a thousand screams in the night

10

#GAME4HAM

Ahh, here is a project that snowballed out of control. I only wanted to draw Hamilton on the mario super star (he’s non-stop, geddit? geddit?), but then decided to turn the whole show into a SNES video game cause I’m crazy like that. There’s four parts to this and I’ll post one a day (I’m still tweaking the ends). 


Part 1 of 4: Please click on the pics for descriptions/mission for each game.

edit: if the captions are not working (thanks tumblr), here they are:

  • Start Page
  • Eye of the Hurricane: Help Hamilton escape the hurricane but make sure he collects his books along the way!
  • Cut Scene: New York bound
  • BATTLE! Farmer Refuted: Oh my god, tear that dude apart. Help Hamilton call for a revolution in this screaming match against Samuel Seabury!
  • Cut Scene: Rise up!
  • Here Comes the General: Thirty-two thousand troops are in New York harbour! Fight your way across as George Washington. Watch out for the incoming BOOM!!!
  • Yo Let’s Steal their Cannons: Race against time with Hamilton and Hercules Mulligan (interchangeable leads) and steal all the British cannons before dawn!
  • Winter Ball of 1780, Level 1: Grind to the rhythm as Eliza Schuyler. Follow the steps correctly to help her dance her way across the hall to meet the handsome Mr. Hamilton!
  • Rewind!!! Winter Ball of 1780, Level 2: Uh-oh! Do you remember that night? Retrace all your steps and dance again as Angelica Schuyler.
  • Save page

Full series: || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 …And Peggy! || 

@linmanuel #yayhamlet!

Okay but consider:

Movie night. Kallo sneaks Scott on board the Tempest with 80 water guns and about a thousand water balloons while everyone else is distracted by the vid.

Scott proceeds to ambush Sara and the ship goes insane.

Sara grabbed two pistol-waterguns. She spends most of the fight flipping and jumping around the Cargo Bay, with Liam screaming after her, “Not everyone is a fucking ninja!” Scott, to no one’s surprise, primarily aims for her.

Drack found himself a shotgun. Two, actually, but he’s keeping one in reserve. He doesn’t take cover, no he’s charging everyone with a big-ass grin on his face and so many water balloons his opponent needs a moment to recover. 

Peebee could be consistently found on top of the raised Nomad, with two rifles and no fear of the world. She slipped and fell once; the crew never lets her live it down.

Jaal is initially confused by this. At first he didn’t realize it was a game at all, until Suvi pulled him aside to explain. He takes up a sniper position, to which Sara aims at mercilessly. “I know your tricks, Darav! You can’t hide from me!” His laughter quickly becomes infectious.

Cora ends up getting many of the last laughs by using her biotics. She had fun warping people into the air, dropping them when she starts laughing too hard. Everyone is a little reluctant to aim for her.

Vetra tried to stay away from the water at first, but Drack shoved a gun into her hands and quite literally carried her out into the middle of the cargo hold. She very quickly realized the greatest reward was in the use of water balloons. 

Kallo took up shop by a bucket of balloons, around a corner where the crew honestly could not find him. They discover that day that Kallo Jath has amazing aim and an even better throwing arm.

Lexi remains off limits. She throws a few water balloons anyway; they know when they catch her giggling.

Liam was also more inclined to the Water Balloons, and he and Drack really got into it, with so many balloons flying across the hold the rest had to take a moment to hide from them.

Gil managed to find himself a pretty sweet mini-gun and had himself a good time ambushing the crew. He’s surprisingly stealthy, when he’s not throwing out sarcastic comments about people’s aim.

Suvi filmed the entire event. She was also considered off limits, but the crew noticed a significant amount of balloons hitting people in the back from her general direction. Video proof is later acquired; her laughter was constantly present.

By the end, water is running dry. Sara takes cover, coincidentally right next to Drack, to reload her guns. The two glance at each other, nod, and Suvi swears it was better than an Action Vid. They walk out to the center of the hold, a gun in each hand as if followed by epic music, the two against the world in their final stand.

Sara proceeds to hide behind Drack when everyone’s attention turns to them. And upon noticing, Drack drops to the ground so hard the floor shakes, and the crew drench Sara in an onslaught of water and balloons. She falls dramatically, screaming out with a raised fist “I will not be defeated!” 

The ship is soaked. The crew is soaked. But they all sit in the cargo hold and laugh, excitedly chatting away about their epic showdown and debating the winner (to which Sara claimed was hers; “Guys, I had a dramatic death and everything!”), gaining memories that they talk about for the rest of their lives.

Everyone gets on my ass about how “spoiled” my animals are. 

“They have so much stuff!!!!!” i.e., enrichment?

“They get so many nice treats!!!!!” a … proper fucking diet ????

“You spend way too much money on them! They’re just fish!!!!!” (in regards to the axolotls) uhhhhhhhhhhNNNNNNNNHHNNHNHHNHHGGGGGGG i want to scream into the night .

Like ok I DONT spend “way too much money”. It IS a significant amount, but no more than I have to. I want to provide a certain standard of care. Like ok my dad blows thousands every month on some collection of motorcycles but will throw a hissy fit when i come home with new toys for my dog and proper food. “They’re just animals!!!” really gets me. Like ok dad but your motorcycles aren’t even alive, thats just a hobby. It makes you happy. And my pets make me happy. To see something thrive because of my efforts really eases some of that #anxiety. So. Please. They’re not “just animals”////

(Also goes for anyone else who says that bc they aren’t just animals maybe you could raise your damn standards and treat your animals like living things with feelings idk just a suggestionnnnnn))))))

For my dear Lexi, @caslikescoffeeandfreckles, who wanted a jealous!cas in a college setting and an accidental love proclamation.

destiel, 3k, jealous!cas, light dean/lisa, pining and angst with a happy resolution

Castiel is about to fit his key into his apartment door when he hears the voices: Dean’s gruff baritone mixed with a lilting melodic voice.

Lisa’s voice.

Castiel rests his forehead against the door, shopping bags in his hands lightly hitting the pale wood. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to be upset that it’s the sixth day of the week that Lisa has been at their apartment. 

He tries not to be bothered that for the last month Dean has been utterly obsessed with this girl: from late night phone calls to taking her to romantic dinners softened by candlelight.

Cas tries to ignore the fact that he’s inexplicably jealous of Lisa.

Keep reading

maybe we all have that one person that we’d always take back. bruised mouth, bloody ribs, you’re screaming at me and i’m taking it because no matter how bad it gets, there is always good to follow. and that’s what a lot of people don’t understand, the people who ask me why i can’t see the signs of an unhealthy relationship, why i can’t just walk away - that the good days outweigh the bad ones. i would walk away from you screaming one thousand times just to fall into your arms at the end of the night. i’ve learned how to catch your punches. i’ve learned how to find the beauty in pain. and i know: i should find happiness within myself or at least within people who are good for me, but i can’t help the way i feel and i can’t just leave something that makes me so happy. i will take you back until you literally throw me away.

Twenty One Pilots is full of contradiction.

There is shouting and screaming, bright red in the dark of the night. There are concerts. Jumping along with a thousand other people in some sort of unpredictable dance. There is meeting new clique members, and screaming lyrics as loud as you can. There is waiting in line, and laughing. There is passionate defense. There’s Tyler Joseph shouting “Is anyone out there?” at the shows. There is Josh Dun, using every bit of his energy to bring sound to the arena.

But going against this great noise, there are the quiet moments. In addition to Twenty One Pilot’s celebrations and battles, shouts and voices, there is the spaces when you can’t feel anything besides their music. In the middle of the hallway, in the back desk at school. Wandering the streets at night when their music is your only friend, comparing Oh Ms. Believer to the stars over you. Long roadtrips when the headphones make your ears burn. When you’re falling asleep in your bed, and the ending chords of the Judge play from under your pillow.

This band is full of contractions. Loud moments paired with silent ones. Being alone, and being together. Contradictions.

SOUTH TEXAS GOTHIC

·         They drain the San Antonio Riverwalk once a year. They tell you it’s shallow, only three feet deep, but no matter how much you stare you cannot see the bottom. They’ve found prosthetic limbs in the annual dredging.

·         You’ve been driving for hours. Surely you’re out of state lines by now, you tell yourself. But the scenery hasn’t changed at all, and the sky has long turned dark. You can’t remember the last town you went through.

·         There are lights above Marfa. People come from far and wide to see them, but we don’t talk about them. We don’t talk about the lights above Marfa- they listen. We don’t want them to hear us.

·         We don’t sing “Deep in the Heart of Texas” because it’s a tradition. We sing it to keep it sated. Because deep in the hill country, if you stand still enough, you can feel a deep, steady throb beneath your feet.

·         You hear screams in the heavy heat of summer nights. Your mother tells you that it’s nothing but the wind, but you don’t believe her. There hasn’t been wind in months.

·         The heat is sticky and heady against your skin, even in the dead of night. “Sure is hot this summer,” your mother says. Her eyes are glassy, and her teeth grind together as she stares out into the distance. “Sure is hot.”

·         There are tunnels beneath San Antonio. They connect the missions to San Fernando Cathedral. They’ve long been closed off- no one goes in the tunnels. No one wants to go in the tunnels.

·         The grackles are waiting in the grocery store parking lot. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of them- they scream into the sky and watch you as you pack away your groceries.

·         The ground has cracked into dusty plates. There are children that have never seen rain. You don’t remember the last time it rained. A lot of people say it never will again.

·         Basements are banned. The ground is too dry, they say. It’ll crack your foundation. But you know why they’re banned. Everyone knows why. But we must forget.

·         The forest is deep, so very deep. You walk on, but all you find is a roofless hut filled with shotgun shells. There are claw marks on the wall, on the ground. You scuff at them with your shoe.

·         Off the highway, decaying farmhouses stand like gray smudges against the blue sky. The cattle graze around them, away from them. The grass around them is dead.

·         Don’t Mess with Texas. Texas remembers. Texas is vengeful.

·         You don’t watch the heat waves that rise off of the gravel. Look forward. Look forward. Keep driving.

ACOMAF Part 1: The House of Beasts Chapters 1-13 (Rhys POV)

Chapters 1-4: Return from UtM to Feyre’s Wedding Panic Attack
Chapter 5: Feyre’s Wedding & Arrival in the Night Court
Chapter 6: Learning to Read
Chapter 7: Returning Feyre to the Spring Court
Chapters 8-10: The Next Three Weeks & Retrieving Feyre for Her Second Trip
Chapter 11: Feyre’s Second Night Court Visit
Chapters 12-13: Rescuing Feyre from the Spring Court

I did a thing. We’ll see if I can do more before ACOWAR comes out. Below is Chapters 1-4 of ACOMAF in Rhys’s POV and above are the links to those same chapters plus the rest on AO3. Hope ya like!

Summary: Roughly Chapters 1-4 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV. It’s mostly a focus on the last two weeks before Feyre gets married with summation thrown in on how his time has been since leaving UtM. Includes her nightmare that opens the book and some lovely chatting with Morrigan the day of Feyre’s wedding.

Hello Feyre Darling

The mountains of the Illyrian Steppes wrought a chill through my bones I hadn’t felt in years.

We flew for most of the day, listening to wherever the shadows at my brother’s back directed us, until at last the sun began to set and we landed in a small clearing between the trees.

They were close. Near enough to sent them on the tendrils of wind that carried their blood and sweat through the heavy pine of the woods. Since my return, I’d lost count of the number of rogue Illyrian war bands I’d had to hunt down and confront. And that wasn’t counting the number Cassian and Azriel had taken care of in my absence.

Today’s hunt felt restless. The outcome had been decided the moment we left the Steppes. These primal encounters never changed even if I spent the hours flying faster towards them hoping they would.

A confrontation. An offering of second chances. Bow down and obey - or pay the debt they owed for the blood they’d spilt, the debt for using fifty years of freedom to push the boundaries however they pleased.

The Night Court would need every drop in the coming weeks that it could spare. Petty disagreements over territory, among other things, wasn’t something I could deal with in the middle of a shift that sought to overthrow the entirety of Prythian.

And once Illyrian alliances shifted, they rarely shifted back.

So in blood, they usually ended.

We threaded through the trees, Cassian and Azriel silently stalking several paces out on either side of me until we hit the gap where the band made camp. It was a small legion, perhaps a dozen or so with their chosen lord in the center. An exquisite gash ran down the center of his cheek. No doubt he had been forced to earn his rank, had likely volunteered for the blood bath.

I wondered what they had done with the bodies, if they’d bothered to bury them properly in Illyrian fashion or had left them to rot in the snow.

Their heads turned in our direction as we neared close enough for them to catch our scent, but by then it was already too late. I held their minds steady from the grip of my power long before the three of us cleared the trees lining the perimeter of their camp.

My brothers strode quietly out from the trees, the swords they’d been gifted at the Blood Rite brandished in their hands in an offensive gesture, ready to strike at a moment’s signal from me.

Slowly, I narrowed my eyes on the newly elected lord and approached, tendrils of darkness trailing in my wake, my wings stretched out wide enough at my back to send a jolt of fear down even the toughest Illyrian’s back.

“Do I need to bother asking?”

My voice was flat, hardly even a question as the lord looked me over once and spat directly at my feet. “Whore,” he cursed and internally, I savored the feel of my mental claws dragging through his mind, undoing every last piece of who he was and would ever become before I let his body fall limp and ragged to the snow. I didn’t even wait. Little impulses of pain trembled along his skin and muscles in those last seconds before he gave up and was no more.

All round me, the forest rang silent save for the bitter, cold wind howling my sins in my ears.

Red splattered in harsh contrast against the snow at my feet, large sloppy drops dripping from Truth-Teller’s blade.

Azriel looked stoically at me as if he hadn’t just shed the blood of a half-dozen men he’d once shared camp with. I often wondered how he managed to lock that darkness away so well.

Slowly, he lifted a brow as snow crunched between Cassian’s heavy boots on my other side.

“Rhys?” Cassian said, dragging my attention down to my hands. They were shaking in a near violent manner.

Whore.

“Let’s go.”

“Rhys-”

I grabbed both their hands and winnowed on the spot before they could say another word.

I did not join them at the House of Wind that night for dinner.


There was blood everywhere.

All over the three young fae hooded and kneeling on the unforgiving marble floor, the dagger I watched fall clattering to that same ground, and most especially all over her.

Feyre stood reaching with a trembling hand for the second dagger covered in blood. Her clothes were soaked from merely one kill that shouldn’t have garnered that much evidence of her deeds. It carried onto her hands - her poor, stuttering hands that plunged themselves upon the fae woman singing herself into death’s waiting arms.

Amarantha sat poised on the throne calling Feyre on with praise. It felt disgustingly wrong.

Feyre pulled the third dagger and I knew what to expect as the veil was to be lifted on the final victim. Tamlin would be waiting and then our fate would be in the hands of this small human girl none of us knew. I felt like I was going to be sick even as Feyre questioned whether or not she could go through with one more murder - just one more murder, and we would all be free. Such a steep price to pay for her.

The hood lifted. Silence fell.

The blood stood out in stark relief against the resounding quiet of the room.

Feyre knelt before the third victim - before herself, her ears turned up into two stiff points, her skin smooth and blended into a soft perfection only my own breed possessed. And her body, which had become so long and elegant with its new fae gifted powers, sat strongly before her, beseeching her move forward.

And that’s when I knew where I was.

I saw Amarantha up on her throne because I saw her from Feyre’s eyes and not my own place on the dias where I should have been. This was nothing new. We’d been inside this prison countless times before and always we failed to get out alive.

Murderer.

The words chanted inside Feyre’s mind as a flurry of self-loathing and hopelessness I only ever felt inside myself welled up beneath her skin.

Butcher.

She angled the dagger at herself and my lungs screamed inside of me to stop her as I felt her anticipate the relief that blade could give her. No, no, never -

Monster.

A relief she welcomed, craved even. It was horrifying to watch, to feel.

Liar.

And it killed me to think she could see herself that way, in any way other than the determined, resourceful woman I’d met Under the Mountain who had saved us all and lost herself in the process.

“Feyre!” I screamed inside her mind, as violently and brutally as I once had to stop Amarantha from attacking her.

Deceiver.

But it was too late.

Feyre thrusted the knife into her own chest and I watched as my mate willingly committed suicide before my own eyes. Somehow, it was a thousand times worse than hearing her neck snap against her will.

Keep reading

Truth Through The Lies

Come on guys! Why do you keep doing this to yourselves? Every time something new comes out, some in this fandom forget everything else we’ve learned, and have a full fledged freak out. I honestly don’t think the situation is as bad as the narrative leads us to believe.

I have avoided saying this, because it sounds awful, but it’s the truth, so I’m going to say it…The Entertainment Industry, as a whole, but especially the Music Industry turns their artists into professional liars. The Artists don’t lie to us because they want to, they do it because they have to.

Here’s the honest truth. In the Music Industry, the only thing that’s important, even more important than the music, is the narrative and Image of the Artist. The Industry has proven time and time again, that talent isn’t everything. There have been plenty of money made by artists, that in all honesty, couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Yet, they become successful money makers, because of the Image and the narrative sold to the public.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

no other artist does listening parties like taylor and then they wonder why theres nothing but leaks about the album online right after it happened...meanwhile taylor does the secret sessions and if i remember correctly, besides fans saying how good 1989 was and different generic stuff like that, NOTHING leaked about the album. THATS how you do it

There’s this quote in the NPR interview Taylor did during 1989 promo that I absolutely love.

“Well, yeah. I like for them to be in situations where they feel they can be themselves. Places they can’t be themselves are when they’re being pushed up against a barricade and there are thousands of them outside of a talk show, and they’re trying to get a picture but they’re screaming and everybody’s freaking out. They can’t necessarily be themselves when they’re in these chaotic situations where fans usually find themselves. […] We spent four hours together each night, taking Polaroids and having a great time and giving them a chance to tell me their stories that they wanted to tell in their own time. Not being rushed. Not having to feel panic. And then they went back out into the world, and they kept those promises.”

And I think that’s exactly it. No rush. No panic. It’s personal. It’s intimate. It’s raw and honest, and I think that’s reflected in the one on one conversations she had with fans there, and what they were willing to open up about to her, and how she was willing to confide and engage back. It wasn’t just to hype an album. It was, “I’m here for you, I’ve been here for you, and you for me. So now I’m going to talk, and tell you my thoughts and feelings and about the last two years, both in words and in music, and you’re going to talk and tell me the same, and we’re both going to listen, and then we’re going to keep that between us as we go back out into the world.” It hit hard because it came after a really trying time for her, and a tough one for the fans too when we were doing everything we could to help her and sometimes she just felt really far away. But it worked, and just like she held the secrets of the people she met there, they kept hers too. Amazing. No one else could ever.

BTS Reaction: After The Breakup

Jin:

It had been a week since the two of you broke up. Things between the two of you weren’t the same. He was traveling all around the world living his dream, while you were finishing off school. His hectic schedule and the distance was just too much and you decided to end it. It’s not what you wanted but it was for the best. Jin had finished his concert. The concert you were going to attend. Once he got back stage he began to cry. He couldn’t stand not being with you. The boys came to comfort him, but it wasn’t enough. He just wanted you.


Yoongi:

You had just gotten into a fight with Yoongi. You and Yoongi had been dating for almost a year and he decided to dump you out of the blue. You didn’t know why, but Yoongi did. You’re relationship was too good. You were too good to him. He believed that he would eventually mess up, lose you and get hurt. So what was his solution? He broke up with you. He watched as you packed your things and left, holding back his tears. After you had left he could not hold them anymore and slid down the wall, bursting into tears.


Namjoon:

 

The both of you knew it would have to end soon. It was getting too hard to even text. He was super busy and you were super busy. The both of you sat down together and talked it out. Yes there was screaming and tears, but in the end you both came to a consensus. There was no pointed fingers. You were calmly sleeping when your phone started to blow up. You had thousands of twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, and text messages. You opened your best friends message. You found a video of BTS on stage, on that exact night. The performance was of Butterfly. You smiled throughout the entire song, until Namjoon showed up on your screen, crying. You could hear the passion in his words, making you cry.

Hoseok:

The two of you had not been together for two months. After you broke up, hoseok didn’t cry, he just consumed himself in his work. He was working in the studio when Yoongi came. He had noticed how he didn’t wallow after the two of you broke up. The moment Yoongi mentioned you, hoseok froze. Hearing your name for the first time in a while, broke him. He started crying in front of Yoongi. He explained how he felt empty without you and the only way to fill the emptiness was to consume himself with work.

Jimin: 

You broke up with him. You were a fool to think Jimin could give you that. He was touring the entire time. You broke up with the night he came back from tour. Jimin knew it was coming. He left your apartment right after and walked to the nearest bar. He drank and drank until he could forget your name. He drank so much that he got into a fight because of nothing. Namjoon found Jimin in the bar bleeding. He dragged him all the way to their place. Jimin started crying in the elevator, desperately calling for you.

Taehyung: 

Taeh and you were everybody’s favorite couple. The adorable boy loved you with his entire heart, so he didn’t understand why you broke up with him. You came into his place looking like you had just cried for hours, which you had. You were scared that Taeh would leave you, you could not bare to think that he would break your heart like the last guy did. You didn’t want to break up with him, but you did. The next day Taeh and the boys were eating when a fan came up to Taeh and asked about you. He held in his tears and said you were back home. Right after the fan left he began to cry to the boys.

Jungkook: 

The both of you were so happy in your relationship. Jungkooks family loved you so much, but your family did not. They thought that he was going to cheat on you. It was bound to happen since he was famous right? Doubts filled your head every day. You started to distance yourself from Jungkook. You didn’t answer his texts or calls. One day you stopped talking to him. No one knew about this, so when the boys mentioned you in an interview jungkook broke down in front of the boys and the fans.

Rebelcaptain arranged royal marriage AU

Expanded version of this story available here: (x)


He smiles too easily–automatic and on cue; she smiles too little, expression flat or angry when it is not otherwise shuttered. And today is no different. It just happens to be their wedding day.

“Scowl if you want under your veil, dear,” her mother pleads. “But smile when the cameras are on. Do it for us. For the country.”

At the entrance to the church she takes his arm; at the altar they take each other’s hands. Their first kiss come in front of a thousand screaming subjects to a constitutional monarchy that has no power, and at night, they retreat to their separate bedrooms in a house they are supposed to share for the rest of their lives.

Jyn Erso thinks of all the little girls all over the world who dream of being a princess. She wishes she could tell them the truth about it–of the way it stifles her like a bird in a cage–about how, even when the prince is a handsome as Cassian Andor is, it isn’t a fairy tale with a happy ending, not when you are forced to get married and you don’t even know each other.

+

He’s aristocracy and not royalty, and to some people it makes a difference, but he’s her husband now, and Jyn chafes at the little dropped comments because an insult to him is an insult to her. Anyway, where were they going to find her a marriageable prince in this day and age who also had important ties between her country and his?

But the insults roll off him like water from a duck’s back, and she’ll admit–there’s some grudging respect.

And he’s respectful of her and her space and her desires. He keeps to his room; she to hers. At some point she knows there will be talk of heirs, but the future of the country hardly rests on that these days, and Jyn takes a deep breath–she does understand her duty. She’s simply in no rush to get knocked up and swollen-footed quite yet.

Cassian keeps busy and does well to showcase his dedication to his new nation. The pet projects start small and uncontroversial: feeding hungry children; emphasis on locally farmed foods. And a their first year goes by, he moves outside the carefully constructed bubble of proper royal PR: he spearheads the creation of an innocence project to free those wrongly convicted of crimes; he throws his support behind relief efforts for refugees entering the country. She watches work and move, and she suddenly feels like the man who was the stranger across from her at the dinner table is something worth knowing–someone she was lucky to know.

+

Her father’s old friend from uni is a pill and a creepy old man, and though he insists that she still call him “Uncle Orson,” his designs toward her have always been less than familial. The first time he visits since her marriage, he lobs barbs and insults in Cassian’s direction. Cassian takes it as he does everything else–with that easy smile, automatic and on cue, but she sees the fire in his eyes and the anger that simmers there. It makes her feel strange, makes heat pool in her belly, makes her stare at him a beat too long so that he catches her in the act.

As the evening party finally nears its agonizing end, she finds Cassian in the libray with an arm pressed against Uncle Orson’s neck. His body is all coiled tension, the muscles strained and screaming threat. The sound of her footsteps draws his attention and his arm drops. Jyn stares into the darkness and watches the their silhouettes move like shadow puppets in the final act.

Half the words are whispers unheard, but she hears snippets–say what you will of me; say her name again and I will kill you–and Orson is gone and out the door without a second glance.

“What happened?” she asks, but his eyes burn into her, and she has to look away.

“Don’t ask,” he says.

+

But of course she asks. She’s Jyn Erso. She’s his wife.

The servants are all asleep or at home, and when the lights are all out she pads from her room to his.

“What happened?” she asks, and his lights are on and he’s barefoot and awake. Cassian has on a soft gray t-shirt and linen pajama pants. It’s the most undressed she’s ever seen him, she realizes.

He shakes his head and she doesn’t accept it as an answer.

“Is it what I think?” she asks, coming to sit down beside him on the bed.

“Am I allowed to know what you think? Am I supposed to know?” His voice is gentle, but the inquiry still stings. When did she start to care? She wasn’t supposed to. That hadn’t been the plan.

“I think you do.”

Cassian runs his hand through his hair. It’s still stiff with product, but Jyn likes how it looks on him. “I don’t care what people say about me. I”m used to it. But when you start mouthing off and insulting the people I care about–it’s where I draw the line.”

Her heart thuds loudly in her chest, and he turns and looks at her like he can hear it. “You care about me?” she says.

His chin drops to his chest and he sighs. “Of course I do, Jyn. You’re my wife.”

“Just because I’m your wife?” she asks, and her hands have a mind of their own, and they inch toward his and find them clenching at the sheets. His eyes are so brown, she thinks, so sincere. How have I never noticed before?

He shakes his head, and that’s all that she needs to rise to her feet so that she can turn and straddle his lap. Her lips part, and she can’t stop staring at his mouth, but she’s waiting–for his response, for him to push her off and send her out, but his free hand finds her instead, cups her cheek, fingers sliding down the column of her neck and tracing the vulnerable hollow where her breaths fly out fast and shallow.

“Kiss me, Cassian,” she says, and it’s the truth she’s been hiding from herself, the desire she’s bottled up out of sheer stubbornness and fear. But he’s a good man, and he doesn’t leave her waiting.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he tells her when he has to break the kiss for air. She squirms in his arms, desiring nothing from him but more, more, more.

“I have too,” she pants, and he spill her onto the bed, boneless and wanting, and they share with each other the details of their dreams.

Bellarke Sleeping Headcanons

Inspired by the new episode, obvz.

  • Clarke and Bellamy start sharing a bed when they’re not official and supposed to be just friends but no one ever questions it. They both sleep better with the other and it eventually becomes a co-dependent thing.
  • Clarke can go days on end without sleep and not show a single crack. She’s used to it, since she’s been helping her mother in the med-bay from age eleven.
  • Bell is the polar opposite. He was always a smart kid, but he never got up early because he cut classes on the Ark to look after Octavia. Bellamy can be a real grumpy bastard when he hasn’t slept properly so the Guard learn to avoid tasking Bellamy with back-to-back shifts.
  • Most of the time, Clarke is the little spoon. It’s practical because Bellamy likes to hold Clarke and Clarke likes the feeling of Bellamy at her back. But if Bellamy is already asleep when Clarke comes in, Clarke seizes the opportunity to be the big spoon. She puts her head between Bell’s shoulder blades. He complains that her nose digs into his spine but he secretly loves it. 
  • Bellamy is a pro at napping. The couch, the Rover, a tree, the floor, his desk, the kitchen table, literally anywhere. Any amorous couple have to check before they do the do in a store cupboard incase Bellamy is in there sleeping, after a previous case in point with Monty and Harper.
  • Bellamy’s napping can be a problem for Clarke when he’s obstructing where she wants to be but she hardly ever moves him because she thinks it’s cute asf.
  • They both have nightmares. Bellamy gets sweaty and his eyes roll but he never makes a sound. Clarke develops night terrors by the time Skaikru actually get some semblance of peace. It doesn’t matter how many times it happens, waking up to Clarke screaming always scares the hell out of Bellamy.
  • Because of her night terrors, Clarke can have trouble going to sleep. Sometimes, to distract herself, she’ll peruse Bellamy, tracing his facial features, curling his hair around her fingers, running her hand down his chest. 99% of the time, Bellamy is awake but pretending not to be. 
  • If one of them is ill, the other stays up through the night to watch over them, even if it’s completely irrational. The eventual Griffin-Blake kids get the same treatment, except Clarke and Bellamy take turns. 
  • Clarke has a thousand drawings of Bell when he’s asleep. To her, it’s when he looks most content.
  • Right up until the day he dies, Bellamy sleeps with a knife, just under the bed where he can grab it quickly. No amount of persuading from Clarke convinces him to stop but he never once uses it. 
Unbreakable (Part 3)

———————————————————————————————————
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Torture, Swearing, Abduction
A/N: Prompt. Part 1. Part 2. Finally! This part took me so long to write… I’m so happy I finally managed to get it done! I hope you guys are still enjoying this, because I know I am! Let me know what you think!
———————————————————————————————————

Still slumped on the hard floor of the roof, Bucky let the sounds of the busy city below wash over him. He had no idea how he would even begin to earn your forgiveness; he wasn’t even sure he deserved it, but he was going to damn well try. Letting his head fall back against the wall, a shaky breath left his lips, the images of your past flickering in his vision. He couldn’t get the look of fear on your face out of his mind, both the one of the young child, and the one he had caused mere hours ago. The suffocating guilt quickly became too much, forcing him off the ground and out of the building.

Walking aimlessly through the bustling city, Bucky fumbled in his pockets for the familiar rectangular object he always went for when he was stressed out. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he flipped open his lighter, cupping his hand around the flame as he lit it. Taking in a deep breath, Bucky let the smoke billow out of his mouth.

He knew he’d fucked up. He’d let his pride and ego guide his actions, all because he couldn’t admit to anyone but himself how he truly felt. Bucky had fallen for you the moment he’d met you. He’d fallen for your razor-sharp wit and the way your smile could light up any room you entered, but most of all, he’d fallen for the way that you treated him just like anyone else. You were the only person he’d met in a long time that didn’t look at him with either pity or fear, and that meant the absolute world to him.

“You know, smoking kills.” The familiar deep drawl of Natasha’s voice crooned from the alleyway Bucky had been walking past.

“Doubt this’ll be what kills me…” he muttered in response, stopping in his tracks to face the red-head. “What are you doing here, Romanoff?”

“Could ask you the same thing Barnes.” she said, smirking at his confused expression, “Why did you leave the tower in such a hurry? Running away from your problems?”

“Not this time…” he said, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Good. So, what are you doing wandering through New York in the middle of the night?” Natasha asked, kicking off the wall she’d been leaning against.

“Getting some air.” Bucky said with a sigh, “I know I have to fix this, I just don’t know how.”

“Well, being there is a start.” Natasha said, her usually harsh-sounding voice taking on a softer tone.

Meanwhile…

Sliding down your bedroom door, you brought your hands up to your face, finally let out the sob you’d been holding in all night. After the events at the pool, then your nightmare, and finally your run-in with Bucky, you were exhausted: mentally, physically, completely. Letting the tears run freely down your cheeks, you couldn’t control the flames that began to curl around your body. In your unstable condition, you could quickly feel the fire getting out of control, licking up the walls and along the floorboards.

The sound of the tower’s fire alarms going off rang through the room, the sprinklers being activated shortly afterwards. Yet even the new-and-improved Stark sprinkler system couldn’t put out the flames that were beginning to engulf the room. As the fire grew, your tears fell at an even faster rate, fear fuelling the raging inferno.

What if you hurt someone? If you couldn’t control the fire then no one could. You didn’t want your friends or the innocent people in the tower to be hurt, or worse, killed, just because you were having a mental breakdown. Suddenly, a loud banging on your bedroom door caused your head to snap up.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice travelled through the reinforced door, followed by the sound of him coughing and wheezing. “Y/N? Are you in there? We need to get out of here, now!”

“Steve?” you managed to whisper shakily, your nails digging into the bare skin of your thighs.

“Y/N! Thank god!” Steve said, the relief clear in his voice, “The whole tower’s being evacuated; FRIDAY set off the emergency protocol.”

“Steve, you need to go, now!” you responded urgently, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to regain any ounce of control.

“What? Y/N? No! It’s too dangerous to be in the tower right now, I’m not leaving you in here alone!” he said, his captain voice coming out as he tried to convince you to leave.

“Steve! It’s me! I’m the danger, I can’t… I can’t control it… Please, I don’t want to hurt you!” you wept, the tears turning to steam as they rolled down your scorching skin.

“Y/N…”

“Steve! Go!” you yelled, letting out a shaky breath as you heard his retreating steps.

You had resigned yourself to your fate. Though the fire wouldn’t kill you, the building collapsing would. All you could hope for was that no one else got hurt along the way. If those you loved were safe, then you were happy to die here alone. Feeling your energy slowly drain away, you let out a shaky scream as the fire took hold, ripping through you like a thousand bullets. Whimpering in pain, you let your head drop to your knees, your eyes fluttering shut as the flames danced behind your eyelids.

———————————————————————————————————
Tag List:
@itskatiejames98, @missmalfoy1703, @dracodormiensnunquamtitillandush, @brandinicole911@thatonerenegade, @tired-alpaca, @artprincessbree, @greasepan, @thxsoldixr, @paranoid-borderline-insane@geeky-girl-394, @megandrawsspace, @llain37naroh, @gunsmoke-blu, @marvel-kiss,   @iamwarrenspeace@becauseifuckingcan, @ballerinafairyprincess, @kapolisradomthoughts, @chikin-friggin-nuggz, @night-persona@cassandras-musings@masevaldez@pinkhappypanda, @graysonmalfoy, @mp938368, @piercetheveilthatgrows, @bobabucky, @supernaturalisbae1, @katie27hp@sassmasterqueen, @chameerah, @ballerinafairyprincess, @shamvictoria11, @theepicbvbninja, @baskinrobinsalwaysfindsout 

Unbreakable Tag List (NOW CLOSED):
@wantingtobekorra, @cecifina, @buckyismyaesthetic, @annalisestark, @laurykat23, @bexboo616, @bad-wolf87, @burrbbery, @hillrich, @geeky-girl-394@fxckmebuck@cheeeeeseits@melconnor2007@noeypiiepiie, @juliabrghs, @annie-are-u-ok, @girlwith100names, @winchesterandpie, @sergeant-barnes-and-his-captain, @glitterintheairblog, @obsessedtmifangirl, @a-girl-who-loves-disney, @hollycornish, @salliebley, @genlovesdcb,       @buckyappreciationsociety, @happylilwhore, @pressigh, @abbybills22, @zombienatty89-blog, @becomeonewithbob, @aknerdchick, @mssquared42, @bobabucky, @thefiregypsy, @rowedtheboat, @smile-sugar, @tova0731, @writingmarcy, @sammskellington, @whyisbuckyso, @gingerbatchwife, @satansknittingclub, @damnbuckyishot@supernatural-pants, @carameldaemoncakes 

(If you want to be tagged, then send me a message HERE letting me know which imagines you’d like to be tagged in!)

P.S- Thankyou to my wonderful beta readers who helped me with this one! @masevaldez, @iobeyfandoms, @visiblethirdspace, @ainsley-hayes-seaborn, @caitlyn221b

As Usual

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Business!Baron, what’s not to love? Tagging our usual suspects of @tox-moxley and @oraclegazes, as well as the head of the Baron’s Bitches Pack, @writergrrrl29 and but of course it would not be Thirst Party Saturday without our Steerforth, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!


Keep reading

we live for love

We Live For Love

It was a short ride on the 6 train to Canal Street – just steps from Claire’s fourth floor walk-up apartment on Mott Street.

“It’s not much,” she told him, voice echoing in the stairwell, laughing at how his guitar case bounced off the narrow walls. “But it’s been a sanctuary for me.”

“I didn’t realize you lived so close to the social club,” he replied, nodding a hello to the old, wizened woman who appeared at one of the doorways.

“Claire!” she exclaimed. “How are you? And who is *this*?”

Claire stooped to give the woman a quick hug. “Hi, Mrs. Fitz – this is Jamie. He’s the guitar player in my band.”

Mrs. Fitz raised one faded eyebrow. “Oh, is he? Well, Claire – you’ve certainly done well for yourself! Accomplishing your dreams, and meeting this nice-looking man…”

“We’re going to rehearse a bit – I hope it won’t bother you?” Jamie interrupted.

“Oh! No! I’ll be fine!”

Then she winked at Claire. “You have a good night, now!”

Claire took Jamie’s hand and pulled him up the final flight of stairs – not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to talk about it.

God, they *had* to talk about it. About whatever – this – was between them.

Jamie swallowed as Claire unlocked her door and pushed it open. The lyrics of the song – she was a smart woman. She would figure it out instantly.

And then what?

Claire flicked the lightswitch, revealing a small, dated, but very cozy apartment. The door opened to her living room – a couch, dining table, battered TV, and easy chair. A small kitchen curved off to the right – and what had to be her bedroom and bathroom off to the left.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked softly.

He licked his lips. “Um – no. No thanks. Where can I set up?”

He set down his guitar case and slipped out of his leather jacket, laying it gently on the couch.

“I’ll make us some tea – it helps relax my voice after a long day. And why don’t you get set up at the table? I won’t be long.”

She flitted into the kitchen and he heard her turn on the stove, fishing around in the cupboard.

He wasn’t a tea drinker – but he’d do anything for her.

As he sifted in his guitar case, his eyes darted around the apartment.

Posters of art adorned the walls – the Impressionists, mostly. Promotional posters from her favorite Broadway shows, too. And a bookshelf crammed with all kinds of books – musical scores, science fiction novels, cookbooks. With a few framed photographs.

Everything was small – compact. Comfortable.

He lay the three pieces of paper side by side. The sweat on his thumb smudged the notes he’d penciled in the margins.

And there she was, holding two steaming mugs, smiling at him.

She set the mugs in the middle of the table, pushing one over to him.

“Thanks.”

He cleared his throat.

“So – I’ve been writing for a while. All kinds of songs – rock songs, jazz songs, blues songs. But none of them are right for you, Claire. None are right for your voice – or for what the band is doing.”

She wrapped her hands around her mug, sipping her tea. Waiting.

“So I wrote this song for you, Claire. I – I’ve never shared it with anyone before. But I think it’s perfect for you. And I think we should show it to MacNab tomorrow, and I’ll be damned if he won’t let us record it.”

Her cheeks flushed – from the tea, or his words, he couldn’t say.

But he *could* start to play. So he clenched his fingers, settled his guitar on his knees, and played the song.

He didn’t need the papers spread out in front of him – for he had played the song so many times already.

It was raw, to be sure. Would be very different when they played with the band, compared to the acoustic guitar he was using. And his voice was more than an octave below hers.

But it would work.

Eight bars of intro – then he began to sang.

Your love’s contagious // One kiss is dangerous

But I have more to risk // Than you to lose

I feel a passion growing

I know that love is only just one inch away from striking us

His voice rose into the chorus – the chorus he knew she would sing so beautifully.

We live for love

We live for love

We live for love

We live for love

Jamie’s eyes bore into Claire’s. She had set down her tea – one hand covering her mouth, the other resting on her heart.

Two more bars – then the next verse.

When we get tired // And watch the summer fade away

Will you think of romance? // What will we do?

Is there a place where we can go?

Where time stands still for those who know?

Till eternity we’ll fulfill our desires

Then the chorus again. And Claire – beautiful, strong, courageous Claire – began singing in harmony with him.

We live for love

We live for love

We live for love

We live for love

He didn’t have a third verse – couldn’t think of how to continue.

Not when she was singing with him – singing the words he had written for her.

He strummed his guitar, hoping he hadn’t made a big mistake, watching her.

Hoping with every fiber in his being that he hadn’t screwed up.

So finally he ended – plucking all six strings with a flourish.

And for an eternity she stared at him – not moving.

Then – slowly, dreamlike – she stood, and walked over to him. Reached out one hand to caress his cheek. He leaned into the palm of her hand, closing his eyes.

And she bent to kiss him.

Sometime later, Claire woke, untangled herself from Jamie’s arms, slipped his t-shirt over her bare shoulders, and staggered to the bathroom.

Quickly she fumbled for the lipstick on the sink, scribbling on the mirror.

Jamie sleepily padded in a few minutes later, yawning, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her to nestle against him, squinting at the mirror.

“I wrote the third verse,” she said softly, gasping a bit as he sucked on her neck.

“Mm?” he asked, grinding his pelvis against the small of her back. “Read it to me?”

She sighed, so happy.

I never planned to win the race

But you convinced me face to face

There was never a chance of losing at all

“Never a chance, hmm?” he murmured in her ear.

“Never.” She turned in his arms – taking in his tousled hair and the stubble on his chin.

This man was perfection – in every way.

“There was never a chance of us not ending up right here, right now. Together.”

He smiled. His heart raced under her fingertips as he bent down for a long, slow, sweet kiss.

“I love you, Claire.” He framed her face in his hands, eyes boring into hers. “I love you. I pledge myself to you. I will be whatever you need. I will be by your side always.”

“Even when I want to kick your ass, and yell and scream at you?” she teased.

“Even then. Especially then.”

She lifted her arms – and he helped her out of his t-shirt. She jumped into his arms – and clung to him as he walked them back to bed, kissing madly all the way.

Rob MacNab looked to Murtagh FitzGibbons and Joe Abernathy.

Jamie and Claire took a small bow, exhilarated from their first performance of “We Live For Love.”

The three older men nodded to each other – and clapped.

They finally had a bona fide hit for their bona fide rock and roll singer.

Ian and Willie whooped with joy.

And Claire – not caring – leaned over to kiss Jamie’s smile.

“We Live For Love” was the debut single – and raced up the charts to become the fastest-selling number one record of 1981.

They toured the northeast – and then the country – and then the world.

The album produced hit after hit after hit.

They played sold-out crowds, with thousands of men and women screaming and cheering for them. Singing with them.

Especially the final song in their set every night – the one that Jamie always introduced with the same words: “You know what this song is – and it’s a favorite of ours, because it’s the first I wrote for her.”

Her – Claire Fraser.

His muse – his light.

His wife.


Pat Benatar - We Live For Love. The first song written for her by her guitarist - and later husband - Neil Giraldo. They’ve been married since 1982. This story is based on their story.

anonymous asked:

Continuing on that 5H reunion concert idea the other anon presented. Imagine there's one but like at first everyone thinks its just gonna be LAND & they start it off with them singing some songs from 5H3 & 5H4 (if they get there) & ppl are enjoying themselves but they also wanna hear the old songs where 5H started & then out of nowhere you hear Camila's voice singing the beginning of MMO & in comes our girl & thousands of ppl start screaming & that night becomes one of the best nights ever!!!

Why anon???? WHY???

Grantaire rhymes with “anniversaire”

So it is (was) @deboracabral‘s birthday, so here is a little piece about Enjolras and Grantaire celebrating Grantaire’s birthday! (Featuring Enjolras being a Good Boyfriend™)

Grantaire shuffled slightly, sleepy noises companying his quest for the cold spot of the pillow. Even with his eyes closed, he knew the sun was already up, but he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it just yet. Just one minute. Just one hour.

Something touched his cheek, pressing against it ever so gently. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open, stuggling against the light.

“Joyeux anniversaire,” a familiar voice sang softly. Grantaire could feel a warm little breeze blowing againt his ear. “Joyeux anniversaire. Joyeux anniversaire, Grantaire. Joyeux anniversaire.”

His vision was blurry, but he could still make out the outline of a face surrounded by a golden halo of hair. A dopey smile lazily stretched his lips. Above him, Enjolras smiled as well.

“I would have slept in a suit, if I had known,” Grantaire said, his voice made somewhat raspy with sleep.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light, lifting up the blurry veil hanging in front of him. Enjolras was still in his pajamas, looking down at him with a bright smile. Many strands of hair had escaped his ponytail during the night and now flowed freely on his shoulders, sticking out in every direction. They shone in the sunlight like a thousand golden threads.

“How are you feeling?”

“A quarter of a century old,” Grantaire yawned, settling comfortably against the pillows.

“I can’t relate,” Enjolras teased.

Keep reading

things that make me emotional in hamilton
  • philip you would like it uptown, it’s quiet uptown
  • have i done enough? 
  • my life is gon’ be fine cause eliza’s in it
  • freedom for america, freedom for france
  • you really do write like you’re running out of time
  • i may not live to see our glory
  • i did exactly as you said pa
  • WASHington is WATCHing from the other side
  • at least i’ll keep his eyes in my life
  • the orphanaaage
  • george washington’s going home
  • with my last idea; i shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world
  • let future historians wonder how eliza reacted when you broke her heart
  • history obliterates, in every picture it paints it paints me and all my mistakes
  • i see george washington smile
  • this man will not make an orphan of my daughter
  • i love my sister more than anything in this life. i will choose her happiness over mine everytime
  • i stop wasting time on tears. i live another fifty years. it’s not enough
  • i don’t want you
  • HAMILTON WROTE THE OTHER FIFTY-ONE
  • i have so much work to do
  • why? if not to take deadly aim? 
  • you, you, you
  • i couldn’t seem to die (wait for it) 
  • then i turn and see my sister’s face and she is helpleeess
  • we won !!
  • eliza, do you like it uptown? it’s quiet uptown
  • he will never be satisfied. i will never be satisfied
  • his poor wife
  • i’m willing to wait for it
  • ,
  • he aims his pistol at the sky- WAIT
  • i wanna sit under my own vine and fig tree, a moment alone in the shade, at home in this nation we’ve made
  • i’m not here for you
  • i remember that night, i just might regret that night for the rest of my days
  • hey. best of wives and best of women
  • tens of thousands of people flood the streets, there are screams and church bells ringing
  • america, you great unfinished symphony, you sent for me. you let me make a difference, a place where even orphan immigrants can leave their fingerprints and rise up