#nashing my teeth violently

[gerbu]

As much as everybody's justifiably railing on Chris Pratt for his acting, after watching the new trailer I honestly don't think Anya Taylor-Joy is a very good fit for Peach either. The problem isn't that they're bad actors, it's that they are not voice actors. When I hear Anya's or Chris's voice I don't picture Peach and Mario, I picture two regular adult people who wouldn't stand out in a coffee shop. Which isn't the point of animated movies and voice acting! ESPECIALLY with Mario! This is supposed to be a movie about cartoonish characters in a video game fantasy world saving the day, and their voices should fit with that theme. That's why Charles Martinet's Mario voice works so well, because it makes sense for what Mario is supposed to be. This trend of giving voice acting specific jobs to non-voice actors who have no experience with this kind of work is detrimental to animation and film! It is removing job opportunities from people who have spent their lives learning this craft and handing it over to a celebrity with no experience just because they're famous. The beauty of voice acting and animation in general is how you are completely creating a character. The whole point of voice acting is that you don't point to a character in a film and say, "hey, that's Chris Pratt" the point is that people will point to the charcater and go "oh, new character!" This movie is more and more frustrating to me the more I realize how much it feels like a money grab exclusively because of the casting. The animation, the music, and the effects are all completely perfect for a Mario movie, but so many of the acting choices feel like someone just rifled through a list of "100 most popular celebrities" and chose whoever was vaguely similar to "average white man voice" or "average white woman voice". No matter how popular these people are or how good they are at acting in front of a camera or on stage, they can not voice act.

[maevesheart]

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ masochistic desires

series masterlist

note: quick intro before we dive in :) this y/n is my favorite i’ve written i think ;)

summary: your and harry’s meeting is anything short of romantic.

WC: 1.2k

TW: harry’s kind of a perv lol

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

the brown trousers you were wearing became increasingly uncomfortable as you perched on the bar stool, waiting for the guy from your journalistic research class.

you couldn’t believe his guts. you had been waiting almost 15 minutes now.

the bartender gave you a sad smile as he passed, offering you a drink.

“want anything?” he asks. you don’t fail to notice his eyes flick down to your cleavage peaking out of your white cropped tank top.

“uh, a gin and tonic is fine, thanks,” you gave him a tight lipped smile, rolling your eyes as he walked away.

men. their audacity was astounding.

your gin and tonic was soon in your hand, you taking small sips scanning the bar, trying to find the familiar face.

he was no where found, and you were done waiting.

placing a ten on the bar counter, you threw back on your worn black leather jacket, and threw the strap of your brown mini gucci blondie over your shoulder.

unbeknownst to you, the green eyes of the royal pain in the ass, prince harry, watched as you left the bar, a light smirk playing at his lips.

his table was filled with his band members and closest friends - well, only friends - zev, nash, leo, and lennon. they were hidden in the dark of the back corner of the bar.

harry stood up abruptly, nash’s eyes following as he strutted through the bar to follow you.

“where’s he going this time?” nash wondered aloud, eyes training back down to the coke lennon was lining up on the table.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” zev teased, earning a chuckle from leo and a shove from nash.

“chill it! i’m tryna line these perfectly!” lennon barked, the three others rolling their eyes at his usual uptight-ness.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you were leaned against the cold outside wall of the bar, waiting for your uber.

you were tapping the toe of your black saint laurent boots on the ground, coming to a stop as a dark brooding shadow appeared before you.

“too late now, charlie,” you quipped, pissed that he was only now showing up.

“don’t know a charlie. but you can call me that if you’d like,” a smug voice sounds out, and you watch with narrowed eyes as an attractive man with green eyes and dark hair steps out into the dim light.

a smirk is playing on his lips, a cigarette hanging between them.

“can i help you?” you ask, just wanting to get home. plus, you don’t really appreciate being approached by strangers in the dark.

not used to sass, harry stands stunned, before quickly replying, smug as ever. “you can actually, i’ve got a particular problem down here…”

he grabs your hand, leading it down to his pants. you snatch it away, leaving a nice red mark on his cheek and a loud smack! sound in the quiet street.

his eyes darken.

“you pervert! get away from me!” you shove his chest, but no avail. instead, you squirm out to get closer to the street.

his arms lock in on either side of you, pining you in. you suddenly regret your decision, frozen in between him and the wall.

no one is on the street either.

“don’t ever think about doing that again,” he whispers through gritted teeth.

the only solution to get out of his arms is probably the most violent thing you’ve ever done. you shake your head, you’re not a violent person, but you definitely don’t feel safe right now.

before you can respond, your knee is quick to land in his groin, and he doubles over in pain.

“you… bitch!” he groans out in pain, and you take it as your moment to get a good word in.

“don’t ever speak to me again,” you spit out, spinning on your heel and sprinting as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you finally reached your apartment, slamming the door closed behind you.

you kicked off your boots and threw your leather jacket onto the back of your white sectional couch, and making your way into your kitchen.

you sit down at the island, pulling your macbook to the edge and opening it up, scrolling through your email.

considering it was only 8 pm, you figured you may as well get some stuff done before the first day of your internship with condé nast tomorrow.

quickly scanning daily news, you click on an article titled “royal wild child harry in raft with elder brother roscoe!”

you had never cared much for the british royal family. neither of your parents families were british, and you never bothered to learn the history apart from us history class and government in high school.

you knew a few names, king damien and queen annabella for starters, and then princess gabrielle, who was soon to be queen. you knew there were two other children, but didn’t know their genders or names.

prince harry and his older brother prince roscoe must be the other two, you assumed, scrolling down the article.

the photo at the top of the passage showed a man, he couldn’t have been much older than you, wearing a long black coat with his dark tousled curls over his face, his arms out, shoving a man who look just like him, just a bit taller and thinner.

the photo was taken from afar and blurry, but you could tell both men were dressed in expensive clothing and most likely in some sort of argument.

continuing to scroll, a portrait of the royal family sat in the middle of your screen.

you read the caption as you examined the photo, queen annabella delicately perched on the throne in the middle, king damien and his elaborate crown on her right, crown princess gabrielle sits at her feet, her hands laying in her mother’s lap.

behind, prince roscoe wears a smug smirk on his lips, a crown sitting atop his buzzed hair.

you freeze as your eyes land on prince harry, the familiar green eyes you had encountered that exact night.

refusing to believe it, you pulled up a new tab and searched his name.

after pressing enter, images of the same man you kneed in the groin popped up all over your screen.

he was undeniably attractive, but much too pompous and perverted for your taste.

your hand flew to your mouth and you internally cursed yourself.

you had assaulted a prince! not just any prince, the fucking prince of the uk!

hopefully he didn’t remember what you looked like. hopefully he was too drunk or high (based off some of the articles u scrolled through — the prince had a rather excessive drug problem) to remember you the next morning.

but with your luck, that was near unlikely.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

[smartiesareme]

Love is so violent. I would give up everything in this world for my partner, I’d kill and die for them, I’d rip open my chest and pull out my heart if they asked me too. I’d maul someone to protect them, I’d rip, teeth nashing, blood spilling, someone who even dared to insult them. I know at the end of every day I can return and lay in their bed, staining it with the blood that paints my skin. And they would cup my face and call me handsome all the same.

Did you know I’m gay

[aggrevatedhammerhead]

I hope you will see

past my nashing, violent

teeth, and see my fear

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - Title: Field Day

Author: darriness

Word Count: ~1500

Summary: A chance to volunteer

Author's Note: For @tchrgleek who prompted "Prompt for your A Life in a Year verse: a 100 degree day in NY and one (or both) of them is supposed to volunteer for Field Day at school." Hope you like it!

AO3 Link

Field Day

“Whose idea was this?” Kurt pouts as he stands in front of the mirror, smoothing cream onto his face.

Blaine chuckles as he comes into the bathroom behind his husband. He rests a hand on Kurt’s lower back and smirks at him through the mirror, “I believe it was yours.” Kurt rolls his eyes, “And I also think you’re not supposed to use an entire bottle of sunscreen in one sitting.”

Kurt side eyes Blaine with a sigh, “Says the man who goes so golden in the sun he’s been mistaken for a Greek God on more than one occasion?”

Blaine shrugs with a little smile. Kurt pouts at the golden shoulder peeking out from underneath Blaine’s tank top as it settles back down, “Your skin mocks me.”

Blaine leans in and kisses Kurt’s creamy pale shoulder peeking out under his own tank top, “My skin loves you.” He whispers.

Kurt wants to stay annoyed, but he can’t help but giggle at the line.

Blaine smiles, always happy when he can get Kurt to laugh, before pulling back, “Are you ready now? The kids are practically vibrating to leave.”

Kurt turns back to the mirror, swiping a hand under his eye one more time even though no visible cream remains, before nodding, “As I’ll ever be.”

-- -- --

Kurt regrets his decision to volunteer them both for the kids’ school Field Day the more the day wears on. Not only is he sure he’s burning despite his careful sunscreen application, it’s at least 100 degrees out and his sweat has sweat. To top it all off, he’s about two minutes from throat punching half of the other parents here for eyeballing his husband like they want to eat him for dinner.

Blaine and Kurt got separated to different events upon their arrival and Blaine is within eyeshot but across the field, helping to run the toss across station. Kurt will admit to enjoying watching his husband move around in the sun from his spot helping to run the obstacle course - Blaine’s skin is shimmering from a light sheen of sweat and watching his muscles shift as he bends to pick up the tossed beanbags has been magical - but if one more school mom (or dad for that matter) finds a reason to approach Blaine and lingers too long Kurt is going to lose it.

“Papa!” Kurt turns away from watching Blaine to watch Matty approach at a sprint. Nash is at his heels and Kurt can’t help but smile at how happy they both look. He’s glad they’re enjoying the day.

“What’s up, buddy?” He asks, pulling the slightly sweaty 6-year-old to him for a quick hug when the boys reach him. He briefly thanks whoever or whatever is responsible for Matty still wanting to hug him in public. Lizzy, at ten years old, has shunned public hugs for at least a year now.

“Can I have a slushie?” Matty asks. His nose is beginning to pink under his hat and Kurt itches to put more sunscreen on his pale skinned offspring, but while public hugs are okay, sunscreen application is less so. He’s glad they were able to get ANY on Matty this morning.

Kurt squints an eye at his son, “Did you already ask and get one from Daddy?” He asks skeptically. He knows for a fact Matty hasn’t been to Blaine, but he doesn’t want to admit he’s been watching Blaine that closely.

“No!” Matty protests.

“I don’t know...” Kurt says slowly, “Stick out your tongue so I can see.”

Matty proudly juts out his pale pink tongue, untouched by sugary tongue staining syrup, and Kurt laughs.

“Alright, you can have a slushie.” He concedes, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, “Do you want one too, Nash?” He asks. Nash may not be his son, but with Rachel and Jesse not here (he still doesn’t know how they got out of this) he feels a certain responsibility for their son.

Nash bounces on his toes and nods with a grin so wide Kurt can see several spots where the 6-year-old has lost teeth, “Yes, please, Uncle Kurt!” He asks politely.

Kurt gives both boys the money they need to buy their drinks and then they are both gone. He chuckles to himself as they scream ‘Thank you!’ over their shoulders. He turns back to the obstacle course he’s supposed to be helping run but as his eyes scan over the rest of the field he pulls up short when he notices Blaine not where he last saw him.

There’s another dad where Blaine was just moments before and Kurt frowns, eyes scanning the field for his missing husband.

“Break time?” Kurt jumps slightly at Blaine’s voice behind him and spins to find his husband standing by the beginning of the obstacle course. He’s got a sweet smile on his face and he’s extending a juice box in Kurt’s direction. Blaine shrugs, “I almost chose water but I figured the sugar is good with all the sweating we’re doing.”

The slight pinking of Kurt’s cheeks now has nothing to do with the sun. It’s a simple juice box, offered with a smile, but it still causes Kurt’s heart to swell a little more with love for this man.

“Thanks.” He says, reaching for the box. Blaine had already popped the straw into the hole so Kurt immediately brings the box to his lips and sucks as the pair walk slightly away from the obstacle course area.

“Having fun?” Blaine asks as they walk.

Kurt nods but he tilts his head from side to side slightly at the same time, “It’s way too hot for this, but it’s been fun to see the kids having fun.”

Blaine nods, taking a drink from his juice box, “Lizzy even let me high five her in front of her friends.”

Kurt laughs, he’d seen that, “I’d call that a success.”

Blaine nods again and then the pair is quiet as they continue to walk slowly and drink their juice boxes. Kurt’s is almost empty when Blaine stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Can you...do me a favour?” He asks.

Kurt’s eyebrows go up at the seriousness of Blaine’s tone. Blaine almost seems to be wincing, as if he doesn’t want to ask whatever the favour is, but his tone also tells Kurt that it’s something he can’t NOT bring up.

“Of course.” Kurt says, wondering what could possibly have Blaine in this sudden mood.

Blaine sighs and looks away from Kurt to look over the field, “Could you maybe not...wipe your face with the bottom of your shirt anymore?”

Kurt pulls his head back in surprise. That is not at all what he was expecting Blaine to say, “What?” He says. Had he been doing that? He hadn’t even noticed. He’s not wearing anything fancy today so he figures maybe he’d done it once or twice. It IS really that hot out today. But why would Blaine want him to stop?

Blaine winces again and then sighs, “It’s dumb and neanderthal of me but...the amount of parents watching you like they want you for dessert is really starting to get to me.”

Kurt almost chokes on his tongue and then suddenly he’s laughing. Laughing so hard he’s doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“That’s...not the reaction I was expecting.” Blaine says slowly from above him.

Kurt eventually quiets his laughs and straightens up with a sigh, “Oh, honey, we are quite the pair.” He says.

Blaine’s eyebrows furrow and Kurt smirks at his oblivious husband - though...he figures he’s one to talk at this moment.

“I have been wanting to get violent with half the parents here for checking YOU out all day.” Kurt clarifies.

Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up behind his sunglasses and his mouth drops open slightly, “Oh.” He says. Kurt nods and it’s Blaine’s turn to laugh, “I didn’t even notice.” Kurt shrugs, “I just know I wanted to throttle Keith’s dad.”

Kurt smirks and swings his eyes in Keith’s father’s direction. He shrugs again and curls his lip slightly, “He’s cute but...then I’d have a stepson named Keith.” He whispers the last part with a shudder and he and Blaine laugh quietly together.

They’re quiet for a moment after that and Kurt finishes the last of his juice box before sighing, “So, no more wiping my face with my shirt. Got it.” He says. He probably should stop anyway. It’s so unlike him to treat his clothes that way. Maybe the heat and sun are causing him to be delirious.

Blaine scrunches up one side of his face, “You know what,” He starts, “On second thought, don’t worry about it. Keep doing it. At the end of the day, you’re still coming home with me.”

Kurt nods, “And you with me.” He says.

Blaine smiles, “They should be jealous of us.”

Kurt smirks, “Oh, honey, there is no ‘should’ about that. They are DEFINITELY jealous of us.”

[atinyrabbit]

love/hate songs

Since 8tracks is messed up and playmoss is gonna disappear and Spotify doesn't have many songs, I’m posting some of my playlists here. This is a list of songs about love/hate relationships for pairings. Enemies to lovers, tsundere personalities, hero/villain couplings, opposites attract, loving someone you know you shouldn't. This list is several years old so the songs are older and kinda ‘scene.’

Major trigger warnings for the lyrics of these songs. Some songs have violent lyrics. This playlist romanticizes conflict.

Song list under read more:

Love to Hate You - Erasure Nicotine - Panic! at the Disco Don't Let It Go To Your Head - Fefe Dobson Your Love Will Kill Me - Daniel Lavoie Bruises and Bitemarks (Remix) - Good With Grenades October & April - The Rasmus feat. Anette Olzon Violator - Son of Rust Sick Amore - El Creepo Disgusting - Ke$ha Dangerous - Depeche Mode Oleander - Mother Mother Fear & Delight - The Correspondents Love is a Suicide - Natalia Kills Sex as a Weapon - Pat Benatar I'd Love To Kill You - Katie Melua Before I Ever Met You - Banks Rent - Pet Shop Boys Helpless When She Smiles - Backstreet Boys Holy - Zolita Strangelove - Depeche Mode I Won't Say (I'm In Love) - Susan Egan Can't Feel My Face - The Weeknd Only You - Ellie Goulding Devil Devil - Milck Livin' In A World Without You - The Rasmus  

Hate Love - Adelitas Way Suddenly - Peter Heppner Sick and Twisted Affair - My Darkest Days Radioactive Mirrors - Amazinglyjon Dangerous - Cascada Violence (Club Mix) - Grimes & i_o This Is Love - Air Traffic Controller Make Hate To Me - Citizen Soldier Gently Break It - Beck Pete Portrait of a Female - Cruel Youth This Could Be Love - Alkaline Trio Lie, Lie, Lie - Myra You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi I Only Wanna Be With You - Volbeat Maybe You're Not the Worst Thing Ever - Cast of Galavant I've Got You Under My Skin - Seether Human - Oh Land Le Bien Qui Fait Mal - Mozart, L'Opera Rock Can't Help Falling In Love [Light x Dark Remix] - feat. Brooke Tommee Profitt Fell For You - Green Day Stupid Grin - Dragonette Broken - Lauren Hoffman Take Me to Church - Hozier Super Psycho Love - Simon Curtis Whip - Mr.Kitty   Get You Off - Fefe Dobson Crazy Girl - Ke$ha Vice - POP ETC Cannibal - Silversun Pickups Rest in Peace - Original Cast of Buffy The Vampire Slayer Hem of Your Garment - Cake Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge Truth Or Dare - Marianas Trench We Sink - CHVRCHES Gingerbread Man - Melanie Martinez You Stupid Girl - Framing Hanley   Die For You - Red F*cking Boyfriend - The Bird & The Bee Mean - Nicole Dollanganger Must Be Crazy for Me - Melissa Etheridge That Girl - Alexz Johnson FMLYHM - Seether Bad Romance - Halestorm Aquarius - Within Temptation Flirt (With Me) - Zeromancer I'm With Stupid - Pet Shop Boys Stop This Song (Love Sick Melody) - Paramore Trying Not To Love You - Nickelback Kill for You - Zolita A Love Like War - All Time Low You Need Me - SWANS Hatef--k - The Bravery Bottled Affection - Cold War Kids True Love - ThouShaltNot Terrible Thing - Ag I Can't Decide - Scissor Sisters Exit Wounds - The Romanovs Gun - Chvrches Every Breath You Take - Chase Holfelder Whole Lotta Love - Smash Mouth Bloodsport - Sneaker Pimps XXX - Imran-C Bitter Rivals - Sleigh Bells Destruction Of Us - Mr.Kitty Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer Love Me Dead - Ludo Paralyzed - The Used River - Bishop Briggs Neon - VERSA Sucker For Pain - Lil Wayne, Wiz Khalifa & Imagine Dragons I'm Your Villain - Franz Ferdinand Beautiful Monster - Ne-Yo I Own You - Birgit Let Me Be Your Armor - ASSEMBLAGE 23 Perfect Enemy - t.A.T.u. Straight for the Knife - Sia One More Night - Maroon 5 I Hate You (Don't Leave Me) - Ke$ha The Moth - Aimee Mann Mad Love - The Veronicas Toxic (Acoustic Britney Spears Cover) - Johnny Goth Bad Intentions - Digital Daggers Shut Up - Nick Lachey Soldier - Bitter Ruin First Bad Habit - Vanessa Hudgens In The Darkness - Dead By Sunrise Tearin' Up My Heart - *NSYNC You'll Be Back - Original Broadway Cast of Hamilton & Jonathan Groff Crazy In A Good Way - VERIDIA Combat Baby - Metric In Bluebeard's Castle - Unwoman When Doves Cry - Prince State of Seduction - Digital Daggers Whataya Want From Me - Adam Lambert Broken Inside - Broken Iris Murder (feat. Minx, Chilled) - Boyinaband Why Do You Love Me - Charlotte Lawrence Follow You Home - Nickelback Love To See You Cry - Enrique Iglesias Impressed - Natalie Imbruglia Die For You - Megan McCauley Your Kind (Speak to Me) - Danger Radio Tyrant - The Bravery Violent Games - Polica Toxicated Love - NEO Nemeses (feat. John Roderick) - Jonathan Coulton Miserable - Lit Running From My Shadow - The Velvet Teaparty Barricade - Stars Trouble (Stripped) - Halsey Brutal Hearts - Bedouin Soundclash Desire - Meg Myers Sticks And Stones - The Pierces Just the Girl - The Click Five Himerus and Eros - The Spill Canvas Blood - In This Moment I'm Insane - Myah Marie Fiction (Dreams In Digital) - Orgy Whore - In This Moment Monster - Ryan Adames Foundations - Kate Nash Only When I Lose Myself - Depeche Mode Hatchet - Archive The Beginning of the Twist - The Futureheads Change - Deftones Trust Me - Marc Senter Love Me Hate Kiss Me Kill Me (Scndl Remix) - Fukkk Offf Big Bad Handsome Man - Imelda May The Mighty Fall - Fall Out Boy My Obsession - Cinema Bizarre Stitches - Orgy Miss Kiss Kiss Bang - Alex Swings Oscar Sings! Sweet Dreams - Beyonce Fuel To The Fire - The Maine Closer (Nine Inch Nails Cover) - Niki Barr Band Clueless - Orla Gartland Devil Woman - Cliff Richard Hatefuck - Motionless In White I Love You But I Don’t Like You - Molly Moore Overpower Thee - AUF dER MAUR Get Down On Your Knees And Tell Me You Love Me - All Time Low Post Blue - Placebo Genghis Khan - Miike Snow Poison - Alice Cooper I Know I'm A Wolf - Young Heretics Little Toy Gun - honeyhoney I Miss the Misery - Halestorm Dirty Sticky Floors (radio mix) - Dave Gahan Clarity - Zedd I Get A Kick Out Of You - Frank Sinatra I Hate Myself for Loving You - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts Die for You - Otherwise Labyrinth - Oomph! Black Black Heart - David Usher I Want to Destroy Something Beautiful - Josh Woodward I'm a Priest - Daniel Lavoie You Need Me - SWANS Afraid of the Dark - Phildel Virus - Ryan Adames I Wanna Be Your Dog (remix) - Emilie Simon Hello Goodbye - The Beatles Sarcasm (Album Version) - Get Scared Use Me - Hinder Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars Pretty When You Cry - VAST Tainted Love - Soft Cell Scream - Avenged Sevenfold Think About It - Danger Radio Gallery Piece - Of Montreal Bang Bang Bang Bang - Sohodolls Little Girls - Say Anything I Hate Everything About You - Three Days Grace Love Runs Out - OneRepublic Disarm - Smashing Pumpkins Hit Me Like a Man - The Pretty Reckless Bang Bang (feat. Adam Levine) - K'naan Hurts So Good - John Mellencamp Addicted - Kelly Clarkson Whiplash - FEMM Paralyzer - Finger Eleven Crime - Temposhark Misery Loves Company - Emilie Autumn It Was Good for You Too - Marian Call Price Of Company - The White Tie Affair Burn! - Kobra And The Lotus I Love My Lawyer - Ofelia K I Want Blood - empires (I Always Kill) The Things I Love (ft. The Real Tuesday Weld) - Claudia Brucken Misery (Cutmore Radio) - Maroon 5 Fire and Ice - Pat Benatar I Lust You - Neon Neon Pistol Whipped - Marilyn Manson Bitches Brew - Crosses A Formidable Marinade - Mikelangelo And The Black Sea Gentlemen Control - Puddle of Mudd Scary Love - Skye Sweetnam Loveyouhateyou - Sad Robot Untangle Me - Snow Ghosts A Little Taste - Skyler Stonestreet E.V.O.L - Marina and the Diamonds   (You're the) Devil in Disguise - Elvis Presley Shut Up & Kiss - Me Orianthi Cool for Chaos - Nostalghia Oyeme - Enrique Iglesias I Hate You - Sick Puppies GirlShapedLoveDrug - Gomez You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You're Drunk - Pet Shop Boys Need You Like A Drug - Zeromancer Werewolf - Cat Power Bathwater - No Doubt Bad Dog - Neon Hitch Guns And Horses - Ellie Goulding Rev 22-20 - Puscifer Won't You Please Be Nice - Nellie McKay The Perfect Drug - Nine Inch Nails Until The Day I Die - Story of the Year Womanizer - Britney Spears Build Me Up Buttercup - The Foundations I Think I Love You David Cassidy Stalkers - Mindless Self Indulgence   Kill Me Every Time - Blue Stahli Preface - FKA twigs Every You Every Me - Placebo Want - Disturbed Spit It Out - IAMX Destroy Me - Mr Kitty My Sweet Prince - Placebo Psycho - Imelda May Monster - Meg Myers Figured You Out - Nickelback Suffocated Love - Tricky Satisfy Me One More Time - Frank Sinatra This Love - Maroon 5 Miss Jackson (feat. Lolo) - Panic! At The Disco Fire and Ice - Pat Benatar Every Other Time Lyte - Funky Ones How Do You Love Someone - Ashley Tisdale Poison - Gin Wigmore Bitter and Sick - One Two The Outsider - Marina & the Diamonds True Love (feat Lily Rose Cooper) - Pink Bad Boy - Cascada Irresistible - Temposhark Painkiller - The Queenstons Born to Die / Russian Roulette - Amazinglyjon Like Sugar - Matchbox Twenty Mad About You - Hooverphonic Stupify - Disturbed Problems - Mother Mother What Is Love - Haddaway Animal - The Cab Marionette - Antonia I Hate You But I Love You - Russian Red Carve A Name - Mother Mother Criminal - Britney Spears Danger - Hilary Duff Fell in Love w/an Android - Simon Curtis Demon Lover - Róisín Murphy Always - Saliva Too Close - Alex Clare Little of Your Time - Maroon 5 Sex and Violence - Scissor Sisters Electric Storm - Delta Goodrem Black widow - Susanne Sundfør Dangerous Kind - Rasmus You've Really Got a Hold on Me - The Miracles Over and Over - Three Days Grace Devour - Marilyn Manson Nature of Inviting - IAMX The Odd Couple - Weezer Hurt Me Harder - Zolita Terrible Love - The National Mad Love - Jojo Boomerang - Reliant K Bad News - Sleeper Agent I Was An Island (EP Version) - Allison Weiss Rock Bottom - Hailee Steinfeld You’re the One That I Want - Lo Fang Poison - Rita Ora Kill For You - Skylar Grey ft Eminem Wouldn't Be Love - Ritual Hate Me - Nico Collins Irresistible - Fall Out Boy I Love You... I'll Kill You - Enigma

[shy-violet-soul]

The Best Laid Plans

Pairing: Sam Winchester x female reader Summary: Sam’s first Valentine’s Day with a sweetheart, and he’s planned so carefully. What happens when someone tries to ‘help’? Warnings: none. A couple of bad words and tooth-rotting fluff Word Count: 1,300 ish A/N: This is my offering for the Galentine’s Day Exchange by @spnfanficpond. I wrote this for the marvelous @seenashwrite! Please note I wrote this under the influence of the flu, so I can only claim about 63% of this fluff. The rest is brought to you by tea, toast, and decongestants. Hope it makes you smile, Nash! @mrswhozeewhatsis, tagging you for the double-check. :0)

With one last fiddle of the dimmer switch, I finally got the lighting perfect. The fleece blanket had flopped out of place, and I tucked and plucked at it until I was happy. Dean’s endless smirks during the hours I’d spent knotting the edges into submission I shoved away. I shook my head as I scooted her favorite body pillow into the corner of the couch; she stubbornly insists on using my day-old t-shirts for pillow cases. I’m not complaining, though. The memory of her wrangling the cotton bookends onto that hapless bedding always makes me smile.

“Well, well, well, Sammy.” I almost jumped out of my skin. Dean lounged in the doorway, Cheshire cat grinning as he ate a bowl of Fruit Loops. “You’re awful dressed up for Unattached Drifter Christmas.”

“Shut up.” Self-consciousness twitched in my shoulders as I brushed a hand down my chest, smoothing down the sweater. I shouldered passed him and headed towards the kitchen, swiping her favorite pink insulated coffee cup from the shelf. After the “incident”, Jack was very meticulous about always putting it where it belonged. A whiff of the coffee pot reassured me it was her favorite blend. “You didn’t drink any of this, did you?” I squinted suspiciously over my shoulder.

Dean shook his head around his spoon as he shoveled in another bite. “No, man, I have my orders.” I could feel the jerk smirking at me as I poured the coffee and added a generous spoonful of sugar. Her ‘no sugar in my coffee’ edict was off the table today. I frowned at Dean as I walked back to his ‘cave’, placing the coffee on the side table in easy reach. “You’re going to a lot of effort.”

Frustration rolled my head back and ground my teeth together. “I think she’s worth a lot of effort, Dean.”

“Hey, man, I agree. 100%. She’s great, you know I love ‘er. I’ve just never seen you go in for all the…” Dean waved his hand at the room. “Chick flick crap. Stuff!” he hastily corrected. “All this very...romantic...niceties.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never had someone in my life I cared about for Valentine’s Day.” I didn’t like where the cookies were - I picked them up and surveyed the scene for a better spot. “I want it to be special. She deserves it.”

Dean smiled - a real one this time. “You both do, Sam. Go for it. You do all this cupid crap.”

“LOOK AT YOU!”

“Hi, guys!”

The two voices from the doorway had both of us spinning.

“Oh, no,” I breathed, dread pouring into my gut. “Jack, what did you do?”

“Ngghhgg-” Dean grunted, caught before he could run. I could hear his spine crack from here.

The young man’s smile glowed mega watt with pride. “You told me you needed a cupid’s help for Valentine’s Day. I prayed, and Efniel answered. He’s a cupid. Well, Castiel says he’s technically a cherub, third class. And, he says he knows you!”

The cupid-cherub-third-class dick dropped Dean and turned towards me.

“So! You little love bird, you, are you ready?!” No. No, I was not. “Let’s do a little love dance!”

I watched in horror as parts of the nakedness jiggled just as Efniel jived in place and clapped his hands. In a flash of light, the room exploded in red ribbons and rose petals. My beautiful, romantic, low-key scene was now all tacky satin and teddy bears. Shiny baubles hung from the ceiling, bowls of conversation hearts were on every flat surface, and an ear-bleeding mix of Elvis and Elton John filled the air.

“What in the actual hell?”

In that moment, I prayed with every fiber of my being to whatever deity available that a hole would open up below me and swallow me for all eternity.

“Sam? Did a gift shop throw up in here?”

“Oh, shit. C’mon, Jack, let’s go!” Dean took off running, the traitor. Jack gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up as he gestured for Efniel to follow him. The winged menace actually wiped away a tear as he winsomed his way out the door.

She batted a hanging heart decoration out of her face as she walked further into the room. Her grin was huge. My horror was bigger.

“Sam, I’m so confused, but I’m laughing. Snickering. I’m snickfused! What hooliganing have you been up to? I thought you weren’t a hearts ‘n’ flowers kinda guy.”

“I’m not! I swear! I didn’t do this, I promise. I wouldn’t do this!” I swore, looking at her pleadingly. She cocked one eyebrow at me as she kicked aside a giant white elephant stuffy holding a pink satin heart.

“Why not? I’m not your ‘sweetheart’?” she mocked, holding two candy hearts over her eyes.

This couldn’t be going farther south if I shipped it UPS.

“No! That’s not what I meant! I mean, you are my sweetheart. I had a whole thing planned, just not -” I swept my arm across the room. “-this!”

“Wait - this is my body pillow. With your shirts still on it. And is that...that’s my coffee mug.”

Desperate to explain, I rounded the other side of the couch to join her when she sat down.

“It’s got your favorite coffee, just the way you like it. And here.” I shoved the plate I realized I was still holding at her. A trifle violently as she flinched, but whatever. “I found a recipe for peanut butter Frosted Flakes cookies.” She wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t she saying anything? “And, I found these on eBay - DVD copies of a couple of Hallmark movies. I don’t know if you’ve seen “Unleashing Mr. Darcy” or “Love on the Side Lines”, but I got them new and unopened. You’re always saying how we don’t get any couple down time, and I thought we could watch them together. You can cuddle with your pillow, and I washed your favorite blanket. Dean’s gonna let us have the man cave all day, and I wore that sweater you said you liked, and then Jack thought I meant a real cupid, and-”

Her soft fingers touched my lips, bringing me to a halt.

“Sam?” Her smile was so soft, my brain blinked for a second.

“Yeah?”

“Rambling.”

“Right. Sorry.” Her fingers rubbed enticingly over my whispered words. My shoulders sagged as her gaze drifted appreciatively over my sweater, to my carefully chosen coffee cup, DVDs, and cuddle material. The smile she turned towards me turned the rock in my gut to straight up butterflies.

“I love it. All of it. Even the crazy cupid additions! But,” she paused, grabbing me by the tie and urging me close. “I love you more than anything. Even the cookies.”

My dimples hurt my smile stretched so wide. I grabbed her, holding her as close as the cookies would allow.

“I love you.”

“I’m dancin’ to hear it.” Warmth touched her words as she squeezed me, then she wriggled away and kicked off her shoes. “Now! I want you here,” she patted the spot beside her as she flounced the blanket over her legs. “And one of these started.” She waggled a DVD as she plopped the plate of cookies in her lap. I scrambled to get the movie rolling, eager for at least part of my plans to get back on track. She was already chewing when I joined her on the couch, and I couldn’t stop the smile when she groaned her approval. I pushed ‘play’ on the remote and wrapped an arm around her, sighing with pleasure at her weight and warmth against me. The intro credits started, and she snuggled into me further, fingers curling into my sweater. It might not be a perfect chick flick moment, but it was perfect for the two of us.

Guess my plans worked out for the best after all.

[tukuhnikivats]

My coworker Asmodeus (Prince of Demons) violently threw himself down on the floor in despair due to his cardboard cottage being temporarily unavailable. All the cats are upset and there is much wailing and nashing of teeth. The situation is getting biblical. The cottage was destroyed last week by Allan when it couldn't hold his 23 lb fat butt. It has been reassembled and glued. Best $10 I ever spent at Walmart.

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 1: Chapter 27 (...It Will)

Part 1 Summary: A long-buried Hydra disaster, a monster in the shadows, a missing child. Eight months after the events of “The Winter Soldier”, Bucky turns himself in to the Avengers on one condition: They must help him find a girl snatched off the streets by Hydra seven years ago. In their quest, the Avengers accidentally unleash a horrifying creature of darkness and shadow, intent on making their quarry its prey.

Chapter 27: ... It Will

"OK guys, you know the drill," Tony paced as he addressed the Official Stark Industries clean-up crew, "The TV room is in need of a new wall and flatscreen, Hulk smashed his front door again, there are two broken windows- one in the TV room, one in the penthouse- and there's probably other damage. Just wander around and fix whatever you see that's broken. Black Widow wants more lights in her place and in the stairwells, and someone needs to team up with DUM-E to install a launch pad in the guest quarters so Falcon can take off from his bedroom. Also- who the hell are you?" he stopped in front of a new face on the crew. This guy was thin, small, and kind of mean looking.

"My wife's cousin," his Foreman nodded to the boy, "needed some work for the summer, and at the rate you have us up here fixing things lately, we need the extra muscle.

"Muscle?" Tony cocked an eyebrow- the guy couldn't be more than 140 soaking wet, "Anyways, split up however you want. Each group gets a remote suit supervising. I apologize for the inconvenience in advance- but no cutting power to do electrical work. Let the suit handle that. Lights stay on in all rooms at all times." He wandered off to check on Cap and find something to annoy him with.

"Alright men, you have your assignments already. Tyson, as requested you will be going with Nash and Rodriguez to get some electrical experience. They are installing extra lights in the penthouse and the Captain's place, got it?"

Tyson nodded, pleased. Getting into the Tower was simple. Getting onto the crew was a cake-walk. The real fun would be the aftermath- and Dennisson promised him a front-row seat to the slaughter.

New York Ferry, One Week Later

Dennisson watched New York rise out of the early morning fog. The "City that Never Sleeps" looked, well, tired. He focused on Avengers Tower, looming over the rest of the city like a sentinel. The top several floors were illuminated- the heroes, ever vigilant.

"I want to see inside," Dennisson growled. Morris produced a laptop and within only a few keystrokes he had a feed.

"Mr. Tyson was only able to plant three devices and five cameras. All run on a special encrypted feed. Mr. Stark's in-house system should not be able to detect them."

"If they do, I'll take you apart. Slowly."

He took the computer and flipped through the available feeds. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Gold. The Winter Soldier was in a workshop of some kind, having a very serious discussion with two people Dennisson did not recognize.

"That one is Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye," Morris indicated one of the men, "the other we believe to be Dr. Bruce Banner, the host of the creature known as the Hulk."

"Why don't I have sound?" Dennisson asked through gritted teeth.

Morris watched him carefully. Ever since they put him through the 'Indigo' device his temper was shorter, his rages more violent, and his victims lasted mere hours instead of days. He was devolving, quickly, "Our intel indicated if we were to add microphones the possibility of the technology being discovered by the house system increased by a factor of six. Also, our devices give off a frequency which would significantly diminish the clarity of audio signals. We do have a lip reading program if-"

"-silence." Morris obeyed, though he continued to eye Dennisson. He was beginning to suspect his employer was a fast burner- they show promise, yet let themselves fall to other, baser influences. Dennisson may not be aware, but Morris' job was to keep him on-mission, as any good minion should. Dennisson was different now. He wasn't making Morrison's job any easier.

After several minutes, Dennisson changed cameras. His eyes lit up, "So, they thawed her out after all." Echo looked as much like a zombie as ever. She was guarded by the Black Widow. Who else? There was talk among Hydra's upper echelon, long ago, of partnering the Winter Soldier with the infamous Natalia Romanova. That they were together now (on the wrong side) wasn't surprising.

"May I ask a question?" Morris prompted, "To be as useful to you as possible I believe I must inquire into the ending of this 'Project: Echo'. Why was the subject sent to the Asylum rather than given to you for termination?"

"The mongrel saved her," Dennisson switched back to the feed of the Winter Soldier, "A Project as high-level as Echo had to be closed by a top Hydra official. In that case, Alexander Pierce himself. The Winter Soldier made a deal with him to have pity on the girl. Made me look like a damned idiot for not wiping him before Pierce arrived. The girl went into the freezer and the Soldier became Pierce's little errand boy."

Morris didn't understand, "Why not order the Winter Soldier to serve him? Why make the deal?"

Dennisson growled, "Maybe because Pierce liked to pretend to be an upstanding man, of a higher moral ground than most of Hydra. It didn't matter that the Winter Soldier couldn't remember making the bargain, all that mattered was he could pretend to be merciful and benevolent. That's my theory anyways. Pierce was a fucking useless man. Who knows why he did anything."

As they closed in on the docks, Avengers Tower was blocked from view. Dennisson studied the tablet. Whatever the Winter Soldier was talking about with the others, he looked anxious. Looks like he's doing well enough, he thought, new friends, new home, new life. He's even working through some of that guilt- bringing Echo here. "Activate the first device," Dennisson ordered, handing the laptop back to Morris, "let's remind our friend just who he was."

Chapter 28: Crack

[shuttaapp]

Skate to create: Neal Boyd

Neal Boyd, a.k.a Grimcity, has spent more than 30 years surfing on the concrete. Although he does it mainly for fun, he has accidentally compiled an enormous experience in this field.

In this interview, we talk with Neal Boyd about skateboarding, how we got his start, his Youtube channel, the pro skaters who influenced him most, and his thoughts about the skateboarding scene.

1. Where are you originally from?

I was born in Jackson, Mississippi, raised in Jackson, Louisiana, and have lived in Hamond, Louisiana since 1995. I claim Hammond as my home. We're between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, so it's a perfect spot to be in.

2. What's your favorite quality in a person?

Honesty, ethics, and a really good sense of humor.

3. How and when did you discover skateboarding?

When I was 10 years old, I lived in a really small, rural neighborhood. One of my my neighbors had bought a skateboard for his kid, but it never got used. We lived on top of a hill, and as I played with it I eventually was given permission to use it whenever I wanted to. It was basically given to me. The year was 1985.

4. Where does your online name “grimcity” come from?

When I was in college, I self-published a comic book for a little over a year… It was violent, but also very, very comedic. The name of the city where all the action took place in was “Grim City.” I'd also created a comic strip character that I'd used for comic strips (and the comic book) named “Grim,” so in the relatively early days of the internet I just used “grimcity” as my online persona.

Some of my friends call me Grim in real life, though I'm completely the opposite of a grim person… I'm actually very geeky and goofy and I have a lot of love for everything. My nature is very positive, so the nickname “Grim” and “grimcity” is kind've a joke in and of itself.

5. What was your first board and your first memory of skateboarding?

The first board I can claim was the one my neighbor (Mr. Tom) basically gave to me… It was a Variflex he'd bought for his own kid, but he let me ride it as much as I wanted to. I feel in love with it more than his little one did, so I really owe him a lot... He literally exposed me to skateboarding.

After that I had a Nash from a a department store (due to not having any money), but my first pro board was a Jeff Grosso from Santa Cruz. He's a living legend, and I've been fortunate enough to hang out with him. Really love that guy.

My first memory of skating was really just being a little 10 year old kid going really fast down the hills surrounding where I lived. We were a small town, and this was pre-internet, so I didn't even know how big skating was back then.

6. You created a Youtube channel which already has more than 4.000 subscribers and a 100 videos. Tell us a little bit about it. What is the main purpose of the channel?

The channel has actually been around for a while now… A little over 10 years I think? When I first started it it was simply to store videos because my hard drives were running out of space. After that, I got into doing really in-depth skate product reviews, and though I've slacked on that a bit, my focus lately has been making self-filmed skate videos with a focus on composition, color, and framing. If you look at my later videos with the eyes of a photographer, rather than a videographer or even a skateboarder for that matter, it makes more sense.

7. Who has been your biggest influence on your skateboarding?

When I was a kid, everyone was an influence… I wanted to ollie as high as Natas Kaupas, become an all terrain guy like The Gonz, skate fast like Tommy Guerro, float in the air like Hosoi, be as funny as Grosso, and skate as raw as all of the Sick Boys, who were a group of guys from San Francisco (some already mentioned) that included Jim Thiebaud, Julien Stranger, Ron Allen, Mickey Reyes, Archimedes, and a huge list of other people.

These days I'm a lot older, but I'm still influenced by a lot of people. Jim Thiebaud and I wound up becoming really good friends several years back, as well as my man Mickey Reyes. They run my favorite skateboard company (Deluxe) and even if I'd never met them, I'd be riding everything they make, including Real Skateboards, Thunder trucks, and Spitfire wheels. They have a huge influence on me because the company uses skateboarding to help people in need, from helping hurricane victims to providing money to facilities that help kids beat cancer.

I'm also heavily influence by the younger skaters that I roll with here in my city. I've seen them develop from wobbly-legged beginners to absolute skate machines over the years. I thrive on that. Many of these kids have tricks that I will never, ever be able to land, but that's part of passing the torch. I love my Hammond locals, and they push me as hard as I push them to progress in our own respective ways.

8. What's your favorite trick and who do you think does a perfect version of that trick?

I have two: the first one is the Ollie Impossible, and the perfect ones were done by Dylan Rieder who sadly passed away in 2016. Secondly, I love doing simple little kickflips, and to see them done perfectly, I stare in awe whenever Dennis Busenitz does them (or any variation of them).

9. Are Pro skaters role models?

Pro skaters are just like everybody else. If they are role models, I don't think they mean to be. Having said, they're definitely influential. I think kids try to emulate the tricks and styles they see from pros, but as with everyone, we have our good and bad sides. If I were to direct a kid towards someone who might be a role model both in the act of skateboarding as well as just being a good person, I'd list them as follows:

1. Daewon Song: He's the embodiment of progression, and he's a genuinely good person. He's about as old as I am, and like me, he's still a kid at heart that just wants to skate.

2. John Cardiel: His energy, positivity, and drive are the embodiment of what skateboarding is. He's a legend, and if you were to ask most pro skaters who their favorite pro was, they'd say Cardiel. He suffered a catastrophic injury which was supposed to make him unable to walk again, but he defeated it. When you watch any of his old footage, it compels you to get up, grab your board, and go for it.

3. Rodney Mullen: He invented most of the street tricks we do today, but more importantly to me, he's always continuing his education in other areas, including higher maths and architecture. It's one thing to simply become a better skateboarder, but it's also important to expand your knowledge base with other subjects, from the arts to astrophysics. Knowledge is easy to access today, and if you're not skating, I recommend reading a good non-fiction book or at least listening to an academic lecture on any given topic on You Tube. Lots of universities post lectures online, so there's no reason not to get a better understanding of the world. I watch or listen to at least one lecture a day, and on weekends I try to get at least two.

10. What's your go-to spot?

I live right around the corner from the concrete park I shoot video at in my YouTube and Instagram videos, but one of my favorite places (which I've documented a lot online, including Shutta) is a yellow parking curb next to a fountain. It's simply a curb in a secluded location where I can go and clear my head.

11. Who do you usually skate with?

Our local park is a family… The Dreamland squad. We have a couple of crews inside that family, namely the Therapy crew and the False Teeth crew. I also skate with a ton of friends from New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Lafayette.

12. Have you ever joined a competition?

I have, but I'm not really a competitive skater. Most of the contests I've entered have been here in Louisiana, so for us it's not so much about winning as it is an opportunity to see everyone you know and have a really good time. Our contests are more like family reunions.

13. As one of the best skaters in the app and winner of one #ShuttaMission, explain to us how has your experience been when taking photos with Shutta.

I'd hate being known as one of the best skaters using the app! I prefer thinking I'm the best at having fun at skating, which is hopefully a sentiment shared by every skater!

I sincerely love the app, and am working on a video about it to get some more skaters involved with it. I started using Shutta before the user interface was redesigned, and still use it when I'm out recording. It's better at getting precise screen captures from videos than taking stills directly from the iPhone, the wheel tool that allows you to scrub through the timeline is brilliant. A lot of skateboard tricks are less than a second long (like jumping over something), and the “peak” part of that trick is probably down into the milliseconds… So being able to easily get to the exact moment you want to capture is just the best. I also like that I get an image saved to my camera's library, and simultaneously get to share it with an international community of people that get hyped when they see something new.

I'm also very appreciative that Shutta picked me as a winner for the “Freeze” contest. I'm a geek by nature, and the Tomtom Bandit camera is really well made. I've been using it a ton! I still can't believe I believe I won something like this by just going out in my town and skating like I always do. There are aspects of it that I prefer over my GoPro and my iPhone, so it's with me everywhere I go, even if I'm not skateboarding.

14. Any views on the skateboarding scene?

On a local level, I'm extremely happy that skaters today have it easier than my generation did. Skateboarding in the states wasn't looked at positively by a large swath of society for a long time, it was all underground, and growing up, I got into a ton of fights with people who would literally walk up to aggressively and instigate violence. We were punk rock/hip hop street kids that skated and ate concrete for fun, so we always had to handle confrontations as best we could. These days, there's been a mainstreaming of skateboarding that has allowed it to progress in ways I never thought it would, but I'm a bit conflicted, if not hypocritical of it. On one hand, I love that there are skateparks popping up everywhere, but on the other I hate seeing the media portray skateboarding as a sport, and I don't like the idea of it being in the Olympics. I'm glad that there's a boost of revenue for the pro skaters and skate companies that benefit from all of this exposure, but the old sentimental side of me still kind've misses the anti-establishment nature that skating had when I got into it.

15. What do you have planned for the near future?

My plans today are the same as they always have been… I want to push myself in whatever direction skateboarding takes me, and I want to do what I can at being a better person in general. I just want to be a good global neighbor, be the best at what I do professionally (computer geekery), and hopefully help the up and coming skaters in my area know more about the roots of skateboarding. The main goal is to ensure that the kids I skate with now become really old skaters like me.

Go follow Neal Boyd on Shutta and subscribe to his Youtube channel to see more!

All pics by Neal Boyd.

[gerbu]

"why do you like All Quiet on the Western Front so much" Idk man something about the sudden cut off from youth marked by a massive global tragedy along with countries' bloated nationalism forcing people to live and die like animals for a cause that is neither existent nor to be believed in really resonates with me

[welcometophu]

What Taekwondo Means to Me

For my second degree black belt test, I had to write an essay on what TKD means to me, and what my goals are for the future.

I wrote an essay, and I hated every word of it. When I sat down to rewrite, I had that essay, what I wrote to talk to y’all about my test, and some notes all in front of me. I wrote a brand new essay from the start, and I’m much happier with this one. The transcript is here, and it’s long (the video is a about 7.5 minutes long, but I really like how it came out).

---

In 2010, when I turned 42, I gave myself the gift of life.

I was short. Fat. Overweight, struggling with chronic pain and stress, and a little bit of depression. I had tried every possible workout out there, from step to spinning, and none of it stuck. Not a single thing tweaked the pleasure centers in my brain and made me want to come back.

I wasn't sure taekwondo was the sport for me. I thought that I'd try it, and see if I could even survive a class. I liked the idea of kicking things--I'd been a baton twirler when I was growing up, and kicking was something I liked. But it seemed violent. Difficult. Not really a sport for a mother of two who was more than a bit height-challenged, and found that workouts usually meant more than a day of recovery.

It turned out to be exactly the sport for me. That pleasurable uptick in my brain--that little light that went on and said go back and do this again tomorrow--that was taekwondo. I made it through class, and yes, I was exhausted, and sore, but I felt alive. I felt like I had found the thing I'd been looking for. This was the workout I wanted to do. This was the sport I wanted to learn.

That doesn't mean it was easy. I loved the drills and kicking targets, but I was still terrified of sparring. I was terrified of anything that required me to hit a person, or worse yet, be hit by a person. I put off buying sparring gear as long as I could, which means I was six months into training before I ordered it, and due to some issues with delivery, eight months into training before I ever received it.

The third time I put on my sparring gear, I was in a tournament. So there I was, an orange belt, and I'm still barely able to put on gear without help. And there's my opponent, a purple belt who went straight for me head first shot and knocked me on my backside so hard that I saw stars.

I got up. I kept going. I was terrified, yes, but I knew that I didn't have a choice--I was in the middle of a sparring match in a tournament and I couldn't just stop. But it didn't really help me like sparring.

For Christmas in 2011, I gave myself the gifts of courage and belief.

I started attending tournament training classes. I was the slowest person in the class. I loathed running--still do. I was tentative. Careful. I was uncertain. There was one day when we were doing lead leg head kicks and I was cautiously lifting my leg and trying to reach for the head, and I couldn't make it. And Master Nash walked by and said, "Commit to the kick."

Because you can't do something unless you believe you can. You have to commit to the action, do it as if it will succeed in order for it to have a chance of succeeding. Don't overthink it, just throw the kick and trust that your body will accomplish the goal of reaching high enough, far enough, hard enough, to strike the target. In order to get there, I had to believe in myself.

At tournament classes we trained hard. We ran, we did conditioning, we did a lot of drills. And of course, we sparred. We sparred a lot.

I stopped hating sparring, but at that point, I didn't really love it, either. I learned how to do it. And I learned how to grit my teeth and work hard and get through it. I learned that no matter what, you don't give up. If you're gasping for breath on the edge of an asthma attack, you stop, you breathe, your coach gets you the time you need and then… you go on.

In the summer of 2014, for my 46th birthday, I gave myself the gift of faith.

I received my black belt that summer, and for the months leading up to the test, I didn't feel like I deserved it. I'd trained hard, just like everyone else. I'd worked my best and done my best, and I was pushing my limits as much as I could, but I still had imposter syndrome. I looked at other people and thought they're better than me, and they'll always be better than me.

When I tested, I failed to break my brick. But at the same time, I remembered all my forms, I did my essay, and I sparred well. In fact, I sparred well enough that when I threw a spin back kick and realized that I was about to catch my sparring partner in a very uncomfortable below-his-chest-protector place, I was able to pull back and not nail him with an illegal kick. I had control. And it's funny that that kick--too low, didn't land it--is one of the moments that gave my faith in myself as a black belt.

That was also the summer where I had to look at my training, because as a black belt, my journey was only just beginning. I had to ask myself where did I want to be in a year? In five years? And I had to follow my heart to where the training would be best for me, and I had to have faith in myself that I would be strong enough to withstand it and flourish.

For the past three years, I have given myself the gifts of strength and perseverance.

I remember a few years ago when I said it's okay, you get used to getting kicked in the face and my sparring partner just started at me, boggled. I can't blame her--it's not a normal statement to make. Nor is cheering for the person who just nailed my nose with a fantastic fake, or saying I'll do it with my off-hand because I'm not worried if I break that one.

We all have limits. We have fears, and we have things that we think we can't do. I've already listed mine: I'm short, fat, old, and I have chronic pain. Taekwondo is not the ideal sport for me, but I love it. And I love it enough that I've done strength training to try to supplement my ability to kick and punch, and I've done yoga to stay flexible. When I was told that running 75 miles was part of the requirements for my second degree test, I got out and started doing it right away because the sooner I started, the sooner I would finish. I still hate running, and I'm still the slowest person here, but I whined my through approximately twenty hours of running (at a sixteen minutes per mile average pace) and I made it across that finish line.

I didn't try to beat anyone else's pace, and I'm not trying to be the best person here. I want to be strong enough, and last long enough, to be the best me that I can be.

Three years ago I said that getting my black belt was just the beginning. I know that even more now: for everything I learn, there are two things I don't know. For everything I gain, there are more things waiting for me to get there. And if you ask me now where I want to be in one year, or in five years, or fates willing, in ten years, the answer is the same: I want to be here.

I want to keep training. I want to keep living the best life I can, and taekwondo is part of that. I want to gain more courage, have faith and belief in myself. I want to be strong, and I will persevere. I will continue to grow.

Keep working. Keep kicking. Don't die.

[garlandglenn-blog]

Are these Catastrophes Judgement?

We have seen our fair share of natural catastrophes since the turn of the Millennium. Everytime there is one, immediately there is an abundance of "judgement" calls. I am not so certain they are judgement as much as consequence for the sin going back to Adam. There will be a judgement and when it comes God will sit on His throne and judge the living and the dead. According to our works we will either find favor in the eyes of the Lord or eternal torment(wailing and nashing of teeth).

So what about Harvey and Irma? Are these God's judgements? I say no! "The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin." (Exudus 34:6-7). Now that is not to say that there aren't occasions of punishment because verse 7 continues, "Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children and their children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation.” These catastrophes fall upon both the just and the unjust so in my opinion they can't be judgements or punishments or else God Himself is unjust.

OK then what are they? Genesis gives us a clear picture that in Adam's disobedience that all creation was subject to death(Romans 8:19-22). There is a very interesting passage in Lev 18:28, "if you defile the land, it will vomit you out as it vomited out the nations that were before you." The planet is not suffering from global warming, it is sick because of sin! All of the natural disasters are on account of sin and each generation gets worse than the previous so there is an ever increasing trend in the amount and impact of each distaster(2 Tim 3:13).

Jesus prophesied that there would be increasing disaster, "there will be famines, pestilences, and earthquakes in various places". And He dated them as, "All these are the beginning of sorrows" (Mt 24). The day of Pentecost in Acts 2 when the church is birthed is usually considered the beginning of the last days and we have been steadily growing thru many generations.

It is also important to notice that Jesus Himself was caught in a few storms on the sea of Galilee. Not to mention Paul when being transported to Rome (Acts 27) was involved in a storm as without any warning the violent winds of Euraquilo (the Mediterranean version of a northeaster, a wind of hurricane force) came.

There is much to consider here but let's never forget that God is love and His mercy triumphs over judgement(James 2:13). He is just so He does not in anyway deprive us of the wage due on account of sin(Rom 6:23) but in His love He has provided for us not only forgiveness of sin but atonement thru the sacrifice of His Son Jesus at the cross. In the end as in the time of Joseph(Gen 50:20) what the devil means for evil, God uses for good to save many.

In these times not only do great miracles happen but enormous outreach is done as people learn that there are more important things than the material and that God in His mercy spares life. In these times people cry out to God with their whole hearts. In these times the church really becomes Jesus boots on the ground with their prayer times and disaster relief. Though these are horrible events they bring out the best in us all as strength and compassion lock arms.

These disasters actually in many ways prepare people for God's judgement when it does come because many receive His love gift, Jesus, and are saved(John 3:17).

[truckthesefeels]

Rob the Bank (then take me home)

Armitage Hux, under extenuating circumstances, extreme duress, and the influence of alcohol (again), attempts to purchase a greeting card. He brings his live-in werewolf along because it’s Kylo’s fault they need one.

A direct sequel to Dog Whistle, with the added element of being almost not about werewolves at all. It’s probably necessary to read the first part first.

Rating: M Warnings: mild exhibitionism, alcohol use, non-main character death mentioned in passing, unseasonable discussion of St. Patrick’s Day, werewolves (if you squint), soft as heckkkk (except for the references to past violent crime) Words: 3200

[Dear anon who requested this: sorry... that this took ten years and that the one thing you asked for does not actually take place. Dear everyone else: sorry that I only listened to Placebo and Kate Nash while writing this and as a direct result it turned out insane and also unmoored in space and time.]

He sees how they look at him, when he stands next to Kylo. They—anyone, little old ladies, families at bus stops, store clerks. This store clerk in particular. Rough piece, they’re all thinking about Kylo. Thug. They’re looking at how Hux shines his shoes and thinking that Hux has found himself a nice side of beef with his hired muscle, and then they’re thinking that he probably takes it rare with a little au jus. Not their fault: lycanthropy aside, Kylo still looks like someone who would tear your throat out. Probably with his teeth. Probably in a back alley somewhere.

He certainly isn’t someone who looks at home in a Hallmark store.

But of course they're in a Hallmark store.

Hux is halfways to drunk in a Hallmark, actually, because they're intended to be going to Ren's great-aunt's cousin's funeral. On his mother's side. Or something. It is definitely supposed to be a funeral; Hux was never quite sure of the relation and now he has no idea. He isn't quite sure why he'd let Ren convince him it was appropriate to pre-drink a funeral, either, even the funeral of a ninety-six-year-old woman he's fairly certain Ren's never met. Now that he's gone and done it, it turns out it was a terrible idea and there's no way Hux can attend.

The thing is, when he found Ren, he didn’t know what he was finding. When Hux let Ren into his home, he didn't know what he was letting in. He’d thought it might kill him. And when he let Ren into his bed, when he let him in and then climbed straight in on top of him, he absolutely didn't know that Ren was staying. (He must have assumed, as one would assume with almost anyone, that he was dealing, here, with an adult. Surely this adult lives somewhere. Surely he'll leave eventually.) Except that it seems like where Ren lives now, is with Hux. In his house, in his bed. On top of him and underfoot and huge and permanent.

He goes, sometimes, and then he comes back, and then one day over mostly burnt toast at the breakfast table he’d looked up and asked, “Will you go to a funeral with me? On Friday. I mean, you don’t have to. I just haven’t seen my family in a while, so it’s kind of…”

He didn’t say what kind of thing it was. Hux didn’t ask him to. It was a surprise to learn that he had a family at all.

And Hux, who hates his toast cooked any further than a four on the toaster’s little dial, somehow said “Of course I’ll go” without thinking about it for a second.

He’s done plenty of thinking between now and then, thinking he hates himself for agreeing, thinking of course he agreed, and then that of course he’d go for anyone, anyone who asked him—he would not, that’s a lie, but then there’s no one else who would ask him and there never has been—and so, that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He thinks now, again. He’d have said yes to Ren, and by some vagrancy of fate it was Ren who had asked him. Here they are.

Every display in the damn store is green and Hux can’t understand it.

“Okay,” Ren mutters to Hux out of the side of his mouth. A pep talk—possibly directed at himself. He glares around like he too has noticed the unhealthy colour scheme. “Okay, we’re going to do this as fast as possible. Get in, get out. Clear mission. You like those, right?” Ren has his shoulders hunched in like he’s afraid he’ll knock over some piece of kitsch and be made to pay for it. Hux knocks a shoulder into him, because Ren could burn the whole fucking store down and Hux would probably help, it’s that awful. Also it’s slightly by accident because Kylo stopped walking when he hadn’t expected and he’d been using Kylo to keep him going in a straight line. “D’you think all the sympathy cards are gonna be fucking St. Patrick’s Day themed too?”

“Oh, Christ, is that what’s happening here?” It’s overwhelming. The clerk can go fuck herself, on second thought—it’s not her fault what she thinks of Kylo next to Hux, but the look she’s splitting between the two of them, like she’s listening in and wondering whether she should call the police or not, absolutely is.

Hux hates it here. He hates it, hates it, and yet here he still is.

He opens his mouth to tell Ren what he damn well thinks and all that comes out is: "Ren.”

Ren turns to him, still mid-glare, some concern sliding in like he thinks Hux might be about to embarrass them—as if he would ever—and Hux’s mouth is still hanging open. He’s not sure how to shut it without incriminating himself. “I'm so fucking happy," Hux says. Caught. “Ren. I am.”

Then Ren gets a read on Hux—on something about Hux that Hux is not doing on purpose—and smiles, wide and without hesitation. Both his dimples show at once: his whole sullen face is changed to something completely else. "Yeah," he says, slow and silly when Hux was deadly serious, but at least it’s not a question when he says it.

Somehow he's right in Hux's space so there’s nowhere to go that wouldn’t trap Hux up against the St. Patrick's Day cards—who the fuck gives a St. Patrick's Day card, Hux would like to know, and he’s Irish—and he buries his face in the side of Hux's neck and just... doesn’t do a thing, although Hux might have let him. Hux holds his arms very stiff at his sides. "Yeah," Ren says again, like they're telling secrets. As, indeed, Hux supposes they must be. Ren’s chin digs sharply into his shoulder when he presses as close as possible there and then tries to get closer. "You didn't know?"

He didn’t know and he couldn’t be expected to. There’s no baseline for it.

Ren does this thing that no partner of Hux's ever has: he stays. Not just in Hux's bed but really with Hux. But in Hux’s bed, too, yes. After, when they've both come spectacularly and filthily and when usually, one might roll over and—well, roll over and spoon, or fight over who doesn't get the wet spot, or call a cab or something—Ren doesn't go. He always stays instead. He stays, almost unimaginably heavy on top of Hux, lets himself go soft there, lets himself settle in to breathe like he's not squashing all the life out of Hux. Hux knows enough about wolf physiology to have... theories, about what exactly it is that Ren finds satisfying in this. But the problem is, Hux likes it. He would like to lie like that forever, wet spot and crushed ribs be damned.

He’d choose it over almost any other thing, he’s just realized.

Maybe Kylo really did know it already. Maybe Kylo can scent it or something, how absolutely calm and still Hux goes, how much he doesn't ever want to push Kylo away. Maybe it explains where Kylo had found the guts to ask Hux to come along with him.

Here next to the cardboard sign that says Luck O’ the Irish, he shoves Ren off with a sharpish push to the middle of his chest. "Ren! Sympathy card! For Great-Aunt Whoever." Hux needs him to be at a non-distracting distance for this. Not so close that Hux is thinking about getting closer, too. "Just... just pick one and we'll mail it in. It's that rack." He's pretty sure. That rack’s not as green. Ren's pectoral muscles are still distracting even at arm's length, and it probably isn't helping that Hux has somehow failed to reclaim his hand from where it's spread out against them.

Ren's grin widens somehow. Like this is what surprises him. "You're fucking trashed, huh?"

"It was not my idea.” He’s a little wobbly, though, true enough. “And I am the—the goddamned voice of reason, here; I'm insisting that we don't go. You can't go to a funeral like this. It's disgraceful. We'll send a card."

"Hux, I had one beer. With lunch." Ren sounds so soft, and Hux knows what that tone means. It means Ren’s biting back the kind of full-blown smirk that’s worse than his grin, that will have Hux spitting at him.

"Before a funeral,” Hux spits anyway: “it's completely inappropriate."

"You had whiskey. And like four sweet potato fries. And then three more whiskeys."

This is perhaps true too. Hux hasn't been to a funeral since his own father's, and in fact he'd worn the same charcoal tie to it that he is wearing today. He must not have shoved Ren away as hard as he'd thought he'd done, because Ren is right back in his space again, looping his arms carefully around Hux's back. Something about the sure way he does it tricks Hux into doing the same. Now Hux is half-drunk and hugging in a Hallmark store. It's more egregious than being nuzzled against the St. Patrick's Day cards was somehow, perhaps because he is an active participant in it.

He very much regrets mentioning any kind of happiness, ever, fleeting as it is turning out to be.

"You could just have told me you didn't want to go," Ren says. Hux thinks Ren's actually swaying them back and forth very slowly and calmingly, foot-to-foot, although that could be his head sloshing around. Either way, it's very nice. It doesn’t quite mesh with the smirk Hux had thought Ren was holding in. Makes it hard to keep scowling into the side of his head, especially since Ren can’t see that Hux is doing it.  "I didn't even know Aunt Maz; I was only going for Rey."

"Sorry." Rey, Hux knows, is the only member of Ren's family that he still talks to, or at least the only one he ever talks about. Hux isn't totally sure what their relation is, either. Sister? Cousin? Packmate? “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Shouldn’t have what, he doesn’t quite know.

He isn't totally sure what happened to the rest of Ren's family, but now that he knows they exist, he has some theories about why Ren's face looks the way it does when he doesn't talk about them. One of the reasons he has never asked is because not all of Hux's theories involve all the members of Ren's family being alive. This, if nothing else about Ren, is something that Hux can understand very well.

"Hm," Ren says after a minute, like he’s carefully considered it and Hux's apology just doesn't signify. "Let's go home. I'll email Rey later—don’t think she really expected me to show anyway." But he doesn’t stop anything that he’s doing.

Hux squeezes. Ren is, among his many dubiously good qualities, very solidly squeezable. His hair smells amazing even here in this terrible place. Not participating was really never an option.

"That... claim." He didn't know he was going to say that either, but he’s had four whiskeys at noon and now it's said.

Ren goes still and stiff in his arms. This is not something they've spoken of since the very first time, when Ren swore not to do it. Or swore not to hurt Hux, like that was the same thing without question.

"What is it? Exactly?"

"We don't need to," Ren says quickly. Extremely quickly. "That... other pack. They're not—it's not a problem, I told you. I know I got cut up pretty bad." This is an understatement; even with Ren's impossible healing, Hux can trace the scars across his face and down his side and he does so now. He can track those scars even through the dress shirt that Ren had to buy specifically for a funeral that they’re not going to ever make it to now. They are marks of Ren's physical protection, of his stupidity, of his willingness to let himself be gutted for someone he didn't even know. "But I won the challenge. The issue is settled. They're not. Um. Not coming back for you."

He holds Hux tighter when he says it, even as he stretches a little, preening a bit under Hux's touch. It's stupidly endearing, if not entirely reassuring, but this is not what Hux means. He only has one question.

“It wouldn't make me... like you? It's not the bite?” He only has one question and he’s not even sure if the answer makes a difference.

“It doesn't make you a—not like me, no. Jesus.” Ren pulls back now, gives Hux a frantic little shake by the shoulders like he knows what Hux was thinking and he’s not sure if he hates it or not. “But it's a permanent alignment, Hux. You'd be mine, and. And it can't be undone.” Ren’s voice is nervous but the thing underneath that is pitch-black, predatory. It’s there in the way his fingers dig into Hux’s flesh, the way he pulls back but even so he’s looking. It's another feeling Hux knows well. “You could never undo it.”

“And you are also mine?” His huge worried thing, his huge hungry thing, so keen to protect Hux from everything and anything and especially from himself. Just dangerous enough that a little protection might be warranted. This doesn’t count as a question because Hux knows the answer without thinking about it.

“I am. Yes. I would be.” He’s so still. But still there.

He knew the answer, and even so Hux’s blush heats up from the bridge of his nose to the top of his forehead—hopeless. He is filled hopelessly with an unexplainable love, right up to the same rising waterline. He should have—should have checked for it. Should have known. It must be pouring out of his ears.

Ren is on him, slamming him back into the St. Patrick's Day cards so hard this time that the cardboard shamrocks rattle. Something jams into his kidney and it fucking hurts, and the sound is like two six-foot tall men have tackled each other in a shop full of tat. Which they have. Hux can't believe that no one has come to try and interrupt the scene they're making, and he doesn’t care to stop until someone does. Maybe the confluence of capitalism and false sentiment has created some kind of liminal zone where no one can touch them. Maybe the shopgirl isn’t here clearing her throat at them because she’s busy dialling 911.

Maybe it's because Ren has one rock-solid thigh pressed into Hux so hard and so sweet, but his hand on the back of Hux's neck is gentle. He'd kill anyone who tried to look twice. Hux would definitely help him. No scene could matter.

“The last funeral I went to...” Hux is slurring not because of the whiskey but because his nose is mashed up against Ren's ear and he's not inclined to change position. “The last time, it was,” he chokes on My father, can’t say it. It was a decade ago and on a different bloody continent is even lonelier, somehow. “I'd have shot him myself,” is what he ends up saying, unsteady, “only somebody got to it first. So I shot them instead.”

“They can't have you,” Ren growls, as he holds Hux and holds him and holds. As if the people he’s talking about aren't already dead. “They can't get to you. I won't let them.”

Completely inappropriately, now Hux is the one who’s trying not to laugh. He thinks what’s bubbling up inside him might be something much worse than what this card store was built to withstand. A black kind of joke, a joke like a tar pit if it’s a joke at all, but Ren is here. Ren is here and Ren has him, and Ren knows from bad. Hux lets himself kiss Ren first one time, just a peck, and squeeze him tight around the ribs some more. “It's not a fucking blood pact,” he says. This part, the trial, is a confession. “It was ruled self defence; I was acquitted.”

He’d walked out of that court with his knees shaking and caught the first fucking flight across the Atlantic, destination anywhere else, running, but here he is now in a fucking Hallmark with an impossible person. With something he doesn’t let himself look at straight on on a good day, let alone when he’s drunk before two.

He slides his death grip up from Ren’s middle to his huge tense shoulders, to his disaster of a haircut, to both sides of his glowering face. Holds him there white-knuckled while Ren stares straight back.

 He’s going to tell Ren that he means it, that he’s happy with him, that he’d rip anyone in half that tried to stop him now—fangs or no. That he’d let Ren put his teeth in his neck if that’s what this means, and he thinks that it might be. That he’s serious, so serious, they have to leave right now or it’ll be Ren he’s tearing into and they’ll both be arrested.

He’s going to let Ren take him home, and it’s their home, together, like it was never Hux’s home when he was alone. Before that he’s going to let Ren hold his hand – in the street, in the taxi, in the goddamn queue line to buy a sympathy card that Ren will barely even check to make sure that there are no leprechauns on it. He’ll probably sign the card next to Ren’s name. Tomorrow.

Before that, after that, sometime in between those things:

He’ll be the one to hold Ren down for once. He’s going to close the blinds at three PM and do a shoddy job of it, and he’s not going to care if the neighbors can see it when yanks off Ren’s tie. It’s a tie that he borrowed from Hux, the navy one with a little stripe to it, which is also inappropriate for a funeral. The whole incident almost made Hux want to ask Ren if on top of everything else he was colour-blind like a dog. He doesn’t care; he won’t care where that tie lands or about any of the rest of it.

In Hux’s bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, tipsy and so certain, so certain now, he’ll push Ren down and bite at him when Ren is the one who hesitates. They’ll be as naked as if the idea of going to a funeral had never existed. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this will be all there ever was, this huge and simple thing, and nothing else will happen after. Ren will open his eyes suddenly into Hux’s messy, determined kiss, will push at Hux a little until they’re staring at each other, and Hux will look straight down into him and realize it was possible to be more naked even than that—to be completely bare before another person and to be completely unafraid.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ren will say. The second time he’s said it, exactly like this.

[forthelulzy]

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 10

Find the cost of freedom Buried in the ground Mother Earth will swallow you Lay your body down — “Find the Cost of Freedom”, Crosby Stills Nash & Young

They made love the night before. Garrett held him close and soothed him with sweet nothings when he voiced his uncertainty. He’d have backed out of the meeting at the Hanged Man without his reassurance, and Fenris will wonder forever how much Garrett knew then.

Had — had Varania contacted him somehow? Had Danarius?

How long had his lover been planning his betrayal?

Or was it on a whim? Did Fenris mean so little all along that even the most blatant of false promises swayed him?

Which would be, is, worse?

He revisits that day every night since his reawakening. Garrett at his side as they approach the then-unfamiliar elven woman. A flash of memory surfaces, just to be gone as quickly as it came. Garrett’s hand rests at the small of his back — another reassurance, or another subtle trap? He lets Fenris speak, lets Fenris draw his own conclusion from his sister’s darting eyes.

It is too late. It always is.

When Danarius’ voice drips like oil, like venom, into his ears for what he hopes is the last time, when the magister himself appears at the stairs… something shifts in Garrett Hawke. Something that, perhaps, has always been there, just hidden behind layers of lies, behind sweet nothings.

Merrill protests. Perhaps that is her mistake, just as ever falling for Garrett Hawke is his.

He hears later. He hears later, long after he escapes Tevinter. He left more bodies than he had bothered to count in his wake. Only two of them matter. Over in Kirkwall, later, many more lay on the cold stone of the Gallows, blood seeping into the cracks. What blood remains after Hawke uses it for his own power.

He annuls the Circle himself, then dares the Templars he assisted to speak against his methods.

From what Carver tells him, Meredith is the only one who approves, but even she sees a rival for her position. And Hawke slaughters her, while his once-friends and allies try to stay out of his way.

He is surprised, then, to find Varric’s book paints such a mixed picture of the former Champion. Perhaps part of the dwarf still sees the struggling but charismatic refugee, and not the madman of a few short years later.

Perhaps part of him does not want to admit that Garrett Hawke was never what he had seen then at all.

***

Behind him, the crowd is shouting. He can feel them pressing closer, but no one has made the mistake of trying to grab him yet — though whether this is out of fear for the mage’s life or the opposite he doesn’t know.

His focus is only on him.

His breaths stutter as Fenris tightens his grip, both on the heart and on that long, aristocratic neck. Hands that had once been unsullied by any kind of work are now calloused enough for him to feel, and blunt, cracked nails rake down his arm in a blind panic. His face is rapidly turning purple, but those bright blue eyes look straight into his, wide with fear and an appeal to mercy that Fenris ignores.

He will decide on his own whether Caius deserves to live or die.

Fenris lets go of that neck to yank down his scarf, but loosens his hold on Caius’ heart only by a fraction. Enough to keep him from passing out immediately, though to be honest with himself it’s surprising he hasn’t already.

He is certainly more resilient than his twin in a similar situation. Fenris barely had to touch Colm’s heart to make him hysterical.

“Why are you here?” he growls. Behind him the Inquisitor is screaming obscenities, and from the sound of it, struggling against half of her own soldiers in an attempt to launch herself at him.

Caius coughs, blood bubbling from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. His hands still, then drop to his sides. “Irene… is my sister-in-law,” he says tightly.

“Oh? Where is your brother cowering now?”

Irene howls her fury, and Caius goes limp, letting his head drop back against the wall. “He is dead.” His eyelashes flutter — the pain is sapping his strength, though his heart beats as furiously as ever in Fenris’ palm.

Fenris frowns. That isn’t the answer he expects at all. Tevinter mages are like cockroaches — always popping up where you don’t want them, and difficult to kill. The only ones he is certain the world is rid of are Hadriana and Danarius, because he killed them himself.

“Fenris, why—” Caius turns his head away, coughing violently. More blood splatters the ground, darker than it should be. His heart shudders, and Fenris lets go entirely, withdrawing his hand so just the fingertips remain.

“You got my sister killed,” he snaps. He had been momentarily distracted, by Caius’ answer and by the man’s consideration in not coughing blood all over him, but now the rage returns in full force. It has been five years, but that was just time for the anger to boil.

Though he’s catching his breath and still dripping blood down his chin, Caius lifts his head enough to blink at him. “Varania—”

“Don’t. Say. Her. Name.”

“Ah—” He nods hastily. “I’m sorry. We never meant for that to happen, but she asked for our help so you could escape. She was a friend and— I’m sorry.” Despite the rushed words there’s no deceit in them. “Please.”

“Fenris…” Varric is carefully inching around from the side, hands up and voice pitched as if to soothe a spooked animal. “Fenris, come on buddy, let him down and let’s talk about this.”

He rolls his eyes but withdraws his hand entirely. Caius shudders, full-body, and slides down the wall in a heap. “You don’t know who he is, do you.” He raises his voice, turning to the Inquisitor, who still looks murderous through the layers of soot on her face. “None of you do! You have no idea what snake you have let in, Inquisitor.”

“I’m looking at him,” she snarls, but she stills in her efforts to break free and attack. Fenris had guessed half the army was holding her back, but it’s only two, and Carver standing in front of her as the last line of defense. “You should start talking now, stranger,” she adds, attempting to sound intimidating, or maybe commanding for the benefit of her forces.

Fenris snorts in derision.

“You’d really better have an explanation or I am in a shitload of trouble,” Varric says lowly.

***

Within minutes they have reconvened in the keep, in a room that is clearly their command center. It isn’t quite made to fit this number of people, or this level of tension. In addition to himself, there’s also the three advisors, the Inquisitor, and a man introduced as her half-brother, Julien (one of the two holding her back before, along with Cullen). Varric is there, squashed into the corner with Carver, looking like he’d rather be packing his bags and fleeing while everyone’s distracted.

The Inquisitor has made an effort at scrubbing her face, but a streak of wet soot remains, rapidly drying, on her chin and neck. She stalks in behind everyone else, slamming the doors shut behind her. (The Ambassador winces and opens her mouth. Sister Nightingale shushes her with a hand on her arm.) She comes around the table, and plants herself firmly behind it, leaning over the markers and scattered papers. “You. Explain this,” she says with a voice trying to be steel, and instead wobbling with emotion.

Fenris scowls and crosses his arms. “As you may have guessed, Caius and I have history. He never told you the entire truth, did he? Only slaves are without surnames in the Imperium.”

“Get to the point.” But her mind is working, he can tell. And Julien has already figured it out. While the others are observing with varying degrees of neutral confusion, he stands by Irene’s side, body turned toward her as if to protect, but watching Fenris with growing understanding and horror.

The curtains are halfway drawn, the sunlight reduced to a single shaft that spills across the war table, across the Tevinter Imperium where all this began. The markers, clustered to the south in the Inquisition’s areas of operation, cast long shadows.

“That is Caius Danarius. His father once called himself my master.”

The elaboration isn’t strictly necessary for most of them; Varric and Carver already know the name well, as do Cullen and Leliana to a lesser degree. “Shit,” Varric whispers into the silence that follows.

The Inquisitor freezes, staring at him across the war table. Julien reaches, but stops himself before touching her.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she straightens.

“I told you to explain why you attacked my fucking brother-in-law in the middle of the courtyard—”

He bristles. “I—”

“Let me finish! I already knew his father was a magister. Colm told me they left Tevinter after helping a slave — you, I presume — kill dear old dad. Do you dispute this?”

Fenris clenches his teeth and pulls a deep breath. “No,” he grits out.

Rubbing her forehead, she shakes herself. “All right. What else can you tell me about your ‘history’, as you put it? I need to understand. There’s actually two people of Tevinter origin here that I know of.”

“Three, Inquisitor,” Sister Nightingale interjects. “That mercenary from yesterday is Soporati.”

She blinks. “Fuck. Nevermind. Three, then.”

“I am not going to attack a Soporati,” Fenris grumbles. “Or anyone else.” He catches Carver frowning at him, and adds, “Even Caius, if he is really as good a person as you believe.”

The Inquisitor narrows her eyes, scowl creasing deeper. For a moment he thinks she’s going to repeat the question he refuses to answer, but eventually she snorts indelicately. “Keep your secrets. Maker knows you’re in good company around here.”

“Irene—” Julien says lowly.

“I know.” She rubs at her mouth and chin, pauses, pulls her hand away and looks at it. The sootstain is worse, now. “Fine. I need to speak to my advisors privately. Julien, if you could check in on Caius…?”

Fenris rolls his eyes but is the first out the door. She’s not used to being a leader, clearly, or is more worried about the politics than he had assumed. On the one hand, he’s Varric’s guest and has come to the Inquisition for protection (more Carver’s idea than his, by far). On the other, letting him go now will send a message to the hundreds of people that were in the courtyard: Caius is fair game and even his own sister-in-law won’t protect him.

Hawke wouldn’t want or need advisors in the first place. The thought makes him scowl deeper.

***

Fenris stalks into the main hall, startling a few gathered nobles. They do not wait until he has passed to start whispering, but he ignores them, emerging into the bright spring sunshine. Patches of snow still linger in the shade, but the flowers over in the garden are budding, and even a few early risers have already bloomed. It is still far too cold.

He cannot imagine being here in winter.

The clang of armor sounds behind him — Carver has caught up. Fenris starts down the stairs, slower now so the Templar doesn’t have to jog. If he wanted to he could easily lose anyone and everyone, regardless of his current mood. Carver, of all people, knows that.

The upper courtyard has only a few people about, standing in groups or hurrying from one building to another. No one is keen to confront or even look directly at him. Fenris has no real plan in mind, but he gravitates toward the battlements. He’s a stone’s throw from the stairs, right in front of the quiet-at-this-hour tavern, when the door opens.

A man stumbles out. Fenris sizes him up with practiced speed: dressed in an impractical but fashionable (for somewhere far warmer) garment with an impossible array of buckles and straps, unblemished skin, not a hair out of place on his head or in his mustache. A feat in itself, as he is also rather hungover. He clutches a staff in the hand that isn’t shading his eyes.

Ah. The second Tevinter national, and another mage. Fenris frowns and sidesteps before the other man can wobble right into him, and thus Carver is the one to catch his fall.

“Blighted dwarven ales…” he mumbles into Carver’s breastplate.

“Are you all right?”

Fenris rolls his eyes but says nothing. He doesn’t immediately recognize the mage, which is only slightly comforting. Danarius did throw parties following his recapture, but for a select few: his allies, such as they were, in the Magisterium. There were a great many more Altus sons that he didn’t meet, and Laetan — though the mage’s impeccable appearance, even while hungover, makes him suspect Altus breeding.

His skin prickles, and not just at how gently Carver is holding the mage’s arms in his gauntleted hands. Varania restored as much as she could, she’d said, but many things from before he’d been left behind on Seheron are patchy still, or like looking through stained glass. Like as not they did meet, at one of the more inclusive parties, and he simply cannot remember.

“Right as rain,” the mage says, voice a little clearer, drawing back a little as he finds his feet. “Not at all like I’ve been within a barrier of getting eaten by a dragon, thank you.”

The Bone Pit, so aptly named, the scattered skeletons of miners and prey alike clattering as the high dragon lands before Hawke. The earth shakes; that and the wind from mighty wings knocks them back — Merrill tumbles into a long-dead deer along the Pit’s wall, nearly impaled by the rib-bones. Hawke leaps up so fast Fenris isn’t sure he’d fallen at all and unhooks his staff… the dragon’s eyes are hungry, head swaying gently, like a serpent’s about to strike…

Fenris blinks and the memory dissipates into the cold spring sunlight. The man — the mage — is staring at Carver’s breastplate, swallowing thickly, and Carver lets him go.

He needs air. Fenris turns and takes the stairs to the battlements. Carver does not follow, perhaps sensing something. For all his obtuse attitude when Fenris had first met him, the younger Hawke brother is perspective when he needs to be, and plays stupid for the rest. It is this trait above all that has saved them from death more times than Fenris can count.

Fenris never met Bethany, but from Carver’s stories all three Hawke children had one thing in common: they were constantly underestimated. Whether and how they used this to their advantage was the difference.

Sometimes he wonders if Garrett, wherever he is, is still pretending benevolence.

And then he’s leaning over the battlements, his hair in his face, as the remains of his last meal leave him so forcefully it feels like his stomach itself is going to come out. It lasts far longer than it should, and by the time it’s over he’s dizzy, disheveled and exhausted down to his bones. He feels weak.

He is weak. And that’s the worst part.

***

Dorian Pavus. They hadn’t met after his recapture, but now that he has a name to go with the face he remembers. A talented Altus who, despite his father’s exasperation, had no interest in even looking at the political ladder, much less climbing it. Later he had been apprenticed to Gereon Alexius, whom Danarius saw as so far beneath him he wasn’t worth the assassination.

Fenris recalls him as the subject of so many rumors it was hard to keep them straight, but the man himself had done nothing to control them, or, as Danarius would have done, turn them to his benefit. The few times he had been present at a soiree, Dorian had stayed at the edges, nursing a drink or sticking close to Alexius’ son Felix. The latter was always kind to slaves. Dorian, meanwhile, was not cruel, but for all his smooth talk and quick wit with his own kind, he was suddenly tongue-tied when confronted with anyone deemed lesser. If Felix snuck them food, Dorian was always there, a look of quiet panic on his face, insisting Felix was going to get into trouble. “I like trouble,” Felix would say every time, and Dorian would sigh, still not looking at the slaves, and guard the door.

It was by far one of the better ways he had been treated, and not the worst foot to start off on now, but that doesn’t mean Fenris isn’t watching him. Waiting.

The Chantry Mother — whom Fenris had pressed for information on the resident Tevinter nationals — tilts her head, studying him. Her hands are folded behind her back, the picture of serene grace, and Fenris is almost, almost tempted to fill the silence, to not make her wait for an explanation that he does not want to give.

He is surprised, then, when she doesn’t ask. Instead, in a soft Orlesian burr, she confides, “I received a letter from Dorian’s father.”