#lies run sprints but the truth runs marathons

[lightsinthesky]

“I run the marathons ‘til the very last mile” - Beastie Boys, Intergalactic

On the cusp of six months of sobriety, I am really starting to internalize some things about my ability to endure and, with time, overcome. While I’ve been relatively patient in many aspects of my life to this point, I’m cultivating an all new meaning of the word as it pertains to specific elements about my life as a whole, my goals, my desires, my wishes, my hopes, my dreams… really, all of it.

One of the common themes in these writings is how little I know. And while that can certainly come across as some sense of projected humility or a cop-out with regard to achieving goals, I don’t mean it in either sense. When I say “I don’t know,” it’s specific to a few things. 1. Outcomes. It’s impossible to know any outcome. There are likely and unlikely scenarios, but, at this point, I recognize that truly anything can happen. 2. I’m still learning. And I always will. I’m a “forever student.” There’s no point at which we “get this” and just live free of distress. It’s always in a flux and we have to try our best with what we have to influence that in a positive way. 3. The possibilities are endless. If ten years ago you had told me that this is where I would be and that this is what I would be doing at 33 years old, I’d have called you insane for a number of reasons. The truth is that my life has been wholly unexpected. For better and for worse, but there has been so much experience in all of it. My adaptability has served as a blessing and a curse as I constantly sought change and new beginnings and blah blah blah.

So, today, the only day that truly matters, I am doing… solid. Alright? Fine? Good? I don’t like characterizing the wide array of emotions and thoughts we all experience into a singular adjective. Especially when it can change minute by minute. 

My timeline has been something like this: gift of desperation > willingness > fierce determination > work, work, work > change > stability > more work > more change > emotional discomfort > more growth > continued work. That’s a gross oversimplification. It’s a scribbled line trending forward, but it’s not linear in any sense. Where I am versus where I was is wildly different. Knowing this intellectually provides me with the reinforcement of evidence that it works and I have to keep going. And so I will.

But the truth is very simple: this is a marathon, not a sprint. The finish line is six feet under. We keep doing this until the (hopefully not so) bitter end. And getting caught up thinking along those lines is a death sentence, emotionally speaking. The importance of “one day at a time” is that we can better wield our influence in increments that are manageable. Trying to change the world overnight is impossible. But small steps towards larger goals makes them more likely to come true. 

These are principles, philosophies, and behaviors that exist outside of recovery. Pretty much everyone has awareness of all of this. But actually putting it all into practice can be difficult. We get so lost in the clutter. Pain experienced lies to you that it’s forever. That you’re doomed. Joy and happiness can be taken for granted in the moment. Being bored can create frustration and discontentment. It’s hard to simply exist in some zen state 24/7.

But it brings me back to my constant, my source of strength: love, hope, and trust.

Yes, for me the spiritual element of this program is huge. It’s the cornerstone and what made it all click for me. But it’s ultimately boiled down to a very nebulous, yet sincere trust that everything is in its right place. Trying to determine the meaning and purpose behind all of that is a pointless exercise in existentialism. It’s a presumption that “neat and tidy” is the right order. We all know life, society, and our species do not act in accordance with that. At all.

But our experiences are all relative. And I can’t stress enough how much responsibility to do good I feel that we all have. It doesn’t have to be major, grand gestures. We don’t have to manifest world peace in a day. But helping those in your vicinity is sufficient. While we can get so wrapped up in insecurities and our differences, we are biologically pretty much identical. It’s a fact. So even when we act completely opposite, the fact remains that we are in this together in some sense.

So, back to this whole thing being a marathon, not a sprint… time takes time. It’s annoying as all hell, but it is what it is. I am powerless against its flow. So, sometimes the only option forward is to simply endure. Applying the rest of what I’ve learned to that fact helps to manifest that critical hope and trust that it’s A. all worth it and B. will be OK in the end.

Characterizing all of these emotions and experiences is a bitch. Sometimes, the overwhelming nature of whatever I’m feeling can make it seem as though no progress has been made or that I’m regressing or whatever. But taken and observed from a higher level, removed from the incessant overthinking of my mind and over-feeling of my heart, the persistence in growth is way more obvious. Self-awareness goes a long way. It’s the first critical step towards being able to effectively characterize experiences, identify trends and patterns of behavior and thought, and implementing effective measures to alleviate any discomfort.

And the facts for me? I did it and I’m doing it. All of those old patterns of behavior have effectively been removed. They are lingering impulses that I no longer wish to act upon. Have I done all of this perfectly? Fuck no. But I persist and grow stronger with each experience. It’s all become normalized. And the discomfort of shutting down an impulse is overridden with the sense of virtuous confidence in doing the right thing. Knowing that old behaviors and actions in the name of seeking relief aren’t going to solve a damn thing. I am fully in a place of craving authenticity and authenticity alone.

I wish I were better at being able to distill all of this. It’s not that every single day is some profound step towards enlightenment. The whole thing is a process that lasts a lifetime. But the fact that I’ve grown so damn much in such a short span is pretty wild. There is discomfort even in that. It’s like a warped grieving of the me who lived in pain. Like, I’m glad to see him go, but I feel so much compassion and sadness for all he had to endure to get here, only to be let go.

Simplifying life sounds great. We all more or less strive for it. We want things to be “easy.” But our nature prevents that. And the more thoughtful, curious, and ambitious you are, the worse it all is. 

I’m at the point in the race where I know I’m about to get that runner’s high to carry me forward with greater ease. The heavy lifting has been done for the most part and now it’s about maintenance and a slow, steady progression.

The novelty of all of it hasn’t worn off, so it’s sometimes very unexpected and surprising to recognize it all for what it is. I’m looking forward to the day when these writings become less inward and more outwardly observational. I could really use a break.

But as I say with all of these, onward I go. That’s my promise to myself. It’s the cliche, “I didn’t come this far just to make it this far” kind of sentiment. And I hold strong to that. I’ve already endured a litany of things that would historically have “taken me out.” And I’m fine. Uncomfortable at times, but capable beyond a reasonable doubt.

So through this wild ass journey through space and time, I’m gonna keep jogging/swimming/crawling/walking/whatever - just moving. Sometimes I’ll sprint, sometimes I’ll walk, sometimes I’ll lay down until someone brings me Gatorade. But it will all end at the same finish line. To victory we march…

Love and hope will never leave me… and in their strength, paired with my trust in all that will be, I am ready to continue.

#recovery #Youtube

[ahlulbaytnetworks]

(Truth or Fake News)

"And do not mix up the truth with the falsehood, nor hide the truth while you know (it)." S2 v42

The media have lots to say but who knows what is true and what is fake news....who has an agenda for any publication and what do they want us to think...

Truth can either be uncomfortable or refreshingly inspiring.

It is uncomfortable only when one is adverse to it and only comforting when one chooses not to ignore it. For those who embrace truth, truth becomes a source of inspiration.

Ponder on these 7 quotes on truth:

- "Truth never damages a cause that is just". Ghandi

- Lies run sprints, but the truth runs marathons

- Thirst was made for water; inquiry for truth

- Stop hanging out with people that tell you what you want to hear. Hang out with people who tell you the truth

- "Acquire wisdom and truth from whomever you can because even an apostate can have them but unless they are passed over to a faithful Muslim and become part of wisdom and truth that he possesses, they have a confused existence in the minds of apostates" Imam Ali a.s

-Truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.

-Truth is the property of no individual but is the treasure of all men.

Ponder on it

Salawat x3

[emymac05]

Lies run sprints, but the truth runs marathons. Michael Jackson

#Spotify

[fastestweightlossdiet]

Fastest Weight Loss Diet

Introduction :

The quest for rapid weight loss has captivated countless individuals seeking to shed excess pounds quickly. Many are enticed by the promise of a fastest weight loss diet that can deliver results in record time. But is such a diet a myth or a reality? In this article, we delve into the concept of rapid weight loss, exploring its pros and cons, and examining the most effective strategies to achieve sustainable and healthy weight loss. Let's unravel the truth behind the fastest weight loss diet and discover the keys to long-term success.

Understanding Rapid Weight Loss :

Rapid weight loss refers to the process of shedding a significant amount of weight in a short period. While it may seem appealing, it's essential to understand the potential risks involved. Most fastest weight loss diets rely on extreme calorie restriction, which often leads to muscle loss, nutrient deficiencies, metabolic slowdown, and potential health complications. Moreover, the weight lost during such rapid diets is often a combination of water weight,muscle mass, and minimal fat loss. Therefore, sustaining these results in the long run becomes challenging.

The Keys to Sustainable Weight Loss :

Instead of seeking the fastest weight loss diet, it's crucial to focus on sustainable and healthy approaches. The keys to successful weight loss lie in adopting a balanced diet, incorporating regular physical activity, practicing mindful eating, and making lifestyle modifications.

Balanced Diet: A balanced diet rich in whole foods, including lean proteins, fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and healthy fats, provides the necessary nutrients for sustainable weight loss. Avoid fad diets that eliminate entire food groups or severely restrict calories.

Regular Physical Activity: Engaging in regular exercise helps burn calories, build muscle mass, and boost metabolism. Aim for a combination of cardiovascular exercises, strength training, and flexibility exercises to achieve a well-rounded fitness routine.

Mindful Eating: Mindful eating involves paying attention to hunger and fullness cues, eating slowly, and savoring each bite. It helps develop a healthy relationship with food, prevent overeating, and promote weight loss.

Lifestyle Modifications: Incorporate lifestyle changes such as getting adequate sleep, managing stress, and reducing sedentary behavior. Sufficient sleep supports weight loss by regulating hormones, while stress management prevents emotional eating. Reducing sedentary behavior promotes calorie expenditure and overall well-being.

The Role of Calorie Deficit : One of the fundamental principles of weight loss is creating a calorie deficit, which means consuming fewer calories than you burn. While a moderate calorie deficit is necessary for weight loss, extreme calorie restriction can be counterproductive. Very low-calorie diets can slow down metabolism, leading to weight plateau and muscle loss. It's important to consult with a healthcare professional or a registered dietitian to determine the appropriate calorie deficit for your individual needs.

Conclusion :

The idea of a fastest weight loss diet may captivate our desire for instant results, but it often leads to disappointment and potential health risks. Sustainable weight loss requires a holistic approach that encompasses a balanced diet, regular exercise, mindful eating, and lifestyle modifications. By adopting these strategies, individuals can achieve long-term success and maintain a healthy weight.

Remember, the journey towards weight loss is not a sprint but a marathon. Focus on progress, not perfection, and celebrate small victories along the way. Seek support from healthcare professionals or registered dietitians who can guide you through personalized weight loss plans. Embrace healthy habits that you can sustain for life, and remember that the true measure of success lies not in how quickly you lose weight but in how well you maintain it and improve your overall well-being.

So, are you ready to embark on this transformative journey? Start today and make a lasting change that will benefit your health and well-being for years to come. Your future self will thank you!

#HealthyWeightLoss #SustainableWeightLoss #BalancedDiet #FitnessGoals #healthyeating #cleaneating #WeightLossMotivation #HealthyHabits #HealthAndFitness

[danger-in-moscow]

My dearest Michael,

It’s so hard every year to come up with words that capture the ethereal being that you truly were. I hope that on this day people will take the time to appreciate you for all that you have done and the light that you brought to this world. With your smile, with your art and with your legacy. We unabashedly celebrate you and share all that you stood for. You never let them break you and for that I couldn’t be more proud to be an MJ fan.

Happy Birthday, Mike ❤️

August 29th, 1958

#michael jackson #michael #jackson #king of pop #lies run sprints but the truth runs marathons #mj #mjjinnocent #honormj #mjinnocent #virgoseason #we love you more mike

[nikalovesmj]

Me: Everyone is entitled to their opinion and deserves to be respected for it.

Person: I hate Michael Jackson

Me:

#Michael jackson #MJ #Leaving Neverland #Fact don't lie #People do #Lies run sprints but the truth runs marathons #Truth tea #King of Pop #Michael jackson memes #Memes #Meme #Will Smith #Tea

[sapphicvampyy]

Some hot takes people won’t post :

Newest Michael Jackson maid interview she doesn’t make eye contact

Do people get paid for those interviews

Apparently wade sold the Michael Jackson memborila because he needed the money and it’s fake stuff on the doc.

Like the whole thing has never been good like if Britney Spears came out and was like yeah wade told me Michael touched him or someone with some credibility who hasn’t been so debunked like James literally ripping his story from a book?? And wade getting denied to the cirque show not to mention the fbi investigated him for like 10 years they were going to get him! The Gavin aversio case that family tried to say the mom was raped at jc penny she wasn’t it was debunked then Michael Jackson touch’s there son sketch!!!! Jordan chandler dad gave him drugs made him lie!! There’s literally an audio recording when Michael settled out of court his lawyers told him to do that he wanted to fight it! There’s just going to be so much bullshit and salicous ass headlines and for someone who actually did the research and looked into all of it I believe Michael like he literally thought of himself as a child he had a 2 story bedroom! There would be more accusers, other child friends like Brett Barnes have called them liars ( he’s not a star) Jordan chandler left the country?? And his dad killed himself??? Like there’s so muchhhh yeah they did a 4 hour documentary so what they’re actors they could have treated this for a role we just saw how Jussie smollet legit lied on good morning America, the maid in this interview isn’t making eye contact she’s one of the 4 disgruntled maid!!!! Give me someone credible who hasn’t been debunked already. Also I grew up believing this shit too just a little research and there’s so many holes I think it’s going to be a shame that Michael gets canceled because people are lying on him, “Michael taught me to hate women says Wade Robson, but you know what for a fact he dated Michaels niece Brandi Jackson for 7 years!!! And then cheated on her to be with Britney Spears she has a Twitter thread about him, taj Jackson has so many facts on his twitter page. Literally some of these accusations can be traced word for word from a book an actual pedophile wrote that is a work of fiction and James ripped his story from that why didn’t they interview more people with different opinions for this documentary, why did they only interview these families. To construct a certain narrative with no new proof or facts! Oh wow Michael saying I love you on camera like he’s done that 100 times already! Corey Feldman a man who is determined to stop pedophiles in Hollywood has said Michael never touched him and when we went to try to expose the people who had they were all just interested in Michael, they had a vendetta against him he’s such an easy target with his body dysmorphia and how he wishes he was a kid, so easy. Until there’s some actual proof I’m sorry I don’t believe it. Especially when there’s so many holes I believe victims I support victims. But this man was innocent imo. Do the research form your own opinion instead of just watching a 4 hour documentary with no facts, or proof. And reading clickbaity ass articles. Why don’t we work on things like stopping trump from going after abortion a big fucking issue then giving these two men any more attention they’re going to get a lot of money out of this , since this what they wanted. Also if somehow it comes out they’re innocent I’ll eat my words but it’s very very unlikely. Just go look at the opposing side also remember Michael was the first black man to break down a lot of barriers it would be so convenient to desotry him and take him down wouldn’t it. I wish hbo would focus on there good programs like his dark materials and game of thrones and Barry and all of the other great programs they have coming out instead of giving time to this salicous ass “documentary “

#leaving neverland #MJ is innocent #lies run sprints but the truth runs marathons

[yourfriendlypyrovampire]

#michael jackson #justice4mj #brandi Jackson #jackie jackson #lies runs sprints truth runs marathons #shit he cheated on her with britney spears

[bwii]

Can we just stop and appreciate him and those lyrics? It's so pretty ❤

#michael jackson #applehead #michael #jackson #king of pop #mj #facts don't lie #people do #lies run sprints #but the truth runs marathons #oh michael #i am a soldier of love #michael is innocent #michael jackson is innocent #soldiers of love

[hotcocoabuns]

For the person, the father, the husband, the son, the brother, the uncle, the genius, the legend and so many things more he was.

Michael truly was and will continue to be larger than life itself, a force of nature and a once-in-a-lifetime artist. Thank you for all the positivity you brought into this wickedly wonderful world and I hope you may rest in peace now. You deserve it.

Please be respectful of the fans and the Jackson family’s grief, send them your best wishes and let them be.

Please consider donating to Taj Jackson’s untitled documentary about his uncle, Michael Jackson!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/untitled-michael-jackson-documentary-series

#michael jackson #10yearswithoutmichaeljackson #michael joseph jackson #michael joe jackson #HIStory era #bad era #off the wall era #thriller era #this is it #this is it era #blood on the dancefloor #blood on the dancefloor era #facts don’t lie people do #lies run sprints truth runs marathons #80s music #90s music #the king of pop #king of pop #pop #pop music #2000s music #70s music

[letsperaltiago]

we’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning I CHAPTER 8|

Even in the middle of New York's freezing month of February, a scandalous familiar fire is ignited within Jake and Amy when they run into each other after years apart. Luckily there's nothing wrong with being caught up in a fire that has to die out soon, right?

Read the new chapter here or on AO3

CHAPTER MASTERLIST HERE

In great contrast to the colorful spring’s transition into a warm and lively Brooklyn summer, Jake experienced his days slipping by in an awfully blue and dispirited slow motion. And, much to his regret, the young man knew exactly why this veil of dreariness was waving over him. He knew exactly why: from one second to the other, Amy Santiago had slammed the door on him. Literally and metaphorically. The fault? Completely and utterly his own. Never before had he suffered like this, best described as feeling as if his emotions had been amputated, and he was the sole sinner. 

Even two months, almost three, after the fateful morning where he’d last seen her, he hadn’t been able to get a hold of her. Respecting her boundaries but also wanting to be with her more than anything else, was the hardest balancing act he’d ever experienced. What was the point of kicking down doors if it were to make things worse? He hadn’t dared to go back to her place. If his affair with Amy had taught him anything,  it was that one should never play with fire - no matter how thrilling it might seem. Also, it’d be a tad too ironic if he, a NYPD cop, were to get arrested for stalking or trespassing. Stupidly enough, if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again: he would run into her on the street, joked with her, though she looked just as beautiful as she did years back when they were working together at the 99. More importantly, he would do better: no cheating, no lying, no… overlapping of women. They were both of far more worth than that. 

Alas, turning back time was a power beyond anyone but superheroes control, and he couldn’t change his faulty ways. In like manner, he couldn’t force Amy to talk to him. 

Although this was true, Jake Peralta was, well, Jake Peralta and so he hadn’t exactly given up on Amy. Whether this unbeatable persistence was driven by his hyperactive nature or his burning infatuation with Amy Santiago was hard to tell. However, above all, one thing was sure: he couldn’t leave things with his old partner behind like this. On this wise, in an attempt to be equally respectful and desperate, Jake honored his friend’s (for multiple reasons, it felt off to call her that) love for punctuality: every Wednesday and Sunday at 4 PM sharp, he sent her a text. The same one - every single time: 

 I’m so sorry. Please call me when you’re ready. 

-Peralta 

 And Amy sure was taking her sweet time replying. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that she hadn’t replied at all. Jake, on his sinful part, could never assign her culpability of anything at all. Even if she never called him ever again (which he of course didn’t hope would be the case), he could never blame her. However, these almost three months were torture, and one night, over lukewarm beers with Charles and Terry, the young detective had to come to terms with some hard truths presented to him by his very best friends. 

“Jake, I’m not going to lie to you because lies run sprints, but the truth runs marathons.”

Jake, perhaps already slightly tipsy on the muggy summer weather and mediocre beer, frowned at his muscular friend’s statement. 

“What is with you and sporty metaphors? Can’t you just tell me I suck like a normal person?” 

Daggers for eyes and slight puffing of his chest quickly shut Jake right back up. Terry, always the very emotional and momma hen-kind of friend, suddenly looked very sincere. Perhaps a protective side of him was stepping up. Not for Jake. Oh no no no, on the contrary: he was stepping up against Jake for Amy. 

“Sorry, Sarge.” 

“Hm, that’s better,” the big man nodded, taking a sip of his beer as if to warm up his throat for whatever he was about to tell Jake. On the sideline, imbibing this month’s special brew, Charles, patient as ever, waited to hear Terry’s take on the entire situation. When he found out about Jake and Amy, he’d been mostly over the moon. But even a Boyle can get mad at his best friend, disappointed in his friend’s lack of respect for monogamy and for the women he’d dragged into this mess.  

“Jake…” a pregnant pause left the two detectives across from him waiting in both fear and anticipation. “... you’re a dick.” 

Whatever it was Jake had expected, it definitely wasn’t this, hence his choking on the beer he’d just barely managed to swallow before Terry dropped the d-bomb. 

“Yeah, you heard me. Using no-no words and all. You’re my friend and I love and care for you, but what you did to both Sophia and Amy qualifies you as a huge dick. Now stop choking so I can talk some sense into you.”

Terry carefully patted the smaller man on his back, genuinely worried he would choke to death before getting the stern talking to he’d been mentally practicing for in the shower for weeks now. Momma-hen Terry loved Amy like all of his other little detective-chicks, even if she wasn’t with the 99 anymore. Even with a gun to his head, Boyle couldn’t keep a secret, so when the wedding was suddenly called off, the little man let it slip that Jake and Amy had run into each other a few weeks ago. Terry wasn’t a sergeant without reason and quickly put two and two together: something had gone down, and he hoped to God the nice, brilliant but also very easily anxious Amy Santiago he knew wasn’t involved. Alas, she was, and he wasn’t just going to stand by and watch - no matter how much he cared for Jake.  

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you everything is going to be alright and that’s how you’ll get the girl because this is not a Taylor Swift song, Jake. This is the real world and you did something bad. Really bad. Sending her the same text over and over again is not going to solve it.”

Having come down from his beer-infused choking, Jake’s shoulders slumped in disappointed realization being, in the very end, he knows that Terry is more than right. In his mind, the repetitive texts were supposed to show Amy his commitment to her but perhaps he’s been acting like a kid, stuck on a repeat of trivial nothingness that won’t actually get him anywhere in a real world with real people with real feelings. 

“Then…” He could sense the disappointing reality presented to him by Terry flooding his already quivering heart. “Then what?”

Small gleams of light and compassion in Terry’s deep, brown eyes reflected the love he felt for his dumb, compulsive surrogate-son, and, suddenly, his shoulders too slumped in a motion of hopelessness. “I can’t tell you what Santiago wants or needs, but enough with the spamming, man. It’s not cute and three months of radio silence should’ve told you that it wasn’t the way to go about things.” 

Silence dawned upon the little group. 

“I don’t know, man… Maybe offer her an ultimatum of sorts.”

Jake frowned. “An ultimatum? Like, either we talk and solve things or…” the opposing option dawned upon him, punching him in the gut and sucking the air out of his lungs. Just thinking it, not even saying it out loud, was enough to shut him up. 

“... Or no more contact. You let her walk away -  for good.” Terry said the words, finishing the sentence, Jake himself couldn’t speak, and as they fell from his friend’s lips, Jake felt a wave of nausea and dizziness come over him, ultimately throwing his heart off beat. A mutual sadness, a fear of this dreadful possibility, was shared between the sergeant and the detective. “And more importantly: you let her.” 

“Let her walk away?”

“Yes, Jake. This is not a child’s game. You hurt her and she, as much as Sophia, has the right to be disappointed and cut you out of her life. You understand that, right?” 

All signs of anger and reprimanding had left Terry’s body language, instead replaced with a compassionate look, hands folded in a calm rest on top of the wooden table. He could be mad at Jake and still show understanding of the hard consequences of his idiotic deeds.

“I-”

Jake’s chest felt on fire, and, in an attempt to put out the spewing flames, he let out a deep exhale. In vain, it turns out. The flames kept eating up his heart, leaving him feeling suffocated by his own feelings. Imagining Amy Santiago never speaking to him ever again felt like a near-death experience stuck on repeat. 

“I understand.” 

He did and he hated it.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Charles chimed in, looking just as sad, if not even more, than Jake. 

“N-no, don’t be sorry for me. I brought this upon myself.” Jake offered his best friend a sad smile before taking another sip of his now actually warm beer. The sadness encapsulated in his body told him he deserved it. He was the human equivalent of a warm beer on a disgustingly hot summer day in hell.

Charles returned the sad smile. “So, what are you going to do?” 

In an ideal world, Jake was the perfect guy and had the perfect answer, but alas this was a messy, confusing world and all he could offer his friends was a sheepish smile and, “Ehm… I don’t know at this point. Toss myself out the nearest window, perhaps.”  

Terry was quick to counter his friend’s deflective form of coping, stopping him with a cocked eyebrow and once again dry, warning voice. “Jake…” 

“I know… Sorry. I think- uhm, I think I’m going to text her but, like, better, as you said, Terry,” he met his friend’s inspecting gaze. “I’ll give her control over the situation. An option to either opt-in or opt-out, yanno?”

“Sounds good, man.” The three friends nodded in agreement even though they were very aware of the overall lack of goodness in this entire situation. 

“Yeah, it’s … great.”

Thereupon, the young man quaffed and tortured himself with the last few gulps of the warm beer. He did very much deserve it, after all. 

 That very same night, Jake found himself on the Boyle-Mirren-Carter family’s couch which he’d been sleeping on ever since the non-existing wedding and Sophia (rightfully so) told him to “pack his things and get the hell out of the apartment”. Mocking him, the clock on his phone displayed 1:54 AM. Charles, Genevieve and Niko had been asleep for hours, leaving the apartment silent enough to hear a pin drop and Jake’s phpne the only source of light in the dark living room. Lying under his duvet, resting against a pillow and one of the armrests, he stared numbly at Amy’s contact in his phone. It had one of his all-time favorite pictures of her and while he hadn’t been counting, he was pretty sure he’d been staring at it for 20 minutes by then. Why? 50% fear of tapping ‘send message’ and 50% admiration of the picture: her sitting in Shaws bar, sending him that famous ‘dude, you’re being annoying but whatever you’re my friend’-look and smile only he could bring out. Man, he’d really screwed up, huh? He finally had the woman in the picture right where he’d pined for her to be, and then he totally blew it by not only hurting her but also hurting Sophia. Two really incredible women who deserve a hell of a lot better. 

But maybe, just maybe, he could get another chance with Amy. He had to write her again, something more, and pray to some higher force that she’d at least offer her a minute of her time. So he did it. Holding his breath, he clicked the ‘send message’ and was presented with their past messages. More precisely, it was just his old messages. 15 blue messages saying  

 I’m so sorry. Please call me when you’re ready. 

-Peralta 

 “Pathetic…” He mumbled to himself as he felt his thumb shaking when redirected to the keyboard. At first, he didn’t type anything at all - simply stared at the letters, hoping they’d somehow get together by themselves to form the right words to send to her. Then suddenly, he typed like a maniac - only to end up deleting it all with a groan of frustration, throwing the device across the couch. There were people who were going to space, working on cures for cancer, going to war, and even people working multiple jobs - yet he couldn’t form a simple text. This cycle of writer’s block, writing, deleting, throwing, and then picking up repeated itself for quite some time. 

The smallest, burning orange glimpse of the sun peeped through the clouds by the time he read through his final product, took a deep breath, even said a little prayer, and hit ‘send’. His eyes were burning from the lack of sleep combined with the light of the screen, yet he couldn’t just go sleep. On the contrary, all he could do was lie on his back and stare at the ceiling as he thought through the message he knew by heart at this point.

 Amy, I can’t seem to find the right words,

so I hoping that these will do. Once again, 

I’m sorry for what I did to you and I know 

you deserve better. This is also why I don’t

wish to keep reaching out like I have if it

causes you more pain than good. 

Meet me on the roof of 397 Barton Street on 

Sunday at 4 PM if you’re willing to give me a 

few minutes of your time and hear me out.

If you don’t show up, then I will completely 

understand and I will stop bothering you.

Like, for good. I know that I hurt you.

I miss you. 

- The hugest dick in the world (not in the cool sense), Peralta

 This was either a new beginning or a tragic ending. 

#we'll sweep out the ashes in the morning #i'm baaaack with this one #peraltiago #peraltiago au #jake and amy #jake x amy #peraltiago fic #jake peralta #amy santiago #b99 #brooklyn nine-nine #brooklyn #brooklyn nine nine #fanfic #fic #fanfiction

[cch-drawing-mjj]

“Lies run sprints. The truth runs marathons.” —Michael Jackson

Charcoal on 4K paper, 07/06/2020

IG: @cch_drawing_mjj

#michael jackson #michael jackson art #mj fanart #mjj #charcoal #drawing

[danger-in-moscow]

June 25th…. 🌹

I know I always share this ( hilarious ) clip, but it just makes me think of how largely Michael had already impacted this world at such a young age. The beautiful ability he had to deeply touch people of all ages and races from the time he was put on this earth and even after he has left it is immeasurable. He will never be duplicated. It is important that we as a community never let his existence be brushed off as just another musician, because he truly is so much more than that. He and others like him who have achieved such a greatness in their lifetime deserve to be celebrated.

Dear Michael, we love you and we miss you. Your impact will never be forgotten or minimized as long as there are people like me around. - J.

Rest Well Legend ✨👑✨

#TheKingofPopRock&Soul

#michael jackson #greatestofalltime #michael #jackson #gonebutneverforgotten #blackexcellence #all for love #l.o.v.e. #rip #june 25 #moonwalker #lies run sprints but the truth runs marathons #the goat #mjinnocent #mjjforever #mj #mjjinnocent #mjfam #king of pop #betterthanthebeatles #put some respect on his name #honormj #his impact #legends only #legendarypeople #dontplaywithhim #heisnotoneofthem #the one and only #point blank period #the blueprint

[mattzerella-sticks]

Lonely Together (3k, Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne, M)

ao3 link

Barry needs others, yet whether by his enemies or his own actions, he ends up alone. After Iris leaves him, Barry feels as if he drifts through life. Like lightning humming in the air without a rod to ground him.

Until he struck another lonely soul and entered a relationship he never thought possible. Now, months since he and Bruce began sleeping with each other, Barry feels settles. At peace in a way he hasn't felt in a long while. Since he and Iris started petering out.

But it's not love... is it?

           Barry wakes unintentionally, consciousness stirring without say. Currents of electricity that relentlessly hum under his skin strengthen in another’s presence. Especially when it’s familiar. They spark like lightning, striking until he surfaces from sleep’s drowning tides. His eyelids flutter open, though his head remains pillowed by soft down. He watches, shadowed in darkness, as Bruce sneaks around the room. “Hey,” he drawls, voice scratchy from sleep. Grin unfurling lazily while Bruce’s form tensed, “you just swing in?”

           Bruce sets something down on a neighboring dresser, turning. He can’t see fine details, like his self-disparaging frown or furrowed brows interrupted by a wrinkled comma, but Barry imagines them easily. Knows these features intimately. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

           An unnecessary apology. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” Barry replies, then drags his hand across the comforter. Thumb brushing against a loose seam. “So, I guess we’re even.”

           “You didn’t mean to?” Bruce asks, advancing. He sits on the opposite side of his bed, finding Barry’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “What were you doing then?”

           “Waiting for you.”

           He arrived earlier, vibrating past security and locked doors. Shouted into an empty apartment where his voice echoed, unanswered. Half-a-second spent checking each room, Barry knew Bruce wasn’t there. Slowly, Barry retraced his steps. Stood near the front door, wondering. Debated if he should leave for Central City or stay in Gotham. Both options similar in that no matter what he decided, he’d be alone.

           They were different types of loneliness, however. He left Central tonight because what he faced was too suffocating. Barry ran and ran, only it waited there behind every corner. Inescapable on well-tread streets he loved. Growing from cracks on sidewalks like weeds, strong despite how many times crushed. Returning even if ripped out of the soil. And while these desolate sprigs littered his city, it didn’t compare to the jungle in his home. Wild, vast, with hanging vines that slithered across his shoulders. Tickled his neck during particularly quiet moments that made Barry acknowledge how empty it seemed after Iris.

           At least, in Bruce’s apartment, it was different. Like being alone in an elevator that crawled upwards.

           Less insistent. More manageable. Its presence didn’t insist recognition, merely a temporary visitor. Disappearing soon as Bruce arrived back. Barry walked towards Bruce’s bedroom, resolute, shedding his clothes along the way. He grabbed a book he hadn’t finished reading since last he was there. Settled down and opened to a bent age corner.

           He can’t feel the book. Bruce must have removed it. Maybe it’s what woke him.

           Leaning forward, Bruce presses a tiny kiss at the seam of Barry’s lips. Pulls him free of his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he tells him, “I was out later than I expected, than I wanted to be…”

           “It’s okay,” Barry whispers. His other hand slides into his friend’s hair, playing with it. Brunet curls soft and damp from sweat. “I’m okay.”

           He nods, yet Bruce still looks troubled. Dark gaze piercing, staring deeply into Barry’s own. Drifting closer, their noses brush. Bruce speaks again, breath ghosting over his mouth. Warm and intoxicating. “If you’re able and… in the mood…” he offers, “We can…?” Bruce trails off, not bothering with saying the rest. Barry understands regardless. Because of how he hovers, braced atop him, Barry caged in on either side by Bruce’s arms. Because Bruce asks his own way, through gentle squeezes of their joined hands that he repeats in rapid succession. Because they’ve done this before and grew far beyond the rushed unsurety from their first time.

           Barry kissed him, accidentally. Compelled more by a longing for touch than of Bruce. For a distracting, newer sensation besides the soul-crushing hollowness that roared inside his chest since Iris ended things. Needed some reminder he was alive after another harrowing mission that almost cost the League their lives, again. Again.

           Like a rowdy storm, Barry thundered with unexpressed adrenaline that demanded release. A lightning rod he could cling to, grounded and tethered in the present.

           Bruce was there. Offering Barry coffee from their conference room’s private pot, a gesture of solidarity at being forgotten while everyone else fled for home. He accepted the gifted novelty Superman mug, sipping absentmindedly. “It’s decaf, drowning in cream, smothered in sugar…” Bruce said, “that’s your usual, right?”

           It was. Bruised, bloodied, and exhausted from battling ancient, cosmic entities hellbent on planetary destruction, and Bruce remembered how he liked his coffee.

           The mug shattered as he dropped it, but Barry did not hear more than a tinny pop. His drink splashed their feet, leaving brown, splotchy stains he noticed hours later. Barry jumped Bruce, hauling him close by his cape. Kissed Bruce as his mind played static. In rapid succession, that static disappeared. Rationality descending with vengeance, circling, bombarding Barry with explosive truths.

           He kissed Batman. That’s his friend. He kissed Batman. He’s a man. He kissed Batman. Inside the Hall of Justice, where anyone could find them. He kissed Batman. He kissed Batman. He kissed Bruce.

           Drifting apart, he ignored tingling skin to pry a coherent thought out from the overgrown bramble that was his mind. “Bruce,” Barry choked, grip on Bruce’s cape loose and dangling. Gaze dropping, he focused on his chest. Bat fluttering with every exhale. “I… I don’t, I’m so – “

           Bruce wouldn’t let him explain, roughly capturing Barry’s lips in response. Frenzied, trapping Barry between his body and the table. With a passionate reception like that, Barry felt his worry melt. Became a gentle tide coaxing him deeper. Willingly swept farther than his cares might reach. Bruce’s deft fingers trailing, tickling, at his sides made thinking about the empty bed in his apartment very difficult. When he pulled his cowl back, pinning Barry with an indescribable hunger burning behind his eyes, any disappointment over an understocked fridge waiting at home disappeared. And as Bruce slid one glove off using his teeth, second hand preoccupied teasing Barry’s waistband, Barry’s sole concern was unhitching his friend’s belt.

           “Yeah, like that,” Bruce sighed, “let me make this good for you…” He touched Barry’s already half-hard cock, cupping it. Rhythmically sliding his hand while their hips ground together. Barry softly cursed, pressure mounting. Bruce’s dick throbbed against his and tempted him further, headed for the edge. Plummeting when he twisted his wrist, Bruce sucking an aggressive mark below Barry’s chin that joined a loose collection of already fading bruises.

           Barry came, panting, chasing those last few seconds of bliss until his muscles sagged from fatigue. Kept upright by his friend’s strong hold. Bruce joined him with a strangled curse, head resting on Barry’s shoulder. Panting, they lingered in each other’s embrace. Aware that this meager amount of pleasure had redefined their relationship.

           Hours later, Barry lay awake in bed. Mind restaging their sordid affair, body igniting at the memory of where Bruce grazed him. He fondled pale skin, unblemished now that his accelerated healing factor kicked on. Barry wished it hadn’t. Admitting that, then, even as a whisper from his subconscious, terrified him. Grabbing the pillow on Iris’s untouched side, he held it across his face. Screamed his frustration, and again when he realized her scent finally faded from the fabric.

           Those next few weeks were awkward. During meetings, sitting feet from where he orgasmed and pretending it never happened while evading Bruce’s searching gaze. Boundless excuses, lies, of where he needed to be. Fleeing before Bruce could reach him. Volunteering for any mission, throwing himself into heroics where bad guys needed defeating, lives were saved, and he could act like nothing about his world changed.

           Anything that kept him from asking questions he could not answer truthfully.

           Despite his best efforts – his superhuman speed – Bruce pulled ahead. Running a marathon instead of the sprint Barry hoped it was.

           “We need to talk,” he said, “about… coffee, the other night.” Bruce’s grip tightened on the Javelin’s yoke, glare firm and unwavering out at space. Barry, meanwhile, shrunk in his seat. Conversation he dreaded crashing into him like a meteor.

           Oliver radioed Barry for a mission, about a distress signal League channels recorded. From what they deciphered, the code was obsolete and most likely false. However, sparing resources, he figured a small team could check. Confirm their prior suspicions. Barry agreed, racing over. Only he hadn’t realized his teammate for this mission would be the same man he was avoiding.

           Following debriefing and takeoff, they traveled in uncomfortable silence broken with Bruce’s demand.

           Barry reigned back telltale vibrations, hiding his nerves. “Okay,” he said, “Yeah…” He squeezed his fists and chuckled, “You know how I take my coffee?”

           Bruce allowed him this short reprieve. “It always struck me odd, and… hypocritical, how you liked it. Why choose decaf if you’re adding that much sugar?”

           “It offsets the bitter taste, is all.”

           “Barry…” He wrangled their conversation onto its path once more, tone absent of any levity. “What we did, I…” Bruce paused, testing what he wants to say. Lines around his mouth shifting as he cycles through his thoughts. “I’m not sure how we should proceed.”

           “Neither do I,” Barry shrugged, “Not talking about it was working well for me.”

           “You’ve been acting noticeably strange during missions. I’ve been… unsettled, too. At times.” Barry’s chest twinged, an annoyance he dealt with by crossing his arms and scowling. “If this continues, affecting future missions –“

           “Because it’s always about this mission, isn’t it?”

           Bruce sighed, then Barry felt a gentle brush against his elbow. Leaving the Javelin on autopilot, he let his hands wander. They settled on Barry. One at his elbow, another squeezing Barry’s knee. “Do you…” Bruce strained, forcing his next question past with serious effort. It piqued his interest, wondering what he might say. Obviously difficult, Barry sloped forward as the silence grew. “Do you,” he finally continued, “regret… what happened?”

           He should. They were teammates. Friends who stupidly jerked each other off. Bruce… was the first man he ever let touch him that intimately. Combined, these arguments battered down like a hurricane, reasons how everything about what he and Bruce did – what Barry initiated – was an enormous misunderstanding. A mistake that never should have been. And yet he could not cobble together some form of regret.

           Worse, Barry still yearned for more.

           Barry did not believe he deserved more. The ink from where Iris’s name was tattooed on his heart hadn’t fully disappeared; a relic of what he lost, stinging with each beat. Those scant moments, lost in the throes of passion alongside Bruce, were some of the best he had in months. He made Barry forget his failed relationship like a strong drink or the best drug. How was it possible?

           Determined, Barry turned his neck slightly. Readied a false speech, about being tired and shaken. That their tryst meant nothing and should be forgotten.

           Except he caught Bruce’s stare. His naked gaze, cowl discarded when he wasn’t looking. Layers peeled backwards, exposing a vulnerable side of his friend Barry rarely saw. Shoulders hunched, weighed heavily by an answer Barry hadn’t given. Wisps of disappointment hung in the air like smoke from an ashen cigarette. He cleared his throat, going over what he wanted to say.

           Then tossed the script.

           “I… No,” he confessed, surprising both of them. Bruce’s jaw shifted and a small gasp escaped. “I don’t.” It was his turn. “Do you?”

           His hand slid across his forearm, covering Barry’s hand. “No.”

           “…What do we do now?”

           Humming, thumb petting his upper shin, Bruce offered a suggestion. “It’s been… hard for both of us, hasn’t it? The lives we lead… there’s little chance for that kind of peace. Boats with no safe harbors to rest at, not anymore.” Not since Iris, in a cold whisper, explained how claustrophobic and helpless Barry left her feeling most days. Not since Selina and Bruce came upon a crossroads and chose different paths. “I think that if we want to… engage in activities like – uh, like coffee, then why shouldn’t we? As long as we’re mature about it, and what we do won’t interfere with our duties…”

           Barry weakly snorted, Bruce’s clinical description goading him into it. He laid the idea out logically and he found no flaw in his reasoning. A small crack of doubt shoved its way in, that he misheard. Bruce suggesting, put crudely, a ‘friends-with-benefits’ arrangement? But then Barry remembered how eagerly Bruce flew, chasing his lips. That it was his hand edging him into completion. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like the wishful thinking he assumed.

           Especially as Bruce’s hand crept towards his waistband. “What are you -?”

           “Incentive,” Bruce smirked, “Showing you how good this will be. That I can make it.” ‘Let me make this good’ was what he said, while jerking him inside the Hall. “Is that okay?”

           Chuckling, Barry brushed his wavy bangs back. “I thought you didn’t want this to get in the way of our jobs?”

           “Autopilot is an amazing invention. Doing our job at double the speed, leaving more time for… coffee.”

           Barry kissed him, punishing him for such a lame joke by nipping his bottom lip. Soothed it with his tongue while he helped Bruce, shimmying his hips. Pants bunched near his knees, Barry’s cock bobbed between his legs.

           Bruce climbed out of the pilot’s seat, kneeling at his feet. “So,” he growled, breath hot as it hit his twitching cock, “that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”

           “This is dumb. Dangerous. And it’s going to end poorly for the both of us,” Barry muttered, grip twisting in Bruce’s hair after he licked a strip up his cock, “Of course we’re doing it.”

           He was mostly right. During a particularly harried affair, Barry caught sight of his costumed reflection in one of the League’s interrogation rooms’ one-sided mirrors. Watched as he thrust his cock, Bruce’s ass accepting its length. His face, masked, contorted pleasurably. Barry stuttered, taking in the full picture. Flash fucking Batman, like they were a bad porno. If only the camera wasn’t disabled… Scoffing, he relaxed his grip on his friend’s hips. Instead reaching for Bruce’s cowl, ripping it off. His, too, in the next beat. “What?” Bruce asked.

           “This is so stupid,” he huffed, hips rolling slower than before, “What are we even doing?”

           “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

           Barry sighed, “No, like… objectively. Aren’t we too old to be doing this, or… I don’t know, better than it? I doubt this is what most people imagine heroes do in their spare time.”

           “We’re only human, Barry,” Bruce said, grunting as he slammed into his prostate, “We can… can afford a few minutes off the pedestal.”

           “I guess…”

           “Hey,” Bruce twisted, catching his eye in the mirror, “are you having second thoughts?”

           “No.”

           “This is good?”

           He languidly traced Bruce’s spine, cautious of every bump. “The best.” Then, pressing hard at the dip of his ass, he added, “Even if Oliver expected us at training five minutes ago.” Barry orgasmed, Bruce’s laughter booming and stretched hole choking his cock.

           Dumb. Dangerous. Although their situation actually improved since they began, and Barry cannot picture this ever ending.

           Bruce noses at his chin, stubble scratching his neck. “Hey,” he asks, “is this good?”

           “It is,” he responds instinctively, “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

           “Was it?” Bruce lavishes a spot under his ear, one that electrifies his entire body, “Then I guess I’m not really being good, am I?” He sits on Barry’s cock, sliding his ass along its length. “Are you still with me?”

           “I never left.” Barry kisses him, smiling wide enough he ruins their embrace. His hands roam, active participants now. Crossing the planes of Bruce’s body for purchase. However, in his search, he brushes against cuts and wounds different from those he knows. Passing a deep valley at his ribs, Barry’s thumb dips into a small lake. Bruce’s breath hitches, coughing a low whine. Barry ends their kiss to study his wet thumb. Copper invades his senses, and his eyes adjust enough he sees red. “You’re hurt.”

           “Not badly,” Bruce amends. He rests his forehead against Barry’s. “It’s nothing, I… I took a hit, earlier. Harley didn’t see the blade and – it doesn’t matter –“

           “It matters Bruce,” Barry tells him, “Of course it does.” He taps on Bruce’s shoulder, signaling for a dismount. Bruce listens, wincing as he settles onto his side. “This shouldn’t be good for just me. You deserve it, too.” As he speaks, Bruce’s head lists, lashes fluttering. Barry notes the bags pillowing his eyes were puffier and more purple than ever. “Are you up for this?”

           Bruce sighs, “You came all this way –“

           “Yes, I did. But I didn’t ask about me, Bruce.” He caresses Bruce’s face, unbloodied thumb grazing his lip. “What do you want?”

           “I…” Bruce levels his focus elsewhere, gazing past Barry. Afraid. “I’m tired, and I could really sleep. But I, uh… I’d rather not sleep alone.”

           Neither would he. “Okay.”

           “Okay?”

           “I mean,” he turns, staring at the ceiling, “I was already asleep before you got here. And I bet you were gonna slip in beside me, weren’t you? If I didn’t catch you?”

           “I… I was.” Bruce collapses, head landing atop Barry’s chest. Hairs tickling his chin, arms curling around his waist. Yawning, Bruce snuggles him close. “We can finish this later, in the morning… if that’s okay?”

           Barry threads his fingers through Bruce’s hair, smiling. “We don’t have to. If we can’t, then we can’t.” He repeats this, a melody that helps his friend drift off. Barry’s voice fades, soon silence overpowering the mantra.

           Body leaded but unbidden by shame, Barry continues lazily stroking Bruce. Petting him felt nice. Somehow better than the heavier actions previously done. Reminds him of better nights, when he and Iris lay together in bed. Exchanging tidbits about their day until they fell asleep. Before those cracks in their relationship spread and it shattered.

           Thinking about Iris stings, but not like it used to. Dulled by Bruce’s very presence. A man who lived in shadows bringing a new light into his life.

           He glances down at Bruce while he slumbers, heart sparking wildly. A possibility flashing like lightning inside grey rain clouds. That Barry could one day fall in love with Bruce, if he hasn’t already.

#batflash #barry allen x bruce wayne #barry x bruce #barry/bruce #batman x flash #batman/flash #barry allen #bruce wayne #bisexual barry allen #bisexual bruce wayne #batflash fanfic #dcu comics fanfic