#He's such a wee cheeky chap!

[hauntedbubbles]

Here, have some of my fave Soap stills from MWZombies act 3! 🧼

[scannys-back]

Ah, pip-pip, cheerio there, you wee cheeky little blighter! Oh dearie me, I do say, something seems awfully amiss, doesn't it? Might I be of some assistance, old chap? Oh, but no need to bother your pretty little head with a response, I simply must lend a hand, what ho!

*He picks them up by the scruff of their neck and carries them off to the lamb*

( @askacultleader )

Somewhere in Darkwood some creature is aggressively attacking everyone in its path. It doesn't do this for any specific purpose, but for fun.

[jangofctts]

I just think kami would want to show you everything and everywhere he loves and I also think that at the end of him showing you his favourite spots he’d sneak you into his ship and it’s cramped and you’re pressed too close but he is living! Because it gives him the excuse to touch you and your just trying to say I it’s bc it’s so small in here but then he starts kissing your neck and he runs his hands up your thighs and when you turn to look at him he kisses you and it gets too hot and your clothing can’t come off fast enough so he just shoved your panties aside and your shirt up so he can grab what he wants.... god he’s so hard bc it’s like his dream to fuck you in his shop and when he finally slips his cock into you he moans so fucking loud because he has to hold himself back so hard I-

EHEH I WROTE A LITTLE DRABBLE FOR YOU 

ct-8966 kamikaze (kami) // fem!reader

warnings: a wee bit smutty. also im comPleTEly ignoring the blueprints of a MA/AT shIP so please dont yell at me ewkkejwh

“Kami, we’re not supposed to be down here,” you whisper. Your heart squeezes like a fist when the he looks over your shoulder and flashes you a cheeky grin. He reaches for your hand that you readily give and tugs you closer to his crouched from behind the pile of cargo crates. You despise the way your cheeks heat from the mere brush of his shoulder against yours, warm and free from his armor.   

“Wouldn’t be fun if we were,” Kami shoots back. “C’mon, I just repainted her.”

Your grumbling protests are quickly silenced as he leaps up, dragging you by the hand across the hangar in a wild sprint. 

The ship does look nice. The fresh coat of paint takes away from the various blaster marks and the seemingly permanent dirt stains ingrained into the platting.   

“Do you like it?” Kami asks, tugging you closer until you’re both standing on the deck. He’s painted the interior too, a wash of teal, geometric lines and the basic shape of a rising sun over the hatch that sections off the front of the ship. 

“It’s alright, I guess,” you tease. “I’m surprised you didn't paint me as one of those pin up girls.”

A burst of laughter rings through the space. “Blanche would kill me. ‘Sides--we all know Bruiser would wanna take that job.”

You roll your eyes and continue the spur of the moment tour, eager to see whatever Kami deems worthy enough to show you. Another insight into he is as a person and not just that chaotic front of a cocky pilot--

But of course nothing ever goes as planned with him.     

“Damn,” he grumbles as the heavy footfalls of the night shift patrol echo near the ship. “Up we go.”

“Wait!” You hiss as Kami shoves you towards the ladder. “We cant both fit.” 

“You callin’ me thick?” He asks, attempting to mask his smile. It doesn't work.  

“Enormously thickheaded, you buffoon.”

Just as you say it, the white wash of flashlights run over the neighboring ships and fuck--you’re so fired. “We don’t have a choice. Move that voluptuous behind and we’ll have a fighting chance.” 

You bite your tongue, saving your retort for later and storm up the ladder, Kami close behind. Your suspicions are confirmed--the tiny platform right before the cockpit is far too small. Big enough that if Kami spooned you, you might be able to squeeze in two bodies and well--the pilot does just that. What the fuck. 

Kami tucks his foot in and above the ledge just as the reach of the flashlight crawls over the insides of his ship. You don’t care that Kami clutches you to his chest, arms locked around your shoulders as both of your hearts hammer wildly inside of your chests like a million feathered wings. The light lazily bounces around then disappears. You don’t realize you've been holding your breath until the footsteps fade away--your lungs deflate with a long sigh. 

The low reverberation of Kami’s chuckle beside your ear sends a shiver down your spine. Kriff--he’s tucked in close. Near enough that each time he breathes the warmth of his soft exhales disturb the fine hairs on your temple, tickling lightly over your skin. You clench your jaw. 

You squirm, cursing internally when the hem of your shirt rides up your side--it’s too fucking cramped in here. And dark. Kami’s hand is nothing but polite resting on the swell of your shoulder and stars, maybe it’s an accident when he moves it to your hip--calloused thumb resting right over your waistband. You bite your tongue and force yourself not to shiver when he sweeps the digit up...and then down...skimming that strip of much too sensitive skin on your side. 

“This is my favorite place,” Kami murmurs, his lightly chapped lips catching on the ridge of your ear. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip, convincing yourself that the light circles he’s rubbing into your skin isn't pushing you towards madness. “What--spooning me?”

You feel Kami’s laugh vibrate through his broad chest, the tip of his nose nuzzling into the dip where your jaw meets your throat. “Pfft--you wish. I’d cuddle a clanker before you.” 

“Liar...” 

Kami’s shoulders lift with a shrug. “Maybe.” His hand inches higher, sliding your shirt to your ribs, the touch still light--tentative and allowing you that space to tell him to fuck off, leave it how it is and stay friends. Just friends. As if this past year was not spent orbiting around each other in a dance of witty banter, playful jabs and those lingering looks that are found in the lull of conversation. You always thought he had such nice eyes--crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar as the first rays of dawn feather over it and turn it golden.   

When the plush shape of his lips tenderly touch your neck you shudder--a singular match that roars to life and alights your chest with heat. “Kamikaze.”     

He sucks in a shaky breath, removes his hand from your side and cups your chin. He shifts as much as he can in the limited space, almost draping himself above you so that the angle isn't as sharp when you look at him. 

There’s just enough light to see the muted tints of his red hair and the teal of his tattoos. He smiles and, Kriff, he's gorgeous. “Kiss me.”  

You don’t need to be told twice. You tangle your fingers into his short hair and yank him into a desperate kiss, both of you groaning in satisfaction. Maker, this feels so right--tangled in his arms as he’s gripping onto you so tightly, as if he’s terrified that you’d slip through his fingers. That this could be a dream and hell--it very well may be one, but you know a dream could never feel like this. 

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue past the seem of your lips and licking deep into your mouth--greedily seizing anything you’re willing to give. You blame the amount of space for how heated it gets, pressed so close with the risk of his body molding to yours as your lips lock with frenzied hunger. Making up for lost time you think--  

When you both apart for air, chests heaving with exertion, Kami mumbles your name and plants a chaste kiss right between your brows.  

Goosebumps follow in his wake as Kami’s fingers dance over you tummy. He Then takes your hand in his and guides it between his legs, a growing hardness glaringly obvious contained within his blacks.“’M thick in other places too, y’know...”

You grin. “Prove it.”

[crimehead]

Scotland’s youngest killer: The Murder of Three Year Old Jamie Campbell.

Jamie Campbell, a three year old toddler was lured away from his grandmothers garden on the 24th of August, 1990 in Drumchapel, Glasgow by then 11 year old Richard Kieth. The toddler was then beaten with sticks and stones before being drowned in a burn in the Bluebell Woods, the site of another infamous Scottish murder. Jamie’s body was found lying face down over a large stone by a two woman, he has 14 wounds to his head and neck. Keith was cleared of murder in the trial of 1990 in Glasgow’s High Court however, after the four day trial in 1991 in Edinburgh on the reduced charge of culpable murder. His case was described as ‘sheer wickedness’ by Lord Sutherland and was ordered to be detained without limited time. Kieth was made to serve 8 years in a young persons institution for culpable homicide and was released in 1999 after a 6 month campaign by Campbell’s family to keep Keith in detention stating that “It has devastated our family, we are just not the same anymore. Yet here Keith is, not even 9 years down the road, just putting it all behind him and getting on with his life.” and “Keith is evil to the core and you can’t cure evil. I can’t bear the thought of him running the streets”. He now roams free to this day living with the same name and girlfriend, bragging about his crime. Before the trial, they had found out that Keith had attacked another 3 year old in Drumchapel with a penknife and beaten him weeks before Campbell’s murder.

The murder has been compared to the murder of James Bulger, where a 2 year old boy was abducted the boy from a Merseyside shopping centre, tortured and killed by two 10 year olds, Robert Thompson and Jon Venables 3 years after the Jamie Campbell case in 1993.

This wasn’t the families first heartbreak, Jamie’s mother had died in a fire when he was only 11 months old. The family of Jamie Campbell try to keep the memory of the toddler alive to this day so that he is not forgotten and have appeared on an episode of the Jeremy Kyle show. Jamie was been labelled as ‘funny’ and a ‘cheeky wee chap’ by family members.

[phil-and-a-corgi]

highschool bandfic in a nutshell - chapter 2

chapter 1

rating: t/m (swearing and also irene’s writing.)

word count: um i dont know a lot ( 2083 )

summary: uhh we have that on the first page

here if you want to read it here then here you go materinos(doesn’t include behind the scenes bants though

here read it on google docs yeah i know so professional(this one has behind the scenes banter)

SECOND CHAPTER (2)

(written by renee @dan-and-a-shibe - pete’s pov)

after finally putting on my eyeliner (i had no time to do it this morning and i looked like a garbage can filled with shit on fire) i hopped off the sink counter. sighing and putting my MAC charcoal liner back into my bag.i dabbed just a wee bit of eyeshadow because WHY THE FUCK NOT. the bell rang, signalling that i was late for first period. why do i let a bell, a mere beep for 5 seconds control where i go and when i go. it just shows how even though everyone tries to be themselves that everyone ends up being dragged by the trends of society. so i decided to sit in the background and look through tumblr. on my phone. ten minutes of scrolling through poetry and kittens. i should get going now. so i did. i walked into mr armstrong’s class.

“mr wentz may i ask why you’re late.” he asked, jokingly in a teacher’s voice. “sorry it’s required to ask that” he whispered, winking at the class.

“i know why, because he was busy being a GAYLORD”(dh quote) that try hard kid justin bieber teased.

“ok justin please explain how your bleached hair isn’t gayer than his amazing eyeliner.” mr amstrong retorted back as the whole class “oohed” at justin.

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(written by Irene - @feckboy69-aol - frank’s pov)

Fuck Ms. O-Conner. Fuck her class. It's the only class that I don't have with my beloved Gee and the rest of the guys I hung out with and the only class where the teacher actually expects me to do shit. Like okay, maybe there’s some nice chicks in this class and I sit in the back next to a window where I can stare out of and think of my beloved, beautiful Gee, but so what? Lorde’s (yeah, that's what her preferred name was, what a joke) a fucking bore. Honestly, so would this school be, if not for my beloved, precious, beautiful Gee and the shit going on with Ryan and Beebs’ tea drama. Oh, that and the whole of Beaver’s crowd; it was fun watching them get owned by literally everyone here.

Anyway, English class. Lorde Bitchface was screaming about the importance of “putting emotion into your poems” and using “meaningful symbolism” to give your writing “depth” like the edgy bitch she was, so I just tuned her ugly mug out as usual, grabbing my notebook and turning to a fresh page. I gripped the #2 mechanical pencil in my hands and let my mind wander and think about my beloved, adorable, precious, and beautiful Gee, which wasn't very hard. I thought about the last time we had made out (in the bathroom near Bitchface’s class in the stall that no one used) and let my hand draw what I thought. I never was a good artist, but my beloved, handsome, adorable, precious, and beautiful Gee had taught me a couple things (some about art, some about other things), so I had become pretty good. I concentrated for a good 5-7 minutes on the drawing, making every line count, and then smirked to myself at the finished masterpiece. It was stunning; well Gee was.

“Ah… Mr. Iero, why don't you tell us?” said Lorde Bitchface, looking at me with that stupid fucking teacher look that Mr. Armstrong had copied perfectly from her and would use to joke around. But I, being me, tried to pass it off with a smartass answer, something I always did that got on the bitch’s nerves.

“See now I would, but I don't do things like that for free,” I said, giving her a mischievous look. Several girls in front of me (except Hayley, that sassy lassy, who just rolled her eyes and went back the crap that Bitchface was teaching) turned around and giggled, playing with their hair in a vain attempt to try and get my attention. They knew about Gee and me; the whole school did (that's a story for another time), but they still thought they could get me. But I played along anyway, winking at them and giving them the Frank Iero Famous smoulder. The girls seemed impressed, but Bitchface clearly wasn't, her ugly face (okay, I knew she wasn't ugly, she probably got a lot of action actually with that figure, but I despised her so fuck off) morphing into one of disgusting bitch anger, her nose and eyebrows scrunched up and her lips pursed into a tight, white line. I knew she was about to blow, when a kid sitting all the way up in the front who I didn't even know existed until he spoke his next words (that would definitely be his last if I ever found him alone in a dark hallway, by the way) said, “He's being inappropriate and drawing repulsing images in his notebook, Ms. Lorde. I saw him when I went to sharpen my pencil, Ms. Lorde,”

He then turned around and smirked at me, his wavy ginger hair following him as he did, an aura of smugness about him that I did not appreciate.

I saw the anger drain from Lorde Bitchface’s face and have it replaced with a look of calmness that was actually more efficient in scaring people than her anger.

Fucking asshole, I thought, momentarily losing my cool before reminding myself that I was Frank Iero and bitches wished they could kiss the ground I walked on with their crusty-ass, chapped as fuck lips.

So when that fucking whore of a teacher gave me detention, I simply smiled and said a cheeky, “Can't get enough of me as it is, Lorde? Not that I can't see why you wouldn't want more of this,” running my hands through my hair, knowing that this was definitely gonna make the ugly hag throw a fit, which would be far more amusing than if I had just accepted the offer of yet another detention.

It worked; I got sent to the principal's office, but like hell I was actually gonna go there. I smiled to myself as I walked outside the door, giving Bitchface a cheeky salute as I went out, not staying long enough for her to scream more shit at me.

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(written by renee @dan-and-a-shibe - ray’s pov)

geez well this is frank's seventh detention this week and it's only wednesday. how is that even possible. well, lorde's most recent detention got him a saturday detention for the whole day and i knew he was supposed to go hang out with gee. gerard would be heartbroken if he couldn't make it to their next date. they have date night in saturday. i had to convince lorde to get him out of detention. she hadn't hated me yet, so i had a chance. while we were supposed to be writing deep poetry, i went up to her desk.

                 “hey um, ms lorde, uh sorry about frank. his family isn't really okay at the moment, and well, he's been acting up. more than usual. his parents have been really hard on him, especially with the detentions. i hope you can withdraw the multiple detentions from the past three days. don't mention this to him, or anyone else. please.” truth was that franks family wasn't doing to well but they weren't being hard on him, they didn't care anymore.

          lorde paused for a moment. “ok then, ill withdraw the detentions. only for this week. why don't you go down to the office and tell him this detentions are withdrawn.” i knew i could do it. most ladies have more vulnerable emotions, they’re more sensitive. and that's why women are so great. and now he only had three after school detentions..

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(written by Irene - @feckboy69-aol - tyler’s pov)

It was lunch for the Sophomores, so as usual, I was trying to find my best fren Josh Dun. It was strange, he wasn't anywhere to be seen, when usually I could spot his vibrant colored hair in any crowd (it was a bright yellow today). So when I entered the large circular shaped cafeteria, and didn't see him, I started to panic a bit.

He was there in the morning, we walked here together, he was there in first period, I saw him when I went to go to the bathroom, he was there during third period because I was there with him, oh no, he got kidnaped… he got bullied he's in a locker somewhere stuck I have to go, he's hurt I have to sav-

“Tyler!” I heard someone scream from behind me, interrupting my very important thoughts about Jishwa. I turned around in pure panic, ready for the news that was going to be solemnly sorrowful; news about Jishwa’s untimely death.

Alas, it was only Jenna Joseph Black, a pleasant surprise at that. I smiled in spite of my internal mental struggle, watching Jenna smiling and running up to me. The cafeteria was now starting to fill up, with cliques of people banding together in their own respectable tables, as usual.

Jenna grinned at me, giving me a friendly greeting. I didn't want her to get worried for my stupid overthinking habit. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, leading me to our lunch table which consisted of me, Jish, her, Hayley (Kiyoko) Adam, Jack, and Ryan. The others weren't there yet, me and Jen usually arrived early, Josh not too far behind us, with the rest walking together, usually bringing some mundane news about whatever they considered important in their lives. Usual conversations involved Jack and his frens coming in with their loud but awkward selves, Hayley not too far behind them, her hands crossed in silent disapprovement at almost everyone and everything. They all would then come in to our table, interrupting the meaningful conversations that Jen, Jish and I would be having, usually conversations about the possibility (or plausibility) of whether coconut sharks could or not exist, (if they did exist, where would they be swimming?) with talk about the latest song from so-and-so’s band or whether Ryan and Brendon would ever get back together, or at least make up.

But that's not what exactly happened today because Jen, ever the one to notice and care, gave me a caring concerned look that depicted exactly how much she cared and was concerned about me and Jish, her eyes gleaming in the bright-lighted cafeteria, her mouth morphing into a depressing frown.

“Where's Jish?” She inquired, the proportions of her face perfectly in line, to the point where she made everyday curiosity look like it was the epitome of perfection, suddenly standing up, probably (or plausibly) realizing that if Jish were here, he would be right now.

I slouched further into my seat, gulping, my throat feeling dry, “I don't Jen… I don't know…”