man is there any way to get this in a higher resolution

Mawiage

-Read on ff.net here

@bleebug. A little extension of the pancake moment. And for @spartanguard for chest hair comments. Because.  And for: @this-too-too-sullied-flesh on her birthday.

Rating: M

He really doesn’t care.

The Charmings have dragged them all throughout town for the past few weeks and pestered him with questions he seldom had an answer to. What kind of flowers did he like? What was his favourite cake flavour? What colour did he want to wear? (Okay, that one he had cared, but he thought the answer of black was bloody obvious.) Who did he want to invite?

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Survive the Wasteland: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5


Shouyou stared in stunned confusion at Kageyama’s back as the other man walked away. Despite vowing to do so many, many times, Kageyama had never truly pushed him away like he had just now. Especially not the evening before he left for a job.

Kageyama had taken several odd jobs here and there since they’d come to Smog City, some of them mundane, and some of them quite dangerous—but if he was leaving Shouyou behind at the hospital, he always gave him a rundown of what he’d be facing, if only to teach him more about the Wasteland. He never seemed threatened or worried.

This time, though—this time Kageyama seemed tense. That was new and unsettling enough to set Shouyou on edge.

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No Help Required.  PT1

If it weren’t for a chance encounter with a quiet, unassuming man, you probably would have been dead, and you’re willing to do anything to pay him back.

Bucky Barnes X Reader  

NC-17 AU with later appearances from Steve, Sam, Nat, Tony & Thor.

Very Angsty from the beginning. Serious Smut Later on.   

A/N: So for my first proper Tumblr fanfic I decided to write something out of my comfort zone with multiple parts. Don’t mind me, I’m just throwing myself into the deep end… :D Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.  I hope you all enjoy and if you do, please leave a comment/review/like.  Happy Reading Folks xoxo

Words: 1800

Warnings: Rape trigger.  


My mother always told me one day my luck would run out.  “Y/N-” she would say her voice commanding attention,  and a finger, no- a spoon, the wooden spoon she had just been using to stir the pot, she’d point it squarely at me for dramatic effect, her voice though powerful and eloquent grappled to find the right words in English.

“That thing you do- walking home late. It is only a matter of time before something, something terrible happens.  Oh Fille têtue- You will never learn.” She would turn away from me then, her concentration, so it seemed on the simmering pot in front of her.  But I knew it was to hide her face, for mothers never show weakness if it could be helped and she was frightened as any mother would be for the safety of her child.

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Die Trying

Before he was Jesse he was Joel (based on that one Sombra and McCree interaction in-game). This is basically a “Jesse sucks the Deadlock boss’s cock to live” scenario…let’s say Jesse is 15 when he joins Deadlock, and 17 when he joins Blackwatch.


“JJ, that’s your name?”

The young man shifted uncomfortably as the men surrounding him chuckled, some shaking their heads in mirth.

“Joel…Junior, is the whole thing,” he answered quietly, licking his lips.

“Your daddy has such a hard on for himself he gave you a shit name? Damn kid.”

“Had,” he corrected. The boss smirked and raised a bushy eyebrow but didn’t question the obvious insinuation.

“Well I sure as shit ain’t calling you JJ,” the man sneered, “just Joel for now.”

“Yessir,” Joel nodded, swallowing when most of the men surrounding him left, save for a few who lingered, eyes lingering even longer, before leaving as well.

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i can see the clouds are moving faster now (1 of ?)

This is my CSSS gift for @thegladelf! It has been an absolute pleasure chatting with you, Margaret, and I hope you enjoy this actually-married-but-pretending-that-they’re-not thing! This is the first part of… a few. Not sure how many at the moment. 

Many thanks to @literatiruinedme and @becauseyouwantme-itwouldbeenough and also my sister for reading over this also.

Merry Christmas to all!


Emma Swan Jones woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. Judging by the sound, she had left her phone in the kitchen last night. Killian, lying beside her with his arm tight around her waist, groaned into the pillow.

“Your turn,” Emma muttered. It was probably Ariel, their next-door neighbor with absolutely no concepts of boundaries, probably asking to come over and watch Netflix. There was literally no one else in the world save their boss who liked risking the wrath of the Joneses prior to 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday. And literally no one else in the world save their boss knew that they were, in fact, part of the CIA. The go-assassinate-someone part.

“Nope,” Killian whispered back. She pinched his back. “Fine,” he muttered, standing slowly and kissing her briefly before slumping to the kitchen. Emma grinned after her husband. His hair was gorgeous all scruffy, and he really needed to shave. Adorable.

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Can we talk about Brendon Urie as a killjoy for a minute?
Like, we’ve got this killjoy leader from Zone 4 who is the lone survivor of an attack on 4 by the dracs. He lost his entire group in one day, and has blamed himself ever since. Though there have been rumors of one of them being alive, he’s resolutely decided not to get his hopes up.
Though he’s been through so much, many are surprised to see what a colorful and fun loving guy he can be. He’s one of the best shots in the zones and is often the life of the party when he’s around other groups of killjoys. However, he never stays in one place for long and tends to drift between zones.
When he’s not wandering around, trying to make a living off of salvaging and selling things from what’s left of Zone 4, he’s usually making his home there, especially when it’s too dangerous to live a nomadic life.
He’s also classier than most killjoys, but ditched his suits long ago because of the scorching sun. He usually sticks to whatever clothes he can throw together into an outfit. Still, he’s picky about his hair and refuses to dye it or “screw it up" in any way.
Unlike most killjoys, he doesn’t really give off a specifically rebellious vibe, or have the distinct culture of a certain zone. This is half because of his travels and how often he assists the other killjoys in different zones, and half because of his strong belief that when his friends died, the rebellion in Zone 4 died with them. After the infamous clap, he also dropped his killjoy name, though he still stood strongly with the rebels.
In Battery City, Brendon “Disco King” Urie is believed to be dead by most citizens. However, those in the higher ranks of BLI know that he’s alive, but are keeping this information from the public to prevent a widespread panic (!) from starting. “Disco King” remain amongst the three most feared groups of killjoys (the others being the Fab Four and the Youngbloods), though their “deaths” were widely publicized.
The man once nicknamed “the King of Zone 4” has never quite forgotten the brutal murders of his closest friends, nor how their bodies were practically paraded around as propaganda. He’s been biding his time for years, waiting for the right opportunity to avenge them, though a part of him has been telling him for years that the best he can do to honor their memories is to stay alive and keep running.

If you go away

Title: If you go away - Modern!AU

Rating: T

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Characters/Pairings: Kanda Yuu/Allen Walker, Lavi, Lenalee Lee

Summary: Kanda spent most of his days bored at the park, but when new kid Allen Walker catches his eye, he realizes there’s more to life than avoiding over-protective dads and annoying friends - and that, maybe, they weren’t the worst kind of problems to have. Not by a long-shot.

Chapter: ½ | tagged as dgm: if you go away

Notes: Inspired by the prompt:  The hot boy in the park finally looked at me. I’m gonna FIGHT him. Also a bit from the stream:

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THE REALITY THAT HAS BEEN HIDDEN FROM YOU

Can you handle the truth? Fair warning, reality is stranger than fiction, but if you are brave and wish to see the world in a way you’ve always known was there but was too afraid to consider it might be true… Please take my hand as I guide you on a walk through the heart of twilight zone.

-Disclaimer: I will be providing very little to no evidence to support the claims in this post. Rather I am outlining a conceptual background for you to gain a clearer foundation in your pursuit of the truth. How can you piece together the puzzle if you don’t know what it’s even remotely going to look like? This picture may appear a little crazy, and in some ways terrifying, but I assure you if you do your homework and research these claims you’ll be surprised with what you find.

-Chapter 1 - An introduction to a cosmic view: The universe is freaking teeming with life! Life is everywhere!!! If you know anything about quantum physics you likely know that physical matter only renders itself into existence when it is being observed. In an unfathomably large unknown cosmos with a known 500 trillion galaxies(that’s five hundred, million, million ,million) that’s a lot of matter to be observed and generated if you don’t mind my saying so… If the universe is 14.5 billion years old or infinite the fact of the matter is our civilization is very late to the game of development and evolution. What if I were to tell you that there is massive, thriving interstellar community and they are no strangers to earth or our civilization? Too crazy for you? Then swipe on past this post. If you’re ready to see how deep the rabbit hole goes then this is my gift to you.

-Chapter 2 - The Reality that has been unjustly kept from you: You are a slave Neo. You live on a slave world. This planet is the centerpiece in a chain owned by an interstellar corporate conglomerate. These cosmic dictators are no aliens, rather they are a select few corporate and economic superpowers(rather supervillians) whom over the past century and a half have stolen and hidden major technological advancements that should have been released to the public. But instead they were hoarded away and utilized in militaristic development programs to create the foundation for a secret break away civilization. The society you live in is at minimum 70 years behind in its technological growth. In all likelihood the current advancement in technology humanity has attained is 100’s of years beyond what is commercially available.

The majority of UFO’s reported are actually man made craft. I mean this in the sense we have successfully reverse engineered and learned how to construct our own interstellar vessels. Human beings from modern society have been to not only other bodies in our solar system but in others as well. Star Wars like technology exists, from hyperspace travel to trans-galactic faster than light communication through what is known as “dimensional physics”. But those in the know dare not speak out, because the few that have like Phil Schneider have all been murdered and had their families destroyed.

Why?!… Why.. that is the question… And the answer has quite a few answers and complexities. Those involved in these break-away programs are many, and thus there hold many mixed emotions and opinions on the matter. Not everyone involved in this conspiracy know the full picture either, in fact very few do. For some it is the fear of mass unrest and vindication from the public over the decades of lies and hardships. Some are simply addicted to power and control, these corporate tyrants would lose all of their power and status in society if free energy, antigravity, and trans-dimensional technology were to come out. Certain sects in this breakaway civilization are completely engaged in trade with our interstellar neighbors. As I said before we are slaves.. In the military industrial complex there is such a thing called compartmentalization. Like in the Manhattan project you can gather hundreds, thousands of people and get them to build an atomic bomb for you without their knowledge. We are producing both many of their products and the materials for them. But that is only one side as this trade gets darker. Like we’ve done to our own for so many millennia we’ve actually sold humans as slaves to other worlds for who knows what purpose.

But you must understand there is also a spiritual component to this behavior. It’s time to get over our silly semantics and realize we are all talking about the same god damned thing. Potatoes-potahtoes it’s still that lumpy brown thing that goes good with chives. Christians call it God, philosophers call it consciousness, Buddhists call it that, physicists call it the unified field. It’s all the same thing and you are all part of it. YOU ARE GOD, We are all God, we are all I, and we all know we are I… We are literally the I’s(eyes) of God. Because of this we are all immensely powerful beyond our comprehension. We literally shine the sun, we make the earth go round, if nothing was here to experience it, the matter wouldn’t render into being as stated by the double slit experiment. And there are those who wish to take that power from you and consolidate it into their own. Because you are God they cannot do so without your permission. This is why you’re entire life has been structured in a fashion that causes you to submit, give in, and consent to things you don’t want to do. Like the sleaziest lawyers they always put it in the fine print and the language between the lines. Through half truths and tempting lies they’ve hidden this reality and your own power from you.

The force is real, there really is one all unifying, driving, interwoven force that binds all living things. This force is consciousness, pure awareness. Think of consciousness as a sandbox within which an infinite array of experiences can manifest in any degree of senses, dimensions or degree of detail. Reality is simply a physical metaphor for what is occurring in the mind. You could call them force powers or psychic abilities but things such as visions, telekinesis, and mind reading are just an evolutionary advancement in an Individuals perception and ability to access the information available to their consciousness. There is in one form a light side and in another form a dark side. The two primary emotions upon which all others stem are love and fear. These two vibrations like to spread themselves like wildfire, everyone knows laughter and fear are contagious.

Part of this secret interstellar society sees themselves in what we could describe as sith lords 😂 they literally feed off fear. This sounds hard to believe but if you’re a compassionate soul like me, you know that super awesome feeling you get when make someone’s day, help a homeless person, or bring a smile to someone’s face? Well these guys get the same thing from hurting people and forcing them to live in fear 😰 and to a much higher degree because they haven’t had the higher understandings of consciousness hidden from them allowing them to refine their connection and application of it.

-Chapter 3 - Resolution: I realize the claims seem like an iconic tin foil hat conspiracy theory, but over my years of daily research this is a brief summary hitting on some lesser talked about aspects of the global agenda.

For those of you who actually consider and investigate this hypothesis, when you look at the world I hope you look at it with the same level of amazement and wonderment that I do. Instead of becoming consumed with the daunting image of an enemy like the shadow government, realize its all part of one whole thing. Really consider what society you are living in, how crazy it actually is, and how exciting a time it is to be alive on this earth. A disclosure movement is underway, more and more each day eyewitness testimony is being promoted online, secret documents are being leaked. They won’t share any of it on the news, so it is our job to promote and spread the awareness on anything we’ve discovered and verified to be true.

As I always state in posts like this, be cautious of all the information that comes your way. Consider your sources, research the credibility of any possible documents related to your research in uncovering the truth. There are real sources out there, but to combat them an ocean of crackpot theories and disinformation campaigns have overtaken the Internet.

#Disclosure #Conspiracy #SSP

Pull

So, here it is. As stated previously, AU where Finn and Rae are in their late twenties and meet for the first time. This happens to contain some good ol’ fashion smut, so - SMUT WARNING. Don’t read this shit if you’re under 18, yada yada. You know the drill. 

Special thanks to the wonderful @rhi3915 for giving this a gander prior to posting. 

Tagging these lovelies: @towongfu2 @milllott @lau-vm @celestev31 @tinakegg@parisgirly93 @milymargot @jackiewalsh2013 @annemarieted @mmfdfanfic@mykuhkors @i-dream-of-emus @kneekeyta @kingbeeyonce @rhi3915@fuck-sewing-machine @lovinglifeandlivinglove @irish-girl-84 @nutinanutshell   @voodoomarie

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list. Enjoy.  

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prompt by a super cool anon: "I guess we’ll have to share the bed!“

read it here on AO3

“Three rooms, please,” said Dean with a thin smile. He rubbed a greasy hand over the back of his neck, hoping that the air conditioning in his room was better than the wheezy, stale coughs of air coming from the grill over the reception desk. Behind him, he could hear Sam scuffing his feet on the floor in impatience, and he sensed Cas standing close by his right shoulder, sighing when the receptionist took his time to respond. It had been a long, long case out under the hot Arizona sun, and the last thing any of them felt ready to deal with was poor customer service.

“There are two rooms available,” said the receptionist in a reedy, nasal voice that cranked Dean’s temper up one more notch.

“OK, well, we’re gonna need three beds,” he said, trying to maintain his smile.

“There are two rooms available,” the receptionist repeated.

“Yeah, I heard that part,” Dean snapped. Sam cleared his throat, and Dean took a deep breath. “I meant, what kind of rooms are they?”

The receptionist gave him a dead-eyed, weary look, chewing mechanically on a piece of gum, before tapping the keyboard of the aging PC gathering dust on the desk. Dean wiped his hand across his forehead; he needed a drink and a long sleep.

“One twin, one double,” the receptionist finally droned.

“We’ll take ‘em,” Dean said immediately, pulling out his wallet. “Cas, you can take the double and me ‘n’ Sam will take the twin.”

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You lose on turn one

Summary: Haimawari Kouichi remembers his origins and he doesn’t have it in him to regret a single thing. 

Word count: 1512

Notes:  I really, really liked the MC of the spin-off and the fact that it’s probably getting canned in a month or two made me a bit sad, so here’s a tiny character study that is full of headcanons. I know, I know - sorry for not keeping up on my Shindeku work, that will come soon. Thank you, as always, to @sugarmagic for beta help and to you for reading!

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100 Royai Drabbles (37)

Well, here it is: the first actual AU in this series. This is a soulmate tattoo AU with a side order of Havolina because I am weak.


37. Match


No one on the team talked about the bandage on Hawkeye’s arm. For as long as Havoc had known, it was always been there, like a brace right after her right forearm. After repeatedly catching glimpses of the brace throughout their first year working together on Mustang’s team, he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t due to an injury. Once that was done, he figured that it was probably to cover up a tattoo – and not just any tattoo. It was most likely one of those soulmate marks.

Breda wasn’t so sure about it, considering that none of them had ever heard Hawkeye mention a thing about dating, but Havoc was pretty damn certain he was right. Maybe she covered it up partially due to embarrassment, but he thought that she just did it out of professionalism. Something like that soulmate tattoo business was very private and personal, and those were two things that did not mix with work. Lieutenant Hawkeye was the pinnacle of professionalism, whipping them all into shape in the process, so of course she’d keep something like a soulmate mark hidden while at work.

For the most part, Havoc didn’t think anything of it. So the Lieutenant had a soulmate out there somewhere. He was happy for her, despite not knowing her feelings on the matter. She deserved it though for all the work she did. He wished she didn’t feel the need to cover it up, but ah, that was how she was. He never bothered hiding his himself, filled with a mixture of obnoxious glee, amusement, and horror.

After all, having the words, I hope not all men are like you, scrawled on his left bicep had not boded well when they’d first appeared and it had been an even bigger shock when he’d heard them spoken aloud. Even more ridiculous was the fact that the person that had spoken them seemed to resolutely refuse that she most likely had his corresponding response tattooed on her somewhere. Tattoo soulmate marks were strange like that. The pairs didn’t always get together like they did in stories, fighting with themselves over it as they lived.

Havoc really didn’t think of the Lieutenant’s possible soulmate tattoo for the longest time until he found himself in the hospital with the Colonel. It was a minor incident really (the building didn’t completely fall on him, and he didn’t have any broken bones), but he and his superior were hospitalized and forced to stay at least one night due to concussions.

“This is all Fullmetal’s fault,” the Colonel huffed as nurses came in change his bandages. Normally, he was quite pleasant whenever the nurses came in, but his mind was still taking in the fact that the person that had helped bring the building down had not been hospitalized as well.

Havoc wisely said nothing in response. It was true that Edward’s alchemy had had immense results in causing the building they were chasing the suspects in to become unstable, but it had been Mustang’s flame alchemy that caused the rabble to catch fire. Still, despite the fact that Mustang was without his ignition gloves, Havoc didn’t want to find out if Mustang could use anything else to light him on fire. Once he glanced over towards Mustang though, something caught his attention.

There was a square bandage patch his lower left abdomen. Maybe it hid an ugly scar from the War, but when the nurse went to fiddle with it, questions of its placement already leaving her mouth, Mustang snatched at her wrist. She looked startled, but Mustang gave her an apologetic smile and explained that it was nothing. Havoc frowned and narrowed his eyes. Nothing could mean anything and judging from the almost embarrassed look on the other man’s face, it was most definitely something.

For some reason, Havoc’s mind jumped to the bandage on the Lieutenant’s arm, but that was such a strange leap of logic that he dismissed it. Most likely, if it was a soulmate tattoo mark, Mustang didn’t want just any pretty girl to see it. As everyone knew, the soulmate tattoo mark didn’t come at the same time for everyone. His own parents’ had told him that their marks didn’t appear until two years after they’d first met. One couple he knew didn’t have marks until after they were married and it was at separate times. It was rare, since most people gained their marks before they met their soulmate and at the same time, but not uncommon. Mustang did have a pretty active love life, so he probably didn’t want any girl to know that they weren’t the one.

What a sly bastard, Havoc thought with a snort, leaning back in his bed to wait for his turn for the nurse to come bother him. He didn’t care if she saw his soulmate tattoo mark, being proud of it himself. At least he had one. He’d been worried for the longest time that he wouldn’t be and spent his teenage years getting teased for it coming so late. Everyone reacted to the mark differently.

The next morning, Havoc awoke to the door slamming open and he jumped in his bed.

“Excuse me?” Mustang grumbled from his bed, throwing the blanket over his head like a child.

Havoc rubbed his eyes and then nearly gulped when he spotted a rather angry-looking Rebecca Catalina standing in the doorway, huffing as if she’d run all the way here. Behind her was Hawkeye naturally, her best friend and partner in giving men hell. Of course the two of them would be here so early in the morning. He gave Rebecca a sheepish grin. “Good morning, Second Lieutenant.”

“Don’t you ‘Second Lieutenant’ me, you idiot,” Rebecca snapped furiously, pointing a finger at him. Not for the first time did Havoc thank a higher power that she did not jump to her gun as Hawkeye did. “Were you even planning on telling me that you were in the hospital?”

“Er…no?” Havoc, for all his keen skills at field and undercover work, knew better than to lie to a woman, especially one that could be as temperamental as Rebecca and owned multiple weapons. Still, he probably could have done with some lessons in softer approaches. Maybe the Colonel could teach him.

Rebecca took a deep, infuriating breath and then stomped over to him. Hawkeye slipped in after, shutting the door quietly, and walked over to the Colonel’s bed. Havoc shot Mustang a slightly panicked look (he knew how to deal with angry women better than Havoc), but the man was preoccupied talking to Hawkeye, so he was forced to look Rebecca in the face. She wore a furious look, but there was a film of tears in her eyes, like she’d been fighting the urge to cry. A tinge of guilt flickered in him and he sunk in his bed.

“I was worried,” Rebecca mumbled, a strange difference from the anger on her face. She glanced away from his face then and looked down at her shoes, anywhere but his bare arm. He always marveled at how much she refused to acknowledge her words printed on his skin. “I wouldn’t have even known if Riza hadn’t mentioned anything and then I heard about that building collapse and I…”

Scratching the back of his head, Havoc sighed. “Ah, hell, look, I’m sorry, Rebecca. It wasn’t that big of a deal, I swear” – the sharp look at him told him that she thought differently – “and I didn’t want to worry you, so that’s why I didn’t let you know. Clearly, that was a mistake on my part.” Unlike a certain Colonel, Havoc was pretty good at owning up to his mistakes. He was stubborn, but not anywhere near Mustang’s level and not when it came to Rebecca, for however much she was with him.

She seemed to melt in response, the anger sliding away from her, and sat down at the edge of his bed, taking his hand in hers. A spark shot up his arm whenever she did that. It happened at random, sometimes when she’d been drinking or when she was in an oddly good mood, but he enjoyed it every time.

“Ugh,” Mustang grumped from his side of the room, “please get me out of here, Lieutenant, before it turns all mushy. I have to deal with that enough thanks to Hughes.”

At his bedside, Hawkeye rolled her eyes just a hair and then handed him his hospital shirt. “Yes, sir. We can get you breakfast in the cafeteria. A walk will probably do you some good.”

Havoc noted that Hawkeye did not look at Mustang directly when she held out the shirt, so as to not look at his bare chest. Maybe it was out of modesty or professionalism, but Havoc couldn’t help but get the distinct feeling that it was out of discomfort and not because her superior officer was standing shirtless next to her. Once fully clothed and in shoes, Mustang promised to bring Havoc something back and his two superior officers stepped out of the hospital room.

Havoc stared at the door for a few more seconds. “Hm.”

“What’s that face for?” Rebecca asked.

“You’ve known the First Lieutenant for a while, haven’t you?”

“Well sure,” Rebecca replied, “known her since the Academy.” She tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

Havoc made sure to look the woman in the face, so he could tell better whether she lied to him or not. “Has she always worn that brace on her arm?”

“Actually…” Rebecca shook her head. “No, she hasn’t.” Before Havoc could ask her another question, she tapped him on the arm, right next to his soulmate tattoo. “And considering you’re asking, you probably more or less know what’s underneath. I won’t tell you what it says – I doubt more than three people know – but I can tell you that she didn’t start wearing the brace until after she came back from Ishval.”

“She doesn’t want people to see it,” Havoc said in a mild tone. Rebecca nodded her head this time. That much he’d already known, but it did give him a few more clues. She’d allowed the tattoo to be seen before being sent to war. Maybe she felt guilt at having a soulmate; maybe she believed that she didn’t deserve one. Both Hawkeye and Mustang were excellent at punishing themselves over the past, though neither one would talk about it. That comparison sprung something up again. “The Colonel has one as well that he doesn’t want people to see. I didn’t know of it until yesterday, but I’m almost positive of it.”

A contemplative look crossed Rebecca’s face. “Those two do a lot of hiding.”

“You don’t think…?” Havoc let the question die midway. The Lieutenant and the Colonel? Could they possibly be hiding more than just their soulmate tattoo marks? After all, there were the laws against anti-fraternization and even if no one but them would be able to tell that their tattoos matched with one another, it could raise complications. Maybe it said their names. That would’ve made things obvious. He couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like to have someone’s name as a soulmate mark. It’d be like a brand, a tale of ownership.

Rebecca sighed and only shook her head, but for some reason, he knew that she was only telling him that she couldn’t say anything and not that his assumption was incorrect. Everything slid into place, but the future felt jagged and unsure. If Mustang and Hawkeye had matching soulmate marks, it would make things a lot stranger for the both of them. It made perfect sense that they’d hide their tattoos at work.

All of a sudden, Havoc felt incredibly grateful that his own wasn’t so complicated, even if he and Rebecca seemed to be rockier than a mountain. He at least knew that she was his, if not now, then one day. He smiled, squeezing her hand, and she harrumphed at him, a hint of her anger at him from earlier returning, but that only managed to make him laugh.

≪ Take Your Time ≫

Pairing: Sam Hunt/Reader
Word Count: 1,764
Warnings: None
Request: “ Can you do a Sam Hunt reader insert? Like you’re at his concert and he starts singing “Take Your Time” to you? And you take it from there >.< (I saw Sam Hunt when I went to Farm Tour this year and I got about 3 feet from him and my heart still isn’t over it) ”  and “  Sam Hunt performing at the CMA’s and goes out to the audience only to stop in front of you and serenade you. ”
Summery: You’re a photographer who’s covering the CMA’s. You’ve been to a lot of events before and you’ve taken tons of photos to sell to the magazine, but you’ve never seen someone meet your camera dead on in the middle of a song. You’re intrigued and don’t remember the artists’ name, but you find it out at the after party as you’re looking at your photos on your camera. You never knew snapbacks and a jawline could look so good until now.
A/N: So I suck and I forgot the actual requests and just remembered CMA’s and Take Your Time, and this came out of it. Hopefully you guys still love it, and thank you so very much for being so patient and waiting for this one! Gif Credit:  [x

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Why no one likes SJWs

I don’t know if social justice warriors know that people hate them. I’d say even more that these people are even more oblivious to why people can’t stand them. So much so that they’ll toss out every other reason under the sun for why people avoid them. Every reason but the one that holds weight.

I think it really begins with the desire to know why people suffer. Some people are capable of understanding that no one answer covers the vast number of people suffering on this planet. There are a variety of circumstances, as to why people are in a state of peril.

Yet the social justice warrior will not accept that. They need to have an answer, even if it means accepting the most bullshit interpretations of society imaginable. They’ll come to the conclusion that we can’t have peace because of sexism, racism, and a variety of other -isms. 

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Outlander Noir: Part Three.

From the idea given to me by @tara-58, who is an absolute gem. 

Thanks to @outlandishchridhe for editing this for me <3

Noir: Part One and Part Two …if you’ve forgotten what came before, as I had. Whoops. Heh. Happy weekend!


The light sparked and burst as he pulled the thin cord hanging by the door.

“Fuck!” He cursed under his breath; it was the second time this month the bulb had blown on him. Fumbling through the small apartment, he kept hold of the countertops as he felt around for the drawer that held the candles.

A swift zip caught his attention, followed by a brief flash of yellow light. “I wondered when you’d be home, detective.” Claire Randall’s voice came floating through the dark, his eyes finally becoming accustomed to dim flicker of her match, hovering as it was over the end of her recently lit cigarette.

Steady plumes of grey/white smoke drifted up from its glowing end as she inhaled.

“How did ye get in here, Mrs Randall?”

"How many times must I ask you, *Jamie*, to call me Claire?”

“At least once more, Claire.” His lips twitched, his eyes still trained on her. “Again, though, what are ye doing here?”

“I came to call on you, is it a bad time?” she answered, coquettishly, the slight tilt of her head suggesting innocence, when Jamie knew all too well how much of a cover it was. She was dangerous, and she knew it.

“Did ye no’ think breaking and entering might no’ be a good idea in the home of a policeman?”

A brief glimpse at a smile, quickly hidden behind a blank look of indifference. “Well, since we’re –intimately acquainted–,” his cheeks flushed at the mention of their last meeting, damn his pale complexion! “I didn’t think you’d mind too much, and after all, I didn’t *steal* anything now, did I?”

“No, ye didna, I don’t suppose, but still, *Claire*, better to be safe, aye? There are plenty of nefarious characters around here. I dinna wish to see myself at the wrong end of a pistol.”

Outside, she seemed incredibly cool and calm, but at the mention of ‘nefarious characters’ her stomach flopped. Yes, she knew all about those.

“I see your point, detective. I shall endeavour to call next time.”

“Aye, that would be –preferable.”

Pouring them both a wee dram, Jamie poked through the sparse fridge-freezer unit in search of ice.

She took the drink with a less guarded expression, grateful for his easy grace at her intrusion. “Thank you, detective Fraser.”

“Much obliged, mistress.”

Taking his dark grey trilby off, he put it and his coat over the rack, completely forgetting about the lack of light in the apartment.

“So, what is it that I can do for ye, Claire?” Dropping all formalities now, he addressed her with ease, she had broken into his home after all.

A dark smile spread across her vibrant rose painted lips, before she uttered one simple word, her tongue peeking out as she slid herself back into the chair and uncrossed her legs.

“You.”

— —- —

His mouth fell open, his brain momentarily freezing. His eyes flicked down to her spread legs, her skirt having ridden up somewhat. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, again.

“I dinna think so, Mrs Randall.”

Maybe there was call for formalities after all.

“I do.” She seemed extremely sure of herself, her hands gripping tight against the arms of the soft material of the chair.

“Nay. Last time was a…”

“…mistake?” she returned, fast as lightning. “No, it wasn’t. You know it well, -detective-.”

The faulty bulb above them flickered, sending bolts of harsh white light over Claire. Her eyes illuminated for that tiny second, and in that moment he could see the fire behind them. The need that had driven her to travel halfway across the city to him.

Another flash. She’d moved, her skirt rolled up higher now, her foot leaned precariously against the footpad of the recliner.

Before he even had time to realise what he was doing, he was kneeling at her feet, his head creeping slowly between her parted thighs, *again*.

She gasped as he put his mouth against her heated flesh. So sweet, he muttered, sliding his arms under her legs and letting his fingers wrap around the tops of them, holding her still as he massaged her with his tongue.

Claire thrust her head back, the headrest squeaking loudly in her ears as she tangled her hands into his short, red locks, holding him to her as his tongue drew the most delicious patterns against her.

“Yes…” she cried out, her back arching as she splayed her legs as far as they would go and rested the pad of her left foot against Jamie’s clothed back.

He made use of this position by dragging her down, closer to his mouth.

What was he doing? His brain, finally beginning to function correctly, questioned. He was half convinced she’d murdered her husband, and he was the lead detective on the investigation. He had medical records that pointed directly to some form of abuse. If anyone found out about this he was finished.

Slowing himself, he began to pull away, stroking the underside of her thighs with the pads of his thumbs. Relaxing now, she panted, her nails running gently along the slope of his scalp.

“Don’t stop, Jamie,” she begged, her voice breathy and light. She’d been close to the brink.

“We canna, Claire.” Resolute, he stood, determined not to be pulled into her web.

Claire, sensing his decision, slowly began to undo the buttons of her chiffon blouse, the pearlescent buttons slipping through the shiny holes, revealing her beautiful pink-tinted skin as she went. Rolling her shoulders in the most feminine move he’d ever seen, she shook off the top, tossing it onto his unvarnished wooden floors.

“Claire…”

“Jamie, I know you want me. Don’t go all shy on me now.” The sensual edge to her tone caused his palms to sweat. Of course he wanted her, that was a given, but the thin line between what he *wanted* and what was in his best interests was being crossed.

Leaning herself back, Claire ran her newly manicured fingers down the centre of her ribcage, letting her nails dig lightly into her skin. It left a wee white line, for just a moment, against her heated flesh.

He tried so hard not to peek at her chest, to not salivate at the prospect of having her pert breasts in his hands, but one sly glance and he was gone. He took one tentative step forward, and she knew she had him.


Outside a car horn blew, the sound of it echoing through Jamie’s now empty apartment. It had been her, she was C.E.B, and he had a fair idea about who J.W.R was. Lying as she was, open and ready for him, he couldn’t pass up the chance to break down her walls. Sex was the only way, he had tried talking to her and had always been shut down.

Having realised that she didn’t fully disrobe during their previous tet-ta-tet, Jamie had devised a plan. He’d lure her into a trap, force her into a corner and when she was fully prepared to have *him* at her mercy, he’d flip it. And he had.

His hands had roamed the expanse of her back, he’d felt the ridges, the scar tissue, the marks that had been administered to her poor, thin skin –with such malice– he added. There was only one man he knew capable of such violence.

Such was the nature of their last encounter, that Jamie didn’t wish to bring it up again anytime soon, but faced with the prospect of ignorance, he’d chosen to face his demons lest he end up in that position again.

That moment had poisoned the rest of his life, harmed the relationship with his sister, and killed his father.

Yes, he had a good idea of whom JWR actually was, and it had shaken him to his core.

*He wouldn’t notice for a few days at least, the fresh blood that lined his clean sheets denoting the new lashes that had been administered to her, already, battered back.*


She walked home slowly through the street-lit sidewalks, the glare of the fluorescent glow warming her hollow bones. –Home– she pondered, not a place now, for her, but a person. 

In her mind, she’d never really had a home. Her parents, killed by a dangerous driver when she was only small, had been semi-nomadic, and once she’d been adopted by the Randall’s, well, she’d always been a little bit of an outsider.

Her eyes darkened, her pupils dilating in the dark streetlights. To any passers by she looked positively dangerous. Dressed head to toe in black, it mirrored her mood.

So lost in her thoughts was she that she failed to notice the sleek dark grey city car that pulled up alongside her.

“Claire! Time to come home, he’s asking for you.”

Claire didn’t stop for the goons who’d called for her, unwilling to bend this time.

“Where do you think I’m going, gentleman? I’m certainly not running away *on foot*, am I?” she sassed, her tone full of sarcasm. She was in no mood for *his* games.

“I’d get in if I were you. Jones has already suffered for his sins this evening,” the man returned, a note of warning in his voice. “You already know what’ll await you, why make it worse, mistress?”

The streets were mostly empty, only a few drunks sidled passed as Claire continued to walk onwards, ignoring the slow moving car at her side. The sidewalk narrowed as they reached the junction, the lights above glowing red, halting her guards for the moment.

“I think you’ll find, gentleman,” she shot back, her harsh whisper leaving no room for argument, “that it will be *my* problem to deal with. I’m making my way home, but I will be walking.”

Turning on her heel she disappeared into the billowing smoke flowing from the vents of a nearby patisserie. Claire listened as the sound of the rattling engine vanished ahead of her. The heels chaffed her feet, tearing at the skin as she strode towards her apartment. Moisture pooled along her collarbone, the close heat of the city penetrating every inch of her. She ached, the feel of Jamie clinging to her.

She couldn’t lose that sensation. It numbed the pain of her back, sending the usual, fevered discomfort from her spine to between her legs. *That* sort of irritation, she could cope with.

“I thought I asked for you to come home, directly, Claire.”

The voice came from behind her, sending ripples of fear through her.

“Get in the car, now.”

Without missing a beat, Claire turned and stepped into the small vehicle to her left. She’d known this was a possibility. Once *he* was in a bad mood, he wouldn’t let up.

“That’s the last time you are to see him, is that understood?”

Claire looked out of the blackened windows as she felt his touch, his hand putting a vice-like grip against her exposed knee.

“The last time Detective Fraser and I met, Claire, I nearly killed him. *That* was a warning, my little flower,” he purred, malice lacing his already heartless tone. “If you continue to disobey me, I will be forced to employ more *serious* methods. Young Mr Fraser might not be so lucky –next time.”

“I heard you,” she spat back, trying to hide her distaste. “Loud and clear.”

“Good. Now, you’ll have a few days to collect anything you wish to take with you, but by the end of the week you’ll be leaving the city. Are we clear?”

Claire nodded, her heart sinking at the prospect of being locked away in the country once more. With Franklin gone, he had no need to her any longer.

“I said, Claire,” he roared, the anger that laced his harsh tone uncovering his impatience, “*are* *we* *clear*?

So taken with the city rushing by, Claire failed to answer fast enough, and before she knew it he had his fingers around her throat. She gasped, her hands coming up to grip his arms as he pulled her nose to nose with him, her knees hitting the floor of the moving car as he did so.

“Do not test me, Claire. You know what I’m capable of.”

She nodded, her eyes watering as she tried desperately to pull in any amount of air.

He loosened his hold –just a little.

“Yes, fine. I won’t see him again.”

Bringing his thumb up to rest against her bottom lip, he pushed the tip just inside, enough that she could taste the acrid salt that lined his hands.

“That’s better. However you act towards others, this brave facade you wear, you *do not* use it on me. I own you, Claire. You are mine. Not his, mine.”

Shaking him off, she dusted herself off and sat back in the seat of the car. She didn’t belong to him or Jamie, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I know the rules, you don’t need to reiterate your point,” she barked. Her fate already sealed, she wasn’t prepared to sit back and let him punish her without a fight.

He smiled, darkly, his fingers tapping an ominous rhythm against the coarse leather of the seats.

Claire’s skin prickled as they turned into the underground parking lot, swathing them in a bleak ebony.

His last words to her terrified her as he escorted her in the elevator to her apartment.

“He knows about you, Claire. And by association, he knows about me. I warned you to be careful, and you dismissed my concerns.”

Her vision blurred as the sliding doors closed behind her, locking her miles above the safety of the city.

“Now, my pet, you must pay for those –indiscretions.”


Dawn hadn’t broken but Jamie was already on his way to the office. Unable to sleep, the only thing he could think to do was to get to work. The harsh strip lights hurt his eyes as he appeared from the parking lot, but he ignored the slight headache as he strode purposefully towards his office.

“Sir!” An overeager desk clerk chirped on seeing him turn the corner. “There was a note left for you some hours ago, I’ve put it on your desk, I hope you don’t mind.

“Thank ye, Bates, I’ll get to it presently.”

Rubbing his temples, he closed his door behind him. Taking his flask out, he slugged back a large dram of whisky, letting the alcohol calm him. The last thing he needed was to get hot headed. If he was to present this argument to his sergeant, he’d need to be *certain*.

The window had been left ajar, and the wee piece of paper Bates had left for him fluttered in the slight draft, reminding Jamie of its existence.

He tapped his fingers twice on the desk before picking it up and opening it.

The contents shocked him.

‘Tha fios aige, tha mi duilich.’* It read, in perfect Gaelic.

“Jesus *fucking* Christ.” Jamie whispered, the air leaving his lungs, the paper falling from between his fingers.

It could only mean one thing.

Claire was in danger.

(*He knows, I’m sorry.)

VR isn't a gimmick anymore.

So last Saturday I made a post with a bunch of [REDACTED]s in them saying that I can’t really talk about what I experienced until Wednesday. Well, it’s Wednesday!

I live about 5 miles away from Valve. Every once in a while they’ll call me up to have me come in and offer feedback on things. They like it because they say I’m honest and give good feedback, I like it because it makes me feel like Charlie walking through Wonka’s chocolate factory. Last Thursday I was called over there and Gabe Newell ran through Valve’s GDC presentation with me. There were other Valve employees in the room, but Gabe was talking directly to me running through the presentation. I felt very special…. Anyways, back to the presentation, everything was amazing. The Steam Link stuff, the Steam Boxes, Source 2, all of it is extremely forward thinking and is stepping towards what I think could be an even larger PC gaming market. After Gabe was done, I got to do the VR demos they are showing at GDC and honestly I changed my life a bit. I’ve seen every VR demo Valve has had since the room with QR codes and while that demo over a year ago made me think “Hmm, I could make a game about my nightmares”, the new demo makes me terrified of that prospect at this time. The newest VR demo is pretty mindblowing.

All the demos are pretty awesome, there’s one about Aperture Science, there’s one about table top games, there’s an amazing 3D painting program, some museum thing from a game I never played and Surgeon Simulator is amazingly fun (it might be the glQuake of VR). While all of those were great, the one that affected me the most was the first very first one they showed me which is intended to give you a sense of scale.

Let me back up a bit, if you have an Oculus you have an idea of where VR is these days. The DK2 allows you to move somewhat around the room, the DK1 requires you to use a controller to walk around. It’s great, but skeptics can easily see it as a gimmick. I see it as a gimmick in it’s current state. The reason for that is because it’s just a headset when you can’t move around, and even with the DK2’s camera tracking thing, you have very limited physical movement. It breaks the immersion factor also because you have no sense of yourself in the headset, you don’t have hands, you don’t have feet, you are a floating eyeball and nothing more. I know Oculus and VR will progress from here, but operating under the assumption that Oculus was the greatest out there didn’t convince me that VR game development was a little more than the first AppStore games like pretending to drink a beer with your iPhone or a fart sound button…basically nothing more than a gimmick that’ll have a few laughs, a few wows, get mentioned on CNN, then turn into something more later down the line.

That was my assumption until I did the VR demo at Valve. In this demo, the display is higher resolution, a higher frame rate, the head tracking is super fast and accurate, you have a sense of hands and a way to interact with the environment via the batons and most importantly, you can move freely around the room. They do this via the laser tracking system and in the VR world, if you get too close to a wall a grid quickly fades in alerting you of the external boundaries you can’t see so you have a very clear idea of where you can and can’t go. The area I was demoed in was probably an 8'x8’ area which is more than sufficient for the demos they were showing. Being able to walk around in an 8'x8’ are in a virtual world is a total game changer.

Back to the demo that affected me. It was the very first demo I experienced and as I mentioned above it was intended to demonstrate scale. The Matrix-esque loading “construct” fades to black and then blackness fades to the bow of an old wooden ship, sunk deep in the ocean. As I look up, I see the sun rippling as it pierces through the surface of the ocean above me as a few Manta Rays swim about 15’ away. I look around and this must be a very busy part of the sea because there is sea life everywhere. Fish react to my hand movements and swim away, some swim in groups, some individually. I’m among these fish, under the sea, on the bow of a broken ship. At least, that’s what my eyes and ears are telling me, my brain is telling me that despite what my eyes and ears say, I’m in a room inside Valve’s offices. I realize that I haven’t walked since the demo started and I decide to walk around the bow. I walk over to the railing carefully dodging virtual fish for some reason to look out over the bow. I approach the railing and see that this ship is sitting on the edge of an abyss. At this point my brain takes a queue from my eyes and ears and starts to let the idea creep in that I am actually under the ocean. I then become a little anxious as I think of the ramifications of being in the deep ocean and the idea of sea predators floods my thoughts. Staring into the abyss I immediately become terrified that a Shark is going to swim up behind me. My brain quickly rationalizes this and grounds me back in reality. To maintain my sanity and my control over the situation, I say to Jeep, the man running the demo, “If a Shark pops out at me, I will take this off and be done with this forever”. Through the headphones he says “No no, we feel that’s low hanging fruit, and honestly we think it might kill someone”. I believe him, there is nothing surrounding me but a kind of boring underwater scene but my emotions are having a real affect on me. My brain knows this is fake, but that rationalization doesn’t comfort the rest of my body that is telling me I could be in danger. I calm down a bit and then out of the corner of my eye I see a large mass moving towards me. I recognize it immediately, it’s a whale. The specific species I couldn’t say and that doesn’t matter, what matters is that I’m enthralled, shocked, and terrified of this whale coming towards me. His mass is evident, he moves the way I’ve seen whales move under water in nature shows my eyes are telling me “This is a whale”. He slowly swims up to the bow of the ship and stares at me with one of his giant eyes. He means me no harm, he’s a whale, but I’ve never been face to face with a creature that could accidentally kill me or swallow me. The anxiety comes back again but I keep it together. As the whale swims off and the demo shortly fades, the grounding in reality takes hold again. I still feel residual anxiety as the next demo loads but stronger than that feeling of anxiety is a feeling of awe. I was just under the sea and a whale looked at me…that just happened!

I’ve thought about that whale demo every day since Thursday. The demo itself was great, but more than that I’m thinking about my reaction. Had I seen that same scene on a TV screen, I would have had absolutely no anxiety whatsoever, in fact I probably would have hoped a shark would have come out of the abyss to make the demo less boring. But because I experienced it in a world where my movements changed what I saw, it felt like something so much more than that. It was an unrealistic experience that felt very very real.

The experience and the emotions I felt took me back to some feelings I had back in 1992. The memory is still strong with me 23 years later. I was at the arcade with my grandmother and Mortal Kombat, a game I had never heard of was the newest addition to my local arcade. I put in a quarter, played for a bit and instantly died. Still curious about the game, I watched the attract screen for a while in a weird trance of awe and disgust. I was 11 years old in 1992 and up until that point, I’d never really been exposed to any real violence. Yes I had played Street Fighter and Final Fight, and I had seen blood in games before, but Mortal Kombat struck harder than that. It was because it looked real, but wasn’t relatable to anything I’d seen in real life. The one scene of the attract mode (or whatever I was watching) that stood out to me the most was a fight between Goro, the huge muscle bound guy with 4 arms and Liu Kang the Kung Fu man. Goro grabs Liu Kang with his bottom arms, lifts him up, and then uses his top two arms to pound violently on Liu Kangs chest. The screen shakes, Liu Kang makes some screams and then Goro throws him to the ground. That image sticks with me to this day because while it looked real it was a total fantasy and up until that point my experience with violence in games had no basis in reality. Mortal Kombat, with it’s scanned in actors took the violence closer to reality. As I grew older I became exposed to more and more realistic violence in video games and it’s no big deal anymore. Some things will still make me cringe (the torture scene in GTAV for instance) but for the most part I’m desensitized to video game violence. 

Looking back at Goro pounding on someone’s chest, it looks so incredibly lame. Take a look for yourself. Years of gradual progression has made it so violence in video games is the norm. Shooting a guy and having his head blow up is now a feature of some games and it’s one that the huge majority of players don’t mind and actually look forward to.

VR will have to follow suit and will do so naturally. As mentioned above, my first reaction to the Valve VR demo I did over a year ago was the desire to make a game about my nightmares. I have some seriously fucked up nightmares…there’s no other way to say it. I’ve always wanted to share these with people in some way. I feel like VR is the best way to do it and will be the most impactful, but if a whale in a peaceful setting can make me nervous, my nightmares will probably kill people. No joke, someone would go into shock or have a heart attack. I certainly don’t want that, so I’ll table my Nightmare Game and more tame VR experience will be the first I create. As developers start developing seriously for VR the public will be introduced to more and more experiences and become more accepting of the line between reality and virtual reality and allow a separation of personal boundaries in the virtual and real world. In time, I should be able to make a nightmare game that is actually good and not a gimmick to scare people.

Oh, and yes, the Valve VR demo convinced me that this VR thing isn’t a gimmick, at least not in the way that Valve presented it. I don’t know how well Project Morpheus is going to do because it seems like it’s an add on to the PS4 and not a new platform. When people start developing for VR, there will be the bolt on “If you have VR, this has a VR mode” games that will be mainly gimmicky, but when people actually design for VR and embrace the limitations and advantages of the platform that’s when it’ll take off, just like the AppStore. Megaman and Sonic don’t work phones and tablets, but Kingdom Rush and Monument Valley sure as hell do. Why? Because they are designed for the platform and aren’t ported to the platform as an afterthought. They aren’t relying on the gimmick of the platform to push the experience, they are a better experience for embracing what the platform is. That’s what I want my VR games to be.

In the future, I think people will have rooms in their homes dedicated to VR. It’s not as far fetched as you think. Houses in the 1910’s had small kitchens with no refrigeration, in the 40’s and 50’s there weren’t TV rooms or home theaters but all of that is common place now. As technology increases and awareness floods the market, the desire to make room for these technologies becomes overpowering and finds a way to make it into peoples lives. VR will get there. If there were a ton of good VR games out now and I could buy the Valve setup, I’d set a room in my house aside for VR in a second. I am however going to try my best to get a Valve setup in my office so I can start designing for VR now because this is a world I want to be a part of.

2

I went to see Maleficent with my boyfriend today, mostly because I grew up with a nostalgic attachment to the original Disney adaptation and felt compelled to revisit the svelte villainess. Both of us went to the show expecting to be disappointed. Reviews on the film are split roughly 50/50, and we weren’t thrilled with the idea of another classic story being dredged out of the vaults for a whiz-bang reboot that nobody asked for.

We were entirely surprised by the emotional and thought-provoking feminist fairy tale that unfolded before us. We had a long discussion about the film over dinner, and the gist of our conversation was this:

Some “classics” could use a good reboot. Heck, a kick in the pants, even.
We don’t live in the dark ages anymore.

Keep reading

"Consumed" - First Impressions

“Consumed” wasn’t necessarily meant to affirm that Carol and Daryl have a romantic relationship at this point in their journey together. Their connection is profoundly intimate and tethers them to one another more than anyone else by continually reminding both the audience and themselves just how deeply they understand one another BUT the romantic aspect of that dynamic while teased remained largely untouched.

The writers used last nights episode to delve into the CARYL reasons in a way we have never seen them examine or explore any other relationship on the TWD and while admittedly there was no obvious romantic undertone between all the action, shippers were given a glimpse of a deepening bond that continues to test the boundaries of what is truly shared between Carol and Daryl.

The phrase Norman uses often in interviews “it’s deeper than that” was unabashedly and undoubtedly flaunted and pushed in literally every single scene of “Consumed” and what could have been a melodramatic sob-fest transformed into a truly organic emotional interlude where two characters who already knew each other through and through managed to build up yet another layer to a connection that is becoming more and more impossible to label.

The overplayed romantic vibes we are all familiar with have never been enough to paint who Carol and Daryl truly are and “Consumed” didn’t need to use them to establish just how much these two mean to one another, their love was plain as day.

The emotional reunion in “No Sanctuary” was an impulsive, unhesitating, guttural reaction to being given a second chance to live and to love again BUT as jarringly honest and raw as that moment was, life and it’s wounds are not and cannot be overcome through a few precious moments of truth.

Just as Daryl’s past couldn’t be burned away in the moonshine shack Carols heart couldn’t be healed and it’s pain couldn’t be erased through an embrace in the woods outside Terminus.

“Consumed” portrayed the reality behind the CARYL reunion embrace and it served as a stark reminder to the audience that Carol and Daryl have not been blessed by youth and uncomplicated love like Glenn and Maggie BUT most importantly it was almost an explanation of why these two weren’t able to fall in each other’s arms so easily and hastily, despite the obvious sexual chemistry radiating throughout each exchange.

This episode explored their personal pain and the reasons they hold back from both each other and others but while the emphasis was clearly set upon their struggle, the conclusion wasn’t one of doom or hopelessness but one of hopeful progression and healing reconnections that are meant to unite them even more.

The plot itself puts them in dramatic, life affirming situations where choices and decisions made are ones that would either end who they are today, end their emotional progress or separate them from one another.

Time and time again they demonstrate to the viewers and each other that the move either of them makes will always be one to benefit the other and not just physically but emotionally and mentally as well. They are seamless together and the dialogue is once again sparse but unlike other characters they don’t need it to bring out the emotional depth of each interaction and they certainly don’t require it to understand each other’s state if mind.

“Consumed” was about Carol and Daryl reconnecting again after their separation, rehashing personal demons and familiarizing themselves with where they still stand with one another after the tragedies of Season 4. It was a way to show that their connection is stronger than ever and that despite the “re-routes” of their individual journeys their “together” still very much stands.

The reason they were in Atlanta was to rescue Beth but the purpose of the episode had very little to do with the goal - this was about giving two uniquely connected characters time to reconnect and interact without any other restrictions or interruptions and reestablish that they still are the focal point of each other’s existence.

We are shown a clearer picture of exactly what it’s meant by the “damaged people gravitate towards damaged people” mantra and Daryl and Carol both reaffirm the notion that while life before was essentially allowed to beat and break them down, life together was the one that is allowing them to keep changing, evolving and growing into the people they are today and even the people they were always meant to be.

This is both the reality and priority of where they stand today and the biggest reason they haven’t been able to cross the romantic threshold just yet.

The good news is that this transformation and their own reconnecting is and has been occurring simultaneously and the key person in almost every stepping stone of their arc has been the other and they’ve now established the pattern of “give-and-take” in a way that wasn’t quite there before.

A successful relationship and especially one where the partners have been treated “poorly” in the past, needs to have a balance of “back-and-forth” in order to give each the sense of being “worth it” and a way to feel as if they are indeed “contributing” to the dual entity.

Carol was doing a lot of the “giving” in the past and it was now Daryl’s turn to do so and “Consumed” showed him fighting to “bring her back” from the resignation she felt towards life and therefore he turned into the “giver” when it counted for her. It can be argued that Daryl wasn’t ready for the romantic entanglement before because the life he knew didn’t prepare him for it and his low self-esteem stemming from abuse left him thinking that nobody would ever look at him that way.

At this point Carol is the one in the gutter, the one that once again is brimming with darkness telling her that nobody wants her because of the things she had done.

When she tells Daryl “I don’t want you to die…I can’t” she is practically screaming that she is pulling back because “she can’t lose him too”…she can’t stand one more person she loves being taken away from her. It’s obvious that Carol isn’t running because she doesn’t care but because she cares too much and she doesn’t think she can handle the blowback of another loss.

She told Rick in Indifference “It always comes for us!” and now she knows that more than ever so she is withdrawing away and trying to putting distance away from her and the one person she doesn’t want to mourn.

Daryl’s stoic composure cracks a little as he reminds her that she told HIM she was “trying” and he needs her to honour that for him because HE CANT LOSE HER either.
Their pasts do matter but only as points of reference and to Daryl the thing that matters in that they are still here, that they “aren’t ashes” and that they “gotta” keep going.

Both have survived so much - abuse, neglect, grief, abandonment and consequences of things gone wrong and bad calls made BUT they are still here, they are still together and they are not their old selves anymore.

They don’t run - they act.

Finally what made “Consumed” profound for Carol and Daryl specifically is that despite the intense action and violent tension of their surroundings, their interactions with each other held a very strong vulnerability streak and almost a sense of quiet tenderness in every scene.

Daryl Dixon is an embodiment of strength and “gruff” manners but with Carol even when they are arguing there is always a gentleness to the way he “handles” his ways.

Whether it’s the fact that his voice softens when he addresses her, the softening gaze as he glances towards her or the way he maintains physical contact through gentle gestures…it’s easy to pick up on the slight hesitation and gingerly directed touch when it’s Carol as opposed to someone else.
“Consumed” highlighted that nicely.

The end of “Consumed” gives both Carol and Daryl a significant breakthrough moment which unfortunately follows TWD track record of bringing people closer before yanking them away from each other, usually quite violently.

The second Noah encounter becomes a battle ground for Carol and Daryl which ultimately serves to test the strength of their humanity and in a way their personal understanding of one another.

Watching Daryl walk away, leaving Noah to die, Carol and the audience catch a glimpse of Daryl’s Randall incident and there is an echo of “the old” Daryl persona whose disappearance can be largely credited to CARYL and his discovery of higher self-worth.

Carol had wanted to kill/maim Noah before but seeing Daryl backtrack after how far he’s come, is not something Carol can allow or watch.

On the other hand Daryl knows that Carols seemingly pragmatic detached demeanour is not who she is and he uses Noah to prove it to her. He knows she won’t let Noah die before she does. 

With that “test” Daryl saves Carol just as SHE simultaneously tries to save HIM.

CARYL is back on the same level and there is a positive finality and a promising resolution in both the air between them and in the extra tenderness he uses to pull her up towards him.

When she is hit by the hospital car and then once again taken away from him, the anguish and pain on his face mirrors a man losing so much more than a friend…he doesn’t hesitate and tries desperately to get to her despite the danger and the unknown outside on the street.

The desperation and impulsiveness of his lunge mirrors the reunion scene in the Terminus woods - he abandoned reason, fear and finesse to get to her and once again when it comes to Carol we see him forget everything and everyone “around” because nothing else besides her matters right then and there.

Noah holds him back and once he gathers his composure, with a single tear down his face, he transforms into a man hardened with resolve to be THE ONE to find her this time.

“Consumed” re-established that Carol and Daryl are each other’s “person” repeatedly, and with less ambiguity than ever before.

This process of “angsty” progression was needed to get their connection to a place where the past really didn’t matter as much anymore and it also served as a reminder to both of them that they weren’t alone and that neither will leave the other alone.

The reunion with Daryl “the man” now that she’s been taken away right in front of him will bring yet another impulsive-unhesitating moment and certainly a little more of CARYL love to the surface.

Daryl is now “consumed” with desire to get Carol back.

CARYL On My Lovelies - The a Best Is Yet To Come!

LOVE XOXO

SANJA

Warped Tour Warriors: Why We Have the Right to Complain

by Erik van Rheenen

On Friday morning, Texas Standard Time, Houston will ring in the twentieth iteration of the Vans Warped Tour, ringing in a proud summer-long tradition of punks and scene kids alike (and everyone in between) making the pilgrimage to the nearest arena, outdoor music center, or oversized parking lot for a day of catching sets from their favorite bands and grumbling under their breath as they get blindsided by spurts of unlistenable metalcore or feeling the wub of EDM pulsing from some sidestage as they unfurl their map, trying to remember where the fuck the Tilly’s stage is this year.
 
“What are they doing in the lineup?” They’ll ask, presumably with a roll of the eyes, or perhaps a disapproving shake of the head. “This isn’t the Warped Tour I remember.”
 
Warped Tour lineup discussions have always — at least in recent memory — been peppered with critiques from armchair concert bookers (same diagnosis as Armchair Quarterback Syndrome, but with delusions of being Kevin Lyman instead of, say, Peyton Manning), but 2014 in particular has levied enough jaded old-punk thoughts to be fathomed into constellations of complaints.
 
Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Warped Tour officials made audible complaining a criminal offense during this year’s tour, punishable by being forced a microphone and a half-hour slot of covering Ronnie Radke raps in the Acoustic Basement tent, a cappella.
 
Does all our faultfinding and nitpicking of each five-band burst of an announcement we do actually get us anywhere?
 
There are two schools of thought on the issue — well, that’s at least the case in my one-man How Can We Fix the Monolith That is Warped Tour mental think tank — but unlike the two Robert Frostian diverging in the yellow wood, both schools converge at the same conclusion: we, as fans, have all the right in the world to let fly our complaint flags.

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