honestly these assholes

1026. When Snape died, the first person there to greet him was Lily. She walked up to him and punched him in the face, demanding answers as to 'WHY THE HELL DID YOU VERBALLY ABUSE MY SON FOR SEVEN YEARS???'
8

televison meme: [4/10] seasons → Grey’s Anatomy season two
↳ As doctors, we’re trained to be skeptical, because our patients lie to us all the time. The rule is, every patient is a liar until proven honest. Lying is bad. Or so we are told constantly from birth; honesty is the best policy, the truth shall set you free, I chopped down the cherry tree, whatever. The fact is, lying is a necessity. We lie to ourselves because the truth? The truth freaking hurts.

This election does not make me who I am.

My father asked me if I was planning to vote tomorrow. 

I replied yes. One word. I had learned to keep my mouth shut and my ears open when politics were discussed in my family. When my grandparents visited, the adults would talk, trade stories, and as always, bring up the election.

They’d go off about how bad our nation had become, how back in the old days, things weren’t nearly half as bad. How democracy had been destroyed, and our country was in danger. I could agree to this, our country is most certainly in danger. I knew that much. 

They always declared it was in danger from the corrupt politicians, the liberals, the democrats. They claimed that the economy was headed for a downwards spiral because of the holes in government. How it had all become one big mess, and of course, it was all to easy for them to pin the blame. 

When it came to the impending election and the frontrunner candidates, I could hear my grandfather bellyaching about “Crooked Hillary” only referring to her by this oh so charming nickname. “She’s corrupt!” He’d exclaim. “She and her husband! They’ve ruined this country, and she certainly can’t run it.”

My grandmother, ever so worry-some would follow suit, saying over and over again how she was preparing for the worst. “I just know,” she said “I just know she’s going to win. We’re all done for when she wins.” 

My mother, nodding her head in agreement, puts in her two cents. “But there’s always a chance.” Usually an optimist, she looks on her bright side. “Trumps a business man you see. He could really fix this country. I gotta believe he’s our fighting chance.” In her head, Trumps a savior, sent to tidy up government and the economy, as she had been personally affected by the 2008 crisis. 

My father is last, usually loud and cheerful, he looks somber. As he looks up, his eyes meet mine. “They’re honestly both not that great, but Trump wins as the lesser of evils to me.” He nods, once and quickly, as if he’s trying to justify his answer to himself. 

Most conversations about the election went on like this in my home. I listened, learned, and did my own research. This being my first chance to vote, being only 19, I felt immense pressure that my choice would be branded on me. That this heated division of our country would somehow define me, and if I choose the wrong candidate, I would forever be regretful. 

So when my father asked me if I was voting tomorrow, I simply said yes. 

I didn’t answer the question he was really asking, which was for who. I didn’t tell him that while he saw Trump as a lesser of evils, I, unlike him, couldn’t make justifications for his actions. I didn’t tell him that as a young girl, the things said and done by Trump has personally resounded in me. I didn’t tell him that I was honestly afraid of what might happen with Trump as president. I didn’t tell him that no, I wasn’t just voting for Hillary because she was a woman. I didn’t tell him or present him with the hours of research I had done on both candidates, because I knew that’s not what he wanted to hear. 

I said yes, and walked away. 

My back towards them, I heard my mother, always so optimistic, kind, and strong, whisper “she’s voting for Hillary.”

I froze on the stairs, unable to move. I had only mentioned that I believed in Hillary to my mother once, during a heated argument. I never said I’d vote for her, and I never elaborated much on the election. This statement is met by silence. 

A pause. 

She follows this statement by whispering to my father, 

                “You did a bad job raising your daughter.

That hit me. I felt the tears at once, hot and uncontrollable. Yet I was quiet as I walked away. In my mothers eyes, my own mother, a vote for Hillary summed me up to a bad daughter, a failure. That there was something wrong with me, that I didn’t listen, that I was making the wrong decision. In her mind, she was asking “Where did we go wrong?” That they raised me and somehow made a mistake. 

By that statement, it erased everything I had done in my past 19 years. It erased everything else I stood for, decided, and did. It erased the morals, dignity, truth, and righteousness that they claimed they instilled in me all my life. It erased the wisdom they gave me to make the right decision. It erased who I was because of who I decided to vote for.

As I bit my lip, and the emotions rolled over me, I had to remain clam in my foundations. I wasn’t frightened about what my family might say, or think, or do about my vote. That was now out in the open. I wasn’t upset because they believed I was letting them, the family, the nation down by voting for, in their eyes, the enemy. I was hurt and in pain because, as I feared, this election had defined me.

I was branded by my own family by the person I believed was better fit to represent and protect our country. I was branded for having my own opinion, beliefs, and simply keeping them to myself. I was erased from who I was and what I had done in my life in even my own mothers eyes. 

In light of this, as we all fill the ballots tomorrow, many for the first time just like me, I ask for you to remember this. No matter what people say, or how they see you, or what they think of you, be strong. This election has divvied up and separated our country more than we could have ever thought possible. This is civil war, with numerous casualties. It is painful, brutal, and not close to being over. Your opinion will be one in many to change the course of this nation, but there is so much more to you. Your life, history, future, and everything else that makes you up is not defined by one vote. How you treat people, view and tolerate other cultures, how you love and respect humanity is what makes you you. 

But most importantly, know this; your vote is your decision, but you are not your vote. 

10
4

You will rise to the occasion. 

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez & Viktor Nikiforov.

Apparently … they share the same voice actor … unbelievable. Well Grimm will be forever my favorite, that laugh, unf <3 Too bad the bleach anime wasn’t continued. Meanwhile this picture looks so damn bizarre and yeh, both wear the same outfit, except that Grimmjow wears his newer one. Either way, so far hasn’t caught Yuri!!! on ice really my interest, then again I just watched the first 5 minutes of it B’) 

9

make me choose@mortalitaasi asked: morrigan’s romance or cassandra’s romance

“We have been…close…for some time now. You are…impressive…in many ways, and you even protected me from Flemeth without hope of reward. I feel…anxious when I look upon you. I dislike this sense of dependency, ‘tis a weakness I abhor. If this is “love” I wish to ascertain that you do not feel the same.”

I know it’s a very sensitive time, but I have to sincerely ask: Can we stop calling Donald Trump “cheeto” please. It’s such an insult to them; like Cheetos are delicious as fuck. Can we call him something gross that nobody likes. Like yams. Call him yam. Fuck yams.

A crown has arrived in Los Santos. Not just a crown of course, a whole array of finery, gold and jewels and an ornamental sceptre, even a smaller secondary crown, but the true prize in the collection is clearly the extravagant domed affair, huge, bejewelled and topped with a hefty gold cross. It’s for a show of sorts, a traveling display of some ancient European royalty, and it couldn’t be a more obvious trap if the Fake’s had received a personalized invitation.

Los Santos doesn’t have a big arts scene, doesn’t have fancy museums or cultural influences; to bring so much wealth to the city, the crime capital of the country, to roll it right under the noses of the self-proclaimed royalty of organized crime and publically advertise its arrival is so laughably on the nose it can only be the LSPD’s latest pathetic attempt at a sting. An embarrassing police endeavour to draw the FAHC out, ludicrously obvious and yet, despite all reason, it’s working.

It might be offensively over the top but there are, of course, two members of the FAHC who live for offensively over the top, who can’t even focus on the obvious jaws of the trap, knowing all too well that the bait is poisoned but unable to help being hooked anyway. Geoff and Gavin, the big boss and his most ostentatious little snake, both lost the second there were crowns on the table, both shiny eyed and hopeless, full of longing as their hurricane of plans tips into the utterly preposterous.

Gavin keeps making puppy-dog eyes at Geoff, begging and pleading and carefully explaining exactly why he deserves to be the one who wears the big crown; everyone already knows Geoff’s the king, he doesn’t need it, and anyway it just wouldn’t suit his look at all. Geoff is batting off every argument, some with considerable difficulty but he’s determined to hold out, heart set on keeping the absurd thing for himself. Half out of affection, half out of desperately placating bribery Geoff’s instead promising Gavin the slightly smaller, more classically spiked crown; the fine filigree diadem obviously the lighter of the two, easier to wear and arguably more pretty, still obscenely ornate and look how gold it is Gavvers come on.

Boss and conman aside the rest of the crew aren’t quite so blinded by the frankly insulting attempt at a trap. Except, well. Except that they kind of are, in their own ways.

Jack and Lindsay spent a whole morning tracking down sources, ensuring that while the display was fake the actual items were authentic. And boy, the LSPD didn’t go halfway in their bid for stupidest plan of all time – not only is everything certifiably real, it’s worth an actual fortune. They aren’t kidding themselves about fencing the crowns, it’s important to be aware of one’s weaknesses and sometimes that means acknowledging that you work with egotistical children, but there is still more than enough extra gubbins in the display to make such a wildly ill-advised heist worth considering.

Ryan, Michael and Jeremy aren’t particularly hung up on the money end; it’s always nice, sure, but honestly the FAHC hasn’t been strapped for cash in a long, long time. These days the jobs they do tend to have some other purpose, amusement or revenge or displays of power with monetary gain a secondary factor, definitely not sufficient to barrel headfirst into a guaranteed trap. But then the trap is so clear to see it’s pretty much a dare, a middle finger, the suggestion that the Fake’s are too stupid to see what’s right in front of them. If there’s one thing the more rough and tumble side of the crew have in common it’s their inability to stand down from a challenge, their dislike of any insinuation that there’s anything they cannot do, any prize outside their reach. Screw the gold, Michael, Jeremy and Ryan are, as always, just out to ruin the LSPD’s day.

So they brainstorm, they plan, they get into more than one argument about the authority bestowed by fancy headwear and, in the end, after enduring numerous scornful complaints from members the Support Crew regarding always doing things the hard way, they simply call up one of Geoff’s rats on the force and have her unlock the door and look the other way. It is perhaps the most anticlimactic ‘heist’ of the FAHC’s entire existence – not that you’d know it from the way Geoff and Gavin swan about in their crowns. Not that you’d know it unless you were there to witness, actually, considering the hilariously inaccurate rumour that spreads like wildfire, the tale of an epic showdown between the police and the Fakes, the crowns simply the spoils of war in a greater battle that took out half a city block.

To be fair, that battle definitely happened, it just had literally nothing to do with any heist. Disappointed by the appalling lack of action Ryan took Michael and Jeremy for a leisurely drive down to the police station, car full of everything from flares to SMG’s to a full-blown rocket launcher, and the three of them had a little party. By the time the rest of the crew shows up, somewhat overdressed but still drawn as always towards the sound of senseless mayhem, the street is a warzone, a building is on fire, and the LSPD have completely sworn off ever again trying to entrap the FAHC.  

2

the hero we deserve

Why is everyone just joking about Yurio this episode like usual and no one is talking about how huge this was??? Like I know we all love him to death but did you forget that (other than the short scene with his grandpa) every time we’ve seen him yet he’s honestly been kind of an asshole?? This episode he finally found his true agape! His skating was absolutely beautiful and perfect and then he was CHEERING YUURI ON??? WTF???? And then at the end when he gave him the pirozhki? Ok yea he did it in his own Yurio way, kicking Yuuri in the face and telling him he was creepy all that. But HE LITERALLY WENT AND SEEKED HIM OUT JUST TO CHEER HIM UP AND GIVE HIM THE PIROZHKI HIS GRANDPA MADE FOR HIM??? JJ made a comment to him that he’s being supportive now that he’s secured his spot in the Grand Prix but I really don’t think that’s it? He was different before and during his free skate as well? This is a totally different Yurio??? Like it literally made me cry??? Why isn’t anyone taking this more seriously????