i've been listening to her all week


every musical i can get my hands on: once upon a mattress (2005)
     “You can recognize a lady by her elegant air, but a genuine princess is exceedingly rare.”

anonymous asked:

I've seen some critique Cait's interview with Seth Meyers last night and it's extremely frustrating. She has relentlessly promoted Outlander for two weeks. She has been professional, engaging and enthusiastic. She's also nailed it on nearly all of her outfits. And finally she has a great rapport with Seth, which means he'll invite her back for Outlander or other projects. Rant over, thanks for listening!!

Really? I enjoyed it a lot, especially because she wasn’t talking about the same old things. He kept it fresh and he genuinely likes her and makes her feel at ease so there’s no awkwardness. 

guineapigwithaflamethrower  asked:

I've been listening to "Wicked Girls" on endless repeat for a couple weeks now (the song, not the album), and I just have lots of feelings about Susan and the way fandom has embraced her - took something that C.S. Lewis shamed her for and went "fuck that, we love Susan, here are all the ways she lives a badass life after Narnia" and, I don't know, it moves something really deep inside me every time I think about that, and your Susan verse kind of makes me cry every time I hear it. So thank you.

You are so very welcome.


my sweet bby girl with her new brows ~ i’ve missed you guys so damn much, i cannot explain to you the fkin stress from these last weeks of the semester. but!! it’s finally over, all my finals are completed, and summer may now take me and hold me and let me stay up until 5am without any consequences <33


anonymous asked:

Concept #1: Yoongi and Jimin going on secret double dates with Duran and her gf (or 2seok going on double dates with jhopes sister and her gf) Concept #2: Jimin doing a vocal demo for Wine by Suran (or at least ym listening to it together on one of their wine dates) (sorry for this lmao it's emo hour for me so I've just been listening to Suran and reading fics also her new music video is beautiful and all I need in life) (p.s. I love your blog ^ω^)

i love this blessed message so much bc i Also stan suran’s entire existence and her new mv was made to save me personally from this ugly world plus ym and 2s is all i need in life !! concept #1 robin is surans gf (im jiwoos gf this has been settled before) and concept #2 I DESERVE THIS and it happens every week when they get the time (the wine dates are p frequent. joon told me dont spread it around though)

12. stranger things au

Beth was a dangerous choice for party leader, mostly to herself. You realized about half an hour in that you’d have to remind her to make any sort of check before barreling on through areas you’d spent all of the last week rigging up with the worst monsters in the handbook- you’re not exactly a kind DM, but she would have imm-ediately died had you not so generously suggested to check whether that first cave mouth meant cave or mouth (it just so happened to be the latter). It was not an isolated incident.
But she wasn’t bad. It’s not as though it was really a choice, either, since party leader wasn’t a thing, not properly; something about Beth just made it easy to fall in, to trust.

And so, it was no surprise that she would charge the Demogorgon straight on. This, you thought, might actually kill her, with the sort of low, buzzing excitement of that came from weeks of silent preparation. But Ali could heal her, you knew, and Sarah and Rachel were downright deadly if Beth gave them the time to get in range. Beth could be brazen, and that was a swinging gate straight to stupid, but she had the rest of you to pull her back from the edge.

You crawled for the dice after they’d scrambled back upstairs for their bikes to head home- Sarah always growled about how heavy Helena made the bike and how she made it hard to pedal, but she never stopped bringing her along, letting her dig her long nails into her shoulders for the ride- and herded them carefully into a cluster.
Seven. The Demogorgon would’ve gotten her, and bad.
Something about it made your heart skip just so, like there was the faintest stripe of static behind your eyes. But it wouldn’t count, you decided, sweeping the set into its bag, slumping back in your chair to study the board for a minute longer. You could hear the big autumn clouds shuffling their feet overhead, balking just beyond the trees, big whorls of cold and rain and static.

The way you find Delphine makes you feel like the universe had simply flipped a switch- like she and Beth were mutually exclusive, like they were two sides of an hourglass, trading sand.
The rain is coming down hard when you set out, sending your hair into your eyes and trailing down the inside of your windbreaker. Sarah and Ali are silent behind you, intent, tires crunching and sliding on the slick, dead leaves, Helena even quieter with her chin dug over Sarah’s shoulder.

The fences of Hnl web across the conifers at the end of Mirkwood, threatening and indistinct in the dark. You pass where Sheriff Art found Beth’s bike, big muddy footprints and tousled leaves filling up with rainwater, exhale, big and painful, and keep moving. The clouds crack like eggs against the sky and pour fast and cold and runny out over your heads, and Ali makes this high, upset sound in her throat, tugging at her hood.
The dark crowds in close with all the speed of autumn and you can barely see, but you think for a moment that the needle of your compass you’d attached to the handlebar jumps like a live wire in the corner of your eye. Your mouth dries out and you’re trying to detach your cotton-thick tongue to speak when Sarah hisses that she hears something, brakes sounding on the dirt, and Helena growls with her hair down in a big dirty blonde sheet. Ali makes this strangled sob as the bushes rattle around you- not Beth, not Beth- and you’re the only one not making sound but you’re losing the ability to parse it. Water’s running in your shoes and your eyes and all in your scalp and it’s like every sense is slowly draining out of you and into the ground.

When Delphine- not that you know her name yet- steps into the path of your bike lights, she’s barefoot and the big yellow Benny’s t-shirt is plastered to her arms, the prominent bones under her neck, like a skin being shed in reverse. You think she’s crying, but your body is ringing and hollow and her eyes are caverns in the dark and there‘s water everywhere and you‘re cold and she‘s even colder, so any tears bleed into the rain and the ground and the wet, dangerous air.

Her legs are pale and skinny and bent at the knees behind you as you pedal back up Mirkwood- Sarah had Helena to carry and Ali was trying not to choke still, and she’d molded around you easy and silent on the back of your bike, hunched with her forehead tipping against your shoulder blades on every downhill.

There’s a word- ORACLE- tattooed on the pale inside of her wrist tattooed in thin, sharp print, and when she catches your eyes she holds that arm to her chest, nervy nervy nervy.

“What does it mean?” You whisper. “Is”- you’re bordering on surreptitious- “is it your name?”

She shakes drying curls out like a dog.

“What is your name then? I- it doesn’t have to be your whole name, i just.” She looks through the curtain of damp strands at you, intense. You exhale. “Want something to call you.”

A blink, long, intended, like a cat’s. Like she has third eyelids and doesn’t need to, but wants to show she’s thinking.
“Delphine.” Her tongue is slow and heavy with the pronunciation, like it’s sticking to the back of her teeth, and you realize she has a French accent.

“Delphine. Okay.” You push the backs of your knees out to stand shakily again.
It’s decided rapidly that there is no telling parents- not yet, at least. Everyone can bike back easily without getting caught, but Helena takes up the back of Sarah’s bike and Ali can barely ride without her backpack tipping her over, so Delphine’s staying.
Not like you’d hoped for that, or anything.

You find some loose, dry clothes for her to put on, herding her into the bathroom. Her fingers slot, panicky, into the space between the frame and the door when you try to close it.
She breathes out shaky, dark eyes deep.

You swallow uneasiness and something wordless as salivation. “Okay.”
Teachers always praise you and Sarah elbows you for your vocabulary, but you haven’t said a single word longer than two syllables to Delphine. You don’t know if she even can.

When you set up a veritable nest under the big sturdy table against the wall, you have to crawl in first before she joins you. Doesn’t like confined spaces, you think. You’ll have to be careful not to crowd her, especially when you reconvene- Helena likes to examine things close up.
You have to promise, too, that you’ll come back.
“Promise,” you say, pressing your thumb into the center of her cold palm so her fingers curl around yours. “You’re not allowed to break it, or else.”

“Or else?” The whites of her eyes reappear like the receding edges of an eclipse.

“Or else. But friends don’t break them. Ever.” Delphine’s shaky on the definition of friend, too, but she sinks back down.

“And we’re….friends?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “We’re friends,” and her mouth stretches into a wavering grin like it’s another word you taught her. It always takes hours for your fingers and toes to stop feeling numb and tingly after you’re out in the rain, but your mind tips a little and you’re warm, like all the water you’d soaked in just turned to honey in the little hollows in your bones.
You’re not so certain you want your mom’s help anymore.

The Unspeakable Pleasure of an Unforgettable Kiss

Ten x Rose, rated T

This is a birthday present for @rudennotgingr. When I asked her what trope she wanted me to use, she said, “Can I have confined spaces?” I said she could have whatever was in my power to give–which sadly excludes a living Dave Tiler.

This was betaed by @sequencefairy and @tardis-scooter, who were a tremendous help. All mistakes are, of course, mine.

Happy birthday, Jesse! I promise, when I get the machine working, you’ll get Dave.

Two weeks after The Stone Rose, the Doctor has been unable to forget kissing Rose. He tries to take her to a planet where even hand-holding won’t be allowed, hoping he can regain his control. Things don’t go as he planned…

AO3 | FF.net | Teaspoon

“Arms flexed, and grabbed Rose into a hug. Soft lips pressed hers with a kiss of gratitude and joy and unspeakable pleasure of being alive.”  ~The Stone Rose

It was all Mickey’s fault, the Doctor mused as he lounged on the jump seat and stared, unseeing, at the time rotor. If Mickey hadn’t shown them that statue of Rose, they’d never have gone back to ancient Rome and been turned into statues themselves, and he wouldn’t have been so grateful they were alive that he let go of more than a year’s worth of restraint and kissed her.

The Doctor scrubbed his hands over his face. It was just a quick kiss, he told himself. Barely more than a taste—a peck! he corrected quickly. But it was too late—now his bloody superior Time Lord memory was reminding him of exactly how good she’d tasted.

And that memory seemed to be infiltrating every aspect of his behaviour. This body was more tactile than his last, but the way he’d touched Rose since Rome exceeded even that threshold. In Scotland, he’d wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her bodily out of the way of the werewolf, instead of just taking her hand and tugging her along behind him. And then—and then!—he’d actually grabbed her bum in front of Queen Victoria!

Keep reading

She turns to him knowing full well that he’s awake thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. “He would have liked you, you know? My dad.”

Sherlock shifts so that he’s looking at her where she’s laying against his side. He smiles a little at her. She’s always telling him small things like that as if he needs her to pull him back in.

He’s okay though. He’s been okay for a little while. 

When he has her near like this late at night he is aware of how lucky he is. Having someone to anchor onto when his head is so busy; it’s the nicest thing.

He leans over to wrap his arms around her fully and effectively pulling her closer to him. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Sherlock’s nose scrunches up at that. “I need a better answer, Molly.”

She just laughs.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “Do I have to answer that?”

When she doesn’t say anything for a solid two and a half minutes he listens to see if she had fallen asleep waiting on him. No snores on her end.

“I do. Always have.”

“Then trust me when I say that he would have.”

“I do.” He echoes. He presses a kiss to her forehead. “For the record my father loves you. He always asks about you when he calls.”


“Trust, Molly.”

She doesn’t have to tell him but she giggles at him before closing her eyes.