admonishes

Nuthetes destructor

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuthetes

Name: Nuthetes destructor 

Name Meaning: One who admonishes

First Described: 1954

Described By: Owen

ClassificationDinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Dromaeosauridae, Eudromaeosauria, Velociraptorinae

Nuthetes was another velociraptorine, from the Lulworth Formation in England, dating back to the Berriasian age of the Early Cretaceous, about 143 million years ago. This is actually at the boundary between the Jurassic and the Cretaceous, which makes Nuthetes one of the earliest dromaeosaurs known, helping to piece together the evolution of this group. It was about 2 meters long and was originally classified as a variety of animals before eventually being named a raptor. 

Source:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuthetes

Shout out goes to grune-augen​!

Ibn Jawzî:
I wonder at you! Allâh draws near to you though He is in no need for you, whereas you are arrogant with Him though you are in need of Him. When you are are far, He draws you near to Him and when you are negligent, He reminds you. He did not favour any other creation over you but nevertheless you still favour everything over Him.Lower the head of your regret before the commencement of the day at which you are blamed because then you will not have the face to answer any of that.“ [Seed of Admonishment and Reform, pg.138]

“She then turned to her ladies, who had ascended the scaffold with her, and told them not to be sorry to see her die, begging their pardon for any harshness towards them, praying them to take comfort for her loss, and admonishing them to ‘be always faithful to her whom with happier fortune ye may have as your queen and mistress.’ Anne then gave her prayer book to Lady Lee; entitled The Hours of the Blessed Virgin Mary, it had been made and illuminated for Anne in France around 1528, and she had inscribed it: ‘Remember me when you do pray, that hope doth lead from day to day.’”

The Six Wives of Henry VIII, Alison Weir

The woman’s rights are ordained by Allah, and no one may violate them for any reason. Al-Miqdam reported that Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said:

“Indeed, Allah commands you to be good to the women; indeed, they are your mothers, daughters, and (maternal) aunts. Indeed, a man from the People of the Book would be married to a woman who can hardly know how to pull a string (from ignorance), and yet, neither of them would want to depart from his companion.”

The woman’s lesser physical strength is not, by any means, a justification for the man to overstep her rights. Abu Hurayrah reported that Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said

“I strongly admonish you in regard to the right of the two weak ones: the orphan and the woman.”

-Rifqan Bil-Qawareer by Shaykh Muhammad Mustafa Al-Jibaly.

Whedon has communicated, again and again, that he is someone of whom I can and should expect more. If he identifies as a feminist ally, then I expect him to be receptive to feminist critique; otherwise, that identity is nothing more than a petition for cookies, with no accountability to the community with whom he identifies…

Expecting more is a brash act of courage, and it is also an extraordinary act of generosity. I am a better person than I once was because people gave me the gift of expecting more of me, of setting a higher standard and encouraging me to reach for it, of challenging me not to settle into the well-tread grooves of my socialization, of admonishing me to reject the vast and varied prejudices and myths with which I’d been indoctrinated, of urging me expect more of myself and persuading me to believe I could be the change I want to see.

Being “a deeply committed feminist” is not supposed to be a suit of deflective armor against criticism from people who take that declaration in good faith. It is supposed to be an invitation to dialogue.

—  Melissa McEwan, With Allies Like These
2

Imagine Phil and May treating you like a daughter


Requested by Anon | Gif not mine


“You will stay at the base for the next two weeks. No missions. Lots of training. May will supervise you.”

“Can I call you ‘Dad’ yet? Because that sounds awfully like ‘you’re grounded’ to me“, you complain.

Coulson raises a single eyebrow and looks at May. She gives a little shrug. Is that really a small smile tugging at her lips?

“This is a serious matter, Y/N. Your behaviour on the last mission was unacceptable and not becoming of a SHIELD agent.” Only thing missing is arms akimbo and Coulson would really give your dad a run for his money.

You can barely stop yourself from turning to May and whining “Muuuum!” Instead, you sigh deeply and accept your fate with a nod.

“Then off to your bunk”, Coulson admonishes you.

When you turn around, you don’t want to stop yourself anymore. “Yes, dad”, you snark, “I like spending time with Mum better anyway.”

You are already walking away, so you don’t see May crack a smile look after you just like a proud mother.

And you are long out of hearing range when she turns to Coulson. “You know, Phil, she did good on the mission.”

“I know”, he admits, “But I want her to stay these to weeks here anyway. I don’t want her stuck in the aftermath. It will be dangerous enough as it is.” Both of them know it’s not professional to act like that but both of them don’t want to change it a bit.

Hasan Al-Basree (rahimahullaah) advised some of his students admonishing them about avoiding the state of being proud. He said:

1. Do not deceive yourself into being too proud because you are in a good or righteous environment, for there is no place that is better than Paradise, and our father, Aadam (`alayhis-salaam), experienced there what is known to all.

2. Do not become proud merely because you worship often, for consider what happened to Iblees (Satan) after he spent a great deal of time worshiping.

3. Do not think yourself great because you have met with righteous people, for there is no man more righteous than the Prophet (ṣalAllaahu `alayhi wa salaam), yet the disbelievers and hypocrites did not benefit by simply knowing him.

[Taken from “Gems And Jewels,” P. 182]

Sticky Cheeks and Sweet Kisses :prompt by cutelittlelumpofwool82

“You have a class to teach do you really think you should go with the jelly doughnut?” Amy admonishes as Sheldon makes his selection in the breakfast line.

“I don’t see how what I have to do this morning makes an impact on my breakfast choices.” he says placing the pasrty on his tray.

“It makes an impact because you are a messy eater and I am not driving you back home to get a new shirt when you squirt jelly on this one.” Amy tells him setting a yogurt and a fruit bowl on her tray.

“I am not a messy eater.” he says miffed as he pays for his breakfast and then looking back at Amy pays for hers as well.

“Tell that to my dashboard after you have had french toast sticks.” Amy teases him and he rolls his eyes.

“Syrup is sticky and I did not have my wet wipes with me in your car. Name one other instance where I have proven myself to be a messy eater.” Sheldon says selecting a table and sitting down. Amy sits down opposite of him and spoons up a bite of yogurt while she thinks.

“Our second date, we were going to the zoo and we stopped at a little cafe for breakfast beforehand. You got a jelly doughnut and got jelly all over your cheek. I kept trying to hint to you that you had food on your face by wiping my face.”

“Is that why you were doing it i thought you had developed some sort of nervous tick. He tells her taking a bite of his breakfast and getting jelly on his cheek as he attempts to wipe a crumb off his face.”

“I was trying to be polite about the food on your face, but you would not listen so…”

“You licked your finger and wiped off my face. Oh how horrified I was at your salvia being rubbed all over my face.”

“You just looked at me like I had punched you and got up and ran to the bathroom. I thought you were never coming back out, I thought you had escaped from the window.” Amy laughs.

“Believe me I thought about it, but I decided that you were unfamiliar with some of my more fastidious habits. So I came back out to calmly explain exactly how egregious your actions against me had been.”

“Calmly explain? You gave me a twenty minute lecture on germs and bacteria transfer.” Amy tells him.

“Did you ever do it again?” He asks raising his eyebrow at her.

“No I guess I didn’t.” Amy muses looking at him oddly and he looks back at her and smirks.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You have jelly on your cheek.” she tells him as she licks her thumb leans over the table and rubs the sticky spot off. Sheldon grabs her hand and looks at her sternly.

“I’ve told you how I feel about that.” he grouses before kissing her hand and letting it go, Amy smiles at him.

“Getting more adaptable in your old age?” she asks him as he gets up and grabs his tray and walks over to her.

“No I have just accepted that I already have all your germs.” He tells her as he bends down and kisses her softly on the mouth before walking away. “ Then he turns around and says. “If you will please note my shirt is clean, cheeks don’t count as messy eating.”

Awakening

Thranduil Fan Fiction

by ladywyldfire

18+, eventually nsfw, starts fluffy but ends smutty

Links to previous Chapters:  Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Thranduil and Maderia walked together through the high ceilinged tunnels in a companionable silence.  Shortly, the tunnel that lead to Thranduil’s chamber branched off and, bowing slightly, he took his leave of her.  

“I shall be waiting for you, my Lady,” he said gravely.

“Keep that on the cut until I get there,” she admonished him.

He nodded and disappeared down the corridor.  She watched his tall form as he strode away and shook her head at the task that lay before her as she walked to the healing room and let herself inside.  She was on her way to King Thranduil’s chamber. To care for a wound he had taken defending her. King Thranduil!  How had she not not recognized him out in the woods?  And that ride back to the cave on his horse!  She blushed when she thought of how she had enjoyed his embrace and the feel of his body against hers. Well, she wasn’t dead after all, she reminded herself as she gathered her supplies into a large basket.  And she hadn’t known he was the king at the time!

He was so unlike her Michael. That thought sobered her. Her dear beloved Michael was dead. How could she even think of another?  Gone such a short few months, and her son, Gavin, too.  He had been growing into such a good man, so like his father, always on the lookout for ways to help others.  And the had lost them both on that horrible night of fire and destruction in Laketown.  

She had thought to die too, but Bard the Bowman had pulled her from the rubble of her home and told her she must go on.  His brown eyes were so like those of her husband and son. He had gazed at her with such tenderness and understanding. In the weeks that followed he had been there every time she turned around, making sure she ate, had a place to stay and the supplies she needed.  It had been too much.  She had fled from him and come north with the elves, unable to bear any reminder of what she had lost.  

She collected the last item and placed it in her basket while wiping the fresh tears from her face, reminding herself that she had a job to do.  She hurried down the tunnels, coming more quickly to Thranduil’s chamber than she had anticipated.  She paused for a moment, collecting herself, trying for that serene mask of elvish indifference before she knocked at the door.

“Enter,” came the deep voiced reply. She pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of his chamber, pausing to shut the door behind her.  Thranduil was the only one in the room, seated majestically in a large chair before the fire in the large hearth that dominated one wall of the room.  He had removed his cloak to reveal his simple yet elegant clothing.  He wore a dark brocade robe over dark pants and knee high black boots.  No jewelry adorned him and his hair gleamed golden in the firelight.  He still dutifully held the cloth to his head as she had ordered.

He watched Maderia silently as she crossed the room to him and set down her basket of supplies beside his chair.  She still wore her own cloak, which she quickly removed in the heat of the room.  She was wearing a simply cut dark blue dress.  It had been chosen for practicality and comfort, not to draw the eye, but she saw his eyes quickly sweep her body anyway.  Suddenly feeling self conscious, she cleared her throat.

“Let me see,” she said breaking the silence of the room.  He removed the cloth and she inspected the wound yet again.  Well, it hadn’t changed since she last looked at it.  She brushed his hair back gently from the cut, trying not to notice how soft and silky it felt in her fingers.  He shivered briefly as she tucked behind his pointed ear.  She smoothed the hair directly above the cut back again frowning at it. “Hold it back, out of the way, please,” she said softly and watched as he lifted one large hand to hold his hair out of the way.  The light from the fire was good enough she decided as she laid out her supplies on the small table beside his chair.  He didn’t flinch or even react as she cleaned the wound and put a few stitches in it to hold it shut.  She put a small dressing over it once she finished, mostly to keep his hair out of it.  

Satisfied with her work, she stood upright and stretched her back.  Then she began collecting her supplies and putting them back in the basket as she ran through the usual litany of instructions on how to care for such a wound.  

Finally finished, she moved toward the door, glancing at him to find him watching her intently.  “I will need to check the wound tomorrow to make sure it’s healing properly and no infection is starting.  If it pleases my King I can stop by your chamber again,” she said hesitantly.  

He inclined his head toward her in a gesture of acceptance then replied, “It would please me if you would stop calling me ‘my King.’  My name is Thranduil.  Would you call me that instead, my lady?”

Maderia looked at him with surprise, then smiled shyly at him and said, “Of course.  But only if you call me Maderia instead of ‘my lady.’”  He nodded again, the firelight gleaming on his hair, and the slightest of smiles crossed his lips.

“Good night, Thranduil,” she almost whispered as she opened the door and walked through.  

Just as she was closing the door she heard his equally soft reply, “Good night, Maderia.”

Chapter 5

Often we see in communities of faith that victims are admonished to be grace-like, offering instant forgiveness to their abuser as if it could be doled out like a trinket or candy. And when someone is pressured to “be like Jesus” and forgive swiftly, often this pressure causes harm.

Sexual violation cuts deeply. It eats away at worth, esteem and personhood. I believe it is one of Satan’s greatest weapons against humanity, paving the road for future self-destructive behavior, suicidal thoughts, feelings of utter worthlessness, sexual dysfunction, guilt, shame and any manner of disorders. And moving beyond it is excruciating, long and sometimes debilitating.

Despite Miles’ admonishments, Franziska can be found getting a churro at one in the morning, because she is an adult, dammit.

‘If We’re Going to Talk About It, Let’s Talk About It …’

by Zack Zarrillo

Jason Tate writing on his Chorus blog regarding our need to do the right thing, rather than what’s best for our individual careers:

I end by saying that part of rape culture is admonishing women to “learn common sense” or “be more responsible” or “be aware of risks” or “avoid these places” or “don’t dress this way,” and failing to admonish men to not rape. Sure, no means no, but more importantly: yes means yes, and if your education process is to tell women to not be persuaded into anything they feel uncomfortable with and to teach boys how to “navigate their impulses” to avoid ruining their careers, then that’s not an education process, it’s damage control. I believe it’s time that we stop making excuses for the people that do bad things and instead begin creating healthy and helpful environments for everyone. Not because it’s good for anyone’s music career, but because it’s the right thing to do and as of right now: we are failing at it.

Rhythm is a Dancer

Sparkly, way-too-expensive dress? Check.

Perfect hair, all held together by an entire can of hairspray? Check.

Probably way too much makeup, applied and gorgeous? Check.

You gaze upon yourself in the mirror once more, a smile gracing your full, red lips. Prom night is a go.

You hear honking from outside, and you grab your bag before walking carefully down the stairs. The last thing you need is to trip on your dress and go tumbling down. You grin in embarrassment as your mother snaps picture after picture of you and your friends outside before admonishing you for not having a date.

“I don’t want a date,” you say, for at least the tenth time. “I just want to go with my friends, that’s all.”

Your mother purses her lips but says nothing. Your older sister though, much to your irritation, smirks at your response.

The car ride to the school goes by in the blink of an eye, and you feel the familiar bubble of nervousness and excitement filling you up to the brim. Last year in high school, last dance in this building.

“Come on!” your friend giggles as she tugs on your hand. You follow after her, grinning at the sight of your fellow graduating classmates in their best suits and dresses. Despite the years of stress and crap that you had to go through with these people, you feel a pang of nostalgia.

The decor of the dance is as expected; cheap, sparkly, gaudy, and altogether magical. The beat of the music they’re playing reverberates in your bones, and a feeling of giddiness threatens to make a break out of you.

A few bachelors whistle at your group, quirking an eyebrow and eyeing you all up and down. You respond with a toss of your hair, grinning as your friends laugh. Something about the night and your dress has you leaving your normally shy and awkward personality back at home.

The music spins into a popular song, and a collective scream erupts from the crowd. With a great smile, your friend leads you into the heart of the crowd, and you begin the night.

~~~

“Hey, looks like someone’s taken a fancy towards you,” you friend whispers out with a giggle. You follow her finger to the corner of the hall, where a tall, gangly boy stoops, his bright blue eyes glancing furtively away before you can catch his gaze.

Your eyes widen. “Wait, is that…?”

Your friend laughs out loud. “Dan Smith, yes.”

Dan Smith? Daniel ultimate-geek Smith, with his calculator watch and wire-rimmed glasses and wild, afro-like hair? Dan, who you’ve barely seen say a word to anyone your entire high school career? It can’t be. This Dan is…

Hot. There’s no other word. For once, his hair’s shaved cleanly on the sides and styled into a neat quiff. Gone are his glasses, which hid exactly how blue those eyes of his are. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, which hugs him in all the right places.

Damn.

“Go say hi to him!” your friend shouts over the music, which you recognize as an old song by Corona. Of the Night, or something like that.

Normally, your friend would have to practically pick you up and plop you in front of a guy just to talk to him, but tonight, drunk on music and the moment, you put on your best winning smile and saunter over to him. You bit back a laugh at the way Dan’s eyes widen ever so slightly before breaking contact again. Now, this Dan you recognize.

“Want a dance?” you say with a flirtatious smile, extending a manicured hand out to him.

Dan licks his lips, mumbling out a response that’s entirely lost in the pulse of the music.

“You’re gonna have to speak up!” you shout back with an amused shake of your head.

Dan tries again, and this time, you hear a faint, “I don’t know how to dance.”

You laugh callously as you grab both his hands and yank him onto the floor, quirking a challenging eyebrow. “And you think I can?”

As you start dancing – jumping up and down, really – Dan starts to do the same, looking self-consciously around.

You shake your head. “No one cares tonight,” you tell him, closing the gap between the two of you. You look up at Dan with fever-bright eyes. “Come on, Smith. Live a little.”

This is the rhythm of the night
The night, oh yeah
The rhythm of the night
This is the rhythm of my life
My life, oh yeah
The rhythm of my life

Slowly, Dan starts to dance too… or whatever he calls dancing. You bite back a laugh at how God-awful he really is, but you merely shake your head and take his hand again, jumping along to the beat.

After the song ends, you clap your hands and cheer along with everyone else, nudging for Dan to do the same. Dan complies, offering you a small, genuine smile. Your gaze lingers on him, your heart fluttering at the appearance of two very adorable little dimples.

You really need to dress this boy up more often.

“Right, we’re going to take things a bit slower now, so find a partner!” the DJ says. You immediately look back to your new friend, a smile spreading as Dan does the same. Wordlessly, you snake your hands up to wrap around his neck, Dan doing the same around your waist. Slowly, you both starts to sway back and forth in place.

“This isn’t too bad, now is it?” you say, smiling softly.

Dan chuckles in reply. “No, not at all,” he replies.

You respond by gently leaning your head against Dan’s chest, closing your eyes to the steady, rhythmical thumping of his heart. When you peek your eyes back open, you find your friend grinning manically at you, flashing you a thumbs up before giggling. You go back to closing your eyes and dancing with your partner, slowly inhaling his musky scent.

There will never be a night like Prom Night.

~~~~~ Of the Night ~~~~~

“She’s perfect” Sam repeated for what might’ve been the third time, at least, in the past 24 hours. Andy hummed in agreement, stroking Bella’s cheek.

Sam was resting on his elbows, one finger wrapped around Bella’s tiny fist. They’d been awake for a while, admiring their daughter in hushed conversation as she slept.

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Daily Bible Verse; May 16, 2015

Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God.  Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.

(Colossians 3:16-17)