#solo 1

[hackycode]

muñequites

(créditos de zax = @therevenant28)

[ladytrousers]

leave all this to yesterday (solo)

who: kurt hummel & isaac lane  mentions: rachel berry (@rbroadwayberry​) when: february 2020 where: lane-hummel penthouse, new york what: afraid of things getting worse, kurt finally decides to leave isaac and enlists the help of his best friend. tw: drugs, domestic violence

It wasn’t often that Kurt found himself alone in the apartment he shared with his husband. Without Isaac or the company that almost always occupied its rooms, the vastness felt daunting, an empty shell of a home. Despite all of the beautiful things that they’d acquired over the course of their time there – lush rugs and blankets, ornate gold and glass chandeliers, furniture that you could sink into, bottles of vintage cognac and wine – it had never felt warm. Luxurious things were overrated and he’d be just as happy in a (properly decorated) downtown studio apartment with creaking floorboards and deteriorating brick. It was easy enough living in Lima and dreaming about beautiful things, but none of it was worth much when he wasn’t happy.

Are you going to be home soon? he punched the message into his phone before tossing it on the bed and walking out of their shared bedroom to find something to eat in the kitchen. It was late, close to midnight, and he’d had little to eat between meetings all day. Kurt had finished his most recent project and was working with editors to refine the script before deciding whether or not he’d be workshopping it around. It would be easy enough to give the script to Isaac; he’d agree to produce it and find a director, but this one was different for Kurt. He hadn’t told his husband about it at all, keeping the file and everything about the project out of his reach until he was sure that it was something he wanted to broadcast. The subject, a group of teenagers murdering their teacher and burying him under the football field, was close to home. Dangerous, touchy, and personal. And he wasn’t sure he could trust Isaac with this one. He wanted to do it on his own. If he decided to move forward with it at all.

With a box of cheesecake bites that he’d pulled out of the freezer, Kurt walked back across the apartment to the bedroom and sat down on the floor in front of the wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, inches from the glass. The only part of the apartment that he’d ever truly loved was the view. After years of dreaming of the city, he was finally there, with the best view that he could possibly imagine (of course, he’d also always liked the view from the viewing deck at the Empire State Building just a little bit more). He was seeing his ideas coming to life on stages, thanks to Isaac’s money and the influence he had as a much-credited producer – Isaac liked to remind him that it was why anything had ever worked out. Regardless, they were still his. Kurt pulled a small square with lemon iced into the top of the cake from the box and popped it into his mouth. His phone buzzed from where he had left it on the bed and he ignored it. 

It felt like hours had passed before he heard the front door opening and the heavy footfalls moving across the slick wood floor. Kurt licked the crumbs from his fingers and turned in place to see Isaac coming into the room. “Hi,” he smiled widely, just happy to not be alone anymore, but keeping his place on the floor.

“Get up,” Isaac’s voice was thick and heavy, syrupy, like he’d had too much to drink again. “You look like a child.” Making Kurt feel small always seemed to make him feel bigger.

“It’s really beautiful out tonight, isn’t it?” He’d turned back to look outside, watching the light bouncing through the shadows around buildings as taxis and cars whizzed by below. “The sky is so clear too.”

“Right,” Isaac pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before walking up behind Kurt and pulling him to his feet with a hard grip on his arm. He pressed a firm kiss to Kurt’s temple before pulling him toward the master bathroom. “Come on.” 

Kurt stumbled on his feet as he was pulled across the room, but didn’t resist. Isaac was always much easier to deal with when he got his way. They entered the bathroom and Isaac released him, the force pushing Kurt hard into the counter. He was always unaware of his own strength when he wasn’t sober, occasionally leaving bruises on Kurt’s skin after getting a little too rough when they had sex. But he’d never pushed him around much before. He brushed a hand through Kurt’s hair before opening a drawer and pulling out one of the bags of needles that Finn had left last time he’d visited. Because “at least he could be safe about it.” 

“I don’t want to tonight. I’m tired.” Kurt yawned to emphasize his point and shifted to go back to the bedroom. 

“No.” Isaac’s voice, while slurred and thick, was still firm. He pulled Kurt back toward him by the hips and lifted him up onto the counter. He pulled a small vial from his pocket and filled a needle, offering it to him. 

“Not tonight, okay? Maybe tomorrow. We’ve got all day tomorrow. I can cancel everything.” He shook his head as Isaac ignored him and pushed Kurt’s sleeves up to expose his forearms. “We can just stay home,” he started, wincing and falling silent as his arm was held down and the needle pricked his skin. It was worthless to fight him. When he’d finished with Kurt, he tossed the needle to the floor and pulled out another to take care of himself. 

“Get in bed,” Isaac grinned, his face going flush as the drugs entered his system. He pulled Kurt toward him and pressed their hips together hard before pulling back to unzip his jeans and step toward the toilet. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Kurt shook as he slid from the counter and moved quickly to the bed. He grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it earlier and looked behind him before hurrying out of the bedroom, across the living room, and into the smaller bathroom they’d reserved for guests. Locking the door behind him, he quickly punched in a familiar number and sunk down to the floor. The tile was cold.

“Rach?” he started, swallowing thickly as he listened to her greeting from the other end of the line. “I know, I’m sorry it’s so late.” He fingered the bruising that had started to form where the grip on his arm had been too tight, then moved down to pull up the hem of his shirt where the skin at his hip had started to turn dark. “I know you’re busy.” His voice cracked and he blinked back the tears that were starting to form. “Rach, I need you. I need to get out of here.”

[jxckdaley]

closed starter for @solomonemsworth location: talk is cheap

Well, it had taken three years (much longer than expected), but Jack had finally gotten permanently banned from a business in Lakeham. The coffee shop near his house, Bean There, didn’t particularly appreciate Jack’s... let’s say, work ethic. He would go into the coffee shop with his laptop to read the news; this is something he should have definitely done at home, since he had a penchant for loudly stating his opinions on the news regardless of setting. Some of the employees actually enjoyed it because, well, Jack was funny, but once he started cursing out the boss for “mistreatment of employees” after a particularly bad news day and a podcast the night before that had been equally grim, it was the end of Jack’s time with Bean there.

So, a new place. That was fine with him; so many of the things Jack did outside his house were primarily to get outside his house. So if he had to go a little further than up the block well, that wasn’t really a problem anyway. More time spent outside for him meant the less he felt bad for staying inside his house, online the rest of the time.

Jack liked this joint as soon as he stumbled upon it, probably because of the name, Talk is Cheap. It was the antithesis of Jack and thus, a perfect target for his irony.

He walked in and immediately upon viewing the man behind the counter, Jack knew it was his duty to razz him. Anyone with that expression on their face? It was like a sacred calling.

Jack moseyed up to the counter with the most annoying expression he could conjure.

“Mm, do you have a rose flavor? Or lavender? Or both? I’m thinking I want all milk foam with a pump of both and then cinnamon, and then maybe a side of just hot water. Or something. I dunno...” playing the fool, Jack tilted his head obnoxiously, looking up at the menu.

[squattingslag]

Buddy Rich - Solo 1  Live From Toronto, Canada/1977

[charaselect]

(Somebody’s got to take care of the flowers - )

(Don’t worry about me, Frisk.  It’s okay.  I’ll - we’ll - be just fine.)

(... It’s still you, Frisk.)

Chara realizes three things in very quick succession when they wake up.

First: even through heavy eyelids and sleep-blurred sight, this isn’t the Underground.  This looks nothing like anywhere in the Underground.  Besides, given the whole ‘mostly intangible and mostly unseeable ghost’ thing, nobody would have been moving them anywhere without -- it’s probably best to say nobody would have been able to move them if they didn’t want to be moved.

So this isn’t the Underground,  Where is it.

Second: haha, wow, everything hurts really bad.  They feel so heavy, a different sort of physical than piloting Frisk’s body or the shared body so many years ago, but there’s the taste of fresh iron in their mouth; this is easier to recall.  How much effort it had taken to move their body, before they died, petals tearing between their teeth and burning their mouth.  This doesn’t make any sense.  None of this makes any sense.  Why aren’t they dead?  (Well, double dead?  Do ghosts die.  They’d kind of figured they were going to ghost-die.)

Third, and the most concerning one of them all: they have a Soul.  They can feel it, bright and beating, filled with 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

This can’t be Frisk’s Soul.  It can’t.  They’d told Frisk not to even consider it, not to even consider that kind of sacrifice; they’d been around for a very long time, longer than most Monsters, and -- they had Asriel.  It was okay.  They’d probably fade out, eventually, without any Determination to keep them awake and tethered, without a soul to be a fucking parasite on - and that was okay.  They were so, so tired.

So -- this can’t be Frisk’s.  They really, really hope it’s not Frisk’s.

(Focus, focus, look inside themself - 𝙷𝙿 𝟷𝟶/𝟸𝟶.  They can’t see their LV, their ATK, their DEF - this, too, is worrying.  And they can’t feel that leftover power and capability to manifest their Soul even if they wanted to.)

Chara should really get up and look around, perhaps.  But five more minutes won’t hurt.  

(Or another three hours of sleep.  Those won’t hurt, either.)

[ges-sa]

Get Me...SOLO – The One Man War on Terror!

New Post has been published on http://ges-sa.com/get-me-solo-the-one-man-war-on-terror/

Get Me...SOLO – The One Man War on Terror!

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New Ongoing Series Coming in October!

New York, NY—September 13th, 2016 — This October, one of the founding Mercs for Money is going…solo! That’s right, James Bourne a.k.a Solo is back on his own, right where he belongs! Be there when the action heats up to eleven as SOLO #1 blasts its way into comic shops in October as part of Marvel NOW!. Writers Gerry Duggan (Deadpool) and Geoffrey Thorne (Mosaic) team up with artist Paco Diaz (Thunderbolts) to bring you a high-octane thrill ride across the Marvel Universe. Deadly alien weapons are making their way into the hands of ordinary thugs – and Solo is going undercover to locate the source. As things heat up, Solo may just wish he had some backup! Deadpool and the Mercs for Money was just the beginning. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve met Solo. Be there for his first ongoing series when SOLO #1comes to comic shops and digital devices on October 12th![/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]SOLO #1 (AUG160788) Written by GERRY DUGGAN & GEOFFREY THORNE Art & Cover by PACO DIAZ Variant Cover by ROB LIEFELD (AUG160789) and RON LIM (AUG160791) Teaser Variant by MIKE DEODATO (AUG160792) Hip-Hop Variant by THEOTIS JONES (AUG160794) Liefeld Sketch Variant Also Available (AUG160790) Champions Variant by JULIAN TOTINO TEDESCO (AUG160788) FOC – 09/19/16, On-Sale – 10/12/16

To find a comic shop near you, visit www.comicshoplocator.com or call 1-888-comicbook. 

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[quiteashocker]

Maze Runner || Flashback Solo

Semi-finals for the pagaent

Alt. Title: What the fuck is that?!

Effie knew that it was a fluke that she had moved on during the swimsuit competition. It didn’t take anyone with half the amount of brains to figure out that she was one of the ones that were considered dead last. Not to mention the guilt that was involved with almost killing someone—she was a part of the statistic that purely dealt with electricity. She stopped someone’s heart and they couldn’t get it back started again. She nearly killed this Zeke person. But at the moment, this wasn’t the most important thing.

The most important thing was winning.

Mazes were supposed to be easy. You put one hand on the wall and trace your way through until you find your way out. That’s how she did it whenever her family would do those stupid haunted corn mazes—well, when she wasn’t chasing around Eva and Emme for scaring other people in the maze. It wasn’t supposed to be… Well… This.

The loud horn blaring over the loud speakers almost sent Effie straight into the glass that blocked her path before it could fully move out of the way, and suddenly, she was sprinting through the maze, forgetting about her hand theory. She darted left and rights and—

What the fuck was that?

A watermelon? The hell? 

Something  round with teeth? 

It was a watermelon with teeth. Against her better judgement, Effie punted it down the rest of the way, and booked it the other way, hanging another left. Once again, the logic wasn’t there—she knew this was stupid and wrong and there was something fucked up about this maze (about this pageant) but the need to win just pushed her faster.

God. She felt so fucking claustrophobic, with the tall walls of hedges.

She wanted out of here. Who were the other contestants? She thought a couple people she spoke to on the internet— maybe that guy with the hair- but she wanted to win and get out before she got sick.

She paused briefly at an intersection to catch her breath. Okay. Calm down, Effie. Everything is fine.

Everything was not fine, she was pretty sure she had trampled at least four other watermelon with teeth and one had bit her—

She had to win the pageant, she had to win this round, she had too. That was all she wanted in the whole entire world. Effie was still running on adrenaline and she was pretty sure she was screeching pretty awfully about the fucking Mario plant that was following her.

Why is someone saying ‘Attack’? Could they please shut the fuck up?

Why didn’t she listen to her father? Why didn’t she know anything about other supernatural plants. And then something caught her around the ankle and she hit the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Effie knew she was going to get bitten by the plant with fangs. It was inevitable at this point. She was on the ground, out of breath, anxiety pooling in her stomach between losing this round and the fact that the walls were closing in—no they aren’t, get a grip­—the walls felt like they were closing in were making it harder to get up.

So, for the second time in the last few days, she relinquished control of her powers. So the second dthe damn thing pounced on her leg, a strong electrical shock surged through her and into the fly trap, causing it to hiss away.

It was then when the horn started blaring and the winner was announced. She had lost. She was dirty, sweaty, in pain, and bleeding, and she had lost. Her legs were awfully cut up and she could feel little cuts and bruises everywhere else. The fall had caused her to have nasty scrape on her forehead. 

But that didn’t matter because she lost. Effie was supposed to win! 

Damn it.

Well what was she supposed to do now?

[recharmed]

Jen Bunny. austin resident. esthetician student. lover. fighter. make up enthusiast. ♡ ♡ Followers:...

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