Psalm 94:18 (NLT) -
I cried out, “I am slipping!”
but Your unfailing love, O LORD, supported me.
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slipping (fic) teaser
a teaser for the upcoming 'slipping' fic next thursday | fem!barry's sister!reader x JJ (canon adopted so all my POC readers are not excluded of course!)
Turning around, back now against the wall, you loop your arms around his bare chest and lean against him, the way a sloth might wrap itself around a tree. JJ sniggers, brushing a hand through your hair. He feels you press a tender kiss to his chest that’s still struggling to catch breath.
“You tired, huh?”
“Mhm,” you hum. “You came at the perfect time. I was like one minute away from throwing that motor out into the marsh.”
JJ quietly grunts as he lifts you up – your legs hooking loosely around his waist – and he walks the two of you back to your bed. The pair of you cuddle up atop of the sheets, letting the few rays of sunlight that leak into the room warm strips of your skin. He finds himself drawing mindless patterns on the skin of your thigh, and you appear to be doing the same on his chest.
“Who you fixing it up for? The motor?”
“You know Mr Lewis?”
“Is that the guy who works at the deli?” JJ checks.
“Mhm. It’s from the delivery van. I told him I’d have it done by Thursday,” you reply, yawning. It’s currently Tuesday.
JJ forgets sometimes that you’re a high school dropout. You’re smart enough to graduate. Easily smarter than him. One time, when he was losing his mind over some algebra homework that his teacher insisted he do (that was, if he wanted to skip out on retaking a year), you had taken the time to explain it to him. The way you laid it out was so simple and easy, like reciting the alphabet or counting to ten. But whenever he asked why you dropped out you would just reel off the usual self-deprecating excuse. That people from your family don’t get high school diplomas - it just wasn’t a thing.
“How’s school?” you ask as if you’d been following his line of thought.
“Boring,” JJ sighs. “Bit more fun now that John B’s back though.”
“Still can’t believe they survived,” you say. Then, shifting to meet his gaze, you add, “not in a bad way, just-”
“No, no, I know what you mean,” he eases. One of his fingers comes to tease at a strand of your hair, smiling down at you. “I mean, I wouldn’t believe it either. Hell, I didn’t, for a while.”
You chuckle at that, nodding, lowering your head back down onto his chest.
This is good. This is good for JJ and good for you. Not only is it good, but it’s fun. A secret is fun. Nobody else knows: not even the Pogues or your brother. These clandestine meetings and rendezvous and unknown dates are the definition of excitement. Nobody knows that JJ spends nearly every night buried in you, and that the unsaved number on his phone is filled with sweet, soft and sometimes sensual texts that came from you. Inside jokes than have accumulated over the seven months of your relationship. Nobody knows that JJ knows Barry’s younger sister as more than just that flippant title. That he knows your favourite television show and your favourite singer, and he knows the way to twist his fingers just right to have you bordering on screaming. He knows what it feels like to have your mouth on him and your teeth biting down onto the skin of his shoulders, but also what it feels like to make you laugh and to see you work. What it feels like to be at the mercy of your stare. He’s lucky enough to be in your light and be acknowledged by someone so strangely pure for all the shit the universe had thrown your way. If JJ got dealt a bad hand, then you got dealt fake cards. But all the darkness and grit hadn’t made you mean or distant. Instead, it made you glow, like tossing logs into an open flame.
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i’m pretty sure he was faking those words then he realized they were true and then tried to fake it even harder
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the best part about slipping and falling in your 30s is that you get to spend the rest of the day discovering new ways that the one instance injured you
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The Health And Safety Risks of Being A DJ
Being a DJ is undoubtedly a rewarding job for those passionate about all things music. Your daily job gives you the chance to share music, show off your skills, get the night pumping and get paid for the privilege of doing what is likely one of your favourite hobbies. You can work the room to your advantage, hype them up or slow it down for those who are self-employed, you even have control over…
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She was the last of the three now, cumbered with her dress, slipping on loose stones, her hair getting in her mouth, running-pains across her chest.
"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair" - C. S. Lewis
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I feel like I'm slipping again..
It's getting bad again and I'm at that point where I'm tired of trying, I just wanna lay down and cuddle my squishmallows
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To get through Slipping by Mohamed Kheir, translated from Arabic by Robin Moger, you’ll have to have a little trust. At first, all of these threads of strangeness will seem puzzlingly disconnected. But if you’re willing to go for the ride, you’ll be there for the roar of them all starting to come together, snapping into place.
The sketch of the plot is that Bahr, a guide to the liminal, magical spaces of Egypt, is showing them, one by one, to journalist Seif. He gives Seif glimpses of spirits and unsolved mysteries, ghost towns and gravestones. Meanwhile, Seif is dealing with his own difficult ghosts—including girlfriend Alya, who could sing any sound of our world. Together they explore a surreal world fractured by oppression, history, and trauma, and the reader dips in and out of stories alongside the book’s author, trying to figure out how to bring it all together. It’s absolutely worth the effort.
Content warnings for grief, violence, torture, sexual assault, trauma, suicidal ideation.
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