#metro gold line

[architectureforsuicides]

Ambulance (Michael Bay, 2022) (From foreground to background) Metro Gold Line Bridge Los Angeles, California (USA) Bridge over the Los Angeles river Type: beam bridge. & North Broadway Bridge / Buena Vista Street Bridge Los Angeles, California (USA) Bridge over the Los Angeles river Type: arch bridge. & North Spring Street Bridge / Downey Avenue Bridge Los Angeles, California (USA) Bridge over the Los Angeles river Type: arch bridge.

#ambulance #michael bay #2022 #metro gold line bridge #metro gold line #los angeles #L.A. #L.A #california #USA #los angeles river #beam bridge #bridge #north broadway bridge #north broadway viaduct #buena vista street bridge #buena vista street viaduct #arch bridge #north spring street bridge #north spring street viaduct #downey avenue bridge #downey avenue viaduct

[sparkypantaloons]

Metronomics

Sometimes it's too much, Gotham. Too much putting his body on the line for a city that can't and won't change.

Bruce imagines what his life could have been, what his children's lives could have been, if things had been different.

~~

Sometimes it's too much. Gotham. Too polluted, too populated, to poor...

Morally poor, he should say. The money's never been more than a means to an end for Bruce and he's never cared who has or hasn't got it. Even if he knows that's evidence enough of how out of touch he really is. To not be, and never have been, the levels of desperate so many of his fellow Gothamites have. Are. But he can't change that now. Not after a lifetime of more money than he could ever hope to spend (and God knows he's tried).

And it's not that he thinks poverty equals moral corruptness. Of course not. But God, if it doesn't cause a rot that's hard to escape. An agony deep in the bones, like an atomic bomb. Almost a century since, but still poisoning the ground and the air and the lives where it fell.

It's too much, sometimes. Gotham. Decades of putting his body, his heart, mind on the line for a city that doesn't change and can't change and... Won't.

Part of his Brucie-rich-boy-bit has always been a pretend man of the people. 'Billionaire spotted on Chicago's L-train', a picture of him in $5,000 jeans, throwing a peace sign on the platform at Quincy. 'Bruce Wayne joins the commute on Bangkok's BTS Skytrain' sunburned and sweaty and grinning like a moron. Public transport is easy when you don't need it. The delays, the overcrowding, the cost. All part of the big adventure when you're rich and famous.

He's deliberate in his appearances. Shows up too big to be allowed and always lost. Asking fellow travellers for directions and breaking every unspoken, local rule. Stopping at the bottom of escalators and standing on the right and never having his ticket ready at the barriers... but he's deliberate in his anonymity too.

He's ridden the New York subway and Shanghai's metro and Vienna's U-bahn more times than he can count. Undercover, trailing marks and tailing suspects, slipping past local police and resident gangsters alike. Just another nameless face in the crowd.

But then there's the times he's just there as himself. Times he rides the lines as Bruce. Not the billionaire, not the Bat. Just Bruce. Grey Ghost fan, hates mushrooms, loves dinosaurs. Father, friend, son. Just another traveller amidst the millions. Nobody wanting anything from him, nobody talking to him, nobody even noticing him. It's freedom unlike any he's ever known.

It makes him wonder what his life might have been. If he hadn't been born in the South Wing's master bedroom of Wayne Manor. What his children's lives might have been, if their father had just been a man, and not this man.

Dick for sure, Olympic medallist. There's no doubt. Even without the money and the training and the classes, his boy was destined for greatness. Gold medals and podiums and adoration. Coaching and teaching and leading. And, Bruce fancies, probably the ESPN correspondent for major competitions. Team USA coach. International Olympic Committee. Whatever Dick wanted; in any life there's nothing he couldn't do.

Cass, Bruce likes to think, would have been an architect. If she'd ever been afforded a normal life, ever been given the tender love and care she so deserved as a child. She reads people with ease, drilled into her as it was by Cain; a skill as crucial as its learning was cruel. But given a normal life? Architecture, Bruce is sure. The way she navigates space, the way she uses it and understands it. What better way to make a life than creating in the space she so fully inhabits? Designing structures that change the way people live, challenge how they think. She'd have been glorious.

Tim, on the other hand... Tim. If Bruce thinks about him too long the guilt starts to set in. His brilliant boy, just next door; alone for so long. Bruce was intimately familiar with the experience, though at least he'd had Alfred when he'd been young. If only he'd just paid more attention, he could have— anyway. In another time, one where Bruce rides the subway and to work and Tim doesn't spend the first decade of his life by himself, surely he'd be some fintech billionaire wizz kid by now. He'd have created a Facebook or eBay or Venmo. But better. Kinder. Richer probably than Bruce, now. And he'd still ride the metro next to his old man.

Damian, Bruce's youngest, sweetest boy. Who knows what Damian could have been, in a life where Bruce and Talia kissed each other goodbye every morning and sweet dreams each night. He's a gentle soul, really, fierce as he is. Shows it in his affection for animals. Gives them the tenderness he never had as a child. Who knows what he could have been in a life filled with light instead of shadow. Warmth and love instead of the League's relentless dark. A scientist maybe, or an astronaut. A teacher, a vet, a nurse. Whatever he wanted. A gardener, a piano tuner, a cab driver. Happy, whatever it was. And safe in the knowledge he was loved.

And then... and then, Jason. Bruce thinks of his second son the most, as he rides the rails. Takes the Bakerloo south from Marylebone and the Tanamachi west to Hirano. What Jason could have been, if things had been different. It doesn't seem fair to dwell on it. To imagine the darling, sweet boy who had been Robin as anything but. To disrespect the incredible fucking gift he's already been given of a second chance, by imagining it as any different. So instead he thinks that Jason would still be Robin. Still Red Hood. Still saving people, still putting himself on the line to make the world better. Even if Bruce didn't love the way he did it, he still loved Jason. Gods did he love him. It's too much, sometimes.

Gotham. Sometimes she's too much. But most of the time, most of the time she was everything. His home, his children's home.

To see the sun rise from the east corner of the clocktower with Cass and swing between the crumbling art deco blocks of Coventry, Dick by his side. Racing down her labyrinth of alleyways and side streets with Tim and even negotiating her sewers with Damian. And Jason. Just seeing Jason's face, scowling at him though it usually is, as he waits outside the Collins Street station for Bruce to arrive.

"Your late." He grunts, as Bruce climbs the steps of the subway. He looks at his watch irritably. "If we miss brunch, you're paying."

"Of course," Bruce says, a warm hand on Jason's shoulder as they begin to walk. "Anything for you, chum."

She's too much, sometimes. Gotham. But most of the time? She's exactly where he wants to be

#bruce wayne #batman #gotham #batman fic #batfic #spbfic #batfam #batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #cassandra cain #damian wayne #tim drake #wayne manor

[amtrak-official]

Hey, to any accessibility experts, Would this be an acceptable alt text for this image or is more information needed?

"A photo of an LA Metro Gold Line train heading towards the camera away from downtown LA"

#accessibility #LA metro

[boschfanaccount]

How would the 3 boys propose to the reader

How they propose to you

Bosch, Jamie Siu & Luke Sullivan x Reader (separate). Reader is neutral Sorry this took a while to come out!! I'm finally free from uni and i have a lot of requests lined up I will get through slowly so thank you for your patience.

Bosch is an anxious mess. You both love each other so very much but theres that teeny tiny voice in his head that always makes him doubt and act on impulse. But this is something he knows he's wanted to do for the longest time, it took a lot of courage to even act upon making preparations for you. It's your 4th anniversary of being together. He first makes you a home cooked meal from his home country, a meal which he loves. You tell him how good it is and that he is too sweet for cooking for you. He then lets you get ready to then take you out to a very special spot. A park that sits on the harbour of Metro City, beautifully lit up at night. Walking up to the railing, you lean on it and breathe in the fresh air. Bosch then comes up besides you as he puts his hands on your waist, leaning in to give you a kiss on your temple.

"Thank you for this Bosch, you're too sweet." "It's the least I could do. Happy anniversary, but uhm... I actually have a present for you." You look at him with a soft look, "what is it?" you question. "I want you to close your eyes for a second". Nodding, turn to fully face him and close your eyes. You hear some rustling before he tells you to open your eyes. You bring your hand up to you mouth as your eyes widen in shock, letting out a small gasp. You're presented with a velvety red box fitted with a small and classy ring crusted with small diamonds. "[y/n], you're the love of my life, a-and... I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I'm not the best boyfriend sometimes and I have my moments but, I hope you can accept me... Will you marry me?". Jumping up and down before leaping into his arms. "Yes!" you exclaim as a few tears fall down your face. He stands back up and fully accepts your embrace. "I love you so much, thank you [y/n].

Jamie would most definitely propose to you in the sleekest way possible. He will have everything planned out down to the exact time, he has a mini speech prepped and the perfect plan to catch you off guard. Jamie would also be confident at first and kind of fumble a little bit but he's well aware you are the one for him and he is the one for you. He has no doubts about you saying yes once he pops the question and that fills him with so much pride and joy. Time moves so fast when you're with your boyfriend, you have been together for 3 years already yet it feels like you've known each other and been together for so much longer. Having gotten you ready for a fancy dinner date at an elegant chinese restaurant that Jamie has been meaning to try with you. You both went out shopping to purchase coordinating outfits, the colours of your outfits are black and yellow. Mostly black decorated with gold jewellery.

Once at the restaurant, you are both seated next to an open window which has the perfect view of Metro City. "This is so nice baby, thank you for booking this place." Taking his hand in yours Jamie looks at you with a satisfied look, "It's no problem, you know I'd do anything for you. I am the great Jamie Siu after all!" He says jokingly. You giggle at his statement. After having a delicious and filling dinner, you both are waiting for your desserts to arrive to your table. Little words are exchanged as you stare into eachothers eyes and hands intertwined on the table, the silence comfortable. The silence is broken by a waitress coming up and handing you your desserts however there was something off with yours. Your plate was flat and had writing on it, more specifically the words "Will you...", once you read the words you see Jamie walk up to you and get on one knee. Your heart starts beating fast but a bright smile decorates your face. "Marry me?" Jamie asks, a yellow lined black velvet ring box displaying a beautiful golden ring with a decently sized diamond placed on top. "Jamie!" You express, "Of course!!! Oh my gosh!!" He takes your hand and slides the sing on. "[Y/n], when I met you through Yang, I never thought you would end up being mine some day. But here we are, you are now officially my fiancée. I love you dearly and I don't know if I could ever express that fully in words but thank you." Jamie stands up and cups your face, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

Luke, oh Luke. Luke would definitely have a mini freak out to himself over how he should propose to you. He is a confident man but sometimes he goes through weird moments of weakness where he's just unsure. Luke takes his time and never rushes into things so when he realises he needs to propose to you, he thought about everything carefully and wanted to make sure it was something you would like and that you were sure to say yes to him. While he is a bit of a chiller, I don't think Luke would be overly romantic but would still try his best to be, you deserve it after all. Having spent almost 4 years together, Luke decides it's time. There are a few places in mind that Luke would want to take you on, deciding on taking you to the beach. A quiet and calming beach. It would be the perfect setting, having a nice dinner first then taking you on a romantic walk along the beach to watch the sun set and finally get on one knee and confess his never ending love for you and ask you to marry him.

"Mmm! Luke have you tried this? It tastes so good!" Picking up a piece of your dinner on your fork and putting in front of Luke so he can have a taste. "Wow, yeah that is really good, want to try mine?" You nod. After having dinner it was time to now go on a quiet stroll on the sand. Holding onto Lukes large hand and leaning your head on his arm. Luke can feel his nervousness grow, you're perfect in his eyes. "Is something wrong love?" You ask, concern laced in your voice. "Haha, yeah. I'm just fine. Don't worry your little head." Luke brings you into a side hug, his hand resting on your hip. "There is one thing I want to talk to you about though." Stopping to stand in front of you, he takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "So... I've been wanting to ask you this for a while and for the longest time I thought I wasn't ready but every day I spend with you, I want to always be by your side. You make me so proud and I feel so powerful when I see you cheering for me in battles. I'm the luckiest man alive [y/n]. With that..." pulling out a box with a silver ring inside with a small rectangular diamond placed on top. "Will you marry me?" It takes you a few seconds to respond, you feel so joyed and happy and you needed a moment to process the sweetness of Luke's words. With shaky hands you cup Lukes face in your hands and place a kiss on his lips. "Yes" you giggle. "I truly love you so much, I'm glad to now be your fiancée" Luke picks you up, sharing laughs as he spins you around. Taking in the cool breeze of the beach with the cool water brushing up to your feet.

#street fighter 6 #sf6 #bosch #bosch x reader #sf6 x reader #luke sullivan x reader #jamie siu x reader #bosch sf6 #bosch sf6 x reader #jamie siu #jamie sf6 #luke sullivan #luke sf6 #y/n #street fighter #x reader

[blueiskewl]

Gold Glass ‘Roma’ Unearthed in the Excavations of the Rome Subway

A very rare and refined piece of gold glass representing ‘Roma’, the woman symbol of the Eternal City, has been discovered during the construction of Rome’s Metro C metro line.

It is the first time that any representation of Roma in gold glass has ever been found, according to archaeologist Simona Morretta of Rome’s special superintendency.

Describing it as “extraordinarily refined”, Morretta told news agency ANSA: “Golden glass is already a very rare find, but this has no comparison”.

Originally the base of a drinking glass, the discovery features an image of the female deity – the personification of the city of Rome – wearing a helmet and carrying a spear.

“The thousand-year history of our city never ceases to amaze and enchant the world,” the mayor of Rome, Roberto Gualtieri, wrote in a tweet.

The recently found personification of the Eternal City has no writing on it. She is dressed in an Amazonian-inspired outfit, has a diadem on her forehead, and a helmet with a plumed crest. Over her chest, she carries a spear. The curls in her hair and the scrollwork on the helmet are both beautifully crafted details.

Gold glass is a high-end glass that has a decorative design in gold leaf fused between two layers of glass. The majority of surviving Roman examples are drinking glass bottoms that have been cut off.

Morretta said the precious artifact did not belong to the military barracks found during the subway works – which was abandoned in the middle of the third century and subsequently razed to the ground – with preliminary studies suggesting the glass is from the start of the fourth century.

The gold glass artifact will go on display in a new subway station museum that will include an in situ exhibition of the barracks.

By Leman Altuntaş.

#Gold Glass ‘Roma’ Unearthed in the Excavations of the Rome Subway #archeology #archeolgst #glass #ancient glass #ancient artifacts #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient rome #roman history #roman empire #roman art

[sisterofficerlucychen]

congrats, boot!

“Lucy?”

There’s a puzzled expression that paints itself over his features, forehead crinkling as he picks up the small pair of black booties and dangles them in front of him. He’s seen them one too many times before and while his innate instinct is to smile at the memories they hold, his lips curve downward in confusion. Did he miss something?

He’s sure he hasn’t. Both are doing well in their careers; Tim as lieutenant of Metro, Lucy as detective. Neither of them have brought up the conversation of a change. He’s still in his first year of a new rank, “the boot in charge” as Lucy affectionately described it and she’s in her fourth year as a detective, guiding Aaron through his first year. So why the boots?

He looks down at the bed that’s covered in different sets of baby booties. Unlike the other times where she’s written out ‘congrats, book!’ on a blank piece of paper in Sharpie, this time is different. There’s a pale yellow card in the middle of it all, his name written in cursive in what Tim can only assume is from her ‘special pens’ which are really just a set of Gelly Roll Stardust pens he got her for Christmas because she once told him how much she loved using glitter pens in grade school.

This time, he does smile as he sets down the pair of booties and leans to reach the card. His eyes scanning the front for a moment, still quite unsure what to expect. There are tiny stars that surround his name in gold and silver and he can almost picture her leaning against the kitchen island, brows furrowed in concentration as she focused on drawing the perfect little stars without smudging the fresh ink.

He pulls at the flap to open it before pulling the card out of the envelope. It takes him a second, more than a second, as he blinks completely dumbfounded at the greeting card in between his hands.

HAPPY NEW BABY!

Soft pastels fill the cover with different painted baby items: a teddy bear, bassinet, baby blocks, pacifier, rattle, bib, baby boots, baby mobile, bottle, diaper. It’s a baby card. He knows what it means but at the same time he’s in complete and utter shock because could it be? He wants to call out her name, almost too afraid to open the card to see what it holds but his breath is hitched in his chest and he can’t quite bring himself to speak her name.

So he stands there for a moment, maybe hours though time definitely feels like it’s standing still, just staring at the card because he knows what this means despite not knowing for sure. He can picture it now. Her growing belly, the endless list of baby books that they’ll get through, telling their friends and family, laughing over baby names — the entire journey until their tiny little human finally arrives. Tears well in his eyes as he’s overcome by emotion: excitement, awe, shock, fear, love.

“You really should read it.”

The smile on Tim’s face immediately drops as he turns to face Lucy who’s leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on her lips. There’s a sudden panic that washes over him as he wonders if he suddenly got it all terribly wrong but the expression behind her eyes doesn’t indicate that, she’s just teasing him. He nods, unable to do much else as he finally opens the card to find a: Congrats, Boot!

He laughs because of course that’s what she’d write. He lowers the card to find her standing in front of him holding up a pregnancy test with a grin that reaches her sparkling brown eyes. His gaze falls onto the two pink lines and Tim can’t help but laugh in amazement.

“We’re having a baby!”

Lucy’s giggle fills the room and it’s the sweetest noise Tim’s ever heard. This is everything he’s ever wanted, something he thought he’d never had. Except, here she stands, this absolute ray of sunshine that came into his life to make it better day by day, making every single one of his dreams come true.

“We’re having a baby!” he echoes as his hands find her waist pulling her in toward him. They’re beaming at each other as they hold the other, swaying softly as their foreheads touch. There’s a magnetic pull that draws them even closer as their lips finally meet. She smile’s against him before finally pulling away. 

“So? What do you think of your new role, boot?”

“Best job yet.” 

#the rookie #chenford #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #lucy chen #tim bradford #fanfic #i made myself so giddy writing this adfkajsda #the way i had this idea in my head for a while but bless that new promo for giving me enough muse to write it #i may do lucy's pov if anyone wants to read it ♡

[codmw2019-2022]

Modern Warfare® Campaign: Biographies of the Story’s Major Players.

Part 1 (2 of 2): Sergeant Kyle Garrick

September 30, 2019 by Call of Duty Staff

Sergeant Kyle Garrick

Sergeant, Special Air Service Regiment

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2014, serving in the Queen's Lancashire Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty’s elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a sergeant for his sixth year.

Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria, Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters. Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS American counterparts, the Navy SEALs. Required to undergo resistance to interrogation testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture. Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness. “Everyone talks about the physical aspect of being in the SAS but my job is mostly mental. Give me a guy who’s got his mindset right over a guy who’s twice as fit any day of the week.”

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal, the South Atlantic Medal, and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counterterrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing. Kyle’s last Middle Eastern tour was cut short due to an ever-changing political climate and a growing intolerance for full-throated unconventional warfare. Fading support for western backed guerrilla movements as well as growing regional tension complicated matters in the field, as men like Kyle are asked to do an imperfect job, perfectly well, without exception, no matter the cost.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield mission with metro police forces on European soil. Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror.

With the SAS notoriously shrouded in secrecy, Kyle explains— “We move in silence, do our job, and melt away. No publicity, no media. It takes stamina, willpower, guts and brains. Got those, we'll welcome you a try at being one of us. If you haven't got all that, then off with you...”

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw19 #call of duty modern warfare 2019 #task force 141 #cod 141 #tf 141 #operator bio #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #cod kyle gaz garrick #cod gaz

[mintymelty]

YHS: A Serialization [] 5. Respite- or Something Like That

⚠️Warning! This episode contains discussions of murder, suicide, and other crimes. These topics are not shown or described in detail.⚠️

┍━━━━━»•» 💛 «•«━┑

September 4th, 2015.

Slow, calm afternoons are under appreciated, honestly. This whole week, despite it being the first week back at Yamada High, has been relatively quaint. For me, at least.

I feel as though most people my age rush through life, thinking by the time they’re thirty that their freedom is gone and nothing will be exciting.

That’s not true whatsoever, as every life stage is vital for enjoying life. Fun does not necessitate decadent parties or wild love lives, to me it means the triumph of acing a difficult test, the satisfaction of saving money cooking good food from the comfort of my own home.

And to me, the meaning of life is the thrill of solving mysteries.

The locals of Las Allayes County speak of a rumor that on every October 31st, a pair of lovers disappear. And not because of the high crime rates during Halloween. Last year, an elderly couple was found dead in their homes in San Atlanta, which is particularly odd as San Atlanta is a fairly wealthy neighborhood. It was officially declared a double-suicide, but I have my doubts.

In this city of unpredictability, where the corrupt seeps through the veneer of austerity, things are never what they appear. And as always, the police ignore this and take the easy way out instead of thoroughly investigating the crime scene.

But it is what it is. It’s Friday, school’s over. I should relax. All my current assignments are done, I have some banh mi pate to eat, I have Mystreet episodes to catch up on. It’s not like I have anything to attend.

┕━»•» 💛 «•«━━━━━┙

════ ⋆💙⋆ ════

◁◁ ▐ ▌ ▷▷

💙: “CRAAAAAPPPPPPP!!! THE METRO SHUT DOWN!!”

*BAM!*

The door slams open.

💙: “GOLD! Sorry!”

💛: “What happened?? Where were you, anyway?”

💙: “SoIwasatthemetro-“

💛: “Why?”

💙: “-soIcouldgotothisguy’sgarageconcert-“

💛: “WHY?”

💙: “-becauseIhavenothingelsetodo-“

💛: “You could work on your introductory essay-“

💙: “But that’s boring! Anyways so the Redstone Link is down because someone got stabbed-“

💛: “Why would they shut a whole line down over a stabbing?”

💙: “Because it’s connected to some weird gang that everyone’s scared about-“

💛: “GANG?! Is it- wait. Tell me everything you know.”

💙: “Ooohhh! Okay, I-uh… the cop blocking off our station said some guy in a hoodie stabbed another young dude at the Sky Station.”

💛: “Seems fairly standard so far.”

💙: “But apparently the hoodie guy had some tattoo that matched a local gang- Y’know, that cop was really talkative.”

💛: “For once.”

💙: “Yeah, and that gang has been rising in prominence.”

💛: “I’m surprised you know that word.”

💙: “Yeah! Wait- hey!”

💛: “So this gang… hmm. What did you want me for, anyways?”

💙: “Can you drive me to Industry City?”

💛: “…I don’t have a car.”

💙: “Well, can’t you, like, call a taxi?”

💛: “We’re not going to Traum County, Kat. What the hell kind of a concert is this guy hosting?!”

💙: “Hey! It’s in Miller Avenue! It’s not that scary there-“

💛: “So instead of getting shot at night you’ll just get stabbed? Face it, you’re not going.”

💙: “OH MY GOD! YOU REALLY ARE A PROBATION COP!”

💛: “Don’t you dare call me a cop.”

💙: “Oh, how ironic! Says the one that gets into everybody’s business! Since you like snooping so much, snoop THIS!”

💛: “YOU FOUND IT?!?”

💙: “I knew it! This wasn’t Liv’s-“

💛: “No- There was this rumor going around that The Erinyes lost a pendant containing info on rival gangs!”

💙: “…Who?”

💛: “The gang you were talking about earlier? Yeah. They’re probably the perpetrator behind the stabbing.”

💙: “Oh… that explains why Liv told me to keep it..”

💛: “Just give it to me. The police might accuse us of being accomplices, or worse, lose it.”

💙: “Sure… hey wait! Since I gave you the pendant-“

💛: “UGHHHH, FINE. I’ll give you money for a taxi. You can go, on one condition…”

💙: “Yeah yeah, don’t drink anything anyone gives me-“

💛: “Besides that, tell me everything you see and hear. And charge your phone.”

💙: “Ok! Thank you, Kimmy-“

💛: “And double check the taxi’s license plate. And just call me Kim.”

💙: “…Aight!”

◁◁ ► ▷▷

I’m… not sure how to feel, honestly. Like, obviously I’m exicted for the garage concert and excited to meet more people that aren’t my… pseudo-sister, but at the same time something about how Kim was freaking out about the… Erin-yes?? And the stabbing make me kinda worried about how I’ll integrate into Yamada High.

But it’s okay. I know my street smarts. I can even show off my solo-cup juggling skills to impress people!

Everything will be okay.

…Right?

════ ⋆💙⋆ ════

#digital art #itsfunneh yandere high school #itsfunneh yhs #itsfunneh fanart #itsfunneh yhs: a serialization #pixel art #yhs #mcyt #yhs gold #mcyt fanart #mcytblr

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Friday SpaceTime 20231124 Series 26 Episode 141

China to undertake Mars sample return mission ahead of NASA and ESA 

While NASA and the European Space Agency are continuing with the development of their Mars Sample Return mission which is slated to launch sometime around 2030 – China has just announced its own plan to get samples back from the red planet before them.

An alternative cosmic source for gold

A new study suggests that the explosion of a low-mass neutron star can be the alternative cosmic source for heavy elements, including precious metals such as gold and platinum.

NASA’s next cosmic map maker

Key elements are coming together for NASA’s SPHEREx mission, a new space telescope designed to create the most detailed map of the universe ever created.

The Science Report

El Niño conditions are likely to last until at least April next year.

Researchers have developed an artificial sensor that can recognise fine fabric textures

AI text-to-image generators have created images of the typical surgeons appearance.

Skeptics guide to black cats.

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through Apple Podcasts (itunes), Stitcher, Google Podcast, Pocketcasts, SoundCloud, Bitez.com, YouTube, your favourite podcast download provider, and from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States.  The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science.  SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research.  The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network.  Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor.  Gary’s always loved science. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on his career in journalism and radio broadcasting. He worked as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. Later, Gary became part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and was one of its first presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth.  The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually.  However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage.  Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently.  StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016.  Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #nasa #esa #astrophysics #spacetimewithstuartgary #starstuff #spacetime

[souryogurt64]

finally we’re discussing patrick being a dick too during the metro show. so what do you think about this thing

(it’s also so funny to me how it was only ONE show and we have 10 topics to discuss)

Final note about Pete being a cunt is that when he snapped at the photographer the photographer just smiled and was like "I did :D Don't worry, I did :D" which makes me think everyone is used to handling the princess when he gets like that lol

And Mmrs is about Chris, this got pulled from the Stay Gold essay

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HE TASTES LIKE YOU ONLY SWEETER 

“Thnks Fr Th Mmrs,” another track off Infinity on High, contains the line “he takes like you only sweeter.” This line is, in fact, a reference to Closer (2004). (Panic! at the Disco would also borrow the title of their debut album’s seventh track from the film: “Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off.”)  

“Anna: We do everything that people who have sex do!

Larry: Do you enjoy sucking him off?

Anna: Yes!

Larry: You like his cock?

Anna: I love it!

Larry: You like him coming in your face?

Anna: Yes!

Larry: What does it taste like?

Anna: It tastes like you but sweeter!

Larry: That's the spirit. Thank you. Thank you for your honesty. Now fuck off and die, you fucked up slag.” 

However, when rolled around the tongue, the line itself does taste rather fruity. Part of the track is often speculated to be about the feud between Wentz and former roadie Chris Gutierrez: “if that’s the worst you got, you better put your fingers back to the keys” referencing the open letter Gutierrez wrote Wentz at the end of their relationship and his Livejournal profile photo, which was his hands on a keyboard. Though he annotated the track himself, Wentz chose not to provide any commentary on that line. Wentz and Gutierrez have matching pubic and ass tattoos corresponding with who they determined would top/bottom if the pair hypothetically had anal intercourse; Gutierrez occasionally referred to Wentz as his “boyfriend.”

Gutierrez, famously, uploaded and then deleted a post containing homoerotic photos of himself and bassist Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance following his falling-out with Wentz; he posted shortly after accusing his followers of being "insensitive assholes," sarcastically calling them "so supportive," and that he'd "remind himself of this the next time [he] felt like being vulnerable." The 295 comments of this post indicate the deleted post was a coming-out announcement. Afterwards, he threatened to delete his entire LiveJournal, stating "its not worth it anymore and its not worth the drama and animosity aimed towards a wonderful boy I love to kiss," though he did not follow through on this threat. These days, Gutierrez spends his spare moments liking comments from emo teenagers insinuating he is a fruit.

[ugh-yoongi]

kim taehyung ★ an early 2000s emo/myspace playlist (5/7)

01. metro station - kelsey // 02. october fall - second chances // 03. the hives - hate to say i told you so // 04. billy talent - fallen leaves // 05. head automatica - beating hearts baby // 06. we the kings - check yes juliet // 07. boys like girls - broken man // 08. underoath - it's dangerous business walking out your front door // 09. +44 - no, it isn't // 10. saves the day - sell my old clothes, i'm off to heaven // 11. yeah yeah yeahs - gold lion // 12. gym class heroes - the queen and i // 13. playradioplay! - decipher reflections from reality // 14. the blood brothers - cecilia and the silhouette saloon // 15. franz ferdinand - take me out // 16. mgmt - the youth // 17. hawthorne heights - saying sorry // 18. powerspace - right on, right now // 19. the starting line - the best of me // 20. the ataris - the boys of summer // 21. fall out boy - thnks fr th mmrs // 22. bright eyes - lover i don't have to love // 23. something corporate - i woke up in a car

[ ft. suggestions from theharrowing, daechwitatamic, raplinesmoon, & jeonjcngkook. have a suggestion of your own? send it here and i'll add it! ]

#taehyung #bts #bts emo playlists #putting a blood brothers song on a bts playlist just healed smth in my soul

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on Ao3

Rated M

The high collared throat of his jacket couldn’t mask the canned air of Shinjuku Station. Japanese Metro facilities were usually pristine compared to those overseas, but most passengers were blind to the Residual matrix littering the city’s above and underground railways. Scrutinizing the luminescent stains on the walls, Satoru swiped his IC card on the scanner and headed towards the boarding dock, waiting with some other strangers for the midnight train to take him home. Not that he was itching to return. He needed time to himself, to mull over recent events.

“You’re the reason she’s here…”

For the upteenth try, the white-haired Sorcerer jammed his left hand into his pocket, twirling the irritable ring with his thumb, hoping with enough persistence it would pop off, but it was useless. The little collet dug into his skin with every vehement twist, every tug. The Six Eyes essentially made him a Jujutsu locksmith, an exorcizing Houdini, but no matter how much he pulled, twisted, scraped, or bit, the ring stayed on. He wanted so badly to incinerate the gold like he did the Curse from the previous night. The girl needed the protective charm, not him. If it weren’t for the Reverse Technique, his finger would be rawed red by now. He heard a merry jingle chime through the intercom.

“Rapid train will be arriving at platform 10 shortly,” announced a placid voice. “For your safety, please wait behind the yellow line. We thank you for your cooperation.”

Lights shone in the distance, reflecting off his shades. He forfeited the ring when the train emerged from the tunnel and hissed to a rolling stop. Sliding doors opened and Satoru boarded the coach, peering over his shoulder to make sure no one suspicious was following; a habit amongst his lot. Nope. Just the typical old ladies and salarymen this time, their thermographic silhouettes colored in blobs of red and orange. Perfectly normal.

“Doors are now closing,” the conductor spoke. Satoru was only half listening. “This is a Chūō Line train bound for…Priority seating is reserved for elderly, handicapped passengers, expecting mothers…” Eventually the metro moved with a jolt. His stance kept him from falling over, though he refused to take a seat because, like most trains he typically rode, neon residue caked almost every square surface of the coach, from the handlebars to the chairs. It wreaked of Cursed Energy, decayed and cold. Satoru lifted his boot off the floor to inspect the wad of paranormal entrails ruining the Italian leather. Makoto’s sure to kill me when I get home, he thought. It would take more than a bucket of bleach to wipe this shit off. Frustrated, he brought the boot down, squishing the residue under his weight until he heard the coach groan from the force. Anger churned inside him, festering, growing hotter. Damn them. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

How was it that he, the strongest Sorcerer alive, descendant of the Vengeful Spirit, Sugawara no Michizane, inheritor of the Six Eyes and the Limitless, the first Gojo to possess both Cursed Techniques in over 400 years, had somehow been bested by a couple of old fogies and a foreign aristocrat he’d never heard of until very recently?

Satoru stared out the window, listening to the “tha-chuck, tha-chuck” of the monorail passing over the tracks. Tokyo blurred into smoke. His mind wandered back to the moment his life forever changed. That cold, gloomy trip he made to England four months ago.

A portly man with a balding head, wearing what must’ve been expensive coattails, sat across a lacquered table, the Cuban in his right hand emitting chalky grey fumes, while jeweled fingers tapped the table rhythmically. The fat bastard was enjoying himself too much for Satoru’s liking and the tobacco was starting to give him a headache, combined with the harsh glare curoscating through Roccoco chandeliers. Everything about this interaction offended him; The heady smoke, the bright lights, the three-piece Brioni he’d been forced to wear, which quickly became too hot, and then this Oswald Cobblepot wannabe sitting before him, all smug, dressed like a cliché supervillain just asking to get punched. It took immense restraint not to grab hold of the cigar and shove it down the earl’s suilline gullette. He hated this man. He hated this place.

As if sensing his contempt, the earl puffed another heaping cloud. “Gentlemen,” he crooned. “To what do I owe the honor?” His voice caused the muscles along Satoru’s jaw to tighten. Honor? What did this motherfucker know about honor?

One of the elders spoke amidst their small caravan, rising from his seat. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Thames,” he answered emphatically. “You know why we’re here.” He drew himself up stiffly. “We’ve come for the seer.”

Thames flashed his ivory stained teeth. “Ah, yes,” he relished gleefully. “Why, of course you have. How silly of me to think otherwise.” He flicked the cigar ashes on a tray, leaning back into his chair that accommodated his rotund girth. “But I am a man of principle, you see? They say there hasn’t been a living seer in — what — one hundred, two hundred years, or so? Given that reason alone, I couldn’t possibly hand her over to you free of charge, now, could I? No. That would be bad business on my part. Very bad business.” He twisted the coarse hairs in his beard, before taking an indulgent drag from his Cuban. His eyes sharpened. “Name your price, Jujutsu Sorcerers. If I find your negotiating skills up to snuff, she’s yours for the taking.”

And negotiate they did, each side throwing out numbers in rapid succession, turning them down, then proposing new ones. But Satoru broke from the proceedings when the amount reached eight figures, opting to take in the room instead. Anything to keep his mind off the money and what they were using it for.

He made quick inventory.

Two…

Six…

Fifteen….

Twenty display cases oriented themselves around velvet settees and ottomans, stocked with just about every treasure one could fathom; opal lozenges, slabs of lapis lazuli the width of dinner plates, columns of verdant emeralds and tsavorites, their raw conchoidal fractures glinting under the lights. Magenta spinels faceted to metal rods. Satoru could tell by the inclusions embedded in the gemstones that they weren’t fakes. Their incessant brilliancy meshed loudly with the Savonnerie botanicals carpeting the floor, not including the infrared radiation he was attempting to suppress. His eyes felt like they were shrinking. He’d forgotten his sunglasses back in London. Infinity blocked the tobacco from reaching his nose, but it couldn't screen the myriad of light and invisible color from assailing his vision. Hell. Makoto was right. He should’ve brought the Bufferin tablets with him when he had the chance. Spreading his tongue between his molars, he tried in vain to relieve the growing headache from clamoring up the nerves in his skull. His head pounded furiously like waves hitting a rocky promontory, innumerous, unceasing. Don’t think too much, he told himself. Keep looking.

In one curio table lay a medieval manuscript, its Latin faded and withered upon dog-eared parchment. Another case held an impressive mini replica of a seventeenth century galleon, bedecked with ten sails, The Naiad painted on both sides of its bow; Faberge eggs, gold coins, jadeite bottles, enameled pill boxes, silk tapestries threaded with mollusk and sapphire beads, portraits of dead people hanging on red damask, junk, junk, junk. It’s all junk to him. Of course, his Six Eyes noticed other things normal eyes could not.

The billions of microscopic dust particles hovering in the air like fallout. An overlapping stitch puckering from a brocaded cushion on the other end of the room. Switching to infrared for a short spell, he saw volts of bright electricity thrumming outside cables in the walls. And scurrying under the floorboards were three little mice, their rodent cheeks stuffed with kindling. There was probably a nest somewhere the occupants weren’t aware of. He smirked at the thought. Served them right.

However, a bronze instrument, a lyre, was mounted to a wall near an old grandfather clock. Might've been the oncoming headache, or the tobacco smoke, but he swore the polymer wires strung between the harp were not so. They held an unusual sheen to them, keratinous, humanlike. He could make out the individual filaments in the strings, black and shiny, too thin in diameter to be horsehair, but that wasn’t the creepiest part about the room.

A mural of naked mermaids luring sailors to their deaths stretched across the ceiling above him, their long hair and pearly smiles beguiling. Some men looked away in abject terror, while others leaned in for a fatal kiss, the ship going down in the middle of a raging sea. Satoru snorted, thinking the panorama a tad histrionic. They were nothing like Japanese mermaids with mouths like monkeys and golden fish scales. But now that he thought about it, weren’t sirens supposed to have feathers? Whatever the case, the painting was frighteningly lifelike, he’d give them that. Perhaps if he stared long enough, one of the feminine creatures would leap out of the watery fresco and pull him under. He almost wished it would because the sound of flesh-on-flesh cemented in a firm handshake told him the proceedings were over. A bargain had been struck. All they needed then was his signature to solidify the deal.

That evening in Berkshire, Gojo Satoru purchased his bride for a whopping thirty million pounds sterling, close to four and a half billion in Japanese yen, essentially pocket change. Well done, Satoru, he mocked as he signed his name upon the dotted line. You are here by guilty of human trafficking. However, it wouldn’t be until his wedding day that the Sorcerer finally laid eyes on the woman he would call his wife.

“Train is now stopping.”

The train slowed to a crawl, jerking him forward a little as it came to a halt. The pulsing in his head abated. Tobacco smoke feathered out. Lord Thames’ crooked smile vanished into the night and the doors slid themselves open. This was his stop.

Satoru exited the train and stepped onto the outdoor platform, hearing the locomotive speed off shortly after. The April chill had yet to recede and it smelled like macadam and fresh rain. By his estimation, the school campus was approximately three miles away. Through the dense pine brush, he could make out the striped road leading up the highlands, a couple kilometers north from the Meiji no Mori Takao National Park entrance. His phone read 12:15 A.M. and a message from Makoto. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” her unobtrusive way of asking him where he is. He told her not to cook him anything since he’d gone out, but the housekeeper knew him too well. And after storming out of the izakaya, Satoru realized he hadn’t eaten much except a few bites of mackerel and a club soda. He was more than a little hungry. Better get a move on then.

He began the ascent, his residual stained boots scuffing the pavement as he trudged up the street, unconcerned with getting run over. Cars rarely made the drive here. He could walk in the middle of the road as much as he damned well pleased. Higher and higher he went, immersing himself into the tectonic rock and ancient pines, the painted asphalt looping this way and that.

Crickets hummed. Frogs croaked. The cool breeze wisped through his hair. Trees gently swayed and a break in the clouds revealed a waxing crescent moon, brightening the conifers in a pale lunar glow. Perched on a branch, a couple yards to his left, he spotted a scops-owl with blood and feathers emanating from its beak, a dead hawfinch caged between two talons. On the ground, a female tanuki rummaged through forest leaves for juicy beetles and wild berries, sniffing the air for predators. He watched an elegant sika deer cross a trickling stream and hedge its way deeper into the valley. There were no streetlights. It’s only because of the Six Eyes he's able to capture this nocturnal world, this thriving ecosystem. He stopped to admire it, the stars glinting above the mountaintops, untainted by Tokyo’s light pollution. What it must be like to be way up there, far away from this chaos and disorder.

Satoru felt as though he were mourning the aftermath of a death. The death of his old life for this new uncertain hell he’d woken up in. Years of ingrained Buddhist philosophy remind him that life is a series of impermanence, a constant flow of change. “All things are passing illusion.” wrote the wise monk, Kenkō. “What is there that remains unchanging?” Nothing, of course. Fighting this truth will only lead you further down the path of suffering and reactivity. In other words, he needed to “quit his bitching,” like Nanami so eloquently stated, and accept life’s unexpectancies for what they were; use “skillful means” to avoid getting struck by that “second arrow.” And yet knowing what he ought not, Satoru found himself despairing anyway, like he’d nose dived off the edge of a cliff and was waiting for the ground to flatten him. He’d already experienced this once before, the day his best friend walked out on him.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

Right now? He wished he were neither.

Lost in himself, the Sorcerer wasn’t aware he was walking again until he approached the school entrance, moonlight reflecting off the mokoshi roofs like snow caps. The Gojo estate was located farther north off campus. Satoru made it past the temple gates, shuffled past the student dormitories, when suddenly a melodic sound reached his ears. A sweet sound akin to a woodwind instrument. He paused to listen. Weird. Who the heck was playing music this late at night? Now vaguely curious, he changed directions and headed towards the sound like a hound chasing a scent, desperate to reach its source. And the closer he got the more he understood the sound wasn’t recorded music, but a voice. Someone was singing from the women’s bathhouse it seemed.

There were no female students studying in Tokyo at that time. The voice was too young to be an elder or staff member, which meant...

Satoru bent over a little known hole in the wall and saw her.

“...A-mach air bhàrr nan stuagh ri gaillinn Fuachd is feannadh fad o thìr Bha mo ghaol dhut daonnan fallain Ged is maighdeann mhara mi…”

She was sitting on the edge of the pool, her smooth legs submerged in the steaming water. A towel was wrapped around her waist, but it wouldn’t hide much. Satoru's been involuntarily looking through clothing since he was four years old. That towel wasn’t gonna cover jack-shit. The naked plane of her back was exposed to him, wet and glistening. When she raised her arms to slide a toothed comb through her long garnet hair, he’d catch the sides of her breasts, and sometimes a lovely pink nipple would peep behind the mist as she continued detangling her wet tresses. The white linoleum channeled her song into ringing echoes, numbing his brain, curling around his insides. He felt his scrotum burgeoning against his thighs, swelling like a blimp. He couldn’t help himself really. She sounded so fucking good, so soft, so clear, like water welled from a spring; a crystalline soprano. Maybe if he just unzipped his fly and allowed himself to…wait.

What the hell was he doing? Was he under a Cursed Technique of some kind? Because, damn, it certainly felt like one.

“Chan eil mo chadal-sa ach luaineach Nuair bhios buaireas air an t-sìd' Bha mi'n raoir an Coire Bhreacain Bidh mi'n nochd an Eilean Ì…”

Seriously, what language was that? It was unlike anything he’d ever heard. English alone was gibberish, but this language was on a whole different level of strange.

Satoru had long believed there was nothing new for him to experience in this world. When Fushiguro Tōji plunged his “Inverted Spear of Heaven,” into his throat and enabled him to reach the level of understanding necessary to perform the Reverse Cursed Technique, and fuse Red and Blue to make Hollow Purple, what greater high was there? What earthly pleasure? What worthwhile goal? And if all things were passing illusion, what was the point? Even the activities that he used to enjoy no longer satiated him the way they once did; sex, video games, movies, sex, caffeine, pissing off Utahime, sweets, more sex, etc. Nothing wowed him, nothing excited him. He’d forgotten what it was like to live for the present, existing, more or less, in a perpetual state of lukewarmness. To put it mildly, he was twenty-four and bored.

Then Hannah Thames entered his life - or rather - she barged in, flipped his world upside down, and threw it off its axis, together with his sense of control.

She really wasn’t what he expected.

On their wedding day, with her chin wedged between his fingers, he couldn’t deny she was beautiful, though not in the conventional sense of the word. The partners he often coaxed into bed tended to be…well endowed. Hannah was dainty by comparison, tiny, fragile looking, someone he wouldn't have chosen for himself if given the option. However, her proportions weren’t entirely undesirable either; long hair, a cinched waist, moderately sized breasts, all of which he found annoying because he was hoping to find something not to like about her. But those eyes? Holy crap. He’d inscribe those verdant brown eyes to memory, along with her rich auburn hair, her tiny freckles scattered across her cheekbones that could only be seen up close, and her innocence. So much unadulterated innocence staring back at him he could almost choke. It didn’t take an expert to know she was a virgin, which twisted his stomach into knots. Made him nauseous, angry. Furious even.

Why!? he wanted to scream, grab hold of her shoulders and give them a fierce shake as she slid that ring onto his finger. Why would you do this to yourself? You stupid girl. Can’t you see? He could still feel his thumb on her lips, soft as rose petals. I’ll only break you.

Innocence? Satoru didn’t know what to make of innocence. The virtue held little value to him. Their marriage was simply a means to an end, a show of good faith for the higher-ups; He’d (begrudgingly) marry the foreign woman as promised, and in return, they’d offer him a teaching position at Jujutsu High. It didn’t matter whether she possessed The Sight, or that they wanted him to retrieve the Sukuna fingers. He wasn’t planning on taking their relationship a step further. Simple as that.

“...Seall is faic an grunnd na fairge Uamhan airgid 's òir gun dìth Lainnearachd chan fhaca sùil e Ann an cùirt no lùchairt rìgh..."

So, why did he feel like an asshole the moment he ditched her after the wedding? Why couldn’t he erase those innocent hazel eyes from his mind? When he held her in his arms last night, why had it scared him to imagine her with a bullet through her head? Like Amanai Riko all those years ago. And why the fuck did her voice make him wanna bust a nut right then and there like a adolescent teenager? Shit, what would Suguru do, if he were —

“That psychopath isn’t your friend, Satoru. He’s a traitor. A murderer.”

Gojo let out a quiet huff.

Right. Suguru’s gone, he thought, and he ain’t showing signs of coming back. Each passing day served as a reminder to Satoru that he was on his own.

The Sorcerer looked back through the peephole at the bathing woman, still singing at the water's edge, combing her long skeins of hair, oblivious she was being watched.

He then stared fixedly into his palm at the wedding ring on his finger. He flexed his digits, balled them into a fist and closed his eyes, listening to her sweet music drown every part of him and the onsen.

“Hù-bha is na hoireann ù-bha 'S ann le foill a mheall thu mi…”

He remained motionless, breathing calmly in and out of his nose to settle the uneasiness in his soul and the throbbing between his legs.

“...'S ann le foill a mheall thu mi…”

Satoru’s hand fell to his side, his will power slipping away.

He waited there, seconds, minutes, hours. He wasn’t sure. Hannah’s serenading eventually ended and he stopped to hear her petite frame exit the pool. He could hear water droplets plopping to the floor as she moved, remembering the curvature of her ass underneath that towel draped around her waist, how soft she looked, how supple. Then his mind reeled back to her breasts, fantasizing how those lovely pink nipples would feel inside his mouth, tightening and melting on his tongue. Tossing her wet hair to one side, the ventilation system caught wind of her scent just as she entered the hallway and brought it to his nose like a gift. She smelled like lilies after a morning rain. His brain went fuzzy, helping little to soften his erection as he finally acquiesced and brought a hand down to unzip his pants, eyeing the damp spot on his boxers as he filled out some more, groaning in relief. Ah, much better. He then panted a short laugh, unable to recall the last time he’d been this hard. By a voice, no less.

He should’ve been ashamed of himself for it.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, he became vastly intrigued. After all, he’s never been one to stay on the downlow for very long and any woman who’s able to arouse him this good is definitely worth “getting to know.” Maybe this’ll be fun. He’s never pursued a person like her before. I mean, if this is Hell, there’s no reason why it can’t be an enjoyable Hell, right? And she’s pretty easy on the eyes.

Fine, he ultimately decided. He’d cooperate just this once. And if he didn’t like it, he’d switch back to Plan A and keep his distance. For now though, he’d humour the idea and see where it took him.

This whole marriage thing.

Chapter Contents

#gojo satoru #arranged marriage #gojou satoru x you #gojo x oc #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo takes a wife

[revenant-coining]

Damalectiold

[ pt: Damalectiold ]

[ID: a rectangular flag with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in this order from top to bottom: dark red-brown, red-brown, orange, off-white, orange, red-brown, dark red-brown. End ID]

requested by @the-metro-bus-system

Damalectiold: a xenogender connected to crafting and collecting, masculinity, gold / stone / tools neopronouns, nature, and ripped / damaged / stained shirts.

Etymology: dama(ged), (col)lecti(ng), (g)old

@radiomogai , @imawanokiwaaa

[ID: a green and blue line divider with a blue infinity sign outlined in green in the middle. End ID]

#Damalectiold #gender #xenogender #liom #mogai #requested #🪼 creations

[murderballadeer]

my ranking of mtl metro stations that serve multiple lines from best to worst

lionel-groulx. truly the gold standard of changeover stations. streamlined and efficient. 10/10 no notes

snowdon. pretty good. similar design to lionel-groulx; not quite as well executed but that’s understandable since they added that whole second line later.

berri-uqam. not great but they did their best considering three different lines go out of there

jean talon. an absolute nightmare. it’s not a metro station it’s a torture maze

#soapbox

[dontbestingybaby]

from Photoplay, January 1947

Photographer: Ann MacNamara

transcription below:

PHOTOPLAY PHOTO DAY

It's new! Camera capture of Ava Gardner from yawning rise to midnight bed

7:00: Time to start a star's day. Ava Gardner ignores the clock's alarm for a few, cozy minutes

7:30: Coffee perks while Ava showers—short-cut to breakfast later

7:40: Scale session: One hundred and twenty pounds. Check!

7:50: Breakfast on the terrace while Ava, intelligent girl, catches up on the news

8:30: She counts the minutes with upward strokes—five to go

8:35: Another brush for her only make-up—lipstick

9:00: On schedule. The gold watch bracelet—designed by Ava herself

9:35: Off to Metro—the speedometer set to a busy morning

10:00: Picture conference with producer George Haight

10:30: Guilaroff, hair stylist, with sketches of hair-do's for "Wanted"

11:00: Posing for veteran studio portrait photographer Clarence Bull

11:30: Star autograph for studio mail boy

12:00: Substitute for lunch—her favorite sport at nearby court

3:15: Car inspection before shopping spree

4:30: Top-heavy return—all for the new apartment

5:00: Checks icebox inventory with Mearene

5:30: Homework: Returning telephone calls, answering fan mail

6:00: Tea-cup interview with Photoplay asking the questions

7:15: Time for final fitting of new Adrian suit

7:30: Date Bill Harbach calls—to get a line on evening's fun

7:31: They're dining in, dressing for Mocambo later

8:10: Hostess hello—typical Gardner glad hand

8:30: The way to a man's heart is by candlelight

9:35: Off to Mocambo: Next night—same place, different date

11:30: Back home early to study next day's lines. Hot milk helps!

12:00: Night watch. Seven hours before the alarm rings in another day

#1940s #1947 #ava gardner #fan magazine #film magazine #classic hollywood #photoplay #classic movies #vintage style #old hollywood #old hollywod glamour

[ariadnew]

CTJL 2021, ROUND 7: PARIS

Archie had lived in Paris once, when he was eighteen. He and three of his closest mates, newly graduated, living out of a predictably small, predictably bohemian apartment in Montmartre while they spent the summer making pocket money teaching English to French kids and exploring their newfound adult freedom to the fullest extent they dared. 

All of this is, naturally, entirely new information to Dot.

Much to her delight, he continues on the Metro. One of his best friends, he tells her, got a job peeling vegetables and washing dishes at a restaurant governed by an Escoffier-trained chef, just to line his pockets. He fell wickedly and firmly in love with the world of the kitchen that summer. They barely saw him. He’s a sous-chef at one of London’s swankiest hotels now. And they still barely see him. Another spent those months honing his already prodigious talent for the social. Their apartment, he relates with a smile that is half-nostalgic, half-bashful, was frequently stuffed to the brim with strangers and friends alike; people found in clubs, markets, parks, cafes, galleries, streets; artists, actors, dancers, dreamers, and anything in between. On particularly notable occasions, their guests included a thalassophobic carcinologist, a Viennese piano technician, a professor of film studies, a diplomat’s (alleged) former mistress, and a fascinatingly cheerful mortician. Mostly, however, he recalls women. Lyndsay had a new girl on his arm every time they saw him, it seemed. Sometimes two. Sometimes two on each arm. Two on each arm, and a few in tow for his single friends. He was- by his own testimony- “unerringly generous” in that regard.

– But those, Archie says, as abrupt as the gentle appearance of colour in his cheeks, are stories for another time. His tone and his haste to depart the Metro tell her that another time is likely code for never. 

* It is to Montmartre he is taking them that morning, to a small cafe tucked between a fromagerie and a shop crammed as ambitiously as it precariously with ceramics. It’s a street of vibrancy, filled with colour and quirkiness and life. Awnings flutter bright against the grey Parisian sky; the numbing autumn air is tinted with the warm, wheaten smell of a busy bakery. They pass a record store painted red and a glacier in shades of orange and ice; beneath signs announcing costumières in flamboyant strokes and bric-à-brac with scraps of rusted metal. Tables and chairs are arranged dutifully outside eateries and are occupied by equally dutiful locals taking their morning coffee and smoking in the drizzle. The gutter underfoot trickles and glistens with overnight rain, crumpled with sodden copper leaves and cigarette butts. A middle-aged man looks away in a display of feigned ignorance while the Bull Terrier at the end of his lead hunches over the pavement. A woman in a long skirt flies by on a bicycle hurling words Dot doesn’t understand but cannot possibly be complimentary. A leaf flutters to the pavement; a distant horn blares. Weak morning light gleams in the wet of the cobbled road.

Agatha has agreed to join them for breakfast, though it is not because she has any real desire for their company.

She has taken the seat to Dot’s right, where she currently sits tall and aloof and dabbing a stray rain drop from her cheek with her sleeve, eyeing the eclectic decor and commenting on the oddly tart-sweet smell of baked, borderline-burned apricots. Clad in stiletto boots and an elegant designer coat that’d cover Dot’s rent for the next five months, she does not look like a woman who frequented colourful cafes squashed within a city’s most offbeat streets and ate crooked, bleeding pastries for breakfast. She looks like a woman who’d be more at home dining in the Four Seasons’ breakfast room, or at one of those famed Belle Epoque brasseries Dot read about in a tourist guide, one of green glasswork and gold and all things art nouveau, with prices as impossible as its waiting list. She imagines her briefly, the heroine of some Jazz Age novel, svelte and sparkling in an evening gown and elbow-length gloves with a cigarette holder perched in a languid, elegant hand; smoking Turkish cigarettes and listening to jazz while men in sharp suits and dapper haircuts line up to bring her expensive champagne and beget her elusive attention. It is not an altogether difficult image to conjure. But Agatha is not at the Four Seasons, nor at one of the most coveted tables among the city’s brasseries (nor, indeed, in another time period). Agatha is here, looking as out of place as a Vermeer hanging in a kindergarten classroom—

And she is here, it turns out, because this is not her first time in Paris. 

Parisians, she has found, are frequently afflicted with sudden and violent bouts of amnesia where the English language is concerned. Manners, too. Thus, a companion fluent in the language whilst in the capital is an incomparable advantage. How convenient it is, then, that Archie– as he has frequently reminded them over the course of their stay– is able to speak the language fluently! It also happens that he is in possession of an unnatural amount of patience, and- even more convenient!- is already on her payroll. Why wouldn’t she take advantage of that? Agatha isn’t in the mood to handle Parisian attitude. True, she isn’t really in the mood to handle English attitude, either, but the devil you know and all that. He might as well work for his wage. Make himself useful. Be worth the trouble. For once. 

It is for this reason alone she has deigned to keep Archie around, even if the cost is having to endure a morning of him flaunting his irritatingly good French, being irritatingly nonchalant about how irritatingly good it is, and being around Archie in general.

Dot knows this, because Agatha has just finished telling her. 

Archie must also know this, because she has not waited for him to leave after handing him a fistful of euros and telling him to order for her. Now. Please. (It makes him go away faster, she’d explained) (again, right in front of him)

Archie looks at Dot, the picture of sangfroid, and holds up Agatha’s euros.

‘Care to join me, Dottie?’ His tone is cool and smooth as the inside of a luxury car; his eyes spark with hidden humour. ‘Order what you like; Agatha’s just offered us our breakfast today. Awfully generous of her.’ ‘I put up w-’ ‘Awfully generous indeed.’ Agatha lowers her phone and looks Dot square in the eye. Having been in her employ longer and more closely than most, one would think she’d have grown accustomed to the unnerving, burning darkness of her mistress’ eyes.

She has not. (... If anything, it’d only gotten scarier)

‘Go with him, Dot.’ Agatha turns her eyes back to her phone, her voice low and bored. ‘And make sure you take your time.’

If Archie is similarly unnerved, he doesn’t show it. He meets Dot’s eye, flashes her a smile, and gestures with a sweep of his arm toward the register, as unconcerned and cheerful as ever.

* Part II of angry breakfast tomorrow. 👉 😎 👉

#The Sims 3 #TS3 #Simblr #Equus-Sims #Writing #CTJL #On Location #Travel #France #Scenic #Agatha Foskett #Archie Vandover #Dorothy Lawley #Yes I am in fact aware that this is literally more than a year past due #What can I say? I'm obsessive #And just generally bad at finishing things #I am not proud of this #But I'm trying #Cleaning out my drafts #Queued