i think that one's safe

8

STAR WARS APPRECIATION WEEK

day 5: most underrated moment

→ padmé’s ruminations (episode iii: revenge of the sith)

I think what I love most about Laurent and Damen together is that they don’t lose themselves, they become more like themselves instead. They become more like the people they were supposed to be. just because they’ve finally found the person who loves and accepts and sees them for exactly who they are. 

viktor was already planning to propose to yuuri, and that’s beautiful

so I was about to go to sleep but then I had this revelation and I had to post it so yeah

this probably will go off topic and not make much sense since it’s 2:30 AM but hey, I’ll post it anyway. screencaps and an attempt at something resembling analysis under the cut. note that this is all wild speculation, but I had to get it out of my head, so here you go.

Keep reading

Dylann Roof closing statement

“I think it’s safe to say that someone in their right mind wouldn’t go into a church and kill people.

You might remember in my confession to the FBI I told them I had to do it. But obviously, that’s not really true. I didn’t have to do it. And not one made me do it. But what I meant when I said that was I felt like I had to do it. And I still feel like I had to do it.
And throughout this whole trial you’ve heard a lot about hate and hatred, and how much hatred I’m filled with and how vast my hate was. Well I don’t like what black people do. If I was really filled with how much hate I allegedly am, wouldn’t I just say yes? Why would I lie about that? It wouldn’t make any sense.

And wouldn’t it be fair to say that the prosecution hates me since they are trying to get the death penalty. And you could say, ‘of course they hate you. Everyone hates you. They have good reason to hate you’ I’m not denying that. But I’m saying anyone who hates anything in their mind has a good reason to hate. But I would say that in this case the prosecution, along with anyone else who hates me, are the ones who have been misled. 
Anyone, including the prosecution who thinks that I am filled with hatred has no idea what real hate is. They think..  they don’t know what hatred looks like. They think they do but they don’t really.

And from what I’ve been told, I have a right to ask you to give me a life sentence, but I’m not sure that would do any good anyway. But what I will say is only one of you has to disagree. I know that at least some of you were asked during jury selection.. if you were willing to stand up for your own opinion. That’s all.”

hey to any of you who don’t have a stable/safe environment to be in over the holidays, or family or friends to support you, or if you’re otherwise lonely/sad/struggling, I just wanna say I’m thinking about you and rooting for you 

you deserve happiness and love so here’s hoping the new year will be better and kinder to you <3

I am so angry

I got attacked by a mob once.

I was a kid; sixth or seventh grade, and we were having gym class outside. It was cold, so I wore a coat. Nobody else wore a coat.

The teacher walked away for a minute, and that’s when it happened.

There wasn’t any signal, nobody said anything, but they surrounded me, and somebody forced the hood of my coat up over my head and somebody yanked the drawstrings of it tight so that it covered my face and I couldn’t see, and then they all pushed me around, laughing.

I dissociated. I felt like I was floating, all the fear I was feeling somehow distant.

And then the teacher walked back and they stopped. He must have seen, but he didn’t say anything. None of them got in trouble. I never told anyone about it because I thought it had been my fault for letting it happen. I should have fought back, I thought. I should have been strong enough to stop it. It was my fault.

For years afterwards, I never wore a coat.

I’m grown up now, stuck in the same small town where all of those people still live, and you know what they have? Guns. I’ve seen pictures of the permits, up on Facebook. Concealed carry.

I feel guilty, though, for being frightened. Illinois was a pretty solidly Democrat state—although I think a lot of the democrat votes come from Chicago, and I live in a very rural area.

But it’s not as if I’m visibly queer. I have long hair; I look like a cisgender girl. I’m not dating anyone; I’m only out as bisexual and genderqueer to a few people. I’m white. Logically, I’m relatively safe—as safe as anyone who looks like a woman can ever be.

And it’s not as if I see those people anymore, the ones from the mob. I stay in the house, mostly, and don’t see anyone, really, except my family: grandparents, cousins, aunt.

They voted for Trump.

My cousin has a baby shower coming up this Sunday—how am I supposed to go to it? How am I supposed to look these people in the eyes, these people who say they love me but think people like me are less than human?

I bite my tongue, second guess everything I say.

What a gorgeous woman, I say, when an actress comes onto the television screen, and then I wince.

I flinch when people use the wrong pronouns for me.

My mother says she has so much trouble remembering because she has to call me she in front of our family.

Just tell them, she says. What’s the worst that can happen?

My grandfather used to take me for boat rides when I was a kid.

He has a Trump sticker on the bumper of his truck.

They love you, my mother says.

My cousin taught me to ride a bicycle, to tie my shoes.

Voting Trump, she said on Facebook. Who’s with me.

He tells the truth, my thirteen-year-old cousin said.

What truth is that? The truth that people like me should be given electroshock? Or the truth that little girls like you are old enough for grown men to fuck them?

I am so angry.

Our family has lunch together every Sunday. At one of the lunches a couple of months ago, they had a discussion about how ‘homosexuals’ had ‘ruined’ the words gay and queer.

And there I am, in the corner, shaking.

I don’t go to those family lunches very often anymore.

They love you, my mother says, it’s not as if they’re going to disown you.

But I don’t want to be their fucking exception; I don’t want them to have to ‘overlook’ my queerness or ‘forgive’ me for it. Love the sinner, hate the sin—what sin, the sin of my existence?

I am so angry.

You act paranoid, my mother says, you act like you’re afraid for your life.

And maybe she’s right. Maybe I am paranoid. Logically, I know, I’m relatively safe, but I can’t help but feel that the teacher has walked away for the next four years.

I know the rules now, though: don’t wear a coat, if nobody else is wearing one. Smile when they call you she. Don’t glance at pretty girls. Bite your tongue. Present as your assigned gender.

The thing is, I don’t want to have to do that anymore. I want to be visible; I want to feel like I exist. Do you know, I didn’t even realize it was possible to be queer until I was twelve fucking years old? I learned it from a fantasy novel. I thought it was a misprint, at first, the main character and the love interest having the same pronouns. I had no queer role models growing up, because everyone I knew who was queer was closeted.

I am so angry.

I am tired of hiding; I am tired of feeling afraid.

I am so angry. 

I am so very angry.

I think it is safe to say that I have a thing for doors. But I think this has developed a step further… I might have a thing for BLUE doors. 

Blue, particularly the dusty, baby and teal shades are decidedly my favourite, so it might be the reason why I feel so attracted to blue doors. But I think ti is safe to say that blue is one of the favourite door colour choices. When couples with a clean pure white and a touch of grey in this case, and the limestone colour for the top floors, the whole just pops!

Iż - Żurrieq, Malta

So like, I have a mighty need to know what Philip and Lukas’ first impressions were of eachother, I need to know what they thought before Lukas came up to Philip.

Like were they in just complete awe when they first saw eachother, did Philip even notice Lukas at first. This is what plagues me at two in the morning.

tbh yall i rly think jimin’s back is one of those Safe Spots for jungkook. aside from jimin himself being just about one of the most comforting people in the world, i think it’s really a spot for him that he feels comfortable and happy? 

in moments of emotion (one example is the the mama fancam), even with him being taller now and being behind jimin’s back doesn’t do much for him physically, emotionally i think it still works the same as when they were just about the same height and his being behind jimin offered a kind of shelter. it’s an emotional comfort he seems to get and one jimin is definitely always ready to give 

I think it’s safe to say that no one in their right mind wants to go into a church and kill people, and who might remember in my confession to the FBI I said that I had to do it; that’s obviously not true. I didn’t have to do it. No one made me do it… What I meant was that I felt like I had to do it. And I still feel like I had to do it.
Throughout this whole trial you’ve heard a lot about hate, and how much hatred I have. After confessing to the crime why would I lie about hating black people, I just don’t like what they do.
Wouldn’t it be fair to say the prosecution hates me, since they are trying to give me the death penalty. You might say, yes everyone hates you for what you did. I would say that, in this case, the prosecution along with anyone else who hates me are the ones who have been misled. Anyone, including the prosecution, who thinks I’m full of hatred has no idea what real hate is. They think they know what hatred is but they don’t.
From what I’m told, I have a right to ask you to give me a life sentence, but I’m not sure what good that would do anyway. Only one of you has to say life for me to get the life sentence.
Uh, That’s all, Thank you.
— 

Dylann Storm Roof 

Closing Statement 01/10/17

2
Drabble 4/5

A/N: Yeah, Edward’s and Haytham’s are slightly NSFW. Just beware of the Kenways.


31. (Ah Tabai)

The sight was quite comical, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to contain your laugh. The normally intellectual and too-wise-for-his-own-good Mayan man was staring down at your gun like it had just grown a head. Granted, it was the newest model available and even you hadn’t gotten the hang of it, but he looked entirely lost. His hands were all over the silver metal, pausing once it reached the trigger.

“Careful there.” You chuckled, attempting to convey some kind of warning in your statement but failing miserably. “I don’t really feel like dying today.” 

He only glared up at you for a moment, a blazing fire beneath his eyes as he looked back down at the offending object. Truthfully, you’d never seen him carry a gun. It was strange and unnatural, the way he held it telling you that he wasn’t very familiar with the item, especially this model. 

“Do you even know how that works?” You asked, a smirk tugging at your lips and arms crossed over your chest. Ah Tabai was always confident in his work, but not to the point of cockiness. He knew his abilities and his limits, but for the life of you, you’d never seen him look so unsure.

“Of course I know how this works!” He replied back, clearly offended at your insinuation.

“Whatever you say, O’ Great One.” You winked, snatching your gun back from him. Oddly enough, he looked almost flustered.


32. (Arno Dorian)

You’d been stuck with him all day and it was only getting worse. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Arno, in fact it was quite the opposite, but he just seemed so different towards you. You had seriously thought that there was something between the two of you at one point, but then it just stopped. It might’ve been the smarter move to ask him what was wrong, but you honestly thought it best to give him space. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. Only he didn’t; he only got more and more silent, even going as far as avoiding you outright most days. 

So as you sat here, squished shoulder to shoulder in a small closet, each second ticked by ever slowly, the silence absolutely maddening. Finally, fed up with his behavior recently and completely sick of the deafening quiet, you sighed.

“Let’s just take them.” You muttered impatiently, moving to go. Arno snaked a hand around your arm, pulling your body flush against him.

“You are not going out there.” He replied rather harshly, keeping you tight in his grasp. It was infuriating, frustrating, and, you shuddered, absolutely divine.

“Chances are, we will most definitely be able to escape.” You argued, nodding a head in the direction of the door.

“And what if you’re wrong?” He questioned. “What if you are killed because you left it to chance?” Your brows furrowed, curious eyes attempting to look into his in the darkness. Unfortunately, the shadows covered the both of you, masking each other from the other.

“What the hell are you going on about, Arno?”

“Despite what you may think, I’m actually quite fond of you and I’d prefer it if you didn’t die.” He hissed, both arms moving up further to encompass you wholly. Honestly, you weren’t entirely sure what was wrong with him, but you really couldn’t mind too much when his sweet scent was overflooding your senses and his warm arms were forcing your head to rest against his chest.


33. (Shaun Hastings)

“You are honestly the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.” You deadpanned, looking back to Desmond to make sure he was okay. He seemed pretty drained from his last session in the Animus and Shaun wasn’t making things any better by keeping up a constant stream of complaints and sarcastic remarks.

“We have things to do,” Shaun crossed his arms over his chest, staring at you like you were a small child that needed berating.

“Shut it, Shaun,” you huffed, sending a reassuring smile to Desmond. He smiled back to you, rolling his eyes at the British man.

“I’m just being realistic here.” He defended himself. You scowled, marching past Shaun and dragging him by the collar with you. He was spouting off insults every inch of the way, turning on you with a glare when you finally stopped outside of the loft.

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” You ground out, hands on hips and eyes drilling holes into his head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He sniffed, pushing his glasses further up on his nose.

“Shaun?” You asked, voice much softer.

“I haven’t got you to myself in weeks.” He grumbled, a soft hand resting on your hip. “It’s more than a little frustrating.” A genuine smile bloomed on your face, your eyes softening.

“You could’ve just said that.” You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. His other hand came up to press your lower back closer, eyes shining brilliantly under the bright lights.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”


34. (Edward Kenway)

Okay, you could admit that it was funny in the beginning. You’d laughed along with everybody else when he stumbled onto the table or when he began yelling senselessly to the others in the tavern. But now that he’s barely on his feet, practically being dragged by you, you were definitely not laughing.

“You’ve had way too much alcohol.” You muttered, taking another large step as you attempted to pull the bulky man. It didn’t work out as you planned, your back smacking into his chest.

“There’s no such thing as too much alcohol.” He slurred, warm breath ghosting along the back of your neck. You shivered, much to your chagrin. The captain was attractive and he knew it. You always tried to act nonchalant about it, but it was getting harder and harder. Little moments like these were most definitely not helping your case any. “Ah, love, why must you wound me so?”

“What are you talking about?” You ground out, muscles groaning in protest as you took another step.

“I want you in my bed.” He said lowly, causing you to pause. “I want you beneath me as I fuck you senseless, my name on your lips.” Your eyes widened, a swallow working its way down your throat. Arousal pooled low in your stomach, his husky voice doing nothing to tamp it down. He laughed. “But you stubbornly refuse.” His shoulders attempted to shrug, sloppily accomplishing their task. Bloody rum, you cursed internally, glaring at Edward’s back as he walked away, his steps uncoordinated.


35. (Jacob Frye)

“Do I even want to know why there’s a dead body on my floor?” Jacob asked dryly, an arched eyebrow barely visible beneath the shadow of his top hat.

“Probably not,” you shrugged, taking another swig of your pint as you leaned back against the headboard of his bed, watching the man on the floor with a carefully placed mask. His blood was shining on the floor, the remnants on your blade still hot. It hadn’t been a particularly gruesome battle, but it wasn’t entirely enjoyable. Although, you mused, he definitely did deserve it. The man had been terrorizing London for far too long.

“What did he do?” Jacob asked, careful steps bringing him closer to you. He snatched the drink from your hands, sipping from it with a wink to you.

“Oh, you know, this and that.” You waved it off, glaring at your drink like it had betrayed you for allowing Jacob to drink from it.

“Real informative,” he drawled, setting the pint onto the nearby stand with a clank. “We’re going down to the pub while I have some Rooks clean this mess up.” His accent was thicker than normal, telling you that he’d definitely already been to the pub. Even if you couldn’t tell by his accent, the smell of alcohol was heavy in the air around him.

“Agreed.”


36. (Malik Al-Sayf)

In all honesty, you were exceedingly excellent at eliminating your targets. But you really hadn’t expected another mission so soon and you were definitely not in any condition to begin one again. So when you stumbled into the Assassin’s Bureau of Jerusalem, it wasn’t exactly surprising that you were bloodied and beaten. Malik cast a questioning eye in your direction, gesturing towards you with his good hand.

“Might I inquire what happened?” He asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“Very funny, Malik.” He had been well aware that you weren’t suited for this job but you were determined. It was very possible that your determination wasn’t the brightest idea at the moment, but you couldn’t care less. “Here.” You threw the feather at him, sighing when it floated gracefully down to the floor not two inches in front of you. You glared at the object, looking up to Malik and pleading silently for him to pick it up. He had an eyebrow raised at you, his gaze moving from the feather soaked in the blood of your target back to you.

“It’s not my job to retrieve it.” He stated. “And your mission isn’t complete until you hand me the feather.”

“I hate you.” You muttered, eyes still trained on the feather.

“That is a job for a-”

“If you finish that sentence I’m cutting out your tongue.” You threatened, a scowl forming on your lips.

“Novice.” He laughed, eyes shining mischievously.

“I hate you, Malik.” You groaned, dropping down onto your knees painfully.

“Sometimes I really question if you know what we’re doing.” His voice was the very definition of playfulness, the normal affection he’d always had towards you present.

“I do too, Malik, I do too.” You whispered, eyes closing. You didn’t need to open them to know he had shuffled over and picked up the feather. And you definitely didn’t need to open them to know he had smiled softly at you when he did so.


37. (Jacob Frye)

The day had been filled with a never ending line of annoyances, ushering themselves in one by one. Simply put, it was exhausting. And out of all the infuriating things to happen that day, none was worse than your current predicament. You glared down at the offending material, the stuffy layers causing you to shuffle in place as you clenched your jaw, your grip on Jacob tightening to the point of pain.

“If you just relax, you might find that you even enjoy it.” He laughed between his smile, somehow still appearing grandiose. At least he didn’t have to wear a flipping dress, you fumed, pulling at the coarse material, the corset digging painfully into your abdomen.

“Have you ever been in a corset?” You hissed.

“I can’t say I have.” His smirk widened as the both of you bowed respectively to whatever pompous asshole approached you next.

“Well, let me tell you, it’s not fun.” Your words were dripping with venom, wishing for nothing more than to drop down in your comfy bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

“I don’t think they’re supposed to be fun, love.” He whispered, lips against your ear.

“Obviously not.” You scowled, a hand smoothing out the vibrant colors. You hated it, felt entirely helpless in it. It made you feel stripped of your armor, of everything that made you an Assassin. With these layers of clothing, you might as well be another clueless woman looking for a man to marry.

“Besides, you look quite good in them.” He winked, eyes purposely raking down your body in a show of theatrics. Oh, you were so ripping these clothes off. And, you smirked, you were so ripping Jacob’s clothes off too.


38. (Haytham Kenway)

You’d never seen him like this; eye blown wide, chest puffed out, lips parted, and teeth shining. The room had long since been abandoned, the two of you the only occupants save for a rickety old desk, barely in commision. It was frightening, the absolute feral look in his eye, but at the same time, it was intoxicating. 

The smell of old spices and fresh mint swirled in the air around you as he took a confident step forward, the hat on his head moving slightly as he breathed you in. You were too enraptured to do anything but stare, arousal stabbing you like a dagger to your gut. He didn’t even have to touch you, sparks already flying at the electricity in his stare. But when he did touch you, you couldn’t help but moan, smooth skin moving along smooth skin. He wasn’t gentle as he shoved you back, parting your legs with a rough shove to your knees. 

Both of his hands were hooked behind your legs, pulling you against the very evident bulge in his trousers.

“Haytham,” you breathed, a hand trailing down the hard planes of his chest. You could feel the heavy thrum of his heart beneath, the beat speeding up at your touch.

“You look absolutely delicious.” He growled, lips centimeters from yours. He was purposefully teasing you, moving away whenever you pushed forward to connect your mouths. It was torturous and sinful, your body burning with an animalistic need for him. “What do you want?” His breath caressed your ear as he spoke, hands jerking you even tighter against him. You couldn’t help but squirm, attempting to sate the need for friction.

“You,” you whispered roughly, “I want all of you.” He only smiled in return, teeth glinting dangerously.


39. (Ezio Auditore)

Messing with Ezio was way more fun than it should be. You were quite sure that you’d annoyed the Master Assassin to no end but you couldn’t help it. His expression when he got mad! He’d try to be all intimidating, but he never was in your eyes. Hell, he only made it worse when he tried to act all angry. But, you looked to him with wide eyes, each heavy breath causing your chest to brush against his, you may have taken it just a teensy bit too far.

“Ezio?” You cursed your tone, wishing that you sounded more confident and less nervous. He was looking to you like he was a minute away from devouring you or strangling you, and you honestly didn’t want to find out. It was supposed to be a harmless prank; flirt a little, wink a little, lure him into the bedroom, then bang, leave him there, running off to go finish your mission. Only, you shuddered, Ezio definitely didn’t look like he’d be letting you run off into the night like you planned. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you’d survive this night.

“You’re not leaving, bella.” His voice was pure sin, each syllable rolling immaculately off of his tongue like he held the world.

“I didn’t mean to-” Whatever you were planning on saying flew out the window, along with your resolve, when his hand began a slow descent, leaving desire in its wake.

“Trust me, we won’t be leaving this room for a very long time.” The lust clouding his beautiful orbs scared you, his touch moving ever lower.

“Why,” you cleared your throat, hoping to bring it back to its normal level. “Why’s that?” You feigned innocence, the smirk on his face being absolutely illegal.

“You know why,” he spoke against your send, each word being felt more than heard. Oh, you were in so much trouble. But with his skilled touch, you couldn’t be too upset about it.


40. (Adéwalé)

Annoyance was evident on his gruff features as you poked him once again, hoping to get his attention. He steadfastly ignored you, eyes watching Edward across the pub. You poked once again, harder this time, smiling when he looked towards you. His lips were straight across the dark skin of his face, the candlelight reflecting brilliantly off each one of his features.

“I’d ask you not to do that, but we both know you’d just do it even more.” He stated dryly, eyes beating down on you.

“Nice to know you listen.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I have been speaking to you this whole time.”

“I know,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. You gasped in a mocking manner, a hand on your chest.

“What’s this, Adéwalé is actually smiling for me?” Your tone was dripping with sarcasm, a wry smile on your face.

“You’re not as funny as you think.” He huffed, mirroring your stance.

“I think you’ll find that I’m very funny.” You sent a pointed look in Edward’s direction, the blonde captain nearly tripping over his feet. “If you spent a little time worrying about blondie over there, you might notice.”

“He is the captain.” Adéwalé said, his tone sounding almost final.

“And you’re the quartermaster, good for the both of you.” Both hands flew up, gesturing wildly. “But I’d like to speak to you, Adé, and you make that exceedingly hard when you don’t take your attention off of Mr. Captain.”

“Why?” He asked simply, surprising you somewhat. A smile bloomed on your face, this one much softer than before.

“Because I enjoy talking to you.” He seemed at a loss for words, watching you with guarded eyes. “Problem?”


“No.” He shook his head, a small smile returning. You always did love it when he smiled.