Turkey and Egypt were bombed just this week and the syrian government is literally committing genocide and nobody fucking gives a fuck
I’m sorry but where are the hashtags? the facebook pictures? Why does nobody give a fuck about terrorism when non whites people are victims? if this was paris or bruxelles y'all will be talking about it for weeks, if this was the usa y'all will be talking about it for years. Honestly wtf why don’t you care about us? Why?
Stiles opens his mouth a few times, like he wants to say something. He can’t at first, just shuts his jaw as his heart rate picks up at a steady pace.
Finally, he clicks his tongue against his teeth and says, “They’re blue,” with a little crack around the end.
Derek eyes his profile warily. None of the pack knew why Stiles had chosen to sequester himself in this room, but he’d had his suspicions. The teen doesn’t meet his gaze now. Just gives a little look up at the mirror then goes back to plucking at the denim of his jeans.
“Can I see?”
Stiles head snaps toward him, and Derek raises his eyebrows in silent response. He tries not to let his eyes flick down to the boy’s mouth out of habit. Fails.
He’s surprised when Stiles complies effortlessly. He always knew Stiles would make a good werewolf. He’s almost too good, picking up control like it’s a skill he’s had hiding beneath his bed.
Derek thinks of himself. Thinks of Paige. Thinks of being alone and heartbroken with blue burning behind his eyelids. Think of his mother crouched down in front him with her hard jawline and soft smile.
With his heart lodged behind his adam’s apple, he reaches out and rests his hand on the side of Stiles’ neck, his thumb brushing the turn of his jaw beneath the ear. Stiles’ eyes (still brilliant, glowing blue) scan his face. Right eye, left eye, mouth, and back.
“Still beautiful,” Derek says finally, “just like the rest of you.”
Throughout life you will meet one person who is unlike any other. You could talk to this person for hours and never get bored, you could tell them things and they won’t judge you. This person is your soulmate, your best friend. Don’t ever let them go.
Chapter Summary: While the warmth and plush comforts of the House of Wind offer a temporary respite, neither Nesta or Elain can deny that they’ll have to dive into the fray sooner than they’d like. When Cassian suggests that he take Nesta out on a separate training mission, she can feel the wall between them crumbling despite her efforts to remain distant.
Nesta awoke calm, entirely swathed in a mound of blankets pulled up to her chin. The sheets were softer than the thickly woven blankets of the Illyrian camp and warm, golden sunlight filtered in through the translucent curtains. She’d slept entirely dreamless for once. No gaping mouth of the cauldron, no sounds oil-slick water sloshing in the back of her mind. And thankfully no hands tearing at her dress. Those sorts of dreams had lessened in the past months with other threats to consider, but they still hadn’t gone entirely. When was the last time she’d slept through the night?
She let out a slight groan as she rose, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, stretching the tension out of her shoulders.
And then the previous night came flooding back to her.
Cassian. They’d sat up long into the morning, discussing the logistics of the coming war. She’d brought up ideas with a fresh mind, things he would have quickly dismissed, maneuvers he worked into their plan to even out the bumps. He hadn’t seen her inexperience in such matters as a disappointment but rather an opportunity to expand their options.
Between the two of them they’d managed to come up with a reasonably solid plan assuming Rhys and Amren were successful in their efforts to gather allies (Nesta didn’t know much of Amren, but she gathered that whoever wasn’t convinced with Rhys’s diplomacy might just very well agree purely for the sake of not having Amren as an enemy).
And Cassian… he’d treated her as his equal, listening to her ideas, as fumbling as she thought they might be, as anyone who might bear the same rank as him. He’d tease, of course, and poke fun at her when he could get a word in edgewise, explaining why some of her suggestions simply weren’t logistically possible, but never shutting her down without reason.
Nesta wasn’t entirely sure how to react.
All her life she’d spat on those who used their rank or status to look down on her family, fighting tooth and nail against anyone who assumed anything about the Archeron sisters. How was she supposed to react then, when she was on the other end of the spectrum? When she was the one who’d mistaken a man nearly broken by the world he’d been raised in, who’d had his wings, the very symbol of his freedom and strength, shredded almost to the point of no return.
He was still a prick, of course, with his gloating and the way he’d push his hair back over his ears so the ends would curl slightly at his jaw. Definitely still a prick.
Everyone is panicking because of Trump’s win and wishing each other to be safe and here I am - living in a country with oligarchic criminal government ruled by one “chieftain” for 16 years, where 80+% of people support it, where national television is a constant Trump-show feeding people with absurd and dangerous lies, making them see enemies everywhere, where gays are not allowed in public places, where people actually disappear and lose their lives when they oppose the government and those in power NEVER answer to justice.
Yes, I’ve lived in Russia all my life and noone ever told me to be safe and I still survived. And you’ll survive. The day Trump won is a bad day for American people but your political system is still strong and this man won’t be able to do as he pleases. He won’t destroy scientific establishments and annex territories and throw your relatives in jail because he doesn’t like you. He is a clown, not an all-mighty Beast like Putin. And he will be gone in 4-8 years. Stop exaggerating and stay strong, you’ll survive.
So I’m wondering, has any of our fandom’s great gifset creators, done a “Rise and Fall of Oswald Cobblepot” by season yet? Or if anyone has chart making as a hobby, I think that would be an interesting one to see.
I was thinking earlier about how far Penguin has fallen but then I realized him being shot and tossed in the bay doesn’t actually seem like that bad in comparison to other “lows” he’s had.
Take S2. You think him holding his dear mother as she dies would be as low as he could get, but then he finds himself in Arkham with his brain being melted out of his ears. And then, he loses his newly found father! It’s like does this kid ever catch a break!? But in the end he’s the one saving the day as Butch blows Galavan to bits.
It just seems like the lower he falls, the higher he rises. I think that depending on how he gets himself out of this, if he has his wits about him, he can turn this around rather quickly. He’s bounced back from worse! And even higher than before. I think it’s one of the things we all love about him. His ability to get up no matter what knocks him down.
Ed hurt him. He let himself be vulnerable and he was earnest and it didn’t matter. He still lost this fight. He is undoubtedly down right now. But he won’t stay there. It’s only a matter of time before The Penguin rises once more.
What she means:
do you know how hard it must've been for Killian Jones to stop drinking and gambling in his pre-navy days? to claw out of the hole he was in? a man with so little self-worth would've literally drank himself to death and squandered every penny he had. a man with such supposed weakness in the face of darkness would've backslid right into drinking even after joining the navy, just as alcoholism affects jobs. a man with as much self-loathing as he had would've self-destructed and embraced every demon. but he didn't. he got his fucking act together during his time as Lt. Jones because his brother was his world and his light and his inspiration and his love and the source of hope for him. and then, that light DIED––due to machinations by the system that fucked them over in the first place. it wasn't just understandable for bright and starry-eyed Lt. Jones to fall so far after his brother's death. it was inevitable.
there will be people who use you. they are good at getting close so you care about them. when they see your scars, they’ll flash their own. you will feel kin to them. you know what it is to struggle with things.
and at first you think: they’ll help me if i help them.
but it doesn’t happen. you love them deeply so you always pick up the phone. it doesn’t matter that you have a test the next day or that you’re going through things of your own. you support them.
they are good at pretend. they will play like they are your friend, so you endlessly give to them. after a while you realize: it really doesn’t matter what’s happening in your life, some more pressing emergency is always happening to them. it is a hard thing to recognize, because you don’t want people to hurt like you do.
i have a friend who never asks me if i’’m okay. she only ever texts me to tell me she wants to die, but never goes to therapy or does any of the things i tell her to do to help herself. once when i came back from my grandfather’s funeral she demanded to know why i’d been gone, and when i explained, she said that without me, she’d almost passed out of this world. i had to lay down on the floor; nothing made sense anymore. i want her to get better. i want to help.
but there are people out there who will use you. who don’t care about getting better, they care about you giving up your time, your effort, your everything. until you are drained of it. i don’t mean those who give back, who will gladly do anything for you, who you know you can trust. who you don’t mind giving up the test for, because you know they’d do the same in a similar spot.
i mean those who don’t know you. who pretend that they care about you but are using your empathy as a sore spot. who take more than they need. who demand your attention all of the time but don’t care if you bleed.