#so she is no status symbol. there is no perfection with her. the people begrudgingly look to her to lead them out of the hell

[fourswords]

in my free time i'm typing out a little post-adventure of link story from loz 1 zelda's perspective on link bringing this OTHER princess zelda who was apparently asleep for centuries (and thank you SO much for the WARNING that he was going to be DOING this, IMPA [<-entirely sarcastic]) back to the castle and the acclimatization of everyone to the whole situation and it's genuinely so fun. loz 1 zelda's standing there like alright how do i gently break it to my relative from the distant peaceful past that she has to learn how to fight in this time period or she's going to get ripped to shreds by monsters. and then she says exactly that and when aol zelda predictably looks mildly freaked out about the subject and is just standing there internally screaming like yep! okay! sure! death and destruction is rampant in this world and it kind of makes me wish i'd never woken up at all! when do fighting lessons start! loz 1 zelda is just standing there like. hm. was that not gentle enough. i feel like that wasn't gentle enough.

[thran-duils]

Nowhere to Run (P.1)

Title: Nowhere to Run (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Stony. Reader was caught unknowingly stealing from the capitol harvest and is drug to the capitol for punishment. She is offered an option to go to trial or accept work in the main government building. Upon her tour, she ends up in trouble and catches eyes of two of the Master Council that decide she needs to be broken in by their hands. Words: 1,847 Warnings: Non-con, servitude, forced orgasms, verbal and emotional abuse

Author’s Notes: I don’t intend for this to be a super long series. This chapter is setting up the non-con to come. Read at your own risk, 18+ as always. Also, the picture under the cut is the mood in the world that I am seeing; kind of steam punk? AND, song inspo.

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You were being led through the long halls of the capitol building, a collar around your neck. The guards could give you a small shock whenever they so pleased if you tried to run or do anything unsavory.

They had found you stealing fruits off one of the carts in the market. Normally, you would have had your hands whipped and spent a night in jail. But this cart that you had so stupidly failed to see had the symbol of the capitol on it. It had been dark, early morning, and you had failed to see it as you snuck around. The envoy had apparently come to the market as the vendors were arriving to fetch the best of the crops for the council members. Stealing from the capitol meant trial there and you were drug from your mountainous outskirt town to the city with others to face the highest court for your crime.

You were brought to a room and shoved inside; the door closed behind you. A man was sitting behind a desk, waiting patiently.

“Sit,” he invited, gesturing at the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “My name is Tsu. I’ll be your counselor for the day if you decide to utilize my offer.”

Cautiously, you did what he asked, sinking into the chair. He picked up a device — you had only ever seen guards that patrolled through your town with them — and clicked it on. A picture came to life, and you watched with awe as he was able to control it with his movements of his hand in the air.

“I have your basic information that they collected upon your arrest. Name, date of birth, crime. But I need to know what it is you do...”

���‘Do’?”

“Your profession.”

“I don’t have a profession. I’m going to trial.”

“Everyone has a profession.”

You stayed silent, not wanting to give this capitol worker any more information than he already had on you. Your town did well enough staying out of their way and business, keeping to yourselves besides when they demanded crops. Giving away too much about yourself seemed unwise.

Tsu eyed you and asked suspiciously, “Was it a, let’s say, less prestigious profession that you are more inclined to not disclose?”

You saw he was eyeing your arms and then neck causing you to you ask, “What do you mean?”

“Do you know women here in the city — and many other places in the kingdom for that matter — are tattooed?”

“I’ve seen people passing through with them yes.”

“Tattoos are normal, expected even. Your body is a canvas. And having the freedom to do with your skin as you please is a status symbol.” You stared at him dumbly, not picking up what he was trying to get at. He sighed, lowering the technological device and leveled with you, “Ladies of the night do not have tattoos. They’re not free and their skin is kept clear to show that. And to me, you look like ink has never touched your skin. Am I correct?”

Heat came to your cheeks, and you sputtered offended, “I’m not a lady of the night! I worked for the local librarian if you need to know! It just didn’t pay well, and I was hungry!”

So much for not giving him information. But he had provoked you. You were always told you had a temper.

“So, you’re saying yes your skin is clear?”

“Yes it is but I’m not a trollop!”

“It matters not. It will invite unwanted attention from people here in the city. And trust me, the higher up they are in status, the bolder they will be about assuming you are... open.”

Exasperated, you asked, “What does this have to do with my trial?”

Tsu shrugged, “With my help, you may not have to go to trial. You’ll just be sentenced to work in the capitol building. Here. I’m just trying to explain to you briefly how some things work. And I was merely asking what you did so I could better place you. If you were working nights, then, there is a spot for you, despite your immediate disdain for the profession. But, if that’s not the case, then I can find you something else here.”

“For how long?” you asked upset.

Tsu shrugged and said, “The typical time for a crime in your bracket is a year.” Your stomach dropped. An entire year spent here? Wearing a collar? Away from your home. “If you are outstanding — and someone happens to notice, which is rare — you could have a couple months shaved off. The other way, if you are unsuitable or enrage someone, they could seek to extend your sentence.”

“So, I am to be at the mercy of these wealthy, spoiled assholes’ whims?” You demanded before you could stop yourself.

That drew the briefest of smirks out of hum before he cleared his throat and said, “As assuming as it is for me to hear you share that behind closed doors with me, because it is true, I would watch your tongue very closely. That’s something that would most certainly get your sentence extended.”

“Noted,” you muttered, sinking back into your seat.

Tsu turned the tablet towards you and said, “If you would prefer to do what I am offering instead of facing trial and time in a cell, sign here stating you understand the conditions.”

You stared at the tablet, weighing your options. This way, you knew exactly what you were getting into and having knowledge and a plan seemed a comfort than going in blind. Reaching forward, you held out your hand.

“Use your finger. There’s no pen.”

Tracing your name, you watched it appear in gold before solidifying in black in the document.

“Perfect. Let’s get you changed into a servant’s gown. And get that collar off.” The collar was going to come off? He must have seen the shock on your face. “You’ll be given an ankle bracelet. It will look delicate, beautiful even, but trust me, it won’t break. And they’ll get an alert if there’s a lot of pressure aka you trying to do so. And that can also get you added time.”

<><><>

It only took half a day for you to find yourself in more trouble. You had been following Tsu as he gave you a tour around the castle and you had stopped as the two of you crossed a bridge. You had been transfixed by the sight of the city, your hands coming to rest on the balcony as you took it in.

You felt a hand at your ass before it cupped, and breath was hot on your ear.

“My, my, I don’t think I’ve seen you before, lovely,” the man rasped.

“Don’t touch me, you piece of shit!” you exclaimed, whipping around and shoving him. He stumbled back away from you, barely catching his balance having been so caught off guard by your reaction. You doubted the people here ever received pushback from servants. He looked furious.

“What did she just say?” the man demanded, coming for you but someone stepped in his way.

This other man was blonde, short haired. “There’s no need to maim the girl here in public, is there?”

The first man looked ready to explode but he grated, “Did you hear what she said to me, Master Barton? She—"

“I have ears and they’re perfect, so yes I did hear what she said,” Barton replied coolly.

Tsu had come back to your side — how far had he gotten, talking to himself, before he realized you were not behind him? He pulled you a few paces away.

“What’s going on, sir?”

Before Barton could say anything, the man spat, “That little wench shoved me and swore at me!”

Tsu inhaled deeply before hissing in your ear, “Did you hear nothing of what I spoke?” You opened your mouth to protest but he continued on in a hushed whisper, “This whole thing can possibly be fixed if you just go apologize. And if you do this I’m going to have to grab the back of your neck without any resistance from you.”

“Gods,” you breathed.

“I’m serious.”

You gave the slightest of nods before Tsu’s hand was tight around the back of your neck and he walked you past Barton to the man. He was staring at you ferociously, like he wanted to tear you apart.

“She’s just arrived today but that doesn’t excuse her actions. She would like to beg your forgiveness,” Tsu told him, and his fingers flexed, signaling for you to start.

You had dealt with bullies before. You could do this.

Trying to keep the disdain out of your tone, you said, “I’m sorry for being enraged and acting impulsively. It was uncouth of me. I’m new and I am trying to learn how to act respectively with your customs. I beg your forgiveness.” You quickly added, “Sir.”

The man straightened out his shirt before sneering, “These little whores keep getting more brazen. Keep them in line!”

With that he turned on his heel and stormed off.

Tsu let go of your neck and he breathed easier that it had not escalated, and the man had begrudgingly accepted your apology. You caught Barton watching and he winked at you before turning on his heel and leaving as well.

<><><>

Tony was watching the screen of the security footage with arousal swimming in his eyes, his fingers at his lips at the woman. He was insatiable at times with his lust — the whorehouse a place he frequently relished in. He turned his attention to Steve.

Steve was cold at first, displeased by the mountain girl’s behavior towards one of the council members. But upon seeing her come back and apologize, a small smirk broke out.

“Thought you might find that interesting,” Clint commented, leaning against the wall. “Seems there’s a little hellion now in our midst.”

Tony paused the recording on a close up of her face and Steve leaned forward. He studied her for a few moments before telling the guards.

“Send her our way,” he ordered. “We’ve needed a new chambermaid. And I haven’t had to break a new one in in a while.”

“Cause she definitely didn’t mean a word of that apology. Look at that fire in her eyes,” Tony chuckled, strolling closer to the screen, looking at her face on the paused screen. Quietly to himself more than anything, his fingers tapping his lips, he said, “No... no you didn’t, did you, little vixen?” He was drinking the sight of her in, and he adjusted his pants, already titillating himself at the thoughts playing in his mind. Turning away from the screen on one foot, he went back for his goblet, taking a drink. He smacked his lips and vowed, “She’ll mean it when we ask for an apology. Of that I am certain.”

“Whatever she’s been assigned, reassign her to our villa community,” Steve added. “She’ll have plenty work there to learn her manners.”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21​ @undecidedsworld​ @holl2712​ @agustdowney​

[essays-for-breakfast]

One Fall

Melizabeth Week Day One: Light/Darkness

He was a creature of darkness. His whole life had been determined by shadows, the dark depths of his home world, the cruel hand of his father, the seeds of death and destruction he had sown. Meliodas had learned to hold a sword and take another creature’s life from the moment he had been able to walk. And for the longest time he had refused to do as little as think about complaining. Changing his ways was an idea so farfetched it could make him laugh; his path was already carved out. Fight on behalf of the Demon King, kill on behalf of the Demon King, wage war on behalf of the Demon King.

A perfect servant of his father.

Meliodas only ascended from the darkness of his home world to bring destruction to those pitiful beings housing in the land of Britannia. He slayed dragons and humans and Goddesses alike, and led the elite of his father, the Ten Commandments, to kill many more. The blood on his hands could never be washed away, it stained his fingers when he dressed in the morning, when he trained with Zeldris in the afternoon, when he placed his head on his pillow for the night.

He was a creature of darkness.

And for a while he had been content with this life.

She was a being of light. Word spread to even the deepest shadows and the most steadfast Demons of the daughter of the Supreme Deity, who was said to be able to purge dragon and Vampire and Demon alike, until they would sing pretty songs of peace and forgiveness. But if she did fight an opponent with full force, she showed her true strength, and beware the poor creature that crossed her path. Bloodstained Ellie – that was how she was known in the Demon Realm.

When Zeldris had first mentioned her and the fear coursing through the ranks of the military, Meliodas had laughed a humorless laugh. What did a single Goddess have to show against the oppressive power of the Demon King? Those who had been lulled by her words had surely never tasted the wrath of the Demon King. Meliodas had. More than once. He remembered what it felt like to become a weak-willed puppet on the strings of his father, he remembered the taste of blood in his mouth when he had been pushed into the dirt after dropping his sword in his first lesson of armed combat.

Betraying the Demon King was the last thing Meliodas would dare. Or so he had thought.

She was a being of light. Since they fought on opposite sides of the great war human historians would later dub the Holy War, it had been only a matter of time until Meliodas crossed path with the woman who filled the hearts of his followers with dread or the illusion of peace – both equally poisonous.

The battle was fought, the skirmish won, and the small human town smoldered under the fires of hell. With nothing but numbness, Meliodas stared at the iron monument depicting a Goddess at the town center, the single reason for why the humans had been sentenced to death. The head of the statue, once proud and a symbol of worship, lay severed in the dust. If only the humans had chosen another icon to guard their town. Their undoing might have been delayed a few weeks. A year if the Demon King had been generous. But when had he ever been?

Meliodas had ordered Galand and Melascula to return to the Demon Realm and report the successful completion of their mission. And for himself, there was only one task to fulfill before he could crawl back into the darkness with more blood on his hands.

I do not tolerate survivors.

Those had been the last words Meliodas had been given by his father when he had been standing at the door of the throne room, ready to take his leave and hopeful to be spared this set of orders. An acerbic taste had climbed his throat then and filled his mouth now as he walked through the burning ruins in search for human survivors. It was a dirty business, but Meliodas always chose to carry out this task himself. He was quick when he snuffed out the life energies of those labelled his enemy. Some of the other Commandments were not.

A whimpering carried to his ears through the crackling of fire, and Meliodas cursed under his breath. The broadsword weighed heavier the closer he came to the source of the sound.

They were so easy to find. Shell-shocked or crying, the four humans cowered in the dirt beneath the remains of a roof, their pale faces devoid of hope as they gazed up to him. But before Meliodas could raise his sword, he was knocked into the dust by blinding light.

He jumped to his feet with a backflip and shook off the pesky agony of the Goddess magic. Compared to the hits of his father, this attack had been a gentle breeze. With a growl, Meliodas met the eyes of his next adversary.

Without having crossed paths with her, he knew in an instant who he was faced with, and the grip around the hilt of his sword tightened. Her eyes shone with determination and the symbol of the Goddess Clan amidst a pool of gold, and the last remains of a magic spell still danced around her fingertips. There was only one Goddess apart from the Archangels who could catch him off guard as she had.

But he wasn’t given a chance to inspect her further as the next orb of light swooshed past his ear, missing it by an inch. Meliodas dropped his defensive pose, angry with himself for allowing his adversary to strike twice unpunished, and charged at Bloodstained Ellie. Better now before she would be able to twist his head with those hopes and lies he had buried when he had been old enough to hold a sword. Darkness spread from his fingertips to envelop his sword, but instead of flesh, Meliodas struck light.

The accursed Goddess deflected his attack with a magic barrier and shifted out of the way to strike with her other hand. Meliodas squinted to avoid the brightness and manifested his wings. He kicked from the ground to gain the upper hand, but she was already above him, white-feathered wings beating against the smoke screens.

They pivoted into the sky in a strange, violent dance where one misstep equaled death. Meliodas dealt out blow for blow, but his adversary was always one step ahead of him, evaded his hits and retaliated with an attack twice as forceful. White and black, light and darkness crashed between them, and the longer she held her own – no, she was already prevailing – the more respect Meliodas begrudgingly held for this woman.

No one had even dared to test him like this.

His thoughts were captivated by the curves of her body for only a second, but that was enough. The brightness of Purge hit him square in the chest, burned the outer layers of his skin, stole the link to his magic powers, sent him tumbling to the ground miles below. A fall from this height meant death, no matter the resilience of his Demon body.

Meliodas couldn’t reach for the darkness to keep himself suspended in the air.

He kept falling.

The air rushed past him, pressed the life out of his lungs. And like an idiotic child who had seen the embodiment of beauty for the first time, he kept thinking about these perfect curves as he plummeted into his undoing.

The darkness didn’t answer his calls. But the light did.

Just as Meliodas thought he should feel the ground break his spine in a matter of seconds, a hand grabbed his and slowed his fall with a jolt that nearly dislocated his shoulder. Stupid and unable to comprehend, Meliodas stared at the soft features, hardened from exertion not spite, of the woman who tried to kill him a moment ago. Her slim fingers around his let something flow through his flesh and bones and muscles Meliodas failed to identify. A strange feeling, but pleasant in a way. Warm.

The way sunlight felt on his skin.

Meliodas hit the ash-covered ground unhurt but too stunned to mind his bruised ego or even scramble to his feet. His adversary, his savior, stood over him with endless grace, her wings flipping in the breeze that caught her long silver strands.

“Why?” Meliodas coughed up.

The question seemed to confuse her. “Didn’t you want to live? Or are Demons never taught what gratitude means?”

A verbal fighter on top. Meliodas grinned without real humor. “Who knows how many of your allies you condemned to death by saving me. All these people who will die by my hands in the next fight. And the next. All because you are to weak-willed to get your hands dirty.”

She ignored his insult. “You’re right. If you die, maybe the war will be over sooner, and more lives will be spared. But the price would be an unnecessary murder, another life added to the list of casualties. I think I can lower the price further than that.”

This had to be the naivest thing Meliodas had ever heard. Was this girl unable to realize that nothing in life came for free? That there were always necessary sacrifices? Those who refused to pay the price would only end up dead or in chains – but she was either too childish or too stubborn to understand. He should strike her down here and now. His father would have ordered him to lay his fingers around her slender neck and squeeze until he had proven her idealistic worldview wrong. Then why did his hands relax at his side when he stood up to meet her at eyelevel?

She was still taller, and her two large sets of wings only added to a stature that commanded respect. “Why do you fight, Meliodas?” she asked.

So she did know who he was, knew how many of her kind he had sent into the afterlife. Her question didn’t make sense in any case. Fighting was his life, he had been raised with a weapon in his hand, and part of him enjoyed the challenge of a good battle, the thrill of victory. Meliodas had been told to fight, so that was what he did – there was nothing else to it.

“Because fighting is the only thing I know,” he said. He hadn’t meant to be this honest, a snarky insult would have been more appropriate. Better fit for the leader of the Ten Commandments. “And because someone else will take my place if I don’t fight. If I play my role, I at least have some control over how the battle is fought.”

The smile she gave him was rich of sickly-sweet compassion – he couldn’t get enough of this poison. “Not the response many would expect from the son of the Demon Lord. I’m glad,” Bloodstained Ellie said. What exactly made her glad, she left unanswered. “You should know that these villagers stand under my protection. Their survival is what I fight for.”

“Don’t worry,” Meliodas said and picked his sword from the ground. The metal had never felt this cold in his hands, when every other fiber of his body burst with the strange sensation of warmth. “I for my part can’t see any villagers around. They must have fled before I got here.”

The villagers crawling out of their hiding spot in the relative calm after the fight proved his words wrong, but Bloodstained Ellie didn’t take notice of them. She studied Meliodas’ face with a fascination he found both endearing and uncomfortable.

“I bet we’ll meet again, Bloodstained Ellie,” Meliodas said and turned to take his leave while his thoughts still functioned somewhat properly.

“Elizabeth.”

“What?”

“My name is Elizabeth,” she said, and the gleam he was met with when he looked over his shoulder filled him with more adoration than anything he had seen in this world. The sun peeking through the clouds had no chance to rival that expression.

“Elizabeth it is then. I hope I get to meet you under more pleasant circumstances the next time around.”

The muscles around Meliodas’ spine tickled as the link to his Demon powers reestablished itself, and he took off into the sky, Elizabeth’s face still on his mind.

She was a being of light.

He was a creature of darkness.

All the laws of nature branded them as mortal enemies, the world had drawn a line in the sand and placed them at different sides of the great war. Meliodas was supposed to despise every word coming out of her mouth, every action she took to defy the Demon King, every inch of her smooth skin. 

But his father be damned, he was already falling for her.

[cassiexbailey]

HOLY SHIT IS THAT [ KAT MCNAMARA ]?! Oh, wait it’s just [ CASSIOPEIA “CASSIE” BAILEY ]. Damn, [ SHE/HER ] looks good for [ 22 ], good thing that they’re [ BISEXUAL ], I might have a chance. I hear that they call them the [ NANCY DREW ] of the [ NORTH SIDE ]. I guess that’s because they’re [ INDEPENDENT ] and [ RESOURCEFUL ]. But I don’t think a lot of people know that they’re also [ SECRETIVE ] and [ STUBBORN ].

01. BASICS

Full Name: Cassiopeia Sebine Bailey

Nickname: Cassie, Cas, Teeny

Sex/Gender: Female

Birthday: November 11, 1996

Age: 22

Astrological Sign: Scorpio

Occupation: Private Investigator

Spoken Languages: English, French, Italian

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual; Heteroromantic

Birthplace: Riverdale, MA

Hometown: Port Townsend, WA // Chicago, IL

Relationship status: Single but complicated

02. PHYSICAL TRAITS

Hair Color/Style: Red-orange or blonde, depending on her mood; she was born with bright red hair, but when she was younger she used to dye it dirty blonde so that she’d look more like her mother; since she found out both of her parents were lying to her about who she was, she let her hair go back to it’s natural color. As for style, she doesn’t really style it often, but it’s usually either down, in a ponytail, or put up in a messy clip

Eye Color: Green

Face Claim: Kat McNamara

Height: 5′3″

Weight: 120 pounds

Tattoos: a large phoenix covering part of her back and left hip symbolizing her love for Greek myth but also as a means for covering up an old stab wound; a small ring of laurel leaves with ‘03/19/1980′ on one side and ‘06/12/2019′ on the other on the inside of her right arm, representing her mother { photos coming soon }

Piercings: Both her ears are pierced twice

Unique Attributes: coming soon

Defining Gestures/Movements: running a hand through her hair; bouncing her leg/knee when she’s nervous; cracking her neck and knuckles; drumming her fingers on whatever surface she’s nearby

Posture: Decent posture, but slouches from time to time

03. PERSONALITY TRAITS

Pet Peeves: { she has a lot okay? this isn’t even all of them } ignorance, lairs, cheaters, being chronically late, people who talk loudly on their phones, people chewing loudly or with their mouths open, people who walk slowly in the middle of the sidewalk or stop suddenly, line cutters, people who don’t use their turn signals, bad grammar, passive aggressive behavior (even though she’s guilty of this herself), people who refer to themselves in the third person 

Hobbies/Interests: dance, writing, photography, criminal justice, reading, cooking, hiking

Special Skills/Abilities: private investigation, adaptable, researching, staying calm under pressure

Likes: sex, coffee, tattoos, photography, hiking, swimming, astrology, astronomy, nature, traveling

Dislikes: rude people, ignorance, fake people, cigarettes/smoking in general

Insecurities: losing people she cares about, not being good enough for someone { i’ll probably add more later }

Quirks/Eccentricities: coming soon

Strengths: coming soon

Weaknesses: coming soon

Speaking Style: coming soon

Temperament: she can keep a calm head in most situations, but she does have a bad temper

04. FAMILY & HOME

Immediate Family: Edward Bailey (Anderson) { father }; Sebine Smythe { mother }; Athena Bailey { adopted mother, deceased }; Sebastian Smythe { half-brother }, Sebrina Smythe { half-sister, deceased }; Bruce Anderson { uncle }; Blaine Anderson { cousin }; Darius Anderson { cousin }

How do they feel about their family? coming soon

How does their family feel about them? coming soon

Pets: None yet

Where do they live? She lives in a small one bedroom house in the neutral zone

Description of their home: coming soon

Description of their bedroom: coming soon

05. THIS OR THAT

Introvert or Extrovert? A bit of both, depending on the situation and people

Optimist or Pessimist?

Leader or Follower?

Confident or Self-Conscious? A bit of both

Cautious or Careless?

Religious or Secular? Raised Catholic, but doesn’t practice anymore

Passionate or Apathetic?

Book Smarts or Street Smarts? Both

Compliments or Insults? Depends on the person

Pajamas or Lingerie? Neither; she sleeps in a loose-fitting tank top and short shorts

06. FAVORITES

Favorite Color: dark green

Favorite Clothing Style/Outfit: coming soon

Favorite Bands/Songs/Type of Music: coming soon

Favorite Movies: coming soon

Favorite Books: coming soon

Favorite Foods/Drinks: coffee

Favorite Sports/Sports Teams: She doesn’t necessarily have a favorite team, but she enjoys watching hockey and football

Favorite Time of Day: early evening

Favorite Weather/Season: tied between fall and winter; she loves the cold

Favorite Animal: wolf

07. MISCELLANEOUS

Fears/Superstitions: not being good enough; people finding out who she really is and blaming her for Sebrina’s death

Political Views: she doesn’t really care to be honest; she doesn’t have a party declared, she votes with who she thinks will be best at the time

Addictions: coffee, sex

Best School Subject: English, History

Worst School Subject: Math

School Clubs/Sports: dance team

How does she get money? she owns her own private investigation business

How is she with technology? very adept; not hacker-level, but she can get by

08. PAST & FUTURE

Fondest Memory: learning to cook with her mother

Deepest, Darkest Secret: coming soon

Dream Vacation: coming soon

Best thing that has ever happened to this character: coming soon

Worst thing that has ever happened to this character: Losing her mother and learning that both she and Edward had been lying to her for her entire life

What do they want to be when they grow up? she is grown up, and she’s doing what she wants to do; that being said, married to someone who loves her for who she is. maybe a few kids.

Perfect Date: she doesn’t really have anything in mind for a perfect date. good food, good company. that’s all she can ask for.

09. BRIEF BIOGRAPHY

triggers: mention of presumed KIA military status, drive-by gun violence, torture, murder, death

Growing up, life for Sebine Laurent had been anything but normal. Her parents had died at a young age, leaving her growing up as an orphan on the South Side. Early in her teen years, she fell in love with a young South Sider named Edward Anderson - the youngest son of the Serpents leader. The two were together for years, but despite this relationship when the Smythes came looking for a wife for their youngest son, Sebine ended things with Edward per her new in-laws demands; they shoved a hefty prenup in her direction demanding she not bring any scandal to the family name via her relationship with the South Side boy she had been involved with for so long, and she had begrudgingly accepted it in search of a better life.

Years passed without any contact between Edward and Sebine. She gave birth to two beautiful twins, Sebastian and Sebrina, and her life seemed perfect; her marriage was far from perfect, but she loved her family regardless. A chance encounter brought Edward and Sebine back into each other's lives, and the spark quickly reignited between the two of them. The Smythes knew what was going on between their daughter-in-law and her old flame, but they let it go. They had their picture-perfect family and their beautiful grandchildren. As far as everyone else was concerned, the Alexander and Sebine Smythe had the perfect family. Problems quickly arose, though, when Sebine fell pregnant, and it was clear that Alexander wasn't the father this time.

The family threatened to leave her completely desolate if she didn't end things with the Serpent once and for all, including giving the baby to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy once Sebine had given birth. They thought they had everything under control until Edward refused to be pushed out of Sebine's life for a second time. He had secret, grand plans to sweep Sebine away from her life in the North Side so they could run away to be together, but her in-laws intercepted. They gave Edward a counter-offer that was almost too hard to refuse. Sebine would never leave with him, but he could still have a piece of her; they offered to give him a substantial amount of money to get out of the gang-life that was expected of him in the South Side as well as to leave Riverdale with the baby and never return.

After trying and failing to convince Sebine to leave with him, Edward refused the Smythe’s offer at first, though instead of leaving town like they had asked, he simply took Cassie and left the North side. He returned to the familiarity of the South Side with his daughter, but instead of pledging his loyalty to the Serpents like he was expected to - like his older brother, Bruce, had done - he joined the Ghoulies alongside his best friend, Luca Gilbert. His brother was furious at this perceived betrayal, especially since Bruce had taken over the Serpents in the wake of their father’s passing in the years before. Knowing how angry Bruce was, Edward and Luca prepared for some sort of retaliation, but after weeks of quiet on the Serpents end it seemed as if it wasn’t going to come. In retrospect, Edward should have known better.

Time passed and a relative peace between the Serpents and the Ghoulies settled in. Weeks turned into months. Months into years. It was just long enough that Edward and Luca began to let their guard down, and that was all the chance that Bruce needed. He knew attacking Edward wouldn’t work - while Bruce was brutal and merciless, his brother was worse, and he knew Bruce’s few weaknesses. Hurting Edward himself wouldn’t work, and even he wouldn’t have touched his newborn niece, though he’d never admit that particular fact to anyone. Instead, Bruce turned his rage towards Luca and Derek Gilbert; Luca was Edward’s best friend, and he’d come to see Derek as a son himself. Hurting Edward by killing his family was the best kind of revenge Bruce could have come up with; he knew it would break his baby brother.

Two years of relative quiet between the gangs on the Southside passed, and then suddenly Luca and Derek went missing. Edward had searched for his family for a few days until he got the word from fellow Ghoulies that they’d found Luca’s body beside the river that runs through Fox Forest. He’d been beaten and clearly tortured to death, but they’d been unable to find Derek; from what they could tell, though, it seemed as if he had suffered the same fate as his father. From what he’d seen of the scene himself, Edward suspected that Bruce had dumped Derek’s body in the river as a means of torturing him even further. There would be no closure without the body, and Bruce knew Edward enough to know how much that would bother him.

Losing both Luca and Derek did exactly what Bruce thought it would have done: it broke Edward. When Bruce threatened to kill Cassie if Edward didn’t leave Riverdale behind him, Edward had no choice but to take his daughter and run. He didn’t stick around long enough to learn that police found Derek wandering through the woods alone days later. Instead, he went back to the Smythes. While they wouldn’t give him as much as they had initially offered, they still gave him a hefty amount of money when he threatened to make his affair with Sebine public knowledge. Taking the hush money that they gave him, Edward changed his last name and left the small town in his rear-view mirror with his daughter in tow. Moving them all the way across the country, Edward set out to put his past in the past and start over.

Cassie spent most of her early life in Port Townsend, Washington, a small maritime town located just north of Seattle, with absolutely no recollection of her early life in Riverdale. Edward wanted to get as far away from Riverdale as possible, and a small town located literally on the other side of the country seemed like the best option to him.

Six months after moving to Port Townsend, Edward met a woman named Athena working as an emergency room resident in the local hospital. He’d been working various protection details for important people around the city and had been stabbed while protecting someone. What started as innocent flirtation between Athena and Edward quickly blossomed into something more. She looked beyond the damaged and rough exterior to the broken man inside, and it was Athena who helped him begin to heal. She knew who he was and what kind of man he had been raised to be, and she loved him anyway. She treated and raised Cassie as her own, and she is the only mother that Cassie has ever known.

Shortly after Cassie’s ninth birthday, Athena took a job at a medical center in the South Side of Chicago, and before she knew it, Cassie’s life was being uprooted and moved back east. Edward took various jobs in an attempt to keep up the semi normal life he’d been living in Port Townsend, but eventually he fell back into the only life he’d ever known, working as an enforcer for a local mob group in the city. It was the only real talent he had, and while Athena didn’t necessarily approve of it she stood by the man’s side regardless as he fell back into the familiar role. As she grew older, Cassie began following in her father’s footsteps, though Edward’s way of life was the last thing either parent wanted for Cassie. With time, though, they came to realize that there was no stopping the young woman. Much like both of her parents, once she set her mind to something there was no way she was going to budge.

Shortly after graduating from high school, Cassie literally ran into the man of her dreams. Anthony had stopped by a local diner for lunch; the same diner that Cassie was working part-time in. She had been in a hurry and not fully paying attention and slammed right into the taller man as he went to take a seat at one of the booths; luckily, his reflexes were amazing, and strong arms caught her before she could stumble backwards. He was only home on leave for a few weeks, but it only took a few short weeks for Cassie to fall head over heels in love with the Marine. Their relationship took off faster than most, but even to those around them it was as if they’d been together for years.

Cassie and Anthony were together for six months before he asked her to marry him. Her parents weren’t exactly thrilled at just how quickly the two had gotten to that point - it was one thing to approve of it, quite another to be okay with your daughter getting engaged after such a short time - but they didn’t object to it. Both Edward and Athena agreed that Anthony and Cassie were good for each other; the fact that he was going to be serving an entire deployment before they actually got married also helped Edward accept their engagement a little easier.

Tragedy struck their small family, though, when a notification party showed up on Cassie’s doorstep one morning to inform her that Anthony had officially been declared as Missing in Action, and Cassie and her family were listed as his only next of kin. Given the fact that he was a member of a Delta Force team, there wasn’t a lot that they could tell her about his disappearance, but they were certain that he had been gone missing during one of their missions. He had been presumed dead, but they hadn’t found a body so they couldn’t officially declare him Killed in Action yet. Cassie was torn apart at this news, but Edward and Athena were there to help her pick up the pieces. Even still, she hasn’t dated anyone since; there’s a part of her that hopes Anthony will show up on her doorstep one day.

Despite helping her father whenever she could, Cassie still had her own life as well. She had her own passions and interests outside of following in her father’s footsteps. Cassie had always been a curious nature, and after spending years of helping people on the South Side (of Chicago) with their own problems she decided to make a career out of it. Cassie enrolled in a local college to study criminal justice, though she dropped out just a few credits shy of graduating when another tragedy struck her family once more.

Throughout his years as an enforcer, Edward had made more than a few enemies. He never worried about it until the day that one of those enemies came after his family. Athena had been waiting outside of a local, family-owned restaurant for Edward and Cassie to meet her there for a family night out - a tradition they had started when she began college - when she was shot multiple times in a drive-by shooting; Edward and Cassie had arrived moments later, and Cassie’s world began to come crashing down around her. Athena bled out in Edward’s arms while Cassie watched horrified from the sidelines.

In the months that followed, Cassie’s life was turned upside down. Not only had she lost the only mother she’d ever known, but she uncovered a truth she’d never thought possible. Edward had never hidden the fact that Athena wasn’t Cassie’s biological mother, but he had always told her that the woman who’d given birth to her had died in childbirth. Cassie had always believed him - she’d never had reason to doubt him - until the day she stumbled across letters between Sebine and Edward. She hadn’t thought anything of them at first, many of them were from when they were teenagers and before she was born, but then - as she continued to read - she realized that they continued for nearly a year after she was born. Letters in which Edward spoke about how he still loved her, but he understood her decision to stay with the Smythes, and he would continue to send her photos of Cassie as she grew. Not only had Edward lied about her mother’s death, but he’d kept an entire family from her for years.

In her anger, and after doing months worth of research on her mother and the woman’s family, Cassie left Chicago without a word to her father. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for in Riverdale or from Sebine, but she knew she had to see the woman in person.

10. HEADCANONS

Cassie absolutely loves to dance. She stopped dancing for a while, but now that she’s in Riverdale she’s started going to Jackie’s dance studio more often.

[eternalsterekrecs]

hi! i love fics where stiles can use magic but i've literally worked through your entire magic stiles tag. do yall have any new recommendations! thanks!!!

Oh boy, you’re in for a ride!

MAGIC STILES FIC LIST OF DOOM

Melt Together by SmallBirds

A supernatural heatwave has descended upon Beacon Hills, much to Stiles’ chagrin.

First Impressions by Kedreeva

Derek is a teacher at an all-werewolf school after the revolution. After seeing one of his students, Erica, get into a car with an unknown runecaster, Derek begins to suspect something terrible is going on.

No One Could Love You More by MellytheHun

Stiles begrudgingly comes to Derek’s rescue during a coven-hunt, thinking Derek needs a regular, common healing only to find he may lose Derek and anything they could have been.

i’m the alpha by triggeringthehealing

“I don’t care about power. Not anymore.”Looking back at what he said once, and what the truth was before he did, only the first part of his words was ever completely true.

To Ashes by triggeringthehealing

It’s nothing but tiny black particles of dust, staining his hands — he remembers how it took weeks to get the colour out of his skin after the time at Jungle.

All Is Lost Again (But I’m Not Giving In) by coppersin

The nightmares aren’t real. They can’t possibly be real. But people keep dying and Stiles is genuinely losing his mind. And he can’t seem to open his mouth and just tell someone.

Your Mark on My Skin by pterawaters

Despite everyone telling him not to, Stiles takes his wizard’s vision seriously and tattoos the image from his dream onto his wrist. When he runs across a man with the same symbol emblazoned on his back, Stiles knows he can’t let the mysterious stranger get away. Maybe it’s wrong to use the werewolf’s fugitive status against him, but Stiles knows he only has one option. If he gives Derek a disguise, but doesn’t bind the spell to himself, there’s nothing else to keep Derek from running away at the first opportunity. Of course Stiles had to pick the one obscure face that Lord Jackson knew from his childhood. In a land run by a king bent on killing all the werewolves he can find, the only way to keep Lord Jackson from asking questions is for Derek to play Stiles’ lover. Once that happens, well maybe the situation starts to get out of control.

Your Smile Gets Me Higher Than an Airplane Ever Could by crossroadswrite

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Scott tries diplomatically, “the Hales are still waiting for Derek and Laura. Apparently they’re on the same plane home as Stiles.”

“Hot Hale Twins are coming back?” Stiles says a little surprised.

–OR–

The one where it’s very late, Stiles is stucked in an airport and bored out of his mind until he bumps into Laura Hale. And then into her Hot Twin Brother Derek Hale.

There’s handholding and a little bit of magic involved, it’s all pretty gross.

The Boy Who Drew Wolves by dr_girlfriend

“Once upon a time,” Stiles began, and Thomas sighed happily, resting his cheek in the hollow of Stiles’ shoulder. “There was a gangly, clumsy, freckle-faced young boy, and a beautiful, majestic wolf —”

“You mean, there was a beautiful, brilliant, amber-eyed boy, and a half-starved, mangy-looking wolf,” a voice interrupted. “It looks like I made it just in time, huh?” Derek said with a conspiratorial smirk at Thomas. “Gotta make sure you tell it right.”

“Yeah, Daddy!” Thomas parroted. “Tell it right!”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles sighed, settling his arm across Thomas with his hand resting on his husband’s waist, thumb drawing an absent-minded little circle. “Once upon a time, there was a probably-going-to-grow-into-his-looks-just-fine young boy, and a very lonely wolf…”

Red by Littleredridinghunter

When Stiles was eight his mother died. When Stiles was ten his father was shot and he was taken into child services. Stiles never made it to eleven.

The Hale pack survives Kate but she has plans to come back and take revenge.

When another pack contacts the Hales for help, they go, despite the fact the Alpha is crazy and his mate is a monster.

safe and sound by thepsychicclam

When the Pack is attacked by an enemy Pack, Stiles and Derek end up on the run, in a stolen car, and spend the night in a crappy motel.

sparks by thepsychicclam

Derek is a librarian at one of the few supernatural universities in the country, and his student worker turns out to be none other than grad student Stiles. And it doesn’t take long before they start dating. Stiles is a gifted spark, but he keeps hanging out with people who are into dark magic, and Derek’s worried.

Sometimes It Just Works by MellytheHun

“Fic where, in a fit of post-break-up, drunken depression, stiles throws together a truly pathetic love spell (really, Lydia would be so unimpressed she’d probably disband their weekly magic lessons) in an attempt to find the perfect partner.

But, like everything else in Stiles’ life (and as proof to how much joy the universe gets pulling one over on him) everything goes horribly wrong and instead of the feathery light, rose petal path he’d been expecting to appear and lead him to his true love, a half naked man with harlequin biceps and a beard that could rival most lumber jacks appears in his minimalist studio apartment looking grumpy and endearingly confused.

Cue Stiles’ imminent freak out that includes shoving the man in his hall closet because “Oh my god, I manifested a burly mountain man out of thin air!!”

When really, the spell had just transported Derek from whatever secluded cabin he’d been holed up in for the last few years right into Stiles’ life.”

Stiles Stilinski, Magical PI by suzvoy

Stiles is a Private Investigator, only not really. He’s also magical, but only close up. One thing he’s really good at is lusting over people from afar, which is why it’s a problem when Laura Hale hires him to help her brother.

Where Lightning Strikes by andavs

Scott finally held out his phone, showing whichever picture he decided was the best. Stiles squint-glared at that and waited for his foggy brain to catch up. When it did, his heart skipped a beat.

Burned into the wheat field, in a way Stiles was pretty sure was notnormal for crop circles, were two concentric circles.

McCall Pack.

“I think it’s Kira,” Scott said, clear and concise. “I think she needs help.“

*

Scott and Stiles head back down to Mexico to find Kira and end up finding a little more.

As the Lights Go Down by standinginanicedress

Stiles is standing there looking bizarre – which maybe isn’t a very nice thing or even a convincing thing to say about a person that Derek’s basically invited over to hook up with (whatever that even fucking means to kids these days) – but he…does. He’s wearing dark jeans, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up so Derek can’t even really see his face aside from his mouth and jawline, and he’s got that metal baseball bat in his fingers again.

He looks like he’s come here to literally beat Derek to death.

Then, he grins, lifts one shoulder up in a half shrug, and says, “I can’t come in until you invite me.”

Derek is mystified enough that all he can say is, “really?” He thought that was a vampire thing.

clenching my jagged jaws (over the capture) by Marishna

Derek Hale was never supposed to be alpha, but he’s a good one. He doesn’t need any help and he definitely doesn’t need an emissary.

Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale’s emissary and come hell or high water he’s going to see the Hale pack through the impending arrival of the alpha pack, even if it means he can never return to Beacon Hills after.

Hale Monster Sweets by bleep0bleep

The guy is back again. Derek watches curiously from his counter, idly keeping an eye on the teenaged vampires trying to decide on a type from the blood popsicle selection. The guy outside the store is a little pale and lanky, with a cute upturned nose and a sprinkle of moles on his pale face, not that Derek didn’t notice the first time he stopped in the middle of the bustling street to stare at Derek’s store sign, which he wasn’t supposed to be able to do.

[Hilary Duff Lyric Redacted] by calrissian18

Stiles hadn’t been in Beacon Hills in five years, hadn’t seen Derek in nearly as long, when he got the text:

New number: (+530) 365-2421

or

An abundance of overeating and geekery, dangerous caffeine/sugar cereal addictions, surprise werewolves, bird insults, purple-eyed shrimp, reincarnated serial killers (it’s cool, he has a leash), poorly played professional baseball, and a love story. In that order.

the spark within by triggeringthehealing

Stiles is more than just a spark, but when he starts learning magic, it feels like there’s something stopping him. He has magic in him, but despite the guidance from two experienced Druids, it still feels like it’s failing to wake up. He’s magic, but the spark that he needs is out of reach.

Blackbird by skoosiepants

Stiles groans and drops his face into his hands. “I’m seventeen, I can kind of use mountain ash and I can explode houses when I’m mad enough. How am I gonna win any kind of magic fight?”

“We’ll work on it,” Deaton says, as infuriatingly calm as ever. “The important thing to remember, Stiles, is that when everything else is chaos, you’re the port in the storm.”

Or-

Laura Hale never died, and Stiles is magic.

Everything Under the Moon by standinginanicedress

“Just go in and buy him something and attach a note that says, like, I don’t know,” she flips a curl over her shoulder, “let’s bone.”

Derek looks up at the sky and purses his lips. Doesn’t dignify that with a response. There’s no way in hell Derek is going to attach some dinky little note to Stiles’ gift that is either as crass as Erica’s suggestion or as humiliating as something he could come up with himself – no fucking way in hell.

But she does have a point. Stiles’ birthday is coming and Derek is shit out of luck and shit out of ideas for ways to make Stiles see him as anything more than just Derek. The way Stiles looks at him sometimes, it’s like he has no fucking idea.

Striking Matches by castielblues & eeyore9990

Stiles has only ever wanted to protect his family and his pack. That’s not easy to do when you’re human and sarcasm is your only defense. Now Deaton is telling Stiles he’s a spark, and if that’s a weapon in his arsenal, he’s sure as hell going to learn to use it.

All Stiles needs now, to complete his transformation into a true badass, is a training montage and a decent soundtrack…

Medicine Man by MellytheHun

Prompt: Person B knowing they’re undoubtedly about to die within the next few seconds, likely from the gaping wound they’re bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A and carry on a casual conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before their time runs out.

Night Owl (series) by Lissadiane

Confession: Stiles is afraid of having magic.

The Spark had been cool. It had been small, manageable. He could do some funky stuff with Mountain Ash, all with the power of belief.

And now here he is, his Spark blown wide open, apparently coming down with a fatal case of magical overload, and all that stands between him and bleeding out is a grumpy owl that looks suspiciously like a feathered version of Derek Hale.

(In which Stiles learns he’s a witch, but instead of a wand and a trip to Diagon Alley, he gets blood magic, a grumpy and reluctant owl as his companion, and an accidental blood bond with Derek Hale.)

bend bridges, mend bones by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion

They burst through the portal in a gust of stale air and violet light, landing hard on the outskirts of a swamp. Stiles feels his knees buckle, both from the magic required to keep the portal open and from the force of their landing, but he grits his teeth, determined to stay standing in the presence of Derek Hale and his pack. Christ, it would be just his luck to rocket through his own portal at neck-breaking speeds and collide face-first with a puddle of sticky, disgusting mud.

Thankfully that doesn’t happen, which is good because Stiles can’t really afford to add useless to the list of things that Mage’s are; untrustworthy cowards, meddlers, monsters.

(In which there’s an awful lot of fighting, people learn to trust people, and Stiles saves the day. Repeatedly. Over and over again. And he would like some credit, goddamnit, Derek.)

Birdhouse In Your Soul by asocialfauxpas

Stiles��� magic is growing out of control and he must bond with a supernatural creature to keep from exploding. Yes, seriously.

And We’ll Be Complicated by ingberry

Stiles already had his hands full with the case he was working on for the enigmatic Mrs. B. He really didn’t need this too, but there was no changing the fact that he no longer remembered Derek Hale or anything connected to him. And no one could figure out why.

All My Kingdoms Turn to Sand by elisera

The real question is what Stiles wants. If he’s looking forward to seeing Derek again because they’ll complete what they started a long time ago or if Stiles is nervous because he’s feeling apprehensive. There’s a real possibility that he told the pack to finally send Derek up in order to tell him thanks, but no thanks. A lot can happen in six years; people change and grow apart and it isn’t like they were allowed to talk.

Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset by whiskey_in_tea

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills on a Sunday morning. Lydia’s run the numbers and it’s not a sure thing by any stretch of the imagination, but supernatural evil seems mostly inclined to take the Lord’s day to rest just like humans do. He won’t make it back before Monday night but that’s okay, unless whatever comes after them is the actual apocalypse they should be all right— and if it’s the apocalypse his meager skills won’t be of much use anyway. Just go, Scott said while Stiles and Lydia dithered over lunar calendars and statistics, charts and graphs of every awful thing that’s rolled through Beacon Hills since they activated the Nemeton ten months ago. Who the fuck knows what’s coming, Stiles, you just have to go.

Among the Famous Living Dead by standinginanicedress

“Okay,” Stiles leans over the book, finger on his chin, while Derek stands there beside him with a frown on his face, “we have the pig’s blood.”

“They loved that at the butcher shop,” Derek mutters, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “I’ll take three quarts of pig’s blood. Not like this town doesn’t already think I’m some sort of fucking pervert anyway.”

“We have the hair you picked off his clothes,” Stiles points to the tiny Ziploc bag with a handful of Scott hairs tucked safely inside, and Derek grimaces. “We have the candles. We have the snake. Now we just need an object of the deceased.” He furrows his brow as he leans over the book some more, cocking his head. “It says the object can be anything that was deeply personal to the deceased. Like a piece of sentimental jewelry or a cherished trinket or even a favorite song.”

Derek snorts. “Yeah. Let’s just listen to fucking Blink-182 and summon the devil.”

“Right?” Stiles laughs, high and hysterical, manic almost.

Derek laughs, and Stiles laughs, and it’s not funny. It’s really not funny.

Aching for You by LittleRedEmissary

When Stiles tries to cast a protection spell on Derek and accidentally casts a spell much stronger than either of them expected, the duo has to relearn everything that they’ve learned about protecting the pack, because the old methods won’t do anymore. With the infamous Winchesters coming to town Derek hopes that the hunters will just drive through town, but the pack has never been good that laying low.

Emissary by dragon_temeraire

To keep the peace, Stiles agrees to be emissary to the Hale pack.

In Which a King and a Mage Dance by mikkimouse

Mage Stilinski sidled up next to him. “I thought I told you to call me Stiles, Your Majesty.”

Derek’s face warmed at the memory. He turned his attention back to the crowd. “I’m afraid now is not the place for such familiarity.”

“Such a shame,” Stiles said. “I do so love familiarity.”

The warmth on Derek’s face turned to heat. “I’m sure you do.”

By Fang and Fury (series) by grimm

He doesn’t come to The Beacon to pick up people. It’s precisely the reason why he doesn’t go anywhere else. People in this neighborhood know him, know he’s not interested in being hit on, which allows him to have a drink in peace. Derek knows he’s good-looking, but the type of people it attracts disgust him. At least other werewolves can smell the unfriendliness on him and stay away, but that doesn’t stop everyone. He went to a gay bar with his coworker Isaac once and it was horrifying.

Like James Dean, Only Sadder by 42hrb

The star of the Beacon Hills High School baseball team and Beacon Hills resident bad boy probably have nothing in common, right?

Deputy Derek Hale, Alpha by eldee

Deputy Derek Hale has recently become an alpha, and that changes things for him. Now that he’s back after a leave of absence, he’s hoping to get what he and Stiles had almost-started back on track. The thing is, it seems Stiles is going through some changes of his own and Derek’s not sure how he fits.

Fall Right Back to You (series) by yodasyoyo

My version of season 4 (which I still haven’t watched) and how Derek and Stiles finally fell for each other.

Clarity is told from Stiles POV: After his possession by the Nogitsune he is consumed by guilt and plagued by nightmares. Then he touches a magical artifact and ends up absorbing Derek into his subconscious.

Remedy is told from Dereks POV: In the aftermath of Clarity they are struggling to deal with the demon that has been unleashed on Beacon Hills and Derek is coming to terms with his past and his feelings for Stiles.

Filter Out the Starlight by skoosiepants

“Why are you not more curious about me?” Stiles says when Derek’s got the door half open, sun spilling over the dark wood, dust motes spinning about his legs. Stiles is wearing fabric that hasn’t been invented yet, he’s clutching a smart phone to his chest, and he appeared out of nowhere, like an angel.

Softly, Derek says, “We all have our secrets,” and closes the door.

Or-

A heartbroken Stiles accidentally travels back in time to find his one true love. A harlequin-ish Christmas romance.

all stories deserve an end by bleep0bleep

No one hardly ever comes up to this area of the forest, especially with the rumors of the “mad wizard.” Stiles encourages the rumor, because it means people leave him alone. It’s a good, solitary existence as long as Stiles pretends the aching loneliness in his heart isn’t there.

Children’s Tales by artemis69

Be careful, little girl.

Don’t go causing troubles in Beacon Hills, because the Hales live there, little girl.

Keep away from Beacon Hills, little girl, or the Hales will destroy you.

–

Or:In a world where the Hales are alive and the protectors of the town of Beacon Hills, the humans politely fake ignorance of their not-really-human status, and they all live happily ever after.

Then Kate comes in.

Well.

Tries to.

Incantation Ink (series) by otter

The tattoo parlor didn’t look like much. The apprentice who was supposed to be inking Derek’s new magical tattoo wasn’t immediately confidence-inspiring either.

I’ll Be Home for Next Year, Darling by crossroadswrite

“What year is it?” he asks, because well. It happened to Marty McFly right? And werewolves are real so-

“Time travel isn’t real,” Derek says immediately.

Stiles huffs because fine he doesn’t want to cooperate Stiles will just have to rub his point all over Derek’s face until he gets it.

“It’s July 12th of 2010.”

“It’s 2003,” Derek counters.

Wolf Back by write_light

Sterek AU with an Evil King and his Loyal Huntsman, men and wolves, loss and pain, mercy and trust, and one very enigmatic Mirror on the wall.

Magical Storm by Electricviolinist & Marbleeyes

A roar reverberated through the air. Not just any roar; a werewolf roar.

“About fucking time!” exclaimed Stiles. He was going to let Scott win when they next played Mario Karts.

The door to his jeep was yanked open and Stiles realised it wasn’t Scott who had come to save him. It was Derek Hale. A very wet Derek Hale. Stiles mind immediately headed south into an ‘R’ rated place; the wet t-shirt Derek was wearing was very tight.

“You’re back,” was all he could think to say.

Derek didn’t reply, because he was an antisocial dick. Instead he asked: “Does this piece of crap still drive?”

“Uh, yes,” Stiles cried, massively offended on the behalf of his beautiful jeep.

“Then drive. Now!”

…

It was a pretty normal day for Stiles, except then there was rain and monsters and witches and Derek Hale. All because Derek Hale’s type is psychotic. And apparently, Stiles is stuck right in the very centre of it.

Mortal Peril On the Side by Brigantine

Stiles and Derek figure things out. Sheriff Stilinski remains remarkably calm. Stiles gets some advice from two of his mother’s friends.

The Coming of Spring by A_Diamond

Snow melts beneath Stiles’s boots as he walks, each step revealing a patch of dark brown beneath the thin blanket of white. He can’t see it yet through the trees, but he knows the cottage is there.

[fae-fucker]

The One: Chapter 24-25

Chapter 24

Nothing fucking happens. We get some heavy-handed hints that Aspen is over America and is totes into Lucy now for some reason. America mentions Anne’s crush on Aspen but he’s like “meh”. Idk why he’s so against it, considering all three of America’s maids are basically clones of each other. There’s some nonsense lines but let’s be real, nobody cares at this point.

Chapter 25

THE NEXT DAY WAS ANOTHER sentence of house arrest. From time to time, I’d hear the floor creak, and I’d turn my head, thinking that Dad would walk out of the garage [...]

So this family has a room for each child, a tree house, AND A GARAGE.

“Poor” my ass. 

I’d decided Lucy shouldn’t wear her uniform while she was here [...]

If this is KCass’ attempts at making America seem like she knows how to be in charge, then idk what to tell ya. There’s a difference between being a good political leader and telling your maid what to wear.

Whatever. We get some cutesy family shit that I totally read, no really, I 100% read all of it I swear, and then more mom hate, because IT’S NOT YA IF THERE ISN’T ANY MOM HATE.

It was strange. There had been so many times when I had doubted Mom’s devotion to Dad. I’d never caught the glimpses of affection between them that I’d seen in other couples. Even Aspen, when everything was on the verge of being real but still very much a secret, showed me he loved me more than Mom did Dad.

“If this couple doesn’t show affection and devotion in a way I consider to be the norm, then they don’t love each other at all and my mother is a huge bitch who didn’t deserve my father!” 

Fuck off.

Anyway, apparently the healthcare in this society is predictably bullshit and America’s dad knew he’d kick the bucket soon, so he wrote them all letters. Because of course he did.

America,

My sweet girl. I’m having a hard time even starting this letter because I feel like there’s so much to tell you. Though I love all my children equally, you have a special place in my heart.

Well I ... don’t even know what to say to that. 

I wish I could give you a better stage, America. You deserve so much more than standing in the shadows at stuffy parties. I keep hoping you’ll be one of the lucky ones, the breakouts. I think Kota has a chance at it, too. He’s gifted at what he does. But I feel like Kota would fight for it, and I’m not sure you have that instinct in you. You were never a cutthroat kind of girl, the way some of the other lowers can be. And that’s part of why I love you, too.

And I don’t really know what to say to that either. 

“I like that you’re a spineless sea creature living at the bottom of the caste ocean without any willpower or initiative to act on any hopes or ambitions, because you don’t actually have any.” 

What a feminist masterpiece! He then says that America isn’t “perfect” because she has temper tantrums. 

Yeah no, it’s too late for any character flaws now, KCass. He’s already admitted she’s his favorite child. 

But you’re kind, and you ache for things to be fair. You’re good, and I suspect you see things in this world that no one else sees, not even me.

*cackles*

Listen, I could rip this letter to shreds about how much it wanks about how America is the best child of the bunch, because IT’S LITERALLY WHAT FUCKING HAPPENS, but it’s all the shit we’ve already read. 

He says that America is just so perfect that he doesn’t feel the need to pass on any wisdom to her, she’s just so brilliant and smart already! He literally says that he sees in their personalities things “that could make every year more difficult if they don’t make the effort to fight against the hardness in life”, he says this about his OWN CHILDREN.

Why are these pages all stuck together?

We also find out that Kota’s letter isn’t as touching. Loves all his children equally, huh? 

Anyway, there’s an extra note and we find out that TO THE SURPRISE OF nobody, ever, America’s dad was a rebel! He was the one who took Greg-Boy’s diary! And also his name is Shalom. Apparently. Did you really name a character after he’s already died? 

America rambles some shit about the North Star symbol and how bla bla bla WHO GIVES A DAMN, HE’S A REBEL WE ALREADY KNEW IT. 

This was how they identified their own.

My father was a Northern rebel.

At least the Mockingjay was a symbol of revolution and later propaganda. Here, they literally brand it on their skin and clothes and everything. Way to be obvious, guys. I suppose everyone is just so incompetent that nobody realized.

Kota starts acting up during America’s enlightenment and orders Aspen to go get him a drink. We get yet another wank-sesh about how great America is at barking orders, because that’s what leaders do right?

“You might have forgotten, but Aspen’s a Two now. It would do you better to get him something to drink. Not just for his status, but for everything he’s been doing for all of us.”

A sly smirk fell across Kota’s face. “Huh. Does Maxon know? Does he know this is still going on?” he asked, waving a lazy finger between the two of us.

[...]

“What would he do, you think? The caning thing’s been done, and lots of people say that girl didn’t get it bad enough for what she did.” Kota placed his satisfied hands on his hips, staring us down.

I couldn’t speak. Aspen didn’t either, and I wondered if our silence was helping us or condemning us.

Finally Mom broke the silence. “Is it true?”

I needed to think; I needed to find the right way to explain this. Or a way to fight it, because really, it wasn’t true . . . not anymore.

“Aspen, go check on Lucy,” I said. He started walking until Kota protested.

“No, he stays!”

I lost it. “I say he goes! Now sit!”

The tone in my voice, unlike anything I had ever heard before, startled everyone. Mom plopped down immediately, shocked. Aspen made his way down the hall, and Kota slowly, begrudgingly sat as well.

Good leaders scream a lot right? They shout people into obedience right? If everyone obeys them it means they’re meant to be amazing and powerful right?

THAT’S HOW THAT WORKS, RIGHT?

Anyway, America tells her family about Aspen and says that if Kota tries to blackmail her, she’ll use her connection to Maxon to have him tortured.

...

Oh, what’s that look on your pretty little face? You don’t believe me?

“If you think [Maxon would] take your word over mine, you might be surprised by how quickly my suggestion of putting a cane to your hands would happen if I chose to make it so. You want to test me?”

This is coming from a person who saw torture first-hand and supposedly thinks it’s barbaric (she doesn’t). She’s willing to use it against her own brother just to get her way. 

I ... don’t even know what to say to that. 

Good job, KCass. You’ve created a tyrant, but I bet you and your fans think she’s a real saint.

Listen ... no matter how shitty a person is acting, a character with a supposedly “flawless moral compass” WILL NOT THREATEN SOMEONE WITH TORTURE. A morally grey character, sure. A manipulator who thinks the ends justify the means, sure. But America isn’t supposed to be that person, she’s supposed to be the perfect angel because YOU WROTE HER THAT WAY. And now she’s threatening to have her own brother beaten for a dumb, petty reason that’s her own goddamn fault? 

Stay classy. 

Whatever. America storms away and Lucy is crying about having to keep another secret, boo fucking hoo, so America decides that it’s time to tell Maxon. 

I can’t wait.

[shleyaay123]

Fantastic Beasts Pirate AU - Chapter 1

Well, I did it. I officially committed to writing the monstrous undertaking that is the Pirate/Selkie AU developed by @linddzz in this post. Pray for me children, for it is a beast all on its own. 

Please send me suggestions for project titles! Its still TBD. Will post on AO3 when I settle on a title. 

6 December, 1926

Newton A.F. Scamander

 Well, little brother,

 I don't know how much you have heard wherever you are about what's going on in jolly old Europe, but this chap Grindelwald has been making a lot of noise since you have been away. Charismatic blighter, but the Ministry doesn't like him and nor does the International Confederation. He and his rats of the sea have been gallivanting along the North Atlantic for months now, and they cannot make heads or tails of his blundering endeavors.

 Now he has upset a few of the big wheels and he's gone underground. I have been chosen to go away and ferret him out. While I don’t really like the idea of going off to sea, I revel in the chance to be picked, because the whole department wants to be on this case and it's taken some extra hard work to reach this status.

 In any case, I am wishing you well - wherever you are. I know you are traveling by ship, so please be careful on whatever beastly quests you are undertaking! You don’t want to be on the wrong side of pirates.

 Best regards,

 Theseus

It seemed almost pointless to disembark with the mulling crowd of travelers when he was only going to jump on another vessel in a few short hours…or, at least, he would if it all went well and he didn’t set anything on fire. Still, social niceties and human interaction were an unfortunate necessity when dealing with international travel, and Newt Scamander was already walking on thin ice, as it were.

 Newt’s letter to the New York branch of the US Naval Headquarters requesting passage on a research vessel had been successfully received, and an intimidatingly neutral response had directed him to meet with the Admiral in charge of all voyages regarding the hunt for and recognizance of magical creatures along the East Coast. Theseus had assured him that he need not make an appointment with Admiral Picquery so long as he had a proper letter of recommendation and given plenty of notice of his impending arrival. And so, all he had to do was speak to the Admiral politely, keep his answers short and professional, and he would be granted his request without any fanfare or trouble.

 Of course, theoretical good fortune almost never made the transition to reality for Newt, and so he was also preparing himself for the worst.

 Silently, he stared at the rising black coal clouds obscuring the clear skies above the coast of New York. A bulging, battered journal sat heavily inside one of the many pockets of his overcoat, and an old brown leather case charmed by the powers of a kind, ancient fairy sat at his feet. The large passenger ship glided through the churning waters surrounding the towering Statue of Liberty, and men, women, and children of all shapes and sizes crowded the metal rails. Newt chose to remain seated on a nearby deserted bench, rereading his brother’s newest letter and glancing at his fellow passengers with disinterest. The past few years of sailing on the seven seas on a multitude of various transports had dampened his sense of wonderment at seeing the oncoming landscape.

 A loud horn sounded as the ship began its slow creep into the docks, and sailors in pristine white uniforms began throwing ropes and orders around in a frenzy perfected by years of routine. Among the bustling crowds of immigrants, Newt walked down the gangplank of the ship with his case held tightly in his right hand and his papers grasped tightly in the other within his coat pocket. Long rows of desks were packed with congested lines of people, all bundled in their winter coats and holding their luggage close when they were able.

 After what seemed like hours of waiting and staring at the steel beams holding the Customs building roof intact, Newt was finally summoned to a desk with a stern-faced official in a dark blue uniform eyeing him with disinterest.

 “Passport?” He grumbled. Newt handed it over almost instinctively, trying not to fidget or draw attention to his case. “British, huh?”

 “Yes.”

 “First trip to New York?”

 “Yes.”

 “Any magical heritage?” Newt blinked and tried not to look as outraged as he felt. Granted, it was quite common for Magicals to be physically indistinguishable to those with pure human bloodlines, and thus an understandable question for immigrants to be asked. Still, he felt it odd that the official felt the need to ask at all when his passport clearly stated that he was Human.

 “…my mother is an Animalinguist,” he said softly. The official nodded, either unaware of the effect his words had on Newt or simply unable to care. He closed Newt’s worn passport and gestured to his case.

 “Anything edible in there?” he asked. Newt took a deep breath to push past the awkward exchange of personal information, absentmindedly placing his hand over his breast pocket and concentrating on keeping his expression calm.

 “No.”

 “Livestock?” Unheeding of his best efforts, the magic surrounding the case reacted to Newt’s mental images of all that it contained and the catch flicked open of its own accord. Newt looked down in alarm and hastily closed it, stamping down any thoughts that might trigger it again.

 “Must get that fixed—ahh, no.” The official’s eyes had grown darker at the case’s rebellion and his frown deepened as he looked at Newt more closely. Newt fought the urge to smile innocently, as he had learned from experience that this would only complicate matters further.

 “Let me take a look,” the official finally said, placing Newt’s passport to the side and gesturing to the empty desk.

 Newt begrudgingly placed the case between them, leaning away from the desk and crossing his hands behind the small of his back. Just as the customs official placed his hands on the case to spin it towards him, Newt discreetly rubbed the small black symbol etched permanently into his right wrist with his left thumb. A familiar tingling spread through his fingers, a sign that the magic of the case was heading his call. When the official popped open the catches and peered inside the suitcase, he found only a perfectly folded pair of pajamas and other small knickknacks that Newt had placed there as a disguise.

 Unable to deny the mundane proof before him, the official glanced at Newt one last time before closing the case and handing the belongings back to their rightful owner.

 “Welcome to New York.”

Magic was never perfect, nor was it always exceptional in nature, so it came as no surprise to Newt that for all of its vast majesty and impressive murals, the New York Branch of the US Naval Headquarters was almost completely devoid of any obvious magical properties. Magical and Human individuals meandered about in equal measure, certainly, but the walls were sturdy brick, the columns hand-painted gold, and a giant gold clock in the center of the atrium ticked away using only the cogs, gears, and bolts that it was built with. A kind young receptionist had led him to a cozy leather loveseat in front of a large oak door to wait, and he passed the time alternating between staring at the framed portraits on the hallway walls and visually tracing the letters reading “Admiral Seraphina Picquery” on the golden plaque beside his head.

 Men and women in flowing skirts and tasteful suits came and went, until finally a small group of imposing professionals all in black sauntered in Newt’s direction down the expansive hallway. A majestic, blond-haired young woman in a complicated headdress led the pack, her expression angry, yet contained, and her eyes as dark as her pinstripe suit.

 “—is threatening to send a delegation. They think this is related to Grindelwald’s attacks in Europe,” she said earnestly.

 “There have been no sightings of Grindelwald or his men in the past few weeks, Admiral. I hesitate to call this piracy without further investigation,” the middle-aged man at her side argued.  The man was dressed in a smart suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back and slightly greying on the sides. Together they made an attractive couple shrouded in an air of tightly coiled confidence, and all trailing members of their group seemed almost pale and meek in comparison.

 The woman, who was no doubt the very Admiral that Newt had come to see, tilted her head in acknowledgement of her comrades’ point.

 “Whatever it is, one thing’s clear—it must be stopped. It’s terrorizing the waters along the coast. If ships keep sinking, our trade routes will become all but ghost towns! And then where will we be?” Admiral Picquery glided to a stop in front of her office door, turning her attention from her coworker to Newt so smoothly that he had to blink multiple times to mentally comprehend the transition. “Mr. Scamander, I presume?”

 “Uh, yes!” He rose from his seat and adjusted the front of his coat, extending a hand for the woman to shake. Her lips curled upwards in the shadow of a smile, politely taking his hand and scanning him up and down with her eyes.

 “Admiral Picquery. Thank you for waiting.” She nodded in dismissal to the small crowd behind her, opening the door and gesturing for Newt to follow her inside. “Your brother's letter was quite complementary when it came to your expertise, Mr. Scamander. He believes you may be able to assist our crews in their missions across the more dangerous parts of the sea. Is this a correct assumption?”

 “Well, I will certainly do my best.” Newt waited until the Admiral had begun to lower herself into her ornate office chair before allowing himself to sink into the plush cushions of his own seat. He placed his case on the ground and folded his hands across his lap. “You see, I’ve just completed a year in the field. I’m writing a book about magical creatures—a guide to help people understand why we should be protecting these creatures instead of killing them.”

 “Despite the dangers they present to our ships and the humans aboard them?” she asked calmly.

 “Well, most sea creatures are not as dangerous as they first appear. They simply react to what they perceive as threats to their well-being,” Newt clarified.

 “And our naval vessels are one of these threats?” Her expression remained smooth and neutral, but Newt would have bet every worldly possession that he owned that her tone of voice had dipped dangerously into haughty ridicule. He bit the inside of his cheek and answered her rhetorical question with a challenge of his own.

 “Admiral, what is the standard procedure on US naval ships for the sighting of a magical sea creature? Depending on size, of course.” The Admiral raised her eyebrow, but answered his question easily and politely enough.

 “Well, depending on size and classification, the protocol is to load and man the cannons and guns in the event of an attack. The men then wait for the Captain’s signal, and if the creature attacks, the Captain orders an open fire until the attack is neutralized,” she said. Newt nodded, inconspicuously rubbing the symbol on his wrist to keep the case from reacting to his racing thoughts.

 “And, if it’s determined there is no threat to the ship?”

 “Then no order is given and everybody moves on.” The Admiral leaned back in her chair, the mask of professional interest cracking slightly in the light of her growing disinterest.

 “And, if I may ask, what is the average response time of US Captains between the recorded sighting of the sea creature and the order to fire?” Newt waited a beat as the Admiral’s shoulders tensed and her expression morphed to one of confusion. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not a commonly known statistic. But perhaps you know the annual monetary losses attributed to sea creature attacks in terms of ammunition, gunpowder, and repairs to the ships after the sea creatures respond aggressively to open fire?”

 “…I would have to check the records,” the Admiral admitted cautiously. Newt’s lips twitched up in a smirk that was almost instantly suppressed, and he quickly averted his eyes before delivering his next words.

 “The English have a protocol that is almost identical to the US. The average response time of an order to fire is approximately 30 minutes after a sea creature of any size is spotted within 16 kilometers, with the average royal vessel traveling at a speed of 15 knots. This means, as I’m sure you can estimate, that the average English Captain orders his men to fire before the ship even reaches the sea creature in question, as it would take approximately 35 minutes for the ship to sail up directly beside the creature they target.” Newt paused and allowed his tirade to sink in before continuing.

 “The Royal Navy also recorded an annual budget for the past three years for ammunition and weaponry that showed a 32% depletion filed under sea creature attacks, with the remaining majority all relating to the battles in the war. For a procedure that calls for caution and patience, that number seems awfully high. It’s also quite telling, in combination with the reaction times, don’t you think?” Newt met the Admiral’s eyes again, finding them frozen, yet wide and open.

 “And what does this data have to do with your request, Mr. Scamander?” she asked softly. Newt nodded, resting his elbows up on the arms of his chair. He took a moment to swallow the bitter pill of compromise, reciting the sales pitch that Theseus had given him in their discussions of how to convince the necessary powers to approve his request.

 “If I am allowed aboard one of your ships, I have every intention of providing your officers with new protocols that should decrease wasted ammunition, gunpowder, repair costs, and all the financial burdens thereof. If we’re lucky, it might even increase the safety of your crews…and thus your subsequent recruitment numbers.”

 Admiral Picquery stared at him in the following silence, her body language almost relaxed and appraising. She took a moment to glance out the large window across the room from her desk, the docked naval ships swaying in the harsh winds of the rocky coast. Newt sat uncomfortably as he waited for her verdict, rubbing at his wrist in order to give his hands something distracting to do.

 “It seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Scamander,” she said suddenly. Newt’s eyes snapped to her, only barely keeping the panic in his gut at bay. And he thought he was doing so well!

 “Sorry?”

 “I hate making errors in judgement, but I am not so proud as to deny when I am wrong…at least, not in these types of matters.” Admiral Picquery sighed and offered him a small smile, one devoid of haughtiness or deceit. “From your letter and first impressions, I had taken you for an eccentric fool. Eccentric, you may be, but the only fool in this room is me.”

 She rose from her chair and smoothed down the front of her jacket as Newt mirrored her movements with equal amounts of trepidation and anticipation.

 “You’ve brought an issue to my attention that I was unaware even existed. If you truly think you can assist us, I have no objections to adding you to the ship’s roster.” She paused and busied herself with straightening the paperwork piled on her desk, allowing Newt a small sense of privacy while he grinned in excitement. “I do have to ask if you have any experience in sailing.”

 “Ah, yes, but mainly single-handler sailboats,” he admitted. The Admiral nodded and grabbed a sheet of paper from a nearby drawer. Dipping her feathered quill in a large inkwell with a deft hand, she began to fill in a series of boxes with a scrolling script and signed the document with a flick of her wrist.

 “Captain Percival Graves is on the schedule to set sail later today. His crew handles the recognizance and classifications of all creatures along the coast of the Atlantic, magical and otherwise. He should have plenty of room on his ship for you.” She gently blew on the ink to make it dry, handing the paperwork over to Newt without fanfare. “I’ll make sure he’s expecting you. The ship boards at 1400 this afternoon.”

 “Thank you, Admiral.” Newt accepted the paper with a grateful nod, bending down and retrieving his case. As he made his way to the door, the Admiral’s ominous voice suddenly echoed across the room.

 “Oh, and Mr. Scamander?”

 “Yes?”

“Please do your best not to get anyone killed,” she said with a dark smirk. “Sailors are not the most understanding when you endanger their crew.”  

[krisroley]

LINK: Where Stephen Miller Was Right, And Why It's Dangerous

WaPo:

When Lady Liberty was unveiled in 1886, The Washington Post did not make mention of those words. They were not uttered at the ceremony to dedicate the statue, and the author — Emma Lazarus — would not live long enough to see them inscribed on a plaque on the pedestal.

As Washington Post reporter Katie Mettler wrote earlier this year, Lazarus wrote the sonnet that would contain those famous words as a favor to help raise funds for the pedestal that would hold the expensive gift from France. Her sonnet, she was told, would be sold at an auction that would also feature works from Mark Twain and Walt Whitman.

Lazarus begrudgingly agreed, and composed the words that in recent months have been splashed on protest signs and on Twitter feeds as a symbol of American compassion.

But Lazarus would never see a hint of what was to come of her work, titled “The New Colossus.” She died of cancer a year after the Statue of Liberty was dedicated, and it wasn’t until two decades later that the poet’s words adorned a plaque affixed to the inner wall of the statue’s pedestal.

So, Miller was right — at least about that.

And... from Think Progress

Stormfront.org, a popular website among white supremacists that boasts the tagline, “Every month is White history month,” has a numerous discussion threads on the topic, including one titled, “Give Me Your Huddled Masses — The Jewess who tried to destroy the US!” Contributors to the forum wrote the poem should be “considered graffiti” and stress that Lazarus’ sonnet is “not part of the original” statue at all.

The subreddit for Donald Trump supporters, which frequently pushes white nationalist memes, also has a post titled, “Does everyone realize that the poem inscribed beneath the Statue of Liberty is not, in fact, law?”

“The New Colossus” by Jewish-American poet Emma Lazarus was written in 1883, as many immigrants were moving to the United States through the port of Ellis Island in New York. She wrote the poem to help raise money for the base of the statue. The inscribed bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty was added in 1903. 

Notwithstanding that Miller and company suppose that Lady Liberty would be knee deep in Staten Island in their perfect worldview, this thinking is consistent with the Militia/White Separatist/Sovereign Citizen Movement that I first encountered in the 1990s. These people believe that only the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are the original laws of this country and the rest of the Amendments are not worthy of being followed, as they came later. (I'm glossing over this fact just a tad; I'm keeping the God reference out). 

This uber-originalist thinking is scary because of what it leaves out.  It leaves out what most of mainstream America considers to be America.  That thinking now resides in the White House and was on full display in the Press Room yesterday.  

If I wasn't genuinely concerned about the direction we're heading, I am now.