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#i think this is the first time ive drawn him nude? so i had to color it

baysilmav · 9 months

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...Also he's naked

#i think this is the first time ive drawn him nude? so i had to color it #sort of #didn't feel like coloring the background so he's in the void #top gun #top gun fanart #maverick #pete mitchell #top gun 1986 #also featuring a quokka

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timothy-chamlet · 4 years

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the afterparty - t.c. fanfic

pair: timmy x female reader

warnings: unprotected sex, general smut

word count: 2.6k (2640)

a//n: ok er ive never written for timmy before so im nervous snsvsj but if you read it tell me what u think !! <3

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people often thought the two of you were dating. paparazzi tended to make it look that way through press. despite all the candid photos of you and timothée plastered in magazine spreads and floating around on blogs, he would tell people you weren't together. interviewers would ask, and time again he would put an end to the rumor by saying you weren't dating, you were just friends.

to be fair, you honestly couldn't even be mad at him. it was a good marketing tactic, at least. if all the girls knew he was single they'd still be invested in the persona of a young, attractive starlet that - despite his more than desirable qualities - is still single. genius. meanwhile you were being his best friend and his trophy for award shows.

it was growing on you though. you enjoyed walking red carpet events and going to extravagant parties and meeting big names in the industry. it was really a win-win for both of you.

another one of those win-win situations was tonight. the past three days had been crazy. hair appointments, nail appointments, dress fittings, photoshoots, brunches, and dinners. running each new day on an hour of sleep - maybe two if you were lucky. fueled by energy drinks and the promise of rest after the event. showing up to an awards ceremony on nothing more than a 20 minute nap and a double shot espresso. being timothée's showpiece was exhausting. but it was good for you.

you had just finished your last consultation for dress fittings and were on your way to your styling appointment. the dress would arrive shortly after you so everything was ready to go. things were set for timothée to meet you there in an hour or so, after his own styling.

currently you're getting your makeup done. a swarm of professionals all around you, handing products, giving directions, telling you how gorgeous you look, at least three hands on you at all times. after almost an hour all the disembodied hands move from your face to reveal the *almost* finished product. you still need your hair done, but your face was flawless. your skin was insanely smooth; not a pore in sight, your lids were a bronze shade, and your lips were a perfect nude.

a hair stylist soon steps into view, also admiring your makeup before diving into your hair. it was simple. a slicked back ponytail is all, careful not to draw away from your face and your dress.

the strong aroma of hairspray clouds you as you maneuver to step into your dress. stripped of your previous clothes, you step into your dress and a couple people help you pull it up. the woman attending to the supper in the back steps away for a moment, seeming to answer a question.

"what's his name?" she asks into her ear piece. "uh yes. she's in here with me. send him in."

she returns behind you and does up the zipper to your dress. to your surprise, you see timothée waltz in the room. dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender button up underneath. "y/n," he exhales, walking towards you. "you look breathtaking, ma chérie."

"you don't look too bad yourself, timmy," you say, stepping down from your pedestal to be almost eye level with him.

"is she done here?" he asks everyone around without taking his eyes off you.

one of the women there swoops in with a pair of shoes and says, "slip in to these and you're ready to go, darling."

you step into your shoes and link arms with timothée. "carriage awaits," he says as the two of you get escorted to the limo.

once inside you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. "you okay?" he asks from beside you.

"yeah, just.. tired."

he chuckles and drops his head. "absolutely exhausted." you two had similarly scheduled days so he knows exactly how you feel. "don't worry, mon amour, i'll have you home in about 8 hours."

"i thought the awards show was only 4-"

"there's always the afterparty.."

you audibly groan and drop your head as timothée places a reassuring hand on your knee.

"we're here," he says with fake enthusiasm as the limo pulls up to the event. the past 45 minutes felt like hours as your head began to pound from the lack of sleep. yet, lucky you, 45 minutes in l.a. traffic was a miracle.

the two of you step out into the scene. flashing lights from camera flickers, the general buzz of the crowd, people you knew trying to get your attention, people timothée knew trying to get his attention. being the kind person he is, he doesn't shy away from fans calling his name. he walks over to give high fives, say hi, sign things, and really interact with the people that are so invested in his career. you look at him with a fond smile on your face as he greets people.

"timothéeeee," you both hear and turn around to match the loud booming voice to a face.

"armieee!!" he yells in response, hurrying over to hug his co-star.

you stand idly by as the two hug and catch up. fiddling with your ponytail and the skirt of your dress. until that same voice catches your attention.

"bring it in hot stuff!"

"hey, armie! how've you been, handsome?" you two had only met a handful of times, but it's like your souls clicked instantly. he had kept in touch since the first time you met and you guys had been pretty close ever since.

"oh i’m doing great. really. just excited for this evening. can't wait to see how many awards lil' tim brings in," armie ends with a light laugh before timothée chimes in.

"oh god no-"

a cheery voice interrupts the conversation.

"helloooo," armie's wife says in a sing-song voice and joins his side. "nice to see you again, y/n. and congrats timmy on your nominations."

you and timothée nod in response and utter small, nervous 'thank you's' before armie excuses the two of them, promising to catch up later.

"well, well, well- this is it, timmy." you say from your seat next to him. the host reads the nominees for best breakthrough of the year, and timothée's name is mixed in with so many other talented actors. he nervously puts his hand over yours. "you are absolutely amazing. everyone knows that. you're gonna get it." he looks at you and you pass him a reassuring smile.

"and the award for best breakthrough goes to… timothée chalamet!"

his head shoots up in shock. cameras pan around him and his baffled expression appears on huge screens behind the stage. he slowly stands from his seat and makes his way to the stage. making a beautiful speech, thanking almost everyone he's ever known. giving gratitude to everyone he's ever worked with, his parents, and his best friends. he comes off the stage and returns to his seat beside you. a year runs down his cheek, and you move to wipe it away, but he grabs your hand away from his cheek only to press his lips to your knuckles. "thank you for always believing in me."

"you're an amazing actor and an even better friend.

the night was nearing an end. people were saying their goodbyes and their 'see-you-soon's and going their separate ways. you and timothée walk out of the event, arms linked, with his hands tightly gripping his award. the smile never leaves his face. "i can't fucking believe that, y/n."

"you did it, timmy! all you and your hard work. lemme pick a nice spot on your shelf for it yeah?"

"i was thinking about sitting it on my dresser right above the drawer full of your shit you keep leaving at my house," he says with a barely visible smirk.

"oh, well if it's such a problem," you begin "i guess I'll just have to come get my 'shit' then?" you finish sarcastically.

"oh! how dare you?" he begins to shout, going on a tirade similar to that of hamlet; overly dramatic and mostly nonsensical. "leave them be! small, small remnants; reminders of thee." he trails off softly, dropping his head to your shoulder and bringing his other hand up to trail his fingertips down the side of your face.

you can't help but chuckle at this. "bravo timothée! amazing performance."

he straightens up before taking a bow and returning to his previous position on your shoulder. "do you wanna skip the afterparty?"

"and do what, tim? i thought you were gonna catch up with armie?"

"i dunno- go to my place?"

you nod your head, and timothée let's the driver know to just go to his house.

you get out of the car in front of his apartment, quickly thank the driver, and dash inside; excited to remove the day. "can i shower?" you ask quickly already making your way upstairs.

"oui, mon trèsor, make yourself at home. ill be up in a while." it was almost as if he had it scripted. a routine more or less. you'd ask to shower - despite him telling you almost each time you never had to ask - and go up stairs to do so; him trailing along about an hour later behind you.

you finish your shower earlier than planned so you decide to lay on his bed until he comes up. you let your freshly washed body relish in the textures of the cotton t-shirt and shorts you're wearing and the damp-cool feel of the comforter on his bed.

you're not left alone for long before he darts up the stairs and into his room, catching your attention. you watch as he walks around, dropping various articles of his clothing haphazardly on his floor. left in only his boxers.

"timmy?" you ask in a drawn out voice.

"hm?" he asks lowly in response; his eyes trained on you. you don't respond to his muffled question and instead watch as he comes to lean over the foot of the bed, by your legs. "i've been thinking," he continues, "a lot recently. about us.."

"us?-"

"about what the media thinks we are. what the people say. the blog posts, the tweets. i read it all… what do you think about it, y/n?" he ends with a light sigh, making drawing light swirls on your leg.

"i dunno really. i've never thought much about it," you say sitting up.

he moves up from his place in front of the bed, crawling up to sit to the right of your legs. knees drawn up to his chest, eyes meeting yours. he raises his hand so his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek. "you never think about.. the possibility of us?" he pauses as his eyes drift from yours. hands falling to his lap as he scoots even closer to you. you sit stunned, not knowing how to answer as if it was some rhetoric instead of a simple question. filling the silence, he continues. "i think about how different things would be if we were together. what it would be like to hold you and kiss you and- can i kiss you?"

his voice wavers as his eyes meet yours yet again. with quick movements, he moves to straddle your legs, both hands resting lightly on either side of your face.

"can i kiss you?" he asks again, his face millimeters from yours.

you shake your head yes as your eyes fluttering closed, your lips brushing against his as you move.

he plants his lips firmly on yours. innocent at first, but the kiss quickly gets deeper. more desperate, his hands moving from the sides of your face to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back giving him access to your neck. his lips dance around the skin of your neck, being careful not to leave any marks. “is this okay?” he whispers, dragging his hands from your hair to the hem of your shirt.

you nod your head vigorously and he pulls your shirt up and over your head, throwing it to the floor with his clothes. you lean back and give timothee free reign of your chest and stomach. he makes his way from your neck down and across your chest. your hands rush to knot in his hair as he takes a nipple in his mouth, carefully flicking his tongue across the hardening bud before doing the same to the other.

"timmy.." you breathe out as he leaves your chest and explores lower. his eyes meet yours as his teeth come into contact with the flimsy waistband of your sleep shorts. "please," you whisper.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs; eyes going wide when he sees you have nothing underneath.

"so pretty," he whispers almost to himself as he throws your shorts in his floor with the rest of your guys' clothes. he runs his finger along your slit, collecting some of your wetness, tasting it. laying back down with your legs over his shoulders, he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. he runs his tongue along your folds and you arch your back in response. he sucks on your clit making you squirm and tangle your fingers tighter in his hair, pushing against his face, eager for more.

"tim-... timmy," you beg.

timothée kisses his way back up your body. "hm?" he hums softly beside your ear only for you to utter another weak 'please' in response.

"please… please what, mon amour?"

"baise moi.." you didn't know much french. you had picked up on a few of timothée's most used phrases, but this you hadn't learned from him, so it caught him off-guard. stuck in a moment of shock. hearing you say something so dirty in french felt so strangely intimate; you didn't have to ask him twice.

he slips his boxers, finally accompanying you in nakedness, and slips into you, moaning at the feeling of you around him.

"fuck.. timmy-" you groan as he picks up his pace. he coos sweet nothings into your ear while drilling into your core.

his head drops to your chest and the soft, sweet praises slowly turn into obscenities. "merde," he groans, picking up his pace even more. holding himself at arms length above you, he throws his head back; lips parted in pure bliss.

you lift one of your hands to trail down timothée's torso. you lazily drag your fingertips across his chest and down to his stomach. the pleasure building inside you, your hand finds its way to your clit. “timmy... fuck! ple- please don’t stop. fuuuuuck!”

“défaire pour moi, y/n.” you didn’t think french could ever drive you to orgasm, but when it came from timothé anything was possible. you convulse around him as your wave of pleasure washes over you. timothée reaching his own peak soon after, pulling out and emptying on your stomach. he quickly finds something to clean you up with before plopping down on the bed beside you. many silent moments pass - nothing but heavy breaths leaving either of you - before he speaks up. “you know,” he begins in a soft whisper, “i felt bad- like i was using you. just to go to events with me. i know you don’t really like them but-”

you cut him off and turn to face him. “i might hate going to those award shows, but they’re a little less bad with you around.”

he breaks into a wide smile and pulls you closer, putting his head on your stomach. "mon amour, je t'ai toujours aimé." you reach down to play with his curls and begin to drift off on your way to sleep.

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kk095 · 4 years

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Late Night Holdup

***here's my latest story. It may need some additional editing, but I hope everyone enjoys!***

Grace was a 32 year old single mother of 2. She was a pleasantly plump white woman who stood at 5'5 with straight brown hair, blue eyes, and had a small tattoo on top of her left foot. Since money was a little tight and the kid's father wasn’t in the picture, she worked 2 jobs: 1 as a housekeeping manager at a local hotel, and a 2nd part time job as an overnight cashier at a gas station convenience store.

Typically, the overnight shift at the gas station wasn’t a big deal. The crowds were pretty light, and she’d be able to be home with her kids during the day. The store owner was pretty laid back as well; he didn’t mind if Grace listened to music or played games on her phone when nobody was in the store.

The night in question started off like many others she’s worked before. It was a Thursday night into Friday morning, and weeknights like this were usually slow. She was set to work from 11pm to 7am that night, and arrived at approximately 10:50pm to start her shift.

There were a small handful of customers between 11 and 1am, but the store became a ghost town after that. To kill the silence and boredom, Grace played some games on her phone for the next little while.

Around 1:45am, a man arrived on foot and walked into the convenience store. He was a tall, thin white man who was around 6’2 or 6’3. He was wearing a gray zip up hoodie with the hood up with baggy, worn out jeans, and a pair of red Nike shoes. His complexion was rather pasty and some of his facial features appeared to be sunken in rather than chiseled, giving him the appearance of someone who partakes in hard drug use. The man browsed up and down the aisles of the store, grabbing a butterfinger and a small bottle of pepsi. When he approached the register, he put the 2 items down and asked grace for a pack of Newport red shorts. While Grace walked over to the area where cigarettes were kept, the man pulled out a short barreled Smith&Wesson 357 magnum revolver from his waistband.

When Grace turned back around, she dropped the pack of cigarettes, taken aback by the sight of a gun being pointed in her direction. “gimme what’s in the register and what’s in the safe.” The robber demanded. Grace stood still like a deer in headlights with her hands up. “listen bitch, I don’t wanna hurt you! Now get me the fuckin cash!” the robber yelled, quickly growing impatient. “um… uh… I can’t do the safe. The store owner has the key…” Grace replied, absolutely terrified. “well figure it out! Let’s hurry this shit up!” the criminal shouted. Grace fought back tears, handing the man what was in the register. She was then escorted at gunpoint to the back room where the storm’s safe was. “I… I can’t do the safe, I swear!” A teary eyed Grace said, trying to plead with the man. “Oh come on! Can’t you call the manager or some shit?!” the gunman asked impatiently. “um... I…” Grace lost her train of thought, looking at the barrel of the loaded pistol once again. The robber started to grow impatient and began screaming and berating Grace. Grace was now in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me… I have 2 kids…” grace cried, trying to appeal the man’s emotions a bit, but it was no use.

While the gunman continued to yell and berate Grace about the safe, a 2nd customer walked in. “Hello? Anyone here?” a male voice asked. The voice caught the robber off guard. He jumped a little bit and accidentally squeezed the trigger, firing off 1 shot. Initially, Grace thought the shot missed her. But when she looked down, she saw a small, circular blood stain on her shirt in her left chest. “oh my God… did I get shot?!” she blurted out, surprised at the turn of events. The customer who just entered the store heard the gun shot and made a beeline for the exit. The man had enough common sense to pull out their phone and call 911. The call was the following:

911 operator: 911, what is your emergency?

Man: I was at the gas station and I heard a gunshot. I think there’s a robbery going on in there!

911 operator: alright sir, what is the location of your emergency?

Man: uhhh… I’m at the shell gas station on 3rd Avenue south.

911 operator: alright sir, police and EMS have been dispatched. Can you tell me if you or anyone else is hurt?

Man: I’m fine, but I don’t know what’s going on in there. I wasn’t gonna stick around!

There’s a pause in the call for a few moment. The robber sprints out of a side exit and the 911 caller witnesses this.

Man: I see a man running out of the building with a gun!

911 operator: can you tell me what he looks like?

Man: um.. tall white dude, gray hoodie. He’s got a revolver! He’s running full speed towards kings highway! Hurry!

Over the following few minutes, the 911 operator instructs the witness to remain on the line and stay a safe distance away from the convenience store as a safety precaution and so the crime scene wouldn’t be contaminated.

In the following minutes, an ambulance and what seemed like an army of police cars flooded the scene with sirens and lights on full blast. Once a police presence was established at the scene, multiple cops entered the building with guns drawn. “Lee County sheriff’s! Put your hands up and drop your weapons!” the head officer yelled out with conviction. The sheriffs received no response, so they advanced further into the store. They scanned each aisle and behind the register counter and found nobody. When they got into the back room, the found Grace laying up against the wall. She was crying and covering up her own wound with her hands. “we’ve got 1 down back here! Get EMS in here!” one of the cops ordered.

EMS entered the building with a police escort. They were taken to the back room where the sage was and began examining Grace. The paramedics snipped off her shirt and bra, revealing her large d cup breasts. “entry wound left chest, nasty exit wound left shoulderblade. Might be a hollow point bullet.” One of the medics called out. The medics then set up 2 large bore IVs (1 in each arm) and hung a bag of ringer’ lactate to begin fluid resuscitation. Pain medications and a round of valium were given for pain management and calming. A portable heart monitor with 5 lead ECG was then set up on Grace. On scene, her vital signs were: BP 78/46, Pulse 128, pulse ox 96%. The entry and exit wounds were then bandaged up with some gauze pads, and Grace was placed on a gurney. A blanket was thrown over her top half and she was whisked out of the building and into an ambulance which waited nearby.

While Grace was loaded into the ambulance, the sheriff’s department began their investigation. They took a statement from the 911 caller, and ended up finding a Smith&Wesson 357 magnum revolver with 1 missing bullet in the storm’s dumpster. The next step was to contact the store owner to notify them of the incident and to gain access to the store's security cameras to see if there’s any incriminating evidence on video and to see if the shooter can be positively identified.

During transport, EMS removed the rest of Grace’s clothes along with her socks and shoes to assess her full body for additional gunshot wounds. The medics only noticed the 1 entry and exit wound in Grace’s thorax. Grace remained hypotensive and tachycardic during the ambulance ride, and began crying hysterically. “it’s gonna be ok! You’ve got 2 kids you’ve gotta live for!” the medic told Grace in an attempt to calm her down.

It too about 10 minutes to arrive at the ER, and time wasn’t exactly on Grace’s side in this instance. She was still awake and alert upon arrival, but her complexion was fading and she had a cool, clammy skin. “Am I gonna die?!” Grace cried out, asking the ER staff as she was being wheeled into a trauma bay.

Once in the trauma room, Grace was transferred onto the table and the blanket came off. She laid nude in a room full of strangers. The trauma team quickly began barking orders to one another in regards to Grace’s treatment. 4 units of unmatched O-negative blood, 2 units of platelets, and 2 units of FFP were on standby from the blood bank since the massive transfusion protocol was suggested by EMS when the called into the ED. A chest x-ray done, showing a left sided tension pneumothorax with mediastinal shift and a slight tracheal deviation to the right side. Essentially, the loss of normal air pressure in the chest cavity shifted everything in the opposite direction. The treatment for this is a chest tube insertion on the injured side in order to re-inflate the injured lung, and get rid of air and blood trapped in the thoracic cage. While a chest tube tray was being prepped, a FAST scan was performed. The chest portion of the scan showed pericardial effusion with pericardial laceration on the anterior side. The abdominal and pelvic areas came back clean, to nobody’s surprise.

Grace was in and out of consciousness during the FAST scan and chest tube tray preparation. “stay with us miss!” a nurse said, doing a sternal rub on Grace, to which she groaned in response. Next, the left ribcage was sterilized. A 1 inch incision was made with an 11 blade scalpel in between Grace’s ribs. Grace moaned, feeling the scalpel’s every move during the quick cut. Once the underlying muscle and fatty tissue were cut through, a long, flexible tube was placed into the small incision site. Grace moaned loudly in tremendous pain, feeling the large tube being shoved into the side of her chest while she was still conscious. Air came from the tube at first, making a sound similar to a fart. After the air exited, approximately 700ML of blood shot from the tube and onto one of the doctor’s yellow trauma gowns and onto the floor below. The injuries inside of Grace’s chest appeared to be worse than originally anticipated, so more blood products were ordered and a round of vasopressors were pushed in order to maintain blood pressure. However, the sudden loss of that much blood caused Grace to pass out. The trauma team did a sternal rub on Grace, but she didn’t respond. Since she became unconscious and had unstable vitals, airway management became an immediate concern. The trauma team decided to perform rapid sequence intubation at that point. A 7.0 ET tube was navigated into the woman’s airway. Once it was in the correct place, it was held in place with a blue tube holder, and an ambu bag was attached.

Grace continued to lose blood at a faster rate than it could be replaced, so she began to deteriorate rapidly. Shortly after intubation, Grace’s BP began to take a nosedive. Since pericardial effusion was noticed on the FAST scan, the trauma team decided to perform a parasternal pericardiocentesis in an attempt to buy the young woman a few minutes to make it to the OR for emergency surgery.

As large, fine spinal needle was picked up and a small catheter drain was attached to the back of it. The needle was placed in the 6th intercostal space at the left sternal border. The needle was sent further into the chest, being navigated by the cardiac notch of the left lung, and into the lining of the heart itself. The plunger of the needle was pulled back, and the body of the needle and the attached catheter filled up with clotted blood. Her vital signs didn’t improve, so the catheter was swapped out with a new one and the procedure was repeated. This time, fresh blood filled the needle’s body rather quickly. After the needle was withdrawn, a repeat echo was performed.

While this repeat echocardiogram was being performed, Grace lost a pulse. Deep, violent chest compressions were immediately started on the woman. Her large, natural breasts bounced rhythmically while her flabby belly bounced outwards. The heart monitors showed pulseless electrical activity, so epinephrine and atropine were injected into an IV site.

The medication didn’t have an immediate effect, so chest compressions continued. Grace’s chest caved in and a few of her ribs popped, causing some bruising and redness in between her breasts. The ET tube became clogged up with blood, so suction had to be applied in order to re-establish her airway. A small, flexible plastic tube was placed into the breathing tube. A slurping sound was heard as blood was being suctioned out. Afterwards, the ambu bag was reattached and artificial respiration was restored.

At the 3 minute mark of the code, the next dose of drugs were pushed intravenously since PEA was still being displayed. After a few cycles of harsh compressions, a shockable rhythm was obtained. The defibrillator paddles were gelled and charged to 200j. Once everyone backed away, the paddles were pressed up against Grace’s bare chest, and the shock was delivered. A thunk was heard as the dose of electricity was sent into her lifeless body. With no change resulting from the first shock, a cycle of compressions were performed and the defibrillator paddles were recharged to 300j. Shock #2 caused Grace’s body to jolt abruptly on the table, with her arms flailing a bit. But once again, Grace remained in v-fib. Chest compressions were resumed and the defibs were charged to 360j. The third shock made Grace’s feet kick up into the air just above the table before crashing back down, showing off the thick, meaty wrinkles in the soles of her size 8 feet. The monitors showed no change whatsoever, so the same cycle of CPR and defibrillation was repeated to no avail.

Following that 4th shock, the trauma team decided to perform a left anterolateral thoracotomy in a desperate attempt to manage bleeding/injuries, and restart her heart. Betadine was splashed all over the left side of Grace’s bare chest. With CPR ongoing just a few inches away, an incision was made in the 5th intercostal space. The cut began at the sternal border, across the chest, underneath the left breast, and ending a few inches shy of the left armpit. With the first cut out of the way, the underlying tissue had to be snipped away. After the underlying tissue was dealt with, the rib spreader was placed into the fresh, crude looking cut in Grace’s chest. A popping and cracking sound filled the room as her ribs were forcefully pushed apart.

A significant amount of blood was present upon entrance to the chest cavity. The blood pooled onto Grace’s flabby torso, on the table, and on the floor below. Suction was applied to the area and surgical sponges were placed in the incision area, but that failed to ameliorate the problem. Since blood was blocking the team’s line of sight, the decided to place a 2nd chest tube for additional blood drainage. The 2nd tube was quickly placed, evacuating an additional 1200ML of blood. More blood products were hung, but Grace was as white as a ghost. The 2nd chest tube drained a sufficient amount of blood, and clamps were subsequently placed on the descending aorta and left pulmonary hilum.

The pericardium was incised, relieving tamponade to some extent, and delivering the heart. A small bullet hole was discovered in the anterior pericardium and subsequently plugged up, but the other damaged structures were yet to be identified. In the meantime, internal massage was started while the internal paddles were being readied. A wet, squishing sound was heard while Grace’s fibrillating heart was manually pumped. Her heart began to feel firm, but light from the excessive blood loss.

After a cycle of internal compressions, the internal paddles were ready for use. The large, spoon shaped paddles were lowered into the patient’s chest around her fidgeting heart. Once everyone backed away, a 20j shock was delivered directly into Grace’s heart. Her torso jolted quickly from the small dose of electricity, but her heart continued to fibrillate. Since there was no change, internal massage was resumed and the internal paddles were recharged to 30j. A dull, wet thump was heard after the next shock. The shock failed to convert Grace from v-fib, so internal compressions were resumed. Epinephrine and atropine were pushed once again, along with the first dose of bicarb in an attempt to ameliorate the situation. The internal paddles were once again ready to go, and they were lowered back into the exposed chest cavity, around her twitching heart. The 40j shock was delivered, causing Grace’s toes to curl slightly, again wrinkling the soles of her feet. Post shock, her toes relax and the code goes on.

Grace received 3 more internal defibrillator shocks, several rounds of internal compressions, and 2 more rounds of drugs, but her heart just wouldn’t restart and her pupils were fixed and dilated. Unfortunately, time of death was called on Grace at 2:29am while she was still in v-fib.

The ambu bag was detached and the chirping monitors were switched off. The EKG electrodes were plucked off and additional equipment was removed while her heart fired off its last few frantic, useless signals. Her body was covered up and a toe tag was placed before being sent off to the hospital morgue.

Her autopsy revealed she died from left atrial rupture and partial detachment of the pulmonary veins. The pulmonary veins became partially dislodged from the left atrium, bleeding out into the pericardium and chest cavity.

10 days after Grace’s tragic death, her killer was apprehended by local police. The shooter was identified as 28 year old Jason “JJ” Walton. Walton is a known drug user and has prior convictions for narcotics possession and burglary. Walton was convicted of 2nd degree murder, armed robbery, unlawful possession of a firearm, discharging a firearm on public, and a probation violation for a prior arrest. He was subsequently sentenced to 55 years in state prison for his crimes.

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years

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You Can Call Me Bruce (Part 6)

Pairing: Bruce x Reader

Picking up from where we left off:

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“....He dips his head and slides his lips down to her jaw, to her neck until they’re peppering desperate, wet kisses along her collarbone. The young girl moans at the contact; her mind is fogging up like a car window on a misty evening. Fear clutches her heart in its icy talons and gives it a firm squeeze. This is wrong—God, this is all so wrong, that she’s certain of as much as she is that the sky is blue…

But Y/N doesn’t want it to stop...”

Previous Parts: I, II, III, IV, V

A/N: This update has been way overdue and I hope you guys can forgive me for dropping off the face of the earth with this story lol, enjoy (and sorry for the tacky gif it’s the best i could do this late into the night)

____________

Bruce’s head is just as heavy.

His lungs fight for air and his heart kicks and hammers in his chest as Y/N pushes him back onto the cushion of the bed. He immediately sinks into it, pulling her along with him, drowning in her, in the feeling of lithe arms snaking around his neck and supple skin and God, she feels even better than she looks…

When their mouths part momentarily, he takes his chance to look up at her, at half-lidded eyes hanging right above him, piercing his very own. There’s a newfound lust swimming in them. In the way her lips are puckered and pink, in the feeling of her hand trailing down his shirt to his stomach, want and want and want…

“Y/N,” He stutters, voice hoarse.

Her fingers trail lower, and she swallows, refusing to tear away her gaze. Bruce’s heart falters. His brain has gone to mush. Trying his best to keep his grasp on reality, his eyes follow her movements, languid fingers, gentle caresses here and there and isn’t it sweet.

But beside the pleasure lies a sense of torture. More and more and more, his body demands. Gluttonous and sinful. Vile. At this point he doesn’t care, he never will, because he’s waited too damn long to be abhorred for something—someone—this dazzling.

~*~*~*~

The sound of steady snoring is what wakes Y/N the next morning.

The gentle rise and fall of a chest against her back, the sensation of stubble grating against her neck. Warmth. All around, encapsulating as Bruce’s grip around her tightens. She hears him sigh contently, snuggle closer, and feels him relax back into slumber a second later. With the sun leaking into the room and the hum of birds outside, she concludes that it’s no later than dawn and, as carefully as possible, rolls over onto her side. She almost laughs when she’s met with the face of Bruce sleeping. With his mouth hanging agape and his hair tousled and disarrayed, he looks far different from corporate Bruce, stone-cold serious Bruce. It’s almost embarrassing to think, but until now, Y/N always found herself wondering what he would look like first thing in the morning; whether he carried the air of solemnity to bed or whether it was something he’d take off at night and put on the next day like a finely tailored suit. Now that they’ve spent the night together this question, among many, has now been answered…

Mind drifting to the previous night, she almost blushes. Images of them flash through her mind, candid, shameless. Sounds of skin on slapping against skin…breathy moans…him and her and them. Together.

Shutting her eyes, she feels her face flush,

“Y/N?” His voice startles her awake, eyes opening only to find him gazing at her. Tired, half-lidded. He’s only just waking up.

And as much as she won’t admit it, it’s almost comforting to know that her name is the first thing on his lips in the morning.

A small tug at her lips, and she smiles. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Bruce greets with a lazy grin; from lack of use his voice comes raspy and hoarse before he clears his throat and tries again. “You’re already up. That’s surprising.”

“Uni’s sort of molded me into a morning person, even if I wish it hadn’t.” She smiles and shrugs. He chuckles. Warm and resonant. It reverberates even beneath the sheets and she finds her own lips tugging into a smile. Bruce. Them. When Y/N looks at him now, something sings in her chest, something golden and brilliant because she’s seeing him, she’s finally seeing him and who he is and that notion in itself is far more intimate than the touches they shared right now.

The vulnerability of the situation hangs potent. Nude, splayed across mangled sheets and pieces of her outfit that he’d stripped away along with her apprehension. God, that’s the only thing that was holding her back. Reluctance. Fear. Surer than ever, she knows now that Bruce Wayne is no-one to fear…

But just as much…no-one to love.

Not for her.

~*~*~

At breakfast they try and play it cool; dancing around each other at respectable distances, keeping the conversation light and safe and away from topics they feel will draw them into discussing last night.

“We don’t need to talk about last night.” Y/N said as she got up to strap on her bra. Bruce was still idly lying in bed, watching her voluptuous body move, trying to tame his thoughts from growing too explicit.

“We don’t?”

“We shouldn’t. Not now at least. Look, I’m gonna go head back to my room. Meanwhile, maybe shower, get ready for breakfast?”

“So we’re just going to spend the day acting like it didn’t happen?” He asked. Standing by the door with her clothes in hand, he tried not to notice the flash of sadness in Y/N’s eyes.

“We’re going to spend as long as it takes.” She said.

And now here they are.

Breakfast. French toast and gooseberry jam and an awfully heavy cloud of silence that feels like it has stretched on too long. Bruce wants—needs, actually—to say something. In this case silence is far from golden, it is far from a remedy or treatment for their predicament and maybe he needs to be the first one to put that out there.

Sat at the kitchen isle, he sips gingerly on his morning coffee. Y/N dances around the kitchen as she prepares some bacon and eggs, whizzing left and right, the hot pan sizzling being the only sound present in the room. Bacon popping, eggs sweltering. It’s starting to smell burnt—and so Bruce, being as generous as he is, puts his cup down and stands.

“Here.” He moves to the stove and turns the heat down. The food silences. With a spatula, he flips the food over a couple of times as Y/N flips through the cabinets.

“You should probably pay more attention to not charring the food rather than spicing it. That can come later.”

“Yeah, except it can’t. Goddammit—where do you guys keep your oregano?!” Frazzled, she throws open the cabinet door, ducking down to take a look inside. Nothing more than plates and old cereal boxes. Groaning, she shakes her head.

“This is a mess. Do you know where the spices are?”

“Not at all.” He answers, pushing the bacon around in the pan. “Alfred’s always the one dealing with spicing the food. When I cook, it’s more on the bland and boring side.”

Y/N sighs and with a shake of her head climbs down from where she’s kneeling on the counter.

Straightening out, she brushes her hair back in place and watches Bruce. He salts the food, turns the fire up a little, decides maybe that’s a bit too much and then turns it down a notch. Her lips tug upwards, and she’s only broken from her reverie when he announces it’s time to dine.

Bruce sets the table out on the patio, out in the morning breeze where they can feel the prickle of the sun and the hum of the birds. A warm glow of light casts upon the rolling hills, dancing along the grass and houses and homes they hold. Y/N thanks him with a kind smile as he sets down her cup of chamomile tea.

“I’ve taken a break from coffee for a while.” She avoids his gaze as she lifts the cup to her lips. Bruce settles down across from her. His coffee steams and swirls, disappearing into the air. He was trusting, hoping that maybe the awkwardness wouldn’t follow them outside, but it’s going to take more than changing the location to work through that. Nodding, he meets Y/N’s eyes. Swears they almost look nervous (at least more than usual).

She puts down her cup, tucks her lips into her mouth.

“Good choice. Tea’s far healthier for you in the long run, anyway.”

“He says, sipping on an espresso darker than the night. You really are a rebel, aren’t you Bruce Wayne?”

“I’d like to think I am, Y/N Y/L/N.” His smirk surfaces with his cool, collected voice, eyes fixated on Y/N’s that dazzle with mischief. He can tell she’s holding back a grin. That she’s diluting into a mere smirk. They tease—oh, they tease—, and it always feels safe and customary…but after last night…

When Bruce catches himself thinking this, a lump forms in his throat. The image of Y/N giggling, live and vivid, sits before him, drawn against the morning sun, against creation, and by God he wants and wants and needs. Heavy hearted, watching her tell him about how she’s been a tea-lover from a tender age, it almost breaks him. Warps his thinking. His heart. Fuck. The words throttle out of him before he can so much as blink.

“We need to talk about last night.” He cuts her off, gulping thickly as he watches her eyes squint.

Her brow furrows and bewilderment flashes across her face briefly. Swallowing, Bruce steadies his breathing. He’s a big boy. Matters of women and the romantics should be elementary to a man of his caliber.

Only when he looks at Y/N, he finds himself growing more and more apprehensive.

Head tipped to the side, her eyes tear him down. She licks her lips. Inhales. A warm summer breeze washes over and reminds her that their outside, that they haven’t even yet touched their breakfast.

“I thought—“

“That we weren’t going to talk about it? Yeah, well…things change. We should talk. We should.”

“Or, we could just ignore it for now…?”

“Y/N, how am I supposed to ignore the fact that last night we slept together? Huh? How am I supposed to ignore the fact that I had you in my bed only a couple of minutes ago and now here we are chatting it up over bacon and eggs?

“Bruce, not now, okay? Can we just have breakfast…?”

“You can’t eat and talk at the same time?”

“It’s not polite. I was assuming my uncle taught you this,”

“You—”

Bruce reaches across the table, grabbing her hand. Y/N’s eyes flit to his. Across them something resembling anger flashes, something fierce and threatening. She clenches her jaw, but it’s not enough to intimidate him.

“—are being difficult.”

“And you are being obsessive.” She yanks her hand back brutally but his grip is vice-like. “Leave it be for now.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t! I can’t look at you right now, right here in the open sun, looking how you look and not...have my mind flash back to last night….to the nights to come.”

“Nights to come?”

“It meant something to you, didn’t it? Last night?”

Y/N bites her lip. Grey eyes burn into hers and she swallows, ready to speak, when—

“So it happened.”

Startled, both heads whip in the direction of the door…

And Y/N feels a pit tear open in her gut.

She gasps. Bruce feels a warmth claw at his neck and for the first time, is deafeningly aware of his fingers around her wrist.

Swallowing, he slowly releases it. Standing in the door, Alfred keenly watches his movements, the retraction of his hand, the evident shock painted on his face in pale pink.

His voice is thin and acerbic. Drawn so tight it’s about to snap any second.

“Say it again.”

“What?” It’s not that he hasn’t heard him, but rather that Bruce doesn’t want to believe he has—that any of this is happening.

The elder man’s eyes move from his niece to her partner. They cut him, like fine knives that carve into his skin, like the pain of seeing an ancient friendship that has lasted all these years coming undone right before his eyes.

“Say it again, Bruce.” He repeats. “Say how much you want fuck my niece.”

“Alfred, it’s not like that—“

“Uncle Fred, please, I—“

“Looks like you’ve made your decision…” He says, and his eyes, swimming with hurt and poignancy, shift back onto Y/N. “Both of you. You don’t need an old geezer like me anymore.”

“Nobody said that!” Y/N shoots up onto her feet, scrambling to pacify the situation but it’s too late. She watches his back as he heads back into the house, disappearing from view.

Standing, Bruce tries to place a hand in her shoulder, but she’s fast from his touch, jerking away so quickly it shocks him. She whips around to face him and it’s only then he notices the water in her eyes.

“You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Y/N, look, I never meant for him to find out like this,”

“I never meant for him to find out at all, Bruce! That was the plan! You just had to come along and get in the way, didn’t you?”

“You and I both know this is far from what I wanted.”

“So what is it that you wanted, Mister Wayne? Huh? Tell me.” She’s yelling at this point, full on shouting to the point that she’s red in the face and breathless and cherubic features are overtaken by tears and anguish.

And it comes so easy for Bruce.

“You.” He says.

Simply. Quietly. A silence settles over them then

And Y/N stares back at him. Wet-faced, hurt, more angry than sad, before shaking her head and heading back inside.

Bruce watches her. Aches. The breakfast remains untouched; his coffee cools, and for a moment he forgets what brought them out here into the sun in the first place.

~*~*~

Y/N finds her Uncle sequestered in a dim-lit corner ten minutes later.

Her eyes watch him like flood-lights, like pools of hope slowly dwindling, like this is what breaks them apart because it is, and she’s here to try and fix things. Swallowing, she lets a breath out through her nose. Blinks. She tries to find her voice that has hidden out of shame.

“I thought I’d find you here.” She says.

Alfred doesn’t move.

The air tenses. Hollow winds from outside find their way in through the vents and hug her. Taunt. Her steady beating heart nearly falters when she takes a step closer, but then he speaks, halting her.

“Stop.” He says—commands—in a voice gruffer than usual.

Y/N obeys as her torches of eyes follow the slight movement in his neck (she swears she can see a vein popping). This isn’t supposed to be easy, because the entire situation isn’t easy, but she’s an optimist, ambitious and hopefully and she clings to the glimmer of redemption that comes with her Uncle.

Uncle Fred, her last living relative. Her friend. Always has been. This shouldn’t be what tears them apart.

“I…” She tries to speak.

“You…?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t mock.” Y/N sighs and shuts her eyes. “I’m trying.”

Alfred scoffs. The sound of glass craping against a metal tray makes her realize he’s drinking.

“Not at all. If you were trying, and I mean really trying, we wouldn’t be here. This conversation wouldn’t be an option.”

“Well, it is, so we might as well get through with it.”

“You’re my niece. “

His voice is tight and thin and it sends a wave of quiet over the room. She swallows.

“I held you when you were a baby, when you learnt to ride a bike, when you bruised your knuckles from punching that boy in your class for pulling your pigtails…? I’ve always been there for you….But I guess all along you secretly didn’t need me, huh?”

“That’s not true.”

“My bags are packed.” He says, takes a sip of brandy. “Packed them last night. Somehow I knew this would be the outcome….that you and Bruce…”

“Me and Bruce don’t want you to leave.”

“Your actions say otherwise.”

“Just listen to me, will you? You’ve done all the talking so far. Now—now it’s my turn.” The damn breaks and she snaps.

She folds her lips into a thin line as she watches her Uncle’s back, waiting, expecting and grateful when he places his empty glass down and stands.

Turning to face her, Alfred clenches his jaw, runs a hand through the silver sprouting from his head. Her chest stutters and shallow breaths slip from her nostrils. They seem too loud in the otherwise silent room as she tries to garner her courage.

All the words, all the feelings—suppressed like water straining to break through the dam. Frozen. Searching for them in the pits of her being, Y/N curses her cowardice that has driven them into hiding in the first place; they have no problem announcing their presence when she’s alone but immediately faced with conflict, they scurry back into the shadows.

“Well…?” Alfred’s brows rise, urging her on. “I’m listening. Talk, child. Talk all you want, now is your chance.

With a steadying breath, she struggles with the few words she can find. Breathe. Speak.

“Uncle Fred,” She begins. “Please don’t leave. Please, Bruce and I, we want you to stay, we really do…I….”

The words catch in her throat. She breathes in, out, rolls them at the tip of her tongue and they burn. Gulping, Y/N damns herself for leading them here in the first place.

“Look, it’s my fault we’re in this mess in the first place. I…I shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have stayed and let things escalate with Bruce, I…And you, you have every right to be upset, to be livid. But please….don’t take my stupidity as an urging for you to go. I’m going to go and pack my bags now. I’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.”

“Y/N…”

“Y/N…?”

When she hears his voice, she immediately whips around.

Bruce’s expression is made out in the darkness by the contours in his cheeks, the dip between his eyebrows—she knows him. Even in the dark, even in blindness, he’s something that will never go unnoticed.

Sadness swimming in his eyes, he looks to Y/N and then to Alfred. He grits his teeth. She hopes he won’t object. No matter the pain, the decision is final.

She’s leaving.

Forever.

“Bruce,…”She pivots to face him and tries to smile. Small and sad. Like her. Like them—in a moment like this they can’t help but feel so small, so defeated by the world they once thought their love could conquer. That’s the thing with love: it makes you feel invincible.

And the drawback when you realize you aren’t is more painful than any bullet to the heart.

Wordlessly he allows her hand to tenderly caress his face, the stubble grating her small palm and she’s grateful when he doesn’t speak or object.

“I’m going to miss you. Really, really bad, but….” She pauses, a hitch in her voice. “…But this has to be done. I don’t want to be what breaks apart your friendship. I don’t want what we had or could have to be a reminder that I hurt my Uncle, that I hurt you by making you chose. I’m sorry.” She finishes with a sniffle, burdened and cathartic, then glances over her shoulder.

“Both of you.”

“Y/N…”

“It was nice meeting you, Mister Wayne.”

He watches her, the world around him slowing to a stop. Time melts into a single blur—this moment, this fraction of second where he hears her denounce him and it’s almost impossible for things to start up again.

Bruce feels a coiling in his chest. He wants to say something. To reach out. Y/N turns and speaks to her uncle, says something he doesn’t bother to decipher and when his very own eyes meet those of his friend, he only just notices the glassy film over them.

She’s leaving.

And it hurts them both. The tension. The mess of the past few days that have driven them to this point. When Bruce tries to breathe his lungs collapse and all he can do is go through the motions of watching Alfred wordlessly leading her up to pack, offering to drive. This is it. The tumble of the towers, of his empire—from this day on, Wayne Manor will never be the same. It will be haunted. Diluted and reduce to a shell of the legacy Bruce Wayne built with Alfred, through Alfred.

It was always him, wasn’t it?

All along. Through years of coping with grief and nurturing it into strength; through the strongest blows to his resolve…The deaths…Always there for Bruce, always the pillar in his plans… Once—but not anymore.

From here on will always live the ghost of this day, these people—of former best friends and almost-lovers, walking the halls, trying to make sense of what happened (and what didn’t...)

________

Thank you for reading! as always, follows, likes/reblogs and/or feedback make my day.

Truthfully, I may not be online for a while, but I already have most of the final installment written out and will be posting very soon, so keep an eye out.

TAGS:

@livingoffsavvyillusions, @herangelicvirtue, @neontiger007, @sammythelittlemoose, @doubtinglord, @tori525, @hotcrazycatlady, @carolina-brumblr-love, @brooklynbridge96, @thewigglyjo, @disneymarveldcunivere15, @laughingcherries, @bookgirl617, @sarcasmisthyname, @incendia8, @maximofftrash, @wonderfulmagnificentrose, @loveyourmockingbird, @raptornsain, @unlikelyinternetprincess, @infinite-bubbles, @andreasteed1894, and @oathbreaker-paladin

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ofiqnis · 5 years

Note

☢ jonah&ivy | ☢ raven&jasper

☢ five times my muse almost sends a nude, and the one time they do.

IVY.

i. the first time she thinks about it she’s half buzzed and barely dressed, laying in some guys bed and all she can think about it how much she’d rather be at home right now with a warm blanket. she looks good though, for ripped clothes and what she’s sure is horrible hair. temptation is higher when the boy says how good she looks like this and she just smiles. she wonders if jonah would find her attractive right now. she never gets the chance, her phone dies before any picture is ever taken.

ii. she’s dressed up for a gala for the company, still expected to make an appearance despite her exile. she looks amazing, well together, and classy. she thinks of taking a selfie and does, sending to a group chat with a little caption of how she misses them. most of them reply and she figures the others won’t. it’s later that night when she’s changing that she snaps a photo of nothing on and debates sending it before deleting it.

iii. there’s nothing special between them but part of her wonders if just sending a picture with a “you up?” would give him the hint. she’s got the text nearly typed when sunni comes in asking to hang out and ivy throws her phone to the side without finishing the message. the robe is drawn closed.

iv. could she get away with sending an accidental picture? no, probably not. so the message is deleted.

v. snapchat was created for these kinds of things and she wonders of he has one to send to anyway. he doesn’t seem the type after all, which is disappointing to her to say the least. she just sighs and closes the app, not even interested in sending it to the original recipient anymore.

i. she misses him at work, the large bed is far too empty without him in it. he’s been gone for hours and ivy just wants him to come home sooner. the club is busy tonight according to the few texts she gets from him. she thinks about him at work, dancing and the outfit he was probably in. she lays in their bed with just one of his netted shirts on and snaps the photo, sending it with just a winky face attached. she can’t make him come home sooner but she can make him think of her at least.

RAVEN.

i. he’s on a date right now and all they want to do is send a nude to ruin it. maybe caption it something truly naughty but before they can even get to typing the message jonah takes her phone with a look and keeps it away from them the rest of the night. he only gives it back once jasper comes home alone.

ii. they look too good in this outfit for no one to see it. it’s too revealing for work, they’re still meant to be clothed even if it’s barely. the photo sits in the message, waiting to be sent. topless, they wondering what his response would be. but it’s deleted before ever sent, the outfit never bought. maybe another day.

iii. even with the headphones they can hear him and his date in his room. disgusting. music turned up more, they try to ignore it but find it harder, now hyper aware of the sounds. the idea again strikes to send a false message to his phone but they’re doubtful he’d even see it to make it worth sending. instead they just turn their music up higher and do work.

iv. is it too weird to send something like that now? the pair only had sex the once but all they can think about is doing it again. they want to send it, the picture is even nicely taken if they do say so. but he comes home before they can and they chicken out.

v. they nearly send it until looking at the clock and realizing he’s a work. the message is quickly deleted, they can’t risk his job because they’re horny.

i. they’re at work and bored, their dances were done for the night and claudia has said they can go home if they want. but staying means more money but home means him. it’s a tough choice but they know how to make it now. the dressing room is empty, their outfit around their ankles. “should i come home?” is the caption.

#sssunrises

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moonjs · 7 years

Text

i’ve been tagged in so many things & Im so excited to do these i just have no idea who tagged me and im sorry i have shitty memory and i’ll just tag a lot of you :’) click keep reading♥

TAG 10:

tagged by @4oppa @justacommonpepe (and many more idkTT)

rules: tag 10 people you would like to get to know better

name/nickname: everyone calls me yoko or yoki idk relationship status: single :’’’’) favorite color: baby pink (and i dont own anything in that color lol) last song i listened to: DAY6 "You Were Beautiful” favorite tv show: ....every crime tv show ever made i just dont know the names kill me... first fandom: i think it was 1D? :’’’’)))) hobbies: lying in bed,drinking tea/coffee,crying over jungkook mhm but tbh i like to draw but i like to think im no that good so i havent drawn anything in months :(.I also really like long walks (: books that im currently reading: im not reading anything rn (just long fanfics tbh) worst thing i’ve eaten: something with potato and onion and i wanted to trow up favorite place: my bed tbh

GET TO KNOW ME TAG:

tagged by: @4oppa @r-m (and many more idk TT ilyyy)

rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you would like to get to know better

NICKNAME: yoko

GENDER: female

STAR SIGN: aquarius

HEIGHT: 168 cm

TIME RIGHT NOW: 8:15pm

LAST THING GOOGLED: hwarang ep16 :’)

FAVOURITE BANDS (not mentioning any kpop): Nirvana,Arctic Monkeys,The 1975,The Neighbourhood,30STM,Guns n Roses,Paramore...i cant think of many bcz my brain decides to shut down every time I do tags :P

FAVOURITE SOLO ARTISTS: I really dont know

SONG STUCK IN YOUR HEAD: Bts-24/7=heaven

LAST MOVIE WATCHED: Dont breathe

LAST TV SHOW YOU WATCHED: Does SpongeBob Squarepants count?

WHEN DID YOU CREATE YOUR BLOG: 3 or 4 years ago idk

WHAT KIND OF STUFF DO YOU POST: aesthetics, food, kpop, text, animals

WHEN DID YOUR BLOG REACH ITS PEAK: idk? has it?

DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHER BLOGS: nope just this one

DO YOU GET ASKS REGULARLY: meh,once in a week or two?

WHY YOU CHOSE YOUR URL: bcz my first bias was suga and i didnt even know bts that much back then but i still love him a lot♥

FOLLOWING: 4,429 :’)

POSTS: 31,983..........wow

HOGWARTS HOUSE: ravenclaw

POKEMON TEAM: idk i watched pokemon as i kid and i dont even know there were teams? :’)

FAVOURITE COLOURS: black,nudes,red...

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 6 hours on a school day

LUCKY NUMBERS: dont have that

FAVOURITE CHARACTERS: i dont knoooow i just watched a lot of shit and i love all of them i dont have a favouriteTT

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING RIGHT NOW: black pants and an oversized black hoodie hehe:3

HOW MANY BLANKETS DO YOU SLEEP WITH: 2

DREAM JOB: teaching english? i still dont know but i hope its related to english and traveling

DREAM TRIP: to england pls? someone take me? also tokyo pls?

ALPHABETICAL TAG GAME:

tagged by: @r-m

A - AGE: 19 B - BIGGEST FEAR: insects C - CURRENT TIME: 8:20pm D - DRINK YOU LAST HAD: black coffee E - EVERY DAY STARTS WITH: regret F - FAVOURITE SONG: i dont have a fave i just love enjoying music and my fave song changes every week :’) G - GHOSTS, ARE THEY REAL?: idk really H - HOMETOWN: not important,the smallest town in the fing world I - IN LOVE WITH: bts, flowers,dogs,kittens,beautiful movies/animes,the sea(pls take me ive never seen it in my life but i love it),sunsets, @junghotkookie J - JEALOUS OF: everyone successful,happy,anf who wants to steal my friends K - KILLED SOMEONE: yeah, killed their expectations of me L - LAST TIME YOU’VE CRIED: yesterday over an anime M - MIDDLE NAME: dont have one :’) N - NUMBER OF SIBLINGS: 1 O - ONE WISH: to be happy for real P - PERSON YOU’VE LAST CALLED / TEXTED: uh my waifu @cozychim Q - QUESTIONS YOU’RE ALWAYS ASKED: whats going on with you?? (and i really dont know tbh) R - REASONS TO SMILE: @junghotkookie hehe :’) S - SONGS LAST SANG: DAY6 "You Were Beautiful” T - TIME YOU WOKE UP: 10am U - UNDERWEAR COLOR: ....black V - VACATION DESTINATION: idk i just want to go out of my country W - WORST HABIT: not replying in a group chat (im the ‘’seen’’ person) X - X-RAYS YOU’VE HAD: tooth? Y - YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD: chicken Z - ZODIAC SIGN: aquarius

ARMY TAG:

tagged by: @rapmonhyuk ♥

WHO WAS YOUR FIRST BIAS WHEN YOU FIRST STARTED STANNING BTS?

suga and everyone else

WHO IS YOUR CURRENT BIAS?

jungkook

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE BANGTAN BOMB?

its the cutest here

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE BTS SONG?

every song ever they ever made

WHICH MEMBER IS YOUR BIAS WRECKER?

tae & hobi

WHICH MEMBER APPEARS IN YOUR DREAMS THE MOST?

jungkook lol

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE BTS MV?

i need u series

WHICH BTS CHOREOGRAPHY DO YOU DANCE TO MOST OFTEN?

i just watch them i cant dance :’)

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN AN ARMY?

10 months

WHICH ALBUM TRACKLIST IS YOUR FAVOURIT

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever

WHICH ALBUM ART IS YOUR FAVOURITE?

hyyh

WHICH MEMBER WOULD YOU CHOSE TO BE YOUR HUSBAND?

jungkook or hobi

RANDOM TAG GAME:

tagged by: @r-m and idkkk

rules: go to this website:

www.random.org/lists

and pick 15 of your bias/faves

1. MUM/DAD:

jhope(bts)....ok :’)

2. SIBLING:

jungkook(bts) (NOOOO)

3. GRANDMA/GRANDPA:

joonie(bts) :’)

4. HAUNTS YOU:

jooheon (monstax)

5. GIRLFRIEND/BOYFRIEND:

jaehyun (NCT127) yes :3

6. YOUR EX:

dean :(

7. YOUR BEST FRIEND:

taehyung(bts)

8. PROPOSED TO YOU:

johnny….:”) (NCT127)

9. YOUR BOSS:

jackson ;)

10. RANDOM PERSON YOU MEET AT THE BAR:

minho (shinee)

11. RIVAL:

jenny (blackpink)

12. FIRST KISS:

yoongi ushduhasudhihausihduhasudhua (bts)

13. SUGARHIGH AND SINGING KARAOKE:

minhyuk (monstax)

14. PLAYED 7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN WITH:

wonho (monstax)

15. GAVE YOU YOUR FAVOURITE DESSERT:

jisoo (blackpink)

SHUFFLE TAG

Instructions: Put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 mutuals. tagged by @4oppa @r-m -Mini Dresses-Sad eyes -Jooheon-Rhythm -Agust D-So far away -2NE1-Godbye -Bts-young forever -Bts-intro Boy meets evil -AOA-Excuse me -Agust D-Tony Montana -HEIZE-star -Bts-just one day finally I tag @parksjmin @junghotkookie @sugasangel @4oppa @cozychim @seaokjin @ultranicolet @mochi-nochu @hobitaki @hob-e @jiminsangel @jiminsangeleyes @sugahues @4hyung @jeonggeuk @yoongiftyugyeom @sugaappa @chimbunny @illicitblue @bangbangbangtanboys7 @j11min @jokekook @rapgodguk @rapgodjjk @savemebybts @joonqi @ydaegu @yoongijevadevojka @cypherknj @kookiebaen @okiidokey @tanktoptiger @cuteguk and anyone who wants to do it just tag me

#tag #this took me 2 fucking hours #but i enjoyed it and thank god i finished #ill just do tags reguralry now #ily all

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billy-batson · 5 years

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don’t reeblog

ummm idk. i don’t want to be dramatic but like things got really really weird last monday like a week ago. and not for the better, regarding my second crush, i guess.

i woke up and checked twitter and liked his tweet about almost being gm on his off tank alt account. he messaged me immediately after i liked that tweet, and i told him i just woke up. he usually asks for me to send a pic of my hand cuz he says he wants to hold it. so i did! and in the background of the pic was one of my stuffed animals that i sleep with, so he asked to see my collection of stuffed animals that i sleep with (ten in all). then somehow he started asking for pics of other parts of my body which...went on all day.

idk how many of you know it BUT im a csa survivor. an instance happened in the beginning of 2016, when i was 16, i had various men preying on me (this was NOT the first time, this is just the first time that i practically set myself up for it). they would ask for pics of various parts of my body as well. my mind immediately flashed back to that time, and how i couldn’t say no, then, and i couldn’t say no, now. how could i? this was supposed to be what i wanted, my crush having an interest in me? same as how i wanted these older men’s interest when i was just a baby? this was what i was supposed to have wanted.

once i sent one pic, he immediately wanted more. and more. and more. i tried to tell him “that’s it, that’s all i’m comfortable with” by saying i was going to class and this was the last photo of my thighs that he was gonna get, but he just asked for more when i came home from class. i didn’t want to disappoint him. i couldn’t! how could i, when all i’ve wanted was his attention?

when i got home from class, it was then that he asked for my snap and it just went on even moreso. he seemed happy, which was supposed to be good, but it was just creating a ball of anxiety and dread inside of me. i felt used! i was literally gaining nothing from this except discomfort. and then i saw news about the kephrii drama again sparking up, where he had been asking for and exchanging nsfw things with his viewers and moderators and i just. i was thinking to myself, “we’re not dating. i have no obligation to send semi nudes to him! we are friends—friends don’t do that anyway!” so i told him when he asked for more at around ten pm that night, jokingly but seriously, “more for premium snap users only :)” because we are not a thing! i’m not his girlfriend and he is NOT my boyfriend and i don’t owe him that. he jokingly sent a snap back about how he wanted the premium snap’s account, and i just laughed it off and didn’t open snapchat for his response.

and he backed off for a day. til the next day, at around twelve am when he asked if i could send more. i had had anxiety for the entirety of that day and the day before, thinking, trying to understand in my mind and make sense of it. i liked him, but this—this was NOT who i liked. the person i had a crush on was someone who was sweeter and more respectful than this—someone who i didn’t think would treat me as his personal funnel for something to get turned on by and probably jack off to? so i told him that i don’t like sending pics of myself because that’s exactly how i was groomed and abused when i was a kid and this was me saying no and i’m not going to do that anymore.

he said he understood and that was settled. but still, in my head, i like him. i don’t blame him for that, because i set myself up for it. should i have said no straight out? was i encouraging it?

it’s just that like...it’s crazy. im at a point where im like what am i doing? what am i setting myself up with? do i still like him like that? should i??

and like even NOW i have anxiety over it cuz he sent a snap in the middle of the night asking for a selfie, that’s all. but it feels like that that’s how it starts, the cycle again. and at this point, i feel like ive led him on far enough to the point that he might even ask me out! and i don’t know if that’s what i want anymore! because like ive said before, he doesn’t know me. who i am, not really. we were drawn by each other’s energies but aside from that and this weird friendship, he doesn’t know much about me and i don’t know much about him.

rofl

#reeblog and get hit with tht phat block

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sartle-blog · 6 years

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Romantic Artworks to Impress your Lover this Valentine's Day

Whether it’s your favorite excuse to be romantic or it’s just another Hallmark holiday, Valentine’s Day is here! To celebrate, here are some of my favorite lovey-dovey artworks that you can use to woo your future significant other.

The Kiss, Gustav Klimt, 1907

We obviously can’t leave this painting out, so we might as well start with it. One of the most recognizable pieces of art ever, The Kiss was initially considered pornographic before becoming a stereotypical favorite of college students. The painting is slightly less romantic if you interpret it as the final kiss between Apollo and Daphne, who literally turned into a tree to reject Apollo.

The Embrace, Egon Schiele, 1917

Klimt’s student Egon was known for his expressionist depictions of erotic bodies. This painting is really the only nude he did that you wouldn’t be ashamed to bring home to your mother.

Noon: Rest From Work, Vincent Van Gogh, 1890

While Van Gogh wasn’t so lucky when it came to love, he was certainly no stranger to the feeling. He once said, “I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

In Bed, The Kiss, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, 1892

The original #goals. Am I talking about the bed or the kiss? You decide.

We Rose Up Slowly, Roy Lichtenstein, 1964

While Lichtenstein reproduction of DC’s romance comic panels tend to be women crying over men, here’s a rare one of a couple actually having a good time together.

Green Kiss/Red Embrace (Disjunctive), John Baldessari, 1988

Maybe it’s about long distance lovers. Maybe it’s about two people who feel distant despite being close to each other. Maybe Baldessari just likes cutting images up. Who knows???

Love 310, 311, and 312, Andy Warhol, 1983

Keep your eyes covered, kids! Buuuut it’s really not that graphic when you keep in mind that Warhol directed Blue Movie, the first adult film to actual depict sexual intercourse on screen, and Blow Job, which… well, you can probably figure that one out.

Love Is a Pie, Andy Warhol, 1953

A special edition cover designed for Maude Hutchins’ 1952 collection of stories and plays titled Love is a Pie.

Slow Dance, Kerry James Marshall, 1992

Cue Etta James: “At laaaast, my love has come along… my lonely days are over and life is like a song!”

Dark Heart Cake, Wayne Thiebaud, 2014

Love doesn’t have to be a pie, it can be a chocolate cake too!

LOVE Installation, Damien Hirst, 2015

Those love pills look way more appealing than candy conversation hearts.

Untitled (Heart), David Hammons, 1994

You can celebrate both Valentine’s Day and Christmas with this one!

I Love You, Louise Bourgeois, 2007

Because sometimes the best display of affection is the simplest one.

Illustration for Fourteen Poems by CP Cavafy, David Hockney, 1937

Hockney often used inspiration from writers like Walt Whitman and CP Cavafy for his artwork openly depicting gay love.

After Love, Marcel Duchamp, 1968

Believe it or not, Duchamp created more than just upside down urinals and obscene portraits of the Mona Lisa. After Love was drawn not too long before Duchamp’s death.

Love is in the Air, Banksy, 2003

Who knew it was possible to be both edgy and romantic at the same time?

Love, Robert Indiana, 1964

If you’ve ever left your house, you’ve probably seen this. There are over fifty of these sculptures worldwide!

Dancing Heart, Keith Haring, 1982

Street artist Keith Haring passed away two days after Valentine’s Day in 1990.

Love is something you fall into, Barbara Kruger, 1990

Fingers crossed Supreme doesn’t steal this for Valentine’s Day-edition streetwear.

Rest Energy, Marina Abramovic, 1980

Abramovic called this four-minute performance piece one of the hardest pieces she has ever done, saying it was about “complete and total trust.”

Love Is What You Want, Tracey Emin, 2011

You’ve most likely stumbled across Tracey Emin’s neon phrases while scrolling through Tumblr or Instagram. Emin recently married a rock so you know she’s a pro when it comes to love.

Sienna Projection, Jenny Holzer, 2009

Holzer also had this phrase printed onto condom packages that are part of the Kemper Art Museum collection in St. Louis.

Shadow Kiss, Diane Arbus

“Love involves a peculiar unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding.”-Diane Arbus.

Summer Evening, Edward Hopper, 1947

Ah yes, the awkwardness of young love.

In the Luxembourg Gardens, John Singer Sargent, 1879

For someone who never married, or even maintained an actual relationship, Sargent sure knew who to paint a romantic portrait.

Love and Pain, Edvard Munch, 1893

Also known as Vampire, this painting might have unintentionally inspired the Twilight series and every other young adult series with a supernatural love interest.

The Lovers IV, Rene Magritte, 1928

Nothing quite like kissing a floating, disembodied head.

The Lovers, Rene Magritte, 1928

I guess French kissing is out of the question here, huh?

The Lovers, Jacob Lawrence, 1946

How can there be so much peace and comfort and love in one painting?

Garden of Love, Wassily Kandinsky, 1912

As abstract and confusing as love itself.

Bridal Couple With Eiffel Tower, Marc Chagall, 1939

Chagall was so in love with his wife Bella that he did a whole bunch of wedding-themed paintings featuring the two of them. We can only hope the oversized rooster wasn’t based on anything real.

The Battle of Love, Paul Cezanne, 1880

Because what’s more romantic than a drunken orgy fest?

Chez le père Lathuille, Edouard Manet, 1879

True love is when your partner listens to you instead of mansplaining.

The Lovers, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, 1875

Get someone who looks at you like this.

The Happy Lovers, Gustave Courbet, 1844

Forecast calls for gloomy weather and cuddles.

The Love Letter, Johannes Vermeer, 1670

Do you think she left him on “read?”

Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All), Caravaggio, 1601

Love can be pretty destructive… or maybe that’s just Cupid being a jerk.

Cupid’s Span, Claes Oldenburg, 2002

Cupid’s a lot bigger than we thought.

Feel bombarded by love yet? No? Good! Go look at some of the most romantic artist couples of all time!

By Alannah Clark

#very silly #romantic art #the kiss #art history valentines #valentine's day #famous couples #romance #romantic #love #kiss #art history #fun stuff

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