more like tears and agony !!!

Springtrap's Struggle [LOUD]
  • Springtrap's Struggle [LOUD]
  • My voice
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This is my personal interpretation of what I think ol’ Springy sounds like. I like to imagine he’s in constant pain because let’s face it, he probably deserves it. On a side note, I would not recommend choking yourself while voice acting. It’s rather unpleasant. 

Anyways, hope you enjoy it! Feel free to make a request if you wanna hear more VA stuff from me!

Transcript under the cut

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Cross Your Heart

Characters:  Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas

Summary:  Dean says good bye to his girl

Word Count:  974

Warnings:  Death and Angst 

Tags at the bottom.  Please feel free to let me know if you’d like to be tagged/not tagged.

As always, feedback is appreciated.  Thanks for reading my lovelies!

Cross Your Heart

Dying is a lot like what you’d expect and a lot like you wouldn’t. The white light? That’s a fabrication. Though there is color. Lots of it.Everything is more vibrant, more bright. The colors, they run riot, fiery reds and bold brassy oranges.   The emerald green of his eyes are prismatic, shimmering with tears. It’s fascinating how those tears look like diamonds.

The pain, it’s agony, torturous. Like a vise clamping on to your muscles, your veins, your organs, as someone twists harder and harder. That vise twists so hard that eventually the pain stops, pushing the body into shock. It’s miraculous, the way the body instinctually protects itself, even in death.

Interestingly, sounds are muted, as if you’re in a long tunnel. The words are muffled, like when someone tries to talk underwater. His lips are moving, but nothing reaches through the barrier. The tenderness in his eyes is striking.  His lower lip trembles and he screws his eyes shut.

Then there is the nothingness, the void. The emptiness is vast. It should feel alarming and terrifying, but it’s like a cocoon, a place of security and sanctuary.

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anonymous asked:

Hi there! I just started listening to symphonic metal, can you recommended me some bands/their song? Thank you, love your blog.

ok sure but tbh i’m still confused between gothic,symphonic and power metal so lmao, 

these are all i can think of atm, feel free to add more.

A Need to Relax || Hannigram, Post Finale Coda, first kisses

The first time he kisses Hannibal is nowhere as spectacular or dramatic as the first time he reaches for him. It’s not even really that nice at all, except for the fact that it happened, which is indeed nice. But the truth of it remains, he could have risked never kissing Hannibal, by not doing it here, or he could have kissed him like he does, wherein he rightfully shouldn’t be kissing anyone at all. His right cheek is puffy and splintered, stitches that he wants nothing more than to tear out threading neatly through, which in addition to making him crazy, make his whole jaw throb and his lips pull, and there’s some degree of problematic spit forming and swallows which leave tendrils of agony shivering through. And the gauze, the gauze is not so attractive either.

Except that every time Hannibal sits him down, to run fingers down the stitches and make sure none of them have to be redone. (Twice, twice. They had to be. Barely suppressed rumbles of agony, and a hand to squeeze into Hannibal’s hips. Not so wise to dig fingers into the man sewing you up, but wisdom is not something he goes around professing to have.)  But anyway, every time Hannibal does that, then insists on spreading the cream that makes the burn quiet, and changing out the gauze that sits inside the cheek to keep the blood at bay, he can do it on his own, a grumble, but he allows, Hannibal gets this funny, soft, look on his face. And it’s not really funny or really rare anymore, has kind of become a permanent fixture of the man’s face for the better part of the last week, every time he looks at Will, and especially in these fleets of moment where he’s taking care of him, letting those fingers that can wreak so much havoc, heal instead. Heal, he knows, Hannibal considers, the wounds Will got for him.

Francis would have tried to kill me anyway, he thinks about telling Hannibal, if I reached for the gun or not, but they both know he did reach, and if there’s one plus about being with Hannibal it’s that he’s given himself permission to be selfish. He’s always been kind of selfish, but it’s not even imperative to try and temper it anymore, what’s more, Hannibal wouldn’t want him to. Since he likes the looks, he keeps them. Doesn’t bother with the polite protests. Doesn’t ask Hannibal to take back what he wants to give, willingly offers.

But the more he gets them, the more they push other things into his thoughts. Because it’s one thing to hear from a psychopathic, jealous, fake-blonde woman, that Hannibal is in love with him. Altogether another, to see the raw ragged edges of the other’s eyes, so terrible in prison, so whole in ages past, heal slow with the bare drag of his hand. Bedelia had told him he held the devil, but he doesn’t think he really did, not until, literally, he had held him. 

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At groceries shop
  • Levi: *holding shit-ton of stuff*
  • Cashier: Oh my, do you need a hand sir?
  • Levi: *glares* No. I am in a committed relationship. Thank you very much.
Mommy & Daddy #5: Nightmares and Momzillas

Reblog “The feels…” if you liked this. It’ll make me soooo happy. If not, I’ll still love you all. Xoxo

“One more push, Y/N.” Harry instructed, squeezing my hand.

My stomach clenched painfully as I felt my body contort again. The agony searing through me was justified once I heard the beautiful cry of my baby. My body sagged in relief. My vision was overpowered by the unexpected flood of tears flowing from my eyes.

I stammered. “I-Is it a girl- or a boy?”

Harry smiled lovingly at me. He murmured a single word, “Beautiful…”
I tugged at his shirt. “I wanna see. Come on, Harry. What are they doing?”

The doctors finally handed over our baby to Harry, who coddled our baby in his arms. His smile became wider. I watched his interaction, and it made me cry even harder. He looked so natural. This was the picture I envisioned when I first found out of my pregnancy. There was no doubt in my mind that he would be the best father he could be.

Instantly, I became restless. “Harry, please. Give me the baby.”

He lowered the baby into my arms. I sat up to see him or her for the first time, and I shrieked. “Oh my God!”

Harry smiled. “I know. Isn’t it beautiful.”

“Love, wake up.”

I sat up, breathing heavily. I was lounging on the couch engulfed by candy and junk wrappers. Harry moved some of the trash out of the way, so he could sit down. He placed his hand on my shoulder and gazed at me with a concerned expression on his face.

“I-I just had the worst nightmare. It was horrible, Harry.”

He placed a kiss on my forehead. “It’s probably from all of these snacks you ate before you drifted off. What was it about?”

I sighed. “Well, we were in the delivery room. Then I gave birth.”
He chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like a nightmare.” He said, stroking my hair.

“I didn’t get to the worst part.”

He closed his eyes, pretending to prepare himself. “Go ahead. I’m ready for the worst.”

I whined, “Don’t mock me. Our baby was literally a damn gremlin.”

He laughed. The sight of him ungraciously tilting his head back and cackling like a hyena was enough to make me laugh along with him. It was then that I realized how silly the dream actually was. I sobered up and gazed him out of the corner of my eye.

“Our baby is going to be just fine, love.”

“Yeah,” I agreed half-heartedly.

Deep down I knew that things could turn out alright. Then there was another part of me that worried about what could go wrong, and there were so many different possibilities.

“You’re worrying too much. The delivery will go perfectly. I will be right beside you. Next thing you know, we will have a healthy baby boy or girl.”

I nodded my head, believing him furthermore. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I chuckled. “Okay, I will refrain from driving you crazy with my…mom-zilla-ness.”

He kissed me deeply, running his fingers through my hair. Then he pulled back with a cheesy grin on his plump lips. “I love you even when you’re being a crazy mum-zilla.”

I smirked. “I love you more.”

Chapter 1 Preview:

It always started as a dull pain, enough of an uncomfortable feeling that her mind awoke, her consciousness returning. It was still unchanged, when the hazy memories started to flash one by one behind her eyelids, lifting the fog slowly, sharpening the pictures in her mind.

That was always when the low thrum flared to life, replaced with side splitting agony in her chest. Feeling as if it was ripped to shreds and patched together with nothing more than a butterfly kiss with a Band-Aid, much like her mother used to do when she was young. This pain was the worst.

Or so she had first thought.

Then she had started to see his face flashing through her mind, the shear tortured expression as tears blurred his sight and painted his cheeks. That was when it always became too much to bear.

***

What You Wanted

“What may be broken to you is beautiful to me.” 4x01 AU: Sometimes you don’t have to runaway to find what was meant to be…

Written for the 2016 Summer Ficathon

Thanks to @dinoscully for the beautiful cover art.

Hope you like it!!

Chapter One

" The truth of power of your silence "

I’m still alive ,still have the strength to cross hells which pushed me to overcome sorrows and agonies.I Stabbed like poisonous spears,by blades of uncertainties drilling my intimacy and wishing my tear appart flesh in your hands.yes,im still alive and I renew forces in my starting point,the place where I release my demons,the weakness and where I lick my wounds.
My place is arid and inhospitable,give shelter to creatures that know me as always and help me to leap till the end of the world.There ,there are no rules no norms and in that place im more a daughter of God,I can be heard,singing my heart poured at the Sun.
The power of silence conforts me and I lie around in your golden body,I let be carried in your storm chant by hallucinatory circles.Yet ,when you raise me inside your bowels of your being,I am a tree firm and willing to the heat of your belly waiting redemption ,being worthy of something more than a stingy being and miseunderstood.I dig unceasingly for the right to your truth,your sublime truth,the truth that all seek but don’t find it,being this one like a treasure or coral hidden in the deepest sands in your agreable place of rest and eternal sleep !

In portuguese

“ A verdade do poder do teu silencio ”

Ainda estou viva, ainda tenho forças para atravessar os infernos que me obrigaram a suplantar as mágoas e dores.Trespassam me como lanças venenosas,com espadas da incerteza perfurando o meu intimo e desejando a minha carne desfeita nas tuas mãos.Sim ainda estou viva e renovo forças no meu ponto de partida,no local aonde expulso os meus demónios ,as fraquezas e aonde lambo as minhas feridas.O meu lugar é árido e inóspito,alberga criaturas que me conhecem desde sempre e ajudam me a transpor me até ao fim do mundo.Lá não há normas e regras e nesse lugar sou mais filha de Deus e consigo ser ouvida,entoando o meu coração derramado ao sol.
O poder do silencio conforta me ,e eu rebolo no dourado do teu corpo e deixo me levar no cântico da tempestade em círculos alucinantes e entorpecedores No entanto,quando me elevas dentro das entradas do teu ser, eu sou uma árvore firme e disposta no calor do teu ventre esperando a redenção e ser digna de querer ser algo mais, do que um ser mesquinho e incompreendido.Cavo incessantemente por ter direito á tua verdade mais sublime,a verdade que todos buscam mas não acham,sendo esta como um tesouro ou um coral escondido nas areias das profundezas do teu aprazível lugar de descanso e sonho eterno!

Kyrah