wake boat

anonymous asked:

Can I ask what is the usual poses of photos that Broadway publishes? Like I know there is the arm wrestling one in the motn, like you said, one of Raoul and Christine looking at each other on rooftop. Can you make a list, if it's not too much to ask?

Apart from the absolute obvious (MOTN pose, the Phantom at the organ, boat scene, Christine with red scarf in the Mausoleum scene), the classical and basically always-photographed US/Broadway photos include:

1. Christine with the scarf in “Think of Me”:


2. Christine and Raoul in “Little Lotte” (preferably with Raoul’s hand on Christine’s shoulder, and her hand on top of that):


3. Christine trying to look enchanted in the First Lair:


4. Christine waking up in the boat/bed, pulling a bit in the Phantom’s cloak:


5. The infamous “arm wrestling pose”:


6. The Rooftop pose (and here it’s almost mandatory for Raoul to touch Christine’s chin or cheek):


7. Christine with the open Don Juan score:


8. Christine clinging to said Don Juan score as her life depended on it:


9. Christine looking distressed in “Twisted Every Way”, while displaying the blue Wishing dress in the best possible way:


10. Raoul, with the sheer force of his mighty hand stopping the Phantom in his track, to protect Christine:

Post weirdmageddon trauma

> There are some days where Stan can’t remember anything. He wakes up on the boat with his brother and doesn’t know where he is or who he is or who he’s with. It kills Ford to see his brother like this because he knows it’s his fault

> Sometimes Ford has seizures. Stan never took any health classes or read any books on the stuff, but he knows the basics so all he can do is put something between Ford’s teeth and hold him still and wait for it to be over

> In the worst days, Stan looses his memories and Ford will have a seizure so all Stan can really do is panic and try to stop it but he doesn’t remember anything so he doesn’t know what to do

> Mabel, Dipper, Gideon, Pacifica, Wendy, Candy, Grenda, and Robbie all have one thing in common when school starts again: they all have panic attacks during math class. All they can see is Bill during every trigonometry lesson and they all know they have to take math to pass but they just…….can’t

> Gideon has a deep loathing of all cute things. Every time he sees something cute he starts having flashbacks to being locked in that cage. If people call him cute, that’s even worse. He once overheard girl at school saying he was cute and all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe and he was there with Bill again, the sounds of innocent people screaming ringing in his ears. He was dragged off to the nurces office, tears just streaming down his face while he screamed “IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY” over and over and over again

> It’s their first year of high school, but Dipper and Mabel have made no new friends. Their teachers have called home multiple times, conserned. They’ve all described the twins as “jumpy” and “isolated” as well as “highly suspicious of everyone”

> Robbie has nightmares about being part of Bills demented throan. He constantly has to be moving in some way to remind himself that he can and that he’s no longer a paralyzed statue

> Wendy’s always been bad at getting to class, but the year after weirdmageddon it escalates. She’s late to every class because she keeps going into the woods during every passing period to make sure Bill is still just a harmless statue.

> Mayor Tyler may preach the “never mind all that” act all he wants, but everyone knows he quadrupled the Gravity Falls police force after weirdmageddon

> Ford swears he can hear an echo of Bill’s voice in Stan’s sometimes. He refuses to let the demon play mind games with him anymore, but he’s constantly torn between wether or not he’s imagining things

> Certain things will trigger Fiddleford and reduce him to the mess he was before he regained his memories. One moment he’ll be fine, and then something will happen that’ll send him scrambling to find the memory gun again to forget “just one last time”

> Candy builds a home security system that’s special made to detect things like Bill. She makes one for everyone in Gravity Falls, but it still doesn’t help the constant feeling of dread she feels whenever she looks to the woods

> Grenda takes up boxing and wrestling and as often as she brags about being able to take down the next demon who tries to mess with her friends, she’s always remembering how psychical force alone couldn’t stop Bill and wondering why she even bothers

> Pacifica becomes paranoid that every bad thing she does will have the ghosts come back to haunt her family. She tries her best to be good, she really does, but then she’ll mess up something small and be too scared to leave to house for days in fear that they’ll come back

> The worst moment in Soos’s life was when Stan, the man who was a father to him, forgot who he was. So naturally, now he calls up Stan every chance he gets to make sure he still remembers

> Soos and Melody don’t allow any kind of arcade game anywhere near the Mystery Shack. Once a character on a kids gameboy sounded a little to much like Giffany and needless to say that did not end well

Sunrise on Another World

For Platonic VLD Week! First prompt: Moonlight/Sunlight

@platonicvldweek

Words: 1017
Characters: Hunk and Shay
Summary: Hunk wants to show Shay everything, and after the war, he finally gets the chance.


“I just want to show you everything,” he told her. “When the war is over… There’s so much to see. You think seeing the sky is great… Wow. There’s a lot more. I want to show you everything.”

Shay smiled, her face shining like the sky she loved so dearly, and Hunk smiled back.

It was a long war. A trying war. A draining war. Hunk saw things he’d never imagined, did things he never wanted to do, and lost more than he had ever known he had. But they won, in the end. Zarkon was defeated, the Galra Empire was broken, and local peoples were starting to figure out what freedom meant. Then, and only then, did Hunk get to keep his promise.

He landed on the Balmera in the yellow lion tired and worn, but triumphant. Rejuvenated, just to step foot on the rocky crust of the homeliest place he’d found in the universe, outside his true home. Shay ran to meet him, beaming like a thousand thousand stars, and he smiled back.

She stumbled to a halt and stood facing him, staring, her face falling not to dismay, but to solemnity at the least. He tried to smile harder, to reassure her, but she reached for him. Slow at first, cautious. As if he might refuse. Hunk stood still, gave her a nod. She could do what she liked with him. Shay touched the new scar that crossed his cheek, trailing from his eye to his chin.

“Does it pain you?” she asked, so soft, so gentle. As ever, Shay was the softest person Hunk had ever known, never mind the toughness of her skin, the solidity of her spine.

He smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. It’s a…a badge of honor, Shiro says. A point of pride. But never mind that. Can you come with me? Can I show you?”

Her smile returned, slow and broad and soft, soft, soft. “Yes, please. I must needs say farewell to my family, first, but then… Yes. I want to see everything there is to see.”

Keep reading

Things rowers hate:

1. Rowing when it’s freezing out
2. Not being able to go out and having to erg
3. Waiting for 3+ hours to be able to leave a regatta
4. Forgetting a post workout snack
5. When the person in front of you splashes you a lot (especially in combination with the first)
6. Novice boats/coxies who don’t know the course yet
7. On-the-square rowing practices
8. When the sun doesn’t rise until practice is entirely over
9. When coaches wake your boat badly
10. When someone says they didn’t pull as hard as they could have
11. Lightning
12. Heavy old wooden boats
13. When people who don’t row complain about how they have to get up at 6:00
14. Disgustingly polluted water

But it’s worth it

A Dream of Summer

Somewhere, there is a ringing, a buzzing, some insistent sonic prodding at my eardrum, something nipping at my brain…

But the sunlight is pulsing rhythmically against my closed eyelids.  Warm, spreading samples of melted orange and yellow.  Then there is wind, neither warm nor cold.  It is a force against the small of my back, urging me along.  The wind has a voice.  It is a familiar sound.  Someone I know.  There might even be words, names, places, times, plans, in that voice, but it just sounds like the waves on the shore.

In the dream, we are on the ferryboat, crossing the bay.  It is summer - finally - and we are leaning against the rail.  I can see myself against you, half-melted against your hard body.  If we stood motionless, we could be mistaken for mannequins, models, displays, pure bodies of summer, placed elegantly there to establish how summer it is. 

In the dream, I do not quite remember how I got there, but it feels so real, so vivid.  The waves spit playfully, tossing their white tails in the air like deer in the forest before vanishing into the thundering wake of the boat.  The gulls make their strident calls across the seamless blue above.  The wind ruffles your hair as if it is admonishing you, lightly.  And I, I am so in love with you.  I am so in love with you and I am crying in my dream because my heart is held with tight iron bands and it is hard to breathe.  You turn your face towards mine and you smile and you chuck under my chin. 

We are wearing similar outfits.  You’ve chosen them.  This has become normal now, after months of being together.  Half of the time I don’t even remember what I’ve got on, but sometimes you’ll show me a side-by-side, a before-and-after, before you post it to the internet, and remind me slyly how Far I’ve Come, and Who I Used to Be. 

Feels like a movie.  A dream.  Dream within a dream, perhaps.  I’m in a tank top.  It’s to show off my guns, because I have spent years working on them, crafting their sinews and their contours.  Looking at them, in the dream, I feel the urge to flex them, and you notice, and you nod, and without words, you give permission.  Not that I need permission.  It’s been so long now that you are my entire world, and the dream-people around me are this cream-coloured blur, possessing only eyes and legs.  They see me flex and all they feel is jealousy.  A thought worms its way into my head, a nasty little look at that dumbfuck, flexing like a moron, grinning like a moron, look at that dumbfuck jock but I feel you coaxing your thoughts over those, I feel you take hold of my chin and pull it so that my eyes lose themselves in the reflection of myself in endless recursion.  The lightest smile on your lips.  You know what I am thinking.  It turns you on.  I’m a little hard too, in the shorts that are a little shorter than I’m used to.  In the neon orange Nike Roshes that ended up in my mail one day.  Not sure how, but have stopped trying to guess.  You turn my cap around on my head and I wrinkle my nose in faux-exasperation, but your mouth on mine makes me stop.  Your hand creeps up from my shoulder to the nape of my neck, and your finger idly rests, climbs, rests, climbs, at the apex of my spinal cord. 

And there is the sound of traffic?  Something huge and heavy is whooshing by, there are murmurs and footsteps.  I am suspended in gray.  My body is not responsive and my thoughts are gelled in aspic…

“I love you,” you say, soundlessly, in the dream.  You pull away from my body and the boat rocks on the blue waves of the summer day.  Do you open your mouth to say it?  Do I open mine to reply?  The islands are spread out so widely in the bay.  Which are we even arriving to?  Where are we sailing?

Bro.  Bro.  BRO.

The dream pops, filmy, leaving its neon residue dripping down the walls of the subway station.  You’re there, too, in a different outfit.  You’re smiling a world-eating smile.  I love the small chip on your front tooth.  “Hey bro,” you’re saying, gesturing at my white Jordans.  “Wouldn’t those look hot on me?”

I look down at your sneakers.  Bright blue Under Armour sneakers.  So bright blue it’s almost like I’m back in the dream, squinting through my Ray-Bans at the sky above.  I hear a gull cry.  Or it’s the train squealing to a halt.  Your hand, light on my shoulder, shaking it.  “Bro.  Switch with me.”

The subway car rattles back and forth, jarringly.  I have to hang onto one of the metal posts for support.  My biceps bulge slightly, and you growl playfully, kissing the side of my neck, forcing my gaze downwards.  I am electrified.  Currents of unnameable energy ricochet from the base of my spine, around my ears, down my lats, through my pecs, and tingle down to the impossibly bright blue sneakers on my feet.  “I love you, bro,” you say into my skin, and I feel that, too, tingly, as it shoots through me.  “You’re mine, forever.”

The tunnel’s darkness, emphatic, pulsing, like squeezed-out ink from a tube.  My lips form a desperate smile.  Desperate for you.  For your direction.  For your guidance.  For your limitless voice, as formless and as strong as the wind in my ears and against the small of my back.  At the nape of my neck.  And I know that when we get home, you will guide me into our bedroom, and we will stare again into each other’s eyes, we will stare until the winter’s hold on the world is broken, until I wake up beside you on that ferry, blinking, convinced that I have woken up for real.

Let this be a lesson to us:

That next time you have the right to vote you take that goddamn right seriously. Vote on behalf of those who are too young or not yet citizens. Vote because your voice matters. Now, more than ever, we are seeing first-hand the devastations the wrong president can cause. Millions of people will be ripped apart from their families, thousands of people are going to die because they don’t have access to healthcare, marginalized races are no longer welcome in this country, we are destroying our environment and aren’t allowed to talk about it anymore…… the list goes on.

There’s only one thing the republicans are right about… they won the election because we didn’t care enough to go out and vote. So please, in 4 years when you’re given the opportunity to change history and impact the lives of millions… step into that booth and let your voice be heard.

Western Washington Gothic

• You close your eyes, and feel the rain on your skin, the droplets as they roll down your face, you open your eyes to a clear sky, the rain still clinging to your eyelashes.

• The waves beckon to you as they roll over stones, the salty air stings your lungs, but the sea has always been there for you, the sea is a friend.

• Mountains are always in the distance, looming, watching, and waiting.

• The Trees bend with the wind, even after it stops, the bend, leaning towards you, grasping, wanting.

• The ferry you take home lurches sideways, the captain says it’s just the wake from a passing boat, but you can see the shadows waiting under the surface.

• Everyone know of Rainier, everyone awaits for its time, they wait for it, as it waits for us.

• You don’t question the new Starbucks that pops up on the corner overnight, you never do, you don’t ask what happened to the family that lived there once.