upside town

I find some charm in the Underfell AU but something about it doesn’t fully do it for me. It seems to go well with themes such as inquisitions and witch hunts, tho, which are things that fascinate me and go hand in hand with dictatorships. So why not throw all that into a blender?

Now I can’t get this idea out of my head of the Royal Guard being more of an Inquisition than an actual army. Whenever a human falls to the Underground, they start hunting it like crazy, turning entire towns upside down until they find the damn brat. And of course, the civilians are interrogated in good old medieval fashion and the only way of saving their skin (or at least 70% of it) is to rat on their neighbors and relatives. They always lie, of course; nobody knows crap about any human. But fuck have mercy on the poor bastard who actually sheltered one.
I guess I know how Toriel went batshit insane. Sans might find himself in some deep shit as well, after all people always found him quite shady. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if he turned out to be a traitor.

Also, I’m not a fan of Papyrus with sharp teeth, sorry. His brother probably lost all of his and got them replaced by fang implants or stuff like that.

silence [j.j.]

Originally posted by riverdalesource


You walked through the halls of Riverdale High in silence, dragging your hand against the lockers and walls.

You felt pretty useless. Jason was dead and Cheryl had turned her back on you, claiming that she needed some time to grieve.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that she had only tolerated you because of yours and Jason’s friendship. It was weird. You had been Jason’s math tutor but eventually, you got to know each other and you grew closer.

Unfortunately, this caused a rift with the rest of your friends and they shut you out. They had always warned you about Jason Blossom and now (at least, in their eyes), you had betrayed them.

The next thing you knew, you were hanging out with the Blossoms and Reggie Mantle and Chuck Clayton while your old friends grew apart over the summer.

First it had been Betty & Archie, growing slightly apart due to Archie helping out his dad and Betty traveling with her family. Then, Jughead & Archie had ended their friendship over some unknown conflict.

Jason’s disappearance (which you knew all about), had turned the small town upside down. And once his death had actually been confirmed, the town had been left broken, shrouded in layers of mystery and suspicion that would always remain, even if the murderer was caught and put away.

No matter how much you tried to hide it, no one could deny the fact that Jason’s death had shattered you. In the shitstorm that was Riverdale, your only solace was the fact that Betty had welcomed you back with open arms and comforting words. And Archie had followed right behind her.

Jughead was the only one who had not welcomed you back into his life, instead sneering at you when you had apologize for leaving and proceeding to mention how ‘Jason is probably better off sleeping with the fishes instead of being stuck in this hellhole’.

Recently, you were beginning to find yourself staying later and later in the school, wandering about aimlessly. Today was one of those days, your attention only being caught by a sudden sound that was coming from the janitor’s closet.

You made your way over and cautiously opened the door, peeking in and being met with a frustrated Jughead rubbing his head.

“Jughead?”

The beanie-clad boy opened his eyes, his gaze landing on you as you stood half-hidden behind the door. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, opening his mouth to tell you to leave him alone before stopping as he noticed the immense sadness in your eyes.

You looked around the small closet, taking in all of his belongings before settling your gaze on him once more.

There was a tense silence that hung heavily in the room before you stepped inside and gathered all his things and slung his backpack over your shoulder before walking out of the closet.

Jughead sat still for a moment before hearing you call for him.

“You comin’ Forsythe?”


You walked in silence, only interacting when Jughead reached and grabbed his backpack from you.

You heard him inhale sharply as you reached your home, stepping inside hesitantly once you opened the door.

Jughead found himself frowning when your mom came out of the kitchen, noticing the way you immediately plastered a huge smile on your face and greeted her a little too enthusiastically.

“Jughead, what a surprise!” Your mom exclaimed. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

Jughead smiled as you stepped forwards slightly.

“Hey mom, can Jughead stay here for a while? Please?”

Jughead noticed the way your mom’s smile immediately turned into a look of concern as she looked him over.

“Jughead, honey, you can stay as long as you need to,” she finally spoke, engulfing Jughead in a hug and placing a kiss on his forehead. He gave his thanks and proceeded to follow you up the stairs.

“You can take the bed,” you muttered. “I’ll take the floor.”

Jughead frowned once again, walking up to you and stopping you from putting down the blow-up mattress. “Why are you doing this?”

It was your turn to frown. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jughead gestured vaguely. “Taking me in. Being nice.”

You smiled wryly before continuing what you had been doing. “Just because you don’t see me as a friend doesn’t mean that I do the same. I care about you Jughead, I always have. Plus, my mom loves you. I just didn’t want you to be lonely when you were obviously having a hard time.”

Jughead thought about your words, slowly realizing that he had done the opposite of what you had done. With Jason’s death, he had ignored you, shut you out instead of being there for you like he should have been.

Without any hesitation, Jughead stepped forwards and gathered you in his arms, squeezing you tightly. “I am so, so sorry about everything.”

You hugged back, burying your face in his chest and letting words go unspoken as you enjoyed each other’s company in peaceful silence.


Mini Tags (?): @tasteofswallowedwords

Stitches

Summary: Based loosely off song Stitches by Shawn Mendes. Listen HERE

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Pairings: Dean X Reader

Word Count: 3150

Warnings: Language, death, angst

A/N: I’ve wanted to do something based off this song for a long time. Thank you for reading, let me know what you think. Tags are at the bottom.

Originally posted by justaboutsupernatural

“Dude, what the hell?” Sam asks Dean as he comes into the motel room. Dean hasn’t moved from the table since this morning, there were five empty beer bottles beside the laptop and the empty bottle of Jack. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an abnormal thing these days.

“Nothin’ Sam.” Dean grunts, eyes bloodshot from the amount of alcohol he has consumed over the past few days. This wasn’t going well for him.

“Dean, if you just talk about it-”

There is nothing to talk about Sam!” Dean growls, voice raising at his brother. He was done, at least that’s what he told himself. He was done, but he couldn’t be, not with her.

Keep reading

Lifið er svo Létt- an English version

…Have you ever wanted to sing along to Lifið er svo Létt, but you couldn’t because you can’t speak any Icelandic? Yeah, I’m here to fix that. 

Italics is Glanni singing, “Quoted text” means the townspeople are repeating him, Bold indicates that everyone is singing together. 

The lyrics should fit if you sing the melody correctly. 

Lifið er svo Létt (Life could be a breeze) 

Life could be a breeze,

and things so simple

Everything could please,

and leave us smiling 

if we each lend a hand,

then all our lives could be a breeze! 


A life where no one’s anxious

A life lived with ease 

No backs turned on you nor me 


Though, I must confess,

someone might come and try to make this town a mess

But I believe that if we help our fellow men,

then all our lives could be a breeze!


(Now sing after me!)


Rikki is the best, yeah!

“Rikki is the best, yeah!”

Rikki is the best, yeah!

“Rikki is the best, yeah!”

Yeah! 


If you take a look

over your shoulder,

an angel has a book,

and human morals lie inside

Now, let’s join hands,

then all our lives could be a breeze!


(All together now!) 


A life where no one’s anxious

A life lived with ease

No backs turned on you nor me 


Word is goin’ round

that someone’s trying to turn this town upside-down 

But I believe that if we all join hand-in-hand,

then all our lives could be a breeze!


(And everyone will be happy!)


Rikki is the best, yeah! 

“Rikki is the best, yeah!”

Rikki is the best, yeah!

“Rikki is the best, yeah!”

Rikki is the best, yeah!

“Rikki is the best, yeah!”

Rikki is the best, yeah!

“Rikki is the best, yeah!”


Rikki is the best, yeah! 

2

REVEILLE WITH BEVERLY, 1942*

“Don’t be a soft sister; come and join the WACs!”
“Oh, I think you’re a bunch of wacks, all right.”
“Nice wisecrack, Dorothy Gale.”
“My brother’s in the army, and he says the WACs is full of nothing but deviants. What do you say to that, Private Michaels?”
“I’d say it takes one to know one, so join up and let us know what you find.”

Beverly McKinnon (Olivia DeHavilland) is a farmer’s daughter whose life gets turned upside-down when her town is visited by unofficial recruiters for the Women’s Army Corps: stern professional Sgt. Ellen Henderson (Claudette Colbert), jokester Private Maxine “Max” Michaels (Paulette Goddard), and soft-spoken Private Lucy Evans (Veronica Lake). Though initially skeptical of the whole idea, Beverly can’t get the image of those women in uniform out of her mind, and decides to test her strength by signing up.

Once in the Corps, Beverly finds camaraderie like she never had before - and unfortunately, also found masculinity more fragile than she ever had before. When she confides in Max that the rudeness from male officers was almost enough to turn her off men entirely, Max asks if she’d be interested in learning about alternative options from her and Lucy.

*Ladies-Lovin’-Lady Movies Nobody Asked For

The Name's Lestrade, Greg Lestrade.

Warnings: None?

A/N: So I know I was going to post this next week but I’ll treat you all today with the first chapter of my new fic 😁 I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think!

—————————
Chapter 1
—————

Greg never liked parties, yet, was always at one. Either because he was asked to or was part of a job he was on.

He stood quietly observing all the elaborately dressed guests, he too was suiting a black tux with an ice white shirt. That was the only part of parties he liked, wearing some of his favourite suits to them.

He moved away from the wall he was leaning against and made his way through the people who lined the hallway and found himself in the kitchen.

That’s where he found the person that he had known for a few years and would eventually change his life forever. Turn his world upside town and revolutionise him in ways he didn’t think was possible.

He just didn’t know you were going to do that…yet.

Your eyes met with his and they tightened ever so slightly before you decided to walk up to him and make yourself known. “Do you usually gawk at people in kitchens or am I an exception agent 007?” You sarcastically asked and flashed a smile.

Greg kept his cool and collected demeanour “Only when the person I’m gawking at is as attractive as you.”

“Don’t let my fiancée here you say that, Mr Lestrade. Mycroft is your boss after all…” You leaned over the kitchen island and Greg glanced around him, noticing the few people that were scattered around the kitchen had dispersed. You caught on to what he was looking around at “We’re alone…” Your voice lowered to a dangerous point.

“What attracted you to your fiancée?” Greg asked out of the blue and watched as you stood up straight, smoothing out the invisible lines on your black silk dress, pondering over the question for longer that he would have expected so he elaborated slightly “Money? Lust?”

“Information.” You said in a joking tone but you were speaking the truth.

“With the amount you can get from him you must really love him…” Greg asked, he noticed you rolling your eyes and chortling.

Your laughter stopped when you caught sight of your tall, smartly dressed fiancée who was standing around a group of men, talking in code. Your gaze was burning into Mycroft’s back and Greg kept glancing between you and his boss “Love? My fiancée? God no! I hate him with a burning passion. Every fibre in my body contorts with rage at the mention of his name.” Your tone was bitter and cold, showing no emotion or remorse whilst your eyes remained firmly on the man who was now walking towards the both of you.

Greg watched as a fake smile graced your face and you kissed the cheeks of your fiancée and placed a ‘loving’ hand on his chest “Hello Gregory, glad you could make it,” Mycroft Holmes stuck out his hand and Greg shook it.

“Thank you for inviting me, Sir,” Greg pulled away his hand and his eyes drifted back to you once again.

“Well you are Britain’s best spy,” he lightly chuckled “What were you two talking about just then?” Mycroft asked, snaking an arm around your waist.

“We were just discussing what we have in common!” You lied with a wide grin and he raised a brow.

“Oh and what things may the be?”

“We both love martinis that are shaken and not stirred…” Greg was taken aback, he didn’t tell you that and thought of when he might have as you continued talking “Which, by the way, I’d kill for! Be a darling Mycroft and get me one.” You purred and Mycroft let out a breathy, low groan at your tone.

“We have a multitude of people that can get you one,” It sounded as if Mycroft was complaining.

You pouted your lips and played with Mycroft’s bow tie “I know, but I want you to get me it.”

Greg watched Mycroft cave in and go and fetch you one “Do you want one too Lestrade?” Greg politely refused before Mycroft left to get you your drink.

“How did you know?” Greg asked, still baffled by how you knew his favourite drink down to a T.

You nonchalantly shrugged “Why wouldn’t I?” You playfully smirked and Greg’s grip on the kitchen island tightened.

Mycroft came back with a drink and hand and gave you it as you thanked him “Do excuse us Gregory, I’ve barely seen this little minx all night and she promised me a dance,” he growled as he pulled you closer to the suit he was wearing, it wasn’t as nice as Greg’s.

“Did I?” You asked with a false flirtatious smile “I don’t recall…”

“Don’t be such a tease,” Mycroft whined “I’ll speak to you later, Gregory…” Mycroft began to pull you away.

“Bye Greg,” you purred “Love the tux,” you waved at him and Greg had to shake himself out of the pit of newfound feelings he felt.

He watched intently, analysing every move, calculating every step and burnt his eyes in to your swaying hips. He studied your actions towards Mycroft, you draped your arms over him and gave him all the attention he could possibly desire. Mycroft Holmes certainly demanded attention and craved it more than the average person.

‘Perhaps that’s why he’s so oblivious to Y/N’s fake smiles and passionless kisses…’ Greg thought to himself.

He was so deep in thought he barely noticed you walking away from Mycroft to fetch another drink. Mycroft took that opportunity to talk to Greg “Recent intelligence information sources say MI6 is about to be hacked into…”

“I’ve got it under control, Sir” Greg reassured.

Mycroft raised a brow “For your sake I hope so, we’ll discuss this at a later date. Go and enjoy yourself”. Greg nodded and wandered off, finding you with an arm over the staircase railing looking rather bored as party guests started to leave.

“You never told me why you hate your fiancée…” Greg trailed off.

You looked down at him with a quirked brow and a small smirk “I find it rather interesting that you choose to comment on that and not comment on how I know your favourite drink”.

“That’s easy,” Greg quickly replied “Mycroft could have told you.”

“He didn’t, and you didn’t tell me either” you retorted and stood up straight “Your car is here by the way…” Greg glanced out of the window while your eyes remained firmly on him “And I’m just itching to take his dress off.” Greg couldn’t help but gulp at the tone you used and the fact that he was now picturing you slowly slipping that dress off and having the material gather at your ankles. “Goodnight Mr Lestrade, I’m sure we’ll see each other soon” you broke him away from his thoughts before retreating up the stairs with a coy smile.

———————
Tags: (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged/Untagged)

@adorablebadger @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @princesspeach212 @holmes-maev @rikkachloechan @daynaan @lock-sherlock @katie27hp @wcsteland @theyre-my-divsion @chrissydarlingwrites @gotham-s-lover @ccorpuz1214 @laterthantherabbit

Martin Luther King's Contribution to us was not Nonviolence (By Kwame Ture/Stokely Carmichael)

When they get through with Dr. King’s interpretation, since we don’t read him or study him or analyze him, they make you believe that the greatest contribution Dr. King made to his people was nonviolence, and they call him a creative genius. Can you imagine that? That means that all Dr. King did with nonviolence was to take that from Mahatma Gandhi and adapt it to the situation in the United States. A genius doesn’t have to do this, why even George Bush could do that. But Dr. King certainly was a creative genius, and his contribution to us was not nonviolence.

King’s greatest contribution to us as a people was: he taught us how to confront the enemy without fear. When you properly understand, then you will properly come to understand the real contribution that Martin Luther King made to his people. I would see him come into a town. All the signs were segregated, the Africans there were trembling when they saw white people. If they were walking on the sidewalk and a white person was coming they had to get off the sidewalk, take of their hat and say “yes sir!” I have seen this in my life. I’ve seen these people come trembling and Dr. King come to the town and say “we gonna change everything here.” “Oh Dr. King, please don’t talk too loud!” “No, we’re gonna change everything here, we’re gonna turn these signs upside town.” “Oh no, Dr. King, these white folk down here are too mean!” “No, we’re going to mobilize everybody!” “Dr. King, we ain’t got no way!” And Dr. King would look at them and say “My God is a mighty God. He’d make a way out of no way." 

And this same Dr. King would take these same people who were afraid of white people just two weeks later, and you will see 8 year old girls, 82 year old women getting up facing dogs, facing fire hoses, facing cattle prods, facing batons, facing horses, getting knocked down and getting up and going again with nothing in their hands except the righteous believe of the righteousness of their cause and nonviolence as their tactic. Dr. King would take the same man who was scared of white folks, and have the same man face them with all their weapons in their hands, and this man had nothing but the conviction of the correctness of his cause. Dr. King is a great man. You must know precisely his greatness.

Broadchurch - series finale

Firstly, I don’t know if I got all the wrap up I wanted, there’s still quite a few questions (non concerning Trish’s case) that weren’t answered. However, I like how a lot has been left open to interpretation. Gives me faith that maybe it might not absolutely be the end forever…and even if it is, well then I can make up my own mind.

I just thought it was the sweetest thing that Hardy gruffly turns down Ellie’s offer of going to the pub, but is fully prepared to just sit on a bench with her, out of work hours. Pub is what other work colleagues do, to be sociable and get to know their work mates better in an acceptable environment. I love how they have their own little bench, their own space and environment and they don’t need a catalyst climate for convergence. They have an atypical relationship and a connection based on absolute trust and honesty. Saying all that, you just know that Ellie is by hook or by crook going to get him down the pub at some point!

As with the rest of the season, Trish’s case was dealt with sensitively as we finally found out what happened. The reveal was horrific as Twine Boy turned out to be more that just a “swaggery little shit.” Although, house points to Miller who’s instincts about him were bob on from the start, right through to the eye roll inducing sob story last episode. Not only was his view and treatment of women sickening, but the discovery that he had groomed another young man to treat women like objects and possessions rang all too true. I think having the perpetrators be so young was a powerful decision. As a teacher I am unfortunately aware at how young some boys nowadays can be that are accessing pornographic imagery. Even if most parents keep a close eye on their children’s access to such content, all it takes is one child. Then they can show their phone to others on the way home, pass around content on memory sticks etc. Not enough education is done in schools. This isn’t the fault of the schools or teachers, but of the government who do not prioritise this as part of the curriculum. It’s all very well teaching a child how to use a relative clause, but ignoring the fact that they treat women like shit and will grow up doing this in their professional or personal life. Broadchurch has stood out in representing this issue. It’s taken the lead, now others must follow.


My heart cries for the Latimers. I do however feel that all their storyline should have been in last week’s episode where it wouldn’t have been rushed. The scenes between Mark and Beth were lovely, but all through them I was thinking about how it needed to go back to Alec and Ellie, as they were on the verge of solving the crime.


Right so I refuse to believe Broadchurch is over (I’m in the strong denial stage), but I think this episode has plenty of scope from spin-offs

1) Holy Water - Mark and Paul the vicar are both leaving Broadchurch. They team up together in a plumbing/prayer business by day and solve crime at night!


2) Hardy and Miller - This has to be done! I’m happy just watching them sit on a bench in silence for an hour. Trish’s case seems to be the only one they were working on for a few weeks. That suggests that the crime rate in Broadchurch is rather low. So, what exactly are they going to be doing? I want a series just focused on them solving the most minor of crimes with the same passion and tenacity that they do with a murder or assault.

Hardy - *slams fist on desk* “Don’t play coy, Jones! We know you stole that KitKat. You were in the area at the time, forensics have your DNA all over the chocolate shelf, CCTV shows you leaving the premises in question, we’ve got eye witnesses and background statements from your employers from the last five years that will state in court that you’ve shaken vending machines to try and get some free chocolate. Silver foil traces were found in the glove compartment of your car. We know you did it! 

Miller - *stares witheringly at suspect until they confess and then pulls a KitKat from her bag*


3) Daisey and Chloe - They can just have a show where they go around and slap all the swaggery shits in town upside their head.


Well, whether this was the last episode ever or if it reappears in years to come in some form, it’s been one hell of a great ride. Olivia Colman and David Tennant are extraordinary talents and as great as the writing was, they really kicked this show up a gear. They had you caring and interested from that very first meeting on the beach. Hardy and Miller have become an iconic tv duo and that’s no easy feat.


I’ve loved each season in it’s own way. Season one was an excellent ‘who dunnit’ that showed the cracks behind a perfect facade. I personally adored season two as well. It was like watching a smashed vase trying to be out back together. Everything and everyone was broken and it created this beautiful disjointedness and questioned everything.Season three tried to break down barriers and really hold a mirror up to our world and say ‘Do we really think this is acceptable?’  I suppose it’s a good thing that the show is going out on top and leaving the audience wanting more. But, I just feel that another season would have been worth the risk. 

mirthfulmeg  asked:

Why is it that most INTJ characters are villainous?

Because the very idea of a far-seeing visionary with tactical skills is frightening to the masses, for good reason (some of the most efficient, ruthless people who amassed great power throughout history were NTJs).

“Idealized” NTJs make the best villains because they have insights into people’s motives, a clear (but sometimes delusional) vision for the future they want, the Te-efficiency, planning, and Fi motives to make it happen. And naturally, four seconds before the end, their own hubris brings them to heel (especially if they stop to brag about their accomplishment, giving the hero time to escape). Their super-human abilities (like Hannibal Lecter, solving crimes from inside his cell) are enhanced so much that regular NTJs cannot compete, and may wind up either doubting their type or thinking more highly of their NiTe as invincible and all-powerful than is the truth.

Of course, because of a stereotype that NTJs make good villains, many villains of other types are mistyped as NTJs out of the assumption that “oh, they’re smart and ruthless and had a plan, so they must be an NTJ!” Out of the many Disney villains who many claim are NTJs, Frollo is the only true one that comes immediately to my mind (Scar, I suspect, is an INFJ; Ursula might be ENTJ).

There’s some overlap with NFJs – who also make great villains, except they use Fe-manipulation to deceive people or are portrayed as a cult leader.

I think people fear most what they cannot understand – given that most people are sensors, and Ni-doms are rarer than Ne’s, Ni has become this mystical, intriguing, frightening concept to people, and writers are drawn to it, because it seems surreal to them, so they liken it to evil.

There are LOTS of non-villain INTJ fictional characters around, though. You only notice the villains because it’s a popular stereotyped trope, which trains you to “expect” NTJ villains.

Frankly, I’d like to see an ENFP villain once in awhile. I get stuck with all the air-heads, manic pixie dream girls, irresponsible dreamers, and “weird chicks” who turn a school/office/town upside-down.

Are a few psychotic ENFPs too much to ask? :P

- ENFP Mod

Spit Shine - Getting Nice and Dirty While Getting Clean

I usually don’t do prompts but bethgreeneeffect was sweet enough to provide one just to juicy to pass up.  Gag.  So a nice smutty drabble was born.  Sorry, I can’t figure out how to do a under the cut thingy so I apologize for clogging dashes.

So loves, without further ado, here you go:

Spit Shine

Carol and Daryl get dirty while getting clean

“You are taking a shower.” Her tone and stance conveyed there would be no argument.  “Come on. It’s not going to kill you.  You are a wreck.  I know you hate it here and I suppose this is one of the ways you are voicing your displeasure but you stink.  In addition, I think you are scaring Judith.”
Daryl’s only response was a scowl.  He knew this was one argument he wouldn’t win.  Carol’s eyes flashed. When she was pissed, it seemed to intensify their blue color.  Right now they were almost as blue as gas flame.


Grabbing his hand with a smile teasing her lips, she murmured, “Come on dirty boy.  Let me help you.”


He knew he couldn’t argue with that.  They had had very little time alone in the past few weeks.  He would have be lying if he said he didn’t miss the softness of her skin under his fingertips. There had been little thought to intimacy.   Daryl realized right then what a gaping hole the lack of loving physical contact left in his life.  Suddenly he missed it…very much.  Even though Carol was wearing her ridiculous undercover Den Mother get up, Daryl found his dick stirring to attention.  She just had that effect on him, giant tacky pink cabbage roses or no. 


“Gonna make me, huh?  You the boss of me?” His voice was coarse, his throat dry. Daryl narrowed his eyes and his lips tugged in a cocky leer.  Yes, it had been a while. 


Carol said nothing more but continued to lead him towards the bathroom, the grip on his hand firm but gentle.   


Hell, the bathroom in their house was almost as big as the shack he grew up in.  It was almost too pretty to be a bathroom, with smooth gray green stone tiles.  There were not one but two sinks made out of some type of marble he couldn’t remember the name of let alone pronounce.  They looked more suited to being in a museum than a bathroom.   When they first moved in he was half afraid to take a piss in the gleaming toilet. 


Carol reached into the cavernous shower stall to get the water set to the proper temperature.  As the water hissed, Carol began the grim task of removing his filthy clothing. “Jesus, Daryl we are burning this.  I am not kidding.  I’ll try to salvage that vest but the rest is gone.”   Wrinkling her nose she flung his shirt and vest into the corner and set to the task of unbuckling and unzipping his pants.  She couldn’t even remember what the original color of the fabric had been.  Shucking them down over his hips, she gave him a stern look.  “Now step out of those rags and into that shower.”


He did as he was told.  He grimaced as the water hit him. Hot water.  Goddamn it had been a long time. Bathing in tepid creeks, ditches, rain.  His body sagged with pleasure. 


Carol held his gaze as she began to unbutton her shirt, very slowly.  She allowed the garment to fall to the floor and then shimmied out of her pants and underwear until she too was naked. 


The steam soon filled the bathroom, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.  
Arming herself with a fresh bar of sandalwood and vanilla-scented soap and a washcloth, she stepped inside the spacious stall to join Daryl.

 
The water ran black down the drain. 


“Back to me.” She commanded curtly. 


Daryl complied without further complaint.  Carol lathered up the washcloth until it was more foam than fabric and went to work.


Leaning close, she murmured softly, “Now, stand still for me and maybe you’ll get a treat when you are alllll nice and clean.”


Daryl stood stalk still.  He had to admit the combination of hot water and Carol’s firm, sure hands was slowly releasing the stresses and tension of the past few weeks.  She had always grounded him.  Knew how to soothe him.  Gentled the beast.


Carol continued with her task.  Once the last of the grime was sluiced down the drain she allowed her lips to tease at the nape of his neck.  


He groaned softly, settling back into her.  Carol smiled, gently snaking her hands around his waist to tangle in the thicket of curls before reaching down to caress and slowly stroke his straining length. 


“What’s wrong?  You still seem a little…worked up.”  Her voice was husky with her own need.


She slowly continued to pump him, using the soap suds as a fragrant lubrication, while gently fondling his balls with her other hand. 


The sharp hiss of breath between his teeth told her she was on the right track.
It had been a long time.  She had forgotten how nice he felt against her.  This would be a release they both needed.


A harsh whisper of “Carol” was all Daryl managed to get past his lips.  His voice seemed to decide not to work anymore.  The delirious sensation of her silken hands working his iron hard cock was all his mind could process at the moment.
She whispered softly in his ear as the water continued to caress them, “Turn around.”


As he complied, she sank before him allowing the water to fully rinse him clean before taking his length into her mouth.  She took him slow, teasing him.  She prided herself on being able to take him fully without gagging.  Her eyes never left his as she teased with her tongue, deftly flicking the head of his straining cock before gently taking his length deep once more.


It didn’t take him long, with her working her special magic with her silken tongue and velvety mouth.  His fingers reflexively tangled in her wet hair as he let go.  
She swallowed every drop.  The first time she had done it, Daryl had almost seemed distressed over it. Worried it degraded her somehow. Carol assured him it was her pleasure to do so. 


She gently kissed her way up his blessedly grime-free stomach before fully rising up, tilting her face into the spray so it could rinse away the remainder of her task from her lips and chin. 


As Daryl pulled her close in a tight, almost grateful, embrace she playfully murmured, “See.  Showers are not THAT bad now are they?”

2

“ …She… she is far, far away from me. She walks in starlight in another world. It was just a dream. Do you think she could have loved me?”

_________

Bioshock AU: SpaceTin:

AU Where Jack and Elizabeth live in the same little town with weird happenings/disappearances/ and tears going around. Jack and Elizabeth are brinking on the verge of adolescence when they meet in a swarm of sinister agendas and power-hungry men.

Jack, a boy made out of metal and gears was smuggled by Atlas for unknown reasons, struggles with interacting and socializing with others. He lives secluded and is barricaded from ever going outside, forced to pass test after test. Elizabeth, a daughter of a shady priest in a similar situation, wanders down Jack’s home while on one of her escapades. They have a chance encounter and hit it off immediately. Jack doesn’t want her to know that he is not a real boy, Elizabeth doesn’t want him to know that she’s the reason everything in town is upside down.

Their entire lives they’ve felt out of place, with secrets that bite at their heels. But when they sneak out late at night to go watch a R-rated movie in the local theater and then watch the stars from on top the roof of an abandoned gas station, for a little while, they feel almost alright.

 

3

Being kidnapped by Hydra wasn’t on your to do list, but allowing yourself to be brainwashed?

You sat on the small metal chair, in front of the television they had allowed you to watch. It was always on the news, and everything you watched had your mother flipping towns upside down trying to find you. Alistair, the guard of the night shift, had sat you down, saying the story was interesting.

“Natasha Romanoff, more commonly known as Black Widow, was found in an old building this morning. Her body burnt to a crisp after an explosion had gone off. Many believe that she was out looking for her adopted daughter, who was recently taken. Tune in next time for more news on the situation.” the t.v blared.

You instantly stopped fighting the man after the t.v had been turned off. You were to distracted in your own sorrow to realize the malicious grin on Alistair’s face, or the quality of the other wise fake news caster. You were even too numb to hear the commotion outside, which was your mother fighting to find you.

You were just numb. Your mother was dead.

anonymous asked:

Can you write fic about Kastle: Fisk kidnapped Karen and Frank tries to save her? I need an angry and terrified at the same time Frank :)

I’ll do my best!

  • Kidnapped Karen

‘’Why her?’’ Frank asked, pacing around Karen’s apartment, his hands curling into fists.

‘’He knows you two are involved,’’ Matt told him, his Daredevil mask in his hands as they organized a plan.

Only an hour ago did Frank return to Karen’s apartment and discover it turned upside down, town apart and trashed from room to room. But most importantly: no Karen.

‘’Bullshit he does, I’m careful,’’ Frank growled.

‘’Fisk has people everywhere Frank,’’ Matt explained. ‘’Doesn’t matter how careful you were. Fisk was watching everyone involved with putting him behind bars, one of those people were Karen,’’

‘’He asked for me Red, this ain’t got nothing to do with Karen’s work,’’ he shook his head. ‘’It’s because of me,’’

‘’He knows you’ll go to her,’’

‘’Damn right I’ll go to her,’’ Frank looked over to Matt as he slid a sawn-off shotgun into the back of his belt. ‘’And if he’s touched her-‘’

‘’It’s a trap, you have to know that,’’

‘’Don’t mean shit to me. If that asshole wants me, he can have me,’’

‘’You’re not going alone,’’ Matt insisted.

‘’Didn’t plan on it,’’ Frank pulled on his large coat. ‘’You’re getting her out, hear me?’’

‘’We’re going to put them back in prison,’’ Matt assured. ‘’Where they can’t hurt anyone else-‘’

‘’For Christ’s sake!’’ Frank yelled, turning away from Matt and hitting his fisk against the wall. ‘’You’ve gotta be kidding me,’’

‘’It’s the only way to make sure they’re brought to justice,’’

‘’Screw justice Red, they’ve got her strapped to a goddamn chair in a warehouse, I’m making sure they don’t see another day!’’

Matt listened closely to Frank’s heart beating uncontrollably. His anger was obvious, but Matt could sense how frightened the man was as well.

Frank gripped the gun in his belt, his finger twitching in anticipation. If anything happened to Karen it would be his fault, there was nothing anyone could say to change that. If anything happened to her, it would be the last thing that he could take.

He should have known he was putting her in danger, he should have seen this coming long before they had a chance to get to her. If Fisk considered him dangerous before all of this, Frank was going to show him a whole new level if there was a single mark on that woman.

‘’We’re going to get her out,’’ Matt assured, listening to Frank’s uneven breaths, slipping his mask back on.

‘’Then let’s move out,’’

Karen had been watching Fisk’s men come and go from the warehouse, expressing their joy for his return to Hell’s Kitchen. No matter how many times she asked, Karen still didn’t know how he was out of prison. But it seemed rather obvious that taking Karen was one of his first moves at the head crime boss of the city.

Fisk had been talking about Frank in jail, what he had him do, what he saw him do to others. Karen glared back at him as he spoke, changing the subject to Matt Murdock and his threats against Fisk’s lover, Vanessa.

But there had been no talk about James Wesley, Fisk’s close friend and assistant who Karen shot dead. It didn’t make her any less uneasy though, in fact it only made her nervous that he would find out any minute.  

‘’It looks like Mr. Castle has chosen to come to your rescue, Miss Page,’’ Fisk told her, his hands folded together in front of him, proper. ‘’And here I thought that the Punisher had more important things to care about,’’

‘’You don’t know him,’’ Karen shook her head, lip trembling. ‘’And you don’t know this city anymore,’’

‘’It’s been my city for longer than you can imagine and it will always remain that way,’’ he assured.

A loud noise echoed through the warehouse, Fisk turning to his men to make sure all was well. Karen’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of Frank.

‘’I’m afraid this is where I leave you,’’ Fisk stood up, clearing his throat.

‘’You’re a coward,’’ Karen muttered.

Fisk smiled at her briefly, fixing the cuffs of his jacket. He didn’t bother with a response, instead looking over to the man just beside Karen.

‘’Get her out of those restraints, use her, make sure Frank Castle is dead,’’ he ordered.

Frank had already shot two people outside of the warehouse, passing by their bodies without a second thought before kicking open the side door. Inside were corridors and dark tunnels, all leading right where Fisk would want them.

‘’I told you not to kill them,’’ Matt shook his head as they ventured on.

Frank just reloaded his gun, walking with heavy steps as if he was ready to march into a war.

‘’And I told you to cut that shit out,’’ he rolled his eyes. ‘’You think these people deserve to live?’’

‘’It’s not up to you!’’

‘’Then who’s it up to, huh? If they’re ready to kill others for no reason, then they’re ready to die just the same,’’

When Frank neared the main doors, he chose to take the stairs leading up to the railings around the warehouse. Better vantage point, better aim at Wilson Fisk.

He could no longer hear Matt’s steps behind him, but his whereabouts didn’t warrant a second thought either. The only person on his mind was Karen Page.

Karen Page who was being held down on the ground floor with a gun to her head, a man keeping her in a choke hold as he looked around the room. Frank tried to take aim, but the man was moving all over the place.

‘’Enjoying your freedom I see,’’ Fisk called out from over at the far exit. ‘’I have to admit, as hard as I fought to have a nice life behind bars, I much prefer my city,’’

‘’It’s not your city,’’

Matt’s voice came out of nowhere, Fisk’s eyes looking up just in time to see him pounce on the man, using his batons to knock him to the ground.

That’s when all the fighting began. Matt was moving around the warehouse effortlessly, knocking Fisk’s men down, but Frank could see he was taking a beating as well.

Staying where he was, Frank shot three other men who were beginning to rush into the fight, ignoring Matt’s advice. Frank was used to aiming for a killshot, it was hard to try and miss, especially when he hated them all so much.

The man holding Karen was starting to panic, watching Fisk be taken down slowly. Karen struggled in his arms, trying to throw them both down so she could roll away. But when Karen threw her elbow into the man’s stomach, he retaliated by swinging the gun into her face, immediately causing a river of blood to pour from Karen’s nose.

After that, Frank’s memory was a blur. He remembered jumping down from the railings, punching people over and over again, feeling his own face swell and bleed, until he looked back to where Karen was. She was on the ground, eyes close, and blood dripping onto the concrete.

‘’No,’’ he whispered to himself.

He felt his whole body go weak, his feet taking him over to where she laid. Frank slipped his hands underneath her, carrying her over to a corner shielded by boxes. She was knocked out cold, her whole body limp.

‘’Hey,’’ he called, his hands cupping her face. ‘’Wake up baby, please,’’

The fighting was slowing down, the noises becoming softer. But nothing else was registering to Frank right now.

‘’Hey, come on,’’ he shook his head, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. ‘’You’re okay, I promise, wake up,’’

Karen’s eyelids fluttered, making Frank’s heart beat rapidly with joy. The blood around her nose was seeping down to her lips, but Frank’s rough fingers brushed it away before it met.

‘’Fisk…’’ Karen spoke, her voice quiet and weak.

‘’Is a dead man,’’ Frank assured. ‘’He’s not walking away from this, I’m going to-‘’

‘’No,’’ she reached out, her hand going to his cheek. ‘’Not worth it, please,’’

‘’Karen,’’ Frank shook his head. ‘’There’s no way I’m letting that piece of shit go,’’

‘’Just stay with me,’’ she looked up at him, pleading.

And suddenly he decided to let Matt handle Fisk in his own way. For now.

‘’I’m not leaving you,’’ he assured, pressing his lips to her forehead and closing his eyes.

Just like that he almost lost the only person left in this world who he loved and it made him see everything so much clearer. Frank didn’t have much of a world left without Karen Page.

nytimes.com
How Fake News Turned a Small Town Upside Down - NYTimes.com
By Caitlyn Dickerson

Stranahan struck me as passionate about his stories; not about their veracity but about the freedom he and the critics of refugee resettlement should have to speculate as they wanted without being belittled by the fact-mongering mainstream. When I reached him by phone this June, he told me he was planning to travel back to Idaho for more reporting on Fawnbrook, now that he was no longer constrained by his editors at Breitbart. He told me that he believed that he had uncovered another dimension of his globalist theory related to Chobani’s participation in the federal school-lunch program. He felt compelled to follow up on the earlier coverage, because he was frustrated that Alex Jones and others were forced to retract their stories and apologize under pressure. “I don’t like people getting shut up like that,” he said. “Even if their stories have problems, I don’t like journalists getting shut down.”

Alex Jones

journalist