#v: blood in the water

[carouselcometh]

The Glass Coffin Mocktail! In honor of my most beloved and favorite Saw trap 5ever :)

[sawcondeezicons]

(how did you [walk out of that building]?) on a gurney, with a fucking hole in my throat!

[ID: 6 circular icons of peter strahm from the saw franchise. in the first and fourth icons, he is turned slightly diagonally from the camera, head tilted slightly down. in the second and fifth icons, he has the water cube trap encasing his head, and is feeling at the edges with his hands, a frantic expression on his face. in the third and sixth icons, he is screaming angrily at somebody behind the camera, holding a gun up to his own head. the second, fourth, and sixth icons' backgrounds have been edited to be in black and white. /End ID]

[ninawolv3rina]

Foaming at the MOUTH about these two

Read their book it’s just more of this

Characters: Carmen Cortez-Weaver (she/her), James “Cort” Harcourt (he/it)

[aoitakumi8148]

...𝓘𝓯 𝓘𝓽 𝓘𝓼 𝓦𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓦𝓮 𝓜𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓓𝓲𝓮, 𝓦𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓐𝓽 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓓𝓲𝓮 𝓣𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻.

[homecomingvn]

"Lyra understands to a certain degree." What do ya mean by that does she secretly hate us or something

In reference to this post.

Nope, not at all! It's moreso that Lyra gets that some people are just not gonna get along; and that's ok! The people she cares about don't have to be friends. She'll listen to him rant abt you to a certain degree but there have been times where Nico has gone too far tho + there's been fighting.

[biblio-smia]

blood runs thicker than water — two.

masterlist | requests are open!

pairing: eventual ethan landry x reader

warnings: mindy's monologues

[one.] [two.]

The day was grey and bleak, thick clouds rolled over Woodsboro. A shiver ran down your spine as a gust of cold air chilled you awake. Your trailer home didn't do much against the elements and fall was almost here. 

It was a Saturday. Th necessity of a school day did not wake you at seven a.m. like it did Monday through Friday; instead, a different necessity pulled you away from the warm mess of sheets on your bed.

「 … 」

Dewey Riley exited his room with slow, sluggish steps and a hand cradling his head in an attempt to shield his sensitive eyes from the morning light that peeked through the blinds. He stumbled towards the kitchen and fought to open the fridge with one hand, an ironic disappointment appearing on his face upon seeing it was full of fresh groceries.

"Good morning," you said softly as you came out of the bathroom, careful to keep your volume at a level safe for your father's headache — a tendency that was becoming more and more frequent. You reached up behind your dad to grab the brand new carton of eggs from the fridge.

"Did you get groceries?" Your dad questioned, not bothering to reply to your greeting. He was always a little prickly when he was hungover.

"Well, yeah. I kinda didn't wanna starve?" You laughed a little, though it became nervous upon seeing your dad's serious face. Confusion was taking over now, wondering why he didn't at least smile like he normally would — he was usually prickly, not pissed.

You shut the fridge as your dad leaned off it, his hands coming up to cross over his chest and you couldn't help but feel a shift and you went on the defensive.

"You went out by yourself? Without telling me?" It felt like an accusation of a crime, a tone you couldn't understand. You couldn't comprehend the sudden complaint when the two of you would be sitting here hungry if it hadn't been for you.

"It wasn't a problem before—"

"Well, it's a problem now. You don't go out by yourself, no matter what."

And you stood there, carton of eggs in hand and eyebrows furrowed in frustration as that tiny seed of resentment in your stomach threatened to grow, waiting for an explanation for the rash limitation your father had put on you — an explanation that wouldn't come as long as your father lived in denial.

He moved to pour himself a cup of coffee, not without some bourbon. You pretended not to notice, moving to make breakfast. That was your compromise. He could drink, but he had to eat whatever it was you made.

Your dad took a seat on the couch, turning on the TV. The news was already going. Your mother was on the screen, talking and laughing in a way you'd never seen before — sometimes she seemed more like a character far beyond your reach rather than your mother.

Your dad laughed at a joke she made, one you missed. With the alcohol and Good Morning with Gale Weathers, his face softened and you smiled at the scene, the anger and hurt you felt slowly fading. You walked over, handing your dad a plate of eggs and bacon, just the way he liked it. He smiled gratefully, placing a kiss on your forehead. You held your breath, the smell of alcohol stinging your nose.

A knock at the door interrupted your walk back to the kitchen and your father's face hardened again.

A voice called out from outside, one you'd never heard before.

"We're sorry to bother you, Mr. Riley, we just want to ask you a few questions -"

"I don't give interviews!" Your dad shouted, setting his plate aside and standing up.

You eyed your dad suspiciously. What happened last night?

"We're not looking for an interview—"

"Go away or I'll call the police!" Your dad yelled, properly angry now.

"You're a suspect in a homicide, so go ahead, call the police!" The voice yelled back, equally as enraged.

Your mouth dropped in shock and your father's jaw clenched. You stared so hard you were sure he felt it, glancing up quickly before he averted his eyes.

"Give me one good reason why I should talk to you!" He calls, but you could tell he was already convinced for the most part.

"I'm Billy Loomis's daughter."

The voice on the other side of the door rang clear, the words stinging like needles against your skin. You shivered, but this time, it wasn't from the cold air.

"Go to your room," your father said lowly, making his way to the front door.

You knew better than to argue, especially with the grave tone of the way your father spoke, like he was on the verge of either screaming or crying.

The walls were thin, anyway.

With the door ajar, you hovered, attentive to the footsteps and the sounds. The locks rattled and you could almost imagine your father undoing the many locks on your door before finally opening it.

The voices, now at a normal volume, were muffled and hard to hear. The conversation moved to the living room where your father's cold plate of food sat. You were hanging on to every word, focusing hard to catch as much of the conversation as you could.

"So help us! Help us figure out who's behind this!" Samantha's voice rang.

"Are you kidding me? I've been stabbed nine times, I've got permanent nerve damage and a fun little limp. I have a kid. You think I wanna go through that again? Put my family in danger?"

"You just said it always goes back to the past, right? So, if I'm in danger, that means you're both in danger. Come on, let's do this, together."

"Your time's up." And the last sound you heard was the door slamming and the locks rattling once more.

With a creak of your door, you made your way into the hallway, watching as your dad leaned against the front door.

"Dad?"

"Yes?" He leaned up and off the door, trying to relax his face and his breathing.

"You should help them."

"I thought I told you to go to your room."

You knocked on the nearest wall. "The walls are thin."

Your dad sighed, resting his hands on his hips.

"I'm not getting involved. I don't know anything."

"You know everything! You know what it's like, they don't. You need to help them!" You stepped closer, a pleading look on your face. There was no way you could leave these people to fend for themselves.

"The only thing I need to do is protect you."

Fear made his voice tremble as he looked down at you, his face looking older than ever as he pulled you so close you could smell the alcohol on him.

"We're getting you on the next flight to New York. I'm going to call your mother and you're going to stay with her—"

"What? Dad, I'm not leaving—" You pulled yourself out of the hug, looking at your father in disbelief.

"It's not your decision. My roof, my rules."

You scoffed. "What if Mom comes here? Who do I stay with then?"

"She won't. I'll tell her not to."

You scoffed. "And you think she's going to listen to you?"

Your dad's jaw clenched.

"Dad..." you stepped closer again, carefully. "You can't just run away. Not when there's people who need your help."

You wrapped your arms around him this time, hiding your face into his arm.

"I don't want anyone to die," you confessed softly, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes.

"It's not our problem," your father tried to reassure, his hand coming up to gently pat your head.

"We can't just... sit here and do nothing!" Your voice shook with emotion, moving your head back so your father could see it. "Please?"

Your dad sighed. He was tired. You knew that. But you had to do something.

"You know, you're just like your mother." He shook his head softly.

For the first time that day, your father smiled at you and you returned it.

「 ... 」

You followed your father to the Meeks-Martin house, walking past Sam and her boyfriend, Richie, with nothing but a glance.

Your dad held on to your shoulder and led you inside as he greeted Mindy Meeks-Martin. Discomfort ran through you as you inspected the home and the pictures of the deceased decorating the walls. Something wasn't right.

The two of you moved into the living room where the group of teens were already sitting, waiting. Clearly, they weren't expecting you.

It was a coincidence you were born the same year as most of the friend group — an awful one.

Awkward glanced followed. They all knew who you were, especially with your father beside you. You knew who they were, faintly. You saw them all that day after school.

The only person you really knew was Wes Hicks. Your father always encouraged you to be his friend. You were, for years — until you grew up and the don't trust anyone rule began eating at you like a disease.

"Hey, Wes." You nodded your head in his direction as you took a seat as far away from them as possible. He was so different now than from you last knew him. Bleached hair, tall. But then again, the last time the two of you hung out was elementary school.

A part of you missed him. A part wanted to recreate the memories you had shared when you were seven, when you lived in blissful ignorance and still had the ability to make friends.

But too many years had gone by for that now.

"I asked Mindy to call everybody here because there's something I have to tell you," Sam began, not quite nervous but not quite eager. You couldn't blame here. You wouldn't exactly be showing off your parentage if you were her.

「 ... 」

"So, let me get this straight, you're saying that you're the daughter of Billy Loomis and, what, that one of us is the killer?"

"The killer told me he knew my secret. He attacked Tara to lure me back here!" Sam defended.

"But then why immediately go and murder some douche nozzle that was stalking Liv?"

"Why does it have to be one of us? And what about Deputy here? Maybe he's the killer..." You shot Wes a glare. "No offense."

"None taken. But what's my motive?" Your dad questioned back and it occurred to you he'd probably had dozens of conversations like this before.

"You got stabbed a billion times, got dumped by your famous wife and crawled into a bottle. I think it's safe to say you're on the suspect list."

"Well maybe you're the killer. Because that cut deep." Wes sent a look of concern and you placed a hand on your dad's arm.

"You don't have to be such an ass about it, Wes," you glared, scooting closer to your dad for good measure. Yeah, things had changed.

"That douche nozzle is connected. I googled him, his mom is Leslie Macher, Stu Macher's sister." Amber said.

"Who's Stu Macher?" Liv asked.

"Oh, my god." Amber grumbled.

"He's Billy Loomis's accomplice, a real looney tune." Your dad said. You'd almost forgotten he knew him. Knew them both.

"Okay, okay, so the first three attacks are all on people related to the original killers." Sam began, interrupted by Mindy.

"Oh, my god, he's making a requel!"

"A what?" Sam asked.

"Or a lega-sequel, fans are torn on the terminology."

"God, please speak English." Chad.

"Okay, remember the Stab move that came out last year?"

"Oh yeah, the one the Knives Out guy directed, right? You know, I actually really liked that one." Liv quipped with a small smile.

"Of course you did, you have terrible taste."

Liv's smile fell. "I hate you."

"The point is, the hardcore Stab fans hated it. You go on 4chan and Dreddit, all they're talking about is how Stab 8 pissed on their childhood. How they crammed in social commentary just to make it elevated, how the main character is a Mary Sue!"

"What's a Mary Sue?" Richie asked.

"You really don't want to know." Wes assured.

"What's wrong with elevated horror? I mean, Joran Peele fucking rules."

"Uh, obviously, but that's not Stab! Real Stab movies are meta slasher whodunits, full stop."

"Come on, it's just a movie."

"No, it's not. To some people, the original is their favorite thing in the world. The movie that made them love horror! That mom or dad showed them when they were ten that bonded them together!

"And God help anyone who slightly fucks with that special memory. Who makes a movie they think disrespects it. It sounds like our killer is writing his own version of Stab 8 but doing it as a requel." Mindy finished.

You could tell the others were getting tired of the monologue, rolling their eyes or slouching in their seats. But Mindy's enthusiasm guided you through her words, which you hung on to thoughtfully.

And to your father, they were nostalgic.

"Which is?"

"See, you can't just reboot a franchise from scratch anymore. The fans won't stand for it. Black Christmas, Child's Play, Flatliners. That shit doesn't work! But you can't just do a straight sequel, either. You gotta build something new, but not too new or the internet goes buck fucking nuts.

"It's got to be part of an ongoing storyline even if the story shouldn't have been ongoing in the first place. New main characters, yes, but supported by an related to legacy characters."

Mindy pointed to your dad. Oh, god.

"Not quite a reboot, not quite a sequel. Like the new Halloween, Saw, Terminator, Jurassic Park, Ghostbusters, fuck, even Star Wars! It always, always," she picked up a copy of Stab — the original, "goes back to the original!"

The room was quiet as Mindy's words settled in like a death sentence.

"Are you telling me that I'm caught in the middle of fan fucking fiction?!"

"Not just in the middle, Sam. You're the star."

"So," Liv began. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but according to requel rules..."

"Who's next?"

"Going by the pattern, whoever it is has to be connected to someone that came before." Mindy looked around before her gaze fell on you and your dad.

Your skin prickled at the attention that followed as everyone's eyes began to fall on you.

"I'm starting to regret coming here," your dad sighed.

"Jesus, my mom's a character in one of them —"

"No one cares about the inferior sequels, Wes, you're safe." Mindy turned to her twin. "With Randy as our uncle, though, you and I are probably screwed."

"Wait, what?"

"Or you're the killer and this whole, what, elaborate monologue is just to cover your tracks."

"I think the quiet ones are the killer," Amber spoke up, pointing an accusing finger at you. "I saw you watching us the day after Tara got attacked."

Your eyebrows furrowed and you scoffed. But before you could get a defense out, Mindy laughed.

"I think it's pretty clear who the killer is at this point."

"Who?" Sam asked.

"You." Mindy said, as if it were obvious. "It makes perfect requel sense."

A chorus of agreements followed and you couldn't help but feel sorry for Sam, watching as the anger and disbelief showed up on her face.

"Fuck this." Sam stood and left in rage.

"You know," your dad started, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed. "Randy may have accused us all of being the killer too, but he was a lot nicer about it."

The two of you stood to depart, too. You spared Wes one final glance. Your eyes met for a second before he looked away, staring at the floor instead.

You and your father climbed into the car quietly. Your throat was dry and you had to lick your lips before you could even try to get any words out.

"You heard Mindy. It all goes back to the original. I'm a target, Dad. We both are."

"That's exactly what I was afraid of," your dad sighed, turning on the engine.

"I'm not leaving. We have to stick together. Power in numbers, right?"

Your dad turned and gave you a sad smile. He'd lost so much. The last thing he was going to do was lose you, too.

"You've gotta stay close, alright? Remember, trust—"

"No one," the two of you finished together. The piece of advice that had taken over your life for years. The one that had ruined all your friendships. The one that had booted Wes out of your life. You felt that resentment again, building up and threatening to spill out of your mouth.

"Yeah," you turned back around to face the road. "I know."

「 ... 」

Your music stopped just as the phone rang, chiming a few times before your father finally picked up.

You knew something was wrong the second he spoke into the phone, pulling your earbuds out and racing into the entrance of your home.

"It's... Judy and Wes," your father gasped out. The two of you exchanged a look of understanding.

No words were needed as you two piled into the car, hearts racing with pure fear.

「 ... 」

You arrived at the scene of the double-murders, bile rising in your throat. You felt like something was pulling you along, like you were no longer in control of your own body.

You had just seen Wes. Now you watched as his body rolled onto an ambulance. There was a blanket over him but you knew it was him. The ambulance's lights turned off. Dead on arrival.

You bit your lip to try and ground yourself, feeling the warmth of blood trickle on your tongue. You stopped once you tasted it, turning away from the scene with blurry vision. You turned to your father, who was speaking. You blinked through deep breaths as you tried to focus on what he was saying.

Something caught your father's eye, mid-conversation. You glanced in the direction of what he was looking at. It was your mother. You smile, watching as they met in the middle. Their faces softened as they came closer and your heart filled with a feeling you'd missed. A feeling of completion.

Your smile dropped as you followed your father's gaze behind Gale, looking at her camera crew. She hadn't come for the two of you.

Their faces changed again and the feeling faded, transforming into one of familiar pain as your parents engaged in a heated conversation reminiscent of your childhood. One of them delivered the final blow and they went quiet.

You took your opportunity.

"Mom?" You stepped forward. She hadn't noticed you yet.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" In her defense, there was genuine concern as she took you in and pulled you in for a hug. She smelled of freshly pressed laundry and a strong perfume. An expensive one. "You've gotten so much taller."

You couldn't help but smile at the affection. At the attention. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. But you didn't answer my question." The softness faded a little from your mother's voice, her hands falling on your shoulders.

You sighed. "I'm a target, mom. We all are."

Your mother sighed, nodding knowingly. There was a faraway look in her eyes, like when you would catch her daydreaming about her life in New York.

She was tired, too. She just had a different way of dealing with it.

A member of her team called her name. She turned, giving you a small smile. "Duty calls."

It always seemed to.

Your father walked up to an officer as he arrived onto the scene, asking about something. More details, clues, you didn't know. You didn't want to think about the murders anymore. You wanted all this to go away.

"Who's at the hospital?" Sam's voice broke through your wall of thoughts. "Who's watching my sister?"

"I just heard about the sheriff..." The officer your dad was speaking to sputtered out in a pathetic defense.

Sam scoffed, running off. Right into danger. There was no way she was the killer if she loved her sister that much.

"They needed me here!" The officer called out defensively.

"Where are you going?" Your father yelled out after Sam.

"My sister's in trouble!"

He glanced at your mother, who was reporting live. He looked at you, worried about the state you were in. You avoided your eyes and started chasing after Sam. With no time to argue and no choice, your dad followed.

Sam's face betrayed her confusion at your willingness to help. But time was ticking and the killer would clearly not waste an opportunity to kill.

"What are you waiting for? Drive! Come on, let's go!"

Sam peeled out as squeezed your eyes shut, gripping onto your seat in an attempt to brace yourself.

You weren't ready for this. Not by a long shot.

But it was too late to turn back now.

[2ndbat]

A PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE . (my Wayne verse since I did something like this for my Main verse already, last name and profession would be the only difference stat wise but its something)

repost, do not reblog, with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some others of your own !

NAME. Terrance Wayne NICKNAME(S). Terry ALIAS(ES). Batman, The Bat, uses the last name Prince on public records

AGE. 16-17 SPECIES. half-human, half-amazonian GENDER. trans masc ORIENTATION. bisexual, biromantic

INTERESTS. gymnastics, wrestling, martial arts, health and medicine related subjects, History (in general and especially from first hand accounts), cooking, dogs, mechanics and engineering, tech, dancing (the list goes on, but mostly things that help him be Batman) PROFESSION. student, Batman

EYES. ice blue HAIR. black SKIN. pale FACE. somewhat sharp features(?), cleft chin, cheek dimples when smiling or upset, piercing eyes, fuller top lip than bottom HEIGHT. 5'7''

ANTAGONISTS. Jokerz and T gang members, Spellbinder, Shriek, Inque(sometimes ally), Mad Stan, the royal flush gang (minus the 2 children, they reformed), Blight, Curare, Terminal, Willie Watt(reformed), and many more (too many to name them all) COLORS. black, red, grey, brown FRUITS. pomegranate, apples, technically tomatoes and avocados DRINKS. coffee, water, soda, juice, hot chocolate, milk, smoothies, shakes ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES. none. SMOKES? no DRUGS? no DRIVERS LICENSE? yes

[fooltofancy]

curled up in the least comfortable office chair on the planet trying to con my brain and body into speaking with one another

sending untrained mental carrier pigeons but they're getting lost and causing nerve pain instead idk

[mikeholloway]

[stromuprisahat]

In the waning days of 130 AC, King Aegon II returned at last to King’s Landing, accompanied by Ser Marston Waters, Ser Alfred Broome, the Two Toms, and Lady Baela Targaryen (still in chains, for fear she might attack the king if freed). Escorted by twelve Velaryon war galleys, they sailed upon a battered old trading cog named Mouse, owned and captained by Marilda of Hull. If Mushroom may be trusted, the choice of vessel was deliberate. “Lord Alyn might have shipped the king home aboard Lord Aethan’s Glory or Morning Tide or even Spicetown Girl, but he wanted him seen to be creeping into the city on a mouse,” the dwarf says. “Lord Alyn was an insolent boy and did not love his king.”

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

[iniziare]

Re-tag drop: Yelan

[fathercharlesoffdensen]

Who do I have to [guitar riff] to get a CFO cover / music video / etc. of "Blood in the Water" from the Legally Blonde musical?

Now when you choose a law career The moment you embark There is that joke you're bound to hear "A lawyer is a shark" Ignore that, it's simplistic and it's dumb Only some of you will turn out sharks, just some The rest... are chum

Our topic is blood in the water Kids, it's time you faced Law school is a waste Oh yes, unless you acquire a taste for blood in the water Dark and red and raw You're nothing until the thrill of the kill becomes your only law

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok’s intake of breath/slight straightening of posture when Janeway says she spoke to his family before she left....................................................I can’t speak

[ragedagainst]

there's a large part of jyn that doesn't want to say anything at all when rider walks into the bar for his shift. it's none of her business –– and, there's still a small voice in the back of her mind that tells her that she shouldn't care about him ( she doesn't ). after a few beats of silence, leveling him with a scrutinizing look, she vaguely gestures to her face with her hand, says dryly, " you've . . . got a little something there. "

@w4ntd liked for a starter !

[proshippersstimming]

⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣

JosCarl (Joseph Desaulniers/Photographer x Aesop Carl/Embalmer) from Identity V stimboard with red and black colors, blood, ink, tentacles, crowbars, antique objects as requested by @justeasing!

[hightro]

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2022!!