they killed him a year ago

Things I’ve heard in my Latin class

- “Why am I crying over a dog that died 2000 years ago?!”

- *reading* ”Barbillus was annoyed by the slave so he decided to kill him. Yeah sounds about right.”

- “We know like 5 words for ‘dead’ but how do you say yes?!?!”

- “Come on, Quintus. Take the dog, not the freedman!”

- “Quintus is totally gay with him.” “Dude, he’s like 60.”

- “Are we sure that these people are straight?”

- *whispering* “You’re a very naughty slave-girl.”

- “Are Metella and Melissa together?”

- “Why am I here?”

- “I’m regretting everything.”

- “frustra” *nearly starts crying*

- “You can only die once.” “Unless you’re immortal.” *teacher stops lesson to talk about Hercules*

- “I’m still bitter over Cerberus.”

- “It’s king Cogidubro!” “Dude, Cogidubnus is really old and disabled.” “Oh yeah.”

- *reading* “When he heard this, he set his cheek on fire. Wait, what?”

- “Wait are they still in the rose garden.”

- “Oh someone died. Surprise.”

your father was an inventor. you knew better than to trust him in the center of town. he came home with scrap metal and built ships to glide on the grass. when you were young, you loved him for making. for a brief five years, you hated him, embarrassed of the town loon, embarrassed of what raised you.

but time shifts things. the man in town wants to marry you. a beautiful man by every account, and you hear many accounts. your nose in books doesn’t stop the stories of him: Gaston, bright, young, proud. Gaston, who could hunt and carve and flex his muscles. who forgot even himself what was true and what was fiction. it is a small village in paris, at the base of a kingdom. he is the bachelor you should have your heart set on. 

you try to teach yourself to love him. he grins at you over beer mugs. never reads the books you suggest to him, drops one in the mud. and one night you hear him, drunk and singing, laughing with the others about your father, the crazy.

that night your father brings you a single white rose from a garden. you kiss your father and think of Gaston’s log cabin, where you could live in comfort.

they come for your father in the night. he is the property of the prince, on account of theft. his hands should be cut off and sewn to the walls of his house, to remind him of his failures. an inventor without hands is a death sentence. they come with fire and hatred. rip you out of bed. your knees hit the mud. you’re too small to fight them. they tear your father away from you, and your heart out of your chest.

you run to gaston. tall, fast, manly. you beg him. it’s a mistake, you cry, you must help - you gulp - and then we will marry. 

gaston laughs and slams oak door against nose. you stumble back, feeling like a knife is in your throat. you take the wagon horse and ride improper, legs spread and bent forward, none of the lady your mother would have wanted. you ride for the life of your father.

at the door of the castle you stop. it is raining. you shout and rave and beg anything. take me, you scream, if you’re listening i’ll do anything. what do you promise on that doorstep, crying yourself empty? what do you promise to keep him alive, to keep him whole, to keep him healthy?

the door opens late. no one is there. you remember, suddenly, the tale of the beast who lives here, who ate the prince, who is terrifying. you think you hear your father and suddenly you are running, following his voice down dark hallways with no ending. 

he is in a cell. his head is bleeding. you feel your breath hitch. 

“will you?” a voice says, “will you trade yourself for your father, take responsibility for his sin?”

“he’s innocent,” you snarl, “you animals.”

“the rose, belle,” he whispers, and you stare at him. a white rose that is wilting beside your bedside would have been the death of him.

“take me,” you say, somehow empty and full at the same time, “if that’s what you need.”

the first night is ugly. you spend it crying. 

over time, the castle learns you, and you learn it. you think you are imagining the talking furniture for most of it. invisible hands whisk food in and out, bring you ball gowns and petticoats and delicate flowers. 

and always, the beast. at first, you were terrified of it. always in the shadows. moving like a ghost, prowling. tall, slim. menacing. never showing any skin, any proof it might be human.

but time and comfort destroy fears. you don’t run when it is in the room, you no longer shield your face in fear. it wears a mask, and this is how you know it really must be beastly. 

it is the second winter when you, playing snowball fights with the statues - you manage to hit the beast in the face. you freeze, and the panic from the day they took your father returns in a firework.

but then the beast is throwing back. and you are laughing. the next morning it is at breakfast with you, and lunch. it comes and goes, and never speaks. laughs, sometimes, you think. talks with its hands. the furniture translates. you learn, because you are good at learning. the hands that mean can i come in? the hands that mean are you hungry? the hands that mean is it okay if i read next to you, here this book is good, i found this for you.

each morning you wake up with white roses by your bedside. you learn to talk a little louder than you’re used to, to move your own hands in a way that acknowledges the beast. it is strange that you were a quiet girl and now you are comfortable shouting. the two of you have your own language, together. it teaches you swordfighting, you teach it dancing. it teaches you archery and you teach it cooking. you walk through the gardens together. there are moments where your hands touch and for some reason you blush like it was kissing. you’ve never had someone who understands you so completely. sometimes you tell it about far-away stories. sometimes you tell it about your village. and sometimes, when you are raw, you tell it about gaston and the marriage you didn’t want and your father and his insanity

one of these nights the beast brings you the mirror. you cry when you see your father. and the beast is pulling you, running, picking out a horse from the stables, gesturing. go, go. you cry when you leave.

you save your father. tell him you’ll bring him back to the beast. do you talk too loud? is gaston only mad you never belonged to him? when the raid starts, you are still taking care of your father. outside, voices, ringing. kill the beast. you think of hands, dancing in the air to speak, and you think you have never heard something so ugly. you’re ashamed to be this species.

you ride in their wake, your father safe. you ride that same panicked race as three years ago to the day. 

you fight, because the beast taught you how. the castle fights, because it is protecting its life. and the beast - you watch the flash of a blade, careful not to kill - the ability you once mistook for savagery. 

it isn’t enough. gaston, and a gun. the three of you stand on the balcony, you in between. again you are begging this man, who means nothing. “leave the beast,” you say, “take me.”

“i’ll have both,” he says, and shoots. you feel the bullet streak by you. the beast is all movement, has pushed you out of the way. they grapple, and you scream when the beast falls, skittering. gaston marches over and you move without thinking. he falls into the night silently. 

you can’t get there quick enough. you gather the beast into your lap, begging be okay. at the mask, you whisper something, and then say it again with your hands. i love you, you say. you were the best thing to happen to me.

the mask slips. a voice says, “belle,” and you are hit with the full force of something that feels like music. you can’t breathe. 

the girl beneath the mask is beautiful. her blonde hair spills across your legs. she touches your face and her hands say i’m okay, and you’re laughing. you kiss her and roses open up in you. 

“i thought you were a beast,” you say with hands and lips a hair above hers, “and here you are, the beauty.”

she smiles sheepishly. it is hard when you are like me. 

your are sobbing. you kiss her again, because you can, because she’s here and perfect and the answer to questions you didn’t know you had been asking. 

her hands, curious, worried, search for your wet cheeks. i’m okay, really, belle. you saved me.

funny, your hands dance, i was about to say the same thing.

I had a dream where I was watching an alternate version of the movie Moana.

Moana’s island was a more advanced civilization and had ancient looking towers on it. People were still not allowed to leave, but Moana’s dad was a much more tyrannical leader who would punish those who attempted. He was the only one with the ability to sail, because he could control a magical manta ray he enslaved to be the engine of his ship.

Moana was curious about stuff, and wanted to explore some of the ancient ruins on her island and the outside world, especially the top floor of the tallest tower, the one she wasn’t allowed to visit.

One day, an explorer from another island appeared, and she kept him hidden and safe from her dad, knowing he would kill him or force him back into the sea. The explorer convinced Moana to come with him to explore the tower. They go through the different floors, discovering secrets and avoiding traps, until they reach the top floor.

There they discover Maui, who was trapped there for a thousand years. Maui attempted to leave the island a thousand years ago along with a bunch of kids, but was captured by Moana’s ancestor. Since he was a Demigod, and couldn’t be killed, Moana’s ancestor opted to trap him at the top of the tower along with all the kids.

A thousand years later, he is still there, helping raise the descendants of the kids who were trapped there with him, who developed a small society. The explorer wants to help free Maui and the people who live at the top of the tower, but Moana is afraid of her dad. Maui sings a song to her to help convince her to stand up to him.

And that’s where the dream ended.

Be happy, Feyre
—  Tamlin, who had ALL the reasons to say no, to leave Rhys dead because then he could have a chance at having Feyre again; who used to be Rhys’ best friend, lost him, became his sworn enemy for hundreds of years. Tamlin, who lost everything, who lost Feyre to Rhys, who lost his happy ending; who up until a few chapters ago wanted Feyre to suffer for everything she’d done to him…giving it all back because he realized how wrong he was and that he still loved Feyre. He who is probably seeing himself, heartbroken and desperate and on his knees over her dead body after Amarantha has killed her and he so desperately loves her and wants her back, who understands what it’s like. And finally… he finally realized that if he couldn’t have her, then the least he could have was her to be happy, even if it couldn’t be with her.

listen, we have to talk about this. two years ago, supernatural went so far out of their way for a no homo moment that they wasted 15 minutes of a FINALE in order to introduce a completely new and boring character simply to kill him off just so that dean wasn’t SOLELY upset about cas. 

last night, supernatural killed cas and then immediately “killed” mary and then the literal antichrist was born and yet dean was on his knees, incapacitated, totally lost, kneeling next to cas. the shot was framed to focus SOLELY on dean’s pain for his loss of cas. a lot happened all at once, but the thing that brought him to his knees was the death of his friend. 

setting aside all feelings about the potential that cas is permanently dead, i, for one, felt like that was an apology for the season 10 finale.  

THE PALMETTO STATE FOXES: ANDREW JOSEPH MINYARD, #3.

Andrew Minyard didn’t look like much in person, blonde and five feet even, but Neil knew better. Andrew was the Foxes’ freshman goalkeeper and their deadliest investment. Most of the Foxes were self-destructive, whereas Andrew seemed keen on collateral damage. He’d spent three years at a juvie facility and barely avoided a second term. […] Two years ago some men attacked Nicky outside of a nightclub. Andrew was within his rights to defend Nicky, but he’d almost killed the four of them. The courts thought his violence to be overreaction and tried to charge him. His laywers struck a deal instead: Andrew would spend some time in intensive therapy, attend weekly counseling, and take medication.

A very long time ago @jennthereaper and @simplyn2deep both sent me this prompt, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long, but the other day I was finally inspired to take a stab at it. I hope you enjoy!

From The Way You Said “I Love You” 

#26 Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave

Please, Derek, please, I–“ Stiles chokes back the beginnings of tears and clutches harder at the sleeve of Derek’s jacket. He’s on his knees, having tripped in his scramble to get to Derek from the other side of the loft. “I love you, okay? And I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I’ve been a coward about this whole thing, but I love you. And I know you love me too. I know you do, and I need you not to leave like this, fuck, Derek, please don’t do this.”

Derek stares down at him for a long time, heart clenched in his throat.

And then he looks up at where the other Stiles is pursing his lips in a hard frown as he watches the scene.

“It isn’t real?” Derek asks for the hundredth time since the other Stiles, the real Stiles, showed up in this apparent dreamscape.

Stiles shakes his head stiffly.

The Stiles on the floor is still pleading with him around tears, but the noises of his despair are starting to fade, as if Derek were now hearing him from a distance. Even his heartbeat, a sound that Derek has been clinging to as an anchor for what feels like forever, begins to disappear.

Derek swallows and steels himself against feeling anything more than determination to get through this newest mess.

“What now?” he asks, tone clinical and firm.

Stiles answers him in a similar tone, his expression betraying nothing about what’s going on in his own head. A far cry from the Stiles that Derek first met a couple years ago, terrified and mouthy and young. “Now you wake up.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Angry Dick Grayson headcanons?

-Canonically he’s fairly violent depending on the severity of the situation, as shown by the time he beat the Joker to death with his bare hands when he thought that he killed Tim

-He can either get really quiet and tense or really loud and destructive (there is no in-between)

-Sometimes when he’s disappointed in someone, he emulates some of Bruce’s habits, such as being extremely quiet and terrifying, which is really alarming considering how chatty he usually is. Whoever is the subject of his disapproval is quick to try and reconcile so as to avoid his wrath

-He definitely holds grudges and will not hesitate to pull out receipts from years ago that will without fail ruin whoever dares oppose him when he gets in a mood

-It’s startling to those who haven’t ever seen him angry to experience a snap because it’s such a shift in character but it’s still him; he’s still a human being who experiences anger, he isn’t always happy go lucky Dick Grayson who never feels negative emotions. He can be incredibly vindictive and spiteful if prompted in any way

Audition

A NIGHT AT HOME | TAEHYUNG VERSION

WORD COUNT: 3,112

warnings: graphic smut, dirty talk, spanking, slight exhibitionism, squirting

Originally posted by jitonic

masterlist | ask | song 


“Y/N? Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Taehyung uttered under his breath, dumbfounded that you were daydreaming once again, a reoccurring phenomenon apparently.

“Mm?” You looked up from your plate, eyes immediately locking with his brown feline-like orbs. The contours of his face seemed sharper than usual, which saying something as your boyfriend had a jawline sharp enough to kill a man; he probably thought you were ignoring him.

The two of you were sat comfortably at the dining table, having just eaten dinner. You met Taehyung by accident three years ago in a movie theatre, he saw your sky blue jumper and assumed you worked there, giving that it was a similar colour to the uniform employees wore. As soon as you turned to face him he became overwhelmed by your beauty, and by his impending embarrassment. He apologised profusely and bought your ticket, writing his number on the back of the small piece of paper.

Calling him that night was the best decision you ever made.

Keep reading

2

Okay, you see this? These are jacket cover/inside cover of a book called “The Beast Within” written by Serena Valentino, who wrote other Disney books that are so amazing. I purchased her first Disney book in the Germany Pavilion in Epcot a few years ago and have bought every other book of hers since. But lemme tell you why this one is my favorite:

Not only is “Beauty and the Beast” one of my favorite films of all time, but the Beast is one of my favorite characters in any film. And this book makes him seem so much more understandable. It’s written in his perspective and there’s literally a scene where he’s so close to being an actual monster that he goes out to kill Belle after she runs away from him.

Did you hear me?

HE GOES TO KILL BELLE.

Of course, he fights the wolves that attack her because in his mind, he’s like “wait I can redeem my human status still” while the beast side is literally chanting “RIP THE FLESH OPEN AND SPILL HER BLOOD EVERYWHERE ALL OVER THE SNOW COVERED GROUND”.

Let me tell you, this book is so good. And it gives more backstory to Gaston (who is, as you guessed, one of my favorite Disney villains).

If you enjoyed the 2017 version of “Beauty and the Beast”, you’ll enjoy this book. It’s different than the film, but just as good, in my opinion.

anonymous asked:

In what ways have you experienced antisemitism in England? (Not being passive aggressive, genuinely curious)

This is obviously just a set of my own, personal experiences.

  • When I was 13, an Iraqi Muslim refugee girl came to my school and ended up in my class part-way through the year. She was told to sit beside me, and my table of students was asked (in private, by the teacher) to help her with her English skills. She became a friend very quickly, and weeks passed normally, until I complained (of course) about preparing for Pesach at home. She didn’t know what Pesach was, so I explained as best as I could. She asked if I was a Jew and I told her that I was. She then called me “dirty” and asked to be moved to sit somewhere else. She never spoke to me again.
  • When I was 16 at my first job with a clothing retailer, an Arab woman was angry that I couldn’t give her money back on some clothes (because of some store policy), called me a “thieving Jew” and stormed out.
  • I’ve had friends become ex-friends because they found out that I was Jewish, and they said that I “manipulated” them by not admitting that I was Jewish in the first place.
  • I’ve had ex-friends say that they wouldn’t have been friends with me in the first place because “Jews always want something in return.”
  • When I was 17 and worked at a jewellery chain store, I was serving an Arab man until he noticed the Magen David around my neck. He cursed at me in Arabic and demanded that my manager serve him instead. When she tried to show him the jewellery that I had brought out to show him, he wanted a discount because of “the Jew’s filthy hands.”
  • In the same job, there was a Muslim woman that I worked with that joined me outside for cigarette breaks. She always begged to make sure we were right down an alleyway so the main street wouldn’t see us. I asked her why she was afraid of being seen, and she told me that others from her mosque might see her. I then asked if it was forbidden for her to smoke, and she told me that it was, but it would be worse if her family found out she was talking to a Jew and she didn’t want to risk it. She begged me to deny that we were friends if any Muslim or Arab asked me if I knew her.
  • My boss at the same job made a point to remind me that the safe had security cameras surrounding it, because she said she knew what “you people” were like. When I faced antisemitism from customers, she demanded that I stop wearing my Magen David so I wouldn’t “antagonise” them.
  • When I had to transfer to a different jewellery store due to moving away to university, I had a different Muslim co-worker. For context, if two people worked together to make a sale, they were supposed to “split” the sale on the computer, as each staff member had a daily quota for both item value and insurance that we were supposed to sell. I did most of the sale, and he said he would help put the sale through the machine, as the customer thought she might buy something else, too. After she was gone, I found out that he’d stolen all of the sale from me. I confronted him, and he told me that “Jews have enough money.”
  • When I was 20, I went to court with my family because of (non-related to our Jewishness) harassment against us from our neighbours. Our court-provided lawyer was a friendly Muslim woman. She sat with us and helped us prepare for being in court, as we’d never been before. My mother has a nervous habit of fidgeting with her jewellery, and the lawyer stopped part-way through a sentence when she noticed her Magen David (for clarification - none of us have “obviously Jewish” names), made an excuse that we were prepared, then left us. In court, she hardly asked any questions unlike the defence lawyer, and after the case finished (it was short, thanks to those behind the harassment being repeat offenders) when we wanted to ask her about what happened next, we were all completely ignored and she refused to shake any of our hands, even after we’d seen her shaking with the defence lawyer.
  • I had a Christian roommate at university tell me that she would “forgive me” for “killing Christ” if I accepted Jesus as my saviour, and was angry when I refused.
  • In a taxi with an Arab driver, he was friendly and asked me if I was doing anything for Christmas. I told him that I was Jewish so wasn’t celebrating, but would probably go to a friend’s Christmas party. He then asked me what I thought about what was happening in Palestine, and I said that the situation was a horrible mess, and that all we could do was hope for peace. He then said, “Jews are baby-killers” and accused me of being racist.
  • When I went to pick up some kosher items from the local supermarket, an Arab family spotted me in the aisle (as kosher, halaal, Polish and “speciality” non-refrigerated items were along the same aisle) and followed me around the store as I picked up the rest of my shopping, laughing in Arabic, and then spat on me. When I went to a staff member to tell them about what happened, he accused me of being an Islamophobic racist and told me that if I didn’t leave the store, he would call security.
  • A different Arab taxi driver, on a journey back home, asked me if I was Jewish. When I told him that I was, he asked threatening questions about “how many Jews” lived with me and when we’d all be home together. I was frightened, I admit, and I gave him the wrong address and hurried to the first person that was outside their house, asking them to take me in because I was worried. I called home, obviously, but the driver stayed outside for over half an hour and only left when the stranger I was with went outside to ask what he wanted, where he apparently said that he was “making sure I (as in, me) was home safe.”
  • I went to buy cigarettes from a corner shop using my debit card. The machine declined it for some reason, although I had more than enough money to cover it. I asked the owner to put the card through again, and he shouted that “Your Jew money’s no good here” and demanded that I leave.
  • I’ve been called a “babykiller” and a “Zionist bitch” when a man spotted my Magen David.
  • My synagogue’s windows have been vandalised, smashed and there has been excrement shoved through the letterbox and smeared on windows and we have to organise an extra police presence during festivals. Over recent years, all signs saying that the synagogue is in fact a synagogue have been removed.
  • When preparing for an inter-faith walk of peace, a priest visited our synagogue and called us “obstacles to peace” and “selfish” for saying that we couldn’t walk on a Saturday morning, when we’re supposed to be in the synagogue praying.

I’ve been spat at multiple times, I’ve had antisemitic slurs thrown at me multiple times. I stopped using Facebook a few years ago because of random rape and death threats sent into my inbox and written when I commented or liked anything to do with Israel or Judaism. My mother has had the same. We have to do our best to protect my brother from the same, and have told him never to tell anyone that he’s Jewish, because that would be far too dangerous for him.

Obviously this isn’t even mentioning the abuse that I’ve had on this site, where I’ve been called a Nazi, I’ve been told to kill myself, asks with antisemitic slurs (not dark jokes, but actual abuse), because whilst I do post some, there are quite a few that I’ve just deleted without comment to block whichever anon has been sending them.

So when I talk about antisemitism, I’m not just someone that happens to be Jewish and is against antisemitism because it’s anti-Jewish as some out-there concept that I’m against, it’s because I’ve been there, I’ve done that, been through it, keep going through it.

It’s very real, and it can be incredibly frightening. That’s why I take it so seriously. And that’s also why I criticise Jews for claiming that some things are antisemitic when they’re clearly not, because I want others to see how horrendous antisemitism actually is so that they take it seriously, too.

2

“jean will help you if you help him.”

jean was privy to the ugly truth about the moriyamas, as he’d been sold to tetsuji years ago to settle a debt with the head of the family. jean hated his lot in life, but he was past the point where he could even think of fighting back. 

he wasn’t a rebel; he was a survivor.
he did whatever it took to get through the day.

anonymous asked:

Here's a problem with the Tony haters. Tony is bad for wanting revenge, yet you people are fine with T'Challa, who was reacting violently to Bucky as a HEAD OF STATE, putting on a suit and turning into a vigilante thug. At least Tony tried to compromise. T'Challa just started attacking people for a really flimsy reason.

really, dude? you come into my inbox to defend a white war profiteer and to call a black person a thug? god, you people are really that transparent.

flimsy reason??!! honestly, what the fuck. t’challa held his father’s dead body in his arms. tony’s parents died almost 30 years ago and t’challa watched his father die in front of him like the day before and for some reason you think that tony’s violent outburst is justified but t’challa isn’t allowed to grieve without you reducing him to the racist “aggressive black man” stereotype.

t’challa went after bucky because he believed him to be completely guilty. he had evidence of “bucky” planting the bomb at the building. tony knew bucky was innocent and he still tried to kill him. i’m sorry, but that’s unforgivable. once t’challa realized that he’d made a mistake and bucky had been set up, he tried his best to fix it. he didn’t even let zemo die (you know, t’chaka’s actual killer who, unlike bucky, was guilty) because he wasn’t going to let vengeance consume him anymore. tony let his anger get the best of him.

anyway if you’re a tony stan, you’re not allowed to talk about t’challa. you can’t even think about him. you can’t even look at him. sorry, i don’t make the rules. stick to worshiping your trashy fave and don’t touch other characters.

emma-blackthron  asked:

Why would Malcolm take Jem and Tessa's word when they weren't even born when Annabelle is "taken from him"? Blaming Magnus makes more sense, since Magnus was alive and most likely knew if Malcolm and Annabelle. Also, how does Jem not know Annabelle isn't an Iron Sister? Or is becoming a Iron Sister like becoming a Silent Brother where they choose another name? Like how Jem is/was Brother Zachariah.

Hi,

I was initially very confused by this question because of course Malcolm didn’t hear about Annabel becoming an Iron Sister from Jem or Tessa – as you say, they weren’t alive then. So I went through Lady Midnigh and I think you are referring to these passages in Lady Midnight, though Jem isn’t mentioned:

Lies?” Malcolm’s voice rose. “You want to talk about lies? They lied to me about Annabel. They said she had become an Iron Sister. All of them told me the same lie: Magnus, Catarina, Tessa. It was from a faerie I found out that they had lied. From a faerie I learned what had really happened to Annabel. By then she was long dead. The Blackthorns, murdering their own!”

“They told me she’d become an Iron Sister. All of them lied to me—Magnus, Catarina, Ragnor, Tessa—corrupted by Shadowhunters, drawn in by their lies! And I, oblivious, grieving  for her, until finally I found out the truth—”

And then here, Jem talks to Emma about Malcolm:

Jem turned back toward her, the light of sympathy in his dark eyes. “We heard everything from Magnus. He told us that you were the one who killed Malcolm,” he said. “That must have been hard. You knew him. It’s not like killing demons.”
“I knew him,” Emma said. “At least, I thought I did.”
“We knew him too. Tessa was heartbroken to hear that Malcolm believed that we all lied to him. Concealed from him that Annabel was not an Iron Sister, but was dead, murdered by her family. We believed the story, but he died thinking we all knew the truth. What a betrayal that must have felt like.”
“It’s strange to think he was your friend. Though I guess he was our friend too.”
“People are more than one thing. Warlocks, no less. I would not even hesitate to say that Malcolm once did much good, before he did evil. It is one of the great lessons of growing up, learning that people can do both.”

My guess, and I apologize if I’m wrong, is that you’re expanding Malcolm’s statements to mean: “They lied to me about Annabel. They said she had become an Iron Sister. All of them told me the same lie: Magnus, Catarina, Tessa. They were the first people to tell me what happened to Annabel. They are all very responsible and very involved in what happened with Annabel and with me.”

None of that is true, though. 

It isn’t like Malcolm’s warlock friends were the ones who broke the news to him that Annabel joined the Iron Sisters. They didn’t. You’ll find out more about what happened with Annabel, the Clave, the Iron Sisters, and Malcolm in LOS but Malcolm was told the lie about Annabel joining the Iron Sisters by the Clave and Annabel’s family (and even though he didn’t like them, he wouldn’t have thought the truth was that they’d murdered her instead. That is extreme and not the sort of thing anyone would assume.) 

Everyone but a very few people in the government and Annabel’s family believed she had joined the Iron Sisters and they had good reasons to believe it. But Malcolm thinks his friends should have known better than to repeat the lie (that they didn’t know was a lie.) Malcolm felt betrayed by Tessa, Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor specifically because he thinks they might have had inside information, since all of them are warlocks who have been known to associate closely with Shadowhunters, and Tessa was even married to one.

Malcolm is being unreasonable. He is like someone who found out his wife is cheating and so gets rid of all of his friends because “"they probably knew about it” even though they didn’t. But then Malcolm is also willing to punish the Blackthorns of 200 years ago by killing the Blackthorns of today so we should not look to him for logic, just rage and betrayal.

Iron Sisters do take on other names, just like Silent Brothers do. That is why they have similar sounding names, and why none of them is introduced with a last name. They are extremely secretive; there’s no reason to believe that Jem would know who any of them had been before they renounced their old lives. Diana actively sought out that information, but there’s no reason Jem or anyone else would have done so: why would they be checking up on Malcolm’s ex-girlfriend? There was no reason to do that when he thought she had voluntarily become an Iron Sister and by the time found out she hadn’t, he didn’t need them to check on it, and didn’t tell them anyway.

Malcolm probably does blame Magnus but that is because Malcolm blames everyone friendly with Shadowhunters, not because Malcolm has any logical reason to blame any of these people, half of whom weren’t born when Annabel was killed. Just because Malcolm is angry that Tessa and the others believed the official story (which he told them!) that Annabel had become an Iron Sister rather than magically figuring out it hadn’t happened that way doesn’t mean they were responsible for the lie in the first place. They have next to nothing to do with the whole business. They just happen to be who Malcolm and Diana are discussing in this one scene.

Interesting

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

Originally posted by legolas-imagines

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

A/N: This is part 1 of a request made by @floofy-halfling. I don’t know if this is what you wanted so like just tell me if I’m on the right track :)

Italics: Elvish

Word Count: 1,806

Part 2 - Part 3

Master List

You swing your sword into the spider before it has a chance to attack Thorin. He looks up at you and nods in thanks and you nod back. 

You had joined their journey when they came to stop at Beorn’s place. You were there because he had found you almost ten years ago, badly injured from an encounter with an orc. Since then, you had been living with him and once you met the company, you left with them. Thorin didn’t want you at first since you were an elf, but Mithrandir had convinced him to let you join and here you were, saving his ass.

You pause as your hear footsteps running in the trees and turn towards the noise. Thorin has noticed it too. You see a blonde elf running through the trees and sliding down the web of the spider. He kills that one and slides under another one, killing it as well.

You watch as he moves to stand and you pull your bow, stepping in front of Thorin. You two come face to face, arrows pointed into each other’s faces. He narrows his eyes at you and you do the same.

Don’t think I won’t kill you elf,” he snarls and tightens the string. “I could say the same for you,” you say, mimicking his movements. You feel an arm on your elbow and you look at Thorin. He nods his head and you place the bow and arrows back to where they belong.

“Legolas!” you hear a female voice say and you wince a bit as you realize you had just pointed your arrow at the prince of Mirkwood. You listen to the conversation he has with the female and you look at Thorin.

“ Do you know him? You went frigid,” he asks. “He’s the prince,” you mutter back as the prince comes over to you both. “Search them,” he orders and you are all stripped of your weapons. The guards put shackles on you and you are lead to the palace.

While you and the rest of the company are lead to the cells, Thorin is lead to the the King. You sigh at as you are pushed into the cell. You laugh as you notice a guard stop Fili to take away one of his hidden daggers.

You sigh once again as the guards leave you alone. You sit by the door and look up. You notice the prince standing on the platform above you. You make eye contact with ice blue eyes and he comes to move in front of your cell.

Why are you with the dwarves?” he asks, coming to stand in front of your cell. “I did not think it was any of your business,” you reply not looking at him.

You are in my kingdom,” he retorts.

Really? I thought it was your father’s kingdom?” you ask sarcastically.

So you know who I am?” he asks.

Blonde hair, blue eyes. You must be a Sindarin elf and last I remember, the only sindarin elves to live in Mirkwood were the King and his son. Given the fact that you were out on guard duty, you are the prince,” you explain trying to sound smart.

He looks so surprised that you knew so much about him.

Plus, I heard the female call you Legolas,” you say, shrugging and that causes him to smile. You smile back. “Where are you from?” he asks, taking a seat on the steps next to your door. “The Valley of Imladris,” you tell him.

You weren’t lying. You were just not telling the whole truth. You were from Imladris, but you’ve been gone for ten years. You had an argument with your father, Lord Elrond, and you had not returned since then. You did not know if he was looking for you and you did not care. You loved your life with Beorn and you had not regretted your decision to leave.

“Why travel with the dwarves? What will you get in return?” he asks and you decide to answer him this time. “You know? I have no idea. It’s just something that I wanted to do. A rash decision, yes, but a good one all the same,” you reply, looking at the wall in front of you. “How long have you been traveling with them for you to gain such an attachment?” he asks.

Literally a day or so. I couldn’t really tell how much time has passed in the forest,” you shrug. For some unknown reason, that makes him laugh. “I’ve never heard an elf laugh or smile so much,” you tell him truthfully.

I laugh because you are funny. You join a bunch of dwarves and you will die for them even though you’ve only known them for a day,” he says.

And a half,” you retort, making him smile.

The two of you continue talking until another guard shows up, dragging Thorin with him.

The king wants to see the elf,” the guard states as Legolas stands. He nods and you switch places with Thorin. Legolas and the other elf leads you to the throne room after chaining you again. Once you get there, the elvenking’s eyes widen in surprise.

Remove the chain,” he orders and the other guard does as he’s told. Legolas stares at his father, confused. “Lady y/n. Your father has been searching for you for ten years and he thought you to be dead,” Thranduil states, making his way down from the throne and Legolas’ head snaps towards you.

You’re Lord Elrond’s daughter?” he asks. “Surprise?” you ask back. He sighs. “Ada. If I knew she was Lord Elrond’s daughter, I would not have put her in the cells,” Legolas says, watching as his father circles you.

Where have you been, milady? There had been many an elf searching for you,” Thranduil asks, ignoring his son.

He was curious. Lord Elrond had been in panic for the first three years of you going missing. He had even left Imladris to search for you, but had been unsuccessful. When the fourth year hit, he did not search, but started mourning. As a close friend of Elrond’s, it hurt to see him in such distress. He had been in that same state when he lost his wife and now his friend had to go through it yet again. The pain must’ve been unimaginable.

I’ve been staying with the shapeshifter, your majesty,” you say, looking dead ahead. You did not like making eye contact when you were being interrogated. Granted, it did not happen often.

And why have you been staying with the shapeshifter instead of returning home? Your father thinks you are dead,” he says, stopping in front of you.

That is new information. You did not intend for that to happen. You knew you should’ve sent a letter, but you could not in your state. Not after he said that he wished you were not his daughter.

“I felt like I was no longer welcomed, milord,” you reply. He narrows his eyes at you.

“Legolas. You will escort the princess back to Imladris back where she belongs-,”

What? Milord! I do not want to leave. I promised Oakenshield that I’d help him. I cannot-“ you start, panicked.

Have you heard of the story of the king under the mountain? Of the sickness that lies under that mountain?” Thranduil interrupts and you nod your head.

Then you know that Thorin Oakenshield will fall under the same sickness just like his grandfather,” Thranduil says.

I do not believe that, milord,” you say. “Whatever you believe is wrong. Legolas, take her back to Imladris,” he says, making his way back to the throne. “No,” Legolas says and you turn to him in shock.

Did he really just disobey his father? His king?

Thranduil turns to his son slowly, frown gracing his face.

What did you just say?” Thranduil asks.

I said ‘no’ father. It is obvious that she does not return to Imladris. She has been happy and safe with the skinchanger. Are we going to take that away from her?” Legolas asks.

Guards. Return her to her cell. My son and I have to discuss a few things,” Thranduil says, glare not wavering from his son. You notice Legolas has the same glare on his face and you can’t help but think that they look even more like father and son.

The guards take you back to your shared cell with Thorin. “What did he want?” Thorin asks as you sit at the door. “He was just curious as to why the daughter of Lord Elrond had been missing for ten years and was found traveling with a group of dwarves,” you reply nonchalantly, still thinking about Legolas and his decision to go against his father’s wishes.

“You’re that y/n?” he asks, surprised seeping through his voice.

Lord Elrond and Gandalf had spoken of you multiple times during their stay at Imladris. It was always with sadness. Fili had asked one of the elves what had happened to you and they had said that you had gotten into an argument with your father and left, never to be seen again. They had thought you to be dead and Imladris had not been the same since.

“Ah. So you’ve heard of me,” you say as you close your eyes. “We had stopped in Rivendell a few months ago and your father and Gandalf had mentioned you multiple times. Everyone believed you to be dead,” he says.

“So I’ve heard. Thranduil had ordered Legolas to take me back to Imladris, but he had refused,” you explain.

“Did he really deny his father and king?” Thorin asks, scoffing. “It seems that the children of rulers are rule breakers. Perhaps when you eventually have children, they will break many rules when they’re under the mountain,” you suggest and that causes Thorin to chuckle.

“I don’t see why not. Fili and Kili already do that,” he states loudly.

“We heard that, Uncle and we do not break rules. We just skirt around them,” Fili defends from his spot in his cell.

“It’s the same thing,” Thorin argues back and you smile. You liked the fact that he could still joke a bit in this situation.

“I reckon the sun is on the rise,” Bofur’s voice sounds throughout the cells. “We’re never gonna reach the mountain, are we?” you hear the youngest ask and your heart clenches a bit.

These dwarves have been through so much, they cannot just be stopped right here.

“Not stuck in here you’re not,” you hear another voice say and it’s the hobbit and he’s holding keys. He lets the both of you out first and suddenly, your hope returns along with the fear that you may never see the blonde prince again.

Night Routine

My night routine was always more extensive then Harry’s ever was or will ever be. I can’t even count the times Harry has complained over the years about me taking to long to get into bed.

“Come on babe, wearing your makeup to bed once wont kill you!” Or

“Petal come cuddle I’m going to die of loneliness!”

Did this ever make me go any faster? No, but it did make me smile and my heart swell just a little bit.

A little bit ago we got home from Interviews. Interview days were good and bad. Good because they weren’t too hectic and I got to be with Harry. The bad part was I was with Harry but couldn’t talk to him.

After getting done with some work of my own around 10:30 P.M I decided the start getting ready for bed. Swiftly I shut my laptop and sat it down on the couch beside me. Harry was sitting on the other couch across from me writing on several different pieces of papers. Not sure what they were, music I assume.

I stand up, stretch my arms up above my head, and letting out a little yawn.

“Where ya goin’ bug?” Harry asked briefly looking up from the papers in his hands.

“I finished my work so I’m gonna get ready for bed.” I say going over and kissing him on the forehead.

“Okay, I’ll be up in a minute, I’m almost done.” Harry says softly before turning right back to the papers.

I lightly pout. When I don’t walk away Harry looks up at me.

“Somethin’ else?” He asks then looks back at the papers.

I get right in front of him, take the papers out of his hands, and set them beside him on the couch.

Immediately Harry snaps his head up. He’s about to say something but I cut him off.

I bring my hand down to the collar of his shirt and lightly tug.

Harry’s face breaks into a dimpled smile.

“I jus bout forgot din I?” He ask with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Quickly Harry pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to me.

I tilted his chin up towards me and kissed his lips.

“Thank you babe.” I say then head to our bedrooms bathroom.

Ever since we started dating I always loved to wear Harry’s clothes but especially after he wore them. If he ever wore a casual t shirt all day, then that night I’d want to wear it because it smelt like him.

Once I got into the bathroom I changed into his shirt and clean underwear. Throwing my hair into a bun I quickly wash my face and brush my teeth. I don’t think I take too long getting ready for bed, Harry just always washes his face and brushes his teeth right after dinner. Also he is a very impatient booger.

In the middle of brushing my teeth I look in the mirror and can see Harry lying on the bed more thank likely just in boxers, under the blanket. His left hand is behind his head while is right props his phone up on his chest scrolling through who knows what. Probably Instagram even though the boy never uses it.

When I get done I turn the bathroom light and head towards the bed.

Harry sees the light go off out of the corner of his eye and locks his phone setting it on his bedside table. Then he looks up at me and out stretches his arms.

“Come ere’ bugs, I’ve missed you.”

I giggle but do as he says, laying my head on his chest and his right arm wraps around me and lightly kisses me on top of my head.

“Harry we’ve spent the whole day together.” I say smiling and lightly kissing his chest.

Instantly his fingers start running through my hair.

“Yeah but I’ve been doing stuff all day and besides we haven’t really been alone.”  He says still playing with my hair.

I take a deep breath in, just inhaling his wonderful scent. I know this sounds super creepy but I’ve never smelt a more wonderful smelling person in my life.

My right hand slowly traces random shapes on his bare chest. And for a while that’s all we do. No talking, just enjoying each others presence.

After a little while of doing this though I get a little bored. I needed more contact, if even possible.

I scoot up higher to where my head is now resting right by his neck. I turn my lips to wear I can kiss him. And that’s just what I do.

Anywhere my lips can reach I kiss. Lightly sucking every so often, especially behind his ear where he’s most sensitive.

I swing me leg over his body to where I’m straddling him and get to work on his other side.

Harry’s hand slide under my shirt and grab onto my hips.

“I thought we were supposed to try to go to sleep?” He asks lightly chuckling.

“Sleeps boring, I’d rather do this.” I mumble kiss up his jaw.

Suddenly I’m flipped over and Harry’s on top of me.

“Oh you don’t know what you just started.” Harry says with a smirk and wild eyes.

Lets just say we did a lot of stuff other than sleeping.

————————————-

Sorry I haven’t written in forever!! I’ve sadly had no motivation but I’m back!! Hope you liked!

I tried not to make this smutty but if y’all would like a part 2 smutty version let me know!!

The Fox Didn’t Want Those Grapes Anyway

Trump is going to spin his refusal to attend the White House Correspondents’ Dinner as “thumbing his nose at the fake news,” or maybe “I have real work to do, I don’t have time for this nonsense,” or something. The truth is, this is absolutely killing him – for many reasons.

1. This whole miserable era of our lives started at the WHCD in 2011, when Seth Meyers (and Obama himself) tore Trump into small pieces, and then tore those small pieces into smaller pieces, and then threw those pieces up into the air like LeBron James throwing chalk before a home game. Watch that video, and look at Trump’s face – the utter lack of self-awareness, the complete inability to engage in the smallest bit of humility. What a doof. Meyers later reached out to Trump in a “it’s all in good fun!” kind of a way, and Trump laughed and shook his hand and said “Hey, bud, no worries! You were funny and I can laugh at myself!” Just kidding. He was a sour asshole.

2. So: this WHCD was supposed to be his great revenge. (Well, winning the Presidency was his first revenge, this was to be the second.) He wanted to stroll in there triumphantly and lay waste to the haters and losers who mocked him five years ago. This was gonna be some real “Kill Bill”-type revenge stuff – I’m the goddamn President, and now I’m up here, and you have to laugh my MY jokes and respect ME. But he can’t. He has absolutely painted himself into a corner by making the media the enemy in an attempt to explain away the absurd and possibly treasonous actions of his campaign and administration. No way he can set foot in that room. He’ll be torn apart again.

3. And make no mistake – this pains him. Because all the man wants is attention. He positively lives for the warm glow of suck-uppy fawning. He got a lot of it from his campaign rallies – which is certainly why he continues to have them long after they make any sense at all – but those are just people. Suck-uppy fawning from the poorly-educated is fine. It’ll get him through the day. But it’s no substitute for suck-uppy fawning from rich society elites. That’s the good stuff. That’s the pure blood, for this particular vampire.

4. Trump is dying to be in that room, in a tuxedo, holding court and watching the grimacing faces of every important media figure in America as he lays waste to their sad attempts to take him down. But he can’t. Because, first of all, he is an absolutely terrible joke deliverer, as his Al Smith Dinner speech proved beyond the shadow of a doubt. And second, because he’s a wimp who can’t take the heat. Bill Clinton attended this event at the height of the Lewinsky scandal, for goodness sake. Trump is scared, and once he realized things weren’t going to go his way, he did what wimps do: he wimped out.

5. There is a legitimate argument to be made over whether the WHCD should even exist – it’s kind of gross, and unseemly, and certainly raises questions about whether the press who are supposed to inform the public about the goings-on of its elected officials should be co-opted by hob-nobbing with those self-same officials at a black tie gala. But I kind of like it, because it shows that America has a sense of humor about itself, and that its leaders can take a punch and laugh it off. It’s an event that reminds us how lucky we are not to have a thin-skinned dictator running the country – the kind of tyrant who throws people in jail for criticizing him. The problem is, we now have one of those thin-skinned dictators in power. He can’t throw everyone in jail for making fun of him, so he’s doing the next-best thing: he’s taking his ball and going home.