letter to president

james: scuffed elbows, tapper of nails, drums fingers on knees, leans on walls, leans on tables, leans on anything stationary, also leans on people, terrible at chess, greets with a hug, ink stained knuckles, scar on temple from dolohov’s bludger, loves a girl, loves the girl, sings off-key, runs in the morning for fun, wanted to be a holyhead harpy when he was seven, ridiculously blind, chipped a canine in a fight with avery after he called sirius a traitor, takes stairs two at a time, only child but not really, playing card house architect, has never been seen with unrolled sleeves, kissed sirius after winning the quidditch cup, sends his mum flowers every week, meetings with mcgonagall every fortnight to discuss the others, named his owl quaffle, sprints down corridors after sirius, buys remus chocolate and hides it for him to find, sleeps shirtless, wakes up most nights from nightmares, bounces knees relentlessly, overflowing with energy, cannot stand still, can’t remember last time his mind shut up, wants to grow old so badly it hurts

sirius: cheekbones to die for, thinks he’s a connoisseur of firewhiskey, is not, has never had a spot, always has an arm round someones shoulders or a knee draped over their leg, rocks on chairs, asked out mcgonagall for odds on, rarely takes his shirt off, has a kitten called seraphina who he carries around in his pocket, once bet dumbledore five galleons he could beat him in a stare-off, lost, immaculate nails, has long conversations with lily where they plait each others hair and gossip about james, was the first to notice when marlene stopped eating, sits at the top of astronomy tower and shreds letters from his mother, president of protect the bees, won’t sleep with less than two pillows, spends a lot of time by the lake with remus, writes puns on parchment and leaves them round the castle, write’s pete’s charms essays for him when he’s bored, very proud of regulus when he catches the snitch, sits on the floor, sits on tables, sits on james, can’t cook pasta, has a map of all the places he wants to visit, infatuated with fresh air, can’t stand the city,  never wants to go back there

remus: reigning champion of ‘how many objects can we put on sirius whilst he naps’, terrible prefect, cracks knuckles, bites inside of cheeks, too tall to fit under tables, sarcastic little shit, stronger than he looks, runner of the hogwarts betting pool, mastermind of pranks, never gets caught, bites nails till they bleed, sits on windowsills, probably knows the nooks and crannys of the school better than the founders, memorises lyrics accidentally, owns too many jumpers, odd socks, sleeps in class a lot, slammed crabbe’s head into a desk so hard he broke his nose in three places, drinks hot chocolate by the gallon, has a book club with lily, official group photographer, terrified of the violent anger that bubbles under his skin, doesn’t talk in class but laughs under breath, drinker of tea, hates eggs, main seller of banned substances, uncomfortable with affection, except sirius, grammar pedant, can’t swim, falls asleep whilst reading, thought he was a monster until he was fourteen, has to remind himself he’s not on a daily basis, sometimes needs someone else to do it, loves the others with his whole heart

peter: marshmallow lover, chews the end of quills, dreams in black and white, cannot tie a tie to save his life, always leaves his bag somewhere, allergic to oranges, crosses his fingers when lying, twenty twenty vision, good at history of magic, has weird memory for dates, laughs at jokes even if he doesn’t understand them, trousers always just too long, watery eyes all year round, jumps at loud noises, wants to fit in so badly, spills ink over most of his work, burns in the sun, trips down stairs a lot, keeps wand behind his ear, nearly burnt one off once, always sides with james, daydreams in lessons, gets through four cauldrons a year, only one to like liquorice wands, notes up entire arm, never has parchment, found the kitchen in his first month, sleeps through every alarm, normally late for breakfast, eats toast without butter, worries about not being brave enough, doesn’t want to be average, would rather not fight, thinks the war has enough soldiers without him, terrified of them and what they can do

Asked and Answered: My Mom

Dear President Obama,

I have something verey important to tell you, well my mom had cancer and she went to my school to vote for you with a wheelchair because she wanted you to be President, and she was proud and happy that Day. She is in heaven now and prays for you to be safe and me to.

Your friend,

Emily

I am 7 years old like Sasha. by!!

President Obama’s Response

Emily —

Thanks for the wonderful letter. My mom died of cancer too, so I know how you feel. I am sure your mom and mine are both in heaven, and are both proud of you. I am too!

Dream big dreams.

Barack Obama

And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me.

We both knew it, right away.

And as the years went on, things got more difficult, we were faced with more challenges.

I begged him to stay.

Try to remember what we had at the beginning.

He was charismatic, magnetic, electric and everybody knew it. When he walked in every woman’s head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him.

He was like this hybrid,

this mix of a man who couldn’t contain himself.

I always got the sense that he became torn
between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him.

And in that way I understood him and I loved him.

I loved him,
I loved him,
I loved him.

And I still love him.

I love him.

—  The love letter Jacqueline Kennedy wrote to John F Kennedy after his assassination on November 22, 1963
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From The Desk Of…

Go read this amazing, well written and beautifully executed story that will steal your heart from the get go.

The pictures above are my humble way of saying thank you to the wonderful writers @fictorium @bridgetteirish

youtube

Bill Nye’s Open Letter to President Donald Trump

anonymous asked:

What do you know about Georges Washington de Lafayette

All sources from Lafayette by Harlow Giles Unger: 

Georges Washington de Lafayette was born on December 24th, 1779. Adrienne wrote to her husband rather icily at his army camp. She offered sarcastic recognition of her husband’s many responsibilities in the military, she scolded him or not being with her and their new child. The baby’s full name wsa Georges Louis Gilbert Washington de Motier Marquis de Lafayette, he would always call himself George Washington Lafayette. The one he was named after, George Washington, became his godfather.

May 1781, Adrienne wrote that Georges “nearly died teething” and left her “weakened by anxieties”. During Gilbert de Lafayette’s second-to-last visit to America in 1784-1785, his returning ship ran aground and repairs delayed his departure home for a week. General Greene and Henry Knox had come to see him off, and the three spent long hours together reminiscing with Alexander Hamilton. Lafayette urged Greene, Hamilton and Knox to send their boys to him in Paris for several years of European education. He promised in turn, he would send his own boy, George Washington to them. Lafayette said he wanted his son educated at Harvard.

Unlike other European parents, Adrienne and Gilbert did not keep their children at a distance with tutors; they adored their children openly, embraced them spontaneously and showed them off to all their guests. Benjamin Franklin listened with a smile as seven-year-old Anastasie and five-year-old George sang children’s songs in English. Georges used to also help his father attach his sheathed sword and other military trappings.

When Georges was ten years old, one guard unit sought to make him an honorary second lieutenant, his father turned the honor into theater: “Gentlemen,” he proclaimed to the assembled militiamen, “my son is no longer mine; he belongs to you and to our nation.”–and the troops roared as Georges stepped forward and stood at attention in his snappy-looking new uniform in the Paris guards. Felix Frestel was his tutor, starting when he was eleven years of age; he was a principal of the College de Plessis, his father’s secondary school, the Lafayettes retained him to tutor their son privately until he was old enough to enroll in classes.

During the Reign of Terror, while Gilbert de Lafayette was in prison and Adrienne was just being arrested. The police nearly to their home, Adrienne ordered a governess to flee with ten year old Virginie to a nearby farmer’s house, while thirteen year old Georges and his tutor Frestel rushed into the woods and fifteen year old Anastasie hid in a secret in cubby in one of the towers. Unaware of her husband’s fate, Adrienne (on house arrest) grew fearful for the survival her only son–the only person who could inherit his father’s name and fortune. Every once and a while, Frestel would descend from the mountain hideaway late at night and report on her son’s health and his future. They agreed on a plan to obtain a false license and passport as a merchant and go to the port at Bordeaux with Georges, who would feign the role of his apprentice.

When Adrienne was released by Elizabeth Monroe’s manipulation, James and Elizabeth Monroe both aided Adrienne in acquiring a fake passport, ID and changed Georges name in order for him to be able to travel to the United States undeterred. Monroe obtained government counterstamps on their passports for them to go to America, with the boy traveling as “George Motier.” Adrienne gave Frestel a letter for president Washington written in French, which she hoped the American president would be able to read and understand:

[Translated French-English] “Sir, I send you my son… It is deep and sincere confidence that I entrust this dear child to the protection of the United States (which he had long regarded as his second country and which I have long regarded as our sanctuary), and to the particular protection of their president, whose feelings towards the boy’s father I well know. The bearer of this latter, sir, has, during our troubles, been our support, our resource, our consolation, my son’s guide. I want him to continue in that role… I want them to remain inseparable until the day we have the joy of reuniting in the land of liberty. I owe my own life and those of my children to this man’s generous attention… My wish is for my son to live in obscurity in America; that he resume the studies that three years of misfortune have interrupted, and that far from lands that might crush his spirit or arouse his violent indignation, he can work to fulfill the responsibilities of a citizen of the United States… I will say nothing here about my own circumstances, nor those of one for whom I feel far greater concern than I do for myself. I leave it to the friend who will present this letter to you to express the feelings of a heart which has suffered too much to be conscious of anything but gratitude, of which I owe much to Mr. Monroe… I beg you, Monsieur Washington, to accept my deepest sense of obligation, confidence, respect and devotion.”

At Olmutz prison, Adrienne coaxed the prison commander to let her write to specific family members, whom she had identified with each letter obtain approval. He read every word she wrote and rejected a letter written to her son. The received occasional news from the outside, the rest of the Lafayette family heard Georges arrived safely in Boston in September of 1795. Adrienne did not know was that her son’s arrival plunged his godfather, the American president, into a potentially embarrassing political and diplomatic situation that posed dangers to the Lafayette family. George Washington was unable to publicly offered sanctuary to Georges in the America because the French might consider it a threat to their neutrality. Washington decided to leave the boy in New England until the government recessed later in the year and he could move to Mount Vernon. Washington asked Massachusetts senator George Cabot to enroll young Lafayette incognito at Harvard college, “the expense of which as also of every other means for his support, I will pay.” Washington also wrote to his godson: “to begin to fulfill my role of father, I advise you to apply yourself seriously to your studies. Your youth should be usefully employed, in order that you may deserve in all respects to be considered as the worthy son of your illustrious father.”

In America, Georges studied at Harvard, was a house guest of George Washington at the presidential mansion in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and at the Washington family home in Mount Vernon, Virginia. Young Lafayette chose to make his way to New York where he waited in hopes to join Washington in Philadelphia and lived with the Washington’s for the next two years. He also stayed with Alexander Hamilton in his New York home.

The Lafayette family, Georges’s two sisters, his mother and his father were released from prison in 1797, but it wasn’t until 1798 that Georges was able to return to France. In February, on a sunny day, Georges–who had just turned nineteen–arrived back in Europe to the embrace of his family; he also brought with him a letter from George Washington. His father had not seen him in six years. Initially at Cambridge, then a few weeks with Alexander Hamilton in New York, before going to the Washingtons in Mount Vernon after the president’s retirement. On his return to France, George first went to Paris, where he found only blackened stone shell of his beautiful boyhood home on the rue de Bourbon. George’s arrival in Holstein revived the spirits of all exiled families.

“He is perfect physically: tall, with a noble and charming face. His temperament is all that we could wish is all that we could wish. He had the same kind heart that you remember, and his mind is far more mature than is usual for his age.” Lafayette wrote to his Aunt. Virginie wrote to her as well, “My brother is grown so tall, that when he arrived we could scarcely recognize him, but we have found all those qualities in him that we always knew. He is just as good a brother as he was at Chavaniac. He is so like Papa that people in the streets can see immediately that his his son.” While attempting to retain the family land that the Lafayette’s lost when it was all confiscated, Adrienne returned to Paris for a second time to try at negotiation–this time she brought Georges with her, who, she believed might intimidate government clerks more than Virginie.

Georges also was a prod at his father, who was writing his Memoires and who would grow impatient when Georges wasn’t there to coax him to write it. Mid-1799, Gilbert grew impatient with Adrienne’s constant absences, “It is two years today, dear Adrienne, since we left the prison to which you came, bringing me consolation and life… How can we arrange our spending the winter together?”

In the Spring of 1802, George Washington de Lafayette married Emilie de Tracy, the daughter of Destutt de Tracy, a renowned philosopher who had served in the Constituent Assembly with Lafayette and as a cavalry commander under him at the frontier in 1792, just before Lafayette fled France. Pere Carrichon, the priest who had blessed three of Adrienne’s family members as they marched up to the guillotine, performed the ceremony. After the wedding, the Lafayette’s and the de Tracy’s went south together for a long visit to the Chavaniac–”to share our new found happiness with our old aunt, who still had all her faculties,” according to Virginie.

Italy rebelled against French rule and Georges and his brother-in-law were called to military service. His mother and his father were responsible for caring for his wife, she had just given birth to a little baby girl. He served as a second lieutenant in the French Army under Napoleon Emperor Napoleon blocked every promotion for Gilbert’s son and sons-in-law, prevented them from ranking up in the army despite the highest recommendations of their commanders. During one battle, George suffered a minor wound saving the life of General Grouchy to whom he was an aide-de-comp for and had given up his horse for during battle.

1805, Russia and Austria joined Britain in a new coalition against France, but French armies swept northward through Austria and crushed a combined Austro-Russian army at the decisive battle of Austerlitz in Moravia (now eastern Czech Republic). Two days later Austria sued for peace, and the Russian army limped home to Mother Russia to lick its wounds. In 1806, Napoleon destroyed the Prussian army at Lena and extended the French empire eastward to Warsaw. With peace at hand, with no chance for promotion, and with their military commitments complete, Georges Washington and his two brother-in-laws resigned their commissions. Although his father grumbled at the emperor’s pettiness, Adrienne rejoiced to have the boys home safely; she wanted no more knights in the family and reveled in the presence of the three young couples and their children, all of whom made La Grange their permanent home.  

August 1807, Georges and his father went to visit the elder Lafayette’s Aunt Charlotte and inspect the Chavaniac properties. In their absence, Adrienne developed terrible pains and high fever; she began vomiting uncontrollably, unable to retain any food or liquid. They moved near Paris and Lafayette and George raced up from Chavaniac from La Grange. Both refusing to leave her bedside.

In March 1814, George introduced his father to the young duc d’Orleans. 1821, they both returned to their home on the rue d’Anjou. In his father’s later years Georges was always hovering at his side. Georges helped him with his Memoires and his voluminous correspondence. At six each evening, the courtyard bell sounded dinner, and as many as thirty people poured into the huge dining room–Lafayette’s children and grandchildren. Virginie and Anastasie sat opposite their father as hostesses, Georges always sat beside him. 1820, thirty nine year old Georges and Lafayette organized a group of young liberals into a new political club, Les Amis de la Liberte de la Presse. In the Autumn of 1821, King Louis XVIII posted spies outside La Grange, considering arresting Lafayette and Georges.

On Gilbert de Lafayette’s last trip to America, Georges accompanied him. “My brave light infantry!” his father cried out once, “That is exactly how their uniforms looked. What courage! How I loved them!” In an accident, a boat they were taking sunk and they were assured into lifeboats and rowed to shore. At bunker hill, Lafayette gathered soil from the ground, placing it into a tiny flask and told Georges to sprinkle the soil across his grave when he passed so that he would be apart of two countries when he was buried. Throughout most of the trip, he stayed close company with his father’s secretary, Auguste Levasseur. They visited Mount Vernon again and Georges got to meet Thomas Jefferson at Monticello. 1826, Lafayette and his son thought of America and sailed away towards home.

In 1832, Lafayette sent Georges back to La Grange to help Anastasie and Virginie cope with the needs of the family and the villagers,while he remained in Paris to help the government deal with the emergency. During the battle of the Bastille, Georges managed to hustle his father from the fighting and blood. After the death of his father, Georges Washington covered his father’s coffin with the dirt they gathered at bunker hill.

Georges Washington de Lafayette had five children total with his wife, Emilie de Tracy:

Oscar Thomas Gilbert Motier de Lafayette (1815–1881) was educated at the École Polytechnique and served as an artillery officer in Algeria. He entered the Chamber of Deputies in 1846 and voted with the extreme Left. After the revolution of 1848, he received a post in the provisional government; as a member of the Constituent Assembly, he became secretary of the war committee. After the dissolution of the Legislative Assembly in 1851, he retired from public life, but emerged on the establishment of the third republic, becoming a life senator in 1875.

Edmond Motier de Lafayette (1818–1890) shared his brother’s political opinions and was one of the secretaries of the Constituent Assembly and a member of the senate from 1876 to 1888.

Natalie de Lafayette who married Adolphe Périer, a banker and nephew of Casimir Pierre Périer.

Matilde de Lafayette who married Maurice de Pusy (1799–1864, son of Jean-Xavier Bureau de Pusy).

Clementine de Lafayette who married Gustave de Beaumont.

None can direct agnatic claim to the Lafayette name. It disappeared after Georges sons both died before having a male son. He spent the remaining years immediately following his father’s death organizing Lafayette’s letters, speeches and papers and compiling together his Memoires and more of his writing which was published in a six volumes in Paris in 1837-1838 he retained is seat in the Chamber of Deputies until the summer of 1849, remaining a loyal member of the ultra liberal minority his father had organized to oppose the restrictive dicta of King Louis Philippe. He lived to see the third French revolution of his life in 1848. 1848, Georges won reelection to his old seat in the Chamber of Deputies, but he failed to win the following year. He died in November 1849, never achieving the celebrity of his father.

2

Bi-partisan co-chairs of Congressional HIV/AIDS Caucus urge Trump to take action to end epidemic

  • Throughout his campaign and tenure as president thus far, Donald Trump has remained relatively mum on the issue of HIV/AIDS. 
  • But in a letter sent to the president on Tuesday, the co-chairs of the Congressional HIV/AIDS Caucus urged him to continue decades of effort to make battling the epidemic a public health priority at the federal level.
  • “As co-chairs of the bipartisan and bicameral Congressional HIV/AIDS Caucus, we write to encourage you to continue the long-standing American commitment to the fight against HIV/AIDS, both here at home and abroad,” the letter, signed by Reps. Barbara Lee (D-Calif.) and Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (R-Fla.), reads.
  • “The Trump administration has a simple choice to make,” Lee said in a statement to Mic. "The United States can either continue building on our bipartisan legacy on HIV/AIDS, or we can retreat from our leadership in the world.“      
  • In the letter, Lee and Ros-Lehtenin call on Trump to continue support for the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief — a federal initiative created by former President George W. Bush — which they laud for increasing the number of people receiving treatment for the deadly disease by "nearly 11.5 million” over the last two decades. Read more (3/14/17 4:09 PM)
| Captive | King George III

*Princess Augusta, King George III’s mother, died three years before the start of the American Revolution, but events have been changed to match the oneshot.

*Also, this is the first time I realized King George and Washingdad have the same name as I was writing. I’m an idiot.


“You have a letter Mr. President.”

“What?” George’s tone was harsh, unforgiving. The man delivering said letter jumped in alarm and George sighed, calming himself down.

“I’m sorry,” His voice was tired, dark purple bags lining themselves underneath his eyelids. He brushed a hand up his face, sighing deeply. The man had been having the worst few months in his existence. His daughter, his precious girl, had disappeared right under his nose. There was a full watch sent out, a large sum of money being given to anyone who could bring you home.

Of course many people had tried to bring forth people who looked similar to you and get the reward, but George wasn’t an idiot. He knew his daughter down to the very quirk of your lips.

But it had just passed the benchmark of three months. Rumors had started to brew in the streets. What if you had simply run away? George had dismissed such claims  at the beginning but now he began to worry. Had he been hard on you? Was it the revolution? Did you truly feel suppressed enough to run away from him?

“Well?” He asked, becoming irritated again at the man who had hesitated to step forward.

“Ah…we haven’t opened it out of respect for your privacy but…” He bit his lip.

“Be curt young man!” George pursed his lips. The man winced.

“It is signed from King George III,” The man swallowed.

George felt his world stop.

What.

“And? Bring it forward,” He reigned in his absolute shock in mind of his company. The man placed the letter on his desk before saluting and exiting the room on rushed legs.

“Poor lad,” George muttered, trailing the edges of the letter with his fingers. Such an innocent envelope, yet looking to hold the weight of the world.

He took in a deep breath to steel himself and opened it slowly, unfolding the paper.

Washy!

Hello old pal! It has come to my knowledge that you are growing funnier than ever, rounding up that little army of yours. I have no doubts in who will win this petty little war you’ve started, but I suppose it would be good to have a few cards to deal with on my side in case of any surprising and impossible forth-comings.  

I looked into every corner of your life, and I came to find something I never noticed before. It was too interesting for me to simply put aside, and so I’m afraid I had to take it. What was the little thing’s name? Ah yes! Y/N was it?

Don’t worry about her. I delayed this letter to give you ample time to lose your wits in search for her in a land where she no longer stands, and so by the time this arrives I am confident you would be quite hysterical. Delightful isn’t it?

So yes, I have her, she’s my hostage, blah blah blah. I’ll be keeping her I’m afraid until I have you successfully back under my colonial rule. She misses you terribly I think, won’t stop blabbing. Although she did become rather quiet of late….do you suppose I’ve broken her?

Anywho, I give my utmost preeminent regards!

Toodledoo!

Your loving ruler,

King George III

George stared. He let his eyes roam over the ink twice, five times, ten, till every word had been memorized, till he was sure he hadn’t let anything go by.

His hand holding the parchment shook, something burning in his nose and wetly behind his eyes. Intense worry and despair flooded his senses before it was replaced by a burning anger that made his vision go red.

His fingers tightened into a fist, crushing the letter with one action, now shaking for another reason entirely.

“General?” A commander knocked briefly before entering. “The ranks would like to know if- General?”

George’s eyes were covered by the shadow of his own face before he looked up, and the commander stiffened, feeling ice cold fear run through him at the bloodthirsty fire encompassing those usual warm brown orbs.

George smiled, and it was feral. “Gather the men.”


Your nail scratched down the wall.

The coarse, uncomfortable feeling no longer bothered you as it had the first time, and you gazed blankly at the tally mark finishing the five. The entire east corner of the room’s wall had been covered in similar tallies, one each day, leading up to where you now stood.

“Day 120,” You murmured, not bothering to push back a lock of hair than invaded your line of sight. One more day, and you would have been here four months.

Four months.

Four months without the American soil beneath your feet. Four months without so much as a glimpse at the blue sky. Four months without your father’s gummy smile.

At first you’d been thrown into a cell. After being drugged and carted over the sea for days, you awoke to captivity. You had been provided little food, no warmth, staying in the same dirty clothes for weeks. You had freaked out more or less, keeping yourself sane with delusions that someone would be coming to save you.

But nobody came.

And soon logic overtook your emotions. Why would they? No one knew where you were, so how could they possibly rescue you? And even if King George - you thought the name in disgust - sent word over to the west, it would be at least 4-6 weeks before a letter could even travel that far.

So you stopped your sniveling, put your chin high, and reminded yourself that you were the daughter of the goddamn general of America and you would not break.

The moment you’d stopped being overly sentimental, you were transferred to this room. It was utterly different than the dank, dark tomb of a cell you’d been objected to for weeks. It was prim, proper, had a king sized bed, fitted with a dresser and mirrors and curtains that looked to be more expensive than your life. Servants came in and dressed you in magnificent gowns, complete with makeup and the standard white wig on top your head. The minute they left you tore it off.

What almost made you shatter was the shower that you’d been able to take. You vowed to not give in to whatever game he was playing, but didn’t object to taking an hour long bath with the lavender soap in the cubicle.

They had hot water. Hot water. Was this a magical kingdom?

You digress.

Of course you knew what was happening. He must have wanted you to develop some kind on Stockholm Syndrome towards him, where you’d be lathered in positive attention after dark treatment and grow an attachment to him.

Yeah right.

You might be a woman, but you weren’t an idiot, no matter what majority of men may believe about your gender.

Y/N~”

There he was.

You had heard the calling so many times now that you could distinguish it from five miles away. The amount of loathing that came over you was enough for you to want to change your name just so that you wouldn’t have to hear it ever again in that doting tone.

The door creaked open, but you didn’t turn around.

“Y/N~!” The voice was more crisp, clear, endeared with a British accent you had been taught to despise. “I see you’re still marking the walls!”

You didn’t open your mouth.

“The silent treatment again?” You could practically hear the pout in his voice. “It’s gotten old now, dear. What must I do to get you to talk?”

The bed creaked and you knew he had fallen down languidly on the mattress, but you kept your vision aligned with the wall.

“Should I pry that pretty little mouth open?” He mused. You shivered at his words. Your father had had you at a  young age, barely nineteen. He had described you as a ‘miracle baby’, but all that meant was that he hadn’t expected to have you, and you knew it. You didn’t even know who your real mother was, but you had long since forgiven him for that. He was young and made a mistake. At least he didn’t abandon you.

Added to the fact that King George was almost ten years younger than your father, the king was actually not lengths away from your own age, which disturbed you on too many levels to comprehend.

“Or maybe cut those fingers off till you scream?” He continued, now talking to himself, unaware of the effect it had on you. Or was he? “Anything would be better than this annoying childish behaviour.”

Childish? Childish?

You had to restrain yourself to not pounce on him the instant.

“Though I guess I could just send word to old Washy that I killed you. That would surely send him to his grave with worry.”

You broke.

“Don’t you dare,” Your voice was heavy with anger as you whipped around. Widened chocolate eyes regarded you in surprise, a grin stretching across flawless skin.

“Ah so she speaks” He exclaimed giddily. You immediately wanted to calm up again, but it was of no use. You had already given him his victory.

“What are you here for today?” You asked, even though you knew. Its what he came for everyday. As a King you would think he had his schedule full, but he somehow made time every single day to come and pester you for the same thing.

“Oh you already know darling. So why don’t we make this easier on both of us?”

“I’m not becoming a spy for you,” You muttered, voice robotic. You had repeated the words so many times it was second nature. “I will not become a prostitute or anything of the matter. I definitely will not give you any information regarding the plans of my father for the war-”

“-and I will not succumb to any of your wishes,” He finished for you, rolling his eyes, and lolling his head back, shifting into a more comfortable position in which he could still see your face. “I know the drill princess. Then what good are you for?”

Your mouth shut. The playful tone had been sucked out of his atmosphere entirely at the last sentence, his eyes alight with something hypnotic, menacing, intimidation slamming over your head so quickly you froze up entirely. You were sure you were about to be sentenced to death then and there, but then he was back and the monster was gone, a smile lighting up his face, forming tiny dimples along his cheeks and crinkles around his eyes.

“I’m just messing with you!” He said, getting up from the sheets and patting your back roughly. You flinched at the touch, deciding to scrub extra hard in the tub today. “I do hope you change your mind tomorrow! My patience does have a limit.”

You were given a glimpse at the insanity that lay beneath the surface of the cheer and exuberance as his gaze flashed something predatory before he was literally prancing out of the room, humming a catchy tune underneath his breath.

You collapsed onto the wall as soon as he left, your mask gone as you put your face in your hands. A shaking sigh left your mouth as you shuddered, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming onslaught of moisture that flooded your eyes.

Dad, please come quick.


The door opened.

You glared at the recent tally mark of 130. “You’re here early today. What? Got bored with terrorizing innocent subjects?” You could be killed for your talk to such an important figure, but you knew he wouldn’t harm you, and frankly you didn’t care. You knew he needed you as a ransom.

There was no answer, and you turned around in confusion, just in time for him to wrap his arms around you.

Panic flared within you but only skyrocketed as he dragged you down to the mattress. You kicked at him frantically, assuming the worst. No no you weren’t ready, you weren’t for use, he couldn’t take this from you you wouldn’t let him-

Confusion sprouted next as he didn’t lay any perverted touches on you, simply keeping you tight in his hold and burying his head into your hair. The soft but ragged breathing told you he was awake, but you didn’t dare move if he was unstable. You’d witnessed his absolute insanity before, and you didn’t feel like being at the end of it.

But why was he doing this? Was this another tactic?

But then why was he shaking?

So you stayed still, highly attentive, until he relaxed against you and his breaths evened out. Against everything you were, you let him hold you, ignoring the waves of revulsion rolling on your skin. You absentmindedly eyed a pair of scissors on the dressing table. You could easily slip out of his hold and stab him before anyone knew, take the life of the man who had ruined yours.

The thought ran through your mind another time before you disregarded it. Not now. Not only did you think you wouldn’t have the ability to actually bring yourself to commit the act, but killing someone in their sleep was probably the most cowardly of cowardly acts.

Does cowardice really matter when you are a prisoner? A voice whispered temptingly from the dark abyss of your mind. You crushed it.

You were not that type of person.

It was only later when you had been left alone again without a word from the king, that you discovered what had happened. There were hushed talks among the servants, the nobles outside your door.

The king’s sick and weak mother had finally died of laryngeal cancer in her sleep.

You were unsure how to feel.

At one end you absolutely wanted to have no feelings of remorse or pity towards George. But on the other you were far more concerned of why exactly he had come to you for comfort.

Why you? Were you not a mere captive?  A hostage?

Then you looked back. Every day.  He had visited you every day. You couldn’t bear to admit it, but even you grew used to his visits, and came to expect them with some anticipation. (If only to imagine ripping those pretty eyes from his skull). He must have grown attached to you at some point as well.

Could he have possibly grown a….liking towards you?

The thought was ridiculous but the evidence proved otherwise. And if so…if so…

You grinned slowly at your reflection in the mirror.

Maybe you weren’t the hostage anymore.


He continued to come. Earlier and earlier every day. You didn’t change your attitude towards him too quickly, knowing that you had to concoct your plan slowly in order for there to be no suspicion whatsoever.

But you ever so slowly changed the game. You began to face him when he came in instead of away. You let your hand ‘accidentally’ brush against his side. You made an effort to look presentable when he came in.

You even ripped a small piece of your mask away to allow yourself to give him a real smile once.

And you could feel him beginning to turn into putty in your hand. Your father would be proud of you, you thought. For tricking the enemy so well.

(Or would he? Allowing yourself to manipulate another so easily?)

And one fateful night, when George was tired, and it had been a hard day on him, and your eyes had been shining so brilliantly in the light of the candle-

You did nothing when his lips came down on yours, merely tightened a fist behind your back and brought the other to gently touch his cheek.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You had turned the tables successfully. You had him under just as much control as he thought he still had you under.

It was funny really.

You began to think of ways to escape. It had taken you so long to get him to trust you, but maybe a few more months and he would let you go outside, and then from there you could begin putting out plans to get back home.

Home.

The word seemed so far away, and yet so close.

America, wait for me.


One evening you were sitting upright the headrest on the bed, George’s head on your shoulder, the room silent. It was the rare occasion his customary royalty wig wasn’t on, and his soft brown curls brushed against your cheek.

He looked much better in your opinion. Not that you cared.

“Y/N?”

“mm?”

His eyes stared into space, as if he was seeing something you weren’t.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a minute you felt dread tinge your tongue. He hadn’t figured you out had he? You forced yourself to calm down. “Doing what?”

“This,” He shifted his eyes so that they were boring into yours, and it was as if he was unraveling your very soul. “I thought you had accepted this to ask of something of me, or try and grasp your freedom, but you’ve done nothing of the sort. What do you hope to accomplish?”

He must have been really tired if he was spilling his guts to you. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.

“Do I need to accomplish something?” Answer another question with a question, your dad’s voice lectured in your mind. Don’t ever let them see weakness.

“I would think so,” His voice was silk, rushing over your ears, causing you to relax your own guard much more than you wanted. “Unless you are idiotic enough to gain romantic inhibitions to your captor.”

“Well then I shall say the same to you,” You countered. “How does one gain such feelings toward their captive?”

“Touche,” He laughed before regaining his quiet. You grew worried. He had never been this sober before. Was there something seriously wrong?

“I am never letting you go,” He said suddenly. You blinked, but didn’t reply. His grip on your hand grew slightly tighter. “My sweet, submissive subject.”

You couldn’t help the adamant scowl that pulled your lips. Submissive??

“But you’re not,” He amended, watching the change in your face, eyebrows furrowing in uncertainty. “You have fire. And intelligence, almost. You are the strangest woman I have ever met.”

You stared back, struck speechless by his gaze. And for the first time, you found yourself leaning forward as well when he captured your lips with his, deepening the embrace till you grew hot with passion and thoughtless as you were pressed down into the mattress.


A knock on the door.

“George,” you said immediately. “Yo-”

An unfamiliar man stood there instead, a complacent smile on his face. You cleared your throat after staring in surprise.

“Ah, hello,” The man said, voice a deep richness, lines between his eyes that betrayed the amount of times he smiled.

There was a certain twinkle in those eyes as he walked towards you, his steps kept together and his back straight. He lifted a tape measure. “I am merely your new tailor, madame. Please let down your guard.”

You vaguely wondered what had happened to the other woman but nodded, loosening the tightness in your shoulders.

He was gentle as he lifted your arms and zipped around you, wrapping the measure around your waist and up your side. As he lifted your hair to stretch the surface of the material against you neck, he began to speak again.

“May I ask you your name, miss?”

“Y/N,” You said quietly.

“Lovely,” he complimented, and it wasn’t sleazy in any way, but completely genuine.

“Thank you,” A heat flushed up your neck and pooled in your cheeks at the gesture.

“Where did you get it?”

“My…father said it was the first thing he thought of when he gazed at my eyes,” You murmured, mood dampened extremely.

He hummed. “Interesting. I’m sure Washington wouldn’t like to hear you sound so downcast speaking of it though.”

You tensed. “What?” You tried to get away from the man but his hold on your shoulder increased so that you couldn’t - yet it was still somehow gentle.

“I mean what I said.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and he was whispering in your ear, even as he continued to look to an outsider as if he were taking your measurements. “Your father has sent for you. I will leave the door open when I leave, and you must follow my instructions.”

You nodded, befuddled, but feeling hope bubble up in your chest.

“Good. Now go left, and continue for about fifty feet before making a right then immediate right again. You will run into a baker, who is not one at all, and he will lead you out of the castle and to the harbour where a ship awaits to take you back to the mainland. Keep your head down, and your face hidden. Walk as if you have a destination, but do not stand out.”

You could only nod again, overwhelmed but committing every word to your memory.

“Oh and,” He straightened, hanging the measure around his neck once more. A wink was sent your way, a cheeky grin making it onto his handsome face. “Good luck.”

He went to walk out the door but you stopped him.

“W-Wait!” You said. He stopped and you stammered. “May I have your name?”

He contemplated for a second before smirking. “Mulligan. Hercules Mulligan. Now make haste Y/N Washington.”

With that he had swept out like he was never there, footsteps light and making no sound.

You stood there, watching the indeed open door, mind racing a mile a minute.

A tailor spying on the British government? Was this a trick? Was George seeing if you would run away given the chance? Or was this real? Were you really being rescued?

You turmoil-ed over the notion for several more seconds but every moment that grew on had you looking at the sliver of light shining in from the open door..

You made your choice.

And with that you slipped out the door.


“Ready, Madame?”

You jumped. “Huh? Ah yes…”

The baker-but-not-really, held out a hand, the sea-spray of the harbour assaulting your nose, and the wind whipping your hair. He had a foot aboard the plank of the ship, but you were still on the ground. You rose one foot but were confused when you paused. What were you waiting for? Wasn’t this freedom?

Brown eyes, and a childish grin, feet skipping out of the room.

No.

No.

You didn’t - you couldn’t -

Please no, you thought. I couldn’t possibly be…

The smell of his skin, incense and mint, the sensation of his mouth on yours.

You wanted to rip your hair out. NO. This wasn’t happening.

You blamed the salty air for your eyes tearing up as you accepted your helper’s hand and stepped up onto the ship.

You blamed the rocking of the boat and sea sickness for the lurching of your heart as England’s harbour grew further away.

You closed your eyes and thought of your father’s smile, drowning out everything else.

You were going home.


Where is she?!”

The adviser grimaced as another vase crashed to the floor.

“Sir-” Another crash, this time the desk against the wall, broken and tumbling to the ground. The sheets were torn, curtains ripped apart. “We can only assume she is back in the west. She was seen by a witness with a man in a baker’s attire, heading towards the harbour.”

King George grew unnaturally calm. “The harbour? Was she struggling? Putting up a fight?”

The adviser stepped back, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “N-No sir. It is most probable she simply fled. She was a prisoner after all.”

“Fled…She fled…” King George mumbled, chuckling. The adviser swallowed, bowing slightly and excusing himself from the room in rightful fear of his life for delivering the news.

King George was a mess, hair in chaos, his crown on the floor, his whole body quivering in mad laughter.

An image of you smiling back home and expressing your freedom, taunted him. Betrayal and anger stirred deep in his chest but all he did was laugh.

His palm covered his face as he trembled, now bellowing full rolls of hysterics. “She fled!

The laughs simmered down to giggles as he braced himself against a wall, smiling through the spaces of his fingers.

“Y/N…oh Y/N…” A psychotic glint passed his eyes, white teeth splitting his lips in a grin. “You think you’ve escaped…”

You jumped into your father’s arms, feeling yourself encased in his strong hold as he kissed you all over, warm in his embrace. Yet you felt as if something was incomplete, apprehension still hanging over you as a tension you couldn’t shake.

This is just the beginning.”


[MasterList]

I don’t post a lot on social media these days and I rarely if ever post anything personal. But I have two personal stories that I’ve never really told publicly that I feel I need to tell today.

About seven years ago there was a letter in my mailbox from the White House. To be clear, not just the White House, but from the newly elected President Of The United States. Wow, maybe this had something to do with his appearance in an issue of Amazing Spider-Man, but oddly enough it was addressed to my then 8 year old daughter. It seems that unbeknownst to her parents, my little girl mailed a letter to President Obama wishing him well and offering him advice as only an 8 year old could.

And he wrote back.

In the letter he thanked and commending her for passing along her thoughts and engaging in this wonderful thing we call Democracy. To this day I still tear up remembering the look on her face as she read that letter realizing that not only did the President Of The United States write back, but that she lived in a country in which this was possible.

Two years later I was sitting in my office at Marvel when my phone rings and a gentlemen claiming to be an assistant to the President Of The United States tells me that the POTUS would like to commission me to do a piece of art for him. Thinking it was a prank I told him I’d love to discuss it further but I was rushing off to a meeting and would gladly call him back. I took down his info, did a quick Google search and confirmed that the number on my caller I.D. was indeed coming from an office in the White House. Wait, what?!?

As it turned out a close friend of the President, Patrick Gaspard, who was the Director of the White House Office of Political Affairs, was leaving to take on his new role as the Director of the Democratic National Committee. Mr. Gaspard happened to be a HUGE Marvel Comics fan. We’re talking a full on True Believer since childhood, and President Obama thought that a perfect parting gift for his service to the administration would be a custom piece of art featuring Mr. Gaspard, himself and several Marvel heroes standing in front of the White House and for some godforsaken reason he was asking me to draw it. I of course had to get approval from the highest levels of Marvel where it was met with nothing but enthusiasm and a big thumbs up.

Now as unlikely as all of this sounds, nothing was more surreal than when I was sending off rough sketches to White House for the President’s approval and getting back notes. I’d never been more thrilled to get art revisions in my life! Once the piece was finished inked and colored by Danny Miki and Richard Isanove respectfully, I received word that the President was thrilled with the results and Mr. Gaspard was over the moon with the final framed surprise gift.

Admittedly, for those close to me that knew about the assignment, I’d make it a point to boast as often as I could that I was now officially the very first United States Sequential Artist Laureate. Quite frankly, I don’t see why that shouldn’t be a thing.

A short time later I was at San Diego Comicon signing books at the Marvel booth when someone extended a hand for me to shake. I looked up and the gentlemen said, “Do you recognize me?” How could I not, I had spent a week drawing him. It was of course Mr. Gaspard and he wanted to thank me personally for the art and to express how much Marvel had meant to him growing up and still means to him today. Patrick and I have kept in touch ever since and while his current tenure as Ambassador to South Africa is coming to an end, I’m looking forward to catching up with him when he’s back in the States and making good on my promise to bring him on to the set of Defenders or taking him to a Mets game.

And yes, I was lucky enough to meet President Obama. like I said, I don’t usually like to post things of a personal nature, but today I feel compelled to simply convey my own humble experience of having the great honor of meeting the most powerful man on the planet when he was in office. A man who was nothing but kind, appreciative and generous to me, who demonstrating a genuine love for the medium of comics and took more time than he ever needed to to express his appreciation for the work I created and the medium of comics itself. The same man who also took time to write a simple yet eloquent response in 2009 to a little girl who express love and hope, not for herself, but for her President and his future.

Godspeed President Obama, thank you for your service. I have no doubt and look forward to how you will continue to serve and change our world for the better.

Joe Quesada

A letter to America from Leslie Knope, regarding Donald Trump

(Written by a member of the Parks and Recreation writing staff - Read the full letter here)

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, superego!)

Our president-elect is everything you should abhor and fear in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you. And when the time comes, you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty, misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Meta

There’s been posts on my dash about Tony’s involvement in the Maximoff parent’s deaths so I thought I’d throw in my own two cents with a comparison.

Facts

1. Tony Stark might have designed the bomb, or someone else at his company might have, or somebody could have made a copycat bomb and painted the word Stark on it.

2. Tony only knowingly sold bombs to the american government, which means even if he did design the bomb it was probably sold behinds his back on the black market. 

3. Tony did not personally fire the weapon, and the person who did fire the weapon is far more culpable for the deaths it caused.

4. Tony regrets his involvement in the creation of any weapons that were used against innocent people. 

Now the Comparison

1. Albert Einstein was loosely involved in the creation of the A-bomb which was dropped on Japan at the end of world war 2

2. Albert Einstein wrote a letter to the president urging him to have the bomb built.

3. The A-bomb was dropped on japan killing a lot of people.

4. Albert Einstein later regretted writing that letter, and his involvement in building the A-bomb

The difference, if someone had tried to kill Einstein for his involvement in the Atomic bomb we would think they were crazy, the blame clearly lies with the war itself, and the person who ordered it be fired. How is the situation with Sokovia any different?

Four score and seven years ago our SUGAR DADDIES brought 4th on this CUNTinent, a 🆕 nation, conceived in LiberDICK 🇺🇸🍆, and deDICKated💦🙌🏽 to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged💍😩 in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so CUMceived👉🏾👌 and so deDICKated, can long shlong endure all night long 👏🏾🌙. We are met on a great SEXtion of this here battle-field of that war. We have come to deDICKate a SEXtion of that ASS🍑😍, as a final resting bed🛏 for those who here gave their dicks that that nation might live for that BOOTY👌🏿. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do 👉🏾👌🏻 this. But, in a larger 🍆😜 sense, we can not deDICKate – we can not conSUCKrate – we can not SWALLOW, I mean Hallow – this ground😝👊. The brave DADDIES, living and dead😔, who struggled here, have CUMsecrated it💦, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long 🤔🤔🤔remember what we say here 😉🗣, but it can never forget what they did here 😏💯👌🏿if u know I mean🍑🍆. It is for us the living😜, rather, to be deDICKated here to the unfinished work 👅. which THE DADDIES here have thus far so nobly🏆 ASSvanced. It is rather for us to be here deDICKated to the great task remaining before us – to get that presidential dick!!👌🏿 that from these honored dead 🇺🇸 we take increased 💊 devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of BIG dick! & devotion – that we here highly🍁💨 resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain☠⚰ – that this SLUTTY nation, under Daddy Jesus✝, shall have a new KINKY birth of freeDICK – and that CUMvernment of the peNIS, by the peNIS , for the peNIS, shall not perish from the earth 🌎⭐️.

In ireland If you don’t get killed or die or murdered by the time you’re 100 years old, you get a letter from the president & cheque for €2,540. 423 people made it that far in 2013. also the president isn’t the one in charge here. he just does useless things like writes letters to elderly humans that wont die

Dear President Obama,

We are 15 of the last doctors serving the remaining 300,000 citizens of eastern Aleppo. Regime troops have sought to surround and blockade the entire east of the city. Their losses have meant that a trickle of food has made its way into eastern Aleppo for the first time in weeks. Whether we live or die seems to be dependent on the ebbs and flows of the battlefield.

We have seen no effort on behalf of the United States to lift the siege or even use its influence to push the parties to protect civilians.

For five years, we have faced death from above on a daily basis. But we now face death from all around. For five years, we have borne witness as countless patients, friends and colleagues suffered violent, tormented deaths. For five years, the world has stood by and remarked how ‘complicated’ Syria is, while doing little to protect us. Recent offers of evacuation from the regime and Russia have sounded like thinly-veiled threats to residents – flee now or face annihilation ?

Last month, there were 42 attacks on medical facilities in Syria, 15 of which were hospitals in which we work. Right now, there is an attack on a medical facility every 17 hours. At this rate, our medical services in Aleppo could be completely destroyed in a month, leaving 300,000 people to die.

What pains us most, as doctors, is choosing who will live and who will die. Young children are sometimes brought into our emergency rooms so badly injured that we have to prioritize those with better chances, or simply don’t have the equipment to help them. Two weeks ago, four newborn babies gasping for air suffocated to death after a blast cut the oxygen supply to their incubators. Gasping for air, their lives ended before they had really begun.

Despite the horror, we choose to be here. We took a pledge to help those in need.

Our dedication to this pledge is absolute. Some of us were visiting our families when we heard the city was being besieged. So we rushed back - some on foot because the roads were too dangerous. Because without us even more of our friends and neighbors will die. We have a duty to remain and help.

Continued US inaction to protect the civilians of Syria means that our plight is being wilfully tolerated by those in the international corridors of power. The burden of responsibility for the crimes of the Syrian government and its Russian ally must therefore be shared by those, including the United States, who allow them to continue.

Unless a permanent lifeline to Aleppo is opened it will be only a matter of time until we are again surrounded by regime troops, hunger takes hold and hospitals’ supplies run completely dry. Death has seemed increasingly inescapable. We do not need to tell you that the systematic targeting of hospitals by Syrian regime and Russian warplanes is a war crime. We do not need to tell you that they are committing atrocities in Aleppo.

We do not need tears or sympathy or even prayers, we need your action. Prove that you are the friend of Syrians.

Yours,

Dr. Abu Al Baraa, Pediatrician
Dr. Abu Tiem, Pediatrician
Dr. Hamza, Manager
Dr. Yahya, Pediatrician and head of Nutrition Program
Dr. Munther, Orthopedics
Dr. Abu Mohammad, General Surgeon
Dr. Abu Abdo, General Surgeon
Dr. Abd Al Rahman, Urologic Resident
Dr. Abu Tareq, ER Doctor
Dr. Farida, OBGYN
Dr. Hatem, Hospital Director
Dr. Usama, Pediatrician
Dr. Abu Zubeir, Pediatrician
Dr. Abu Maryam, Pediatric Surgeon
Dr. Abo Bakr, Neurologist