We haven’t mentioned it yet, but @dizzymisslizzi and I started a YouTube channel! We’re still in the early stages, only two videos out, but we want to give it a shot. Watch and subscribe to see two Disney kids talk for way too long about stuff!
louis: gets up on stage TWO (2) days after his mum dies and dedicates the performance to her
harry: asks for a moment of silence
it’s so unimaginably difficult to stand in front of a huge crowd after losing the most important person in your life. no human being would just do that “for the promo”. okay? louis deserves respect and NOTHING else.
manchester was so so sad, yes, and what harry did was great, but he still didn’t have a direct personal connection to the tragedy.
harry got up and performed with a heavy heart, but louis did it with a broken heart. this makes me so mad.
BLOGGING FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE: LIFE AFTER THE TROUBADOUR
This is gonna get really long, so I apologize in advance, but I feel like the story of the whole day should be told. So, I’m going to go through the getting tickets through a show recap. Continue if you’re interested.
So, I've wanted to write a book for a while now. I have an idea and a basic plot, but I don't quite know how to start it. Any advice?
Wow… you’re at the Exciting Part. :) …No, seriously: this is the point from which everything flows, from the novelist’s point of view. It’s an exciting place to be, and at the same time SO intimidating, because GOD can anything happen from here onward.
(I’m assuming that we’re talking about fiction, BTW.)
Anyway. After 50+ books I know what I do at this point – pretty much – but that’s not going to do you a lot of good, since many of the opening moves in the game for me are now accordioned together into something that happens very fast and in which the individual movements and sequences can be kind of difficult to tease out for an observer. Let me instead describe to you how I would work this kind of situation out when I first got started selling books to editors.
Though once only reserved for the very rich and powerful, embalming is a standard funeral service in modern times and modern embalming techniques can produce incredibly lifelike results. Embalming is performed in two stages - surgical and cosmetic - and while methods and materials can vary, the basic procedure remains the same; draining bodily fluids and replacing them with formaldehyde-based solutions.
1. Setting the face
Before the invasive procedure begins the deceased is washed down with disinfectant, and occasionally the limbs are massaged to reduce the effects of rigor mortis. The mouth is usually sewn or wired shut, and the mouth is stuffed with cotton wool to achieve the look of fuller cheeks. The eyes are stuck shut using special mortuary glue, or the mortician may stick a flesh-coloured cap behind the eyelid and glue it into place.
2. Surgical Embalming
The two main methods of surgical embalming are ‘arterial’ and ‘cavity’ embalming.
i) in arterial embalming, a special pump drains the blood from the body of the deceased while another pump circulates a chemical mixture through the emptied veins. The mixture usually contains a combination of formaldehyde, ethanol, water, and alcohol.
ii) in cavity embalming a small incision is made in the stomach of the deceased, and a thin instrument known as a trocar is inserted into the abdominal cavity. The trocar has a small claw attached to a suction pump, and the mortician uses the claw to puncture the organs and jellify them. The liquid is then suctioned out of the body and the cavity is filled with embalming chemicals.
After the embalming procedure is completed the mortician may circulate a coloured dye through the bloodstream to fix discolouration and mottling. Since fluid has a tendency to leak all bodily orifices will be plugged discreetly with cotton wool. All visible injuries or blemishes will be patted over with coloured dye and covered up with cosmetics. A light-reflecting powder is applied on the face to give it lifelike fullness and a rosy blush gets rid of pallor or dark patches on the skin. After being washed again, the body will be dressed in his/her funeral suit and styled in accordance with the family’s wishes.
pairing: daveed diggs x reader, lin-manuel miranda x reader, daveed x reader x lin (i think that’s how this should be listed idk)
request: @iamafangirlforeverthing: “Can you write a reader imagine where daveed and Lin compete for her affections and just pure nsfw…” and @itsme-ashley-marie: “Can I get some super kinky role play?!” AND @derpypenguin: “Lin smut with maybe some nice daddy/sir kink with some bondage maybe??”
summary: lin and daveed are both super into reader. she goes with this for a little, before they realize there’s only one way to make them all happy.
“So my question is for Y/N,” the fan giggled as she watched the two of you on stage.
You turned to Jensen, a satisfied smile plastered on your face. “See, they love me more,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him in victory.
He narrowed his eyes at you, scrunched up his nose and bit his bottom lip, contemplating you, smirking at you all the while. “That’s what you think. Wait for it,” Jensen whispered turning back to the blushing fan. “What’s your question?” Jensen encouraged.
“Well, its for Y/N, but it’s about Jensen,” she smiled apologetically in your direction.
You chanced a glance at Jensen and immediately regretted it.
“Boom!” He smiled, cocksure and proud of himself. You shoved him hard in the shoulder, knocking him off his chair causing the entire room to burst into laughter.
“Hurry. Ask your question before he recovers,” you encouraged the fan, kicking his chair over for good measure.
Jensen purses his lips in your general direction as he moves to right his chair and sit back down.
“Well, I was wondering what is your favorite thing about being married to Jensen?” she squeaked out.
“I don’t think this is the answer ANY of you will expect,” you chuckled, glancing at your husband who had forgone the chair and moved to your side, slinging his arm over your shoulder, encouraging you to lean into him where you belonged.
“My favorite thing about being married to Jensen is the hugs,” you said, watching the crowd laugh slightly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing,” you added, Jensen squeezing your shoulder, his fingers digging into the meat of your arms, sending an electric current rippling through you. “And those fucking lips, hmmmmm,” you hummed in satisfaction, the memory of his lips only an hour ago still lingering on your lips. “But I’ve gotta say it’s the hugs,” you finished, looking up at Jensen expectantly. “There is something safe about being wrapped in his arms. It feels like I’m home.”
He took your mic from you and laid it in his seat, pulling you from your chair. Immediately his arms embraced you, his warmth surrounding you, his scent filling your senses.
You buried your face in his chest, sighing contentedly. Faintly, you heard the audience awe, but you were lost in the way your husband’s arms felt wrapped tightly around your waist, how his head rested gently on top of yours, how his breaths and your breaths became one, your chests pressed together.
Jensen pulled away from you, his supple lips meeting yours, his beard leaving the perfect burn, heat and fire rising to the surface. There was something comforting and reassuring in the kiss as well as a promise of something more to come as his tongue briefly flicked in to your mouth, eager to taste you.
As if reading your thoughts, Jensen pulled away and leaned over, whispering in your ear.
“After this panel is over, let’s see what we can do about making that second thing you mentioned a little higher on the list,” he teased, his voice low and rumbling, his hands roaming down to squeeze your ass gently.
“Lets,” you agreed, kissing him firmly and pulling him back into a hug before pulling away.
“Thank you,” the fan smiled. “I could see why that’s your favorite thing,” she agreed, a look of sadness crossing her face briefly beside it was replaced with a smile.
The look on her face sparked an idea.
“Go show her, Jen,” you smiled, pushing him toward the edge of the stage.
He smiled brightly at you, understanding crossing his freckled features, quickly jumping offstage and darting toward the young lady. Before she could protest, Jensen had his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, pulling her into him.
You watched as a look of pure bliss fell across her face as she clung to your husband. You understood exactly what she felt in that moment, a huge grin spreading across your lips.
“See?” you asked, looking toward the fan and Jensen.
Jensen pulled away, looking down at the fan.
“Was she right?” he asked, his smile reaching his eyes, not taking his arms away from the girl.
“Definitely,” she breathed, her voice a little shaky.
Jensen chuckled, squeezing her quickly before stepping away and jumping back on stage, pulling you into his side.
Your body molded into his. It was meant to be there, the two of you meant to be one. Jensen smiled down at you, leaned down and kissed your temple, then addressed the crowd.
“Alright, I think it’s time for the last question,” he smiled, his arm drifting down around your waist, his fingertips reminding you of the promise from earlier as they danced along your skin under your shirt.
“Yep. Last question,” you agreed, eager to make good on Jensen’s promise.
kirby triple deluxe AU where taranza slowly and subtly gets more and more hands throughout the plot progression. kirby doesn’t notice at first but the ominous realization looms upon him, ready to break at any moment
What if The Cube represented the tight knit family?
In the beginning it started out intact. As the show progressed and we learn about Marvin, the cast kept taking pieces out of it and rearranging it, representing the fact that this family was changing and being torn apart by everything.
At the opening of act 2 the blocks were all assembled, then as Marvin sings “it’s about time” they collapsed and the cast tried to fix them so they would be comfortable sitting around the blocks. Maybe this represents that the family doesn’t have to be perfect, that everyone had to make their own little tweaks in order for it to work out for everyone. That the family needed to experience breaking before it could be “fixed”.
Then as Whizzer dies, he turns his back on the audience and walks toward the back of the stage as two parts of the cube come together and close in front of him, forming the same cube from the beginning of the show. Mendel and Jason later take out a single block which becomes Whizzer’s headstone.
So now we have the same cube, but with a single piece missing. Whizzer’s death brought the family together; Trina and Marvin, Marvin and Mendel, Charlotte and Cordelia with the rest of the family. They were finally able to support and love each other unconditionally, but at the price of Whizzer. Most importantly, they all felt the loss. Every person mourned Whizzer’s death, and this tight-knit family was essentially brought together through the loss of a very important person in that family.
Whizzer is the reason everyone became so close, the reason The Cube was a cube again by the end of the show, BUT ALSO the reason why the last time you see the cube it’s missing a single piece. Whizzer is that piece that everyone lost that day. Although the family is together they will never be complete.
My school has a pretty big dream department, two stages with an audience cap of 500, four music rooms and a big backstage area, and a shitload of good equipment. The only issue is we are seriously understaffed. It’s run entirely by this one, 45 year old batty Irish woman. She’s a genius director but absolutely 100% insane. In the space of one rehearsal, she threw a stack of folders at a group of 5th years, turned off all the lights and screamed (in her crazy accent) “IM TURING OFF ALL THE LIGHTS CAUSE I DONT WANT TO LOOK AT YER” and blasted ‘sweet transvestite’ from rocky horror at top volume because she needed to drown us out so she could think. Public schools need more staff man.
sonja, i wasn't here for the leak of no control...how did everyone react? when they realized louis sang the whole chorus? when they realized the song WAS ABOUT MORNING WOOD? oh i'm so sad i missed this moment in fandom history.
the leak happened in two stages.
so first we got the brazilian youth leak where we couldn’t hear the songs very well and the brazilian youth was singing along:
I wrote this short thing for the needle wizard,
pencil sorceress and all around magnificent friend, the lovely @outlanderedandoverhere. Master
Seamstress shares with me the love for Ed Sheeran and I couldn’t resist the
urge to have her doing a happy dance over this. Enjoy! X
I entered the small coffee shop, unfolding my
scarf as soon as I felt the merciful warmth of the heating system, aiming
towards a quiet table at the corner, as I shook off snowflakes from my curls.
As I waited for the small waitress to bring me
my cranberry scone and a large cup of steaming tea, I opened my notebook and
started reading the notes I had taken. It was a very hard case, a young patient
with a rare tumor compressing his bile duct – presenting with jaundice, looking
like the most recent character of The
Simpsons. The previous surgeon in charge of the case had announced it to be
unresectable, which gave him about three months of life expectancy. At the age
of thirty, you are seldom ready for your life to end – least of all without throwing
a good fight.
And that was what I was planning to offer him –
a risky procedure, only done in the past by a handful of surgeons in the
country. If it worked, he would be cancer free – and it was my job to guarantee
it worked. I had barely slept the last couple of nights, immersed in planning
the surgery to the finest detail.
I loved my job, fiercely – even in the moments
I hated it. I never lost the tingling on my palms when I held the scalpel or
the sudden feel of a jump inside my belly, like I had missed a step, whenever I
finished a hazardous procedure. Besides, it was a very welcome distraction from
the wreckage of my personal life.
I sipped my tea, delighted with the smoky taste
of the Highland blend, strong and homely on the back of my tongue. It reminded
me of the taste of his skin against
my lips and I swallowed hard, slightly shaking my head to disperse unwelcome
The bell above the door rang, a small tornado
of snow allowed in as new customers entered the cosy place. I bit the back of
my pencil, tilting my head to better discern an approach, as I mobilized the
invisible pancreas before me. I smiled, seeing the vessels and ducts so well
exposed in the eye of my mind, ready to be conquered, and raised my eyes to ask
for a second congratulatory scone.
I saw his back but recognized him immediately –
I had kissed that spot just behind his
ear, where his hair curled at the nape, countless times.
He was wearing his pilot uniform underneath his
overcoat, the flight captain’s hat placed next to his elbow on the table. I had
a sudden flash of his hands placing that hat on my head, a playful smile on his
full lips, his slightly callused hands roaming my otherwise naked body. No.
Without thinking, I was already making myself
small on my table, shrinking to the point where I could almost hide under the
tasteful tablecloth – wishing I had gone to another place, in another time, in
Only then I noticed he had company - a cute
blonde girl wearing stewardess clothes, her lips painted red to match the satin
scarf prettily tied around her neck in a bow. She sat in front of him on the
table, a complicit smile plastered on her face, as he talked – probably sharing
something about a recent trip.
He was always coming and going, flying around
the world – I remembered all too well setting my alarm to the middle of the
night, just so I could listen to his voice in Tokyo. Kissing him goodbye – there had been so many goodbyes, not enough
hellos – before he left to New York. Texting him, unsure where in the world
he was exactly – but painfully aware it wasn’t by my side.
The nights became so long, always craving,
always wondering. I felt split in two, half of myself scattered in the wind,
travelling on the air - while the other half was forced to anchor it, bearing
down, struggling with heaviness. There weren’t enough kisses to ease the
constant ache, as much as he tried – and
he had tried.
“Do ye not want me
anymore?” He had
asked me on the final night, broken – Oh,
I hadn’t answered him and in my silence he took
his leave, shoulders hunched in pain. In truth, I couldn’t fathom a time when I
wouldn’t want him – and that was the problem, wasn’t it? I kept wanting and wanting and wanting, wanting so much
everything hurt, wanting so much I feared I would physically break.
The flight attendant touched his hand – to my
horror he didn’t shy away from it. It lingered there, natural and possessive,
and I felt the scone doing cartwheels inside my stomach like a flour acrobat.
She leaned over and told him something,
slightly sticking her tongue out in mischief and he laughed. Throat and lungs
and vocal chords, clapping and singing, an orchestra on a perfect rendition of
amusement. Standing ovation from the crowd. Claire Beauchamp dead in the
He used to laugh like that with me. Jamie
always laughed with his entire body. He was that kind of man – whole in
everything he did. I recalled the sensation of his laugh as I laid my cheek on
his chest, a scientist studying the mechanisms of happiness. For a moment I
closed my eyes and covered them with my hand, foolishly disturbed by the
realization I didn’t hold his laughter in exclusiveness.
Jamie looked happy. I could see the outline of
his smile, the corners of his mouth turned up in contentment. Had he been that
happy with me, once? Before I filled our lives with insecurities, demands and frailties?
She squeezed his hand – fingers touching, skin
meeting, hearts melting? - and got up, putting on her elegant coat. With a
swish of blonde hair, she kissed his cheek – clearly no amiable kiss demanded
such duration, in my opinion – and with a light caress on his forehead, left
him finally alone.
He looked around, searching for the waitress to
ask for a refill and – of course – spotted me. It was like standing on stage,
two spotlights beaming on us, everything else left in darkness. Jamie glanced
at me and I proudly endured his gaze, asserting that I saw his happiness and
wasn’t shaken at all by it. Liar.
made my way to his table, a slug crawling on a lettuce leaf, ugly but brave. I
seemed to be ken on eating every crumb of my cake of sorrow and then smile,
pretending it was sweet.
“Hello, Jamie.” I greeted him, bracing myself
on the notebook I carried. His hair was somewhat shorter than the last time I
had seen him, a couple of months ago, his uniform impeccable, the tie on his
neck just a bit loose. I used to make his knots and suddenly panicked, fearing
that the blonde girl was a master of turns and twists, able of fixing his heart
as well as his tie.
“Hello, Claire.” Jamie replied, his voice
cautious. “How are ye?”
“Good.” I smiled nervously. “Are you back from
“Aye.” He fidgeted with the mug in front of
him, a soft hesitant smile on his lips. “Just got back from Brazil. It was a
wee furnace there.”
“Ah.” I swallowed hard, struggling to come up
with other pleasantries I could share with him. Do you smile in your sleep when she touches you? “You look good.
“What are ye asking me, Claire?” He avoided my
gaze, his face abruptly serious.
“Nothing.” I replied in a hoarse voice, well
aware that he could spot the tears forming on the corners of my eyes, in the
fountains of my soul. “Just that. You looked happy with her.”
“She’s a good lass.” He glared at me, his eyes
outrageously blue and intent. “She understands what life is for me. I feel that
I can talk to her.”
“As you couldn’t talk to me?” I tried to smile
again and failed miserably, the glass of my face polished and glistening,
reflecting the thousands of small sorrows hidden in the corners of my eyes.
“I told ye all my soul and heart.” Jamie
lowered his eyes, grabbing his hat. “In the end it wasna enough. That is my utmost
regret, Claire - that it wasna enough.”
I stood there, speechless, as he gathered his
things and left. I thought of the bleeders that elude the most capable surgeon,
the cardiac arrest that lasts forever, the hands inside where we are most
private, touching the core of what we are, unable to reach what had been lost.
I slammed my heart at him as he closed the door behind him – “Jamie!” – knowing all too well I had no
one to blame but myself. I had traded all for nothing, convinced it was a
worthy bargain – blind, blind, fool.
I crawled home, shaken to the very marrow of my
bones, oozing love and loss – sticky and queasy with it. In medical school they
had told me how the brain works to protect itself – the clever barrier
surrounding it, the plasticity, the temperature regulation – and yet my brain
seemed decided to finish me, incessantly playing memories of Jamie, smacking me
with my own recklessness. I had no self-preservation left, for I loved him to
the atoms of me.
I had seen him happy without me – there was joy
there to be sure, in knowing him well. But the pain was almost unbearable, no
last redoubt of magical thinking left, where I could hide and pretend we would
find our way back to each other. He was
gone. Pushed away by my own two hands.
I collapsed on the couch, curling into fetal
position, making myself small and smaller. My ears were filled with the sounds
of my own heart and I willed him to stop, to let go of beating, to be still and
let me be.
He kissed my cheek on
our first date. I kissed his lips on the second. Loved all of himself by the
tenth. My heart leapt when I saw him, tall and gallant in his uniform, almost
running to hold me in his arms at the hospital. When he told me flying was his
second favourite thing. When he told me I was first. Red Jamie, my Jamie.
A knock on the door, fast and rhythmed. A
secret code for the lover coming.
I padded to the door, afraid and wanting. Hopeful.
I opened the door and he was standing there,
snowflakes turning into rivers on the brim of his hat. He reached out with his
hand and I took it, already knowing I’d never let go again.
“I was happier with ye.” He whispered in a
husky voice. And I remembered it all, the happiness and love I’d known, waiting
in him as kisses on his lips.