Rem

no.3 Kate Laswell defender no.2 is John Price no.1 is her wife

[laswells-ashtray]

Uh...ignore this if it's weird but!

I painted orca...big ol' eyes captivated me👁👁 (the flowers are shitty cornflowers, a symbol of hope for the future)

Oh my fucking God. That's my baby and her silly eyes.

THE MARKINGS ON HER HEAD?! Actually damn near greetin at this.

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They bicker like an old married couple, get into screaming matches over football when drunk and smack each other like wains fighting over a toy if they sit on the couch together for too long.

But they don't fight.

At least, they don't fight until Simon washes a blanket. It's red, white and blue, and it's been on their bed for weeks. It smells like sweat, fags and the faint hint of aftershave. Common sense tells Simon to toss it in for a wash.

It's childish, Johnny's reaction. Slamming things down on the kitchen counter as he unpacks shopping bags, red in the face and swearing him out in that heavy, almost indiscernible Scottish brogue.

Quite frankly, Simon wants to leave until the other man can get his act together because he won't tolerate a tantrum over a household task. Until Johnny's voice wavers and he catches a glimpse of the other man's eyes, rimmed with tears.

"What's so special about that fucking blanket? You don't kick up a fuss when I was any of the others."

"It wis ma da's. Huvane fuckin washed it since he-"

Since he died.

The blanket that Johnny's dad kept over his chair at the sergeant's childhood home, because it's his team's colours, something the man had told Simon when Johnny had reluctantly dragged him away to meet his parents.

And Johnny refused to wash it because it still smelled like his dad's aftershave, one he'd been using for years on end and refused to change, claiming loyalty to the brand that made it.

Suddenly, Simon feels like a cunt. The idea of holding a parent close after their passing, remembering their smell and the sound of their voice, was something that never crossed his mind. He can't relate to the experience.Once again, his own father managed to ruin something for him, and the man is long dead.

[laswells-ashtray]

Andrei finds no use in seeking God. It's like an addict with a needle in their veins, asking for weed.

He has something better than a God, someone real who's purpose he devotes himself to. He doesn't find love in bible passages, he's rewarded a rush of adrenaline whenever he plants a bullet between the eyes of someone who was just a step too close to his commander.

Absolution is worthless to him in comparison to dark eyes appraising his worth when he offers a suggestion that's equally as sadistic as it is tactical.

He sports no cross, yet a bloodstained patch sits proudly on his arm.

He kneels for no deity, he never will. He won't offer submission to that which he cannot see. When gunfire is a mere echo in comparison to his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he ache in his knees is a secondary thought to getting his leader back on his feet. The other man's grip is tight around his wrist and offers him that which God cannot, a mark upon his skin that he'll poke and prod later, in hopes the bruising lasts.

He may be led, but God's word pales in comparison to that of Vladimir Makarov and the flash of his canines that Andrei glimpses whenever he speaks.

[laswells-ashtray]

"Ken, thuv always reminded me of Sooty an Sweep."

Kyle can keep a straight face in almost any situation; he's good at keeping his expression blank and untelling. Half of the time, no one can tell Simon's delighted face from his "there's a bruise on my left arse cheek" look.

Neither of them remains steady under the cheek of a mouthy Scotsman.

In all fairness, Kyle has to admit that their captain and his pilot, whom he is erotically entangled with, even if he refuses to admit it, do have a certain Sooty and Sweep quality about them. Without the human hands inside of them.

Maybe not, but Kyle doesn't want to know that much about their private lives.

When he catches a glimpse of their lieutenant, Simon is desperately biting his lip to avoid any hint that he's amused. It isn't working. Kyle doesn't attempt a facade; he simply lets his head fall against Johnny's shoulder and muffles his cackling using the man as a shield.

They're all too caught up in their little trio to catch John mouthing "Sooty and fucking Sweep?" to himself, or Nikolai tilting his head in consideration. John, however, sees Nikolai nod in agreement and kicks his shin.

He'd smack his arse if he weren't attempting to retain some sort of professionalism.

[other-fandoms-reblogs]

I don’t know who they are but the fact that they’re hand puppets, it’s funny no matter what. Lol.

Is that a version of Bert and Ernie?

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They predate Bert and Ernie. They're from the 50s.

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i'm calling it god's least favourite son

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he gets the joy of the sun one last time before it all ends

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i'm calling it god's least favourite son

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"Ken, thuv always reminded me of Sooty an Sweep."

Kyle can keep a straight face in almost any situation; he's good at keeping his expression blank and untelling. Half of the time, no one can tell Simon's delighted face from his "there's a bruise on my left arse cheek" look.

Neither of them remains steady under the cheek of a mouthy Scotsman.

In all fairness, Kyle has to admit that their captain and his pilot, whom he is erotically entangled with, even if he refuses to admit it, do have a certain Sooty and Sweep quality about them. Without the human hands inside of them.

Maybe not, but Kyle doesn't want to know that much about their private lives.

When he catches a glimpse of their lieutenant, Simon is desperately biting his lip to avoid any hint that he's amused. It isn't working. Kyle doesn't attempt a facade; he simply lets his head fall against Johnny's shoulder and muffles his cackling using the man as a shield.

They're all too caught up in their little trio to catch John mouthing "Sooty and fucking Sweep?" to himself, or Nikolai tilting his head in consideration. John, however, sees Nikolai nod in agreement and kicks his shin.

He'd smack his arse if he weren't attempting to retain some sort of professionalism.

[laswells-ashtray]

today on Rem tries things:

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Farah only ever trims her dead ends by herself. It's a matter of autonomy, having control over her own person and what happens to it, hair included.

When she sprains her wrist, she's forced to evaluate her trust for the man she loves. Her ends are dead, they need trimmed and she cannot do it herself without further injuring herself or risking a hack job.

Alex doesn't make a thing of it, he accepts the task without faltering when her hands tremble as she watches him. He doesn't take it personally when her breath stutters in her chest as he makes the first snip. He talks her through every step, to make sure the length is alright and she knows what he's doing.

What she loves most about Alex, is that he allows her to walk away without a word, to stand outside and breathe until her mind and body are free from the stress of the endeavour.

When she returns, he only has one question.

"Do you want water?"

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just found out one of my favourite actors is involved in DV , now i can't even look at his character without being disgusted

the reality of liking actors i'm afraid, who was it?

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power cut right when i get in the shower, wet, naked and afraid, only to find out it's happened to my entire fucking town.

so, now i'm damp, i smell like sweat and cheap deodorant, and everything is pitch black. could god have wined and dined me before he fucked me.

[laswells-ashtray]

dumb tanlines are a key accessory for Jackass: Best and Last

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A reputation doesn't absolve you of your humanity.

For all John is a blood hound to many, he is and will always be but a man to Nikolai. A man capable or moronic incidents driven by exhaustion, or the simple experience that is bad luck.

Nikolai has watched John accidentally take a header off of their couch, trying to rub his leg when his calf started cramping. He remembers the sound of John's head hitting their floor, and using every muscle in his face to attempt a look of concern before he started cackling. He remembers the embarrassment on John's face as the man shook his head and called Nikolai a bastard.

People fear facing John Price down because he is not a man known to be merciful.

He is, however, a man who once put hand soap on his toothbrush and failed to realise his mistake until it was already in his mouth. Typically, he can operate on little sleep, that day was not one of those instances. He was quick to tell Nikolai that their soap may be mandarin and mango scented, but it did not possess that flavour.

It lessens the sting of seeing John now, a man driven by vengeance. Yet, still a man.

[laswells-ashtray]

You're from Scotland and I'm assuming you still live there, do you have any general tips or advice for someone thinking of moving there?

Don't, it's a shithole.

[laswells-ashtray]

Frank won't pretend it isn't sick; the pleasure derived from unbinding another man's wound.

Holding his arm still and peeling the tape away with sterile hands, hearing the sharp inhale through Russell's teeth and watching his lashes flutter as the tape tugs at the skin. Revelling in the knowledge it's the closest he'll get to a scream from the blonde.

Peering up at America's Monster with a look of calculated concern as he oh-so carefully removes the dressing with gentle hands, because the idea that he's being perceived as vulnerable is enough to make Russell squirm in his seat.

Russell tries to swat his hands away, insistent on cleaning the wound himself, but Frank doesn't let him. It'd be harder for Russell to manage with only one hand, and Frank is always so happy to be of assistance. When he scrapes his nail over the tender skin, Russell's knee jerks, and the man spits out a loathing apology as his face flushes with shame.

"S'fine, you can owe me a favour."

The other man doesn't allow him to redress it, perhaps to avoid the shame of a repeat performance. But Frank enjoys luring the awaiting favour over Russell's head.

Enjoys it even more when his hand is entangled in blonde hair as he cums down his throat.

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COD Couples: Things They Do That Annoy Their Partner

NikPrice:

John:

Refuses to buy himself anything out of necessity. He will pick up a shirt he likes while shopping, say, "I like that one," then put it back down and walk away.

Cuts bagels with the knife facing towards him.

Refers to any horse he sees as a "right unit" regardless of the size.

Nikolai:

Saves John in his contacts as ridiculously sappy names, and whenever John sees and changes them, he makes them worse. John's name in his phone is currently Snookums.

Uses the phrase, "Whatever turns you on," in literally any situation. You like to dip your chips in mayo? Whatever turns you on. You prefer watching boxing to a football match? Whatever turns you on.

Will kick his shoes off anywhere in the flat and then complain the next day that he can't find them. John has found a boot lodged between the wall and the fridge once.

AleRudy:

Alejandro:

Eats peaches like he's trying to get them to cum on his face. Does not believe that he slurps and moans while eating them and will do so in public.

Threatens to get frosted tips NSYNC style at least once a year.

Loses every single lip balm he finds. Picks one up around the house that belonged to Rudy? It's gone now.

Rudy:

Cuts his hair whenever it gets long enough to curl properly.

Complains about neck pain and then falls asleep with his neck at a 90-degree angle.

Drops unbelievable lore out of nowhere and then refuses to elaborate. Will stare at someone like they're stupid if they ask a follow-up question or show concern. Was it fatal? No, clearly not if he's still standing there, so shut up and don't waste his time.

The Laswells:

Kate:

Refuses to find a new hair tie if hers snaps. She'll just tie it back together and use it again until she physically can't.

Smokes and then lies about it. If she's going to smoke, she may as well be honest that she did.

Refers to their kitten, Dot, as the mould spore to the point that the kitten responds to it.

Sarah:

Whenever Kate shaves her bush, she'll mutter in the most solemn tone she can muster, "An angel just lost its wings." And every time she's met with the driest look Kate can possibly achieve.

Refers to Kris Kristofferson as "Kris Tofferson" purely to annoy Kate. It works.

The punishment spoon.

[laswells-ashtray]

In his last moments, Bell drops the gun. He falls to his knees and prays, for what he doesn't know but the word mercy is on the tip on tongue.

Adler doesn't lower his weapon, he presses the muzzle between the other man's eyes.

"There's no God on this land."

It strains his back to throw the body off of the cliff side.