then it goes down in one motion

Okay, so I saw the matinee of The Great Comet today (11/12) and I was on a stage seat. It was majestic, but, me, being me, managed to embarrass myself in front of approximately one thousand people and Josh Groban…

…basically, in the beginning of Natasha and the Bolkonskys, Deneé (Natasha) and Gelsey (Mary) take two wooden stools at sit themselves down at a table to do the whole “And from the first glance…” part of the song. And, welp, that table was my table. So I’m sitting there, amazed that they’re standing in front of me, and then I realize Deneé is subtly motioning for me to move over. So I do. But I move the wrong way, apparently, so she really quietly goes like “to the left” and I have to literally lift up my seat and walk over to where she wanted me to go so that the song could, you know, start and everything

AND THE ENTIRE AUDIENCE BURST INTO LAUGHTER AND I’M PRETTY SURE SOME OF THE BAND  WAS LAUGHING AS WELL. 

Plus I made eye contact with Josh Groban at that exact moment and he kind of just shook his head at me and it was a lot okay. 

Anyway I have a ton of feelings and little things I noticed so please ask me questions about the show I have so much to say. 

Living Quirks

Kaminari:(Setting an entire pizza on the table) I’ve been waiting all day!
Asui: ( Tongue shoots across and grabs one of the slices while Kaminari grabs plate)
Kaminari:What?
Mina:( Slides by, taps his shoulder, and steals one)
Kaminari: Hey!
Sero: (Tapes a piece while he looks the other way)
Kaminari:Seriously!(Leaves table to see where it went)
Ochako:( Floats down from the ceiling, takes one, and goes back up)
Jirou:( Stabs one with her earphone jack)
Fumikage:(Walks by while Dark Shadow grabs one a nibble one it.)
Kaminari(Walks back)The slice got away. (Looks at the pizza) No! Two slices left, I must protect them!
Bakugou: Hand them over.
Kaminari:( Gives him one)
Bakugou: ( Motions for the other one while eating)
Kaminari: Fine!(Gives him the other one and Bakugou leaves)
Kaminari: I didn’t get one!
Izuku(Sitting in his room) I can’t wait to eat that pizza I bought.

someone wanted me to give the links to some Clexa smut so I figured I would just make a post with some of my favorite ones ^.^ Enjoy you horny little shits @you-cant-make-me


Don’t Even Try to Deny (We’re Both Goin’ Home Satisfied) by scoresandstars

The Clexa Phone Sex Hotline AU

On Her Knees by OnceUponACaskett

Lexa never kneels down for anyone….well, except for Clarke, that is.

You know how to make me weak in the knees (When you pour yourself all over me) by inevermetaphorididntlike

The one where they play laser tag and Clarke stops at nothing to win.

Late Night Posts by dangerdonut

Modern AU. Lexa hasn’t had sex in over a year. She goes on Tumblr late at night to vent her frustrations, but little does she know, her new friend, Clarke Griffin, who lives two buildings over, is online too.

Slow Motion by DisguisedasInnocent

Clarke invites Lexa back to her room to make use of the office chair… Established relationship Modern AU.

Words Spoken After Midnight by DisguisedasInnocent

It is late into the night when Lexa discovers Clarke pouring over the maps in the council tent. However, it does not take much for Clarke to bend to Lexa’s will and learn to quiet her thoughts.

Dammit there was one where Lexa was injured and she fucked Clarke on a horse going to Polis but I don’t have it saved. If you find it link me to it please! Love that one.

Yuri!!! On Ice opening : a frame by frame analysis Part 1

After getting a taste of frame by frame analysis with the beach scene here, I’ve been tempted to do the same with the opening of this beautiful anime.

I’m going to split it in two posts, since I have tons of screencaps and almost just as much of gifs. I’m also using the version we’re seeing since episode 2 and not the first one.


This part goes way too fast for me to screencap it effectively so I made a gif . This is the very beginning of the opening, going in rythm with the frenetic start of the music . As we can see, on a pale grey panel, a drop of blue falls on it and from it a trail goes up and down through multiple and different splashes of different shades of blue in an up and down motion. The trail starts in a light blue, passed through a dark blue splash and almost fell immediately down into a light blue splash. Going through that splash, the trail gets darker and rise again through other splashes of light blue who are filling the whole screen, making the grey disappear. The now dark blue trail is joined with another small, and very dynamic, chaotic and fast, dark blue trail, in a rising motion before both of them become grey in a blink of an eye, joined by a third one, and they all plunge extremely fast. 

The first trail might be Yuuri, having a big, but controlled, splash on the world of figure skating (his qualification for the GPF) but then a big fall that he tried to get out of by himself (which would be the slow rise of the trail) after he passes through a few months where he tried to grow. But then a chaotic little trail skates next to him (Yurio), and everything becomes faster and Yuuri plunges in a mentally competitive mindset where everything splashes and where he’s not just an isolated trail on a grey pannel, but a part of something wilder. 

This is when the music becomes more waltzy and the feet of a skater appears :

Keep reading

The Purge : Calum AU (Part 3)

Word Count: 2487

Warnings: This part is a little more grotesque than the others

1. Death/dead body

2. Implied necrophilia

3. I’ve been watching too much American Horror Story

“If I had to kill someone, it’d probably be my eleventh grade history teacher.”

The girl turns her head Calum’s way, the backpack propping it up like a pillow crinkling with the motion. She’s laying on the counter top, her phone pulled out as a means of entertainment while they wait for the commotion down the road to take their business somewhere else. The friends she’s tried texting are either asleep or ignoring her, probably drunk at someone’s Purge Party. From her neighbor she received an invitation to the one that he hosts annually, but she turned it down like she does every year. On a night where anything goes, it doesn’t seem like the best idea to drink around a bunch of testosterone-fueled young men.

From his seat near a window, Calum raises his brows at her sudden proclamation. “Why?”

She shrugs. “I hated him. He sent me to detention for everything.”

“That’s not a very good reason to kill someone.”

“Of course not. There are no good reasons.”

Calum lets the window’s curtain fall back into place, concealing them once again from the outside atrocity. He casts a bitter glance to the counter, meeting her ready expression. He can tell she’s trying to provoke him, to see what he’ll say. He knew he shouldn’t have told her about Luke’s killer. Evidently she’s one of those people who likes to argue.

Which is oddly convenient, because so is he.

“So that guy in the alley—I should’ve just let him have his fun?”

The girl frowns, unappreciative of a flaw being pointed out so soon in her theory. “That was self defense. That’s different.”

“I wasn’t defending myself.”

Calum takes another peek behind the curtain. The distant area that the gang occupied seems to have moved out, leaving a mess of blood and bodies behind as if to tag the place saying “we were here”. He could argue all day that under certain circumstances killing can be justified, but never in a million years would he be able to understand the mind of someone who can relentlessly tear humans apart for their own amusement.

He decides not to tell the girl that the coast is clear yet, letting those people get as much of a head start as they can. He’d really rather not get that close to them again.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” the girl pipes up.

“Thanks for sharing.”

She pushes herself off of the counter top, landing noisily on the souls of her shoes. Calum rests his head on the wall behind him, his eyes habitually following her fleeting figure as she wanders to the left side of the room and vanishes into a hallway. His lids shut once she’s gone, ashamed of the inappropriate ounce of attraction he feels toward her physique.

He tries to take advantage of his moment alone, enjoying the silence over his companion’s constant need to fill it. She asks too many questions, too invested in other people for her own good, and people are dangerous things to get involved with, Calum’s learned. He’s lost too many of the ones closest to him to welcome any new faces, having no interest in giving someone else the opportunity to be taken away.

But when the girl’s shrill scream echoes across the night club’s walls, he’s never gotten to his feet faster. With his gun tightly in hand he rushes to the hallway that swallowed her, not even thinking twice about the potential consequences of running head-on into an unknown scenario. Luckily he sees the girl still standing in the restroom’s doorway, frightened but as far as he can tell unharmed. He touches her shoulder as he brushes past her to let it be known that he’s here.

At this point he can almost guess what he’s about to see when he enters the restroom, and a lump of disgust catches in his throat as his intuition is confirmed.

A woman’s body is haphazardly sprawled across the toilet seat, her limbs hanging lifelessly in directions that anatomy isn’t meant to bend. The outfit she was wearing has been covered in stains by the blood that must have poured from the forced slit in her neck, a sticky pool of red soaking idly by her twisted ankles. Calum covers his mouth to prevent himself from gagging, the gruesome metallic smell suddenly overpowering his senses.          

He’s seen enough, turning to get the hell out of this room that gradually feels like it’s getting smaller. The girl hasn’t moved from the entry, but something’s not right. Her face looks pale and sickly, and her eyes are wide but her stare is vacant.

Calum’s brows knit together. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t…” she breathes quietly, reaching for the wall as her vision lights out.

Calum reacts instinctively, catching her by the armpits before she collapses to the ground.

**

Her blinks grow more rapid, the blinding whiteness finally starting to dull. The outline of ceiling tiles slowly becomes more prominent in her line of vision, and she realizes she’s on her back but isn’t sure how she ended up in this position. The last thing she remembers is opening the door to the bathroom, and then… Oh.

She’s never been great with blood. Even the smallest exposed amount, whether it’s hers or someone else’s, is enough to make her go lightheaded, but up until today she can’t recall a time when she’s actually, literally fainted. Now that it’s happened she’ll be the first to say that it’s not fun.

Fear begins to sink in when she questions how long she’s been out. A few minutes, maybe? It couldn’t have been that long. But what if that guy saw this incident as his chance to ditch her so he could go on with the rest of the Purge without being slowed down? What would she do if he left? How would she get home without the protection of his gun?

She lifts her head in the struggle to sit up, probably straining too hard the returning strength in her arms. The worry that consumed her upon waking up easily becomes ridiculous when she spots the boy sitting no more than a yard away, his lap being used as a device to prop up her legs.

“Take it easy,” he suggests, holding out her unfinished water bottle from earlier.

She hesitantly accepts it, unscrewing the cap to wet her tongue. “Thanks.”

A smirk hints at his lips despite the circumstances that led them here. “Blood’s not really your thing, huh?”

She answers with the shake of her head. “How long was I passed out?”

“Just a few seconds.”

“That’s all?” She rubs the back of her neck, surprised to not feel sore from hitting the ground.

“Do you want to stand up?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

She retracts her legs from his lap, half expecting him to offer his hand as assistance but not receiving such kindness. He rises to his full height and waits for her to do the same at a slower pace.

They move back out to the area with the bar, actively distancing themselves from the horror movie scene they just experienced in the bathroom. The girl can’t help but wonder who the woman was, but tries not to think too far into it knowing it’ll just make her sick again. That body is just one of the many that will be collected around seven o'clock tomorrow morning; no one’s going to care about how it got there or who was responsible for it.

“Are those people gone yet?” she asks as Calum returns to his duty by the window.

He pulls the same curtain back slightly, the visible roads showing no sign of Purgers. It crosses his mind that had he been honest about the gang leaving earlier, the two of them might have avoided the whole dead body ordeal.

“Yeah,” he says. “Are you ready to-”

He’s cut off by the soft jingle of keys shaking on a chain. His heart drops, looking to the girl to make sure she heard it too, and the way she’s frozen by the bar assures that she has. They exchange a look, both in disbelief as to how close the noise sounds. The jingling stops for a moment and Calum takes a step closer to the girl, not wanting to be this separated from her anymore, but then the lock on the main entrance is turning and panic hastily sets in.

Before Calum can tell the girl to hide, she’s already dashing behind the bar, remembering to grab her backpack at the last second. Calum ducks near one of the club’s tables, the red cloth draped over it providing him with very limited camouflage, but it’ll have to do. He has his gun if worse comes to worst, but he really doesn’t want to have to use it.

The door creaks open, nighttime city white noise briefly filling the building until it closes again. Footsteps begin making their way farther into the room, and it sounds like there’s only one person. That’s good.

Calum can see the girl from his hiding spot. She’s crouching near the edge of the bar, staring at the floor while her ears do all the listening, her knife now gripped between her fingers and palm. Calum’s glad that she thought to pull it out.

The footsteps, clunky and probably belonging to a male, make their way toward the other side of the counter. Calum hears firearms clinking together as they’re set down on the top surface. They sound big, maybe the size of assault rifles. The person who put them down lets out an exasperated sigh when the weight is relieved from his arms, and the footsteps pick back up, thankfully trailing farther away. They echo as they begin roaming down the hallway that leads to the bathroom, where he would have found two intruders had he gotten here a few minutes earlier.

Calum checks to make sure the rest of the room is empty before hurrying over to the girl.

Her eyes are round with concern. “The body,” she whispers.

He nods, the many different questions that arise with those words crossing his mind one by one. Does the man know it’s there? Did he know her? Is he the one who killed her?

“I’m gonna see if there’s another exit,” Calum mutters, nodding to what looks to be a swinging kitchen door next to the back wall’s shelves of alcohol.

“Wait.” The girl catches his arm as he makes an effort to turn away. He pauses, studying her face for an answer. There’s a crease between her brow. Her eyes are open but unfixed, channeling all of her energy into one sense. “Do you hear that?”

It requires a moment but he does hear it. Remote grunts and strained bursts of breath. Thudding from unbalanced feet. And suddenly a large crash of something carelessly dropped on the tiled ground, startling them both.

“He’s moving the body,” Calum realizes. That means he wasn’t surprised to see it.

For a second they can’t hear anything, but then the breathy noises come to life again. They come in a rhythm, starting calm and tamed but gradually becoming more labored. It’s all very strange. They’re slowly putting the pieces together until an obvious moan of pleasure from the man is emitted.

Calum’s jaw drops.

“Oh my God.” The girl’s hands shoot up to cover her mouth, puking a genuine possibility from this revelation.  

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She goes with him into the kitchen, securing her knife into her backpack again and sneaking through all the steel equipment as quietly as possible. To their relief they discover a back door, like it was built specifically for their escape. She’s never been so impatient to get back out into the open during Purge night, finding it hard to believe a more fucked up thing could happen.

Instead of letting the weighted door slam shut on its own, Calum closes it with caution. They can’t seem to stay away from allies, this exit leading them into a dark and narrow one lined to the brim with dumpsters. The smell is bad but still like a breath of fresh air after what they’ve just endured.

The girl is abnormally silent. Calum thought for sure she’d have something to say once they were able to talk again, but so far she’s held her tongue, absentmindedly trudging through the alley a few steps ahead of him so he can’t read her face. He’d appreciate the absence of conversation if he didn’t have the feeling that she was more effected than she’s letting on by what they overheard.

“Hey,” he says, coming to a halt.

She glances over shoulder, stopping because he has.

“Don’t think about it.”

She huffs, scratching her forearm. “What else am I supposed to think about?”

Calum makes the few paces to level with her, and they start walking again, side by side.

“What do you reckon’s the most boring crime to commit on Purge night?” he asks for the sake of diverting her mind to a topic more playful.

And it works. She smiles a bit. “I don’t know… pirating movies?”

He smirks. “Shoplifting.”

She shoots him a sly look, starting to accept the mockery of her purpose. “Littering,” she adds, and that one makes both of them laugh.

It’s a miracle, really, that she’s not defeated yet. Calum’s seen death before; he was there when Luke’s soul left his body, cradling his friend’s head and begging him to stay awake. Calum was the one who found his father lying face down in bed one day after returning home from a day at middle school, and the one who called the ambulance even when he knew the drugs had already stopped his dad’s heartbeat. But the girl, she was naïve. She wasn’t used to this kind of stuff. Before tonight she saw the Purge as an opportunity to add to her closet rather than a giant, unnecessary blood bath. Now she’s had a gun pointed straight at her, her first run in with a murder victim, and finally got a dose of what the twisted holiday is really about, all within the span of an hour. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with.

And yet she’s still going, still fighting to make it through the night. Still determined to see her family again. Calum wants that for her. Sometimes people have to learn things the hard way, and other times they get a second chance. He wants her to have a second chance. He wants her to be able to grow from this, and he can tell that she’s already evolving. He doesn’t know her but he can tell, and he wants her to be okay.

With this internal confession he realizes that he fucked up.

He’s invested.    

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Highlights on a new member’s lesson on the Restoration:

So I attended my ward’s sister missionaries as they taught a new brother a refresher lesson on the Restoration, and had him teach it instead and omg it was amazing.

  • -John (that’s his name) stood by a rolling chair, began talking and immediately expressed feeling like a missionary.
  • -one of the sisters gave him her spare name-tag to wear to make it official as he taught XD
  • -John begins to talk about Joseph Smith having to walk through the woods to find a place to pray at and pushes/rolls on the chair out the door.
  • -I turn to the missionaries and I’m like “ welp, you lost him there he goes XD”
  • -he comes back and motions us to follow.
  • -so here we are, walking down the hallways of the church, John talking about Joseph walking all this way to find a good spot (still pushing the chair?) and one sister is like “omg what is this but okay go for it” and the other who has only been out a few weeks is also happily perplexed.
  • -He finds the lights won’t come on in the rec room and is like “Oh no this is too dark Joseph was in the place of lights
  • -I said before I could stop myself “Las Vegas..???XD”
  • -John, still pushing his chair towards the chapel “No actually, this was before Las Vegas was a thing.”
  • -We find the chapel has a lot of members still around from the priesthood meeting earlier so we turn around and go back to the family history room haha.
  • -In talking about God and Christ appearing to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove, he paraphrased God’s introduction as follows:
    “Hey yeah, this is my Son, he’s super cool, you may have heard of him? His name is Jesus.”
  • -He talked about how the guy who was now an angel came to Joseph to reveal about the Book of Mormon. And his name was (John pauses ever so slightly here lol) “Macaroni” ie. Moroni XD
  • -He also paraphrased Joseph when unearthing the Golden Plates:
    “Whoa! This is a heavy, gold book! The guy who wrote these mUST HAVE BEEN RIPPED!”
  • -Throwback to his previous lesson I attended where he talked about “That ripped guy in the painting praying” ie. Moroni lol
  • -His friends came back with food and had stayed for the last half of the lesson (they were already members) and they encourage him and talk about reading his scriptures with him over the phone and having “family prayer” and this is PRECIOUS coming from like, muscular 20-something guys. Supporting their bro in the Gospel :’)
  • Book of BROman
  • -Talking about his scripture reading, the sisters were like “yeah there’s some good stuff coming up! And Enos, you’ve already read that–”
    John: “I don’t remember it”
    Sister: *still flipping through her scriptures, not missing a beat* “Well you can read it again
    Me and John share a look and I start laughing, and John starts talking about how the sisters are always so salty and the sister is like “I didn’t mean it that way!!” So precious, all of them.

All in all, it was an amazing lesson. Like I know it looks like he’s not serious about it but you can tell and feel he is, and his prayers and serious answers are sooo sweet and genuine. And everyone is so chill and works with his personality so he gets the most out of the lesson and it was so awesome to just be there and be a part of that. ^^

About animation...

A while back I was talking with my brother (collage-age) about animated movies and we came on the subject of Dreamworks. Like the animation nerd that I am, I started babbling on about their first few movies. After Prince of Egypt and Antz had been mentioned my brother goes:

He: “I remember those! I think that Antz was a better movie.”
Me: “….Why exactly? PoE is in my opinion superior on all levels; from character development to animation.”
He: “But Antz felt more real! The other one felt so… I dunno… Drawn!

In that moment I did not know if I should facepalm my brains out, or lay down on the floor and laugh till I fainted.

OBS: I have now educated my dear little brother in the differences between hand-drawn and computer generated animation (and stop motion!!). ;3

Mmm okay okay but let’s talk about this scene where the man’s been complaining about Kilgrave thieving his magazines and David’s ACTING – the general dismissal, the fact he’s not even listening, not worth the effort, why would he bother, and then the man touches his arm. Then he makes it personal, then he wrinkles up Kilgrave’s coat (it is a NICE coat you would not BELIEVE how many goes it took that drycleaner to get it right, even with the cost of a finger for every time she didn’t) and David makes it very clear that that’s the turning point. The magazine still comes out, is still put down, it is all in the one motion and perfectly the same rate. No rush to finish. No guilt. No anything.

But you can see the moment here where Kilgrave decides. The man wants his attention. He’s been a nuisance, he’s bothered him, he’s been a self-righteous I’m a store owner possessive prick in that annoying, tinny voice of his and it was barely tolerable before but now this man has asked for Kilgrave’s attention. And he will get it.

And with little more than a glance in his direction, Kilgrave potentially blinds the man for life. Because he asked for it. Because he wanted the attention. Because oh, all right then, if I must, but I’m really not here to be creative. There’s nothing poetic about a coffee in the face, is there?

Kilgrave considers all the world a stage, set out for his personal drama, a theatrical phenomenon where people are his puppets and they await his orders with open arms. He is directing the stage play of life. The sort of respect he has for Jessica is recognition that he cannot control her, that she directs a story of her own, that they share a mutual position above the rest of them as Gods.

Gods who don’t like to be bothered when reading their favourite magazines.

You do not have to be good
“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. ”  – Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

I’m starting with poetry to give you the impression that I am deep and intellectual. You caught me!

One night, my toddler son took a header off the couch. I was standing in the kitchen licking the wooden spoon after stirring his Annie’s Mac & Trees (culinary brag), he was standing on the couch which is not okay, because couches are for our butts.

“Dude!” I yelled, “Sit down! That’s dangerous!” And in achingly slow motion, he teetered over the arm of the couch, landing square on the top of his head as his body flipped over onto the hardwood floor.

In the moments and hours that followed, he shed a few tears and then asked for some grapes. He refused an ice pack until I told him he could watch cartoons as long as he let his cousin hold the cold pack to his noggin. He ate dinner. He told me jokes. He brushed his teeth and kissed me and said, “OH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” Okay, now I’m just bragging.

In those same moments, while I was calling the nurseline and checking his pupils for the fifteenth time, I felt two things I’d been hiding from myself bubbling to the surface.


It was 2 parts fear to 1 part anger, shaken and poured over the icy remains of my heart.

Since my husband died a few months earlier, I’d only heard about how well I’m doing. And sure, I was doing reasonably well in that most days I was somewhat showered and I contributed somewhat to society and I had not stuffed pillows into my dead husband’s clothes and forced them to snuggle with me at night but only because he was very slim and my pillows won’t fit in his cardigans.

But even though we saw his death –-from cancer, ICYMI – coming for years (3, to be exact), it didn’t hurt any less when it made impact.

I can’t be mad at my husband for dying (I’ve tried, but it’s ineffective). I can’t even really be mad at cancer. Cancer doesn’t give a fuck how I feel. But I am angry. I’m angry that when my son lands head first on the hardwood, I don’t have his father to verify that our son is in fact okay. It makes me mad (and sad) that my list of friends from our married life together has only the smallest venn diagram with my current list of friends. It makes me mad when people I’m meeting with my son for the first time look for a ring on my finger, ever so subtly.

After my son bounced onto the living room floor like a crash test dummy, I hesitated to pick him up. I knew from my lifeguarding days like 100 years ago that you should never move a person with a potential spinal injury. But he jumped into my arms and I said the first thing that came to my head, “If anything happened to you, I would die.”

I meant it. I would fucking die.

It had been 9 months since my husband died. And those feelings surprised me. Shouldn’t I just be sad? I don’t know, I’m a dummy. Most days, I am a happy and grateful person. There is nothing good that comes of comparing your life or hardships to anyone else’s, but it’s hard not to do, and when I size up my pain to the rest of the world, I barely see it register on the tragedy scale.

I’ve been afraid from the beginning that I have made this look easy, the way Aaron made having cancer look easy. So easy that lots of people I felt should have known better were able to think that he wasn’t even really sick, and seemed shocked when a Grade IV recurrent brain tumor ended up killing him after years of chemo and radiation and wasting away.

But people don’t want to look at the hard things. And that goes for me, too. Angry and afraid are unattractive things to be. I don’t particularly enjoy them in other people, and I’ve spent a lifetime trying to be brave and likeable. Fear and anger are itchy and uncomfortable, and I have treated them like something I could avoid. Like they were just a shitty acrylic sweater I could choose not to wear.

My default mode is capable. I can work and put on lipstick and go to brunch and smile and laugh and raise my son on my own. But that doesn’t make it easy. And doing all of those things were as much for other people as they were for me. I was not something for other people to worry over, and because of that, I being an unwitting example of how to be a good widow.


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Making it look easy is a mistake. It creates a dangerous mythology about tragedy, that it can be gotten through if you just grin and bear it, that sharing a Facebook status with some grainy meme that says MOST PEOPLE WON’T SHARE THIS TO SUPPORT CANCER SURVIVORS BUT I WILL BECAUSE GRRRR CANCER IS BAD I HATE IT actually does something.

It doesn’t.

Hard things are hard, and while they can someday teach you a lesson or make you a stronger person, they are entirely capable of just beating the everloving shit out of you and leaving you emotionally dead and physically exhausted.

But there’s a not a meme for that.

A surprising benefit of losing your husband in a public way (aka on The Internet) is that you become a Lighthouse for other young widows, who pop up in your inbox and your DMs to let you know that they are lost in the darkness. They don’t know what to do with their wedding ring or their last name, they don’t know why they are so angry and they want to be better.

They want to be positive and happy. You know, like me.

NOPE.

It’s not something that typically fits in an Instagram post, but I am shoulder deep in the anger phase of grief. Acceptance has stopped by a time or two, but peaced out when I pulled out my list of People Who Have Looked At Me Crosseyed During Aaron’s Sickness or Death, like, “hey Nora, you seem pretty busy, I’ll just try you another time, k?”


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I don’t talk about this phase a lot because iccccckkkkk it feels so gross! Have you ever been angry? It doesn’t do anything for you! It’s like having a little rotten core hiding in an otherwise perfectly beautiful apple. It’s like when you order a coke at McDonald’s and you take a sip and you’re like, WHAT IS THIS and it’s Sprite instead.

The cure for grief is not “be not sad” and the cure for anger isn’t “be unagry!” It’s feeling all of the things, even the uncomfortable ones, without judging yourself for them.

Your job, when bad shit happens, is to get through it however you can. It is not your job to make your life more palatable for other people.

The world will go on, despite your despair. And you know what that is? LIFE. And like our gym teachers told us when we got pegged in the face with a kickball, life is unfair.

What our gym teachers did not tell us is that it’s totally okay if you fucking hate that and want to just scream cry in your car sometimes! It’s okay if sometimes you hate your friends for having things you don’t have anymore, and then you hate yourself for hating perfectly nice people who love you, just because their husbands are alive! That’s okay!

You will be happy again (and sad again, and angry again, it’s a process?). You will find glittering moments of joy, and you will learn things, and you will be completely lost and found again, over and over and over.

But you do not have to be good.

a playlist where the songs (and their messages) get more upbeat as it goes on 

what a catch, donnie - fall out boy // car radio - twenty one pilots // fake your death - my chemical romance // underdog - you me at six // be calm - fun. // everything is alright - motion city soundtrack // c'mon - panic! at the disco (featuring fun.) // i am not a robot - marina and the diamonds // house of gold - twenty one pilots // getting better - the beatles // i’m not down - the clash // move along - the all american rejects // kill your heroes - awolnation // ready to go (get me out of my mind) - panic! at the disco

listen here

It felt SO much like summer last night that I got all romantic and starry eyed and then this story wouldn’t get out of my mind until I wrote it so.  Just fluffy fun but I also wanted to address the whole “BUT THEY’RE BEST FRIENDS!” thing. Anway, requested by absolutely no one:  This little Steroline hammock story! :P 

(Considering all the spoilers, I’m not sure exactly when this would be set.  I like to remain canon, so I’m thinking post-no-humanity, pre-whatever shit goes down at the wedding)



“Here you are,” Stefan called across the dark lawn as he spotted Caroline, “I wondered where you’d snuck off to.”

He smiled as he approached her, swinging a bottle of wine in his hand as he walked.  She was rocking gently back and forth in the hammock, using one pink nailed toe to push against the ground and keep herself in motion.  Her other leg bent up next to her.  One long arm lay behind her blonde curls as a pillow.  The other rested atop her flat stomach.  The flimsy linen of her dress draped itself haphazardly across her pale thigh, ruffling up with every light gust of the unseasonably warm spring wind.  The moonlight and porch light fought for the right to bath her in their glow.  Stefan raked his eyes across her shamelessly.  

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Cuddles

TITLE: Cuddles

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: one shot

AUTHOR : tomcuddlesfic

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom

GENRE:  romance / fluff

FIC SUMMARY: OC asks Tom for cuddles.

RATING: T

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: A really short one. I think it goes nicely with my url don’t you think? Have a lovely night guys.

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Heart to heart || Sam/Cole

Cole walked out into the living room, watching Sam carefully as he stood in front of him. “I hope you have read over the lesson plans I have given you today. Because depending on how this next half hour goes determines how the rest of your day goes.” He sat down on the couch and motioned towards the one in front of him. “Now sit, we are going to have a little discussion on how you’re acting and how others are acting because of you.” Giving the slave space enough between the pieces of furniture was ether going to cause trouble or be better for the slave. Ether or it didn’t matter. He knew Kasper was in the cells again so if he needed something to relax him again after a beating then he had his puppy to turn to. 

theslaveevans

It's disturbing as hell, but if you can stomach it, I'd urge people to watch the whole unedited body camera footage of Dubose's death. It's a fascinating look at what goes down in the moments after an obviously suspicious shooting occurs. One particularly interesting moment is when Tensing motions to his colleagues that his camera is on, i.e. don't do anything incriminating on camera. Tensing seems to be caught in between being in shock but also knowing he has a performance to put on. Oh, and take a drink every time Tensing says "He tried to run me over!" You may end up in a coma, though.
archiveofourown.org
終わりのセラフ| Owari no Seraph | Seraph of the End - Rise of the Dragon: Chapter 1 Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Eleven years have passed, and the Fire Nation has been recovering slowly from its grievous loss. Tensions between nations have stirred and risen to a peak, but within the cocoon of the Fire Palace, nothing has changed for Prince Yuuichirou.

Armed with nothing but fragmented memories of his childhood years and deplorable bending skills, he goes about his days yearning for something more.

But will the shadows of past tragedies remain hidden, or will they emerge and become the catalyst to set the gears of fate in motion once more?


91 AG

11 years later

Setting Guren’s robe on fire to express his dissent was probably not one of the brightest ideas Yuuichirou Ichinose ever had.

But hey, it wasn’t like he was the one to blame. Everyone would have reacted the same way at the sight of his eighteen years worth of dreams and ambitions being shut down and rejected yet again.

Or at least, so he thought.

To be fair, maybe there were people out there—somewhere in the Fire Nation, or perhaps even beyond—who were okay with living a dull, monotonous life, stranded in a lifestyle curbed to other people’s desires until the end of their days, but Yuu certainly didn’t know any. And yes, that was a valid argument even if the only people he knew were Stupid Guren, Shinya and Crowley—his airbending and earthbending masters, two oddballs to say the least—and the maids and the courtiers living in the palace.

Such was the price one had to pay when living their entire life trapped between four walls on top of a volcano, he guessed.

To be honest, Yuu had always lived quite a good life in the palace. It was peaceful, nobody ever bothered him— Stupid Guren being the exception to the norm, of course—and spring afternoons spent under the blossoming cherry trees, especially those right next to the pond with the turtle-ducks in the backyard, were incredibly delightful. All he had to do was say the word, and he would get whatever he wanted, no matter how bizarre or unreasonable his requests were.

But there was one wish, only one, that nobody ever granted him. And said wish was the very reason why he was running for his life that morning, sprinting through the garden as fast as he could while a furious Guren chased after him, sending a vast array of curses and threats his way for burning his favorite robe.

Not a single servant who Yuu passed batted an eye at the scene before them. The sight of the dignified and composed Fire Lord engaging in a wild goose chase after a whimsically harmless child was a fairly regular occurrence after all; and while it had been incredibly amusing the first couple times, the novelty of it soon wore off after the tenth time.

“Stop following me, Stupid Guren!” Yuu shouted, jumping over the roots of one particularly bulky tree.

“You set my clothes on fire, you brat!” Guren barked back, hurrying after the younger male to catch him before he turned the corner: Yuu had way too many secret hideouts in the backyard, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get away. “Get back here!”

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

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Stranger in a Strange Land (Closed Rp)

   This is absolutely terrifying… Moving to an entirely new country, having no knowledge of the language, and now getting into one of their most prestigious academies? How can you not be nervous!? I need to take a deep breath, and calm myself down. I mean, this really isn’t the most terrifying experience I’ve had… But still. After just having adjusted to life in Greece, I now am forced into a completely different type of culture. Oh well. Here goes nothing.

   He entered the classroom, only to be met with baffled glares, and a few jeers. It seems like the people here weren’t so happy to see a transfer student. Especially from the Mediterranean. The teacher motioned the boy forward so she could introduce him to the class.

    “Good morning, everyone! Today we have a new student. His name is Malekai Grimm, and he is a transfer student from Greece. Do give him a warm welcome.”