#FreePalestine

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

[envoyeverett]

This blog is #FreePalestine. I do not side with Israel and I do not think this is about killing Jews. If you’re on that side, please do me a favor and unfollow or block me because I will do the same to you.

[envoyeverett]

WHERE ARE MY DARK ROMANCE PEOPLE

Have yall seen The Strangers Chapter 3?

NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN?

YALL COULD HAVE MADE A MOVIE FOR THE AGES BUT NOOOOOOO WE CANT LET THE HEROINE FALL FOR THE VILLAIN.

[idk3ither]

Open the door or I’m gonna throw rocks at your window you dumb whore

[envoyeverett]

So. My twins boyfriend believes black culture is only rap music and violence.

I believe black culture is music, home cooked meals, family, and togetherness. Now thats only because I've never been immersed in the culture.

I was wondering if you guys could give me examples of black culture?

I think this id an appropriate way to Sk.

[envoyeverett]

I started testosterone today! My journey isn't linear and I honestly don't know what my gender identity is entirely. However I know that I'm trans masc so thats what I am for now.

[alexexklaus]

Joel Kinnaman’s close-up appreciation >> Altered Carbon | 01x02 Fallen angel

[blackrigel]

One day I suddenly remembered that Altered Carbon S1 HAPPENED.

[kensthjerte]

— She's not my girl. — I'm not his girl.

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

quiz: why do lobsters have one claw bigger

[goth-princess-gwennie]

They evolved to handle different prey. the larger crusher claw cracks open ahrder prey like a molar tooth, whilst the smaller pincer claw rips apart soft prey similar to an incisor tooth.

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

theyre lobsided

[goth-princess-gwennie]

oh I see! yay!

[itsuki-amicitia]

LOL

[eternlmoonshine]

The reader is part of the BAU team and gets caught alone during a tense case involving a stalker/abductor unsub. Though the reader is mostly unharmed, Luke arrives moments after the incident and is visibly shaken, struggling to keep his emotions in check. He’s angry—not at the reader, but at himself for not being there sooner. Protective Luke

the second before ⊹ luke alvez

summary: a quiet lead. a cabin in the woods. you told yourself it would be ten minutes, tops. but when silence stretches too long and luke arrives seconds too late, the only thing louder than the forest is the fear of almost losing you. pairing: luke alvez x reader warnings: hurt/comfort, reader in peril, stalking & abduction themes, protective!luke alvez, mutual pining realized via mortal danger wc: 1.6k a/n: i am SO sorry it took me so long to answer this ask but hey here it is <3 masterlist.

The forest was a mouth. Open, gaping, waiting.

The trees curved like crooked teeth against the night sky, their bare branches twitching in the wind, rustling like whispers too soft to catch. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called once—brief, hollow, alone. The clouds hung low, gravid with rain, and the air held that electric stillness that comes before something breaks.

It was a foolish thing to do—going in alone. You knew that.

You’d told yourself it would be a sweep. Quick. Clean. Just a check on a report that hadn’t even been flagged as urgent. A cabin in the woods, a disgruntled neighbor, a history of noise complaints, and a thin thread that might connect it to a string of missing women. Thin enough to ignore. Thin enough to file. But something about the report itched. You’d followed that itch.

Maybe that was your mistake. Maybe that was your curse.

You’d learned early in this job—and in life—that the quietest things were often the deadliest. The moments you second-guessed yourself. The doors you opened too fast. The questions you didn’t ask in time.

The cabin was crouched like a wounded animal at the edge of the treeline—half-swallowed by moss and shadow, windowpanes like dead eyes staring out at nothing. There were no lights. No obvious movement. But the hairs on your neck stood up the moment you stepped out of the SUV.

You’d told the team you were taking a detour. You’d promised you’d be ten minutes, tops. But the silence here felt… intentional.

Inside, it was worse.

The house breathed. Not literally, but the boards underfoot shifted and groaned, the wind slithered under cracks, and the air was dense, thick with the scent of mildew and rot. You stepped cautiously across the floorboards, one hand on your holster, the other brushing the earpiece in your ear. Static. Odd.

You checked the signal. Still green. Still strong. But when you whispered Luke’s name into the comm, the only reply was silence.

A pulse throbbed behind your ribs—deep, ancient, lizard-brain panic.

You moved slower, room by room. Shadows carving strange shapes in the walls. A mug half-full of something congealed on the counter. A newspaper from last week splayed open on the floor like a corpse. You noted the strange juxtaposition—normality and horror touching fingers. The signs of life too recent. Too staged.

You found the basement door open. That was your first real sign.

That yawning blackness. A pit.

You knew better than to go down. You did. Years of training. FBI protocol. Muscle memory. But your feet moved anyway.

The descent was slow. Each creak of wood beneath your boots echoed like gunfire. You flicked your flashlight on. The beam caught on dust motes. Concrete. An old mattress in the corner. Chains. Something metallic. Something dark.

And then—he stepped out of the shadows.

He wasn’t tall. Not imposing, physically. But his stillness was what did it. That unnatural calm. That predator’s patience. He stood like a man who waited. Like he knew you would come. Like he had rehearsed this moment.

You drew your weapon instantly. "FBI. Hands where I can see them."

He smiled. Not a grin. Not even a smirk. Just that slow, thin-lipped twitch that made your skin crawl. A knowing smile.

"You're early," he said. The sound of his voice was worse than silence.

You tried to step back. Called in—"Alvez, I’ve got something here, I need backup now"—but the words fizzled in your ear. The comm still showed green. But nothing came through.

And that’s when he lunged.

You moved, instinct firing like lightning. You dodged the knife, deflected the weight of his charge, struck back. A blur of limbs and breath and panic. You could feel the hate in his hands. Not rage. Not frenzy. But calculation. Like he knew exactly how much damage he wanted to do and where to place it.

The knife slashed across your cheek. Shallow, but bloody. Meant to rattle you. To disorient.

You fought harder. Concrete scraped your palms. Your shoulder smashed into a pipe. You wrestled control of your weapon, lost it, regained it, lost it again. Every second felt stolen. Every move pulled from some hidden reserve of training and desperation.

He had you by the throat when the door crashed open above.

Luke.

His name didn’t come from your mouth. It ripped from your chest.

The thunder of boots on stairs. A blur of tactical black. And then—he was there.

Luke’s voice was a gunshot. Sharp, commanding. "FBI! Get your hands off her!"

The unsub turned, blade raised.

Luke fired. Not to kill. To disarm.

The blade spun out of the man’s hand with a metallic clang, and in seconds Luke was on him, bringing him down with force that rattled the basement. Fists collided. Cuffs snapped shut.

You slumped against the wall, pulse screaming in your ears.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until Luke dropped to his knees in front of you and said your name—broken, soft, like it cost him something to speak it aloud.

"I'm okay," you whispered. A lie. A shield.

His hands hovered. Then landed—gently, reverently—on your arms, your face.

"You're bleeding," he said, as if saying it made it less unbearable.

"It’s not bad." He didn't reply. Just looked at you.

And in that look—God. You saw everything.

All the seconds he thought he was too late. All the horrors that played behind his eyes as he drove here. All the versions of this moment where he found you broken. Dead. Gone.

"I should’ve been here," he rasped. "You should’ve waited for me."

“I thought I had time.”

His hands were trembling. Just barely. But you noticed.

“I didn’t want to risk someone else walking into a trap,” you continued. “I was trying to—”

"Don’t," he cut in sharply. “Don’t you dare justify it.”

Silence. Then he looked away. One hand clenched into a fist against the floor.

“I walked in and saw you on the ground. Do you have any idea—” His voice cracked.

You touched his forearm. Slowly. Carefully. His eyes flicked back to yours.

"I'm here," you said.

But he shook his head. “You almost weren’t.”

And there it was. The real wound.

Luke Alvez wasn’t scared of much. But he was terrified of loss. Not abstract loss—you. The person whose laugh he memorized. Whose coffee order he knew by heart. Whose presence was quiet gravity in his life.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t break. But you saw the grief anyway—hovering behind his eyes like smoke from a fire still burning.

He reached up and brushed blood from your cheek. His thumb lingered.

“This job doesn’t work,” he said finally, “if I have to keep wondering if I’m going to lose you every time we split up.”

“I know.”

“You don’t act like you do.”

You winced. Not from the wound. From the truth.

Luke exhaled, steadying himself. Then, voice low: “I can’t protect you from everything. I know that. But you can’t keep acting like you don’t matter.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

The silence thickened.

“I don’t know how to be someone people worry about,” you confessed.

“I do,” he said, without hesitation. “Because I worry about you all the damn time.”

You looked away. Swallowed hard. Luke shifted closer, his hand on your knee now. Warm. Grounding.

“I care about you,” he said. Quiet, plain, and no pretense, making your breath catch.

“I care so much it scares me,” he added. “I didn’t even know it could feel like that—until the second before I saw you.”

You turned back to him. “What do you mean?”

“The second before I saw you alive… I thought you were gone.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

And then he wrapped his arms around you—slow, tentative, like he didn’t want to break what was left. You sank into him, finally letting your body collapse into the safety of his warmth, his strength, his heartbeat pulsing steady against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest. He just held you tighter.

“I don’t need you to apologize,” he said. “I need you safe.”

And so you sat there—two people breathing through the aftermath. One who almost lost, and one who almost disappeared. And somewhere far above, the rain began to fall.

Later, in the quiet of his SUV, wrapped in a blanket, patched up and exhausted, you sat beside him with your legs drawn up on the seat. He hadn’t let go of your hand since the medics cleared you.

“You didn’t have to ride back with me,” you said softly.

“I did.”

You glanced at him. He was watching the road, but his knuckles were pale from the grip on the steering wheel. His jaw was tight.

“You okay?” you asked.

He gave a half-laugh. “You ask me that?”

“I mean it.”

He was silent for a long time. Then, “No.”

You nodded. "Me neither."

“I think I need to tell you something,” he said, voice lower now. “And I’m not saying it because of what happened. I’m saying it because it was almost too late.”

You looked at him.

“I love you.”

The words didn’t crash. They landed. Soft, inevitable, final. You felt them settle inside you like the first deep breath after being underwater.

“I think I’ve loved you since that first case,” he continued, still watching the road, “but I didn’t let myself know it until today.”

You reached for his hand again. And held on. Hard.

“I’m not used to being loved,” you whispered.

“I’ll teach you.”

And for the first time in hours, you smiled.

[allelitewrestlings]

[pauk-di]

Predator is slowly creeping back into my mind again.

Mah'kain It is part of a religious temple responsible for procreation and fertility. The temple welcomes Yautjas from the most diverse clans in Yautja Prime.

The "tu'sei-ga" shrine is responsible for guiding those in need of wisdom and knowledge, this Involves young bloods newly reaching adulthood. Couples who are mated for life go there to receive a blessing in a specific ceremony.

(This is a concept that a friend and I came up with for fun, there are a lot of things that are not decided or planned. It's just for fun.)

[queenofshippingcringe]

Reblog if you ship the world’s top two sexiest women! 👑🌹

[astra-the-dragon]

polyamory win

[astra-the-dragon]

to be clear, this is because each of them loves her husband and would see no reason to break off a marriage in order to have a lover. Kermit and Gomez would be supportive and understanding.

[sugarhoneyylovee]

𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟 ; jack reacher | one-shot |

summary: one eventful night brings you closer to your gentle giant.

pairing: fem!reader x alan ritchson!jack reacher.

trope: skilled ex-military man meets ordinary civilian & they fall in love while on a dangerous mission.

genre: fluff + slow-burn romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + mentions of blood + mentions of violence (a bar fight but nun too graphic) + patching up wounds + a kiss scene + my first time writing / describing tension & i tried my best so i’m very sorry if it’s a flop 😭 + things get a lil… heated (🌚) but it’s still sfw for the most part!

word count: 1,393.

random disclaimerrr: god he’s so hot i just had to write smth else for him 🫦 s1 reacher you’ll always be famous. happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

It’s quiet.

The only sources of sound are the crickets chirping outside and the occasional crack and snap of a worn out engine in an old ass vehicle.

You’ve washed your face and changed into some pajama pants and a tank top. You're sat atop your and Reacher's shared bed in some 3 star hotel room, wondering how fucked up tonight got.

It was supposed to be a simple stakeout. You and Reacher were meeting with someone at a bar a little outside of Margrave.

But of course, shit hit the fan as soon as possible.

You were drinking a soda, waiting on Reacher to finish conducting his little interview when jackass and friends came over.

“Why you drinkin’ all by your lonesome, hun?”

You act deaf but that just pissed them off.

“Hey. You fuckin’ deaf or somethin’?”

You look at them sideways which makes them laugh and oddly enough, think you’re playing hard to get.

“Come on now, baby, don’t be like that.”

“Yeahh, we could show you a real good time.”

The one that looks like the leader of the trio winks at you and you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pay for your soda, get off the stool and turn around to walk away when one of the 3 stooges grab your wrist, causing you to be yanked back.

“What the fuck-?!”

“Where you goin’?” He doesn’t sound so pleased but you don’t give a fuck.

You punch the guy restraining you in the nose, hard.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

You blink and feel yourself being shielded.

Reacher.

You feel his large hand on your arm, maneuvering you behind him as he takes on the 3 short and scrawny (compared to mountain man over here) bastards quite easily.

Obviously, it’s not a bar fight without somebody playing dirty and pulling out a weapon at their convenience, and that’s exactly what happened!

Reacher is nicked along the lines of his abs before he snaps the guy’s wrist, jamming the knife into the other dude’s shoulder.

You wince and look away.

Reacher rounds up the last dickhead and turns his lights off (temporarily) before you both skedaddle outta there.

And now you’re here.

Reacher opens the bathroom door to let some steam out, you observe his shirtless and injured state.

“Reacher...” Your guilt shows.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine. I was just doing-”

“Please don’t say ‘your job’.”

He looks at you with an amused smile. The mountain man takes out the first aid kit and starts disinfecting his wounds.

You walk over and sit beside him on the counter, taking the alcohol soaked cotton ball and dab it gently.

It’s quiet again for a few minutes, no sign of awkward silence.

It’s strange, you didn’t even know this man a few weeks prior and now you’re cleaning his wounds. Not to mention, you’ve never seen the guy half-naked before and hot damn is he built like a Greek God. You’re basically heating up! (from the steam, of course...)

“It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches, right?”

Reacher’s too busy staring at you. Your fixated eyes, your furrowed brows in concentration. He lowers his eyes towards your lips, slightly bitten in focus.

“Reacher?” You blink up at him.

“No.”

The husk in his voice catches you off guard. You gulp harshly, focusing back on the task at hand.

“You didn’t have to go that hard, you know.” You change the topic, dismissing the almost electric atmosphere.

He tilts his head at you like a confused dog.

“Those bastards were giving you shit, so I handled it.”

He says it with such clarity that you’d think it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shake your head playfully, a smile tugging at your lips from his show of ferocity for you.

“And I appreciate it, I do.”

“I sense a rebuttal.” He quips.

You laugh through your nose. “I just wanted to say that despite your valiant efforts,” You pause to press a bandaid on his abs.

“Uh huh.”

“I was doing just fine.”

“That you were.” He agrees.

He says it like he’s proud, like he’s so relieved to see you have your own back and toughen up when it’s time.

You know the world is a cruel place and that sometimes, only the strong survive. But you proved your strength and he recognizes it.

You meet his eyes and see him staring back into them. You see the different shade of blue in this light and angle; a dimly lit orange hue casts a nice glow onto his freshly shaved, chiseled face.

“I never noticed the many,” He inhales. “Freckles and moles and little scars on your face.”

“Now that I think about it, your nose is kind of big.” You humor him.

He squints his eyes playfully.

You really hope he picks up on the fact that you’re flirting. You want him to break the ice; to make the first move but would he be so willing? You think he’d be a tease and let you grow frustrated before appeasing.

“What are you thinking about?”

His hand comes up to rub the ends of some strands of your hair together, liking the softness of it.

“You.” You boldly answer.

He raises an eyebrow at your declaration. “What about me?”

There’s that voice again, god. The low timbre with the breathy whisper.

The smell of wood and cologne, everything clouds your senses.

Your breathing quickens just a tad when you feel the feathery touch from his fingers touch the sliver of exposed skin on your hip. You wore the tank top because you were comfortable but now you applaud yourself for the smart choice.

He inches closer and closer; you could just push yourself up on your heels and meet him halfway. Your eyelids flutter, fighting the battle between closing them to enjoy the moment or keeping them open to see the suspense.

Will he? Won't he?

Suddenly, he leans back with a tube of Neosporin, screwing the cap back on. Your eyes open up and he stares down at the tube, pretending he wasn't just about to indulge you in your wildest fantasies.

“Really.”

You know he knows, but he just has to be a teasing little shit about it.

His face cracks and his lips split open to reveal the most beautiful smile; it makes you smile a little, too.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.” He croons.

He leans forward and grips the countertop, trapping you between him. His gaze dart around your face before landing on your lips. He takes a deep breath.

“Can I-”

“Yes!” You pull his face in with both hands, not wasting any more time.

He laughs into your mouth and you find yourself wanting to hear more of it.

You’re lifted from the countertop with such ease, you’re reminded of his strength. Time and time again, his strength makes an appearance and you can’t help your attraction.

Reacher’s hands squeeze at your hips when you lick his bottom lip, wanting a little taste of something more. He nips at your throat, leaving love bites messily across your neck and soothing the painful pleasure with the coolness of his tongue.

You bring him back to you and kiss him with tongue and teeth, feeling your nerves on fire and your heart about to burst.

He groans when your legs tighten around his core. “You keep doing that, I won’t last.”

You giggle at the that and think about teasing but your resolve is weak when he lays you down on the bed.

You see a sparkle in his eyes, the kind that hypnotizes you; makes you want to swim in the turquoise waters of his mind.

“I’m so down bad for you.” You softly admit.

Your hands are in his hair, softly toying with the brown strands.

He kisses you with such fervor, you can feel everything he’s ever wanted to say. You can feel his desperation, his devotion, his care for you. You feel the longing in the way he holds you, in the way he kisses you soft and slow. He pours his emotions into the searing kiss and you can cry from joy.

To know someone cares for you as much as you do for them is rare, but never not found.

[envoyeverett]

AHHHHHHHHH

[weltenwellen]

Making the people you adore laugh is literally everything

[envoyeverett]

Touch - Duke Crocker x Reader (she)

Taglist: @fiore-della-valle @iamtheholyghost @dukewuornos @cookiedoughmeagain @mythoughtsaretroubled @parker-haven-wuornos @afoxnamedmulder

Touch - Duke Crocker

Rating: T

Words: 3K

Working at The Grey Gull was the best decision She could have made. Coming to Haven was a close second, but the Gull was beginning to feel safe. She’d only been there a week, but Duke and Audrey had a way of making her feel less anxious. When she first arrived in Haven, she had hidden from the world, wearing long sleeves, hoodies, gloves, whatever she could to cover any inch of visible skin. Working with Duke though, that changed her. He taught her how to avoid people and still be able to be comfortable in the clothes she decided to wear. She still wore the gloves though, too afraid not to.

Of course Duke eventually asked about her trouble. Why come to Haven if you weren’t troubled. It’s not like people were taking vacations to Haven, Maine, spook central. She tried explaining it but that wasn’t enough for Duke Crocker.

“I don’t believe you can drop a man with emotions.” She wanted to laugh, she really did. Except she knew just how well her trouble worked. 

“I’m telling you Duke, you don’t want to experience it.”

“Except I really, really do.” He gave her that crooked smile with that wicked glint in his eyes and she caved. She felt Duke’s eyes on her the rest of the night but she said nothing. The minute the doors of the Gull were locked, Duke was standing in front of her reaching for her gloved hands.

Keep reading

[envoyeverett]

Self reblogging because this is one of my favorite fics I've ever written.

[emziess]

Anon asked: Buck in the Kitchen scene