but rock is about the passion man

Breaking Bad was such a wonderful show that it naturally generated a fervent fan base, some of them so passionate, they actually went into the meth-making business. Fans who couldn’t cut it cooking the blue stuff had to get by simply sharing their thoughts about the show online – and the results were almost as deranged. One popular observation noted by fans was that Walt seemed to adopt character traits from the people he killed, such as cutting the crusts off of his sandwiches after offing Crazy 8, or drinking whiskey on the rocks after he killed Mike (he was a rocks-less man before that).

When the show flashed forward in time in its final season, fans hip to that theory predicted that the story would end in the most messed-up manner possible: with Walt killing his wife, Skyler, and his faithful meth-cooking partner, Jesse. They came to that chilling conclusion after seeing Future Walt using the pseudonym “Lambert”, which any pause button fetishist will tell you was Skyler’s maiden name on their divorce papers.

And if Mr. Lambert’s jacket looked familiar, it should: It’s a lot like the one Jesse used to wear.

Wearing Jesse’s jacket, using Skyler’s name – it all seems to point to a finale where Walt murders them both, then eases his bloodlust with a Denny’s Grand Slam. For better or worse, that never happened.

5 Mind Bending Fan Theories About Famous TV Shows

The Second Coming - WB Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
   The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
   Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
   Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
   The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
   The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
   The best lack all conviction, while the worst
   Are full of passionate intensity.

   Surely some revelation is at hand;
   Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
   The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
   When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
   Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
   A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
   A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
   Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
   Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

   The darkness drops again but now I know
   That twenty centuries of stony sleep
   Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
   And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
   Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

—  The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
Maybe I’m not Latino enough. My Spanish has always been broken the same way my knowledge of my own culture has been. And my voice has never been one that instilled the notion that I am a person of color raised in rough corners of Philadelphia. I listen to rock music and write poetry when I’m expected to give a shit about athletes whose names I can’t remember and cars I know I’ll never be able to fix with my own hands. The same hands that silently dry my own tears when my heart breaks since being a Latin man means you’re passionate but never show signs of weakness. So I am Latino enough? Or is my skin a few shades too lite where I can pass for a person with far more privilege? I just want to know where I belong. I’m too brown for the white kids and too white for the brown kids. Maybe I’ll never be Latino enough for your definition. The truth of the matter is that it’s in my veins so cut me open and you’ll see my island and my people.
—  CO
If you are an AC/DC fan take some time to read this

This is about Brian. The man who saved ac dc from disbanding , the man who amazed Bon Scott with his voice. He has been with this band for more than 30 years and he rocked everyone’s ass with Back in black, For those about to rock , the razors edge etc. Apart from having the voice of a devil, running on the stage like it’s a fucking marathon he kept ac dc going for a long long time. If it wasn’t for him i would’t have fallen in love with ac dc …… His passion just amazes me, and now, it’s time to say goodbye. I knew this day was coming… This morning I was in tears when i read that he is leaving because of his hearing problems. On one hand it’s saddening, on the other hand… what a baddas mode to be an artist. He sang till his eardrums dropped. He gave us rock or bust as the last album after Mal left, and ……what a beautiful way to say goodbye . IN ROCK WE TRUST, it’s rock or bust ! Ac dc is forever in our hearts. Get well old man, keep your passion and one day maybe we’ll see you hitting the stage again ! Love you brian, Bon would be so proud of you!

okay hear me out: a romantic sitcom starring the daughters of Steve/Bucky and Sam/Natasha. 

Steve and Bucky’s little girl being, like, the literal embodiment of who Bucky used to be before the war. She’s such a little asshole but she’s also super soft and chubby and wears crop tops with her american flag shorts and she can’t run a mile but holy shit she’s super passionate about everything and f i e s t y just like Steve. She’s probably the front man for a band that exclusively covers anti-war protest songs.

Sam and Nat’s daughter is 100% the most supportive person in the world (just like her dad), but she’s also, like, 6ft tall and crazy smart with the killer looks of her mom. She’s got freckles and a gap tooth (@Sam) and rocks her natural hair. She’s head of the school’s academic team and debate club and volunteers as a gymnastics coach for little kids during the weekend. 

They’re super gay for eachother and wear suits to prom B Y E

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

- William Butler Yeats

Little AU I’ve been thinking about. I’ve seen some adorable band type AUs and I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head!

Hater is a one man 80′s rock band with little to no fanbase (except Peepers who instantly fell in love with Hater’s passion and became his roadie) and Wander, an indie musician who seems to make fans wherever he plays (he just enjoys playing music and seeing people enjoy his music) Haven’t figured out where Sylvia would be in all this, probably his manager.

Wander sees Hater playing at a venue and instantly gravitates falls head over heels  towards him, accidentally stealing the spotlight almost every time.

And that’s all I got…also song is You make me swoon by the The Two Man Gentlemen Band

This Is The End of What I Have. Rob Benedict Love Forever!

These two are the definition of best friends.

Rob Benedict hand appreciation.

So Misha asked his kid if we anted to go with the “strange-bearded man,” I would’ve said yes.

Just the King of Hell and God having a good time together.

Stardust and Melancholy literally have great photography skills!

Apparently Rob smells like “leather and fear.”

The Rock God in leather.

Showing some skin there Robbie ;)

He has dreams about him being naked at conventions. We do too.

The prettiest Queen.

Veins, mouth, talents, beauty.

@spnackleholicswainer @crazysocklovingfangirl @totallysupernaturaloneshots  @i-dont-understand-that-url @baritonechick @samanthasmileys @sammys-angel @dont-hate-relate-pls @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll  @thatone67chevyimpala @thegameison97 @growningupgeek @uniquelyobsessed @fangirl1802 @johngirl-207 @robbenedictfanclub @robbenedictandco @robben-addicted @ashiewesker @robbenedictxreader @ellienovak @passionate-ranting-fangirl @psycho-moose-sammy

Humans are supposed to be made of stardust, or is that just another story my grandmother tells the children to make them feel better? But oh wouldn’t that be fitting, all of un once belonging to great big balls of burning rocks before one ridiculous explosion. A boom that spread our dirt all over the univers. That shit’s so poetic it hurts. It’s like candy to a girl like me. So why can’t tonight’s poetry be about stardust souls and fiery beautiful hearts? Instead I’m sitting bitter as an old man on a sagging porch without the whiskey. I’m scribbling about cracked heads instead of broken hearts and claws racing down backs in fury rather than passion. Maybe tomorrow I’ll write about falling fire smiles or burning ember love. Just not tonight. Not tonight.
—  A.O.A.M || Bitter
VS: The Blue Bomber

The tournament bustles with excitement; the crowd’s barely contained ecstasy fills the air.

And Meta knight has never felt so alive.

It’s all in good sport; he’d never lay a hand on Rock out of battle –in fact he had grown rather fond of the blue bomber.
But here in the Stadium…he’s going to sweep the floor with him.

He doesn’t know what about the Tournaments appealed to Mega man.
He hopes for the robot’s sake that it was more than just fighting for a trophy.
As far as he is concerned, the little rewards are nice, but the sheer rush of battle, the cheering, the preciseness, the talent needed, the thrill…

Meta knight doesn’t understand the phrase “Trade your passion for glory.”

He can hear Master Hand’s booming voice announcing the battle, and he is so very ready. He is a barely-restrained race horse, held back by the thin gate that is Master Hand’s “okay.”

He shifts his weight, looking dead on at Rock, both looking forward to seeing that arsenal in action, and wondering if Rock is as confident as he is. 

I wish you luck, newcomerI’m going to tear you to shreds.