title 62


I’ve had a bit of a headcanon for a while concerning the SepticEgos and their possible heights. I don’t know why I came up with some of these, but I did. This list will go in descending order:

Henrik Von Schneeplestein: 6'4 ft/1.93 m

Antisepticeye: 6'0 ft/1.82 m

Jackaboy man: 5'10 ft/1.77 m

Robbie: 5'10/1.77 m

Chase Brody: 5'8/1.72 m

Marvin the Magnificent: 5'7/1.70 m

Angus the Survival Hunter (I think that’s his title?? 😯): 5'4/1.62 m

If I missed anyone else, just let me know!!


On this day in music history: May 14, 1977 - “Little Queen”, the second studio album by Heart is released. Produced by Mike Flicker, it is recorded at Kaye Smith Studios in Seattle, WA in Early 1977. It is the official follow up to the bands debut album “Dreamboat Annie” following their acrimonious split from their original label Mushroom Records, over royalty payments and after an advertisement (designed to look like a tabloid magazine) the label takes out in Rolling Stone magazine. Though the lawsuit with Mushroom drags on for over two years, the band are free to sign with the then newly formed CBS/Epic subsidiary Portrait Records. A month before the release of “Little Queen”, Mushroom releases an unauthorized and unfinished version of the album “Magazine” which was to be Heart’s second album for the label. The band seek in injunction against the label and have it recalled and removed from record stores. One of the cornerstones of “Little Queen is inspired after a concert. Lead singer Ann Wilson has a run in a record label promotion man that she encounter backstage after a show. Having seen the Rolling Stone ad, he makes the vulgar and lascivious insinuation that she and her sister (and band mate) Nancy are lovers. Angry at the outrageous claim, Wilson goes back to her hotel that night and writes the lyrics to "Barracuda” (#11 Pop) as a strong rebuke. It spins off three singles including “Kick It Out” (#79 Pop) and the title track (#62 Pop). The album is remastered and reissued in 2004 with two additional bonus tracks. “Little Queen” peaks at number nine on the Billboard Top 200, and is certified 4x Platinum in the US by the RIAA.

Not So Level-Headed - (be-the-peaf week 62)

Title: Not So Level-Headed
Word Count:
[Their reactions were priceless—after her first contraction she immediately smiles and starts clap-cheering, but he starts FREAKING OUT. | Korra. Mako. Makorra. Future!Verse.]

A/N: Based on this post waaaaay back in the simkorra blog, but with a canon-verse setting / twist. This prompt / fic is utterly ridiculous Idk what I was thinking XD


be-the-peaf · Prompt 062 – babybending


They’re lucky beyond belief no one is trying to destroy the world when it happens, but it’s still a stressful eight and a half months dealing with over-caring family, friends and Beifong’s 24/7 security detail (the boyfriend is the worst of them all – he had both jobs) that now all Korra wants to do is have the kid so everyone can stop following her around. The world’s not going to end if her pillows aren’t fluffed, and she hasn’t been able to go ten feet out of their apartment in quite some time due the snooping eyes of the press, looking to get any kind of answer as to what she and Mako planned to do with the child (it’s the same as six months ago – they don’t know yet.)

The whole thing makes her tired just thinking about it, and that wasn’t even the real problem.

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Imagine 62:

Title: April Fools

Word Count: 628

Warnings: Swearing?

Request: The reader gives birth on April Fools Day and Dean doesn’t believe her?

A/N: I loved writing this!

You cried out as a contraction hit you, you waters had broke minutes before. You were in so much pain that you couldn’t bear to walk.

You crawled over to your bed where you knew you phone was as soon it was in your grasp you dialled Dean’s number.

He picked up instantly.

“Hey honey, we should be back late tonight. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Dean” You gasped, clutching at your stomach. “The baby is coming; you need to get home now!”

You heard his laugh at the end of phone; big guffaws that made you want to scream. “Good one, Y/N, I’ll see you when I get home, baby. I love you.”  And then he hung up.

“Fuck!” You yelled.

It was your fault, and you knew that. The amount of times you had already played this trick on the boys… especially poor Castiel. No wonder they hadn’t believe you.

“Cas!” You screamed as you had the urge to push. “Cas! Get your fluffy ass down here!”

“Y/N?” His voice reverberated around the room, his eyes wide as he bent down to your level. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He pressed his two fingertips to your head, trying to heal the source of your pain.

“Cas” You said, as gently as you could muster. “This baby is coming” You put your hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “And right now I need you to believe me, because no one else is. “

Tears were welling up in your eyes as you tried to breathe.

“I believe you” He said, picking you up in his arms. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” And then in a flash we were there, at the opening of the doors.

He walked in with you in his arms, calling for help.

There were nurses and doctors at your side immediately, a wheelchair being strolled over to you.

It all happened in a blur.

And soon enough you were pushing, a scared, wide eyed Castiel staring back at you as you howled in pain.

“Cas! Get Dean, hurry please”

He nodded and then he was dashing out the door.

“Okay, Y/N, you’re doing great” The midwife smiled, rubbing me gently on the leg. “Now push, you’re crowning I can see the head.”

You cried out in pain as you pushed, tears were welling up in your eyes as you wished it could just all be over.

“You’re doing great baby!” The midwife grinned down at you. “Just one more push, you can do it. Push!”

“Argh!” You screamed, your body pushing off the bed as you hurled forward. And then you heard him, the cries of the baby reverberating throughout the room.

“Would you like to hold your baby?” She said, a big smile on her face as she handed you a tiny bundle. “He’s perfect, all ten fingers and toes, his gorgeous.”

You looked down at him, the tiny baby that was wrapped snugly in a blue, cotton blanket. He was perfect, he looked like Dean. His big, blue eyes stared back into your green ones, almost curiously. He had stopped crying for the moment.

“Y/N! Baby!” Dean called, running into the room, pushing past doctors. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

He wrapped his arms around, being careful of the tiny baby you held.

“This is him” Dean whispered, a small, teary smile on his face as he looked down at his child. “It’s really him, the little boy who has been kicking for the past nine months.”

You smiled, nodding.

“I’m so proud of you baby” He pressed his lips to yours. “What’re we going to call him?”

“How about John Robert Winchester?”


The title comes from Psalms 62:9, it feels the entire chapter sums up our existence, and our existence in the band. The album cover is the brainchild of Nathan Young and Jordan Butcher.

The title is a mantra that we as ANBERLIN have always tried to adhere to, we never wanted to be ‘rock stars’ we never wanted people to think that we thought of ourselves as better than anyone. We hope that we were more than just a band, we hope in the end that we are considered friends; I felt this was the perfect message to leave out on. 

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FIC UPDATE: A Handful of Dust (62/?)

Title: A Handful of Dust (62/?) (On AO3 and FF.net)
Pairing: Shepard/Garrus

Summary: Ten billion people over here die, so twenty billion over there can live. After the war, there are pieces to pick up, and lives to rebuild. And even with the Reapers gone, nothing is easy.


Sixty-Two: Tolling Reminiscent Bells

It’s not like the other dreams.

She knows she’s dreaming, for one thing. And she’s alone. No wide-eyed child bearing cookies, no screwdriver-wielding teenager. No broken doll made up of doctored memories and might-have-beens, dressed in muddied virginal white. No dead woman in pink and white, or patent Mary Janes, offering death or forgiveness or hope.

It’s just a dream. Just a dream.

When she touches her stomach, her fingers do not come away stained with blood. When she touches her forehead, she cannot feel the strings that have been pulled, the knots untied, the pieces of the puzzle jammed together all wrong.

And yet the ache remains.

The ache always remains.

She’s wearing armor in this dream, black to hide bloodstains, black to hide amongst the shadows, the familiar lifeline of red and white stripes down her arm reminding her who she is, what she does. She’s got a full arsenal on her back, but her hands are empty.

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