her, surprised, then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, like every time she won when they played the game Two Truths One Lie together to pass the time as children. Yahiko had never been able to hide anything from her, be it bullies in the town, or his vendetta against peas, and he sure as hell knew that denying it would just make it worse. When he spoke, his voice was tight and his eyes filled once more with unshed tears.

“But he said, if I go and work for one of the warlords as a poison taster starting tomorrow, he’ll let us off.”

“HE WHAT!?” Meiyo roared, so furiously that even her mother and brother shrank back and several customers went running for the front door. “THAT STUPID, PERVERTED MAGISTRATE WANTS A GOOD KICK IN THE BALLS DOESN’T HE? I’LL GET HIM AND RIP THEM OFF IF HE EVEN HAS ANY AND FORCE THEM DOWN THAT STINKING LITTLE THROAT OF HIS! HOW DARE HE EVEN DARE SUGGEST SUCH A THING? PEOPLE LIKE HIM OUGHT TO- Wait, you didn’t agree to it, did you?”

“Hey… Sis, I-”

“YOU AGREED TO IT!? WHERE HAVE YOUR BRAINS GONE, YAHIKO?! DID I NOT TEACH YOU ARITHMETIC AND LOGIC FOR A REASON? YOU ARE TWELVE YEARS OLD, DAMN IT, AND HE-” Meiyo gripped her hair, her eyes burning with a dangerous fury. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to slap more right now, Yahiko or that magistrate. Probably both.

“There’s nothing you can do about it, Sis.” Yahiko shook their mother off gently, before moving to put a hand on her shoulder as if trying to calm her down. He tried to sound brave, but she felt how cold and clammy his hand was from fear, and it was trembling violently. Regardless, he gave her a forced smile. “Sis, you always protect me and Mama from all the baddies out there since Papa died, and now you can’t do it, so let me do it instead.”

Yahiko’s noble words left her stunned - was she supposed to give him a standing ovation for that grandiose speech, or was she to shake some sense into him? She went with the second option.

“This isn’t like one of your superhero books, Yahiko!” She snarled, Yahiko flinching backwards. “Warlords are constantly targeted by enemies, and a common method is poison! You are twelve, T-W-E-L-V-E. You haven’t even gone through puberty or had your first embarrassing crush yet and you want to be a poison taster?”

“Sis, let me grow up. Stop protecting me. Please.”




That was what had occured earlier that day. Yahiko had packed a bag, and had excused himself to bed, curling himself under the covers and crying himself to sleep silently. Her mother couldn’t stand it and was sitting blankly in the empty kitchen downstairs.

Meiyo cursed heavily as she brushed the hair from Yahiko’s mouth. Was there nothing she could do to save her brother and the restaurant? If only she were a boy, she would never have attracted the attention of that crazy magistrate in the first place.

If she were a boy…

Her eyes lit up with determination. If she were a boy…

She turned to the table on the floor and picked up her mother’s handheld mirror, a circle of polished bronze. She’d always been more rough and uncouth, and her face… It could probably pass off as a feminine looking boy’s. Her voice had always been of a lower pitch, with it’s own unique cadence. If she just…

She pulled the sharp dagger that she always had stowed away inside her sleeve, and raised it to her dark locks. And cut.

A lot of muffled cursing and accidental cuts later, her originally long and wavy hair had been chopped close to her ear length. The cuts were uneven and choppy, but she couldn’t care less, other than the fact that her head felt unnaturally light. Picking up a roll of cloth and quickly binding her chest with it, she was quite relieved that she looked quite the part. 

Then, going to the closet where she kept some of Inuchiyo’s other clothes when he stayed the night, she picked out the smallest and shabbiest; a simple dark blue threadbare tunic that was admittedly a little faded, but would keep her warm. She pulled it on and tied back the sleeves with some cord, before taking the smallest pair of hakama from the Inuchiyo closet again. The item was so large that she was forced to hack the bottoms off, swearing to apologize to Inuchiyo the next time she saw him. Resolutely tying the knot at her hip, she grabbed the daisho that had belonged to her father when he was conscripted. The pair that she had trained with for most of her life.

Strapping knives to her body (just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that sorry is better than safe), she picked a bag with only her essentials and snatched her recurve bow off the wall along with her quiver. The last thing she grabbed, a wide brimmed straw hat to shield her eyes from wind and rain. 

Then she considered how she was going to break the news to Yahiko.

She debated waking him, then immediately rejected it, knowing that he would probably wail the house down before allowing her to leave. She couldn’t go downstairs, she knew her mother would be there grieving for her only son.

And so, she grabbed a brush and quickly inked down some words onto the table, unable to find any paper (Yahiko was probably too good at cleaning). Then turning to her younger brother, she pressed a kiss against his forehead. He stirred and shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. She smiled tenderly at the innocence of his sleeping face.

And she swore to herself to remember: This was what she was striving to protect. Her family.

As long as that was in her mind and heart, there was no way that she would fail.

She pulled on her soft soled boots, before flitting over to the windowsill.

“I am Yahiko Seigi from Kyoto, and I’m here to be the poison taster.” 

Satisfied with her performance, she turned and leapt out of the window.

@frywen-babbles @dreamsinparadise @dreamfar628 @75025 @ot-anime

Don’t be late ch 3

Title: The prodigal returns (ch 1 | ch 2 | ao3 link)

Words: 3,500+

Summary: After almost dying for a second time and being narrowly saved by Bruce, Jason finally decides that it is time to come home.


Jason clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared up at the massive doors to Wayne Manor, and asked himself what the hell he was doing here.

It was Thursday night. And exactly two weeks ago, Jason had almost died. Again.

Exactly two weeks ago, Bruce had proven to him that he was in Jason’s life to stay. He had remained by Jason’s hospital bed during the long days of recovery, only slipping out at night to go on patrol for a few hours. Jason had mostly slept, pumped up on pain meds and still recovering from the wounds, both physical and mental, that had been inflicted on him. Still recovering from the panic of that first morning, his fear of life. His fear of living and breathing when he didn’t even know if he wanted to anymore. And so Bruce had read, worked on his laptop, and slept the days away, right by Jason’s side; a quiet, strong, grounding presence in the room for him to latch on to whenever he felt himself drifting away.

They had talked a few times during those days. Small moments where Jason would, once again, let his guard down and open up to Bruce about how much it hurt. And Bruce would listen to him, intently, with that hard but well-meaning look on his face that meant he was thinking too deeply about something, trying to form the best response. But instead of his usual answers, the ones that always came out as more of a lecture than anything else, Bruce would respond with simple statements. Soft questions that cut right into the heart of the issue and gently challenged Jason’s feelings of anger or self-hatred or confusion. He did not rebuke. But he did not passively agree with Jason either.

And, slowly, Jason began to heal. And the more he healed, the more he hated it. The more he wanted to run away from Bruce and this return to normalcy in their relationship and life. It was as if he knew that this was the end, and it scared him. 

So one day, he had decided to leave. To slip away into the night, away from Bruce and his kindness, away from the doctors, away from it all. He couldn’t stand it anymore. It was all he had ever wanted, and now, he couldn’t even stand to look Bruce in the eyes. He needed to be alone; or so he told himself.

In reality, he wasn’t much sure of anything anymore.

‘The doctors think you should stay a few more nights,’ Bruce had said quietly.  

Jason stopped at the door, his body tense, his whole being rebelling against that still voice. He cursed himself for thinking he could sneak out unseen when Batman was in the room, he of all people should have known better.

'I’m fine, Bruce. The worst of it is over. I—’ he stumbled over his words as he lied. ‘I just need to be alone.’

Bruce had said nothing, searching Jason’s bruised face and weak body… and Jason wondered if he had been able to see right through him in that moment, if he knew the truth. If he had been able to sense the shame and self-loathing seeping from him, pushing anyone who tried to get close to him away— even though it was what he needed the most.

But Bruce had simply nodded, resigning himself to the fact that this was something Jason felt he needed. Jason had opened his mouth to say something else… but the words had refused to come. So he turned to leave.

'Jason.’

Jason paused, the door half-open, and turned back reluctantly. Meeting Bruce’s sharp, searching gaze with his own.  

'Thursday night,’ Bruce began, his voice unsure, hesitant. 'Will you… come to the Manor?’

He hadn’t expected that at all. And in that moment, several emotions had battled for dominance in his mind. 

He knew that this was a big step. He knew that this was Bruce trying to bring him back into “the family”. He knew that this was Bruce showing him that he trusted Jason. He knew that this would tie off the final loose ends of their relationship…

He also knew there was no way in hell he was ever going back to that place.

So what was he doing here now?

Keep reading

naobaes  asked:

!!!! you know chihayafuru !!!! that makes me so happy bc you're probably the first person i've seen on the dash reblogging it :') i do hope more people watch it. the characters are great, the poems and imagery are beautiful, and the sport itself is intense as every other sports anime so just /clenches fist/ anyway, just dropping by! have a nice day c:

Yes! I know chihayafuru tbh I was kinda late too, I watch it back in 2015 and honestly it’s so good. I reblog some chihayafuru stuffs but the tag is dead af, that why u probably didnt know that I was part of the fandom. And honestly, at first I thought Chihayafuru was about shoujo love triangle or smth like that but I was wrong! Too bad this anime didnt get many attention, not many people watched/read chihayafuru. I probably miss many good sport animes out there as well, I need to catch up

have a nice day to you too! Thanks for dropping by :D

@hipstervet / cont.

       his fists clench in suppressed frustration. he doesn’t want to have this conversation. not now. not ever. but graham keeps pushing and everyone knows, despite his efforts on getting better, that logan has a very short fuse to light. finally, he snaps. 

      you hurt me!  he lets out with a swift turn of his head to look graham in the eyes. tears are already streaming down his face and it’s not like him to cry when angry. he trained that out of himself long ago. this is a variety of emotions taking it’s toll on him.   because all you care about is yourself!

I haven’t found concrete sources yet, but I’m looking into this post and its thesis of the Black Panthers incorporating raised fist imagery to communicate solidarity with international leftist/liberation movements. 


edit: “The clenched fist “protecting the friend, fighting off the enemy” (German: “schützend den Freund, abwehrend den Feind”) was the symbol of the RFB used on all its insignias and its registered trademark since March 1, 1926.” from this wiki page

edit 2: 

this was apparently called the ‘anti-fascist salute’ or ‘Republican salute’ during the Spanish War (photo from approx. 1936-1939). 


edit 3: 

“The clenched fist was first used by the communists in the Spanish civil war, as a counterpoint to the open-palmed Roman salute adopted by the fascists. The clenched fist symbolises strength and unity - fingers which are individually fragile can together make a powerful fist. It became a symbol of communism and was co-opted to many revolutionary causes, most potently the civil rights struggle in the US and opposition to colonialism in the third world. But it is now so freighted with historical associations - the murky faction fighting on the left in the Spanish civil war, the perversion of communism in the Soviet Union, the tyrannies that emerged in post-colonial Africa - that, according to the socialist historian Sheila Rowbotham, it has become a double-edged symbol. “Even in the 1960s,” she says, “my generation used it slightly self-consciously. It was connected to communism and post-‘56, [when the Soviet army suppressed the Hungarian uprising] using it made you feel slightly uneasy."”

“What’s in a Clenched Fist?” 


edit 4: Spanish Communist Party propaganda poster 1936 depicting raised fist salute. 


edit 5: I’m finding a lot of stuff on this using the key words “spanish civil war communist salute”– encouraging folks interested to do their own research too

edit 6: this AskHistorians thread has a conversation on this topic too

last edit for tonight: 

This painting looks like the oldest example of the raised fist that I can find

Robert Koehler, The Socialist [Der Sozialist] (1885)

“This is said to be the first portrait of a working-class political agitator. The aggressive posture and evident vehemence of this Social Democratic orator are highlighted by the red tablecloth at the bottom of the painting and the handkerchief of the same color tucked into the speaker’s vest pocket.” 

ofnightsky  asked:

“you fucking disappointment.” ( ouch.. )

⟨ ⟡⋰⸰ misadventures sentence starters ⟩ 

//Okay first of all HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.

Ignis’ expression remained impassive, hands clenched into fists. He may not be able to see the Prince– King’s expression, yet the tone held anger. Tilting his head down, he takes in a deep breath. “Whether you believe me to be a disappointment or not, it is my duty to keep you safe.” His tone sounded void to his own ears. 

“If you truly believe I am incapable of caring for you any longer–” Ignis cuts himself off unable to finish his sentence.