did he name these weapons

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Here’s someone who knows how to give a speech. 

1. He mentions how we are all involved in this.

2. He calls it an “act of terror”.

3. He talks about what they are doing. He explains that he has been briefed. He delivers the information they have on the terrorist.

4. He explains that he talked to the mayor.

5. THEN he talks about how the police and first responders helped to save lives.

6. He addresses the targeted victims specifically, and points out WHAT the shooter was after–reminding people of what was lost.

7. “An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us.”

8. He describes the weapons. 

9. He lets people know HOW PROBLEMATIC THE WEAPONS ARE.

10. We’re going to learn about the names and faces of the victims. He humanizes them, and asks us to pray for them. 

11. He reminds us to focus on the victims and not the shooter.

12. “May God continue to watch over this country that we love.”

Donald Trump’s message today did less than half of these things. He used no specifics and no names. He did not describe the shooter or the weapons. He did not describe the victims or detail the events that occurred. It was all vague–and meaningless.

As I said yesterday: he’s a terrible leader.

snorlaxlovesme  asked:

soma and 20! (things you said that i wasn't meant to hear)

He was not eavesdropping. God help him, he wants to make that perfectly clear.

Maka breaks her arm after a mission, her body a war-zone in itself, bruises spattering pale skin, her lip splits down the middle, giving her a wounded puppy look. He takes the dutiful place of healthy Weapon, he gets prescriptions from pharmacies, he gets ice packs from the the corner store where the Mummy always looks likes he’s judging Soul, and he leaves the apartment at six am when she’s whimpering for ice pops. (She refuses to call them otter pops. He refuses to acknowledge her first four requests.).

Soul does as she asks, because he’s guilty, after all, he’s protected in battle by demon steel and black blood.

So he’s awake, six fucking fifteen in the damn morning, hauling watered down ice pops into the kitchen. He pulls two green ones and a pink out while he shoves the rest of them into their already straining freezer.

“Hey, Mama.” He can hear Maka vaguely, and he freezes, first in genuine surprise, then in morbid curiosity. Soul is not known for his ability to keep things in order, so he doesn’t know how long its actually been since the elusive Mother Albarn has contacted her child. “Yeah, there’s a couple broken bones. But I’m okay!!”

Bah fucking humbug she’s okay. This isn’t Maka’s first broken bone rodeo, but she is moving around slower than usual, and she’s not her best self right now. “No, I’m taking care of myself, promise. Soul has been helping me out a bunch.”

Wait, Soul? Since when did he evolve from My Weapon to first name basis with the God of Meisters (or maybe just his). This was news to him! “Of course he’s on top of things. He’s been really helpful you know? No! Don’t even-”

He is in front of her door, he doesn’t even remember walking over there but here he is…right in the Danger Zone. God help and Forgive him, he needs to know about this conversation. “Mama, stop. It’s not like that!”

What isn’t like that?! Damn it all he’s can do not burst through that door and begging her to own up to whatever is it!

“…he doesn’t like me like I like him.”

Shitting Hell, his heart stops, the color drains from his face. He needs every ounce of willpower to keep from busting in there, and planting a kiss on her lips. He retreats back to the kitchen, organizing her otter pops into a more orderly situation.

When she calls for him a few moments later, he goes to her, fistful of pink otter pops with him.

Hilbert has perhaps underestimated how much he is attached to Officer Eiffel.

Eiffel reminds him of his sister, caring about the test subjects more than the science. He reminds him of his sister’s cats, with his angry kitten face. Eiffel has unconsciously become associated with the person that Hilbert is doing all this for.

Eiffel has always cared about people. He cares about Minkowski’s mental health enough to face her acid traps, and he cares about Hera enough to do anything to get her back, and he cares about Hilbert enough that he’s less mad about being a glorified Petri dish than Hilbert’s inability to understand why it’s wrong.

Eiffel wants to understand his crew. Wants to know more about them. The glee he has when he finds out about Minkowski’s husband and the questions he asks Hera point to him caring about their lives and experiences.

Eiffel cares. And he’s so completely curious.

But I think it says something that the first question Eiffel asks is “what’s your sister’s name” and not something more useful. He genuinely wants to know.

“Who are you?” When was the last time Dmitri was asked that in earnest? When was the last time anyone cared to know?

How long has it been since someone showed interest in Dmitri as a person?

How long has it been since someone has called him by name

7

“Hiccup, thank Thor you’re here. You’ve got to help us, your father has become unbearable.”
“Well to be fair, Sven, you did have the weapons out of order.”
“That’s because yesterday he told me to arrange them by length, the day before it was by pointyness, and the day before that it was by name! Did you know he gave each weapon it’s own nickname?”
“Well, I have to admit that is really weird. Uh, alright I’ll go talk to him.”
“I mean seriously, who names their mace Daisy?”

- HTTYD Quote of the Day

Table for two

This is a late birthday fic for actinglikeanutter :D You are wonderful and I hope you like this <3 Ily :)

It was a Sunday night and the restaurant was as full as ever. It buzzed with couples whom were all trying to talk louder than the rest. Every now and then a woman´s ringing laughter could be heard above the noise. I wriggled uncomfortably in my tuxedo, the room was too warm and my bowtie was suffocating me.

I normally enjoyed working amongst people, it gave me an opportunity to observe, they were all so different, every man and woman that walked through the doors had a different story, one I found easy to read. Lately they had started to bore me; I noticed that the people who chose this particular restaurant tended to have the same motive and personality. I easily saw through their exteriors and often found that beneath their beauty, grace and general kindness lured envy and cunningness and it was clear that what they seemed to be was simply a carefully constructed image to help their progress in the world. The upper class that had enchanted me now disgusted me. These were the people that occupied the white clothed tables.

Everything was literally given to them on a silver platter, I thought as I balanced the delicious dish on my giant silver plate and laid it down in front of the guest, smiling politely.

In a moment I was called to the concierge to show another couple to their table. As I spotted them they immediately caught my attention. It was a tall man and a petite woman. The man was dressed in a well-tailored black suit and looked very grave and serious. His hair looked slightly ruffled, curly and black as night. His peculiar face was eye catching, I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.

The woman standing to his right looked a little nervous, it was clear that she felt a little out of place. She was dressed in an elegant silky red dress and her chestnut hair was arranged in an easy-going bun.

I stood quietly beside the concierge and waited to do my duty.

“Table for two.” The woman said. She smiled shyly at the concierge and shot me a polite glance.

A barely noticeable smile played in the corner of her date’s mouth as she spoke and his expression softened a bit, making him look slightly less terrifying.

“I already made reservations.” His voice was startlingly low and dark, but not unkind.

She looked up at him smiling and his face broke out into a fond grin. But it quickly disappeared as he glanced up at us, as if he thought his smile was too private to share with strangers. He didn’t take much notice of me and looked more severely at the concierge.

“Sherlock Holmes?” he questioned.

“Correct.”

Ahh, Sherlock Holmes, I thought, a strange name for a strange man.

“Show Mr Holmes to his table.” He awoke me from my thoughts.

“Yes, of course.” I half mumbled, but regaining my composure asked what the ladies name was. I hated when he didn’t also refer to the women.

“Molly, Molly Hooper.” She smiled sweetly and gave me a thankful nod for acknowledging her.

“Well, Ms Hooper and Mr Holmes, let me show you to your table.”

I glanced quickly at the listing, grabbed a pair of menus and turned to guide them to the table. It was an out of the way table, isolated from the rest and much quieter, a good choice. They both seated themselves and I gave them each a menu.

Now these people were truly fascinating, his behaviour was so reserved that I could hardly resist analysing him and his companion had such a sweet disposition that I immediately liked her. The greatest mystery was that these two, who were so in contrast to each other, had come together. My happiness sparked as I had finally found an enigma that required some thought and reflection. In my dull life, this was what I lived for.

Ms Hooper started to study the menu and when she wasn’t looking, Sherlock Holmes gave me a little nod, thanking me for what I had said. He was very protective over her, I observed.

To my agitation, I was called to attend to another table. I poured their drinks absentmindedly as I was thinking of the strange couple. But of course I couldn’t help but get irritated over the fake laughter and the horrendous amount of makeup the middle-aged woman was wearing. The man she was sitting across from looked fairly wealthy. He had that stern expression that businessmen usually have and his grey suit was too clean. The desperation to please in the woman’s expression was pitiful and the whole situation seemed painful. It was textbook.

I moved away quickly and placed myself in a corner where I had a good view of Ms Hooper and Mr Holmes and I waited impatiently for them to decide on their meal. I could probably have poured some more drinks, but for the moment I was too engaged in my deductions to be bothered.

I decided to take a shot at Molly Hooper. I could easily see that she was also a bit reserved, but mostly just shy. Her eyes revealed that she was kind and good hearted, as they only sought out what pleased her and she took in her surroundings with glee and appreciation. Her hands often wandered self-consciously to her hair. Her brown eyes twinkled as they met Mr Holmes’s, which reflected the same admiration.

Mr Holmes also had the habit of touching his hair nervously and when she wasn’t looking, he searched for anything that might be a discomfort to her, determined to get rid of whatever it might be. And when he saw there was none, a smile spread across his lips and he looked content.  His eyes were bright and awake, taking in his surroundings, but not in the way Molly did, he was much more analytical and observant. I tracked his eyes and got a glimpse of his thoughts. Despite being extremely reserved and having a good deal of self control, his feelings would reveal themselves every now and then through a slight change in expression or little unconscious tics. Every time a too loud laugh could be heard, he shifted in his seat and redirected his attention to Molly.

Suddenly his eyes darted to me and met my stare. I moved to their table, seeing that they had put their menus down.

“Are you ready to order?”

They both nodded.

“We’d both like the duck please.” Molly requested and Sherlock collected the menus and handed them to me after I scribbled down the order.

“Is there anything else?” I asked. I wanted to stay by their table as long as possible.

Sherlock shot an unnoticeable glance at the loud couple sitting some distance away as if he considered asking me to move them further away, which I would have done gladly. But I hardly thought it would be acceptable, though it was awfully tempting.

Without thinking I shrugged and smiled understandingly. Sherlock looked at me puzzled and I realized that I wasn’t supposed to know what he was thinking. I blushed embarrassed, but his puzzlement soon turned into approval and he smiled amused.

“We’re fine.” He answered and smiled smugly, Molly looked at him confused at what had just happened. I turned to leave and wandered back to my corner.

I was more careful now that he knew that I was paying attention. I went to wait on other tables, often those near theirs and I managed to catch snippets of their conversation.

“We got a new body today, did I tell you? William was his name he was stabbed. The weapon and killer was found but his body was interesting.”

Sherlock laughed heartily.

“Am I not interesting enough?”

“I didn’t mean like that!” She giggled. “He had been shot several times before.”

I nearly poured too much water in the glass and it was full to the very top. I muttered an apology and the guest gave me a queer look. I quickly went to another table.

Molly must work at a morgue, I thought, a pathologist most likely.

She said something I couldn’t make out, but it must have been a joke for they both laughed heartily.

It was strange seeing how much Sherlock’s appearance changed when he smiled or laughed. His smile was crinkly and he chuckled heartily. I had to admit, he did look handsome. Most especially when he was listening to Molly talk. Usually when she was talking about her work or something she thought was funny. Her eyes lit up and she told the story with such enthusiasm that it was impossible not to smile. The expression in his eyes in those moments made even me smile, I felt foolish, but there’s something in seeing another human so thoroughly happy. I didn’t usually see that kind of happy here.

“Josef?” I started as I heard him say my name as I walked by their table.  Then I remembered I was wearing a name tag that he had undoubtedly noticed.

“Can I have a word with you?” He looked grim again and he stood up from his chair.

“Y-Yes.” I stuttered. I had gone too far, I had been too obvious.

He directed me to the door that lead to the kitchen. I started to panic. He looked as terrifying as ever.

He positioned himself so that his back was turned to Molly. His expression softened and he smiled nervously. I let out a relieved breath. He fidgeted with his suit, straightening it.

“I want you to pay attention, I know you can do that.”

I blushed.

“In a few moments I’m either going to tap my finger three times on the table or itch my hair. If I do the first, you must bring champagne to our table and if I do the second the whole thing is off.”