yes that is a bag of cocaine

Animation Terrorists - NME cover article 17 March 2001

The first Gorillaz Interview! 

Kicking out the bland, cooking up the alternative. The future is coming on and, say Gorillaz, it belongs to them

Mark Beaumont

The courier carries the package into the reception at arm’s length. Sweating profusely, he place it tentatively on the receptionist’s desk, whimpers “sign here” and runs screaming from the building. The parcel bucks wildly, rocks violently on its edges. From inside comes a muffled “Kon-nichi-wa, NOODLE!”, and suddenly two small, Japanese, completely flat legs karate-kick through each side. Two completely flat arms punch out of the bubble wrap and a completely flat Japanese girl’s head pops out of the top. With a gurgled cry of ‘Sayonara! NOODLE!”, Noodle, the youngest and coolest android guitarist in rock, jumps down from the reception desk, waddles quickly to the nearest lift and pushes the button for the 25th floor.
In the NME office all cartoon-freaked bastard hell has broke loose. 2D, the black-eyed, blue-haired pretty boy singer is spray painting ‘ZOMBIE HOP HOP’ and ‘CHRIS MARTIN SUCKS FURRY COCK’ across the office stereo. Russel, the hulking NYC hardman drummer., rummages through drawers stealing any CDs by the Wu-Tang Clan and Shakin’ Stevens. Meanwhile Murdoc, the scrag faced, green-toothed, Beezlebub-worshipping bassist with the halitosis like a badger’s scrotum, has taken over the editor’s office and is offering all female staff “some satanic slap ‘n’ tickle in me Winnebago”. Suddenly he spies a copy of NME’s ‘Popstars’ issue, howls with demonic rage and eats it.

“I think this is a perfect example of how fucking diabolical it’s getting.” He slavers. “Where you have to have a programme where you pick your own pop stars. What the fuck is going on?”
So says the warped and wicked Svengali behind Gorillaz, animation wiv additood, a vibrant alternative to boring old Realbloke Rock, the first ever cartoon band to call Bob The Builder a “cunt” and back it up with baseball bats. They’re the Technicolor Pop Blitzkreig behind the stupendous ragga-western drug ditty ‘Clint Eastwood’ and they’re here to infiltrate NME like a cartoon foot and mouth disease. See them go, spreading like wildfire between the pages, trampling in the faces of Terris, until they reach the cover where they set fire to toilet rolls and shove them under Daft Punk’s helmets. They may be two-dimensional, but Gorillaz are way more real than the shallow plastic edifices of most pop stars. With the shadowy figures of Blur’s Damon Albarn, hip-hop producer Dan The Automator and Tank Girl creator Jamie Hewlett lingering in the background they have come to drag the concept of band manufacture into the next dimension.

“This isn’t getting a bunch of 17-year-olds with pretty faces who can do backflips with big tits and making a record for them,” Murdoc sneers, pulling a dart from his pocket and throwing it at a picture of Fatboy Slim on the wall, missing and hitting 2D in the head instead. “We’ve got a bit more integrity than that”.
“I guess it’s a bit like Eminem,” 2D muses, pulling the dart from his temple, “in that we’re reflecting what’s out there anyway. I just think we’re doing it in a much more intelligent way than he could dream of doing it.”
And with that, Murdoc swings his feet onto the editor’s desk, loses his balance and falls backwards into a filing cabinet, causing a shower of objects, including three bowling balls, a cricket bat and a large anvil to fall onto his head. Three black ravens start circling his cranium.
“Wanker,” scorns 2D.
“Pair of assholes,” tuts Russel.
“NOODLE!” shouts Noodle.

Who let the Gorillaz out!?! Several freaks of fantastical fate, it transpires. While on a routine ram-raiding mission with his gang of scuzzball twat-mates two years ago, Murdoc pile-drove into the window of Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium in Crawley, where 2D was working part-time. Russel was next on board, fresh from New York where he’d been possessed by the spirit of Del That Funkee Homosapien when Russel was the only survivor of a random and savage drive-by. Sheesh, Rus, you must have felt lucky not to get rubbed out.
Russel: “….”
Sorry. That was in bad taste. The day that their advert for a guitarist appeared in NME, a FedEx parcel arrived on Murdoc’s doorstep, ten-year-old Tamagotchi axe-toddler Noodle leapt out, having posted herself from Osaka, and Gorillaz were go! Their first gig at the legendary Camden Brownhouse started a shotgun-fuelled riot. But most contentious of all are the foggy rumours surrounding the involvement of sometime Gorillaz collaborators Damon, Dan and Jamie. The band claim that they discovered the trio sleeping rough in Leicester Square. But whispers abound that Gorillaz are simply leeching off their famous mates’ credibility.
2D shrugs. “Well it’s nice of you to say that they have any credibility in the first place.”
“When you’re old farts like them,” adds Murdoc, “completely out of ideas, you need to attach yourselves to some young talent.”
Too right, I mean that last Blur album… pffffftt, bloody hell, eh>
2D: “Well you might well have a point there…”
You must’ve thought Damon had gone completely bleedin’ barmy” Going walkabout round Mali, singing nonsense lyrics on the last single…
2D smirks. “As they said in NME, how dare he think he can get away with it!? We thought he was easy fodder, a man who’d lost his way.”
Have you saved their careers?
Murdoc: “We’ve saved Jamie’s. He was washed up. He was doing illustrations for J17 magazine! We’ve given them something interesting to get their teeth into and something to get out of bed for.”

Hmmmm, one senses that there may be a flipside to this argument…
“That story’s a load of bollocks,” says Damon emphatically, clad in baseball cap and chunky B-boy glitter in a west London studio the following day. “They came to us at a party. Me and Jamie used to live together for a while and Murdoc and 2D turned up at a party where we had Sporty Spice, Baby Spice, Pavement, a couple of members of Radiohead, Madonna. No, Madonns wasn’t there, but Kate Moss was there, Marianne Faithful, Keith Allen…”
“The funny thing was,” says Jamie Hewlett, “the following night, Damon got photographed getting some eggs, yet all fucking night the front door was open and not a single fucking journo came upstairs with a camera.”
Midway through recording his “Mali record”, Damon seems enthused and rejuvenated by his involvement with Gorillaz. He praises 2D’s simple yet profoundly impressionistic lyrics and practically speaks in tongues about the band’s forthcoming London gig (at King’s Cross Scala on March 22) claiming “it all goes into the realms of metaphysics and what is real. I won’t be there, though. I’ll be abroad. I’m going to Mongolia that week to hang out with a shaman there.”
“But because there isn’t a human face to it,” Damon continues, “it’s the abstraction which I think is groundbreaking. Hopefully we’ll inspire people to have no boundaries. It’s liberating. The whole idea of them being animated is that they can go anywhere. The only thing it’s limited by is out imagination.”
Gorillaz eponymous debut album is a kind of Frankenstein’s Furby of a record: awash with dark, apocalyptic hip-hop atmosphere and undead reggae grooves, but clashed through with an innocent streak of kindergarten pop. It’s Deltron 3030 playing conkers with ‘13’, it’s Beck punching The Clash outside a pub on Sesame Street and it’s groundbreaking indeed, not least for its rampant eclecticism.
“Coldplay are very conservative,” says Damon. “If what sets itself up as the alternative could get any more conservative than Travis, it just has. It’s melodic and it’s memorable but for all the wrong reaons. This whole stance that ‘we’re only in it for the music’ how many times does that C86 ethos have to get churned out?”
Plus the whole Gorillaz concept is a marketing department’s we dream. In an age when image manipulation has become as precise a science as nuclear fusion, real people with real human drug addictions, skin complaints and ballooning egos simply aren’t considered flawless enough to be pop stars. And real rock musicians are boring, ugly, self-obsessed, have shit hair and stink constantly of stale plectrum. So what could be better than a ready-baked bunch of freakoid mutant meta-pop stars with psycho-rebel personalities that make Oasis look like the Tweenies?
“ I think being in a famous pop band, many years down the line,” says Jamie, cryptically, “will start to restrict you from doing the sort of stuff you want to do because you’ve got to fit into some sort of mould that’s been created for you and if you’re a creative person that stops you from creating. Working with an animated band is the ideal opportunity to let go and do what you’re good at.”
Really though, Damon, this is just an excuse to get out of doing photo shoots, isn’t it?
Involuntarily, Damon gives a sly, knowing grin.
The thing about speed is, Murdoc jabbers, flakes dripping from each nostril, “if you end up being the sort of person who gets into doing cocaine when you go to parties and then you go back to doing speed, you end up saying ‘Give us eighty quid’s worth’ and you get a dirty great sugar bag full…”
Shit shovelling time. We already know about Murdoc’s chronic speed habit that kept him almost permanently blind throughout the ‘90s and his sexual desperation which will see him lunge at anything that once had a pulse in the early hours.
The there are those scurrilous rumours about 2D waking up after the Brits win bed with the three girls from Captain Caveman.
2D sneers. “They were just after the publicity.”
We recently interviewed Bob The Builder and he said of Gorillaz, “The drummer is a nice bloke, the little Asian one I haven’t met but I hear she’s alright. But that singer and that bassist, I hope they catch mildew because I fucking hate them two.” Why would he say such a thing?
2D: “That’s Noel The Builder, isn’t it?”
Murdoc: “ I think I probably shagged his girlfriend or something. Betty the Builder.”
2D: “it’s all there, mate! You wanna read it, you can! I tell you what happened, right. I shagged Noel The Builder’s brother’s girlfriend.”
Murdoc: “He’s a cunt anyway. We’re outta here.”
And with that, Murdoc kick starts a blood-red, completely flat Harley Davidson, Russel, Noodle and 2D leap on the back and they ride it straight through the 25th floor window. The bike vrooms for a few feet, then splutters dead. The band hang in the air for a few seconds, confused, until Murdoc peers downwards, cries “MOTHER FUCKAAAAAAARRRRSSSS!” and they plummet out of sight.
When Gorillaz hit the ground, Gorillaz *bounce*

Spring Break Nightmare

This is the first part of a fiction I’m doing about 3 women who get abducted while on spring break in Cancun Mexico.
Spring break. That time of year when college students can unwind to a week of drinking and other debauchery. It is also a big week if you’re a slaver. So many usually scantily clad usually drinking so much that their judgment is at least a little impaired. One slight wrong move could lead to the end of their freedom and a life of sexual slavery. Something to think about ladies if you’re planning your break especially outside the US(and even in the US). We’ll be watching.
Zoey found herself lying on this strange contraption. It was called an arch back. We put the slave on it. The only thing holding her up is a metal restraint that goes around her waist. Then we also secured her wrists, ankles, neck, thighs a just above her elbows with metal restraints. She’s has a combination gag and blindfold strapped around her head with the gag part being a dildo. She has earbuds in her ears which either plays white noise or a recording reminding her of the dilemma she is in and will be in for the rest of her life. What we call an orientation tape(or disorientation tape as I like to call it). She also had what looked like an electric toothbrush attached to her clit that was on a timer. It would run for about 3-4 minutes then shut off for 5 minutes then repeat the cycle all night. We like as part of their training to deprive our slaves of sleep and food(they only get water) for 72 hours. We also gave the slave water that was laced with a stimulant that heightened her sexual urges.
Zoe is wondering “how did I get in this situation. Zoe pretty much had a sheltered life her first 18+ years. She was raised by a strict religious family and home schooled. The only real chance for socializing was her church.
College didn’t seem much in the cards. She was basically supposed to meet a guy and be a housewife and and probably have at least 5 kids(Zoe was one of 7 kids). However towards the end of her senior year, she got a letter from the University of Texas offering her a scholarship. Though her parents weren’t too keen on her going to college, it was free college. So at the end of August, Zoe had her first taste of freedom.
Of course the first couple of weeks, Zoe being a freshman underwent hazing from female upperclassmen. She was assigned Valerie, a 21 year old junior, who had almost supermodel looks being 5'8” excellent build and nice curves and long black hair, and Lindsay who was also 21 year old junior who was 5'5" medium build with a nice ass and tits and long strawberry blonde hair. She also had a few tattoos, her nose pierced and piercings on her tongue, nipples, belly button and clit. Valerie had one tattoo and her belly button pierced.
Initially they tormented Zoe but upon hearing about her background, they felt sorry for her and took her under their wing. They began introducing her to the stuff she missing out on. They gave her her first cigarette, beer and joint. They took her to get her ears pierced and her belly button. They also helped her with her wardrobe. She previously was only allowed to wear skirts or dresses below her knees. She wasn’t ready yet for a tattoo or having sex yet. Valerie and Lindsay respected that. Zoe in January of her freshman year turned 19. She was very petite with also a great figure. Had past the shoulder brownish blonde hair. She did have a bit of a squeaky voice.
As February rolled around, spring break was just around the corner. Valerie and Lindsay had some money from their part-time jobs. Valerie from some modeling gigs and Lindsay who worked as a hair stylist and tattoo artist. Zoe got some money from her parents by lying that she was to spend that week with a church group. In reality, they were going to Cancun Mexico. For Zoe it was her first time outside the US.
For much of the week their schedule was as followed. Up around noon. By 1pm get to the beach or hang out at the pool wearing bikinis(which Zoe was in a bikini for the first time), a lot of drinking, and bikini or wet t-shirt contest which Zoe won it one day surprisingly. After dinner, it would be hanging out for a few hours before hitting a night club at 11pm till the wee hours of the morning. And usually dressed in slutty dresses and heels. They usually get back after 4am, get up around 7am for a free breakfast then go back to bed again till around noon usually hung over.
On the Friday before they were scheduled to leave, they decided to do something different. They headed to a town about 50 miles away. Do some shopping and other stuff. They rented a jeep for the day to get around.
Valerie was dressed in a white floral print tank top which showed off her belly button and belly button ring, a black jean micro mini skirt with black gladiator type sandals, thong panties and no bra. Zoe was wearing a tan colored floral print mini sundress with white thong sandals and, like Valerie, thong panties and no bra. Lindsay was wearing a black tank midriff with button in the front and showed off her cleavage with blue short jean shorts and tan colored wedgie sandals. And no underwear.
The 3 went shopping most of the day and then had dinner. By about 630pm, they decided to head home since they had to grab a noon flight the next day. It was at that point starting to get dark. About halfway home, Valerie who was driving saw she was lit up by a cop car.
“Oh come on I wasn’t speeding” thought Valerie.
She pulled over and got her license out and the paperwork for the jeep rental.
“Buenos noches senorita” as the police officer approached the car.
“Do you speak English?” Responded Valerie.
“Yes. Have you been drinking tonight?”
“Had one glass of wine, but that’s it”
“Do you mind stepping out of the car?”
“Oh alright” responded Valerie clearly annoyed.
The officer was administering Valerie a sobriety test when another officer stepped up to the car and from the back pulled out a plastic bag of cocaine. In actuality, the first officer planted that there.
“Look what I found” said the second officer.
“Hey wait a minute that’s not mine. I don’t know how that got their”
The officer wasn’t listening as she put Valerie against the car and after frisking her handcuffed her wrists behind her back. Then they repeated the same process for Zoe and Lindsay. Zoe was too scared to say anything and Valerie was trying to play it smart. However, Lindsay had a few drinks extra and was a bit mouthy and said
“Hey you have a warrant. I don’t think that search is legal” as she was being handcuffed. Of course she may have forgotten that she’s not in the US anymore.
The 3 were loaded into the back of an SUV. As the officers were putting seatbelts on each, the 3 might not yet be aware that they may have just experienced their last moments of freedom the rest of their lives.
The 3 were brought to the police station and all three were given full body cavity searches. The officers were making no effort to conceal their enjoyment. Then they were sat down on a bench still handcuffed with the cuffs tethered to a link attached to the bench.
Lindsay, still a little mouthy due to the booze yelled out “Hey officers, how about our phone call”
“We’re supposed to get to one phone call”
“Hey let’s calm down. This isn’t helping ” responded Valerie.
“Fuck that, I want my fucking call”
“Don’t forget we’re not in the US anymore. Our best bet is to remain calm"

Still the guards had enough of Lindsay’s mouth. They unhooked her from the bench and led her, still handcuffed, to a room downstairs. Legend had it that room is a rape room. They bent her over on the cot and pulled down her shorts(with great delight saw she wasn’t wearing any panties). They grabbed her and proceeded to rape her vaginally, orally and anally. Pulling her hair slapping her around. She tried to put a fight but with her hands tied behind her, she was an easy victim. And screams and crying just whet their appetite even more.

They returned her upstairs and hooked her back up. Then they switched their focus to Valerie first feeling her up and noticing her panties were a bit damp. Maybe she wanted it. They unhooked her and still handcuffed downstairs and proceeded to rape all three holes. Valerie also tried to fight but as soon as the first penetration was made, she gave up. In the meantime Zoe asked Lindsay “what happened down there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it” answered Zoe who was in tears.

Zoe released seeing Lindsay in her emotional state and that her clothing was a little torn and very disheveled, she needn’t ask. Zoe then released that was happening to Valerie and Zoe would probably be next.

A few minutes later they brought up Valerie, hooked her back to the bench and unhooked Zoe and started feeling her up and also found her panties wet.

“Please, I’ve never done before” cried Zoe.

The thought of raping a virgin now really got the 3 officers hard. They were just about to take Zoe downstairs when I arrived.

“Good evening officers, I’m Michael Keating from the American consulate. What are these 3 women being held for?”

“We found this bag in the car.”

“Did you have a warrant for the search?”


“Did any of these women give you permission to search the car?”

“Well uh”

“Ladies did either of these officers ask your permission to search your car?”

“No!” All 3 answered

“Seems shady. This an order to have all 3 released into my custody. Don’t worry ladies. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

The officers gave little protest as the ladies were being led out. While they were grateful, 2 things. One it seemed too easy. Second they asked, aren’t you going to take the handcuffs off? The second item I addressed saying it was a precaution and we’ll remove them once they we get to the consulate which is US soil.

We got to the van and Lindsay and Valerie were about to get in the van first when they were met by Bruce and Rick who both had chloroform rags which they held against they’re mouths till they passed out. I chloroformed Zoe who put up a fight before passing out.

“Alright. Hogtie these bitches. Just got some business back inside to take care of.”

I saw the head officer who was named Luis. I gave him an envelope full of money. $30,000. Also they would get a percentage of their sale.

“Just one question and be honest with me. Did you have a little fun with any of these girls?”

“Yeah two of them. The dark haired girl and one of the blondes. The other one we didn’t get a chance before you showed up.”

“Which blonde didn’t you rape?”

“The darker blonde in the dress. I think she said she was a virgin.

"Good, if she is a virgin, she’ll be worth way more money. Possibly 6 figures.”

After I finished my business with Luis, I went back to the van where Bruce and Rick were finishing hog tying the three new slaves and strapping a combination head harness combo ball gag and blindfold. We then drove to the air strip where we boarded a private jet we purchased and placed our newest slaves each in cages with them all still unconscious. We took took off with one stop in Miami to refuel. It was at that point the slaves were starting to wake up. I told Bruce and Rick they could do anything they want to Lindsay and Valerie. But do not penetrate Zoe. So Bruce and Rick took turns having fun with the two women.

Finally we landed at an airstrip in rural Virginia. Then we loaded them still hogtied in their cages in the van and drove back to our slave training facility basically in the middle of nowhere. Again the facility has 3 underground levels. We stripped all 3 slaves and and tethered them to the arch back device. Gagged and blindfolded them. Attached the vibrators to their clits. With slaves Lindsay and Valerie, we also attached metal dildos and butt plugs. The only reason we didn’t attach them to Zoe is we had not determined whether she was a virgin yet. The slaves disorientation tape had the following content.

“Hello slave. As you can see, you are now a slave and you will be for the rest of your life. You are no longer free. You have no human rights. You’re no longer even human. For the next few weeks, you will be trained to be the perfect slave. You will just be tits and three fuck holes. A thing for a man, and maybe a woman, use and abuse for their pleasure. Their toy to use as they see fit. You will learn that when a man wants to fuck You whether vaginally or up the ass, you bend over and spread your legs. If he wants you to suck his cock, you will get on your knees, open your mouth up wide and swallow. Remember you are a toy. A piece of property, merchandise. Any man you will address as Master or Sir. Any woman who owns you address as Mistress. After about 30 days, you will auctioned off and sold to the highest bidder, whoever is the fortunate enough to bid the most money for you. Remember you are a slut and a whore, a worthless, brainless cunt. A piece of meat. A rape toy. This is your life now. Whatever you were in the past you are no longer. You’ll eventually forget your past including your name.

11 hours early, Zoe was a free woman with her whole life ahead of her. Now she doesn’t know where she’s at and not even know what time it is.

Morning Labor (Sherlock x Reader)

Summary: Sherlock and Dr. John Watson have solved yet another crime. But on the walk home, Sherlock gets the call of his life. You have gone into labor.

Author’s note: Third writing. Sorry if there are mistakes or it overall sucks. Can I dedicate another one to @fandoms-are-the-best-escape just because she is my beautiful German <3

Sherlock knelt next to the lifeless body that lay in the center of the floor, examined every inch of the dead woman. After working for two years, John knew Sherlock’s routine and that he would be able to solve this in a heartbeat.

“Mmm, you say the woman was poisoned?” Sherlocked asked.

Lestrade gave the classic Lestrade face back to Sherlock, “Well of course! Look at the veins in her neck. They’re bulging! Besides, the examiners ran tests on the funny bag of substance on her lip.”

A chuckle escaped Sherlock’s lips, “Who was the examiner? Anderson?”


“Well than there’s your answer. Obviously, she died of an overdosage. Look, the dark blue circles under her eyes. She also is beginning to wrinkle around the forehead which doesn’t look right for a woman of her age. She’s about…Mmm? 25? But she looks like she’s 50. Oh! These are signs of-”

He dipped his finger in the white powder, giving it a deep smell finished with a smile.

“Cocaine. My work here is done. Send the files to me via mail.”

John watched in amazement. Even after working with Sherlock for several years, his intelligence never seized to amaze the doctor. Sherlock wrapped his infamous blue scarf around his neck as John followed, trying to keep up to the tall man’s long strides.

“Well another case solved, John,” Sherlock said with pride, starting on the walk home to the 221B flat. Just then, a small buzz rang from Sherlock’s coat pocket. The two men stopped on the rain-coated sidewalk as Sherlock brought the phone up to his ear. His crystal blue eyes widened, dropping his phone. All of the world around them seemed to go in slow motion for Sherlock. John crooked his neck in confusion.

“Sherlock? Who was that on the telly?” John knelt down to grab the phone.

“I-i-impossible.” He stuttered. It seemed as if Moriarty were playing more games with Sherlock.

But this was no Moriarty. John grabbed the phone who’s caller ID read, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)” John asked. All he received was a scream off pain from the other side of the line. Now it all made sense at to why Sherlock would be scared. Regularly Sherlock never was scared of anything. Immediately, Sherlock and John bolted, their legs carrying them faster than normal to 221B Baker Street. Once they arrived, Sherlock fiddled with the key, eventually finding the combination and sprinting upstairs.

The flat door was opened by Sherlock. No blood. No robbers. No assassins. No Moriarty. You lay on the green couch Sherlock owned, nine months pregnant. Sherlock noticed the pool of water lying beside the couch.

“Look Sherlock, can you quit staring and think? You don’t need to make a deduction that your wife is going into labor!”

Mary, who had been with you at the time, had been staying beside you as you fought contraction after contraction. A thick bead of sweat was quickly building above your brow. Still in a trance, Sherlock stared at the fireplace. It wasn’t until John, gently, slapped him.

“Wake up, you drama queen, and get the bloody ambulance!” John yelled, grabbing a jacket for you. Mrs. Hudson hurried up the stairs, her tiny purple heels clicking in a rush.

“I called the ambulance and they’re here! Oh goodness, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson groaned.

A few minutes had passed and the paramedics were able to help carry you down the steep stairs and into the ambulance. Agony and pain is all that rushed through your mind, but in the end, you would know that you’re bringing another little detective into the world. The only thing that worried you was the status of Sherlock. You laid at an angle, looking at the back window of the ambulance. Mary and John were following in their own vehicle behind as Sherlock stayed with you in the ambulance back.

“Oooh, I hate you so much right now, Sherlock Holmes,” you groaned, practically breaking every bone in Sherlock’s hand. He nodded, not knowing how to respond. Sure, Sherlock had face many horrible things in his life time, but a baby? How would he ever be able to keep he or she safe with all of the danger that lurked around Mr. Holmes constantly? For goodness sakes, Sherlock didn’t even know where to begin with Rosie, Mary and John’s little girl.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered opened as someone laid a hand on his shoulder, giving a subtle shake. A blurred image of John appeared through his sleep-deprived eyes.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up. Come meet the newest Holmes.” John smiled while waking up Sherlock, who had fallen asleep on one of the waiting room couches. He stretched his arms, yawning, then looking at the bags which formed quite quickly under his eyes.

“Bloody hell, John. How late was I up?” Sherlock asked, fixing his bundle of messy curls.

“Well, (Y/N) went into labor at around, 1:30 in the morning? Would say that’s correcy, Mary?”

“Oh, yeah. We were just fixing tea for you two trouble makers when - boom!”

Sherlock nodded, growing more anxious to meet his first newborn. John took note of Sherlock’s growing anxiety and began to walk down the bright hospital hallway. Room 275 stood in front of Sherlock, (Y/N)’s name under the number. Right behind those doors, Sherlock realized he would have the biggest reward of his life.

“Go ahead.” John pushed opened the door, letting Sherlock in and then closing it afterward.

He took gentle steps closer to the frail woman whom he loved, laying in her flower-print hospital gown. Her (Y/H/C) hair was tangled in knots, coated in a thin layer of grease. Her face looked more sunk in than usual and overall week. IV’s were stuck into the left arm arteries, trying to provide as much comfortability to the mother. Sherlock hated the sight of his love so weak and vulnerable, but the small blue bundle in her arms gave so much strength.

A boy.

“Sherlock Holmes, I forgive you for putting me through that.”

The couple chuckled at the bit of humor.

“Come hold him. You are his father,” you beamed. Sherlock walked over to the hospital bed. You scooted over and made room for your husband to enjoy the view of the newborn with you. The little boy peacefully slept as you placed him softly in Sherlock’s big arms. For the first time in years, a tear ran down Sherlock’s cheek.

“What’s his name?” Sherlock looked at you.

You smiled, “That’s why I waited. We decide together. I was thinking…Manuel.”

“Manuel… Manuel Hamish Holmes.”

“I love it Sherlock. Thank you.”

Gently placing your head on Sherlock’s shoulder, he planted a soft kiss on your temple.

“No, thank you, (Y/N).”

Woman Hands Bag of Cocaine to Police Officer During Traffic Stop

When an officer with the West St. Paul Police Department pulled a woman over for an equipment violation, he didn’t expect to be handed a bag of cocaine.

This Facebook video from the department shows Officer Bowman asking a woman for her driver’s license and insurance, before she hands him what he at first takes to be a bag of methamphetamine or “meth”.

“What is this?” the officer is heard saying. “You just handed me a bag with meth in it.”

The video was captioned with the clarification, “it was actually cocaine.”

“Again, I feel compelled to mention that this is real squad video. Yes, when he asked for driver’s license and insurance, she really handed him that,” the post said. Credit: Facebook/West St. Paul Police Department via Storyful

code-ben  asked:

So like, Imagine the first year anniversary of Zelda's death, Covrag & his Gerudo mate have a child... but it seemingly has no physical Gerudo traits whatsoever. The baby looks exactly like Zelda, that freaks Covrag out a bit but he names the baby after his mother, & happily raises his baby girl. But Ganondorf knows. The baby is Zelda reincarnate. The only difference is she has a Gerudo temper, which amuses Ganondorf to no end. Imagine his confliction, that's his wife... and his granddaughter.

LOL OH NO!!! XD Zelda came back WAY too soon!!! XD Very interesting idea to explore and it could be very sad! Would be especially hard on Ganondorf. I would almost fear that he would kill himself so he could reincarnate faster and not be too young for new Zelda (and also not be related to her)

I generally say it’s at least around 300- 800 years between reincarnations so that this kinda trouble doesn’t happen. I also think Ganondorf tends to come back first, triggering the others to then be born. XD Zelda is the only one that comes back via blood line while the other souls just pop up in whatever mortal form is most fitting for them. So Ganondorf’s soul would try to find a gerudo ect.

I love thinking about their future reincarnations from this comic’s au.

Like the idea of a modern-day Ganondorf working his way up to being a VERY powerful general, or political figure, or owner of a large corporation, or even (if he decides to be a pain in the neck) the leader/founder of a large crime organization. All of that is neat.

And now imagine that gigantic, powerful fella SEARCHING THE WORLD to try to find the reincarnation of Zelda. She could be very hard to find if the royal family was no longer in control of Hyrule and plus she doesn’t keep her memories from between lives very well, (often thinking them to be nothing more than strange dreams.) I think she would be very content not being a queen and I could see her peacefully enjoying her life as a professor, or astrophysicist, or author, ect…

But then suddenly this lovesick Ganondorf FINDS her again, explains how they are husband and wife, and starts trying to pull her into his complicated life. Oh especially if it was the crime organization one. Zelda would be SO frustrated with him.

Like Zelda would have this comically slow progression of putting together the pieces before she finally realizes what he’s been up to and confronts him about it….

Zelda (walking into his office with a scowl on her face and a stack of papers) - “Ganondorf, my dear. I have a question about your taxes here. You see, it seems that your haven’t been filing them correctly. It looks like you’ve been filing them as some kind of large scale … farming company?”

Ganondorf ( sets down his tea, suddenly nervous about her catching on) - “Ah! Um… YES. well you see, tax loop holes and all that, my lawyer recommende-”

Zelda (getting madder) - “ Ah, of couse. And what about the 150 or so armed guards you always have around your home?”

Ganondorf ( sweating) - “Well, a rich successful man such as myself should have protec-”

Zelda (Leans in and grabs his beard)- “…. No. MORE. LIES.”

Ganondorf (annoyed) - “ FINE!!! I make and distribute cocaine, ok??? LOTS AND LOTS OF COCAINE. THE ENTIRE WORLD’S SUPPLY OF COCAINE. YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT???”

Zelda narrows her eyes in disgust, grabs her bags and walks out the door.


041. Flyers

Someone suggested a dealing with a baby at an airport preference a while ago. I hope this is alright. 


“What about his ears?” Breaking the comfortable silence that had been floating between you both since the security check point, Niall asked.

You were crouched down on the floor, riffling through your newborn’s baby bag to make you had absolutely everything. Ideally, you would have been sitting on one of the plastic chairs while waiting for your plane to board, your eyes closed and mind at ease. Even more ideally, you would have been at home in sweatpants, maybe even under the covers.

“What about them?” Not quite following, you asked him back while keeping a mental checklist of all the things you needed going.

“Do we have anything for them?”

Niall was standing at the window, showing newborn Flynn the plane though you both knew he couldn’t really see anything that wasn’t directly in front of him. He had his ball cap on, holding his warm son against his chest and keeping him hidden to the fans one gate over, trying to ‘discreetly’ snap shots of them. When you and Niall were first together, three years ago, you were so self-conscious of being around anyone who liked him or his music. You rarely went out without a full face of make up on or, at least, oversized sunglasses to hide yourself. Now, though, you could not care any less. You were a mother to a one month old baby and you were being whisked away to finish twenty two tour dates around North America, if people were going to judge you than you would just advise they try doing what you were doing.

“I don’t want anything to happen to his ears.” Niall turned around and watched you, his hands never leaving position on his son, one underneath his round diaper covered bum while the other slowly massaged over his head and his back. Flynn had been premature, expected closer to the end of their summer tour, but he was a fighter. However, Niall worried about this first flight.

“I’m a little more concerned about other people’s ears, Niall.” Considering you used to be someone who hated loud babies on a plane, you knew what the real concern should have been. It crossed your mind to raid the convenient shop for ear plugs.

“They can all deal. He is a little dude, he doesn’t know what’s going on….” It was totally okay for Flynn to scream bloody murder in first class, Niall thought.

“You really are the best dad.” Looking up from the bag properly, you wiped a little hair from your face and smiled at your son and then at Niall. The two of them were already connected to one another. “May I? I’m going to feed him before the flight is called.” Over your bare shoulder, you put the baby bag and then stood up with your hands out for the baby.

“Where are you going?” Niall frowned his eyebrows together at you until they made a large furry caterpillar on the top of his face. You had never hid your breastfeeding before.

“I don’t really want my lactating boobs all over Twitter, thanks.” Trying hard as you could not to be obvious, you kinked your head to the side towards the obvious fans with their camera phones and then carefully picked up your baby boy from Niall.


Security was not a frightening concept to Louis. He flew so frequently that he was practically immune to the touch of airport agents and could pack a security approved bag without thinking now. However, baby Noah had never been through security before in his four months of life and nobody’s first time was enjoyable. Not to mention, Louis had never taken a baby through security before and wasn’t sure how the contents of his baby bag would go over.

“Ma'am…ma'am…” The uniformed agent was trying to grab your attention from the other side of the x-Ray machine.

“[Y/N]…” Louis began to take Noah from your hands, looking from you to the guard to you again.

“Sorry. Yes?” Quickly, you swiped fallen hair from out of your face, stepping out of your brown Tory Burch shoes.

“Did you pack this bag yourself?” She asked with a stone cold tone to match her expression, holding the powder blue bag up near her chest.

“Yes…” Putting your shoes down in a tray along with your purse and favourite denim jacket. While you remembered clearly standing at your kitchen counter that morning and organizing diapers and rash cream into your son’s bag, the way she asked had you suddenly doubting yourself. Maybe you had put cocaine in there even though you hadn’t ever touched coke in your life.

“There’s liquid in here.” After putting the bag down, she told you before setting it down on the belt and letting it go through the machine.

Louis was already through security. He had Noah in the baby Bjork over his chest, passport in his mouth, while he stepped into his worn in trainers as fast as he could. Louis kept his attention on you the entire time though, watching as you went through security and were cleared.

“The liquid is breast milk.” Quietly, you told the woman as soon as you went up to the belt again. Noah hadn’t quite taken to your nipples, so you had been pumping from the time he was just two weeks. Louis liked it though while you felt a little bit like a failure about it. It was a way for him to bond with his son, feeding him in his arms and watching as he devoured your milk as if it was a chocolate parfait.

“You’re going to have to pump on the plane.” She grumbled like it was nothing.

“She packed the pump, so -” Louis swooped in, taking control as he tended to always do. It was a natural mode for him to slip into, always had been.

“No, no, it’s in the baby bag.” Your worried eyes were on the TSA agent, but you corrected Louis. A part of you had worried you would need it, just in case of emergency, and wrapped it up in a pouch. However, you really didn’t want to crouch down in an airplane bathroom and pump. “I just pumped his morning though so I really need the bottles.” You weren’t a soft serve ice cream machine, you couldn’t just flick a switch and produce dairy.

“It’s just fu-” Thankfully, Louis stopped himself from cussing at her. The family of five behind you both in line was packing around you three now, collecting their things and trying not to interrupt. “It’s just milk.”

“You can buy liquids after security, we don’t allow outside liquids on the plane.” She explained to him the same way it had been explained to her over and over again by the people above.

“There’s no exceptions?” Sighing with obvious disbelief, Louis tried. He wasn’t going to use his career status for special treatment, but he would play the newborn baby card. It seemed reasonable to him, but he had the baby sleeping in his sling up against his stomach. He could feel Noah turning slightly, his tiny right foot so much more anxious than the left.

The agent seemed to be in a quandary. As she wrestled with herself, you were pulling your arms, one by one, through your jacket and you finally read her name across her uniform blouse, “Krystal”.

“I can give you one…” Sighing, she decided to make an executive decision. She reached into the bag and took out the other two bottles, untwisting the caps and pouring your hard work into a large and dirty trash can. “Wait til you pass security next to pump.” She advised, zipping up the bag and handing it back to you.

“Thank you so much.” While it wasn’t great, it was something. Your flight was, thankfully, short and you would be able to feed Noah. Louis took the baby bag from you so you only had to carry your purse and led you both over to the gate with Noah, his carry on, and the baby bag all on his person - some kind of Dad superhero.

“Just think we only have to do that about 40 more times.” He joked as you two wandered onto a flat escalator, letting it carry you through the airport to where you needed to go.

“Yipee.” You muttered with a pout, leaning your side into him to peer over to see your son sleeping sound.


This wasn’t the first time, but it may have been the earliest. Tired, you tried to focus on driving as the digital clock went from 4:32 AM to 4:33 AM. London was dark and it was the first time you had taken Liam to the airport without traffic bringing you to the brink of insanity. Yawning, you looked to your side as you pulled into the car park you were instructed to go to drop him off for the private plane that would be taking the band to New York. Liam wasn’t in the passenger seat though. Simply, you forgot and looked up at the mirror to see him fawning over your daughter in her car seat, fast asleep with her head fallen to the side.

Liam had never been very good with goodbyes, but it had become even more challenging for him since he became a father. Rebecca was just days away from six months now and it was Liam’s third time leaving her at home while he went off to promote One Direction, but that didn’t make it any easier. You pulled up into an empty space, spotting Paul’s SUV a few spots over, but Liam didn’t move.

“We’re here.” In your tiniest voice, you announced, putting the car in park and adjusting yourself to spy on your husband and little girl. For the first time in, at least, ten minutes, Liam looked up from Rebecca’s bundled up body and checked out the window. He hadn’t even realized.

“I don’t like leaving my girls.” He told you and Rebecca, glancing up at your sweet sleepy face and then down at her again, running a hand over her head. Liam couldn’t help himself, he leaned in and sniffed at her neck. Somehow, she still had that newborn scent that was a warm mixture of cotton and lily. It was like a drug.

“We will see you very soon.” You were well seasoned at these airport drop offs. Before Rebecca was born, you joined him more often, hanging out with Louis and Zayn’s wife, but things were different now. You were a mother and you were the ambassador of a great organization, you couldn’t just pick up and leave like before. “Two weeks.” You reminded him. You weren’t sure how people did this before the days of Skype and texting, but you and Liam were very good at keeping in touch. He liked constant updates on what his mini family was up to while he was away.

“I’ll miss you.” Whispering, Liam leaned down again and gave his daughter one kiss on her forehead and then another on the tip of her drop of a nose. His hand ran over her head again before he checked that she was securely fastened in the car and that she wasn’t sweating bullets under her blankets. “I’ll miss you, too, beautiful.” He unhooked his seatbelt and leaned forward to kiss you, a hand snaking over your cheek before he brought you closer by the shoulder. “Text me when you get home. I’ll be in the air, but I still like to know.” Yours and Rebecca’s safety was everything to him. It was bad enough that he would be missing moments in her life and time with you, but not being there to keep his family protected was probably what bothered Liam the most when he really thought about it.


You had explained to her, at least twice, that this was not her first time flying, but she persisted with the notion that she was very scared to go on the plane. While sitting by yourself at the airport, relaxing for a quiet moment in your otherwise noisy life, you tried to think of a way to distract Elizabeth Styles of her fear of flying. Thankfully, you had packed a box of crayons and coloring book and the flight from Heathrow to Roma wasn’t very long at all, but you wondered still if she would need something more. Maybe, there was a game the three of you could play. Harry was a wildly creative Eye Spy player after all.

Leaning down, you reached between your feet and pulled out your purse. Inside your carry-on, you were missing a very crucial piece to any trip: en-route snacks. Standing up, you took your rolling bag in one hand and started to fiddle with the pockets of your purse to find your wallet with one hand as you walked to the nearest store. Making sure you didn’t bump into anyone, you glanced up and saw Harry coming towards you, a smile plastered on his face with three year old Elizabeth holding his hand. You stopped yourself from going any further, grinning at how happy they were as they approached you. It took you a second to notice, but Elizabeth was hugging an enormous plush bear by the neck and practically dragging it while Harry had two large and full plastic bags in one of his hands. Out of reflex, your head fell to your shoulder and you knit your well groomed brows together.

“Harry, you didn’t – “ You began as they grew closer.

“Mummy, look!” Elizabeth tried, but failed to fully lift the bear, it’s size too large for her small hands to properly hold.

“Toys?” With great disbelief, you asked your husband. Elizabeth was only three and you had already donated garbage bags full of dolls, figurines, and plastic accessories to different toy drives around London. While you loved how much Harry loved his first born, it was a little ridiculous how he spoiled her. You worried she would rot from the inside out like one of the children in the Wonka movie.

“At least she’s not scared of the plane anymore, right?” Sure, she was distracted, but you weren’t exactly thrilled with Harry’s methods of curing her phobia. Turning around, you let go of the idea of snacks and watched as Elizabeth snuggled up to her new stuffed bear on one of the chairs. She barely took up one seat, but with the animal they nearly overflowed to the second.

“You’re a monster.” Sitting down beside Harry, across from Elizabeth, you rolled your eyes and lightly jabbed his ribs.

“I bought you something, too….” Harry was smart. He knew you wouldn’t be cool with all the purchases. He leaned into the plastic bag closest to him and pulled out a crossword puzzle book, Harry Potter themed and slid it onto your lap.

“Oooh, thank you very much.” Biting down on your bottom lip, you studied the front page and then looked up to give him a little kiss.


You thought about all the physical pain you had experienced in your life that you could remember. That broken bone in junior high, when you were accidentally smacked in the face with the fridge door around ten, falling down the stairs and bruising your tailbone about twelve, jamming your fingers in the sliding door of the van at fourteen, walking into the sliding glass door at fifteen, countless toe stubs and tongue bites, and even choking on a large bite of a cream cheese covered bagel. Oh, and then giving birth to a seven pound, eleven ounces baby three months ago.

All that pain and probably other experiences you couldn’t remember, but you still couldn’t ever remember a time you had screamed as loudly as Mason Malik currently was in the first row in first class on the plane.

“He’s been fed, he’s been changed, he’s slept…” You listed off all the possibilities behind why your little boy was so upset, using your fingers, but you couldn’t get to the bottom of it. Usually, you knew what cry was about what, but as the seatbelt signed flicked off, you couldn’t figure it out.

Groaning with embarrassment and agony, Zayn unhooked his seatbelt and carefully took Mason from your hands. He stood up with the crying baby, holding him into his shoulder and bouncing on his feet lightly.

“It was probably just the takeoff.” Zayn told you and started to pace back and forth. He knew he should apologize to other passengers, but for now he just ignored their annoyed or sympathetic eyes all together. “He’ll be cool, I’ll calm him down.” Zayn reasoned and started to hush his son quietly, never stopping bouncing for a moment. It wasn’t helping though, so Zayn began to walk up and down the aisle, moving into economy and stopping as soon as he was at the back. He waited in line for the bathroom and then stepped into the small lavatory, glad it didn’t reek too badly, and held his weeping boy in there until he wore himself out.

Twenty five minutes later, he returned and sat next to you with a quiet, but content boy. Zayn sat down and rested his son his knees, feeling exhausted by the whole thing.

“Hopefully, he is quiet the rest of the way to Montreal.” Zayn held up crossed fingers and then took out his Ipod.

“You’ve got the magic touch.” Grinning, you replied and leaned forward to look over your son. He looked just like Zayn and you hoped that he would turn out to be just like his Dad. He was definitely one of a kind.