wall bombing

loraetandotherstuff  asked:

Imagine if Claire met Jamie during WWII, they fell in love. Then "ghost Jamie" in the first episode was real Jamie and the story begins with Frank asking Claire at the fireplace who could that be... Sorry for my English

The Fallen Soldier:

As the lights flickered, Claire turned, her eyes wide as darkness surrounded her. Frank had yet to return from his adventures with the reverend and the suddenness of the storm had her on edge.

As the black began to dull, an inky grey replacing the immediate onyx, Claire blinked and set about lighting the candles Mrs Baird had sporadically scattered about the room. An orange glow began to illuminate her rented chamber as she curled her hand around the visible wick, allowing the waxen end to set alight.

Able to see once more she picked her brush from the dressing table, turning the fragile tortoiseshell handle over in her hands. A glint of red caught her eye as her fingers shook, the memories of her last night in France before her return to Britain.

“Just one day more, you goddamn bloody *bastard*!” She cursed, her hiss echoing around the small interior as she fought with herself, begging the tears away as she slammed the brush back down again. Unable to bring herself to de-tangle her curls, Claire flopped helplessly onto the bed, the visions returning.

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Ok like
If we do get a Steven and Lars fusion
I don’t want him to be a kickass fighter or anything

I want him to be as dorky as all get out.

Weapon? Nah. He just takes that shield and some random stick or the f***ing magic sword and voila, it’s a magic frying pan. 

His powers are the ability to cook anything and everything on the fly. Sometimes its not even food items. Sometimes he makes weapons to escape the clutches of homeworld and make it home!

“Thirty seconds in the oven and voila my dearies we have a ****ing WALL BOMB.”

When he gets introduced to the Crystal Gems, they don’t pressure him to be a warrior like Stevonnie or Smoky. They encourage his inventing/cooking skills, knowing he’s clever and passionate about what he does. Even if he is awkward and dorky about it. It makes him happy and boosts his self esteem!

Heck wouldn’t it be awesome if there was an episode with Sardonyx’s room again? And instead of a talk show, it’s the zaniest cooking show on cable? Complete with explosions?

“Add a teaspoon of salt and a pinch of FIRE, and you have yourself a delicious stir fry that also acts as a combustant!”

I know its a tall order, and to be honest, I have my doubts we’ll get a fusion, but Lars’ and Steven’s brotherly relationship means a lot to me, and I want to see this sort of upbeat development happen.


Neck Deep - Happy Judgement Day (Official Music Video)

Is it just me or does anyone else feel like this could be farewell?
Oh, we almost had it
But we pissed it all away.
Building walls and dropping bombs,
Stop the world I’m getting off.
It’s been a long time coming,
Never thought I’d see the day,
When the world went up in flames.

Another Time to Love: Part 1

Author: @sincerelystiles
Pairing: Dylan x Reader
Word Count: 3,518

A/N: after so long, it’s finally here. this is something very different to what i usually write, and although there is no drama or smut in this part, i can assure you there is going to be. special thanks to @likethismccall​ for proofreading and helping me out so much with this! i hope you guys enjoy! and please please send feedback, it means so much to me!

Originally posted by multihxe

I stare down at him, eyes wide and lips parted. I was panting like crazy, though it felt like I wasn’t breathing at all; like my lungs had collapsed on me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.


I take a deep breath, eyes boring out the window as I watch the water pellets slam from the sky and ricochet against the ground. I take another breath before shaking any nerves and opening the door of my car, jumping out and immediately regretting it as the rain begins to drown me. I slam the door behind me, chest heaving and heart stammering as my hair clings onto my face and neck, my clothing soaked through onto my skin. With a small nod of my head, I race toward the apartment building and clamber up the steps, scurrying toward the camera and buzzers.

My eyes scan over the apartment numbers until my fingers press against the number, number 15. My fingers repeatedly press the button, a long trail of buzzing blaring from the protected speaker and a weak blue light flashes above the camera. “Can I help you?” The groggy voice shatters my heart but it only pushes me further. “Y-yeah. My car broke down, and my phone battery ran out, I don’t know where I am!” I pant in an uncontrollable sob, allowing panic and fear to rush to my face as I grip at my dripping hair, knowing he’d be watching me through the camera.

A moment of silence washes over us for a moment and my clothing absorbs even more water until his voice speaks again. “Alright, just hold on and I’ll be down.” I sigh in relief, nodding my head and swallowing back the nerves.

You did good, Y/N. You just gotta keep it up.

I pace around the porch wrapping my arms around myself as my teeth chatter, my lips now most probably blue and hair slick to my head. The sudden burst of sound from the front door catches my attention as a large, yet slender, figure emerges from the light and into the darkness with me.

The sky begins to cackle, as though it was mocking myself and my plan as he rushes toward me. I expect him to brush past me and straight to my car, but he doesn’t.. He approaches me with open arms, wrapping my freezing body in a warm blanket and rubbing my arms as I use my own hands to keep the warm material as close as possible. I look up at him through hooded eyes, the lightning illuminating his features, slightly taking me back.

His eyes were a gorgeous, honey glazed amber with the most beautiful eyelashes I’d ever seen. A constellation of moles and freckles scattered his cheeks and neck, along with a dark coat of thin stubble across his jaw. If I didn’t know what I did, I would’ve been putty in his hands by now. But I do know, and that changes everything.

“Are you okay? You’re freezing!” He worries, eyes full of concern as he gazes into mine. I shake my head, coming back to it and forcing a smile as I glance up at him. “I’m fine, I’m just extremely lost and-” “-and your car, right, come on.” He cuts me off, but not rudely. He grabs the umbrella that I hadn’t noticed he brought with him, and opens it, allowing the waterproof fabric to shield us from the heavy downpour.

He pulls me to his side, and I hold my breath in attempt to stop myself from snapping and failing this whole thing. Before I know it, we’re standing by my car; the hood up and I was holding the umbrella, shielding the both of us as he flashes his torch over the engine. “Ah shit, your exhaust is blown and you have an oil leak.” He cusses, standing back and slamming the hood back down.

I turn to him with furrowed eyebrows and parted lips. “The next gas station isn’t for another couple miles. Why don’t you come in and we’ll call a tow truck?” He suggests and I sigh in relief, smiling up at him. “Thank you so much!” He smiles down at me, pushing his large hand between us. “Dylan.” He beckons over the thunder, and I take his hand in mine, “Y/N.”

Dylan smiles down at me once more before leading us back toward the apartment building and pushing the door open for me. It was a gorgeous building, marble flooring and white washed walls. It’d cost a bomb to live here, but he ever so clearly could afford it. The lighting was dim, but bright enough for me to get a better look at him as he lead me up the stairs to the second floor.

He wore a pair of sweatpants and a black shirt that clung adoringly to his body and dripped with water. He walked up the stairs before me, giving me a perfect view of his ass and I scold myself for letting my mind wander so easily. “I have some spare clothes you can have.” His voice wakes me from my daydream and I smile wearily up at him as we approach the longing hall.

I had to plan this out, I couldn’t mess this up. In and out, it’ll be that easy.

I reach into my jacket pocket, pinching the petite vile between my fingers to ensure my own safety. Dylan comes to a stop, inserting a key into a lock and twisting it with a click, pushing the door open and ushering me inside. “Thank you so much, you’re so kind.” I thank him appreciatively, walking inside as he follows behind.

“I wouldn’t just leave you out there. Let me get you some warm clothes, I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.” His words fade into a mumble the further away down the hall he gets, and I watch until he’s out of sight. My eyes wander around the apartment appreciatively, taking in the rather homely vibe. The place was beautiful, whitewashed walls and gorgeous wooden flooring. Warm colours of cushions and accents complemented the brightness to dull it slightly.

This was nothing I had expected for an ex-gang member. This was a home, a beautiful, loving home and I found myself doubting my own thoughts the further I looked around the room. I made my way into the kitchen, scanning the area before pulling the vile out of my pocket and popping the cork that concealed the clear substance. I make my way toward the refrigerator, hand wrapping around the door. I’m about to open it, when footsteps pound against the ground and I quickly lower my hand.

“I hope you don’t mind sweats and an old baseball shirt.” Dylan calls, smiling when he notices me and hands me the clean and warm clothing. “You want a drink?” He asks and I nod my head politely. “Thank you, again.” I repeat, nerves getting to the best of me. He smiles at me warmly, grabbing a bottle of wine and two tall wine glasses. “Bathroom is third door to your right, down the hall.” I nod at him, spinning on my heels and scurrying down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me as my back presses against it.

Taking a deep breath, swallowing thickly and squeezing my eyes shut, I scurry over to the sink and mirror, slamming the fresh clothes onto the counter and staring at myself with wide eyes in the mirror as I take in my appearance; mascara smudged down my cheeks, and hair matted to my face. Great, I looked like a complete fucking drug head.

I rid myself of the clothes, replacing them with Dylan’s, and although they are about three sizes too big, I didn’t look half as bad as I thought I would. I take another deep breath, fixing my face and rubbing my fingers through my hair. I gather my soaked clothes and nod to myself in approval and make my way out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen.

“Here.” He speaks as soon as I enter the kitchen, taking the wet clothes from my arms and throwing them into the dryer. I thank him again, gritting my teeth at the fact that I’ve already been here longer than intended. “I couldn’t get through to the tow service, I think the storm cut through the phone lines.” I grunt at his words, panic now beginning to surge through me as the lights dim out, darkness now surrounding us. “And the power lines too.” He mumbles, fumbling in one of his kitchen draws and he pulls out some matches and candles.

“Fuck.” I cuss under my breath, my breath shallowing and I find myself terrified of what could happen. “Hey, it’s alright. You can stay here the night.” He offers, but that only scares me even more.

Through those moments of my panicking, Dylan had managed to light a whole bunch of candles, both the living room and kitchen dimly lit with candle light. Candles were scattered across the breakfast bar that separated the rooms, and a couple placed beside the T.V and on the glass coffee table.

“I’ll be right back, go sit down.” He instructs and I willingly oblige as he wanders down the hall with a couple candles and a lighter. I grab my glass of wine from the counter and make my way to the couch, sipping the cool substance and relaxing a little, then wine soothing my irrational nerves.

With every sip I take, I feel myself slowly fall out of reality before the sounds of footsteps pull me back, and I sit up from my slouched position, dropping the glass as it shatters onto the floor. “What did you do to me?” I murmur, groaning at the throbbing pain pounding in my head. Dylan charges toward me, crouching down and lifting my head to face him, his fingers on my chin.

“Better luck next time, princess.” He retorts, not so pleased with his accomplishment. I growl at him, head spinning and vision blurry before I fall off the couch and into his arms and everything fades into the darkness.

The stench of dirty cigarettes and stale liquor invade my senses, bringing me back to reality after the deep slumber I was unwillingly put into. My eyes strain at the bright lights above me and my body aches from slouching in this god awful chair for so long.

“Well well, looks like sleeping beauty finally decided to join us.” I jump at the unfamiliar voice and try to run, but my arms are tied behind the back of the chair, and ankles tied to the legs. I let out a small whimper, careful not to let them show I was afraid. The mysterious voice laughs, becoming louder as a large build comes around from a dark corner.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” I hiss in a demanding tone, struggling in my seat as my limbs tug against the ropes. The man charges toward me, anger surging through his body until a hand wraps around his shoulder and pulls him stumbling back. “Touch her and I fucking kill you.” A familiar voice growls from behind the tall man, and I knit my eyebrows in confusion, that wasn’t possible, I was hearing things.

“Get the fuck out of my sight.” He spits, the giant brushing past him and back into the dark hallway. I look up through hooded eyes, my eyes widening when I finally see who my saviour was. “Oh my God, Tyler!” I cry, tears prickling in my eyes as he wanders toward me and unties my hands and ankles.

His strong arms immediately smother my waist as I bury my head into the crook of his neck, loud sobs emitting from my lips as my tears stain through his shirt. “They- they told me y-you were dead!” I howl, clenching balls of his shirt into my fists to pull him even closer to me. “Well I’m not, and whatever they told you, they lied.” I pull away from him, furrowing my eyebrows with parted lips.

Why would someone lie to me about something like this?

I hands cup Tyler’s soft cheeks as I gaze up into his eyes. I had no reason for revenge, he wasn’t dead. He’s alive. “Y/N, we need to talk.”

“Later, I just got my boyfriend back, I don’t wanna talk.” I pout, staring up to his lips and watch as he shifts uncomfortably in his place. His eyes avert mine and a frown etches onto his face.

“That’s kinda what we need to talk about.” I furrow my eyebrows at his words, tilting my head slightly and backing away from him.

“What do you mean?” I snap, growing hurt and angered despite not knowing where exactly he was going with this, I knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

Tyler remains silent for a few moments, until when he finally opens his mouth to speak, another’s voice cuts him off. “Babe, what’s taking so long?” My heart stops beating for a split second before it plummets to my feet and I choke on the lump that surfaced my throat.

“Y/N, this is Shelley,” I narrow my eyes at him as the brunette wrapped her arm around his waist and nuzzle herself into his side. “My fiancé.” Those words shatter my entire soul, and I’m frozen in place just watching them until my gaze falls to the floor and I slowly turn around, wandering past them both and ignoring the beckoning of my name.

The tears begin to stream down my cheeks as my breath caught in my chest. It felt like everything around me was crumbling away, the earth spinning beneath my feet as I lose balance of myself and tumble against the wall of a dark hallway. A loud sob leaves my lips which managed to catch the attention of a passerby who kindly helped me to my feet, enabling my stability and taking my face into their large hands.

Through my waterlogged eyes I was able to make out a few familiar features, but unable to register the being before me. “Y/N, it’s okay, I got you. Breathe for me sweetheart.” I tremble in his arms, terror invading every inch of my body as I try to pull away from his tight grasp.

His hands leave my cheeks and wrap around my waist to hold me still, dodging any kicks or punches I throw. “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay. I work with Tyler. My names Cody.” My body stills once again and I stare up at him with red eyes, sniffling away the sobs as he hesitantly releases his grip on my hips.

He smiles softly, gently placing a hand against my lower back and leading me toward a quiet room, switching the light on. I take in my surrounds; whitewashed walls, wooden flooring and black and white furniture. I sit at the edge of the bed and watch Cody wander around, opening a few draws to place things back where they belong. This must be his bedroom.

“Why was I tied up?” I croak out, eyes staring into the ground and I feel the bed dip beside me. He takes a deep breath before resting his elbows on his thighs and leans forward, tilting his head to look at me. “Tyler didn’t want you to freak out and run.” He tells me, and I scoff at his words. As if Tyler really cared about me.

Cody’s stare bore into the side of my face and I finally turn to face him, meeting those gorgeous eyes. “What the hell is going on?” I finally ask, hoping for a logical answer

I look up at him wearily before taking his hands and allowing him to pull me onto my feet. He leads us out of his room and into the kitchen, where everyone was currently camping out. All eyes meet myself, usually I’d be uncomfortable at the sudden burst of attention, but right now I just wanted answers.

“Ah, princess. How nice of you to join us.” A familiar voice speaks up from the centre of the crowded kitchen, my eyes locking with the honey pair. I grit my teeth in anger, storming through the crowd and pushing people out of my way as I ball my fists by my side. I stop in front of him, swinging my arm round; my fist connecting with his nose, sending him spiralling back and a shock of pain shooting through my hand and wrist.

I wince in pain, unclenching my fist and waving it around before holding it with my other hand to soothe the pain. “That’s for drugging me you fucking asshole!” I growl, a pair of arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me away from Dylan as he caresses his bloody nose, standing back to his feet, glaring at me.

My back is slammed against the wall, a tall figure pinning me against it. I raise my head, glaring at him when I notice who it was. “What do you think you’re doing?” He growls at me, making me scoff at his comment. “Get the fuck off me Tyler, go fuck yourself.” I spit, pushing him off me and wandering back into the kitchen, ignoring the glares of people in the hallway.

“Somebody tell me what the hell is going on.” I demand, my chest heaving in anger and I find myself slowly beginning to lose control of the situation, not that I had control of it anyway. “There’s no time for that, we need to make a move now. They’re at The Pearl Inn, everyone gear up. We leave in ten.” A loud voice roars, an alpha vibe radiating off him.

His dark eyes meet mine and I gulp loudly, already intimidated by his height and flawless bone structure. “You,” he points at me, as everyone disperses from the kitchen. “Come with me.” I nod my head, following him out of the kitchen and down the hall into another room that was similar to Cody’s.

“My names Tyler, but everyone calls me Hoechlin.” He begins, throwing his shit in a duffle bag and scurrying around the room. Great, another Tyler. “And I’m here because?” I ask with annoyance, noticing how my tone frustrated the man. “You’re here because you failed to assassinate one of my colleagues. Not only that but I understand you have acquired some impressive tracking skills, and that’s something that we need.”

I laugh at his words and follow him out of the room and back into the kitchen. “You can’t trust me, like you just said; I tried to assassinate your colleague.” I snort, now finding the situation rather amusing, as does he when he chuckles at my comment. “Exactly right, but if Posey can trust you, then so can I.” I fall silent at his reply, just the sound of his name boils my blood.

“But I don’t exactly trust you.” I state in a-matter-of-fact tone, which causes Hoech to whip his head around to me. “If you trust Posey, you can trust me.” He speaks softly, and I let out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, I don’t exactly trust him either.” I mutter, which he seems to hear but doesn’t act on it.

Instead, he opens the dishwasher, pulling out two handguns, passing one to me and shoving the other in the back of his jeans. I take the gun, doing the same and adjusting Dylan’s shirt over it. “Really, you’re giving the princess a gun?” A voice complains from behind me. I spin on my heels, noticing Dylan leaning against a kitchen countertop with his arms folded across his chest, eyes boring into me.

“Why don’t you cut out the pet name.” I hiss at him, folding my arms over my chest and leaning on one foot, narrowing my eyes at him. His eyebrows raise at my tone, a smirk on his lips as his eyes not-so-subtly rake over my body in a lingering gaze, before they trail back up and meet my own eyes.

I scoff at him, rolling my eyes and wandering past him, until his hand wraps around my arms, stopping me from going any further. “That pretty little body looks hot as fuck in my clothes.” He smirked, eyeing me again. I tear my arm out of his grasp, “And that pretty little face looks looks a little busted.” I retort, eyes averting to the purple bruise forming around his nose and eye.

I smirk at him with confidence and brush past him, my shoulder budging into his in the process. This is not how I was expecting things to go, and honestly, I don’t know who I can trust. But I do know one thing. Dylan was either going to be a pain in my ass, or the cause of destruction.

The U.S. government bombed Syrian government forces again today, in light of which I want to elaborate on why I opposed the original strike. The original strike was a retaliation for chemical weapons, which is a pretty good reason and seems to lend itself to a pretty restricted scope: we will bomb them only if they massacre civilians in a blatant and horrible way. 

But I think there’s a threshold effect, where after we’ve bombed Syrian government forces once then the next time we do it is less remarkable and less likely to stir up attention or fuss or resistance, even if it’s also less defensible, less restricted in scope, and higher-casualties than the last one.

So when we bomb over something like chemical weapons, I think we are also making it easier politically to bomb again later over some smaller cause. I think we have torn down the ‘no let’s not bomb Syria’ wall and replaced it with ‘let’s not bomb Syria too much or in a way that further entangles us’ wall and I think it was very predictable that the result would be more bombings with less cause.

And this is why I think the original strike was wrong, no matter how good the cause, because the original one was the only one where there’d even be a debate about whether it was wise or not to be involved in Syria. Now it’s become a background fact of foreign policy that sometimes we bomb Syria. And I expect it gets worse from there.