Pre-calc Teacher: In Order To Figure Out Whether Or Not A Graph Has Continuity You Need To Ride The Graph

*going to jail*

chillin on a Saturday night

Ogni volta che la politica manda a effetto una operazione contro la classe operaia, i primi a gioirne o, “meglio”, i primi a dare manifestazioni esteriori della loro contentezza non sono i “pezzi grossi”, commissari di polizia od ufficiali delle regie guardie o dei carabinieri, ma sono i più umili agenti, i più modesti carabinieri, l’ultima delle guardie regie. Sono cioè gli agenti del governo usciti dalle file del proletariato più arretrato, costretti a questo passo dalla miseria o dalla speranza di trovare, abbandonando il campo o l’officina, una vita migliore, dalla persuasione di divenire qualche cosa di più di un povero contadino relegato in un paesetto sperduto fra i monti, di un manovale abbruttito dal quotidiano lavoro d’officina. Questa gente odia, dopo averne disertato le file, la classe lavoratrice con un accanimento che supera ogni immaginazione. “Ecco le armi”, urlò trionfante non so se un agente investigativo od un carabiniere in borghese, scoprendo una rivoltella durante la perquisizione all’ “Ordine Nuovo”. E rimase stupito, spiacente che nonostante tutta la buona volontà non si riusciva a trovare nulla di compromettente per il nostro giornale. all’ “Ordine Nuovo”. E rimase stupito, spiacente che nonostante tutta la buona volontà non si riusciva a trovare nulla di compromettente per il nostro giornale. all’ “Ordine Nuovo”. E rimase stupito, spiacente che nonostante tutta la buona volontà non si riusciva a trovare nulla di compromettente per il nostro giornale. Pochi minuti dopo, un altro agente udendo uno scambio di parole tra il commissario ed un nostro redattore, esclamò: : “Finiremo per arrestarli tutti! Li arresteremo tutti!” A questo pensiero la sua bocca si aprì ad un riso tanto cattivo da sbalordire chiunque non sia abituato a questo genere di fratellanza umana. Ho compreso allora perché nelle caserme e nei posti di polizia, carabinieri, guardie regie ed agenti gareggino nel bastonare gli operai arrestati, nel rallegrarsi delle loro torture. E’ un odio di lunga data. Gli agenti dello Stato addetti al mantenimento dell’ordine pubblico sentono attorno a sé il disprezzo che tutta la classe lavoratrice ha per i rinnegati, per quelli che sono passati nell’altro campo, per i mercenari che impegnano ogni loro energia per soffocare qualsiasi movimento del proletariato. E al disprezzo del proletariato s’aggiunge quello di gran parte della borghesia che guarda con occhio diffidente tutta rinnegati questa puzza di questura. Perché? Perché questa è la sorte di tutti i mercenari: al disprezzo e all’odio degli avversari s’aggiunge quasi sempre il disprezzo dei padroni. Ed è naturale, è umano che nell’animo di questa gente mal pagata, che non sempre riesce a procurarsi quanto occorre per una vita piena di stenti e di privazioni e che si sente circondata da una barriera che la divide dagli altri uomini, che la mette quasi fuori dalla società, germogli l’odio, metta radici la crudeltà: odio contro quelli che prima erano i fratelli, i compagni di lavoro e che ora disprezzano con maggior forza, crudeltà che si esplica contro di essi sotto mille forme diverse. Così, arrestare un operaio è una gioia, un trionfo, bastonarlo e malmenarlo, una festa, rinchiuderlo in carcere una rivincita. Solo nel momento in cui essi tengono un uomo fra le mani e sanno di poter disporre della sua libertà, della sua incolumità, sentono di possedere una forza che in qualche momento della vita li rende superiori ai loro simili. La gioia di acciuffare un uomo non proviene dalla consapevolezza di servire la legge, di difendere l’integrità dello Stato: è una piccola bassa soddisfazione personale, è la gioia di poter dire: “Io sono più forte”. Quale altra gioia possono essi provare? Quanti di essi sono in grado di formarsi una famiglia senza che la vita di stenti diventi vita di patimenti? Non è forse vero che a molti di questi transfughi del proletariato la vita non riserva altre soddisfazioni che qualche umile offerta di una passeggiatrice notturna in cerca di protezione?

Noi li abbiamo visti pochi giorni or sono nella nostra redazione. Moltissimi, dall’abito, potevano benissimo essere scambiati per operai in miseria. E’ certo che erano umilmente, più che umilmente vestiti non solo per introdursi tra gli operai, per raccoglierne i discorsi, per spiarli, ma anche perché non potrebbero fare diversamente. E guardavano con gli operai veri, quelli che si dibattono tra la reazione e la fame e cercano affannosamente la via della liberazione. Essi comprendevano, sentivano che chi lotta è sempre superiore a chi serve. E quando hanno ammanettato i giovani che difendevano il giornale del loro partito il giornale della loro classe, il loro giornale, gli agenti hanno avuto un lampo di trionfo, hanno riso. Ma non era un riso spontaneo, giocondo. Era un riso a cui erano costretti dalla rabbia, dal disprezzo degli altri, dalla loro vita, dal destino a cui non potevano sottrarsi. Quel riso era la smorfia di Gwynplaine.

(A.Gramsci “L’Ordine Nuovo”, 30 agosto 1921)

Thank You

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x FemPresenting!Reader

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's (Movie)

Summary: You're Abby's babysitter. Mike comes home one night. Things ensue.

Warnings: SMUT, Cursing, Mommy kink, Choking kink, a smidgen of spit kink, enjoy

*******

He would really only ever say those two words to you. You were a light sleeper, so him opening the door would always wake you. Once he noticed that you were awake, he would bid you "Thank you," and you would leave.

That night, however, when he came home, he walked straight over to the dining room table and set down his things without uttering a word. He leaned on the piece of furniture and his head dipped down, seemingly in defeat.

"I still can't pay you," he informed, his voice strained. Something told you he was holding back tears.

It wasn't much, but at least it wasn't two words. "What made you think I was ever in this for the money?"

"Then why would you do this?!" Mike suddenly turned to you and whisper-yelled. You knew he didn't want to wake up his sister.

In response to him taking out his frustration on you, you just tilted your head. You had the most sympathetic look on your face. You didn't say any words, you merely walked over to him.

Mike tried backing away from you, but he ran into the table.

You simply put your hands on his arms. Your face was serene.

He could scarcely breathe.

"Why do you think I do this?"

You leaned in, but , surprisingly, Mike met you halfway. He seemed so eager to finally kiss you.

The two of you stood there for some time, making out in the dimly lit main room of the Schmidt residence. You wrapped your arms around his neck while Mike's hands held a white-knuckle grip on the table.

It didn't surprise you when Mike pulled back. "We-we shouldn't be doing this."

"Why's that?"

"Because Abby's asleep right down the hall!" he whispered, "Plus, you're like-like my-"

You raised your eyebrows at him. "Your what? Employee? We've just established that you don't pay me, so I think we're good on that front, and as for your sister..." you paused and leaned in close to his ear.

Mike had a sharp intake of breath as you did that.

"I guess we'll just need to be quiet, huh?"

With that, you took him by the hand and started leading him back to his bedroom. Mike followed you like the good boy he was.

In no time, you had Mike stripped down and in bed with you seated on top of him, naked as well.

There was a sound, and Mike shot up, thinking it was his sister.

"It was just the house settling, okay?" You looked at him with dreamy eyes. "Relax."

Slowly, Mike nodded and laid back down.

"You ready?"

Again, all you got was a nod.

"I'm going to need a bit more than that, if we're going to do this," you only half-joked.

Surprising you, Mike felt up your legs as his eyes slowly trailed up your body. "I want you...so bad." He announced every word with emphasis.

You gave a breathy chuckle at his compliance, lifted yourself, then lowered yourself down on his hard length.

While you just sighed, Mike whimpered, the quiet sound getting loudest when you fully sat on him. He took handfuls of your thighs for support.

"Remember what we said about the volume?" you teased.

"Sorry." The words came out strained as his eyelids were shut.

"Ah, ah, ah." You gave a light slap to his cheek. "Be a good boy and keep your eyes on Mommy."

"Fuck," Mike gasped. You also felt his cock jump at your words.

Smirking at his reaction, you leaned over him and started slightly riding his dick. "What? You like that?"

"Oh, god." Mike's body tensed as you started to ride him and struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You like me calling you good boy? Or was it the part about...Mommy?"

"Mommy!" Mike shuddered as your hole squeezed him.

"That's my good boy," you smiled. You took some time to enjoy the ride yourself as you placed your hands on your feet and leaned back. Some time later, you returned your posture to find that Michael's eyes had slid shut again. "What did I say?" You fell forward and caught yourself with one hand on the bed and the other around Mike's throat.

The shock surely opened his eyes for good. "Sorry! I'm sorry...sorry...sorry."

"You better be," you spat. Quite literally. Into his mouth. Well, most of it the corner of his mouth.

That didn't seem to matter to Mike. He licked the remaining spit into his mouth while keeping full eye contact with you.

"Good boy..." you smirked again, and, with one final squeeze, started to let go of Mike's throat.

However, he disagreed with that action. "No!" he whisper-yelled, and grabbed your wrist to keep you in place. "I-fuck-I love this."

Your smirk grew teeth as you smiled down at Michael Schmidt, submissive and pliant to your touch.

"Shit. I think I'm...close," Mike informed between breaths.

You raised an eyebrow. "Well then, you'll have to hold on 'cause I'm not there yet. Anything you want to do about that?"

Those words had Mike frantically nodding. Suddenly, he was rolling on top of you. You took your hand off his neck. Mike was determined to get you to cum before he did, and my god was he good.

Your eyes lulled back as he pounded into you. Another smile appeared on your lips. When you returned to look at him, you realized Mike had kept his gaze steady on you the whole time. Quickly, however, his facade broke and his head fell down onto your shoulder. "Mommy..." he whined out.

You decided to forgive the transgression as you threaded fingers into his hair and whispered into his ear. "I'm close now, too, baby."

That seemed to renew his vigor because he moved to face you again. Mike also put your hand back around his throat.

You squeezed him for good measure. Up top and down under. His reaction got you to smile, but that smile faded as you felt the pressure building up inside you. You flipped you and Mike so you were back on top.

There, you kept your faces close, but launched your head back when you came. Eventually, you fell back down onto Mike's shoulder. You stayed like that for a moment until--

"Mom-my-?" came the broken up voice of Mike.

"Did Mommy forget to let her good boy cum?" You returned to your spot above him.

Again, Mike was nodding frantically.

You leaned back down to whisper in his ear, "Go ahead. You've more than earned it."

Immediately, Mike sped up his thrusts. His breathing got faster, too. He grabbed your arm that was supporting your weight, and your wrist whose hand was squeezing his neck and Mike came with a shout. Both you and Mike covered his mouth after the loud sound. He thrusted a few more times into you as he completed his orgasm.

You and Mike stayed still for a minute or so after that; half relishing in the post-sex atmosphere, and half praying that Abby didn't walk in.

Thank god, she didn't.

So, you pulled off of Mike, and the two of you got yourselves cleaned up.

"You can stay, if you want to," Mike offered, standing next to his bed.

You walked up to him, put your hand on his chest, and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I would love that."

Somehow, the two of you made it work on Mike's twin bed. You were halfway on top of him, but you weren't complaining.

Finally, as you and Mike were falling asleep, you heard two words, mumbled out by Mike, "Thank you."

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

John from the 1990 issue of the Fan Club Magazine.

+ Bonus 🤣

‘this is fine…’ he thinks

that poor poor man…

snk comics o vo

I’m sure that Levi was the one who took care of Hange’s appearance while Hange was commander haha Hope you like it!

*Body language starts to playing*

Me:

Hello! I was wondering if you could write some kind of scenario about a headcanon where Murdoc is afraid of singing, even in front of just the band? As a child, he was forced to sing and was exploited for his voice by his father so nowadays he gets extremely anxious whenever somebody asks him to sing. (Only if you want to, of course! I really enjoy how you write all these headcanons, by the way! You have some writing skills! :)

(Thank you so much!! I’m so glad you like how I write them!!! Sorry that it took so long to write and that it is so long to read… I really liked writing it!!! I hope you like it!!)

Contrary to popular belief Murdoc can sing. He is a decent singer and enjoys singing by himself. Murdoc absolutely refuses to sing in front of anyone else. He can’t, he won’t. After his father forced him to get up on stage and humiliate himself every weekend as a child he swore he would never sing for anyone again and so far that had been the case. 

Murdoc had sung along sarcastically to a few lines of his favorite songs on his radio show, but that was the most anyone had ever heard out of him. Unless that is you can find the few surviving VHS tapes that were taken of him as a child at his father’s favorite bar. Sebastian had filmed the tapes hoping that he could later sell them on the off chance that Murdoc had gotten a few seconds of fame. Murdoc had gone back and taken the tapes before Sebastian could sell them, now they haunted him. 

A very few of the tapes had survived. Murdoc would take them out and rewatch the tapes in his Winnebago where no one else would see them. Murdoc would go over all of the mistakes he had made as a child and the jeering from the crowd off-screen. 

He never forgot the performance where an unruly bar patron had dumped a plate of fish and chips over his head before proceeding to pour the rest of his now flat beer on poor sniffling shivering little Murdoc. The on-screen Murdoc had just stood there clutching his bass looking towards his father and older brother, his eyes pleading them for help, as the man cackled and cracked a few jokes. Murdoc shook his head and sent a few chips falling to the stage floor. He had won the prize for best comedy that year.

The tape suddenly cut to a shaky scene where Murdoc’s brother was holding the camera. Sebastian was holding a handful of five-pound notes in one hand and he leaned his other elbow on Murdoc’s head. “This is the most money this brat has ever made me! I’m almost proud of ‘em!” Sebastian looked down at a faintly smiling Murdoc as he exclaimed “Almost.” Little Murdoc’s smile weakened further but he remembered his exact thoughts from that moment. “I know how to make ‘em proud of me now! He’s almost proud of me!” Presently Murdoc sat shaking in his chair on the edge of his seat thinking “That was the only time he ever said he was proud of me. No almost proud of me. I wasn’t good enough that time.” Murdoc sat shaking and shivering his eyes glued to the screen. 

The tape suddenly cut to static, the VCR spit the tape out at his feet. Murdoc slowly sat back in his chair like he had been shocked out of a trance. He shivered and put the tape back in its case. He wouldn’t dare anyone find those tapes. Murdoc would rather have to battle Satan to the death in the deepest pits of Hell than let his bandmates find those tapes. Murdoc always wanted to scream or throw up after he watched those tapes. His father was long gone by now and he didn’t need the tapes, but he couldn’t throw them out. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I wasn’t good enough that time” Murdoc sat in silence thinking “I’ll never be good enough for him and if anyone finds these tapes I’ll never be good enough for anyone! I’ll be a bloody laughing stock! I’d have to be a circus clown!” 

Murdoc took a few sharp breaths and sighed looking at himself in the mirror with a worried look on his face. “Alright Murdoc alright, no need to panic, alls well, ya gotta get a hold of yourself! The old geezer is dead anyway it’s not like he can do anything to ya now. Ya gotta calm down before your thoughts get the best of ya.” Murdoc stood up slowly and wandered down to the other end of his Winnebago where he kept a few stacks of records. He rummaged through the fourth stack until he found what he wanted. 

Murdoc hummed the tune of the first song as he was about to put the record on, then came a knock on the Winnebago’s door, Murdoc froze, and 2D’s voice called “Murdoc are ya alive in there! If so Russ says you better come eat dinner seein’ as you didn’t eat anything earlier an we don’t wanna have to come in there two days from now to try an decide if we gotta take ya to the hospital or leave ya on the couch. Russ says if you don’t come now he’s gonna come get ya because you’ve been in there all day!” Murdoc sighed and grumbled, “Alright fine quiet beatin’ on the door I’m comin’ out…” Murdoc stashed the tapes away in a small cabinet under the bed, he didn’t notice the edge of the last tape still sticking out, before he slung open the door. Stu jumped back with a yelp. 

Murdoc descended the three worn out rusty steps and slammed the Winnebago’s door shut locking it. “Why do ya always lock it? Nobody’s gonna go in there. Nobody wants to go in there!” exclaimed. Murdoc turned to him with a tired look that transformed into his regular annoyed grimace. “Because its mine an I’ll do what I like with it. That’s how it is Dents. Now let’s go.” Murdoc and 2D proceeded to take the elevator up from the garage basement to the main floor. Stu thought Murdoc was just bored, but really Murdoc had mastered the bored-when-in-reality-I want-to-fling-myself-in-traffic look which he used quite often. Murdoc is a master actor and the band was none the wiser. 

Upon entering the kitchen Noodle and Russel looked up. “It’s about time you decided to rejoin society.” Russel gave a light-hearted laugh. Murdoc smirked, “Yeah thought I’d grace ya all with my presence!” Noodle shook her head with the same smirk she had learned from Murdoc. “We thought you were digging a bunker down there or a tunnel to the underworld!” Murdoc let out his usual cackle “Yeah sure Noods its a tunnel to Hell, but ya gotta make an appointment first!” The group finally calmed down and sat down to dinner. 

Noodle looked up watching Murdoc then she asked “Stu said you were humming one of our songs. Are you thinking of remaking it?” She smiled and gave a little laugh. Everyone knew Murdoc couldn’t sing. Murdoc looked up from his dinner at Noodle. He looked shocked, a little horrified to say the least. “What nah! He must have been hearin’ things! Stu your hearing things! Ya are hearing things again! B-because it wasn’t me!” Murdoc laughed in an exaggerated tone before saying “I don’t sing Dents ya know that! Ya are ridiculous!” Stu sat down his fork looking confused “No I did hear you! I know it was you! Nobody else was down there but you and me and I wasn’t singing!” 

Murdoc gritted his teeth in a smile “Stu. 2D. Mate, listen you didn’t hear anything. Ya are lying or you were singing one of the two. Now, what was it?” Stu looked annoyed “I told you it was not me! It had to be you! I’m not lyin’ I know what I heard! You are the one lying Murdoc!” Murdoc shoved his chair back from the table and stood up grabbing the collar of Stu’s t-shirt “Now you listen here an you listen good! I. Don’t. Sing! That’s final! Get that in your brain if nothin’ else!” Stu whimpered softly as Murdoc let him go. The band ate the rest of their dinner in silence. 

Later that night Murdoc slunk down to the recording booth in the basement. He had to wait until five in the morning when nearly everyone was asleep. If Stu was awake he was too scared to go down to the basement to venture downstairs. Murdoc had convinced Stu that the basement was haunted more than the rest of the house at night and if he went down there at night then Satan would eat him alive. Needless to say, Murdoc was able to sing alone in peace during these ungodly early hours of the day. 

Murdoc would write new songs and perform them when no one else was around. These few early morning hours were truly the happiest of the day for Murdoc. After tweaking three or four songs Murdoc was awfully tired and fell asleep in the recording booth. 

The next morning Noodle came downstairs to find her guitar only to find Murdoc curled up in a chair clutching his bass and mumbling to himself. Noodle opened the recording booth’s door silently and snuck inside. She reached over Murdoc and pulled her guitar up and over him. She didn’t wake him up, Noodle knew how little sleep Murdoc got. She also knew, like Murdoc had told her as a child, that he slept best when he felt safest and Murdoc thought the safest place to sleep was a place with a locking door. This was why Noodle didn’t complain or find it too odd that Murdoc would fall asleep in the recording booth. 

On her way out of the recording booth, Noodle noticed that the control panel was still lit up. She put the headphones on and hit play on the panel. Noodle was utterly amazed by what she heard. Murdoc could not only sing, but he was rather good at it! 

The first track that he had sang was Tomorrow Comes Today followed by Double Bass, one of Murdoc’s favorites, and Stop the Dams. All sad songs. Emotional songs. Lastly was El Mañana, this was the saddest most emotional version of the song that Noodle had ever heard, albeit 2D’s version was more beautiful, but Murdoc’s version was a very sad song full of raw emotion that left Noodle feeling like her heart had been ripped out and stomped on. 

Noodle looked up over the panel, on the verge of tears as she stared at Murdoc curled up in his chair softly snoring and wheezing as he slept. Next to the recording panel was the key to Murdoc’s Winnebago. Noodle knew he wouldn’t be happy, but she needed answers. Why wouldn’t he sing in front of the band? Why did he make such a show of denying that he could sing? She needed to know and the Winnebago would be a vault of answers.

Noodle made her way over to the Winnebago and slowly unlocked the door, it creaked making her jump, her head spun around to see if Murdoc had heard, but he didn’t head a thing in the soundproof recording booth. Noodle kept up the three rusty steps and into a tiny cluttered room with blackout curtains. She closed and locked the door behind her. 

Noodle had to let her eyes adjust to the low light shining in from between the curtains. She finally could see and started her journey of finding the answers that would unlock an age-old mystery. 

Noodle spent an hour searching through the stacks of records, cassette tapes, and old tapes of the band’s early practices. These were all interesting but were not what she was looking for. Noodle was getting tired of searching and spun around to leave. As she turned her shoe kicked the edge of a tape and sent it sliding from under the bed to in front of the small tv. Noodle sat down in Murdoc’s chair and picked up the tape, unlike the others this one was unlabeled save for the year 1976. Murdoc would have ten years old then. Noodle dusted off the tape and pushed it into the slot at the bottom of the tiny tv. The tv sprang to life and the tape played. A tiny ten-year-old Murdoc stood on stage under the spotlight. He chewed on his thumbnail looking out into the crowd as someone announced his name and the song he would play. 

Noodle leaned forward in he seat watching as a man off stage interrupted Murdoc’s singing halfway through the act. Noodle watched in horror as Murdoc was drowned in fish and chips with half a beer to add insult to injury. Offscreen Sebastian handed the camera to his eldest son before he stomped up to the stage and threated a now terrified Murdoc that if he didn’t finish the song that he wouldn’t see the light of day again. Murdoc shook the chips from his soaking wet hair and tried to adjust the microphone, but the stand broke in his hands. Murdoc stared pitifully from the microphone to his father who threw up his hands in frustration. Murdoc tried to balance the microphone back in the broken stand but it fell to the floor and rolled away to a waitress. Murdoc jumped from the stage to get the microphone. The waitress picked it up and feeling sorry for him told “Just go sing an I’ll hold this for ya.” Murdoc was extremely embarrassed and kept thanking the waitress over and over until she told him to stop. The waitress sat at the edge of the stage and Murdoc sang his heart out for the kind lady, he couldn’t bear to look at his father. Once the song over the crowd laughed and fell over themselves. 

Noodle shifted in the chair uncomfortably. She couldn’t believe how cruel that crowd was. No wonder Murdoc had chewed out a tech guy for grumbling at Noodle when she was singing as a kid. Murdoc didn’t want anyone to do anything remotely like that to her. 

Noodle looked back at the tape which cut to static then focused on Murdoc and his father. Sebastian was leaning on Murdoc waving a small handful of five-pound notes in the face of another man. Murdoc was looking up at his father as Sebastian said “This is the most money this brat has ever made me! I’m almost proud of ‘em!” Sebastian looked down at Murdoc, who slightly grinned up at him with a look desperate for approval, as he exclaimed “Almost.” Little Murdoc’s grin fell from his face and his brother laughed off screen “What did ya think was gonna happen Murdoc! You thought for even a second that ya could screw up that badly and he would be proud of you?! This is too good! This is priceless comedy! This tape will be worth gold!” The tape suddenly cut to static. 

Noodle sat back in the chair, she hadn’t realized how far she had leaned forward. Noodle felt horrible and she had her answers. She stood up stunned into silence. She sat back down and rewinded the tape. She paused it on the scene where Sebastian was leaning on Murdoc. Noodle was disgusted with Murdoc’s father. She thought to herself “No wonder Murdoc only calls him by his name, I wouldn’t call him a “father” either.” 

The door to the Winnebago rattled. Murdoc’s voice yelled from the other side “Where the hell is my key! I couldn’t have left it in there, well maybe I did. Didn’t thinks so.” Noodle sighed with relief. “Ah well, I’ve got a spare!” Noodle panicked and looked about frantically.  There was nowhere for her to hide. Noodle took a deep breath and knew what she would say to him. Murdoc would be mad, that was undebatable, but Noodle knew what she had to say would calm him down, maybe. 

Murdoc fought with the Winnebago’s lock until it finally gave way and allowed him to enter. Murdoc stepped onto the first step and stopped. He knew something was wrong. His stacks of records had been shifted to the right and the cassettes had been turned the opposite way. Murdoc let out a low growl. Noodle took a step back into the shadows and stepped on a discarded cassette case. 

Murdoc put his spare key back in his pocket, slowly let the door swing open, and catapulted himself into the Winnebago at full speed. Murdoc snarled looking like a wild animal ready for a fight, Noodle let out a short scream and tumbled backward onto the floor scooting away until she was under the small wall mounted table. Murdoc leaped from the doorway to directly in front of the table crouching forward and grabbing Noodle’s hand me down shoes she had gotten from Stu. Noodle kicked at him as Murdoc drug her out, kicking and screaming, from under the table. 

“What did I tell ya about stayin’ out of here 2D! You told me yesterday that you wouldn’t wanna come in here anyway! 2D you answer me! How did you even get in h-” Murdoc finally drug Noodle out from under the table and stared at her. “Noodle? W-what are you doin’ in here?” Murdoc let her shoe go and stood up slowly backing away from her. Noodle stood up and looked at Murdoc then at the tiny tv. She had left the tv on with the tape in paused on the scene of Sebastian leaning on Murdoc. Murdoc followed her gaze to the tv. His head whipped around and he gave her a real look of fear, utter humiliation, and anger. “Is that what you were looking for? You wanted to laugh at me with the rest of them? Is that what you want!” Murdoc screamed as he stomped to the tv and ejected the tape, yanked it from the tv, and shoved it at Noodle pushing her backward a few steps. “Well, there ya go! Take the damn thing then! Go get famous on the bloody internet for havin’ the most horrid video of Murdoc Niccals! Its gotta be worth something by now! Go on get out! Shoo!” Murdoc made a shooing motion at Noodle. 

Noodle didn’t move an inch. She watched as Murdoc sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head. After a moment Murdoc looked up at Noodle with a look of pleading “Just leave me alone will ya? Go on and show Russ and 2D if ya want. I was a laughing stock then, I might as well be one now. Serves me right doesn’t it? Trying to hide all of it.” Murdoc sighed and continued softly. “I just wish it was anyone but you who found it. Russ wouldn’t say much and Dents would get a kick out of it, but ya always looked up to me so much as a kid, but you were just looking up to a lie. You saw that tape, I can’t sing, so whats the point of tryin to now.” 

Murdoc stood up and hauled out a box of tapes from under the bed. “Here take the set. The one ya are holding is the last one. Can’t separate the set now.” Murdoc pushed the box into Noodle’s hands and took a step back. “Well, what do ya have to say? Don’t just stand there! Tell me something! anything, p-please Noods. Don’t just stare at me.” Noodle dropped the box of tapes and stepped forward so fast Murdoc couldn’t escape. Noodle hugged him as tightly as she could. Murdoc looked down at her as she mumbled something to him. “You know I can’t understand ya if you mumble at me.” Noodle looked up at Murdoc who still had a worried frightened look plastered on his face. “I’m proud of you.” Murdoc looked bewildered and squirmed trying to get out of the hug. Noodle hugged Murdoc a little more and said “I’m not almost proud of you, I am proud of you and you can sing. I heard the songs you recorded last night.” Murdoc stopped struggling and in a moment he was wracked with sobs.

After about ten minutes Murdoc sniffled and started to pull himself together again. “Alright, all of this, the whole lot. Everything you saw and heard here is a secret. Don’t tell Russ and 2D. Got it?” Noodle nodded “Only if you agree to sing with me every once in a while.” Murdoc sighed and gave a nod. “If you want me to then I will. Ya know I used to sing for ya when you were a kid. You had the worst nightmares and I’d come in and scare off all the monsters and sit with ya and sing to ya until you fell back asleep. I bet you don’t remember that now do ya?” Noodle laughed and smiled “How could I forget! You wrestled a sweater and told me you fought off the monster! It was hilarious!” 

Murdoc and Noodle agreed that in addition to their late night cartoon watching that they would rewatch some of the funny home videos that had been taken of the band’s early years and record a few songs. The rest of the band never saw the songs and Noodle and Murdoc got a kick out of singing funny songs. Murdoc stopped rewatching the tapes he kept under the bed in his Winnebago. He had new tapes to watch now, mostly of he and Noodle jumping up and down yelling random lyrics in the recording booth. 

captain what are you doing?

How levi sees hange when torturing sannes

look at those levi's heart shaped eyes