under window

I’ve been thinking a lot about the meeting between Trump and Obama at the White House, and here’s the thing.

Obama used to be a law professor. This is key.

Law school is so, so different from college. 

In college, everyone expects there to be a “syllabus day,” kind of a grace period where they can show up and get the lay of the land, figure out the bare minimum that they can get away with, the TA gives everyone their office hours, there’s an introductory lecture, and everybody leaves a few minutes early to go take a nap or something. You do the bullshit assignments, you say something in class now and then to get your participation check mark, and figure out how badly you can do on the final and still pass. 

But see, in law school, all the methodologies you’ve spent the last 17 years operating under go out the window. Day one of law school is you being thrown into the deep end of the pool—you’ve had a homework assignment for two weeks now, and it’s to read the first 200 pages of your casebook. And now it’s you and the teacher (who is usually as smug as Alex Trebek) gauging and assessing what you managed to absorb while you skimmed through all those pages of reading so you could hurry up and get to the other 150 pages of reading for your next period class, in front of 50 people who are all smarter than you. And if you fuck up, or you didn’t do the reading, you are at the mercies of not just the professor, but the silent satisfied judgment of your peers. 

Law school is hard, and it will make you feel stupid and tongue-tied and like you don’t know anything and can’t form an argument—because you don’t, and you can’t. Everybody there has had a 4.0 since birth. Everybody there was the smartest kid in their class, and you’re all rabidly competing for a sliver of a chance at something down the road. It’s petty, and savage, fiercely entrenched in a culture of formalities and ceremony, and exactly like Washington DC

Yesterday when I was driving home, the NPR reporter talking about the Oval Office meeting mentioned that Trump had thought it was going to be a “getting to know you” type meeting, but that he was surprised when Obama stretched their talk out to 90 minutes before sending him along to the Capitol building where he met with congressional leaders for more lengthy meetings and stuff he didn’t want to do.

And he hasn’t even gotten to the actual job yet

So think about that as we go into this. 

Trump walked into the Oval Office like a two-pump-chump freshman thinking it was syllabus day, and what he got was the first day of law school, and he hadn’t done the reading like everyone else had, and Professor Obama decided to put him in the hot seat. 

This was Obama’s chance for the most perfect revenge that would never be picked up on as revenge at all. He was gracious, polite—everything he needed to be for a peaceful transition and a good review from the press. And that would continue when the doors were closed, because that’s the key. Not a Come to Jesus meeting, oh no. If Obama were smart—and he is very smart—he would have treated Trump like an equal, and brought the discussion to a level that assumes far more of Trump than anyone has so far. Assumes that he’s an adult who’s been paying attention. Statistics, esoteric minutiae about the executive branch procedure, economic growth numbers, labor figures, domestic policies, countries Trump has never even heard of, shit that would never in a million years have been in Trump’s campaign soundbites or digestible summaries. 

No way to escape. No aides to remember any of it for him. Just the two of them. 

Because that’s what would strike a precise chill into Trump. The thundering realization that he’s woefully unprepared for the hard, boring, thankless reality of this, and Obama’s version of a smooth transition won’t and shouldn’t include remedial civics. 

That’s what I saw when they shook hands and Trump stared at the floor instead of looking back into Obama’s face. He’s just figured out how little he knows about any of this

And that should give you a small glow of satisfaction, because after those meetings, Trump definitely has the 1L Terror Shits. In January, the night sweats and insomnia will show up, but for these first few weeks—nothing but diarrhea and self-doubt.  

Edoras Details Concept Art by Alan Lee

“The travellers entered. Inside it seemed dark and warm after the clear air upon the hill. The hall was long and wide and filled with shadows and half lights; mighty pillars upheld its lofty roof. But here and there bright sunbeams fell in glimmering shafts from the eastern windows, high under the deep eaves. Though the louver in the roof, above the thin wisps of issuing smoke, the sky showed pale and blue. As their eyes changed, the travellers perceived that the floor was paved with stones of many hues; branching runes and strange devices interwined beneath their feet. They saw now that the pillars were richly carved, gleaming dully with gold and half-seen colours.” -The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien

This photo is going around on the internet right now, like some cheap meme with the caption “Here’s a photo for all those upset about the Muslim ban.“ I was compelled to write a response. I know this is a tumblr for Pokemon GO and I’ve tried my best for these months to keep posting fun things about this fandom but I cannot stay silent. I am sorry for the deviation from the norm you have all come to expect from me, but this I cannot abide. This is my message:

My father worked at the World Trade Centers from 1998-2001. He survived that day because he took me to school that morning when I was in my third or fourth day of 6th grade. This isn’t about my father, though, because he can tell his story in his own way when he feels it is appropriate. I will explain my own story.

I had been pulled out of class that morning. They didn’t tell me what had happened, just assuring my 11 year old self that my father was okay and that there was a fire at the World Trade Centers. I know they were lying. They couldn’t put me in touch with my father. I knew something was wrong. I knew about the 1993 bombings. I often wondered what would happen in the towers fell on the city, looking down on it from above, if such an attack were to happen again.

Sitting in the principals office I was filled with anger, sadness, disgust, loneliness, despair, anxiety, depression and chaos. My father might have been dead, killed by terrorist from a land I knew nothing about. I sat in that office for 45 minutes thinking nothing but that.

Then my mom came to get me. She told me my father was okay. Then I saw him. He was crying. We hugged. I told him that as long as he was okay I was okay. That made everything okay.

I had every right to be upset and vindictive against the muslim community because of the acts of an element of radical extremists attempting to murder my father. In fact some of my peers actually encouraged me to fill my hear with hate and anger, to put aside my childish wonder of the world and build walls in my heart to separate me from the muslim faith as a whole. The propaganda on television and the fact we were entering into two wars as retribution for September Eleventh didn’t help.

But I couldn’t do it. Something inside of me wanted to answer the burning question of “why?”. So I did some research in the middle school computer lab and very quickly found my answer. There is a large contingent of radical terrorists, of every nation and faith, that are drawn to the cause because they have no other options. I read that a suicide bomber in Iraq was paid $20,000 to carry out his attack. This money was needed for his family to pay for shelter, electricity, food, water, security and heat. The basic essentials that allow us to be human and not think with hate and sadness but rather with compassion and understanding. The people in Afghanistan, in the mountainous regions, join extremist groups because they have no resources to sustain their life.

That was when I learned about the concept of ‘sustainability’. The Brundtland Report in 1987 defined sustainability loosely as any action that leaves the world in a better or same state as the way you came into it. I decided at that point, as a 12 year old, to not fight the extremists with a gun, but rather to help get the muslim community the essentials they need so they never have to feel like terrorism is the only way to support themselves, their family or have their message heard.

Islamic extremists tried to kill my family. I do not hate the muslim community. I am a vocal opponent of the muslim ban, registry or oppression. All people no matter what race, creed, nationality, faith, background, color, gender, sex, identification, whatever deserve to be treated as human beings. Because thats what we all are when you get down to it. We are humans, of many glorious and wonderful backgrounds and interests, that should work together rather than divide ourselves. We are one species no matter what you look like or sound like. The blood that runs through my veins runs through the veins of the man in Iraq, Afghanistan, Turkey, Somalia, France, Russia, China, North Korea, everywhere.

We are a nation that has a proud history of accepting people of all backgrounds. I am German. If this ideology had been pervasive in the 1930-40s then wouldn’t I have been held accountable for the actions of the Nazi’s in the same way that people of the muslim faith are persecuted for the actions of the extremists? I have muslim friends. If I can not hate them, can you try to exercise a little empathy for the innocent people caught up in this?

I will leave you with a couple of quotes for thought:

“In these days of difficulty, we Americans everywhere must and shall choose the path of social justice…the path of faith, the path of hope, and the path of love toward our fellow man.” - Franklin Roosevelt

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” - Statue of Liberty

Love always. Reject hate. Be compassionate. Be empathetic. Love thy neighbor. Protect the innocent. Fight for the oppressed. Crush evil. Be vigilant. Be strong. Be good.

I love you all. Remember that, always.

- T 

Weasley Parents + Coming Out

The first conversation of this type at this table had been Charlie, at seventeen, so serious and so scared. He’d looked down at his hands, not meeting Molly’s eyes, or even Arthur’s. The word asexual was whispered like something shameful, and the Weasley parents stumbled over each other to explain that it wasn’t. Shameful. That they loved him anyway. 

They walked away from the conversation feeling close to Charlie, glad for the opportunity to be trusted like this, and for the chance to reassure him of their unconditional love. They hadn’t expected the conversation to be the first of many. 

Fred’s turn was next, a few years later. He was sixteen, and Molly assumed when he asked for his parents attention at the kitchen table that he was about to confess to the mysterious burn mark on the outside of the house, just under Ron’s attic window. When he instead said that he was bisexual, Molly found herself almost relieved. It was Arthur who did the reassuring that time, though they both hugged him before he left the kitchen. 

Ginny’s coming out had been almost casual. She, too, had been sixteen, and had addressed her concerns mainly to her mother, sure that her father wouldn’t fly off the handle. As it turned out, Molly nodded and said that she had known all along, and Arthur laughed and started counting on his fingers.

Harry felt the same conversation necessary, after his breakup with Ginny. He looked, while pronouncing the words, as if he had put something very sharp in his mouth and was getting up the courage to swallow it. “You’ve taken me in and I broke up with your daughter, and I might start dating boys and I’m – I, I’m sorry.” 

Molly’s heart broke, like it always does when Harry’s lack of parental affection throughout his life shines through, and she reached for him, reassuring him that of course it was alright, they loved him like one of their sons, he doesn’t need to hide this about himself. Arthur laughed. “You saved three of our lives, Harry, and then the entire world. It would take a lot more than bisexuality to put us off of you.” It shocked Harry that he hadn’t been the one to use the word, but they had known anyway. He felt so much lighter, so much freer having told someone other than Ginny how he felt. The entire world felt within his grasp, now, with such a strong base of love to draw from. 

The last conversation - of their children, at least, their grandchildren were going to have their own sets of comings-out - didn’t happen at the kitchen table, but rather, at the front door on Christmas Eve, when Oliver Wood, dressed to the nines and bearing a beautiful poinsettia and a bottle of elf-wine, trailed happily behind Percy. “Mother, you remember Oliver from our school days. I’ve brought him tonight as my partner,” Percy said, in a voice that left no room for disapproval or argument. “I would have brought him before, but we didn’t want to steal Ginny’s thunder from the wedding.” 

Molly smiled, kissed Percy and thanked Oliver for the poinsettia, seemingly nonplussed, and just happy to everyone she loved, and everyone her children loved all under one roof. 

The Impossible Duet - Request

Requested by anon:  Can you do a Sherlock imagine where the reader plays the viola.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1,294

Warnings: None.

A/N: I got so excited while writing this, omg.


Originally posted by violincameos

A mellifluous noise invaded the whole Baker Street, cheering the passer-by’s day as the sound of it got to their ears. It was coming out from that coarse flat at 221B, and even when the neighbours were used to Sherlock’s afternoon playing, they got surprised by the different vibe that melody had.

It was obvious it wasn’t Sherlock playing.

To anyone with a trained ear and basic knowledge on musical instruments, it would’ve been obvious that the source of the sound wasn’t coming from Sherlock’s violin, but rather from a viola that belonged to the mysterious woman behind the yellow curtains.

Mysterious until then, at least. The whole street gathered under the open window as the silhouette of a delicate being waltzed around gracefully as it played. If she hadn’t been so nubivagant in that moment, she would’ve noticed the cheers, and the applause as well as the chit-chat the old ladies held about her.

Keep reading

Console ヽ(゚ー゚*ヽ)ヽ(*゚ー゚*)ノ(ノ*゚ー゚)ノ

Pairing: Chanyeol x You 

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 2.6k 

A/n: hellooo kiddies! Here’s an angsty fluff for all of my Chanyeol stans! (this fic delves into the angstier side of Chanyeollie, cuz we all know he’s a soft mochi on the inside) *dies of fangirling* Hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did writing it! (got my report cards today, yeeet) ( ̄ー ̄)


You felt the cold bursts of winter air escaping from the small crevice from under your window washing all over your bare skin. Scouring for some source of heat, you lazily began to reach for your blanket. As you moved your hand around, you were met with nothing but the thin layer of your flower-printed bed sheet. As another burst of cold air made contact with your bare arm, you rolled over to your side in hopes of finding the blanket, but to your avail, you just couldn’t seem to find it.  

Now I have to open my eyes, you silently groaned to yourself.

As you struggled to completely open your eyes, you slowly ran your hand through the hair that was stuck to your face, pushing all of it backward. Your hand trailed down to meet a trail of dried of drool spanning from the edge of your lips to down towards your chin.

Great, you scoffed to yourself. You rubbed off the dried up saliva with the back of your hand, which quickly went to cover a silent yawn that managed to escape your lips. The other hand began rubbing circles around your eyes to wake yourself up. Once you were somewhat conscious and alert, you stood up and walked towards the window to close it. Despite your effort, the window wouldn’t seem to close all the way. Maybe it was because the window needed repair, or maybe it was because you’re just weak.

You mentally made yourself a note to start going to the gym more often.

You retrieved a cloth nearby and haphazardly began to stuff it under the gap from underneath the window to stop the heat from escaping your room. It wasn’t your best work. Could you have found a more efficient way to cover up the gap? Probably. But, it was in the middle of the night and there was only one thing on your mind, and that was to go back to sleep.

You returned to your bed, to resume your search for your blanket. You spread your hand around the mattress, like the blind bat you really are, to find something. You found nothing other than the feeling of the raised patterns from your mattress. You were getting back up to move for the hoodie across the room. You felt your foot get caught in a piece of fabric which caused you to trip and fall onto your side.

Hey, at least you found your blanket.

When you started to bunch it together and drag it back to on top of the bed, you noticed that Chanyeol wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t even in the room.

He probably went to the washroom, you thought to yourself. But as you turned your head to the side, you saw the washroom door wide open, and the lights off.

Maybe he’s in the kitchen, getting a midnight snack, you snickered at the thought of it. You and Chanyeol had that in common. Believing what you thought about earlier, you returned to bed, wrapping yourself in the blanket, reclaiming the heat that escaped you during the night. After what you assumed to be a while, you were mostly warmed up, except for your fingers and the tips of your toes. No matter what the temperature was, or what time of it was, those parts of your body were always cold. You sighed to yourself and rolled onto your side. You were surprised that Chanyeol hadn’t returned back yet, and you couldn’t sleep without him.

Taking a deep breath, you got up from your bed and slid on your slippers. Quickly, you put on a hoodie lying on a chair nearby. It smelled like a mix of old spice and vanilla scented body spray.

Chanyeol’s not getting this back anytime soon, you said to yourself.

Now you were worried. If he wasn’t in the washroom, and he wasn’t in the kitchen or living room, then where was he? You remembered him putting you to sleep only a few hours ago, and you were sure he fell asleep alongside you. Now you were wide awake.

As you entered the living room, you were met with the similar chilly winter breeze, wafting through the living room. You turned around to search for the source of coldness when you saw a figure from the corners of your eyes.

It was Chanyeol. He was outside on the balcony wearing only a white shirt and grey sweatpants.

“Jagiya…,” you cooed.

Chanyeol quickly whipped his body around to face your visibly confused and worried face. His hand quickly shot up to his face where he brushed off the area around his eyes. You saw a glint of light reflecting off the top of his accentuated cheekbones.

He was crying.

You made your way to him, and wrapped your arms around his lean frame, and leaned the side of your face onto his back.

“Y/N…” Chanyeol trailed off. You heard him whimper and sniff in attempts to control his tears.

Your arms around his waist tightened in an effort to comfort him. You didn’t ask him any questions, nor did he try to explain anything. You could see his hands clenching around the railings hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“I was dreaming of you,” you whispered. You tried to divert his attention to something that would make him forget what was troubling him so much. You moved from your grip behind his back and placed your clasped your hands on top of his. His hands were freezing. Removing his hands from the railing, you weaved your fingers through his and rubbed soothing patterns to calm him down. His whimpers increased to the point where his eyes held fresh, unshed tears, threatening to fall any second. You wrapped your interlocked hands around yourself to move into a hugging position. You felt Chanyeol succumbing to you and felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck. You felt his tears trail down your neck. You felt your own tears forming.

“Chanyeol, let’s go inside,” you tried croaked out. You placed a soft kiss on the back of his head and gently stepped back. Chanyeol let go your hands to wipe away his tears and looked at you. You saw the softest of smiles forming on his lips, but his eyes were just as pained as you first saw them. You wrapped your hand around his and lead him away into the warmth of your shared apartment.

Once you were inside, you went to close the balcony doors and turned the heater on. You turned around to face Chanyeol. He was curled into a ball in the corner of the couch, shivering from the cold. You hurried to his side and rubbed your hands up and down his arms to warm him up.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” you kissed the top of his head. You hurried to the bedroom to bring your blanket. Once you came back, Chanyeol was lying on his back with his head resting on the armrest, his head facing the ceiling. You noticed he was clutching the top of his head, with his eyes scrunched up in pain. He was probably having a headache from crying or from the cold. Or from both.

You placed the blanket over him and turned to fetch some Tylenol and a glass of water from the kitchen. Chanyeol muttered a quiet thank you as he quickly took the pill and drank the water. His voice was a little hoarse from earlier.

What was troubling Chanyeol so much? You quietly worried to yourself.

“Y/N,” Chanyeol’s quiet voice spoke to you, “come, and lie down with me.”

You merely looked at him and offered him a soft smile. You slowly inched your way on top of him and wrapped your arms around his neck. You rested your head on his chest and he pulled the blanket, covering both of your freezing bodies. Chanyeol’s hands found their way around you and pulled your body closer to his. You were his comfort. You were his light in the middle of the darkness. You were his sanity, his hope. His love.

You waited for a while until you lifted your face to look at his. You were going to ask him if he wanted to talk about it, but you were met with his sleeping figure. You took a moment to look at him, really absorb the image that was in front of you. He looked calm, a contrast to when he was outside visibly stressed to the point to tears. There were trails of dried up tears on his face, and you carefully moved your hand out of his grasp and tried to wipe off what you could.

You shifted your body to rest on the side of the sofa and you let your hand rest on the side of Chanyeol’s face. Slowly you caressed his face with your thumb, rubbing soft circles. His skin was so soft. You made a mental note to ask him about his skincare routine in the morning.

You kept your hand there for a while, absorbed in your thoughts when Chanyeol brought you back to reality.

“I love you,” Chanyeol softly whispered. Almost immediately, his face relaxed and he fell asleep.

“I love you too, Chanyeol, “you replied, uncertain if he had heard you. You looked at the clock on the wall opposite of you and saw the time. It was 3:19 am. Luckily, tomorrow (technically today) was a Saturday and Chanyeol didn’t have any schedules to attend to. That gave you two time to sort through what exactly happened tonight.

Soon enough, you felt yourself drifting off to sleep to the soft beating of his heart.

You woke up to the soft rays of sunlight that managed to escape from the gaps in between the blinds. An arm was resting on the side of your body while you were lying on top of him. His long legs were entangled with yours and your head was lying in the crook of his neck. Once you regained your consciousness, you looked to observe your surroundings.

This was not the living room. You were in your bedroom. Chanyeol brought you both from the couch to your bed in the middle of the night. You turned your head to face his. You never realised how long his eyelashes were. A thin layer of perspiration has layered on his forehead and neck. You pulled the sleeve of your hoodie and lightly dabbed to clear his face from it.

Chanyeol started to move. You woke him up.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Chanyeol murmured with his eyes closed. You responded by kissing his nose. Chanyeol smiled, which encouraged you to plant more kisses. You placed one on the tip of his nose again, one of the apples of his cheeks and several kisses on his forehead. This earned you laughs from him, and it made your heart flutter.

“Y/N,” he laughed, “stoop,” he said while opening his eyes. He lifted his finger and rested it on his lips. “I think you missed a spot,” Chanyeol cheekily responded.

You giggled at his response. Chanyeol had resumed to his usual playful self. This made you happy, you were also in a playful mood. You leaned in close and hovered a bit, not moving. One of his eyebrows quirked up with a smirk playing on a corner of his lips.

You press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and quickly pull yourself from his grasp.

“Yaahh, y/n you tease,” Chanyeol whined from across the room, “come back and give me a proper kiss.” You giggled even more now, trying to stifle your laughter that was threatening to burst out of you any moment. Chanyeol looked genuinely distressed. You felt bad for him, so you walked to his side of the bed. You sat down, cross legged, near his sleepy figure. Chanyeol immediately moved to rest his head on your lap and grabbed your hand. He was tracing patterns on the back of your palm with his fingers. You could tell he wanted to say something, but he was torn. So you took the jump for him.

“Chanyeol,” you said. You ran your hand through his hair for a while, attempting to soothe him.

“Last night…” you trailed on. His movement on your hands abruptly stopped.

“Do you want to talk about it? You know you can always talk to me, as cliché it sounds. You know I’m always here for you, always have a shoulder available for you, actually I have two shou-, “you were cut off from continuing on rambling.

“Jagi, I know. I know you won’t hesitate to put aside your time for me. To deal with my problems. To hear me voice out my issues, and to find a way to help my problems. I know all of that. But that’s the thing. I – I…” Chanyeol trailed off. His voice started to crack. “Lately, I’ve just been under a giant amount of pressure… and last night…” he sighed. “I just needed some time to sort things out. I thought I could handle this on my own. I – I thought I could push past this a-and move on…” he whispered.

“Chnayeol. What’s exactly bothering you? I know it’s not just the pressure. Last night was a combination of things, wasn’t it?” you questioned him.

Chanyeol didn’t reply. He kept tracing little shapes into your palm. That was an answer itself.

“Jagi…” you whispered.

Chanyeol suddenly got up from your lap. He sat up, facing away from you. “A-am I good enough?” He quietly said. “Am I good enough for you? For the fans? For anyone?” Chanyeol croaked out.

“Chanyeol, please don’t question yourself like that. Please. Your group members love you. Your family loves you. Your fans idolize you.” You told him. Chanyeol, you are my everything. You are my love. I love you. Please don’t forget that.” You pressed a soft kiss on his lips. You felt a tear slid down his cheek. You felt the pain, the doubt, and the worries that were trapped inside of him through this one kiss. You leaned down into the kiss and put a leg of each side of his body to get a better angle. He placed his hands on the small of your back and pulled you into him. He held onto you as if he needed you to survive. You ran your fingers through his hair and gently yanked on a fistful when he decided to bite your lip. You felt his teeth grazing over the area where he had bit. Softly sucking on the area, he moved his hand up to caress the back of your neck. Both of you pulled away, gasping for breath.

Chanyeol leaned his forehead against yours, drawing his eyes to look into yours. His eyes were full of love and adoration for you. Your gaze traveled down to his lips where you noticed they were pink and swollen. You laughed and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Chanyeol pulled you flush against his chest and securely wrapped his arms around your waist to prevent you from moving. Your legs were mixed with his and you found yourself giggling again.

“Have I told you I love you,” you whispered against his neck.

“You don’t have to tell me, I can see it in everything you do,” Chanyeol replied. “I haven’t been cared for like you did for me last night in a while. And it’s refreshing to feel like I’m loved in a time where I can barely find time to love myself,” Chanyeol spoke into my hair.

“Don’t worry, I can love you enough for the both of us until you do.”

Keep me up fighting? Good morning!

I live next to “that house” on the street.  Father and 2 twenty-something sons who feel compelled to scream and holler at each other at all hours of the night out front of their house.  Last night was especially bad because it wasn’t constant.  They’d fight for a few minutes then stop.   Just as I was dozing off again, they’d start again.  It was a nice night and I prefer to sleep with my windows open, and it seemed that they were arguing right under my window.

This is a frequent occurrence and I’ve quite honestly gotten bored with just calling the cops on them - I keep hoping for extreme violence that will land them all in jail for a long time.

So this morning I decided it was time for paybacks.  I get up early, and leave for work before 7AM.  I know they’re more night-owls and were arguing until at least 1AM last night, so as I left for work I went next door and banged on their door as loud as I possibly good for a solid 60 seconds.

When the father answered the door I politely asked if I had woken him up - he said yes and asked what was wrong.  I simply replied “Nothing, thought I owed you one for keeping me up last night. Have a nice day”

Got in my car and went to work.

   On January 20, 1793, Louis XVI said farewell to his family. He was to be guillotined the next morning. Madame Royale later recorded their last meeting; it is said that she fainted when saying good-bye to her father.

About seven o'clock in the evening we learned the sentence by the newsmen, who came crying it under our windows: a decree of the Convention permitted us to see the King. We ran to his apartment, and found him much altered; he wept for us, not for fear of death; he related his trial to my mother, apologizing for the wretches who had condemned him; he told her, that it was proposed to attempt to save him by having recourse to the primary assemblies, but that he would not consent, lest it should excite confusion in the country. He then gave my brother some religious advice, and desired, him above all, to forgive those who caused his death and he gave him his blessing, as well as to me.

   My mother was very desirous that the whole family should pass the night with my father; but he opposed this, observing to her how much he needed some hours of repose and quiet. She asked at least to be allowed to see him next morning, to which he consented. But, when we were gone, he requested that we might not be permitted to return, as our presence afflicted him too much. He then remained with his confessor till midnight, when he went to bed….

Marie-Antoinette, Daughter of the Caesars: Her Life, Her Times, Her Legacy - Elena Maria Vidal

this ship and this creature give me life

Newt brought a shaky hand through his hair, then quickly flattened it again over his eyes. He sat awkwardly at a dinner table for two; the room was dimly lit by candlelight, and faint starlight filtered in from the windows. Under the table in his right hand, he clutched the suitcase; in his left was a small, velvety box. Breathing deeply, he smiled to himself. This was a good place to propose.

Tina approached, stunning in a sequinned dress, clutching a silvery bag. Her eyes sparkled in the semi-darkness, reflecting the light of the moon. Newt rose to greet her, slipping the engagement ring into his pocket and smiling nervously.

“You look - great,” he murmured, pulling out a chair.

The young woman grinned and took her seat. “Thanks. So, what’s the occasion?”

“N-Nothing,” Newt stammered. “I just wanted to buy you dinner.”


After they’d ordered, Newt nervously stuck his hand in his pocket, almost yelping in shock when he only felt the smooth material of the worn coat. Tina  stared at him as he frantically turned in his seat, her eyes wide. “What?”

He stopped fidgeting and looked at her. “Ah - nothing. I’m just looking for our food.” Trying to prove himself, he faced the door to the kitchens; a man had just emerged from it, and, scurrying past his legs, was his Niffler. Aghast, Newt glanced rapidly at his suitcase then back up to watch the little creature disappear behind swinging doors.

Merlin’s beard. 

“E-Excuse me, Tina,” he mumbled, standing.

“Where are you going?”

He glanced towards the kitchens then met her eyes. “Um - bathroom. I won’t be long.”

He slipped between tables towards the toilets, then, when Tina had stopped looking, he turned sharply and pushed his way into the kitchen, quickly ducking behind a food trolley. The chefs were busy cooking and shouting, lost in heat and frenzy and not noticing the black-furred beast grabbing gleaming silver cutlery in his greedy paws.

Newt crawled behind workstations, following his beast. Carefully he removed his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the creature, but the Niffler suddenly disappeared beneath another workplace.

He came out of the shadows a little, held his wand straight, and muttered angrily. “Accio!”

`The Niffler slipped out from beneath the workplace and soared towards him, scratching desperately at the floor before winding up in Newt’s hands.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get seen, you little pest. You took the ring, didn’t you?” Newt tickled its stomach gently and several glistening spoons and tips fell from the pouch, followed finally by the tiny ring, but the box was gone. He sighed and picked the jewellery up, then slipped it back into the Niffler’s pouch. “Come on. You’re helping me now.”

The creature tilted its head then crawled onto Newt’s shoulder, its small claws digging into his coat. Newt dashed towards the exit, slipping the Niffler beneath his coat just as he made his way casually back to the table, where Tina sat, her food half-eaten and Newt’s opposite, untouched. Sadness and boredom gleamed in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt murmured, approaching fast and sitting down. 

A sudden burst of anger flashed in Tina’s eyes. “Where have you been?!”

“I -” Awkwardly, he removed the Niffler from under his coat and took the ring out from his pouch. “Um - I was going to propose - and then he stole the ring - and - er - will you marry me, Tina?” He blushed nervously. The Niffler glared at Tina as if daring her to say no.

Her eyes shone with bewilderment and shock, then it was replaced with joy and almost disbelief. Newt’s eyes widened then he rapidly got onto his knee, offering a small “Sorry,” as his leg hit the table. People in the restaurant were staring at them now. The Niffler had slipped back under his coat and was watching the ring intently.

“Oh - um - don’t feel obliged to say yes. The Niffler will have it if -”

He was intercepted by Tina, kneeling down under the table beside him and kissing him firmly, half-laughing. 

“Y-Yes,” she gasped, smiling widely. “I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

Miss V // 3 - Joker Imagine

// Part 1 // Part 2 // 

Sorry, I’m a dipshit for taking this long. 


I rolled over in the extremely large bed that sat in the corner of Bruce’s room just under the window sill that illuminated the white satin sheets, making it seem that I was in a movie where the girl wakes up flawless and untouched by the havoc we call sleep. Instead I sat up with hair in my mouth and makeup smeared in the corner of my eyes, yes I was an absolute mess. 

“Jesus.” I mumble into my hands as I rub my eyes a headache starting to creep into my head from my temples. 

“No my names Bruce, I thought you would know that by now?” Bruce says smart allectly. All I do is roll my eyes and search for the pill bottle I so desperately desire. “Is someone grumpy this morning?” He wiggles his eyebrows as he passes me the pill bottle. He is in an unusual good mood.

“Yes, Im grumpy and yes I will bite.” I snap opening the bottle and downing three pills, sighing afterwards. 

“Well I need to head out, my company isn’t going to run its self, see you at dinner tonight.” He says stoking your cheek and kissing your forehead tonight. 

Dinner? What dinner? Then it hits you, his big company gala was tonight and you were his date for tonight. How could you be so stupid. You groan and slump back into the bed, where you find yourself thinking about the green haired man, who enticed you so much. 

Springing out of bed you went to take a shower, riding your body of any traces from last night. Once you were done you wrapped yourself in a towel and grabbed your black body con dress. You slipped on the expensive clothes after throwing you hair in a less than perfect messy bun and applied your makeup, your eyeliner being just as sharp as your new knives. 

You grabbed your silver gun and thigh pocket knives and walked out the door towards your car. It wasn’t extravagant like Bruce’s or Joker’s, just something to  get you point A to point B. You decided last night you would be taking the week off from work, to have some “personal” days, when in reality you had some work to take care of. 

Pulling out of the driveway you headed off towards an old club you used to do business at, parking a couple blocks away you grabbed your purse and started your walk. Feeling a presence behind you, you held your head high while grabbing a knife and tucking it into your sleeve waiting for your moment to attack. 

A tap on your shoulder sends you into a frenzy of chaos. Swinging around and plugging the knife into the “attackers” arm you hear a slight yelp as you throw them to the pavement. You straddle them and hold a knife to their throat. “Can I help you?” You ask turning your head sideways with a creepy smile forming your face. 

“T-The Joker sends a message.” He stumbles obviously trembling with fear. You swing your hand in a go on motion. “He says to wear red, so the blood tonight won’t show too much on your dress.” He says holding his hands in the air as you press harder into his skin. 

“Is Mister J making a grand appearance tonight at the wayne gala?” You question in a sing song voice. 

“Yes Ma’am.” He says shaking even more now. 

“Good.” You hiss as you slice his throat, leaving him lifeless in a dark alley. “Such a shame I just got a manicure and I chipped my nail on a dirt bad like you.” You spat wiping your hands off and continuing towards the club. 

You give the simple password to the big goon hiding behind the door and you are escorted to a back room where the man of the hour seems to be hiding. 

“Jasper baby, did you miss me?” You seethe through smiling teeth as you make your grand entrance. 

“Oh darling, where have you been?” He asks grabbing your waist pulling you into a hug. 

“Ive been living a different life for a while.” You state straightening out your dress and turning your attention back to Jasper. 


“I hate it. Im coming back into the game.” You say in a demanding tone. 

“Well who says we want you back?” He challenges circling you like a hawk waiting to devour his prey. 

“You’re kidding right.” You smirk giving him a chance to back down before he ends up like the man on the road only minutes ago. 

“Of course I am love. Its good to have you back, Im assuming you need your old set up again?” He quirks, raising a brow. You give him a simple nod as he gives you some papers as he sets up some calls. 

“Welcome back Miss V.” A smirk spreads across both of your faces. 

This is going to be so……delightful. 


This is just a filler, sorry its crappy….Im sleep deprived. Let me know lovelies if you want more. 

Yours truly, 



After everyone else is asleep in the basement, she goes back upstairs. She catches sight of her reflection in the window: hollow-eyed, her blouse loose where it used to be perfectly tailored, her long hair in a ponytail she put in two days ago. She needs a shower, a full meal, an entire fucking bottle of wine. None of those things are forthcoming.

Under the window, with the light from the moon shining in, she takes out the journal. There are rough edges where she tore out the note she left behind. It wasn’t something she’d imagined. The note was there, and now it’s missing.

She writes, The world has gotten so small, then sets the pen down. Closes her eyes.

The basement stairs creak, advising her of someone’s approach. It’s Mulder, because of course it is. He collapses onto the couch and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How much of that did you already know?” His eyes are steel.

“A lot,” she says quietly.

“That whole time,” he says. “You didn’t let me go out. What do they have, Scully?”

She licks her lips. Her eyes flit toward the corner of the room, away from him. “You’re not asking the right questions.”

Against the cushions his fists clench and unclench. “Stop fucking around, Scully.”

“It’s not what, Mulder. It doesn’t matter what it is. What matters is where it came from.” Their eyes lock.

All the things she should have known, should have seen coming. Over the past few years she’s seen all kinds of strange cases come through the hospital, diseases no one had ever seen, bacteria that multiplied faster than the laws of science permitted. In the new world the laws of science were evidently as mutable as the laws of man. But she hadn’t made the connection. Not until it was too late.

“I think this has been in the works for a long time,” she says softly. “I think the men we fought against have finally made their move. They just had to wait for a leader who wouldn’t try to stop them.”

“They’re collaborators,” Mulder says roughly. “All of them.”

“I know. I know what they are.” And this shouldn’t have surprised her, either. She’s a realist. She knows that the world gets worse and then incrementally gets better, and then gets worse again. This is the real arc of history, as far as she can tell. The moral arc of the universe is really just a sine curve.

“Skinner said he was immune to it.”

Scully nods. “He was vaccinated, I think. I imagine most people at his level would be. And I…after I was abducted I had some unusual antibodies in my blood. Will has all of those antibodies, too. I think…I think they’re preventative. I think they’re from wherever the disease is from.“ By the end her voice is barely audible.

"I don’t have them, though,” he says flatly.

She hesitates.

He gets up from the couch and crosses the room in one sudden smooth motion. “That’s why you wouldn’t let me out of the car,“ he says to the window. "You thought I’d catch it. Jesus, Scully. You could have fucking told me.”

"I hoped I was wrong.” She stands to join him. When she touches his forearm he flinches back, closes his eyes like he’s trying to block her out.

He says, “So it’s just a matter of time.”

She’s defiant. “That’s not what I said.” The blood and the bone and the horror, and she thinks, I am not going to let this thing happen to you.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do?”

“Skinner wants — he wants me to go with him,” she says, slow. “Try to synthesize a new vaccine. While you’re here, running the safe house.” She can see that familiar twitch in his jaw and she wants to beg him not to say it.

But he does, inevitably. “Of course he does,” Mulder says, sharp as a knife’s edge. “He’s finally got a shot.”

Her entire body stiffens. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “Where’s your head, Mulder? We’re talking about the survival of the human race.”

“Maybe we don’t deserve to be saved.”

“Well, you’re not the one who gets to decide that.”

“And you do? Maybe we should just let nature take its course, Scully. We’ve fucked things up badly enough—”

“Do you want the truth, Mulder?” she spits. “This is for you. I am doing this for you.”

Her breaths come shallow and she’s suddenly, strangely panicky. She presses her open palm to her chest and turns away from him. She remembers what the air smelled like a month ago. It’s stale in the house, it reeks of mildew and unwashed bodies, and outside the moon is staring back at them and she just has to remember how to breathe—

From behind her Mulder puts his hands on her shoulders and even though he’s most of the reasons she’s angry right now, his hands steady her. She turns and wraps her arms around him, feeling her heartbeat slow to match his. She listens to it beat, a-live, a-live, a-live.

“I don’t know how to fight this,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she says into his chest, her voice thick. “We can’t hide forever. I have to feel like I’m doing something.”

“We’re too old for this shit, Scully.”

“I know,” she says, not quite laughing. It’s a watery sound, uncertain. “I still have to go, Mulder.”

She can feel him swallow. “When?”

“It could be a week. Maybe a month, he wasn’t sure. Someone will come get us when it’s time.” Scully holds him tighter. This is a choice, she reminds herself. You are making a choice.

They hold each other in the dark. She pretends it doesn’t feel like goodbye.



I have decided to push back my SAT date (not sure when to push back till but yah) and I’m going to pay $50 moreeee omg Sighs I should really save money now as I’m feeling really guilty for not having utilises the 2 months of holiday properly to prepare. Anyway this is my new table, Junior College has commenced this week and this is my new study area (under the window) bought the flowers yesterday and I’ve just placed it in the pretty pot from IKEA and bam my room is damn pretty now. It’s only $5 for 12 roses and they are damn pretty!