The-Beat-Down

i love how powerful that last shot of clarke alone at the door to mt weather is. i love it. and you would think the impact lies in the door looming over her, impenetrable, mocking almost, with clarke defeated in its shadow but no, oh no, clarke is so much bigger than that. that shot is pregnant with clarke’s power, it is ominous with the hell she is going to rain down, that small young girl is going to bring that mountain to its knees, with or without anyone there to help her do it. she may be heartbroken, and beat down, and deserted, but so long as she draws breath, clarke griffin is the unstoppable force. once she finds her feet again, heaven help the mountain men, and heaven help commander lexa.

grandcorsair asked:

I'm going to be honest sometimes I feel like there is no point to having a opinion. Seem no matter what side you're on you get words put in your mouth or accused of being a bad person. I was even told being neutral was bad too. I've seen innocent people get tossed under the bus. You just kind of lose hope sometimes man. How do you find the strength to stand up for your opinions when so many people want to beat beat you down?

Because in the end, I’d rather have fight and lost than never having fought at all. Now that’s not for everybody, but it’s how it is for me. I’ll fight for what I feel is right and if I fail or am made a fool… so be it. I’ll come back better for the next battle and do better.

Also: good food. You eat good food when you fail to help make yourself feel better, and you eat good food when you succeed to celebrate.

Batman vs Darth Vader-Alternate Ending!

Batman vs Darth Vader-Alternate Ending!

Bat in the Sun has released an alternate ending to their Batman vs Darth Vader short film!

Batman vs Darth Vader is the latest in the Super Power Beat Downseries produced by Bat in the Sun Productions. A production company co-founded by Aaron Schoenke and his father Sean Schoenke that specializes in “fan-films.” Aaron began creating his films while still a film student at The Art Institute of…

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#6:High School lovers(AU)

Masterlist / Wattpad

Luke: A bolt of lightning struck through the midnight sky, the ecstatic sound sending ripples down Luke’s spine as he sat with his crop of friends, phone secure in one hand as the sound of rain began to beat down on the glass windows. Although the weather was at it’s worst for a while, your school was adamant that students should come in throughout the night in order to finish work and projects, as the end of the working school year drew closer and closer by the second. With the entire school pitch black, each strike of lightning provided a dim light for a split second, before desceding into pure darkness, only adding to the bundle of nerves students already carried at 1am. Situated in the library, Luke was enjoying texting you whilst you made your way over, the eery sounds of partially open lockers causing your walking pace to forward into a small jog. 'Loverboy.' He looked up with a confused expression: an eyebrow raised as Ashton snapped his fingers, seemingly wanting to bring him back to reality. He was oblivious to the discussion about Genetic Engineering; the biology textbook that lay on his lap now thrown to the side as Luke let out an exasperated groan. Knowing how far you lived, his primary thoughts were predominantely about your safety, his palms damp with sweat from his anxious thoughts his mind were conjuring. I’ll be back in a minute.’ His voice carried a nervous tone as he removed himself from the comfort of pillows to a cold chill, the surrounding friends giving him smug grins. Within a minute, he was out of the library that one could get lost it. It was a favourite place for you, as you would always get lost in the vast amount of books that carried hundreds of different volumes. Luke would be the one to distract you: kissing you randomly and placing the book of interest back onto the shelf, keeping him as the main attention. Luke caught the attention of many teachers as he took a stroll along the corridoors, mobile phone glued to his ears as he waited for you to pick up. However, a few minutes later, his waist felt the touch of a warm hand. 'Ah!' A childish scream left his lips, body turning instantly to face yours, which was now doubled over in laughter. Luke, however, wasn’t bothered. The sight of your presence relaxed his body, pulling you in for a kiss he desperately waited for all day. Although kissing is something you may enjoy, it’s not going to help you pass your exams.’ The heat rose instantly throughout your face as you both came face-to-face with a teacher, raising an eyebrow before he continued down the corridor.

Ashton: 'Y/N.' For a moment the voice of your Drama teacher was foreign to you; catching you off guard as you felt the burn of people’s eyes in your direction. Usually, Drama was a subject you lived for, and performed well in with genuine interest. Lately, however, your feelings of lacklustre made the lesson you loved, now boring. Watching performances made you unmotivated, the annoyances of other students more prominent. For the past few weeks, Drama consisted of theory and note-taking. ‘No wonder you disliked it now’, you bluntly told yourself as the clean sheet of paper gradually became covered in scribbles and doodles. The sight of your notepad reminded you of the confusing feelings about what was supposed to be your favourite subject, the several doodles showing their ambiguous connotations. 'Yes?'  Your teacher spoke with a tone that was happier than usual, distanced away from the usual monotone sound that made anyone anxious. 'You're performing with Ashton today.' Your head took an immediate turn, his presence on the other side of the studio as he mirrored the expression on your face. The relationship you had with Ashton was confusing; the pair of you were either at each other’s throats, or surprisingly close to the other’s face, lips swiftly brushing over lips. It left you baffled at times, but the ambiguity of it all brought the excitement. He may have been several metres away from you, but you could see the hazel tones of his eyes darken slightly from excitement and curiosity. But before your mind could drift off into it’s own depths, a script was handed to you. The title read ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ The first page brought a rush of excitement:You were Juliet,he was Romeo. Ashton’s dimples were now prominent, blowing you an air kiss to which you gladly accepted with rosy cheeks.

Calum: The different key words of terminology continued to spin around your mind in a circle; remembering them one minute, then forgetting the next. Your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you focused on the flashcards that you tightly held onto, now crumpled slightly from the force you applied, primarily due to the frustration that tomorrow’s test was bringing to you. 'You either pass, or fail.' The monotone words of your English teacher made you cringe, a small shiver swiftly making its way down your back from the thought of resitting. High expectations were the usual for you, therefore stressed moments started to become a regular occurrence. 'I don't understand why you're so nervous.' All you could do at that moment was shoot a glare at Calum, showing him that small compliments were getting him nowhere. Despite having the image of a typical ‘jock’, Calum had intelligence that was yet to be discovered by everyone. Ever since you saw several annotated scripts lay at the pit of his bulky backpack, you practically begged him to tutor you. The majority of the time; tutoring sessions turned to make out sessions. One compliment from Calum turned into many more, accompanying them with small pecks that led to several heated moments. 'I'm being serious.'  An exasperated sigh left the chapped skin of your lips in a large huff, your body instinctively drifting back into Calum’s embrace as you lay in-between  his legs. The soothing beat of his heart calmed your stress, your finger slowly tracing the outline of a small tattoo on his wrist as he lovingly stroked your hair. 'Look up at me.' With your heart beat pounding at a rapid pace in stark contrast to his, you turned your body to face him. A hand gently laying on his torso, his mesmerising eyes watched your nervous figure as he continued to speak. 'Stop stressing out. I know in my heart you'll do more than exceptional. If you were me, and constantly listened to yourself, it would be absurd to think that you would fail. I love you.' Small tears of relief begun to form in your eyes, a hard swallow of your throat keeping them down as you moved your body upwards in order to kiss him. Kissing him always felt like the first; lips moulding together in sync as the stressed left your system, the moment inevitably turning heated.

Michael: You were the epitome of speechless at this very moment, as never did you ever think that you would be catching the attention of someone everyone said to be careful around. Michael Clifford. Also known as the ‘bad boy’ of the school. You could feel his green eyes burn into you, watching you from afar as you continued to walk towards a building entrance. His body lay comfortably against the rough brick wall, a leg propped up in order to keep his balance. A cigarette in one hand; he took a long drag, letting the concoction of chemicals intoxicate his mind, slowly breathing out rings in a partially seductive manner. The heat of the sun was beginning to beat down onto your back, your hairline now starting to line with beads of sweat as the pace of your feet continued to increase, wanting to avoid Michael at all costs. A smug grin appeared on his face, the plump, pink flesh of his lips contrasting against his alabaster skin. Glistening from several licks, he bit down on his bottom lip, head cocked to the side as you started to near the dingy corner in which he was situated. There were several stories to accompany Michael’s unknown character: from sleeping with different girls, to fights with several people. He was trouble, in just about everyone’s eyes. You, however, didn’t know anything. It was until his looks towards you started to become more apparent, that it felt like the missing pieces of a puzzle were starting to come together. From a murky wave, to crystal clear waters. 'Y/N.' Michael’s voice carried a raspy tone, and whether that be from his cigarette, or how he always spoke, you couldn’t deny that it was utterly sexy. But your thoughts were put to the side from an important question: 'How does he know my name?’ Your cheeks were now starting to flush, an action your body always did on instinct from a situation that has such ambiguity, as right now. It may not be a fight or flee situation, but fleeing was the last thing you thought of. There was a quality, that boys such as Michael had, that drew you in. And now standing in front of him, it was becoming more apparent that a small wall you built, was now beginning to crumble. The appearance that was shown on the outside, did not reflect from the appealing look of his jade green eyes. 'Yes?'  His hand reached out for yours slowly, the gentle skin of his palm patiently waiting as he waited for a response. Within a minute, your bodies were close, his hot breath gently blowing onto your skin. 'I'm Michael. Nice to meet you.'

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BATMAN vs DARTH VADER - ALTERNATE ENDING - Super Power Beat Down

anonymous asked:

I really hope you do a second part to the prompt about Tevinters kidnapping the Inquisitor and Solas going after them, your writing is marvelous and the idea has caught my imagination. Please don't leave me hanging at this cliff!

I have definitely decided to continue with this prompt and do a mini ficlet of a sorts with it! Dedicated to ohmakersbreath and this anon here. The first for the prompt, and the second for their curiosity for what happens next! Here’s the next part in the installment. Shall we? -LiaS

All For You: Pt.2

Tevinter was hot.

It was not so hot as the desert in the Western Approach, the sun beating down rough and harsh. It was a balmy sort of heat, something that made clothes feel thick and breathing muggy. As Solas walked along the Imperial Highway, he kept to the side, ready to slip into the foliage at a moments notice. It was well-known that people were often picked up and sold into slavery at a moments notice. He didn’t have the luxury of time to mess around with a slave uprising. Lupa had been captured, and he was going to get her back.

Cole had left when Solas urged him to return to Cassandra after he’d gotten what little information he could from him. Apparently, the Inquisition had ridden into a trap in Orlais, a meeting with emissaries from Tevinter that wanted to discuss a formal meeting with the Magisterium. Lupa had stepped into the house, and as the rest of the inner circle walked in behind her, to their shock the house was completely empty. Lupa was gone. They had scrambled to scour the city, but as the mages hunted house to house, they had been forced to draw one horrible, unsettling conclusion -Lupa was gone.

He was sure that the Inquisition was busy rallying their forces, but as one that’d once walked among the people, he knew exactly what would also be happening, too. The advisers would be busy arguing about which path to take. Would Josephine use emissaries to attempt to negotiate her safe return? Would Leliana send in spies to extract her? Would Cullen march the entire Inquisition force to Tevinter’s door? No, no. Lupa had been the driving force behind the advisers working together. Without her, they would talk themselves into circles and take entirely too long to get anything done. 

Besides, one elf was easy to blend into the crowd. Once he reached the city, he would be able to slip about with little to no notice. 

And then, the real work would begin.

"Where in Tevinter is she, Cole? Do you know?" So difficult, to try and pin the spirit down. His personal concern for Lupa was tangible, heavy in the air.

"A holding east, east of Minrathous she sleeps, wonders when she will have her chance to flee, feet sore, a binding they put on them, when will I have my chance? A chance is all I need, begging, asking, thinking."

"A holding east of Minrathous…more than likely a magister’s holding." Cole shifted, put his hat back onto his head. 

"I will tell the others that you come?"

"No, Cole. In fact, I’d like for you to return to them without me. You’ve given me a good deal of information, and I will do what I can to free her. For now, aid the others as you can." His face, gentle and concerned, crumpled.

"I will help them." He said quietly, disappearing.

That left the question, though: who exactly had taken her? There was no question that she was a tool for those in Tevinter that disliked the idea of Orlais gaining more power due to the Inquisition’s prestige. And yet, which one? Was it a faction? Was it a random outlier? Was it the entire damned Magisterium? He snorted under his breath. Highly unlikely. But still something to consider. He needed to have every possible angle examined before walking into the death trap of Tevinter.

He rounded a corner on the road, then immediately ducked down into the brush as he nearly collided with the back of a slave caravan. He let out a slow, even breath, heart pounding, and as carefully as he could manage, he crept along beside the caravan, eyeing the security. 

It was mainly elves, although he could see a few Ferelden men and women speckled here and there. Was disturbed him though, apart from the obvious, was the surprising amount of Dalish that were in the group. Their marks stood out against those that were bare-faced, as well as the savage, almost feral way that they clumped together. Even at their lowest, they still kept apart from the other elves.

"Easy now, this is precious cargo." A man, obviously a Tevinter, strolled by the group, his mage staff in hand. As he passed by one man, the man cringed away from the staff, eyes averted. One of the slaver’s accomplices tittered. 

"Oh? How’s that?" 

The main slaver grabbed a girl from the group, a Dalish with dark hair and somewhat tanned skin. For a wild, foolish moment, Solas saw Lupa. But as she was jerked around, her vallaslin easily spotted even from his position, he knew it was not her. Her cheeks were round, and her eyes were a light brown instead of green. As the man slid his arm around her waist, she struggled and hissed. 

"This girl, this ‘Dalish’ knife-ear, claims she knows the Inquisitor!" He seemed to be the leader, the others looking over to laugh with him as he slapped his knee. "And not only does she know the Inquisitor, but she says that she’ll come to save them!"

"She will!" The Dalish girl cried out, struggling against the man. "Fen’Harel take you! She will claw your eyes out with her daggers!"

The entire ring of slavers laughed, a couple of foul curses streaming from their lips as the main man threw her back into the group. 

"Sure, yes, she will," he mocked, "and I’m sure your Fen’Harin-or-whatever will take me, too." He continued along the line, chuckling to himself. The Dalish girl watched him, and Solas could see hatred in her eyes. She was telling the truth, in some aspect at least. She did know Lupa. Perhaps a member of her clan? After most of the clan had been wiped out, there had been some stragglers, but they had assumed that what little amount of survivors were there had been escorted to Skyhold safely. Apparently, that wasn’t entirely true. 

As the caravan continued moving, slowly but surely, Solas kept pace with it, scanning their magical energy to ensure that they wouldn’t detect him. There were seven mages in the group, three warriors, and four archers that he could see, a decently numbered group for the caravan that they escorted. They must be professionals of some sort. Just how many people had they stolen away to labor and toil in Tevinter? The longer he thought about it, the hotter his blood ran.

He was distracted from his anger though when a disturbance at the front grabbed the slavers’ attention. A tree had fallen, a massive, hulking thing that blocked the road entirely. As the leader puzzled over it, Solas tensed as he smelled something that he never thought he’d ever sense again.

The attack was quick, ruthless. One moment, the mages were beginning the spell to move the tree out of the way, and in the next moment they were dead. He blinked, saw the lyrium-infused body shift in and out of visibility as it ripped a mage to shreds. And then it was gone, and the others were left shaking and furious as they rallied to see what had attacked.

"It’s an obvious trap!"

"The mages, though!"

"We’ve still got archers! We’re more than fine, truly!"

"Come out and face us, coward!" Solas saw the attacker slipping along the side of the slaves, finger pressed to his lips. And moved beyond reason by the attack, although the manner in which it was done made his skin prickle, Solas leapt up from his position and cast a spell, creating a wall of ice that turned everyone’s attention away from the main attack. As the warriors rushed to move around and and face the threat, the man with the lyrium marks took out the archers, his blade moving so quickly that it blurred. 

"It’s a mage!"

"Is it a magister?"

"No, it’s a bloody knife-ear!"

Solas bared his teeth, studying these men. If he had his own power restored, he could have easily killed them. It would have been as simple as a thought, a whisper. He could feel the power of Mythal in his veins, whispering, dangerous. But he couldn’t focus on that. He needed to save that for later, much later. Instead, he threw his faith in the idea that the main attacker would come in as backup, and he began firing spells, dancing out of their attacks as they attempted to flank him.

Thankfully, the stranger didn’t waste time. As he finished off the archers, he leapt over the ice wall and attacked from above, a glowing blue hand ripping down one of the warrior’s backs as he ripped something out of his body, blood pouring everywhere as the man fell. Another swung his greatsword, but Solas met it with the block of his staff, growling a curse and flinging him back with a simple spell. As he stumbled, a fireball connected with his chest and consumed him.

He sensed rather than saw the blade of the final warrior arcing towards him. Part of him belatedly realized that he would be too slow to cast a spell or to dodge. Another part of him considered invoking Mythal’s power, ignored the implications of what that would mean. Before he could do it, he heard a sickening, crunching noise, and then the splatter of blood as it hit the road. Solas turned, took in the image of the Tevinter slaver staring at him, eyes wide. And down, down his eyes went, until they could see a hand where his chest was, and a heart where it most certainly should not be. It beat in the palm of the stranger’s hand, and all that Solas could think was, only power of the fade could do something such as that

The stranger ripped the man’s heart out, and the greatsword clattered to the ground. Blood pooled at their feet, and Solas stepped away from it, keeping his eyes on the man across from him. For as he dropped the beating heart from his hand, almost as a careless afterthought, with his free hand he lifted his own blade and pointed it directly at Solas’ chest.

"What are you doing here, mage?" He growled. His pale colored eyes bore into him with a ferocity that borderlined on almost without reason, and the lyrium that was branded into his skin glowed. Solas gripped his staff in both hands warily.

"I was walking along the path and stumbled into this caravan." He spoke slowly, calmly. "It was not my intent to interfere with your plans."

"And yet you did."

"To your benefit, no? They are dead, and we are unharmed." He wasn’t sure entirely how to go about placating someone that seemed intent on outright hostility. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was being interrogated in the first place.

"…It is as you say. But if you make one wrong move, mage, you’re dead." He slowly lowered his sword and sheathed it, although he did not turn away from Solas. As he walked over towards the slaves, his shoulder was kept turned ever-so-slightly, the better to prevent Solas from attacking by surprise. 

"You…you both killed them?" Someone asked, clearly in shock. The elf made short work of undoing their bonds, a grunt his only reply. 

"We’re…free." The Dalish girl, the one that the leader had mocked, looked around them slowly, eyes wide. "We can go home."

The murmurs started slowly, carefully. Then, as realization soaked into the crowd, it grew power, their voices rising, gaining strength. People began hugging one another crying in relief. As the chains were fully let loose, Solas watched the other elf busy himself with patting down the head slaver, taking a list from his robes. 

"Where do we…go?" Someone asked as he straightened up and studied the parchment intently. His eyes flickered up from the writing, jaw set. 

"Home." He replied. "You can go home." Their confusion was plain. Home? How did they navigate there when they didn’t even know where they were anymore? Solas stepped forward as their cries of relief turned to worry. 

"You can seek shelter with the Inquisition." He said, voice calm and soothing. The other elf look up at him sharply, considered him. 

"The Inquisition?"

"They would take us in?"

"How do we get to them?"

"Is it safe?"

"It is safe enough, as any Inquisition could be. They offer safe harbor and work for those in need."

"How do we get there?"

"Can you take us?"

"Please!"

The Dalish girl pushed her way through the crowd that was slowly working their way towards him, her eyes flashing. 

"You were in the Inquisition? Did you know Inquisitor Lupa?" She demanded. The others quieted, looked at him.

"I did." There was a ripple of awe, of surprise. An elf knew the Inquisitor? He thought of her, of where she was, and he gritted his teeth. He couldn’t dawdle like this. 

And yet…

"She was from my clan! She was from Clan Lavellan!" The girl cried, and he grabbed his hand roughly. "Please, tell me she’s alright? That she’ll take us in?"

"They will gladly take you in." He said quietly, evenly. "But first, we need to make camp off of the main road. I can give you directions, but you must go alone."

"Alone?" Her eyebrows slashed down; her lips puckered up. 

"I cannot escort you. I have somewhere that I must be to. But I can show you the direction to go. And how to stay safe. But first, we need to hide this…mess."

At his words, the girl let out a feisty, wicked grin. She was not Lupa, but there were hints of her there, around her mouth and her fierce stare. Without waiting for permission she began ordering the others around, her hands on her hips. When it came to hiding bodies, he noticed her take a dark delight in helping bury the head slaver.

He led them away from the main road, making camp in a hollow that was easily defendable if someone stumbled upon them. While he made fires and portioned the food from the slavers’ packs, he noticed that set apart from the group, watching with a tense posture, the other elf kept his distance. 

When night fell, he set up people stationed to keep an eye out, and he picked his way over to the stranger, watching the way that the lyrium glowed on his skin. The stranger watched him as well, his shaggy white hair swept back, a red sash keeping it from falling into his eyes.

"You did not have to follow us here. You freed them, and I can see them safely along their way." Solas said.

"You mentioned Inquisitor Lupa." He replied curtly. 

"I did. You know her?"

"Hawke…The Champion of Kirkwall…went to see her awhile ago." The way he spoke, as well as his demeanor, shifted when he mentioned the champion. Solas thought back to the way that Lupa had come to him, in tears weeks after what had happened in the fade. How is Varric going to tell him? She whispered, clinging to him in a rare moment of weakness. I asked Hawke about Fenris. I asked her, and she said she loved him. What have I done?

"You are Fenris." Solas said, realization dawning on him. Fenris looked at him sharply, tensed. Then, after a moment, slowly relaxed.

"I am. But I do not know your name, mage."

"I am Solas. And I am sorry for your loss." If he was affected by Solas’ words, he didn’t show it. He folded his arms across his chest and looked over at the freed slaves.

"What are you doing in Tevinter?" He asked, his voice a low growl. "This isn’t Inquisition territory." At that, it was Solas’ turn to hesitate. It wasn’t safe for too many people to know. If they played their cards right, Lupa could be rescued within the week. If word got out, though, it could mean…

…no. He wasn’t going to think about it. 

"…I am here on discreet business." He said at last. Fenris grunted.

"This is discreet?" He nodded towards the rabble of people. 

"This was a delay."

"From what?"

"It is not something that should be made very public."

"And who am I going to tell?" Fenris snapped, and in his annoyance, Solas detected something raw, something cutting at the edges. He did mourn Hawke. He just didn’t want to say it. Solas wasn’t entirely sure why, but guilt prickled at the edges of his thoughts. Was it guilt, since Lupa wasn’t here to feel it instead? She had made her decision. Everyone, Hawke included, had stood by it. 

But that didn’t make it any easier on Fenris.

"…Inquisitor Lupa was taken by mages from Tevinter." Solas said at last. He looked at Fenris, but the other elf’s reaction was subdued, a mere twitch of his eyebrow. 

"And so you are coming to get her." It was’t a question.

"It would be disastrous if they were to…" To what? Torture her? Kill her? Extract information? Yes, yes, any of the above. He tried to keep his emotions schooled, but he feared that his expression would not be neutral enough.

"Anyone trapped in the clutches of a mage is in danger." Fenris replied.

The two of them watched the camp in silence, each one troubled with their own thoughts. As the moon rose to the sky entirely, and the air cooled down from the heat of the Tevinter sun, Fenris finally let out a noise that vaguely resembled a grunt, and he let his arms fall to his sides.

"I will come with you to get her." He said, and there was no argument in his tone.

"Why?" Solas asked, more curious than opposed.

"…She was the last one to see Hawke. And Hawke spoke highly of her, in her last letter…she must be someone worth saving." The words sounded bitter, although Solas wondered if that was just how the man spoke. Nevertheless, it would be easier for someone from Tevinter to help him navigate the cities in secrecy, someone that was clearly adept at fighting. An ally. When had Solas begun acquiring so many allies?

"I am thankful for the aid."

"Don’t thank me yet. She could be dead when we get there." Solas nodded, looked away so his emotions couldn’t be seen on his face. If she was dead…he gritted his teeth. No. She was not dead. She was alive, and he was going to save her.

"We leave at dawn."


Ah, I didn’t initially plan on Fenris being there…but there we go. Anyway, hope you like it! Until next time!

I see a different you
A stronger more confident you
Someone who can look in the mirror and see beauty,
not imperfections
A more opinionated you
Who voices them and stands for herself
Not letting the mean girls beat her down

A healthier
And bigger you
Now loving yourself
And your curves
And that those old pants don’t fit anymore

You stand taller
And you smile more.
You eat what you want
Wear make-up when you want
While being okay with
The small things
Like your skin, chin, and accent

I want to tell you
I like this you.

—  Your rock.
You people!
—  Two words a white person should never say to a black person…unless, they intentionally looking for a beat down.
Hexaphobia

Let the bass play out
Let it drip right through
Tear up all these beats
And chop it down when it’s at the two
Cut through my vocabulary, and choke on the words
Drinking your whiskey on the rocks will surely make you slur
Look at me through the smoke and then look me in the eyes
Broken glass has got you slipping, now your falling but it’s allright
The night is just beginning and the stars aren’t even out
I’m looking for you endlessly
No this you cannot doubt
Still searching for you endlessly
Through a neverending crowd
Fill up the speakers
And trip the breakers for the night
Still we’re drifting through this city
But I swear it’ll be allright…

4

The first view of Rory in Banished was a brief view of him in his bunk and then there was the brief screen cap I posted yesterday. Then, right into the meat of the stealing food beat down. I already love this show and evil Rory. 

I’ll make better screen caps tonight. 

i stand in an empty parking lot, the sun beating down on me. the sn is so hot i feel the tar might bubble, i open my mouth, i scream, thousands of pieces of dirt fall from my mouth, i continue to scream, my sound is muffled by the enormous volume of Dirt, i continue to

MARCH

The light stays longer in the sky, but it’s a cold light,
it brings no relief from winter.
My neighbor stares out the window,
talking to her dog. He’s sniffing the garden,
trying to reach a decision about the dead flowers.
It’s a little early for all this.
Everything’s still very bare—
nevertheless, something’s different today from yesterday.
We can see the mountain: the peak’s glittering where the ice catches the light.
But on the sides the snow’s melted, exposing bare rock.
My neighbor’s calling the dog, making her unconvincing doglike sounds.
The dog’s polite; he raises his head when she calls,
but he doesn’t move. So she goes on calling,
her failed bark slowly deteriorating into a human voice.
All her life she dreamed of living by the sea
but fate didn’t put her there.
It laughed at her dreams;
it locked her up in the hills, where no one escapes.
The sun beats down on the earth, the earth flourishes.
And every winter, it’s as though the rock underneath the earth rises
higher and higher and the earth becomes rock, cold and rejecting.
She says hope killed her parents, it killed her grandparents.
It rose up each spring with the wheat
and died between the heat of summer and the raw cold.
In the end, they told her to live near the sea,
as though that would make a difference.
By late spring she’ll be garrulous, but now she’s down to two words,
never and only, to express this sense that life’s cheated her.
Never the cries of the gulls, only, in summer, the crickets, cicadas.
Only the smell of the field, when all she wanted
was the smell of the sea, of disappearance.
The sky above the fields has turned a sort of grayish pink
as the sun sinks. The clouds are silk yarn, magenta and crimson.
And everywhere the earth is rustling, not lying still.
And the dog senses this stirring; his ears twitch.
He walks back and forth, vaguely remembering
from other years this elation. The season of discoveries
is beginning. Always the same discoveries, but to the dog
intoxicating and new, not duplicitous.
I tell my neighbor we’ll be like this
when we lose our memories. I ask her if she’s ever seen the sea
and she says, once, in a movie.
It was a sad story, nothing worked out at all.
The lovers part. The sea hammers the shore, the mark each wave leaves
wiped out by the wave that follows.
Never accumulation, never one wave trying to build on another,
never the promise of shelter—
The sea doesn’t change as the earth changes;
it doesn’t lie.
You ask the sea, what can you promise me
and it speaks the truth; it says erasure.
Finally the dog goes in.
We watch the crescent moon,
very faint at first, then clearer and clearer
as the night grows dark.
Soon it will be the sky of early spring, stretching above the stubborn ferns and
violets.
Nothing can be forced to live.
The earth is like a drug now, like a voice from far away,
a lover or master. In the end, you do what the voice tells you.
It says forget, you forget.
It says begin again, you begin again.

LOUISE GLUCK

ask me how I was making an arepa and went on tumblr to wait ten minutes until I needed to flip it and then completely forgot until just now (didn’t even look at the clock to judge ten minutes)

and I just ran to the stove thinking I ruined an arepa and La Virgen de Chiquinquira was about to come down and beat my ass with her celestial chancla

and nope

the arepa was PERFECTLY made

Colombians have an internal arepa timer. It’s biology.

OH GOD I'M BEING FLIRTED WITH HOW DO I REACT TO THIS? (In a good way)
  • HIM:Hows goes that on your end?
  • ME:My depression's been a bitch lately but I'm working through it. Have a decent job now, so that's good. sorry to hear about your car, though.
  • HIM:Oh I can imagine it is. I know its really tough to deal with. I had to beat mine down with a stick practically numerous times. Meh atleast it works now haha.
  • ME:yeah, I'm having trouble managing mine lately. It's difficult. But I'm making it through.
  • HIM:its never easy, but if it helps your not the only one.
  • ME:I know. And that does help, thank you. The weather hasn't been helping--I think I've forgotten what the sun looks like.
  • HIM:Ahhh I love the cold weather, its just like back home. I even saw some sea gulls lol. Now if only I could get the food too. I'm so pale I'm as bright as the sun if that counts.
  • ME:I like cold weather better than hot weather, it's the rain and sleet that's getting to me. And I'm so pale I'm practically translucent, myelf.
  • HIM:... Well if it helps pale people are cuter be the sheer fact of being pale.
  • ME:... ANd yeah, pale people are cuter than tan people as a general rule.
  • HIM:... especially you lol.
  • ME:....and did you just call me cute?
  • HIM:I do believe I did, I hope that wasn't rude of me
  • ME:No, it wasn't rude at all. It made me smile, actually.
  • HIM:well than I am glad I said it than,
  • ME:You're not bad looking yourself, you know. Although your profile picture is hardly flattering. Hilarious, though.
  • HIM:oh yeah true I never did change that lol. Hmm I should put one of me smiling jsut fro you lol
  • ME:aw, you should. Not just for me, though, for you too.
  • HIM:hmm well impressing you wouldn't hurt.
  • ME:You don't need a cute profile picture to impress me. I rather like the silly one as well, though one of you smiling would be nice.
  • HIM:Hmm well your making me blush over here haha. Not every day a crush calls you cute, or impressive
  • ME NOW:(help what do I do from here)
  • ...:ETA OH GOD I HAVE A DATE TONIGHT WHAT DO I DO
Coconut Cream Crane

Frasier accidentally enters a pie-eating contest at KACL, but is too proud to back out when Bulldog mocks him for competing. He trains all week by eating a whole pie with every meal, but on gameday is appalled to learn that the contest pies are all lemon meringue, while he’d been practicing with imported mincemeat. His shot at an honest victory blown, he psychologically manipulates the other contestants into instigating a voracious pie fight.

Martin and Duke capsize during a fishing trip and wind up stranded on a deserted island. With the sun beating down on them and limited food supplies, tensions build and the two begin to turn on each other. An argument over how to crack open a coconut climaxes with Martin shouting “I’ll crack YOUR coconut!”. As the two descend into fisticuffs, the coast guard arrives to find a disheveled, dehydrated Martin pounding on an official NFL “The Duke”-model football, on a small islet less than fifty yards off the clearly visible Seattle coastline.