#//What the hell is wrong with Lawrence fans

[serpulalacrymans]

//I am a writer who likes to create a friendly and inviting environment. I try my best to do so, anyway. I like making friends! I do my best to keep the peace, I like to think I'm friendly and easy to get along with-

//But none of this means you're automatically invited into my friend circle. Let that be fucking clear. I'm a friendly neighbor. I'm your Tumblr friend. I'm a good acquaintance, or a fun mutual. We can absolutely be friends. But make no mistake- If you don't have my Discord, or any other social media of mine that I have provided to you, all we are, are Tumblr friends.

//I like getting along with people, and I adore and cherish the friends I do have on this website. It is genuine friendship. I do care. Even if we hardly talk, if we haven't interacted in months, that doesn't mean I've forgotten you or left you behind- but it also doesn't mean you're entitled to me in any way shape or form. It doesn't put you on the same level of my other friends who I've known for years, who know so much about me, who know my name and my favorite dinosaur, who have history with me.

//I am also aware that I don't personally talk in DM's a lot. I know. I know it would help if I did. But know I have... like NO friendship decay, so unless we've been dormant for decades or something, I'll just kinda respond as if we've been talking every day. None of this is INTENTIONAL, I just have a very hard time talking and keeping up with people. This isn't an excuse, it's just an explanation. I still love you the same as I did 4 months ago when we both said Hey exactly once. And I know it isn't very fair for me to just.. Expect everyone else to come chat ME up while I sit and wait for it, but DM's aren't all there is- if I like you, I will interact. I will like your posts. I will send the occasional ask/post reply.

//It really fucking sucks that my outlet is ONCE AGAIN taken and turned into something weird and uncomfortable for me. If you want to be closer friends, just talk to me. Let me know. And if I want to be, I'll let you know. We're adults.

//Not sharing the user out of respect, but things like this will never be okay. You don't know who I am. No one knows what these kinds of messages can do to a person. To sit there and guilt trip me, pretending like I have soured your favorite character is bullshit and it's not right to put that, or anything else, on me. I hate that I have to sit here and explain this shit to grown ass adults. But apparently I need to.

//If you would like me to be more attentive and present, now is the time to let me know. If you feel neglected by me, let me know. If you want to be closer, LET ME KNOW and I will give it a try.

[coco-loco-nut]

Hii!

Can I please ask for an angsty fic with Max, where the reader defends him from Jos after not finishing his race in Melbourne...idk if you remember when Max kept his helmet for four hours after a race because he was afraid of what Jos would have done to him after not winning...and the reader basically tells Jos to get lost even if she's like 5'4 and definitely not as intimidating as them both lol.

And then maybe after the win in Suzuka, they "reconcile" but she still reminds him to act right around her boyfriend, who's now a man and not a little boy he could pressure like he once did.

Sorry if it's too long!! Thanks for taking your time and reading my request!

Guard Dog

Pairing: Max x Reader

Summary: You are sick and tired of watching Max take Jos' shit

TW: verbal abuse

A/n: thank you soooo much for the rec, I love writing these out so much <3

requests open masterlist

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"Maxie... are you okay?" you wait patiently by the door to his driver's room, careful not to barge in like Jos would, as you have for the past year since you first witnessed Jos' beratement of his son. He is sitting on the couch with his helmet between his hands. The fire causing an unpleasant start to the race, and you are just glad you got here first.

"I'm okay," his voice cracks and you step into the room, closing the door behind you. "I know it wasn't my fault, but I can't help but feel like it was my fault," Max looks in your eyes, the fire brewing behind them. You were genuinely the sweetest girl he's ever met, and to get you mad took a lot. God help you if Jos shows up, you are tired of Max feeling bad even when he podiums.

"You're right, you didn't do anything wrong, the car failed you today," you stay calm, sitting beside him and cuddling into him. Max stays quiet, enjoying your warmth, and decompressing from the start. He can understand why the fans were so happy to see him lose, in fact, if he wasn't himself, he would join them. No, the fear of his father is what has him on edge. Rightfully so, because a few seconds later the door is slammed open again.

"Max, what the hell did you-" Jos starts and you launch yourself off the couch. Jos and Max were big guys, and you were average height for a woman, 5'6 or so, but you didn't seem like it in that moment.

"Shut the hell up and leave. You have nothing useful to say and you are going to shift blame to Max who had NO fault in the DNF," you snarl, setting yourself up as a barrier between the two, Jos still in the doorway and Max on the couch.

"Girl, I don't know who you think you are, but I am Max's father, and I can-," You cut Jos off before he can continue.

"No, you aren't his father. A father doesn't talk to his son like that, you are simply a man who shares the same last name as Max. A father is someone like Carlos Sainz Sr or Lawrence Stroll. No, you are a man- sorry a boy in a man's body- who can't cope with the fact that he doesn't race anymore and wants the man who shares the same last name with him to be impossibly perfect and win every single race, even when the car breaks down." You sneer at the man. "You need to leave, before I call security and make them remove you," you don't back down, instead you step closer. Max watches in both awe and fear.

"I-"

"Leave, Jos, now. Don't make me repeat myself," you say, practically slamming the door behind him. You turn around and look at Max, seemingly calm and normal. He looks at you bewildered.

"That was the sexiest thing ever. Thank you, Schatje, you didn't have to do that," Max hugs you, a large weight off of his shoulders.

"Of course I did, who else will be your guard dog?" You smile at him, squeezing him tighter. "Now, get changed and get back to the garage," you tell Max, stepping out to the room. You let out a deep breath, surprised with how you treated Jos and stood up for Max. A couple minutes later, Max rejoins you, quickly stopping inside hospitality for a snack.

The two of you avoid Jos, going extremely low contact, not that he was trying to. Jos would never admit it, but he was embarrassed at how you spoke to him, and his retreat allowed him to ignore it. Instead, you and Max enjoyed your time together in Japan. The both of you were aware Jos was there, but chose to ignore it. After Max won, Jos warily approached the two of you.

"I wanted to congratulate you on winning. You drove well," Jos says stiffly, silently calling for a truce. You let Max take the lead on the conversation.

"Thank you," he says, feeling like a little boy again, but accepting the temporary truce.

"It was good seeing you Jos, but we need to go," you interject, sensing the still tense atmosphere. The older man, still a little scared of you despite your sweet demeanor, lets you go, not quite willing to cross you again.

"Love you, Maxie"

"Love you too, Schatje,"

[zombiebastian]

Beavis and Butthead in Saw

I have decided to repost my B&BH Saw fan fiction here on tumblr, the original is on AO3 my account is MrScissorsFanboy, enjoy the story!

Disclaimers: this fan fiction of course, contains violence and stuff, it is based on Saw after all. Second of all Beavis and Butthead are positioned differently than Lawrence and Adam were in the movie and the bathroom is a bit smaller. Third of all I hadn't watched Saw in a while when I first wrote this so I apologize if I get some details wrong

ENJOY!!

They had found themselves in an odd situation, the last thing Beavis and Butthead remembered before waking up in this cold dark place was watching TV at night, then they noticed a weirdo in a pig mask had been standing in a dark area in the room, next thing they know everything had faded to black.

"Damnit Butthead is this some kinda prank?!" Exclaimed Beavis, pulling the plug from the cold bathtub he had woken up in "Where the hell did you take me?!"

"Shut up bunghole, I didn't take you anywhere!" Butthead yelled back, unlike Beavis he didn't wake up in a bath tub but instead was on the cold hard floor.

Beavis rolled out of the bath, and tried to walk around the pitch black room, only to realise there was something around his foot "Uhhhh, Butthead, whats this round my foot?" He asks.

Suddenly the lights turned on, it turned out they had awoken in a dirty bathroom with one of their foots chained to pipes, Beavis pulled at the chains trying to pull his foot out "What kinda weird prank is this?!"

"Hey Beavis, remember that chick in the pig mask?" Butthead asks, "Oh yeah, I remember her," Butthead explained his theory,

"What if like... She kidnapped us and she's one of those -kinky chicks? Whats that thing called again... Ehh... BTSM?!"

Beavis replied "Whats a BTSM?"

"Ehhh... I think it stands for Bandage To Slut Moms? Its when she like ties you up and like... Rides your weiner?"

Beavis is confused by what Butthead just said "How does someone even ride a weiner?" He asks, Butthead answers

"Hold on, wait my memory is coming back, its when she ties you up and like handcuffs you, and then she takes you to this special theme park where you ride this big roller coaster where the cart looks like a weiner, huhuhuhu,"

-"Maybe we should wait and that kinky chick in the pig mask will come back and take us to the weiner coaster, HOLY CRAP BUTTHEAD LOOK!" Beavis suddenly yells when they somehow just realise that there is a dead person in the middle of the bathroom.

This dead person is covered in blood and holds a gun in one hand and a tape recorder in the other.

"This chicks a murderer!" Exclaimed Beavis "We have to find a way out of here before she comes and kills us too!"

"Shut up Beavis," replied Butthead "He's holding a gun in his hand, I think I know what this means, not only is she into tying up people and putting handcuffs on them, she's also into something called gunplay!"

"I don't like the sound of that!" Beavis said with a slight tone of fear in his voice

"You're not getting it Beavis, soon that kinky pig chick will come in here, and we will finally do what we've been waiting to do for our whole lives, we shall score,"

"BUT I DON'T WANT TO SCORE IF THAT MEANS I'M GONNA GET SHOT, WHAT THE HELLS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Yelled Beavis, that clearly didn't really calm him much.

"Don't worry, maybe we can convince her not to do that gunplay thing, I have some crushed up nachos in my pocket maybe we can give those to her and then she wont shoot us or something," Butthead explains as he reaches into his back pocket, except he didn't feel any of his crushed up nachos but a weird square shaped object.

"Hey Beavis, whats this?"

Beavis answers "Uhhhh, it looks like a small tape, like the ones we keep our special movies on, except that wouldn't fit in the TV and I doubt there's any hot chicks on there,"

"Hey Beavis, check your pockets, maybe you have something else we could give to that chick so she won't shoot us," Butthead suggests

"Yeah yeah, good idea," replies Beavis

Beavis reaches into his pockets and also finds a small tape "Damn its just another one of those tape thingys! I doubt these can convince her not to do the gunplay stuff with us,"

"Calm down dude, she won't score with you if you're all jittery like that, chicks aren't into that typa stuff," Butthead says in annoyance.

Beavis of course, doesn't calm down, yes he's wanted to score with a hot chick for so long but not one who might shoot him in the head!

"Hey Butthead, I just came up with an idea, what if we put these tapes... In that dead guys tape recorder!" Beavis said,

Butthead says back "No dude, thats dumb, in situations like these we have to like, think out the box or something,"

"Whatever, you do you, I'm gonna put my tape in there," Beavis tried to reach for the tape recorder in the dead guys hand but it was too far for him to reach

"Eh! If only I wasn't chained to this thingamajig!"

"I told you it was dumb, Beavis, now start thinking outside the box like I said!" Butthead exclaims angrily.

"Think outside the box? Butthead we aren't even in a box! Unless..." Beavis had came to a revelation "Butthead I figured it out! We aren't in some random bathroom! We're in a giant box!"

There was a moment of silence before Butthead replied "That could make sense, afterall the room is square shaped like a box, but why would someone put turd filled toilets and a huge bathtub in a box? Not to mention that dead guy,"

"Maybe its to like... Throw us off? But we figured it out with our genuis!" Beavis said, now with a more cocky and excited tone.

"Yeah yeah, more like my genius, I was the one who said the box thing first," Butthead responds.

The 2 sit there trying to figure out what to do next, but eventually Butthead falls asleep due to being a lazy teenager.

Beavis looks over to check if his friend is still asleep before attempting to get the tape recorder from the dead guy again.

"Think outside the box my ass," he rambles to himself, clearly not agreeing Butthead's "genuis". He attempts to reach over and grab it but keeps failing.

"Damnit dude why couldn't you have died a little closer?!"

Eventually Beavis is able to get the tape recorder by bending fowards and using hid big forhead to drag it across the floor. He then took its and put his tape recording into it.

The tape started to play and it was a lot louder than expected so it woke Butthead up

"God damnit Beavis I told you to never wake me up or I'd kick your ass! You're luckily I'm chained to this pipe,"

"Ahaha sorry about that, I was just listening to this tape," Beavis then rewinds the tape so they can both listen to it.

"Beavis, this is your wake up call. Everday of your life, you and your friend Butthead watch TV and talk about sexual intercourse, and at school you misbehave and drive your teachers insane. I'm giving you a chance to rebirth yourself, your aim in the game is to kill Butthead, if you do not kill him by 6:00 your TV will be destroyed and you will be left here to rot. Just remembered X marks the spot for the treasure. Let the games begin. Follow your heart,"

The 2 were left in shocked silence.

"Oh no... HE'S GONNA DESTROY OUR TV!!" Yells Beavis in absolute horror

"Calm down Beavis, put my tape thing in there, it might give us another way to save the TV," Butthead, despite being terrified that he may lose his beloved TV, tried to remain calm.

Butthead threw his tape at Beavis, and Beavis put it into the tape recorder.

"Rise and shine, Butthead. You're probably wondering where you are. I'll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room you die in. Up until now all you've done is watch TV and talk about sexual intercourse with your friend Beavis, and when at school you do the opposite of what all of your teachers say. Now I see you as a strange mix of someone angry, yet stupid, mostly just pathetic. So are you going to watch yourself die today, Butthead. Or are you going to do something about it?"

"Woah... Huhuhuhu, cool, I might die, like the people in that sick zombie movie," Butthead spoke "Anyways we need to look for the clues in the tapes, have any ideas Beavis?"

Beavis at this point was hyperventilating and having a weird panic attack "BUT... OUR TV!!!" He screams.

"Shut up bunghole, the sooner we find clues the sooner we can save the TV, then we can watch our "special movies" with the hot chicks,"

Beavis tries to calm down but is still clearly in distress "Okay okay... In my tape he mentioned something about being rebirthed... Rebirthing myself... REBIRTHING MYSELF?! AM I PREGNANT WITH MYSELF?!"

"I don't think so, where would the rebirthed version of yourself come out? Your butt?" Butthead asks sarcastically.

The 2 sat in silence for a few seconds before Butthead broke the silence once more

"So like... What do we do?"

Beavis exclaims "You're the one who said look for clues!"

Butthead then replies "Yeah but like... I never knew it would be this hard,"

They both looked around for clues before Butthead laughed

"Hey Beavis, there's a heart on the toilet next to you, its drawn in poop, huhuhu,"

Beavis looks and begins laughing alongside his friend

"It does! Hahahaha!"

Butthead then suddenly came to a revelation that this may be their next clue

"Hey Beavis, you have to dig your hand in the toilet, that is our next clue,"

Beavis looked at Butthead for a few moments with an angry expression "What the hell?!" He exclaims "No Butthead you do it! There's like... Turds in there!"

Butthead replied "You're closer to it dumbass!" Before throwing the tape recorder at Beavis, howevet it missed him and hit the top of the toilet which knocked the tank off.

"What the hell is wrong with you, fartknocker?! Oh wait! Look there's something in there," Beavis says, standing up and taking the lid off the tank to reveal a bag.

"You see Beavis? Just stick with me and before we know it our TV will be saved, and maybe we'll get to score with that pig chick," Butthead said cockily as Beavis places the bag on the floor and opens it.

In the bag were two saws and a picture of them both watching TV

"This picture... This was taken just before that pig chick showed up!" Beavis exclaims

"How do you know?" Butthead asks

"Because we're wearing the same shirts!" Answers Beavis

Butthead proceeded to throw a random object he found on the floor towards Beavis again, this time it hit him in the head

"That's because we always wear the same shirt dumbass!" Butthead yelled angrily.

"Ah! Oh yeah you're right... Hehehe,"

"Anyways, I think we use the saws to like, cut the chains off," suggests Butthead, Beavis answers

'Yeah yeah good idea,"

They try to cut through the chains using the saws but it doesn't work, the chains are too strong

"Damnit, its not working!" Beavis exclaims angrily

"Son of a bitch," Butthead sighs when his saw broke while trying to cut through the chains "This sucks," in frustration Butthead threw his broken hacksaw at the wall, specifically a part where there was a mirror, it smashed against it and as the glass shards came tumbling down, it revealed a camera.

"Woah Butthead, I think you found another clue!" Beavis says "So somebody is watching us..."

"Yeah, uhhhh, hello?" Butthead tries to communicate with the person watching them through the camera but then realises they probably cant talk to him "Maybe we should like, turn the lights off so they cant see us or something,"

Beavis noticed that next to him was a light switch, so he did what Butthead said and turned off the lights "So what now?" Beavis asks, Butthead answers "Its pretty obvious you fartknocker, we try figure out our next clue,"

The boys look around trying to find the next clue, when they notice an X on the wall written in some sort of glow in the dark substance.

"Look Beavis, X marks the spot, like the guy said on the tape. Its all starting to make sense now," Butthead explains, the X was close fo Beavis so he went ahead and checked it out.

Beavis pushed at the wall expecting some Indianna Jones type secret passage way to be there, but nothing

"Uhhhhh... What do I do?" He asks

Before Butthead could suggest anything, a vibrating noise was heard coming from behind the X, thats when Beavis realised he should probably break the wall open.

He tried to punch it open but of course he was not strong enough

"What should I do Butthead?!" He asks in a panicked state, Butthead replies

"Uhhhhh... I dunno,"

Beavis then grabs his saw and uses the handle part to break the wall open, eventually it smashes and reveals a box, but it took a while because Beavis was too much of an idiot to find something stronger to break it.

Beavis reaches inside and grabs the box before opening it, inside was a phone which explained the vibration noise, a piece of paper and a cigarette. Beavis notices words written on the paper and tries to read it.

"T-h-e... Kigarete? Aree, hayrmlees, i, promysee... Nope I cant read this," he attempts and tries his best but he does not understand such complex spelling and vocabulary.

Butthead then suggests "Why don't you throw it to me? I think I can read it,"

"Yeah good idea, hehehe," Beavis replies

Beavis tries to throw Butthead the paper but it lands too far away from both of them so neither of them can reach it now

"Oh well, it probably wasn't that important anyways," Butthead states carelessly.

"I'll answer the phone," Beavis says before flipping the phone open and answering the person calling it

"4 hours, Beavis," the person on the other line said before they began to play one of Butthead's "special tapes" on the TV, Beavis felt like crying.

"No... Her sweet voice, how dare you! Where is our baby?!" He yells "Where did you take our TV?!"

But the person on the other line did not answer, instead they just hung up. Beavis was now trembling in both anger and grief, the TV... The hot chicks... MTV music videos... If they did not find a way out of this they'd lose all of it.

"Beavis, we need to get out of here fast!" Butthead exclaims, but seemingly not as panicked as Beavis.

Beavis trembled and mumbled for a few moments before finally saying something "Hey Butthead... I think I know who might be behind this..."

Butthead turns towards Beavis and replies "Really? Who?"

Beavis remembered to one night almost 6 months ago, him and Butthead were doing what they did every night, watching TV on the couch while eating nachos, Butthead had fallen asleep and since Beavis didn't want his butt to be kicked he did not wake him up.

A News report had came on talking about this "Jigsaw killer" who would kidnap people and put them into weird traps, for example one girl named Amanda Young had been put in a "reverse beartrap" type contraption that would tear her face open if she didn't get the key in time, Jigsaw put her in that trap just because she did drugs, she survived her test somehow.

And another example was a guy named Paul Leahy who was put into a maze full of razor wires because he tried to kill himself, unlike Amanda he failed and bled to death, at the time Beavis thought this was really cool, but now that his TV and special movies were at stake, he didn't like this Jigsaw guy anymore.

Beavis explained all of this to Butthead

"I see..." Butthead expressed "And this guy still hasn't been caught?"

"Nope," Beavis answers

Beavis looks at the phone and says "Maybe we should call someone, who though?"

Butthead suggests "Maybe Todd, he's cool and strong enough to get us out of here and kick that Jigsaw's ass,"

"Good idea, hehehe,"

Beavis tried to call Todd's number (which he didn't even know but tried anyways) but for some reason the phone wouldn't let him call anyone.

"Its not letting me!" Beavis exclaims angrily, before recieving a call again from the same person as before, Beavis answers.

"3 hours and 30 minutes until your TV is destroyed, Beavis, not only that but we have implanted a nuclear bomb in your school which will be set off at the same time your TV will be destroyed, meaning all of your classmates and teachers will be blown to bits! Also, I've kidnapped your friend Stuart and his parents, if you don't escape by 6, not only will your TV and school be destroyed, but Stuart and his parents will be shot and killed,"

"Woah... Huhuh, cool!" Butthead says happily "Its a shame all of the hot chicks at school will die though, but its honestly worth it,"

The person on the other end hangs up

"No... Our TV... But at the same time, Stuart and everyone at school will die, which is amazing! I'm starting to consider just staying here, we can always buy a new TV, right? But all stupid school, all of our annoying teachers, our classmates, plus Stuart will be gone forever! Imagine not having to deal with those fartfaces anymore?!"

"Yeah, I'm sure we can save up money to get a new TV and-" before Butthead could finish his sentence, Beavis collapsed to the floor screaming and shaking in pain as if he were being electrocuted, soon enough Butthead would also be shocked just like this.

The both of them eventually passed out, in their unconscious state their life flashed before their eyes... Their TV... Most of their time together was spent in front of the TV... Beavis and Butthead's first memories as toddlers was watching TV together, even during Christmas and each others birthdays they both watched TV, their favourite movies and music videos, all of the hot actresses, the epic fire and explosions...

Thats when they both realised... This wasn't just any old TV, it was *their* TV, a TV that carried so many fond memories, a TV that was the only thing that had stuck with them throughout the years apart from each other, a TV that always played their special VHS tapes they had obtained from a peculiar man in an alleyway.

It was *their* TV.

No amount of annoying people dying and school being destroyed forever would make up for the loss of such an amazing, loyal, spectacular TV.

Soon Beavis woke up to the buzzing of the phone, he looked around to see Butthead still unconscious. Beavis felt quite tired but he picked up the phone anyways, his voice all groggy.

"Hello?"

"30 minutes until your TV is destroyed and everything you love will explode, Beavis, clock is ticking,"

"What? No no no! There's no way...."

Beavis realised him and Butthead had been unconscious for 3 whole hours "Butthead wake up!" He yells in extreme anxiety and horror. Butthead wakes up "Whats going on Beavis...? Just give me a minute..."

"No no no! You don't understand you idiot!" Beavis shouts "We slept for 3 whole hours! Our TV.... Our TV! All of those hot chicks! The fire! The memories!" Beavis cries.

Butthead then realises what his happening and panics too "Oh no... We need to get out of here now!!"

The phone is still on the line and the person calling them suddenly seems in distress, there is a lot of yelling going on in the background and things being thrown.

Eventually a few gunshots are heard and Beavis's heart stops.

"No... Whats going on out there?! What have you done to the TV?!" he screams, now in actual tears, but no reply, whoever wad behind the phone had just hung up with no answer to wether the TV was okay or not.

"Damnit... I'm not gonna let that stupid Jigsaw get away with this!! I'm not gonna die here!!" Beavis yells before he grabs the hacksaw.

"Hey Beavis... What are you doing?" Butthead asks with surprisingly not much emotion in his voice, he then grows a bit more concerned when Beavis holds the hacksaw to his leg "Woah Beavis, you're gonna cut your foot off?"

"I'm doing whatever it takes to save our baby!!!" He cries out before beginning to roll his pants leg up.

"Don't cut your leg off, Beavis, you'll die... Or something," Butthead says, only to be ignored.

Beavis cries out as he proceeded to saw his foot

"Oh god!" He yells "Damnit I need to get our TV!"

Butthead can only watch in horror as his best friend slowly and painfully saws off his foot while screaming, but in actuality, deep down he can only think "Wow... Huhuhu, cool,"

Eventually the foot comes off and blood spills all over, Beavis screaming due to the amount of shock seeing his own severed foot put him in.

Beavis eventually calms himself and wriggles himself over towards the dead guy in the middle of the room, whimpering in pain. He then takes the gun from the dead guys hand and points it at Butthead.

"Wait Beavis... What are you doing?" Butthead asks

Beavis answers "Only one of us can leave this room alive, Butthead, and since I'm the one who cares about the TV the most, thats gonna be me,"

Butthead suddenly looks quite pissed "You buttmunch, you can't shoot me, you're nothing without me, you suck without me,"

Beavis continues to hold his best friend at gunpoint, which increasingly made Butthead mad. Until, suddenly Beavis pointed the gun away from Butthead.

Butthead looks to wear Beavis is pointing it, and sees a man standing there who also holds a gun, but before the man can say anything Beavis shoots him multiple times, this man was Jigsaw.

The 2 were in silence for a few seconds after Jigsaw fell to the floor, before Beavis crawls over towards Butthead.

"I... Have... To go now..." Trembled Beavis as be grabs Butthead's shirt, Butthead then realised that his friend would be leaving him and replied with a stern

"No you aren't,"

Beavis continues to tremble as he says "You're going... To be alright... Butthead..."

"Of course I am dumbass," Butthead replies "But you cant just leave me!"

"I'm.... Going to go... And get help..."

"No,"

"If I don't get help..." Beavis rubs his hand against Butthead's face "I'll... Bleed to death... And we need... To save our TV..."

"Don't leave me! No! you buttwagon! No!"

Butthead continues to yell no as Beavis begins to crawl away out the door the man they just shot came through. Before he leaves though he turns around and says.

"Don't worry... I'll bring somebody back... I promise..."

He then continues to crawl away, much to Butthead's negative feelings.

"Beavis! Beavis you dumbass get back here right now!"

Beavis continues to crawl but as soon as he got to the front of the door he turns around to look at Butthead one last time.

"Are we like, gonna be okay?" Butthead asks, with Beavis replying "I... I wouldn't lie to you..."

Beavis soon crawls away, leaving Butthead all alone. Butthead then begins to search the body of the now dead Jigsaw Killer to see if he had a key to his shackles in his pocket, he pulls out his wallet and ID only to find nothing.

"Well at least if the police get here, they can discover the identity of the jigsaw killer using this," Butthead thinks to himself.

Butthead continues searching "Come on, where the hell did you put my key? Idiot,"

Butthead then pulled out a tape recorder from Jigsaw's pocket, looking at it in confusion. Dumbfounded, Butthead began to play the tape.

"Hello, Mr. Hindle. Or as they called you around the hospital, Zep. I want you to make a choice. There's a slow acting poison coursing through your system, which only I have the antidote for. Will you destroy a TV and murder a whole school and an innocent family to save yourself? Listen carefully, if you will, there are rules... ”

Butthead then says "Uhhh... My names Butthead, not Zep you idiot, this doesn't make any sense. Ugh I hope Beavis will be back soon,"

Butthead then notices a strange motion in the corner of his eye, he slowly turns towards it only to see that the man who had been dead on the floor for the whole game, the man who had been shot, had stood up like nothing had just happened.

"Uhh... Are you like, a zombie?" Butthead asks.

The man ignored him and began to rip off the blood and gunshots from his face as if they were just special effects, because they were.

"Dude, you were pretending to be dead this whole time? Why didn't you say anything we would've like, helped you escape and stuff," Butthead said.

The man slowly turned towards Butthead and pointed at the bathtub where Beavis was

"The key to your chain is in the bathtub,"

Butthead turned towards the bathtub and saw all of the water inside had been drained, and nothing inside of it

"Beavis you idiot! Because of you my ticket out of here is in some rusty pipe, I swear when I get out of here I'm gonna beat your ass, and I don't care that you're technically disabled now,"

Butthead was now just really angry at everything, so to take out his anger he decides to grab the gun and try and shoot the man, knowing he probably has something to do with all this, but before he can pull the trigger he is faced with an electric shock again.

The man had a remote that would shock them both the entire time which explained what happened before. Butthead ended up dropping the gun as he is electrocuted again, the gun flying too far for him to reach again as the man walks towards the door.

"Hey, get back here, fartknocker, I'm gonna kick your ass for this," Butthead says, but the man of course continues walking away.

The man then turns the light off in the bathroom and walks outside the door turning around and looking at Butthead for a few seconds. He then grabs the edge of the door and before slamming it shut yells:

"Game over!"

The door is finally closed and Butthead is left in complete darkness.

"Hey dude, I'm sorry about trying to shoot you... Uhh... Can you at least bring my TV here? Dude? Damnit I think he can't hear me now,"

I hope you enjoyed it, and yes I will be doing the other movies 👍🏻

[inkabelledesigns]

I know I'm posting a day late here, but Happy Birthday Bendy! February 10th, 2024 marks the 7 year anniversary of when Bendy and the Ink Machine came out. And boy, has it been a wild ride. Normally I would reserve this for my Bendy sideblog, @angelofthepage , but I'm posting it here because this is where I started years ago, and I want some of those people who don't see that blog to have a chance to see this. Because you guys are a part of this story.

In about three months, seven years ago, I was in finals hell, working through my process book for my packaging design class in one of the dorm lounges while my roommate had taken the room for herself again. And the only thing keeping me sane was putting Can't Be Erased and Build Our Machine on loop as I worked. BATIM only had two chapters out, and I didn't know everything about it, but I was so intrigued by what its deal was. I took one look at Sammy Lawrence and I wanted to know everything about him. Something about this barely started game, the idea of your characters coming to life to kill you, it thrilled me, intrigued me. It was something I was really afraid of, being so attached to my characters and putting so much of my identity in my art. And while the story isn't really all that much about cartoons themselves being alive, it gave me something else that ended up changing my life.

Over that summer, I would become obsessed, and for the first time in years, I let myself be a fangirl again. And maybe one day I'll pull up the timeline and tell you how it all went down. But right now, after all the celebrating of yesterday, I just wanna take a moment to appreciate the last seven years. All the people I've met, all the friends I've made. All the experiences we've had together, big and small. Some have been incredibly close, and others have been people I still smile about whenever I see them on my feed, even if we're not all doing stuff in the same fandom anymore. There's some people I've fallen out of touch with that I likely won't ever see again that I miss. There's some I'll be lucky if I never see again. There's the official voice actors for Dark Revival, which I've had the pleasure of working with on community things here in the fandom. I regularly moderate their livestreams (or Lovestreams as we call them) where they sign prints and interact with us fans (and sometimes I'm tech support, once an ink machine technician, always an ink machine technician xD). I'm honored to call a lot of them my friends, we've had some truly wonderful conversations. I've spent a lot of time in a variety of servers, trying to uplift people and make for a positive fandom experience for everyone, fans old and new. Sometimes it lands me in interesting places, like helping out over on the Inky News channel. The host, Brandon, invited me over to guest star on his anniversary stream yesterday, and in the past I've been fortunate enough to showcase my art on two of his interviews, one with Dave Rivas and one with Adrienne Kress. Sometimes it lands me on fun projects, like working on a fan game, and for the first time it's not as a voice actor! I'm a writer. I've had my work uplifted in turn too, meeting people who value me for me and also cheer me on when I try new things (sometimes entirely new mediums like doll customizing). I got my first helpful constructive critique in this fandom, and it was something I ASKED for. That is a huge personal milestone! I have a really complex and twisty set of feelings about critique, and finally, I feel better, because someone helped me start to unravel that just by being themselves and being thoughtful. It's inspired me to want to be better in how I handle critique and problem solving with others.

I spent so much of my life putting my self worth in other people's hands. I thought I would never be good enough to have friends who didn't treat me like garbage. I thought I'd never be a good artist in any sense of the word either. But I was wrong. I've grown. I'm valued, I'm wanted. I don't have to hide parts of myself to be desirable. Sometimes being the silly, goofy, fangirl that is Kat is enough. My art is enough, my ideas are enough, my flavor is tasty, and I am a goddamn treat. And after so many years of not knowing that, I'm glad I finally do. And it's all because of the people. It wasn't ever that my flavor was bad, it's that I hadn't found people with a taste for it yet. Bendy's greatest gift was giving me a fresh start, a chance to meet new people, good people, and for that, I'm forever grateful. Even though things have changed, I'm glad I met each and every one of you, you all taught me something valuable along the way, and I think about those experiences we shared often.

I won't lie to you, I've been rather frustrated with Bendy lately. And I think a lot of it has to do with the games not truly having grown with me. At some point our paths deviated, and there are elements of what's come and what's coming that are getting away from what really enticed me about the very first entry, the things I valued most in it. But in some ways, analyzing that has led me to figure out what made that first game so special. It was human. It was a character focused game, and each of the characters, while vague, gave us just enough about themselves that we could feel for them, get invested, imagine, maybe even sympathize. Everyone is a tragedy, but they're all different flavors of tragedy. And it was seeing people explore that, seeing people write these characters in ways that were so human, that really built a connection. For some people, Bendy is another indie horror experience. For others, it's something to indulge in that hits hard on a personal level. In many ways, it attracts a lot of us who feel like misfits. It's many things. But to me, the magic was in the people. The people in this universe, and the people in its real world community.

It has solidified my belief that people should play with fiction however they want, no matter how far it deviates from the canon, no matter how weird it is. Go be interpretive, go tell your story, go be free to make what speaks to you! (All I ask is that you're thoughtful about tagging it so people can make smart choices about engaging with it.) All stories are worth telling. Even if no one gets into it, having told it makes a difference.

Whether you're someone who's been there from the beginning, or someone that's new to Bendy, I hope you're all having fun. Whether you've finished exploring the world or you've just begun, I hope you've found something valuable. Thank you, for coming along for the ride. Here's to many more fun experiences and stories, be they official or be they in the fandom. Happy Bendyversary!

[ilovejohnwinchester]

John Winchester is a shitty father in many ways. Even as a fan of the character, I can’t argue with that—he makes a lot of terrible decisions that have long-lasting impacts on his kids’ lives. But there is one aspect of how he interacts with Dean and Sam as a parent that I appreciate and that I think gets lost in fandom interpretations: he’s quick to admit he’s wrong and to apologize. From Dead Man’s Blood (1x20)

JOHN: You ignored a direct order back there.

SAM: Yes sir.

DEAN: Yeah but we saved your ass.

JOHN: You're right. It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family.

And from Salvation (1x21):

JOHN: All right. When were you going to tell me about this?

DEAN: We didn't know what it meant.

JOHN: All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me.

DEAN: Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad I called you from Lawrence all right? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.

JOHN: You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.

He’s not angry as he’s saying any of this. He doesn’t dig in. He considers their point of view, listens, and admits he’s wrong. I’ve seen the first parts of these interactions discussed in a thousand posts but they always cut off before that part—which I think is a shame because to me that willingness to eat crow is an important part of his character.

[iamprchung]

The Spider and the FBI: Part 7 "Paradise Syndrome"

Synopsis by guest writer Jose Chung (written prior to his apparent death at the hands of the Nostradamus Nutball):

Now, grab your Stetsons, conspiracy cowboys, 'cause we're moseying on over to Elmo, Wyoming. Here, amidst the questionable barbeque and dazzling fireworks of the 4th of July festivities, we find Agent Scully embroiled in a situation more perplexing than a malfunctioning weather balloon.

In strides Sheriff Lawrence Durokoff, a man carved from the same government-issue granite as Assistant Director Skinner, only with a grin brighter than a chrome bumper on a brand-new pickup truck. Was it a case of cloning gone wrong? Or perhaps long-lost twins separated by, well, let's just say a misplaced birth certificate (we can delve into government conspiracies all day, but identical twins are a stretch even for this jaded scribe).

The truth, as always, is stranger than the wildest fan fiction. The undeniable spark between Scully and Sheriff Durokoff has tongues wagging about a future filled with calico dresses and prairie sunburns instead of chasing shadows in the bureaucratic labyrinth.  Is our favorite redhead about to trade her badge for a butter churn? Only time, and perhaps a strategically placed horseshoe (it's a small town, after all) will tell!

Notes: Yes, I sure did title this after a Star Trek episode.

"Paradise Syndrome"

Part VIII of "The Spider and the FBI"

by PR Chung

Preface/Notes:

Just reading through this, even after all these years, I recognize exactly where one of my very best friends and amazing author assisted with this story. I know her work is still out there somewhere as she was one of the originals in the X-Files fiction fandom, authoring stories that are still amazing. None other than the very talented Paula B. Her ability to turn a phrase cannot be surpassed, and it’s a joy to read passages I know she helped on.

*************************

Elmo, Wyoming July 4th

By the time she hung up the phone from her conversation with Mulder, Scully's hair was nearly dry from her shower. She got up from the bed and went to the window, drawing back the curtains of her hotel room to look out on the street below.

Nothing much had changed except for the layer of increasing smoke drifting up through the trees from the square. How many barbecues were going? She wondered. And what were they cooking? Burgers and hot dogs? Roasting corn snugly rolled in foil? Brisket and ribs, too?

Her stomach gurgled.

Trying to remember the last meal she'd eaten she turned to go check on her blouse. It was hanging to dry in the bathroom after a lame attempt to clean it in the porcelain basin. It was a very nice bathroom, just not very functional.

The entire room was very nice, as was the whole hotel. Small and quaint, just a few rooms sitting atop a gift shop and cafe. Heavy in small town charm and light on the amenities; a bed, chest of drawers, mirror, and nightstand. No television, no radio, and the phone had to be brought up specially for her room, as had the one taken into Skinner's room down the hall.

His would undoubtedly be of heavier use than hers she presumed as she touched the still damp fabric of her blue blouse. He wasn't pleased in the least about either the situation or the location, and he apparently wanted out as fast as humanly possible.

He had been on the phone at the Sheriff's station the entire time it took to get Bernstein squared away in the holding cell. There was nothing but skeleton crews of federal workers manning the phones in Denver and Salt Lake City. Calling Washington hadn't been much help either; apparently all he had gotten was an ear full of instructions to get Bernstein back there for trial- come hell or high water.

Sure, they could get a flight out of Laramie or Cheyenne in the morning or even tonight if they were lucky enough that the agents from the Casper field operation should show up. But things were looking ugly up there, suspicion of terrorism and arrests sparking upset among the jingoistic masses. It was just another unpleasant federal incident in the making.

Aside from becoming another bout of bad press for the bureau, this whole Casper thing had gummed up the works, delaying agents that Mulder had needed, and now, still, those she and Skinner needed.

Mulder could have gone forever, and would have, if she hadn't interrupted his denunciation of every federal employee he had dealt with during the last twenty-four hours. She could tell he hadn't slept by just the shear amount of information he was trying to pack into a single conversation followed by a spate of questions.

She was sure there would be more questions when he finally arrived in a few hours. After muttering something about manic helicopter pilots, he had said was going to drive to Elmo, which concerned her if he hadn't slept, but once Mulder was set on doing something there was generally no swaying him from it.

A sudden resonant sound of a band practicing drew her attention back to the street below her hotel window, where she caught sight of Sheriff Durokoff.

Self-consciously she took a step back from the window not wanting to be discovered in just her bra. At a careful distance from the window, she watched him across the street and stop there in the shade, talking pleasantly with others.

The sound started up again, a guitar... being tested on an amplifier. Curious, she searched through the trees trying to see, hearing the strong chords of a bluesy country-rock song she couldn't name being played by fits and starts.

The trees were just too thick. She couldn't see a thing and gave up and turned back to look at more interesting things— He was gone. The people he'd been talking to were still there, mulling around and talking, but Durokoff was gone.

Crap. She'd see more of him later, but it was unlikely she would get another chance to covertly study him at length, to examine the similarities between him and Skinner.

His cousin, she concerned. How bizarre, she thought and smiled. Of all the towns they should end up in, after all they had gone through, they just happen to hit the one tiny patch of earth containing another Skinner- or rather a Durokoff. Their mothers were sisters undoubtedly, or perhaps a remarriage had caused the difference in names. She analyzed the possible branches of genealogy.

Like an impression of the sun Durokoff's smile was emblazoned on her retinas. He wasn't the consummate small town, no non-sense Sheriff, all bluster, and intimidation when it came to federal involvement.

He didn't like Bernstein, and he had been to the point with the man, swiftly locking him away in the blunt bowels of the Elmo holding cells, but during the entire time at the Sheriff's station he had still managed to be cheerful and lighthearted. She thought she'd even seen him give her a quick wink at one point.

The un-Skinner, she thought and nearly laughed out loud.

Not completely, though, the similarities remained, and were so great in certain respects that she had found herself deferring to Durokoff the same as if he were Skinner. A certain turn of a phrase, a look, a motion, everything about him stirred an almost constant sense of surprise and amusement in her.

Two Skinner's could be a rather daunting concept for some, but it didn't seem like such a bad idea to her.

A solid knocking sounded at the door of her room yanked her out of that thought, audibly startling her.

"Agent Scully?" a muffled voice called through the door, concerns seeping through the woodgrain.

"Just a minute," she called, rushing to grab her top.

Lawrence Durokoff stood in the hall listening to the muffled scurrying sounds beyond the door, arched his brows. Perhaps she wasn't alone in there, he thought and glanced down the hall toward his cousin's room which he'd discovered was empty only a moment before he tried her room.

"Is there a problem?" Durokoff turned at the sound of Skinner's voice. He was coming down the hall from the stairs, his eyes pinched and his jaw set.

"No. No problem here." He answered taking a step back from the door to address Skinner. Well, he wasn't in there. So, what's going on?

The door jerked open suddenly, a flush faced Scully looked back at the two men. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, questions pooling.

"Uh, hi." She greeted the two of them, holding the hem of her blouse out and away from herself, it was still damp and almost transparent when it contacted her body. "Is something wrong?" She finally asked when neither one of them spoke.

“You two sure are shellshocked.” He commented, glancing amusedly between the two of them. “Nothing wrong,” he told her, and glanced at Skinner, “and no problems.”

Durokoff held out a small satchel to Scully. "I had one of the deputies gather some things together for you," he explained as she took.

"Thank you," Scully said glancing inside it to see what appeared at first glance to be a tee shirt still in the plastic packaging, a hairbrush, and a few basic items of make-up.

Skinner averted his gaze from the scene shifting the plastic bag he was carrying from one hand to the other. Durokoff glanced back at his cousin holding out another bag, a half-sized duffel. "I got some clothes for you and some shaving stuff."

Skinner's hand went to his face, feeling the growth of beard stubble. What a pig he must have looked like, he ruefully thought and glanced at Scully. "Thanks."

The sound of music drifted into the hall through Scully's room from outside; a hearty rendition of Bad Moon Rising being played in the square.

"Well, uh," Durokoff muttered planting his hands on his hips, looking between the two of them. "I guess you've figured out there's a little party starting outside. There's plenty of food and music," he made a brief gesture toward the sound of the music past Scully's shoulder. "I've come to extend the official Elmo invitation for you both to join us."

Scully's stomach gurgled urging her to accept the invitation.

* "... I see the bad moon a rising. I see trouble on the way..." *

Skinner spoke before she could. "Food sounds great, but I don't think we should get distracted. We're still on duty here."

"No distractions," Durokoff said and grinned. "Just good food. I've got plenty of people keeping an eye on that Bernstein joker, so you can stop worrying about him. Just come on down to the square when you're ready and make yourselves at home."

* "... I see bad times on their way..."*

"I may just rest some." Skinner said quietly.

Speak for yourself, Scully thought. "I'd be happy to sample the local flavor. I can't remember my last real meal."

* "I know the end is coming soon..." *

"Great," Durokoff blurted, zealously slapping his hands together. "I'll see you down there, Agent Scully." He said and turned to go, saying to his cousin as he went, "I hope you'll come down, too, once you get some rest, Walter."

* "...don't go 'round tonight... It's bound to take your life..." *

"Here," Skinner said, unceremoniously extending a plastic bag to Scully.

She blinked pulling her gaze off his departing cousin. "What's this?" She asked, taking the bag.

"A toothbrush and paste." He answered already halfway to his room down the hall.

"Thank you..." she leaned out the door calling back to him, but his door had already shut, leaving her alone in the hall.

Back inside her room, she picked through the duffel finding a new tee-shirt, boasting a silk screen print that read 'Second Annual 4th of July Celebration, Elmo, Wyoming'. She frowned reading it.

Only their second? She wondered and moved on to inspect the rest of the items. The mascara would work fine and the lipstick too if she only dabbed it on, it was just a little too dark for her taste, but the blush would have to go, it was far too red.

Grateful for necessities, she snatched up the brush and plastic bag, heading to the bathroom. Her hair was frightful. Could she get it to behave even if she did re-wet it and brush it straight out? No beauty contest is going on that I know of right now, she told herself, yanking first paste from the plastic bag, then the toothbrush— and stopped.

She looked at it, confused at first by what she saw. Turning the brush over in she found a small decal stamped on the handle; a little stagecoach in motion with a name drifting behind it like dust from the wheels. The name wasn't Dana, though... It was Kate.

She looked at that a second before she realized and glanced back, her thoughts on the room down the hall. Dana wasn’t a common name emblazoned on any gift shop trinket. She looked down at the toothbrush.

He’d gotten the next closest.

*****************************

The when the music began Skinner opened his eyes, hearing the chords that were undeniably familiar aside from the performers’ ad-libbing. Before finally getting up to go to the window, he laid on the bed listening to the guitar playing down in the square wrenching out Sleepwalk.

It wasn't great, but it was close, he critiqued pulling back the gossamer curtains to look out. Anyway, the slower, more sedate sounds were a nice break from the honky tonkin,’ rambunctious stuff they'd been playing for the last hour.

He would have liked to have blamed his inability to sleep on the music, but he doubted he could have slept if he were in a soundproof room with no windows. There was just too much weighing on his mind to allow sleep to come easily. There was still no call from the special agent in charge up in Casper, no word on when they could expect more agents. At least Mulder was on his way, that fact, in the strangest of ways helped ease his concerns in some.

Once he got there, they could continue on to Laramie, get Bernstein drugged to the hilt and on a plane and back to DC by Monday at the latest. That would still give them a day before the arraignment hearing and get the federal prosecutor and Attorney General out of his hair.

Skinner chuckled to himself. If ever there was a figure of speech...

A glimpse of red drew his attention to the street below. There walked one of his other concerns: Scully was heading across to the town square.

Damn.

From out of the cover of the trees came Lawrence, a huge smile plastered across his face.

And there came the next concern.

Of all the damn places to end up in why the hell did they have to end up here? Eighteen years of peace shattered in a single day. Peace, yes, but not complete disconnection. There had always been word floating through the family about who was doing what and where they were.

He had known when Lawrence finally made Sheriff here, he'd actually been invited to a party to celebrate the event. He knew it hurt Aunt Anne and Bulah when he didn't respond. He had been busy, and just didn't feel like dealing with it again.

Skinner watched as two boys scurried between Scully and Lawrence, almost bumping into her as they went. He watched Scully laugh about it and talk cheerfully as Lawrence guided her into the park, disappearing beyond the thick canopy of tree branches.

His heart sank almost in time with the lamenting cry of the guitar playing. Too much time had passed, he thought, but things hadn't changed much...

*****************************

Norwalk, Ohio December 1st, 1963

There just wasn’t a whole lot to do, and all the adults were still shuffling around, overwhelmed by the news out of Dallas a little over a week before. It felt like the world, at least their part of it had come to stand still after the news of the president’s assassination.

Heavy and silent, the day pressed in around two small figures scuffing through turned leaves. It was Sunday after Thanksgiving, not much to do between the time Church was done and time for supper, except track around in the woods, down by trestle and maybe, if luck were good, a train would pass on its way into Cedar Point.

But come tomorrow, Monday was going to be the start of a whole new experience...

"Will there be a lot of girls there?"

"Sure will. Who do you think we're gonna dance with, Walter, each other?"

Walter pulled the collar of his red plaid coat up closer to his neck, shivering against the sudden cold breeze. "But a lot of them?" he asked, concerned.

"I don't know," Lawrence looked at him closely, "why, are you scared?"

Walter shrugged and stuffed his hands deep in the warmth of his Tuff-Skin pockets. "No. I was just wondering."

"I think you're scared. You're scared of the girls." Lawrence began to laugh. Walter blushed making his cousin laugh even harder. "Cubby's afraid of the girls."

"I'm not. And stop calling me that stupid name."

"Cubby, Cubby, Cubby." He chanted, jogging in a circle around Walter.

"I don't even look like that kid, knock it off!" Walter hauled off and shoved Lawrence knocking him off balance.

"You got the ears."

"So, what if I have mouse ears? You've got that stupid coonskin hat, and I know your cat gave it fleas cause you're always scratching your head when you wear it!"

"I don't scratch my head!" Lawrence proclaimed, his voice cracking hard. "And I wasn't talkin'bout your dumb Mickey Mouse ears. I meant your ears!"

"So! You scratch your head so much you're gonna scratch all your hair off and then see how many girls you dance with."

"You're dumb." Lawrence spat shoving Walter.

"You're stupid." Walter spat back, regaining his balance.

"You're fat."

The comment fell on deaf ears, Walter wasn't listening to his cousin, something else had caught his attention, a rustling sound close by. Lawrence tried shoving him again, but Walter didn't budge, he remained steady and fixed on the sound. "Cut it out... Listen..." he said, adjusting his glasses.

Lawrence listened, hearing the sound he frowned. "What is that?"

Walter shook his head and started forward, following the rustling.

They walked carefully though the brittle layer of leaves covering the ground, listening intently, checking the bare trees around them for some sign of what the sound was.

"There," Lawrence blurted, his arm shooting straight out from his body as he pointed toward the trees ahead of them. "It's a kite!"

"It was a kite," Walter corrected his cousin who had started for the tree the tattered kite was caught in.

"Oh, wow, look," Lawrence excitedly called out when he peered up at the object. "It's not torn or nothing, look, Walter. Look."

Walter stepped up next to him, peering up. "Nope. It's not torn or nothing."

"Wow."

"But it's also up a tree."

Without a word Lawrence reached up and grabbed a low branch in each hand.

"What are you doing?" Walter sounded more accusatory than he did inquiring.

"I'm gonna get it."

"It's just junk, Lawrence." He told him and shook his head when he saw that he wasn't being listened to.

Lawrence struggled up through the bare branches, losing purchase several times as deader ones broke off under his weight, but somehow managing to only go higher rather than fall back down. It wouldn't be long though...

"You're gonna fall. You better not go any higher!" Walter yelled; his neck bent back until it hurt now to see his cousin. How high was he going go before he would see that kite was just junk, all busted up and worthless?

"I got it!" Lawrence shouted triumphantly.

Walter watched as he waved the ragged kite before him like some trophy for endurance and strength.

It was about then a loud crack sounded.

Clear and loud, like bones cracking, the branch Lawrence was resting his butt on breaking cut through the chilly air.

Walter saw the look in Lawrence's eyes when he realized things had gone very bad- black and huge with fear. He shrieked and Walter thought he sounded like a girl in the instant before his cousin plummeted through the branches and crashed to the ground on his side.

He lay there on his side; his back curved like a hula-hoop and his legs turned in crazy angles that didn't look right at all. His mouth was moving but there was no sound, he was sucking air in, and his eyes were squeezed shut so hard Walter couldn't see his eyelashes when he got up close.

"Holy smokes! Are you all right? Are you all right?"

Finally, and with an intensity like Walter had never heard in his life, a horrible noise came out of Lawrence's mouth: a ragged scream that degenerated into a gut-wrenching bawling. "My legs," he screamed, blood and snot trickling from his nose. "It hurts! It hurts! Walter, help me! Oh, God it hurts!"

"I told you!" Walter screamed, his breath beginning to hitch with frightened sobs. "I told you! Why didn't you listen to me?"

"Please- it hurts!"

Freezing air ripping at his lungs Walter tore through the woods, crashing toward Lawrence's house.

Walter Skinner didn't believe he had ever run harder or faster in his life than he had that afternoon.

******************************

Elmo, Wyoming 4th of July 1999

"Here you go," Durokoff declared, sounding a little breathless as he reappeared from the crowd, waving a handful of napkins.

Scully almost laughed at the inordinate amount of napkins he'd brought back to the table.

"I know I wasn't that messy," she said as he sat back down opposite her at the picnic table.

He watched her take a napkin from the pile and begin to wipe the barbecue sauce from her chin, noticing the dab she'd dropped on her tee shirt. "I don't know," he said grinning at her, "maybe I should have brought back a bib, too."

Scully looked down, gasping at the blotch of red sauce on herself. "I can't believe I've turned into such a mess."

"Ribs are messy business," he said handing her another fist full of napkins.

She laughed, feeling embarrassed. She had been half starved but attempted good manners, yet good manners went out the window when it came to barbecued ribs. She knew she should have stuck with the hot dogs.

"Barbecue in general is a messy business," she commented, demurely dabbing at her shirt.

"That's what makes it fun." Scully looked at him, struck by the strong and cheerful sound of his familiar voice. He looked back at her with kind brown eyes she thought she knew and had to remind herself that she didn’t know this man at all. "I think you missed a little..." He told her, gesturing first at her face then his own, brushing at his own upper lip.

Scully wiped at her mouth again, another wave of chagrin passing over her.

"Uh, it's..." he stammered a little again gesturing at her mouth and beginning to sound frustrated. "It's still..." Scully frowned, growing annoyed by her inability to find this stray smear of barbecue sauce he kept pointing at. "Uh, here," he said leaning over the table enough to hesitantly wipe her lip with another napkin. He stopped, pulling his hand back to look at her quizzically before he confusedly said, "it's not coming off?"

"Huh?" Then she realized and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh... Well, it's not going to be coming off, either, not without laser surgery, unfortunately." Durokoff's expression was beginning to take on that cast that Skinner more than often got when he didn't quite get something. "It's a mole," she explained and went back to pick at the ribs on her paper plate.

"Unfortunately?" He questioned her choice of words. "Don't you like it?"

"No," she said emphasizing the word by pursing her lips. "I usually cover it up."

"It's darling," he declared. She raised her eyes to give him a dubious look. He wasn't making it any better and she hoped her expression communicated the fact. "Why would you cover it up?"

Apparently her expression did not phase the man. "I've never liked it," she answered and shrugged. "Since I was a little girl, I hated it."

"Why don't you have it cut off?" he bluntly asked.

She cringed, managing to stop her hands before the ribs touched her mouth. "I don't know," she sighed putting the rib back on the plate and pushing it away. "I guess because it's still a part of me."

"Attached to it, huh?" He was being deliberately idiotic now.

Scully blew her breath out, laughing hard in spite of herself. He laughed along with her appearing to do so with his whole body; he seemed to shudder, his eyes pinched with glee, his mouth a full broad smile.

She liked him. She liked his laugh- full on bass and warm- she liked the way he looked and carried him self- formidable confidence blended with deft grace. She'd even become a little fond of the propensity he had for repeatedly adjusting his hat when he spoke. A nervous quirk, Scully had considered, or merely a motion to ease the press of the cap against his bare scalp. She had seen he was just as balding as Skinner the few times his hat had come far enough away from his head.

Although, his skull appeared smoother than Skinner's that was subtly pitted and pocked with peculiar dings and curious indentations. Occasionally, while seated before her superior's desk with Mulder explaining himself at her side, her mind would drift curiously over that uneven back-lit scalp, indexing the probable causes of those marks and wondering if there something more to phrenology.

When their laughter tapered down to scant chuckling they found themselves looking at one another, a certain level of wariness passing between their gazes. The echo of live music rebounded around them, people mulled about laughing and cheering, but it all seemed suddenly very far away.

After a moment, affected, Durokoff cleared his throat shifting his eyes left and right, anywhere but on her. He got up from the table and motioned for her to follow. "Come on, I think that sauce is getting to you."

"Getting to me?"

He laughed one last breathy laugh, re-adjusting the cap on his head. "That sauce has probably got more booze in it than the bar over there."

She gawked at the plate of ribs she'd torn through. There might have been a good amount of liquor in the sauce but surely not enough to make her tipsy. "I couldn't taste liquor in it."

"Likely story, missy," he teased, "come on along with me."

"Am I under arrest for public intoxication?" She went with it, allowing him to take her by the arm and lead her through the crowd.

"Public intoxication, lewd and disorderly conduct, not to mention bad table manners..."

She didn't know where he was taking her but happily trotted along enjoying the feel of Durokoff's firm grasp.

Why couldn't Skinner be more like this, she mused as they wound their way through the crowded park. There was that one brief instant, she recalled his inciting of the Gilligan's Island theme while they were marooned in the middle of the lake, but she had assumed that was just the champagne.

She'd seen him smile just once, that same night, and the simple gesture had softened his features and lent light to his eyes. It was a long time before she had rid herself of the hope of ever seeing him smile like that again, at least for her. Again, she chalked it up to the alcohol he'd consumed and let it go.

Anything between them was not meant to be despite her moments of weakness, times when she was ready to throw everything away and tell him how she felt. He would probably give her one of those incredulous looks he so effortlessly doled out on a regular basis, saying something like "you've obviously made a mistake." Yeah, a mistake, all right. A big one, too. Don't go falling for your superior unless you're ready to suffer the knicks and scratches of unrequited... The sound of Durokoff's walkie-talkie interrupted her dejected introspective.

He excused himself by stepping away from her. A few moments later she was accepting his request to join him on a call, promising it would be interesting. And interesting it did turn out to be.

A rather typical domestic disagreement but with rather distinctive circumstances; at the far-off fringe of Carbon County where the Elmo Sheriff's department authority just about ran out. Two men of wise age, one would assume at first sight, sitting around all morning with nothing better to do than drink themselves into a stupor, decided the fireworks show was too far off to wait any longer. So, they started their own show a little early by setting off sticks of dynamite in their front yard.

The first blast had taken out a car belonging to one man who promptly set off a second stick that demolished the car belonging to the man who had set off the first explosion.

With their cars burning and the yard and house torn up and looking like a scene from a war, the men continued to argue and fight, each threatening to blow the other up.

Judging by the familiarity that the deputies on the scene as well as Durokoff treated the men, Scully figured that these two had a long history of such behavior.

An hour or more had passed when the county fire trucks were finally showing up on the scene and the two men had been talked down and on their way to Elmo where their view of the fireworks show would be quite good from their cells.

Stating that he was certain nothing he could show her now would top what they'd just seen, Durokoff set off anyway to give Scully a brief tour of the area, introducing her to locals less radical than the last and reciting regional history and lore making her feel quite comfortable with his attentiveness and polite gestures of respect.

She found in his behavior an old-fashioned charm replacing cautious political correctness that punctuated the cities she'd lived in most her life. Still, he showed respect to her, as the fellow agent of law enforcement she was, asking her opinion on issues of concern in the area and wanting to know her feelings about recent negative attitudes directed toward federal agencies.

But in defiance of their almost deliberate trade discussions, there was an underlying tension building between them. She could feel the air becoming charged as they traveled together and quite by themselves in the four-wheeler. Talk was becoming less and less as they drove through the mountainous roads, replaced by the frequent exchange of glances and shared smiles in the increasingly awkward silence.

Scully was beginning to feel as though she were on a first date when the radio gratefully crackled for attention, the dispatcher announcing she had a message from the Albany Country Sheriff's department. Scully was quick to stop any information from going out over the radio, making Durokoff aware of that being one feasible way Gryzwac had been tracing them with the use of a scanner.

Remarking how he hoped everyone was being as alert as she was he instructed the call be put through to them on his cell phone, and moments later Scully was talking to a ragged out sounding Mulder. He was traveling with an Albany Country deputy to get a rental car and didn't believe he'd be arriving until nightfall.

"Why doesn't he just get Boyd to have him flown over here," Durokoff asked Scully who relayed the question to Mulder.

"The helicopter is temporarily out of commission," she relayed back, listening to something else Mulder said, then, "besides, he's not thrilled about the idea if it were working."

Durokoff laughed. "I don't blame him in the least."

By the time they got back to town he'd shared his own tale of his experiences with Ronnie Stewart, the rock’n’rolling hot shot of the Albany County Air Patrol. It seemed the man had never quite put aside his days as a stunt show pilot, still managing to get a little acrobatic flying in every once in a while to show off and sometimes scare what he liked to call his "virgin" passengers.

***********************

Lariat Car Rentals Rock Springs, Wyoming

What was the deal?

Was there no respect left in this country for the urgency of federal business?

Mulder mulled these and a multifarious amount of other questions over as he watched the rental car agency employee languidly collect agreements from various pigeonholes along the wall of the storefront agency. Tired beyond measure he leaned against the chest high counter, believing if he stared hard enough at the back of the man's head, willing him to move faster.

"Please do not lean on the counter," he suddenly announced without turning.

Rolling his eyes, Mulder straightened and checked the time on the wall clock. Jesus, it was nearly four o'clock. Where had the damn day gone? "Could we hurry this up some, I'm really tired and I'm in a hurry to get to where I'm going."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be in such a hurry if you're so tired, sir." The man said, turning back to him with a smug lift to his eyebrow, his bushy mustache twitching like a nervous ferret had nested under his nose.

An abrupt and unsolicited laugh escaped Mulder. "Uh," he forced his eyes closed against the sight of the man. "I'm taking the full insurance on the car." He finally managed to assure the funny little man, who was now frowning at him.

"Of course you are after what happened to your last vehicle." He said planting the paperwork on the counter in front of Mulder. "Never in the history of Lariat Rental has there ever been such an act of complete disregard and..."

"I'm really sorry about the other rental car," Mulder bemoaned both what had become of the car he'd left on the side of the road the previous day and the fact that Lariat Rental seemed to have a monopoly on the rental car business throughout the area. Who would have thought there was a vandalism problem in such an area of the country? "Circumstances beyond my control kept me from calling..."

"Yes, yes. So, you've said. Still, I certainly hope this isn't the normal mode of operation among all representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." He remarked pointedly as he handed Mulder a pen.

"As a matter of fact, it is," Mulder, aggravated to a point now, began signing papers with a whimsical flourish of his wrist, dispatching the signed copies toward the man with abandon. "It's a new policy that all federal employees must abide by totally, seek out and destroy as much property as humanly possible within the private sector." He emphasized his final word with such zeal he ripped right though the tissue thin top copy of the rental agreement with the ballpoint of the pen.

"Wonderful," the man declared throwing his hands up, "more destruction. I just never- now, we'll have to start over again."

"What!" Mulder spat as the man snatched up all the papers and started for the pigeonholes again for fresh copies. "Haven't you ever heard of scotch tape?"

************************

Continued in part 8

[tixersdotcom]

Horror movie fans know how ardently the horror genre survives and often uses religious practices and myths to deliver a film they love. It might be wrong to say it out loud, but extreme religious practices and beliefs unleash the true horrors. From Satanic rituals to blood sacrifices, from soul exchange with the Devil to asking forgiveness for mortal sins, they scare human beings in every form. The latest addition to the religious horror genre is definitely "Consecration." It questions the fundamental belief: do angels protect us? The film plays with extremist religious practices and the desperate wish of the church to condemn the Devil and restore lost relics to make the church all-powerful. If the film has got your attention or you love well-knitted religious horror films, here is a list of seven films you should watch. The Exorcist (1973) "The Exorcist" is a classic horror movie that dominated the religion-horror subgenre for decades. William Friedkin's iconic film is a masterpiece horror film and undoubtedly has to be number one on the list. The film is based on a book by William Peter Blatty, a Roman Catholic. It is the story of a mother (Ellen Burstyn) who is desperate to find a cure for her daughter, Regan (Linda Blair) after she begins behaving strangely. As every medical intervention failed to cure Reagan, her mother turned to the Catholic Church for help. Thus, we witness an exorcism performed by a younger and more science-minded priest (you should rule out the oxymoron here), and we also witness the fears of the Devil in the older priest. Exorcism, as you already know, is the battle between God and demonic spirits. This film very carefully creates a brilliant exorcism scene that will stay with you forever. Rosemary's Baby (1968) If we are to explore religious horror movies, "Rosemary's Baby" is an OG. Roman Polanski knew exactly what was needed to make an iconic horror movie. The movie has a phenomenal cast and a great plot. It explores the depths of Satanic anarchy and Catholicism. The film is one of the first to explore the Cassandra Complex, which involves disbelieving others' valid warnings and concerns. The film centers around a couple, Rosemary (Mia Farrow) and Guy (John Cassavetes), who have recently shifted to a new apartment building. There they met with peculiar neighbors. The elderly couple, the unique neighbors of Rosemary and Guy, offered them a path to turn Guy's failed career around. However, the path to success comes at a horrible price. The movie explores the anxieties that are triggered by religious beliefs and theology about the age-old feud between good and evil. Constantine (2005) Just when you thought priests and holy men were average-looking men, Francis Lawrence, in his directorial debut, "Constantine," drops Keanu Reeves on you. The film is a classic battle between angels in heaven and demons in hell. John Constantine (Keanu Reeves) is a cynical occult expert who is suffering from terminal lung disease. He made a pact with a half-breed angel named Gabriel to extend his life, and in return, he will keep the demons away from earth. In the meantime, a detective is trying to find the truth about her twin sister's death. The twin sister jumped off the roof of the psychiatric hospital. The detective was convinced that her sister, who was a devoted Catholic, would never commit suicide, so something supernatural must have forced her sister to commit the crime. The film will take you on a visual tour of angels and demons and bring back everything you thought was just a myth. The Conjuring (2013) It is a crime not to have "The Conjuring" on the list of scary religious movies. The film was rated R, not for nudity or violence but for the extreme horror it showcases. The film is based on a true story and thus immediately grabs the audience's attention. Paranormal investigators Ed (Patrick Wilson) and Lorraine (Vera Farmiga) were requested to examine the house of a family who had recently moved away from the city and was experiencing paranormal activities.

As Ed and Lorraine enter the house, they feel they are surrounded by demonic spirits. On further investigation, they found there lived a religious mother who had sacrificed her soul to the Devil and had sacrificed several people, including her child. The mother of the family is now possessed, and Ed and Lorraine, along with a team, try to save her and the family. The backstories, the jumpscares, and the entire visual style of the film will intrigue you. Even if you are a horror movie fan, conjuring will make you sleep with your lights on for at least a few days. Eerie (2018) Although the film will not make you scream, it definitely will make you feel like someone is caressing your spine with cold, icy fingers. The story revolves around the suicide of Erika, a young girl in a Catholic school. Soon after her death, there were a series of deaths that the school's guidance counselor was investigating. In the course of the investigation, the counselor gets to know certain facts that change the entire perspective of the film. However, there are no jumpscares, and the building up of horror takes most of the time, but the film enraptures you with a certain creepiness that you cannot shake off. Saint Maud (2019) Director Rose Glas's debut film, "Saint Maud," tells a tale woven in a classic blend of mental illness and religious extremism. It punches your gut and your soul with the narratives of a fanatic Maud (Morfydd Clark). It is the story of saving the soul of a cancer patient (Jennifer Ehle). The film "Saint Maud'' depicts the fanaticism with which the soul needs to be saved. Although saving a soul is God's will, the film sets the dark tone of Satanic ways to save a soul. The film is a major hit among horror movie fans and, for all the right reasons, makes its way to the list of one of the most impressive religious horror movies. There are several other films that you can add to the list. The constant battle between God and the Devil has been an integral part of horror movies since their dawn. However, if you are intrigued by the religious horror sub-genres, these films will encourage you to explore more. See more: Top 7 Films Like ’65’ That You Can Add To Your Watchlist

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Characters With An S/O Who Has OCD

mentioned: bo sinclair, lester sinclair, brahms heelshire, adam stanheight, lawrence gordon

warnings: implied contamination ocd, mentions of hand washing, mentions of injuries (cuts on hands), checking compulsions, counting compulsions, hurt/comfort

a/n: so this is probably one of the most personal things i'm gonna post on here since i actually do struggle with ocd but i hope you enjoy! also, lawrence and adam might not be 100% accurate because i'm only just starting out writing for them.

Bo Sinclair

Initially, you intended to keep the fact that you had OCD hidden from him, but you were eventually forced to tell him when he spotted the bloody cuts that covered your hands one day.

"The hell's wrong with your hands?" He asked, his face twisting in disgust as he pointed to the raw skin there.

"It's nothing." You said, shrugging him off.

But he wouldn't leave it alone. "Bullshit, ain't no way that's nothin'."

Eventually he wore you down and you tried to explain that it was from excessive hand-washing, to which he simply pulled a face, obviously confused.

There was no way he would sit down and listen to you explain in full though, so you opted to give him a brief explanation of your disorder before walking away, too scared to see his reaction.

Little did you know, he'd later show up to your room with what looked to be some sort of pharmacy bag.

"Look, I don't understand why the hell you'd do that to yourself, but it looks like it hurts." He said, awkwardly adjusting the hat on his head. "So I went out, got you some stuff."

He dumped the contents of the bag onto your bed, revealing an assortment of lotions and creams, and finally a roll of bandages, before stepping towards you slightly. "Didn't really know what you'd need, so I hope this is alright."

You couldn't help the smile forming on your lips as you looked up at him, his simple gesture making you feel less alone in your struggles. "Thank you."

He just shrugged it off before proceeding to silently take care of your injured hands.

Lester Sinclair

You told him pretty early in your relationship about your OCD and whilst he didn't fully understand it, he still supported you nonetheless.

He knew that you would often have bad days so he always made sure to ask how you were doing, sometimes offering to take you for a drive to help clear your head.

He could always tell when you were struggling because he'd notice how you would suddenly become reserved, quiet.

"You want some water?" He'd ask. "Or we could go into town for a little bit?"

He couldn't even begin to understand what you were going through but that didn't stop him from trying to help in any way that he could. And you definitely appreciated his kindness.

Brahms Heelshire

Honestly, when you first told Brahms you had OCD, he'd never even heard the term. But once you explained it to him, he immediately related to your need for control.

Obviously, not in the exact same way, but he understood how it could be distressing to go against certain routines, considering that was how he felt if he didn't stick to his own routines.

He didn't really understand what OCD was and he struggled to understand just how it affected you, but he understood that sometimes you would need space, time alone until you could get back on your feet.

He noticed how when you were having a bad day, you would be less physically affectionate with him, avoiding hugs and any close contact.

He wasn't a huge fan of the limited hugs or kisses and although his kiss goodnight had become an integral part of his nighttime routine, he tried to be okay with it not happening sometimes.

Brahms loved you and only wanted the best for you. He wanted to make sure you were okay and if giving you the space you needed was what helped, then he would definitely make himself scarce, probably retreating into the walls for a while until you were okay to spend time with him again.

And you would always assure him that he wasn't doing anything wrong and that you just weren't doing too good, and that you still loved him.

Adam Stanheight

For the first few months of your relationship, you decided to keep your disorder a secret from Adam, worried that he wouldn't understand and you would simply embarrass yourself.

But when you finally did tell him, well, he seemed pretty confused.

"So like what, you're a clean freak?"He asked, his brows still knitted together in confusion.

Your immediate thought was to get angry at him for saying such an insensitive thing, but Adam had seemed so kind during the months you'd been together so he surely didn't intend for it to be so insensitive.

You took a breath, proceeding to calmly explain to him that it was much more than just being a germophobe, which prompted him to begin asking a whole array of questions.

"Have you had this your whole life?" "If it hurts, why do you keep doing it?" "Have you talked to someone about it?" "Does that mean you don't like it when I hug you?"

And finally, "Are you okay?"

You couldn't control the smile on your face as you looked at him, the confusion still evident in his eyes even though he just spent the last ten minutes bombarding you with questions.

You told him that you were okay and that you had coping tools, but sometimes you would just have bad days.

He then joked that he was dating a superhero because it takes a strong person to live with something like that.

And then he ended with one final question. "Can I kiss you?"

Lawrence Gordon

There was never any hiding your disorder from Lawrence. He wasn't necessarily a psychiatrist, but he was still a doctor. The second he spotted all the repetitive behaviours he realised something was wrong.

He would often notice you checking the locks at night when he stayed over, or your countless trips to the bathroom, or the fact that it always took you exactly twenty seconds before you could walk away from the light switch.

He knew you were showing signs of OCD, he just didn't know if you knew.

One day whilst you were in the kitchen together, he brought it up. "I think you need to go and talk to someone."

You were slightly confused and a little taken aback at his sudden comment. "What?"

"I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to intrude, but I've seen your behaviour and I'm worried about you."

You just gave him a nervous laugh, knowing exactly what he was trying to say now. "What do you mean?"

He took a short breath before speaking again, as though he were giving a patient bad news. "I think you might have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder."

"Oh, I know." You answered. Now he was the one who was confused.

"What?"

"I didn't wanna say anything because I knew you'd probably just go into doctor mode and start treating me like a patient. And I didn't want that."

You both left the conversation like that, and you assumed that things would probably be awkward between you two now.

But the next morning, you walked into your kitchen to find Lawrence stumbling about as he attempted to plate up what looked like pancakes.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, I really need to learn not to bring my work home with me." He explained, an apologetic smile on his face. "I thought I'd make you breakfast, if you're up for it."

You offered him a small smile as you sat down with him, a warmth filling you at the sight of the misshapen pancake on the plate.

"Thank you for making breakfast." You told him. "And thank you for trying to diagnose me yesterday. I really do appreciate that you were just trying to help."

"If you ever need anything, you can come to me okay? I promise I won't treat you like a patient. I don't see you like that."

"Thank you."

[Main Masterlist]

[fanfictionskfz]

summer love. | harry styles

1. Another World

Usually, Emilia would be a complete tourist, taking in every exciting sight she saw and filling up her camera roll with pictures of it all, but she was too distracted to do any of that as she drove round Mexico City in a sleek, black taxi. Her mind was too preoccupied with questions. 'Who the hell am I working with?' she thought, 'What if I don't like them? What if this is just a big mistake? Were these boots a good idea?'

"We're here, miss." the taxi driver said, snapping her out of her reverie. Hastily, she thanked him, paid and scrambled out of the taxi. She was faced with the grand Foro Sol venue as soon as she stepped out onto the street, and for a second she forgot she was herself. The doubt inside her reached a crescendo as she tried to work out why she had been chosen to fly from England to Mexico to be the make-up artist for whoever was waiting for her inside. There was no way this could be her life, could it? 'It is now' she told herself and, taking a deep and shaky breath, made her way to the entrance, faking confidence as she went. She had earned this - she could do it.

Any calmness or surety she had managed to muster didn't last long though. It only lasted for the minute it took for her to catch a glimpse of something in the car park; namely, a red bus with a Union Jack painted on it and the words 'One Direction: Take Me Home' written in white lettering above that.

"Oh. My. God."

Emilia could feel her heartbeat speeding up now. Of course, the possibility had popped into her head a few times and it seemed incredibly obvious in hindsight, but she had just dismissed the thought and told herself it couldn't happen. Now that she knew, she didn't know how to feel; it was an amazing opportunity and she knew she'd be lying if she said she didn't like them, but she couldn't help feeling nervous- well, on the verge of petrified, really- about the mere thought of being on tour with them. She just knew she'd be so unbelievably awkward, and it wasn't like she was experienced with all of this either. Knowing herself, her mind would just short-circuit and she'd forget how to do make-up altogether. And what if fans saw her with the boys and got the wrong idea? She knew how intense they could be.

Then, there was the icing on top of the cake- him. Oh God, him.

Emilia forced herself out of her thoughts before she could get herself too stressed out or too conscious of the fact that she had been standing there like an idiot staring at the tour bus for what was probably ages. She dragged herself over to the entrance and inside the venue, though her steps were a lot less self-assured now. Trying to regain a sense of normality again, she walked over to the desk at the back of the reception room and to the woman sitting there.

"Hi," she said. She was already getting embarrassed by how shaky her voice sounded. "I'm Emilia Lawrence. I'm the new make-up artist for One Direction." It sounded crazy even to her. Before the woman at reception could answer, a Yorkshire voice said, "Emilia?" The young girl turned around to see a greyish-lilac haired woman.

"Hi! I'm Lou- I'm the make-up artist as well as you and the hair stylist too, so we'll be working together for pretty much the entire time." she said, smiling at her.

Emilia smiled back. She liked Lou already. "Nice to meet you! Sorry if I seem a bit nervous, this is all like a different world to me."

"Oh come off it, it's fine!" Lou replied, "I was terrified the first time I did anything like this, but it's only natural. You're gonna fit right in anyway."

Hearing her say that brought a shy smile to her face and relieved the tight ball of worry in her chest slightly. If everyone gets a little nervous and if Lou thought she'd be fine, then maybe there wasn't anything to worry about after all.

"Thank you." Emilia said to the kind woman.

"No problem!" Lou replied. Then, she motioned in the direction of a door on her left. "Right, let's get you introduced then."

Ignoring the stab of panic that she felt in her chest at those words, she followed Lou through the door, onto a brightly lit corridor where people were walking around, preparing for the night's concert, and then into a room on the left. As she entered this room, it was like she had entered into a dream- the dream of pretty much every young girl around the world. Sat on various couches and chairs were the One Direction boys, and now that she had entered the room they were all looking at her. Her eyes darted around all of them- Niall with his golden hair with brown roots mixed in and his kind yet mischievous blue eyes; Zayn with his warm, brown eyes and shy smile; Liam with his bright smile and tanned skin; Louis with his electric-blue eyes and charismatic smirk; and then, Emilia's hazel eyes met with a pair of emerald orbs that she knew all too well.

"Emilia, meet Niall, Zayn, Liam, Louis, and Harry"

.....................................

The first day of the school year was always Emilia's favourite, the reason being that you normally did no work at all, and the first day of Year 2 was no different. It was 6 year old Emilia's ideal day really, as Mrs Jones announced that the morning's activity was colouring. She had also said that the students should work together to do it, but Emilia pretended that she didn't hear that part and went off into a corner of the classroom to peacefully colour by herself. She managed it for a while, too, until she heard someone sit down next to her. Pausing, she looked up and saw a boy with big, bright emerald-green eyes and light brown hair sat next to her. She knew that his name was Harry-he was in her class after all- but she hadn't really spoken to him before. As he looked at her, he broke out into a grin and said "Hiii!"

She smiled back, and then returned to her work. If this boy wanted to sit next to her, then that was fine, but she couldn't be expected to strike up a conversation with him. She probably wouldn't know what to say anyway. After a while though, she got intrigued about what his drawing looked like, and so she peered over. She smirked and couldn't stop herself from saying, "You colour outside of the lines."

Harry smirked back. "It's more fun that way."

Emilia replied, "Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Try it."

Emilia gazed down at the drawing, feeling as if the boy had out-rightly dared her. If she coloured outside the lines, it would totally ruin it. But it wouldn't be fun, and so it it would prove the boy wrong....

She took a deep breath and did it. The colouring did not look neat at all anymore, but she had to admit, it was fun and interesting to look at. She giggled at what she had made.

"Told you sooo." Harry teased next to her. Emilia playfully shoved him. Maybe he had been right, but she was never going to admit it so it didn't matter.

"Is your name Emilia?" he asked.

"Yes." she answered. "Yours is Harry, isn't it?"

"Yep." he said." Do you want to come play with me and my friends at break?"

The girl considered for a second. "Okay." she finally said.

The boy smiled. "Okay.", he said, before scribbling some more on his drawing.

Over the years, when Emilia would look back on that colouring session, she would laugh at how stupidly simple it was to make friends, and how in this case, such a basic conversation started off all those years of memories with Harry Styles - her classmate and best friend. When she got older it would've taken a lot more than that to establish a friendship, but that never mattered because she would never be in desperate need of a friend as long as she had Harry, and she always did have him. Until after the X Factor, at least.

.............................................................

"Emilia?"

Harry was staring at her now, lips parted in shock, and she was staring at him too. He looked different from the last time she had seen him in person, and she couldn't stop herself from mentally examining him - his tanned, bronze skin, his new tattoos, his chocolate brown curls held back by a bandanna with the USA flag on. All of his features were illuminated in the bright light of the room. He hadn't changed that much though; the light in his emerald eyes and his endearing dimples were still the same as they always had been. For a second, as she looked at him, it was easy to believe that no time had passed at all.

"Yeah, that's what she just said." Louis said.

"No, no - it's the Emilia" Harry said, smirking now. He ran up to her and embraced her in a hug that transported both of them back to the years when they would hug every day. She inhaled his soft, sweet scent and felt the crushing realisation of how much she missed this. How much she missed him. While she was wrapped in his arms, all the nervousness about seeing him went away, though she wasn't quite sure why she had been nervous in the first place. It was just plain old Harry, wasn't it?

"The Emilia, eh?" she said teasingly as they broke from the hug, "and here I was thinking you'd have forgotten me."

"Oh, never." Harry replied. The genuine look in his eyes told Emilia he really hadn't, and knowing that took her aback and turned her smile into a very bashful one. She stood there, processing everything that was in front of her until a very cheerful yet confused Irish voice asked:

"Is anyone gonna explain what's happening here?"

................

The rest of the time before the concert went by in a whirl. She got to know the boys, worked with Lou to do their make-up - miraculously without embarrassing herself - and met some more of the tour crew: Caroline, Mark and Paul. Emilia always worried that any co-workers she'd have would be horrible, but she had discovered with relief that everyone on the tour was lovely to her and welcomed her with open arms.

A lot of the time, of course, was spent catching up with Harry. Clearly, a lot had happened over the past 3 years, and they talked about all of it: how he missed home, the tour and recording processes, how college had gone for her, and everything she'd need to know about tour life. The way he reassured her about everything brought back all the feelings of safety and comfort she had felt with him, and for the first time in years, she knew that she could lean on him and that he'd be there for her. Things could be like they used to be - or pretty close to how they used to be at least.

At last it was time for the first show of the North American leg of the tour and the boys made their way to stage , high-fiving Emilia and thanking her for her calls of 'Good luck!' as they went. With Lou by her side, she made her way side stage and stood there to watch the show as her excitement for it peaked. The 5 guys came out on stage, and the noise was deafening- screams echoed from every corner of the venue.

"You get used to it!" laughed Lou.

"I hope so!" Emilia responded, but she didn't know how she could. This would be no normal experience, she knew that already, and as she watched Harry thrust a bonnet that a fan had thrown at him onto his wavy hair, she knew this would be no normal tour either.

But maybe it'd be more fun that way.

[peakyblinders1919]

Season 6 Episode 1 Black Tuesday

My first watch-through comments are below the cut. Spoilers!

Lizzie is fine as fuck and honestly who cares if she used to be a prostitute she is too good for Tommy. Her whole opening spiel about being a coward, Okk. I stan these peaky women.

I do feel bad for Tommy though.

Ohh ok is the mud on half his face supposed to be symbolic?

That third body is NOT Polly. Please!!

9 minutes and 30 seconds in and I’m crying

Wiping my tears “oh that’s a cute little puppy”

I don’t care what anyone says, Michael is hot

Tommy’s sober four years. Hell yeah!

Ada’s little girl Elizabeth, omg my heart!

Also Arthur is a HOT MESS!

Ok so Michael is hot but why is his right hand man so Irish? And they are being extremely mean to Tommy, not gonna lie.

Why was there a fucking pigeon in the bar?

So where’s Linda? Obviously not here for Arthur to be this messed up.

I am actually rooting for Tommy. What Lizzie said about him since Polly’s death gets me. But like that was Michael’s Mum? But I know Polly was basically Tommy’s mum. Ugh so hard to choose a side. A war is right.

Shit!! Tommy turned on Michael! That’s going to land him in jail! If Michael and these people of Jack's were actually good at their job, they would have checked the briefcase.

Ok Karl!!! I can't say anymore because that would be indecent of me but..

Honestly Ada is too good to be a Shelby. And poor thing has to deal with Arthur all by herself.

OMG BOSTON PRISON OH NO!! I’m laughing tho!

Ok no!! So she did have a baby!!! But Lawrence?! Not a fan!

Honestly, I love Gina. I never thought I’d say that but her fucking attitude in the jail, her mocking, yes I love her.

Is that their fucking house?! I thought it was a damn hotel.

This scene with Gina and Tommy is leaving me fucking speechless.

Oh no, he’s with a prostitute.

Wow, Ruby is sick, I hope it doesn’t get worse.

I really can’t tell if Tommy and Lizzie are in love or if it’s really gone. I hope there’s a bit left.

Ok but like remember when all last season Tommy was coughing? I’m skeptical. But honestly, I think he does love his kids! Something is really wrong with her because it’s gypsy stuff and it’s bad and damn I loved this scene! Tommy really loves her! Whatever is wrong with Ruby is why he’s going to see Esme!

Ok but talking about Michael’s wife like that, that’s a low blow even for you Tom. But Michael is dedicated and so in love!

I nearly cried when it said Helen McCrory Obe.

comment or reblog to interact!

[imtherealsebastiansatan]

I’m bored on this hot Sunday, so here goes my opinion based on observations from the last 5-6 years- Like JLo, Seb is incapable of being alone. When I saw AW a couple years ago on Peaky Blinders I thought then that she was his perfect type-thin, no curves, blond(ish), high cheekbones, almost generically beautiful-hell, AW is almost identical to Dianna Agron. Most all his GF look the same (except Leighton). He has a type-hell he was asked on a radio show who he considered attractive in HW, and he said he wouldn’t mind getting stuck in an elevator with Jennifer Lawrence-who looks like the others. Nothing wrong with having a type but it’s all so generic and none but maybe Leighton seem to have much personality (maybe Margo now).

Now AW is posting these no-so-subtle hints about being with him, knowing the RPats bday pic was leaked. Seb has a habit of idealizing his women during the first months/year of a RS, and takes pics of the women in silhouette, from behind, or in other “angelic” poses (see his ML posts from the past). And these GFs will post the pics he’s taken as clues in the beginning, the beachy sunset shots, the park pics, the mountain pics, all from behind or with some “gaze” look. We all know it’ll be fun and games for a year, then things fall apart before year 2 ends. Which begs the question- has he really ever been in true love? Seems most of his relationships are based on lust, excitement, or just looks. He idealizes them for a while but once real life sets in, and he realizes these are real people with their own lives, things get messy. He’s no different from many of us that confuse love with lust, just pointing out that real true love takes a lot of work and time and nurturing, but either he gives up or the woman does. I’m a big fan of his work and think he’s a chameleon in his roles, and has the makings of a great character actor like Jake Gyllenhal. I have no idea what kind of BF he is with his GFs, but buddy, if you’re possibly looking to settle down, this ain’t working for you.

This was deep and I'm here for it.

[mermaidsirennikita]

it's typical what's going on with Florence Pugh and Olivia Wilde. what's more feminist than putting one woman on a pedestal and tearing another woman down?

Here’s the thing—I don’t like Olivia, but reveling in a woman’s downfall over behavior that pales in comparison to what white male directors have gotten away with doesn’t sit right with me. I mean, Darren Aronofsky has a movie at that festival that’s getting rave reviews and he tormented Jennifer Lawrence on the set of Mother!…. Like, in the context of them being together at the time, it comes off as actively abusive. He got basically zero shit for that.

And Florence ain’t your feminist icon because she drank a spritz and said some vague shade about standing up for yourself. Where was that support for Amber Heard? Oh, right—Florence, and Gemma Chan, another heroine of this saga, supported Depp. I find it weird that people are assuming that Florence’s issues had to do with Shia’s abusive past when she’s shown support for an abuser in the past. Maybe that was the case. Shia claims that it was a scheduling issue, which I doubt, but suddenly his word is gospel so. We just don’t know. For all we know, they just didn’t get along. There’s no reason to think that Florence had a righteous feminist cause here, because even she hasn’t said so. She’s just let the internet speculate. And maybe it’s because I’m a confrontational woman? But that irks me.

I would also add that the weird latching onto Harry Styles, who’s honestly done nothing wrong here aside from dating Olivia and whoops, turning out to be a lot straighter than certain fans thought he’d be at this point, is uncomfortable to me too in terms of what is being critiqued. He’s never been a super eloquent interview, and honestly a lot of entertainers aren’t. Many smart people just don’t speak publicly very well, in part due to anxiety… and I bet this was an anxiety riddled press tour for him, lol.

I saw one Tweet saying that Chris Pine who went to Berkeley and got an English lit degree and grew up in film~ must feel so embarrassed to be sitting next to such a dumbass, basically. That shit is really elitist. Harry grew up poor; a Berkeley lit degree wasn’t really on the table. Which, and I say this as a huge Pine fan, was on the table because he grew up very privileged. His dad was a working actor, his mom acted, his grandpa was the president of the Hollywood Bar at one point. He was, some would say, a nepotism baby. A super talented one, but he he had connections. Chris was stoned to hell and seemed to be having a chill time. He’s had worse experiences than this, I promise lol. The man isn’t anyone’s victim.

[banemmanan]

Rating every hat worn by April & Mark in GFU

Part 1/9: Eps. 1 & 2

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Ep.1

This corduroy monstrosity. Gross. Disgusting. I hate it. He thought he could hide from the fashion police in this bush, but he was wrong.

0/10

Ep.2

Yellow rain hat (?). I kinda dig it. It helps that I like yellow though.

7/10

Brown headscarf thingy. Technically not a hat. We aren't even going to acknowledge the right hand side of this picture for the moment, just the left. Boring, plain, not a fan of these brown vibes tbh.

4/10

I don't really know what this is, but it is sparkly. That's its only redeeming quality. The pink bits are kind of a bit... just there really, huh.

2/10

Wannabe Loz cosplay. Derivative. Lawrence of Arabia did it already. And better.

3/10

Last minute wedding veil. It's not awful, but I'd be disappointed if I was getting matried in it.

6/10

A trusty old pith helmet. Bonus point for styling it out with a pop of orange.

7/10

I'm in corduroy hell. I guess that I had to address it again eventually. Just look at it. Ew.

-1/10

[next]

[artificialqueens]

Someone I Genuinely Love (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - I feel like a broken record but it must be said, I feel like I exclusively write for Ortega at this point and I am not mad at it, I love her more than I love myself. Here is a short little Taywhora for my favourite scottish queen <3

The night - er, morning - was a disaster.

To be honest, Tayce had seen it coming from a mile off, and she had warned Lawrence that inviting both A’Whora and Tia was going to be an absolute shitstorm. They just plain didn’t like each other, which was fine, but A’Whora had trouble holding her sharp tongue at the best of times, and mixing in a bucket-load of alcohol and a pretty cramped house, and you had a recipe for chaos.

(And, really? A house party? Were they still seventeen?)

Nevertheless, it was Lawrence’s birthday, and she called the shots, and she drank the shots, and she got to choose who came to her house to get unreasonably pissed into the wee hours of the morning.

Tia was there pretty early - or, at least, she was on time like most of them. She was stood in the kitchen with a Smirnoff Ice in her hand, happily chatting away to Ellie, wearing a dress that Tayce had complimented, if only to make some brief conversation. It was… passable, really, a half-decent outfit if she went that far, but nothing to write home about. Unfortunately, Tayce knew A’Whora was gonna hate it, and A’Whora with a loose tongue was almost certainly gonna make a comment about it.

The girl in question rocked up late and sloppy, as per her usual style. She stumbled through the front door and leant in the frame with a tipsy smile, plush lips painted pink and dabbed with glitter, eyelashes fluttering. Her skin-tight dress was fuchsia, bright, emphasising her soft tan thighs that the fabric rode up against and clinging to every inch of her. Once neat, her dark hair was messily piled on top of her head, falling tantalisingly in front of her face.

Tayce couldn’t help but feel relieved that she’d decided to come.

“The party can finally start!” A’Whora exclaimed, raising her drink in the air with a flourish and slamming the door behind her with her heel.

“It already started, ya lazy fuck!” Lawrence yelled from the back of the house. Tayce, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking onto the front door, made eye contact with A’Whora and giggled at their friend.

“Isn’t she charming?” Tayce gestured towards the general vicinity of Lawrence’s voice.

A’Whora crept closer, her eyes wide and expectant. “Okay, listen. I saw Tia’s snapchat earlier. Tell me she got changed before coming out tonight.”

Here we go. Tayce bit her lip. “Aurora. A’Whora Borealis. You be nice.”

“I’m not trying to be rude or anything but she looks like a fucking Year Nine at her first party wearing a Pretty Little Thing dress that her mum chose for her. I mean, is she serious about it? Is it like a joke?” A’Whora covered her mouth with the side of her hand, her tone conspiratory and judgemental.��

Tayce rolled her eyes, both fond and irritated. “Whory, be nice. She clearly likes it, let her have fun. She’s not hurting anybody.”

“She’s hurting my eyes.” A’Whora rebuffed, pursing her lips. “Not like you, though. You’re a sight for sore eyes tonight.”

Internally she was pleased, but played it off smoothly. It wasn’t like Tayce had cleverly thought out her oversized blazer and thigh-high boots combo with A’Whora in mind, of course not. It wasn’t like she’d tailored her outfit hoping for a good response from her… friend? What even was A’Whora besides a hot girl she’d known forever who she spent 50% of her time blatantly flirting back and forth with and 50% of her time denying that she was doing it?

Lawrence burst through the corridor in a flourish of colour to greet A’Whora and groaned, fanning herself with her hand. “Fuck me, I am sweating.”

Tayce blinked. “It’s October. There’s no way you’re hot, in October, in Scotland.”

“Not from the heat, fuckin’ braindead supermodel. From the weight of the crushing sexual tension in this room.”

She looked pointedly between A’Whora and Tayce, neither of whom were particularly shocked by Lawrence’s openness, having grown used to it. However, in an embarrassingly same wavelength move, both girls cocked an eyebrow.

“Aye, I’m talking about you, pinchin’ your Botox lips at me Miss A’Whora the Explorer.”

A’Whora shook her head. “The cheek! Cheek of you to suggest that something’s going on here.”

“Not sure where you’re getting your sources from, but I’d consider leaving The Sun’s team out of your investigations,” Tayce added, A’Whora trying and failing to conceal her smile as Lawrence playfully whacked her arm.

“Get to fuck with those accusations. You carry on living out your little Gavin and Stacey storyline and I’ll go ask the Pope if he’s still shitting in the woods or if bears are still Catholic. Have fun ya fucking lesbians.”

As she disappeared back into the living room, where Bimini had started blasting something with a heavy, pulsing beat, A’Whora turned back to Tayce with an offended look on her face.

“Did that William Wallace wannabe just imply that I’d be the man in the relationship just because I’m English?” She asked, reeling backwards. “Fucking cheek!”

Tayce laughed. “Well, you don’t have legs like mine…” She trailed off, predicting A’Whora’s outburst.

“Hey! Listen, we’d be a great Naomi and Kim, so shut your beautiful face and stop seducing me with that gorgeous accent.” She paused for a second, thinking, and then blinked. “I mean Naomi Campbell and Kim Kardashian, I realise that sounded like something different…”

Tayce looped her arm through A’Whora’s and started trudging down the hallway, making their way into the living room with most of the others. “I love that you think you’re anything like a Kardashian, babe. The Kylie lips maybe, but you’re no Kim.”

As the music grew louder and louder in their eyes, Bimini wrapping a drunk sweaty arm around them both and bellowing something inaudible, Tayce leaned in close to A’Whora’s ear and added, “I’d much prefer what you’ve got to what Kim’s got.”

That was the game; cat and mouse, a game of chase and coy avoidance. After that, she slipped away to dance with Asttina, sipping on her drink and trying to hide her eagerness. The next move was A’Whora’s, as they both knew, and she could play it whenever she wanted.

It was after maybe another hour of drinking and gushing with her friends about how beautiful everyone looked and how drunk they all felt that Tayce realised the atmosphere in Lawrence’s living room was a little too kind. Nothing wrong with that, of course, and a house full of drunk girls was basically the club bathroom scenario elevated to an extreme level, but a kind atmosphere meant that A’Whora had clearly gone into another room. Not good.

Making to find her, Tayce got all the way to the doorway before Ellie and Lawrence stopped her to chat about whether or not it would be stupid to play spin the bottle (it would) and whether or not they should all do some more shots (they did). Then I Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing, and by the first “Woo!”, she’d totally forgotten about her earlier mission, and ran back inside screaming and grabbing at Asttina to dance with her. 

She had to give Lawrence some credit, because her playlist was incredible. Nothing but banger after banger after banger.

About half way through Good As Hell, Tayce became aware of what sounded like shouting, underwater and garbled and messy. Though she carried on grinding against Asttina and singing along to Lizzo’s affirmations, her head checked out a little as she tried to focus on the background voices over the blaring music. It proved to be quite the struggle, being as drunk as she was, but as it turned out, she didn’t need to pay too much attention, as she wasn’t the only one that had noticed.

By the time Tia was standing outraged in the living room doorway, all eyes were on her. She looked furious, cheeks red and eyes spilling over, her fists clenched and trembling.

Lawrence quietened the music.

“So, were you gonna tell me that you all think I look like shit or did you nominate A’Whora to be the nasty cunt she usually is?” She looked down at her dress, back up, and choked back a sob. “Fuck off, the lot of you.”

Immediately, half the room started to follow her with choruses of love, their words getting tangled in a web of you’re beautiful and she doesn’t speak for us and A’Whora’s just a bitch and I like it! 

The living room felt significantly emptier with just Lawrence, Ellie and Tayce in it, the three of them frozen staring at the doorway like they couldn’t believe it had finally kicked off. After a few moments, The 1975 now playing at an awkwardly low volume, A’Whora passed the living room, peered inside with brimming eyes, and broke into a run. 

Tayce followed her on instinct, leaving Lawrence and Ellie behind. Her heart sank as she rushed through the house; one part of her took in the group of girls gathered in the kitchen, their arms hooked over a crying Tia, their tongues slicing away at A’Whora’s character with every dirty look that they sent in the direction of the now wide-open front door. 

As bad as she felt for Tia, no one was going after A’Whora. And maybe that made sense, but Tayce had never cared too much about making sense - not when it came to her. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to go too far. A little way down Lawrence’s street, a familiar figure was sitting crumpled over on the curb, her face hidden in her hands, head leaning against the lamppost under which she was illuminated. Like an angel, Tayce thought. Like a sad, stupid angel. 

“Whory. What did you do, babe? I wanna hear it from you.”

A’Whora looked up. Flecks of black mascara stained around her eyes, the shadows beginning to smudge into the eyeliner from her tears, and her lip trembled. She lowered her head, prompting Tayce to sit down on the curb next to her, legs stretched out into the empty road. 

“I told her the dress was fucking ugly, because someone’s gotta do it. I was just trying to help but I know that was an asshole thing to say and I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.” 

Tayce blinked. She hadn’t expected the remorseful part of A’Whora’s answer, if she was being honest. She usually never gave in, never admitted defeat, proudly shrugged off any offence caused while Tayce tried to interject some kindness into her. It never worked, which she’d always found frustrating, but now it was unsettling that it had. 

“I mean, I’m right. She looks like the embodiment of the fucking kid’s section of a TK Maxx.”

Tayce kissed the side of her head, A’Whora responding by resting it on Tayce’s shoulder. “I thought she was the Year Nine girl in her mum’s choice of Pretty Little Thing dresses?” She teased gently. To her relief and simultaneous heartbreak, it received a short, wet laugh. 

“I didn’t expect her to - to rip into me like that. Like she did.” 

“What happened?”

“She stood up for herself. Which is good, right?” A’Whora sniffed. “She told me I’m a vapid self-absorbed little bitch, and that she can change her shitty fashion sense while I’ll be stuck with my fake face and dog shit personality for the rest of my life. And that at least our friends like her, ‘cause they barely tolerate me.”

Tayce squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her tighter. “You gotta understand she’s coming from a place of hurt, darling. I know you know this, but you have been pretty mean to her in the past.”

A’Whora nodded weakly, throwing up a peace sign. “Karma,” She sang, the humour in it betrayed by her wobbly voice. “I deserved it, but… I didn’t realise it would hurt this much. Especially because she’s right.”

“She’s not right,” Tayce cut in immediately, a little surprised by her own fierce defensiveness. “She was just angry and upset.”

A moment of silence fell as A’Whora lapsed into thought, her face still smushed into Tayce’s shoulder. She scuffed her shoes into the stones gathered at the edge of the curb, kicking them into the road and scraping her heels into the gritty dirt. As cold as the night was, Tayce could hardly feel it with A’Whora so close.

She laughed bitterly. “Tay, look at us. Do you see any of our other friends out here? No, they’re all telling Tia how much they love her. Because they do. And I’m the nasty fucking bully that won’t go away so they just put up with me until I give them a reason to talk shit.”

“That’s not true, Whory. Sure, we gotta work on controlling that lip of yours, but the girls still love you.” Tayce paused, and then peppered a few more kisses to the top of her head. “You may be a bitch, but you’re my bitch.”

“Kinky,” A’Whora giggled, softening into her side. “You still like me?”

“I always like you.” Tayce whispered. 

Above them, the orange street lamp flickered and turned off, casting them into darkness. A crescent moon shone just above them, partially covered by clouds, and the night was quiet. Tayce leaned back, pulling A’Whora with her, until both girls were laying down, half on the pavement and half into the road, their arms around one another and heads facing the sky. A lifetime or even a minute could’ve passed as they just watched the stars, endlessly fascinated by the tiny pinpricks of light, but when Tayce turned her head, it struck her that A’Whora’s eyes sparkled better than any night sky she’d ever seen.

“I should apologise to Tia.” A’Whora murmured.

“Tomorrow.” Their voices were barely above a whisper, something unspoken and sacred about maintaining the tranquility of the silent night. “Give her time to cool off.”

“And you promise you still like me?”

Her eyes were wide, hopeful. Their faces were so close it was no effort at all. It never was. 

Not with her.

The night - er, morning -  was a disaster, but A’Whora’s lips tasted like cherry gloss and her touch was soft and gentle, and maybe things didn’t always end badly. Maybe it would be okay as long as Tayce had A’Whora and A’Whora had Tayce. 

Maybe Lawrence fucking Chaney was right.

[tfc2211]

Sweetwater on stage at Woodstock: Nancy Nevins, August Burns, Fred Herrera, Albert Moore, Elpidio Cobian. Not shown: Alex Del Zoppo and Alan Malarowitz.

Sweetwater was an unusual band, even for the late 1960s. No guitar, but a flute, cello, conga, keyboard, and drums. They pioneered a new fusion of rock, folk, and jazz long before the term “jazz fusion” was commonly used. They formed “spontaneously and naturally,” as lead singer Nancy Nevins recalls:

Alex Del Zoppo, Albert Moore, Elpidio Cobian, and Nancy Nevins began performing together on the coffeehouse circuit, joined by August Burns, Fred Herrera, and Alan Malarowitz. Their self-titled debut album was released on the Reprise label in 1968 to modest success. On the heels of the Sweetwater album, the group performed regularly with major acts like The Doors, Eric Burdon and the Animals, Cream, Grateful Dead, Frank Zappa, and numerous others. As up-and-coming stars, Sweetwater also performed on all the major network television shows of the time: The Red Skelton Show, The Steve Allen Show, Playboy After Dark, The Hollywood Palace, and American Bandstand. By the summer of 1969, they were also appearing at all the major rock festivals, including Woodstock.

Like other groups who played Woodstock, Sweetwater were stuck in the traffic and couldn't make it to the festival site in time for them to kick off the festivities. They abandoned their attempts to drive through the sea of cars and people walking in the roadway, and they were ferried to the site by helicopter. They were amazed by the sheer size of the audience; keyboard player Alex Del Zoppo asked the pilot what kind of crops he was seeing from the helicopter, to which the pilot laughed, "those are people, dude." According to Nancy Nevins, "we were used to playing many, many pop festivals at that point, but we'd never seen anything like Woodstock." Sweetwater's Woodstock performance was energetic and well received by the audience, but the band played at a disadvantage. Festival crews had installed a platform for photographers and film crews at the foot of the stage, and the intrusion of the media was off-putting to the band members. Nancy Nevins recalls, "we'd never dealt with that. I felt phony as hell singing to the big, black camera lenses instead of happy music lovers' faces." She continued, "we were used to fans grooving at our feet, and playing with them." Compounding the problems, the stage monitors were not fully functional, so they couldn't hear themselves or each other singing. The instruments were being routed through the vocal mics, causing even more sound issues. "But even so, we knew how to be troupers, and our show went on—mostly by rote, I guess. We even got the crowd on its feet at the end of our set." Because of the sound problems with their set, Fred Herrera jokingly claims that Sweetwater was the "soundcheck for Woodstock."

Sweetwater opened their set with their version of "Motherless Child," the song that brought Nancy together with Alex, Albert, and Elpidio in the coffeehouse days and a song Richie Havens had famously incorporated into his final song, "Freedom." This was Sweetwater's most famous song, and the audience responded enthusiastically. They followed with "Look Out," a song from their yet-to-be-released second album, Just For You (1970), then another song from their debut album, "For Pete's Sake." Another song from their upcoming album, "Day Song," followed, then the group performed four more songs from Sweetwater: "What's Wrong," "Crystal Spider," "Two Worlds," and "Why Oh Why." On that final song, the group launched into an extended jam, folding in parts of "Let The Sunshine" from the musical, Hair, and the Edwin Hawkins Singers' "Oh Happy Day." When it was all done, the audience rose to their feet to give Sweetwater a standing ovation.

—Wade Lawrence & Scott Parker

[somesuperherowrites]

To the Rescue

request: Will you do a Luke Alvez x Reader Drabble where you’re taken by an Unsub and he just barely rescues you and it’s all fluff and all love and all goodness!

a/n: part 2 will contain the fluff !

....

Luke paced around the bullpen anxiously. You weren’t answering any of his texts or calls. Normally, this wouldn’t worry him. He knew you usually took a while to respond, but right now the team had just gotten a case in D.C. and the unsub’s type fit you exactly. When he had seen the pictures of the unsub’s victims, it felt like he had been drenched in ice water. They could have been your mirror image.

He nervously dialed your number again and put the phone up to his ear, “c’mon, c’mon Y/N. Please pick up.”

“Hey, this is Y/N! Leave a message and I’ll call you back.” Your bubbly voice resounded in his ear. Luke quietly cursed to himself. He was going to have to ask Garcia to ping your phone.

Luke practically ran to where Garcia was sitting with Emily in the conference room. “Hey, uh, Garcia. I need you to ping Y/N’s phone for me please.”

Penelope quirked her eyebrow questioningly, but began typing on her tablet.

Emily looked at him concerned, “Luke, what’s wrong?”

“Y/N fits the unsub’s type and I can’t get her on the phone. Oh god... what if he has her Emily.” He was very quickly breaking down and he knew that, but the thought of a serial killer kidnapping you was enough to make him panic.

Emily nodded, “Garcia, did you find anything?”

Garcia stared at her tablet, “Yeah, her phone last pinged right outside your apartment complex. But that was three hours ago.”

“Penelope! Where is she now?” Luke took a shuddering breath. He had to remain rational. Maybe you had turned your phone off for some reason once you were in the apartment.

Please. Please. Please. Be in the apartment Y/N.

“Here is the video footage from the camera near where her phone was last pinged.” Garcia pressed play and the three of them watched as you walked down the sidewalk.

Luke’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw a man approach you and start talking. No alarms bells appeared to be going off in your head. You seemed calm. You pointed down the street and the man nodded his head. As soon as you turned your back, the man forced a cloth over your mouth.

“Oh my god.” Penelope breathed out. They were watching your abduction.

Luke watched as you resisted at first then quickly surrendered to the drugs. Your limp body was then thrown into a nearby van. The whole interaction had take 2 minutes.

“Damn it!” Luke tightened his hand into a first and punched the table. He tightly closed his eyes with his fist resting on the table. Truth be told, it was the only thing keeping him from falling over right now. God, this couldn’t be happening.

“Penelope, track that van and run facial rec. I’m going to get the team.” Emily commanded as she stood up.

She walked over and placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We’re going to get her back Luke.”

Luke bit his lip. He wasn’t one to cry in front of others, but right now, he was fighting like hell to not break down sobbing in the conference room. He pushed himself up off the table. There was only one thought running through his mind now - he had to get you back.

....

You groggily shook your head. Where were you?

You winced as the memories came flooding back to you. Shit. Someone had kidnapped you. Panic began to overtake you and you struggled against the restraints that we hanging you from the ceiling.

How could you have been so stupid. You had pepper spray and you hadn’t even used it. Luke would be so disappointed that you hadn’t fought back hard enough. Luke.

You took a deep breath to keep from crying. Luke was going to find you. You had to believe that.

Footsteps sounded from the hallway near where you were being held. Your eyes widened. Oh god, he was probably a serial killer. You couldn’t survive this. Luke was the tough one in your relationship. He was strong and good and could handle all the bad that the world had to offer. You couldn’t.

He was going to save you. Luke was coming for you.

You pulled against your restraints as hard as you could as a man appeared in front of you with a knife. You cried as you felt him press the cool metal of the blade against your throat.

His breath fanned your face and he smiled, “I’m gonna have fun with you.”

....

Luke paced the floor and exhaustedly ran his hands through his hair. “What are we missing? We have to be missing something,” he demanded looking around to the team members who were tirelessly working in the bullpen.

“Luke,” Emily started gently, “it’s been 3 days. You haven’t left and you’ve barely slept. You need a break.”

Luke scoffed, “do you think she’s gotten a break from the unrelenting hell this unsub is no doubt putting her through?” Heavy silence met his rhetorical question.

“Yeah, me neither. Emily we’re running out of time. He keeps them for 4 days at most. He tortures them, brands them, then dumps their body; and I.. I can’t -“ his voice broke.

Emily stepped towards him and looked him in the eye, “Luke, we can’t think like that. Okay? We’re missing something. You’ve studied this case more than anyone. What are we missing?”

Luke stared at the board in response. What was he missing?

“Hey Spencer!” he began putting together the dots of thoughts in his mind.

Spencer looked up from where he was sitting at his desk, “yeah?”

“Do you have that geological profile?” Spencer nodded and held the map up, which Luke snatched out of his hand.

Luke slammed the paper on the table, “there it is! the letters are of the streets the bodies were found are spelling out my name. Atlantic Street, Lawrence Avenue, Victor Street, East Capital. There’s no Z because that’s where he has her.”

Prentiss’ eyes widened. “Spencer, what street names in D.C. start with a Z?”

Spencer racked his brain, “There’s only one. It’s called Zei Alley. It’s two minutes away from the White House. Do we think he’s that bold?”

“No, I think he’s that stupid.” Luke grabbed the keys from his desk and paused when no one was moving. “Let’s go! He kills them at that location on the 4th day. She doesn’t have that much time.”

Prentiss nodded, “you heard the man. let’s go save Y/N.”

....

Your body was on fire. Anytime you moved, you felt the sharp sting of the cuts that littered your body. Luckily, he hadn’t cut too deeply. Unluckily, everything he did seemed to be because he wanted to cause you maximum pain.

You tried to lift yourself up on the top of your tip toes to give your arms some much needed relief. Being shackled from the ceiling was torture in itself.

You felt tears fall freely from your face as you heard footsteps coming toward you. You closed your eyes in dread. You knew what was coming, and you couldn’t take anymore.

“Please, please stop,” you sobbed.

“Shhh. It’ll all be over soon.” He grunted as he lifted your body against his so that he could undo your chains. He let your arms fall unceremoniously to your sides.

You screamed at the blinding pain that was taking over you. If you thought your arms had hurt before, boy were you wrong.

Your captor sneered at you, “Oh, shut up.”

He placed some a damp cloth against your mouth, and you welcomed the sweet darkness that it brought with it.

...

It wasn’t long before the team arrived at the location that the ubsub was going to bring you to. There was no sign of you yet, but everyone was waiting undercover and ready to jump in the second they saw you.

After 2 hours of waiting, a white van pulled up by Zei alley.

Luke immediately brought the team’s attention to this new development. “Guys, I’ve got a white van by the alley.”

Emily looked over the newspaper that she was holding as she sat on a bench. “I’ve got eyes on the van.”

They watched as the driver got out and approached the passenger side. He pulled the passenger out and help them up.

“Passenger looks unconscious. This is definitely our guy. Move in.” Prentiss commanded.

As the unsub shuffled you into the alley, he was surrounded. He held your body close to his and used you as a shield for protection.

Luke’s breath caught in his throat. You weren’t even awake. You couldn’t fight back. He wanted to scream in anger - how was this fair?

Luke licked his lips as he was thinking and his eyes darted between you and the unsub. “Okay, I’m going to put my gun away, and they’re going to back up, okay?” Luke slowly placed his weapon in its holster.

The unsub tightened his grip around you and shoved the knife deeper into your throat, so droplets of blood were now appearing on your skin.

“Hey, hey, look. You want me, right? That’s why you were spelling out Alvez, huh? Now take me instead of her okay?” At this point Luke was practically begging, but he didn’t care.

“You don’t want it to go down like this, okay man? You don’t wanna do this,” Luke pleaded.

The unsub was seemingly persuaded and loosened his grip on you for a second. A look of hatred flashed in his eyes. “You’re wrong,” he snarled and plunged the knife into your side.

....

You were trying so hard to open your eyes. Something was going on, but you couldn’t open your eyes. You thought you heard Luke’s voice faintly come in and out of focus. “down....don’t wanna..”

Was Luke coming to save you?

You suddenly felt a searing pain in your side and immediately screamed Luke’s name.

Gunshots sounded and you fell to the ground with the unsub. Everything was hazy and pain was consuming all your senses, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt when someone picked you up that it was Luke.

Your eyes kept fluttering open. Trying to stay conscious to see Luke was hard.

“Hey, hey, hey. I need you to stay awake for me Y/N. Can you do that?” Luke pleaded with you. His voice was like crystal water washing over you. So refreshing. Just what you wanted and exactly what you needed.

Even though you were pretty sure you were bleeding out, his voice was enough to make you quirk the side of your mouth into a slight smile. You knew you couldn’t talk, but you kept your eyes open long enough to meet Luke’s concerned gaze for a second before finally falling unconscious.

“No. No. Don’t do this Y/N.” He grabbed your face in his hands. “Come on. Please...” Tears were freely falling from his eyes and he desperately held pressure to your wound while begging you, pleading with you to stay with him.

In a second, medics ripped you from his arms and began applying pressure to your stab wound. They rushed to place you on the gurney and into the ambulance. Luke blindly followed them, unwilling to be apart from you for even a second.