iconic parts of lord of the rings that sadly didn’t make it into the films:
  • Frodo and Sam getting into a fight about rope
  • Gandalf and Aragorn tag-team sassing a convalescent Merry about the location of his pack
  • the massive intra-Fellowship fight about how fair or unfair it is for people to be blindfolded
  • Legolas coming all the way from Mirkwood to deliver bad news and get bitched at by Glóin
  • Bilbo’s passive-aggressive notes to his annoying relatives
  • Aragorn and Éomer leaning on their swords to take a break and chat in the middle of a fight (twice)
  • Saruman appearing out of nowhere and harassing the Three Hunters like a DND random encounter
  • the disco ball/oil slick/sequin robes
  • basically every time Ioreth or the Master of the Houses of Healing says anything
  • Pippin jumping into his bath and soaking literally everyone
  • Bilbo’s song about Eärendil and Aragorn trying to gently point out that some topics of conversation are Sensitive
  • Frodo deciding that the best way to be inconspicuous is with a loud obnoxious song about when the Moon got drunk

feel free to add your own

The Queen is enchanted with [Madame Elisabeth] and tells everyone that she never met anyone so lovable, that she was only now learning to know her, that she had made a friend of her, and that the friendship would last as long as a lifetime. 

–Madame de Bombelles on Madame Elisabeth and Marie Antoinette, after their shared convalescence from measles in 1779. [image: detail from a painting depicting Marie Antoinette embracing Madame Elisabeth]


The Bloody Red Baron’s traumatic brain injury,

 The issue of head trauma and brain injury has been in the spotlight a lot lately, especially when it comes to sports and athletic injury, as well as auto accidents, job accidents, and of course, soldiers returning home from war.  Perhaps one recently recognized case of traumatic brain injury in history is Manfred von Richthofen, also known as the “Red Baron”.  One of the greatest combat fighter pilots of all time, the German ace helped form the foundation of aerial dogfighting.  He wasn’t the most skilled pilot, but he utilized tactics which made him the most dangerous airman of World War I, earning him 80 kills, making him the highest scoring and most decorated pilot of the war. Richthofen’s incredible success was mostly due to his strict adherence to a set rules governing dogfighting called the “Boelcke Dictums”, written by German flying ace Oswald Boelcke.  Today the Boelcke Dictums are holy gospel among fighter pilots, still taught to trainees in air forces around the world.

On July 6th, 1917, Richthofen suffered a gunshot wound to the head, damaging the frontal lobe of his brain.  Amazingly, the wound didn’t kill him, and he was able to land in friendly territory. He had to undergo several operations to remove bone fragments from his damaged brain, and was temporarily blinded and paralyzed. Amazingly, Richthofen made a quick comeback, spending only three months convalescing and healing, attempting to return to active duty in August but finally returning to the air on October 23rd.

Richthofen wasn’t the same after his head injury, and modern medical professionals  have looked over his case and determined that he could have suffered from a serious traumatic brain injury. He become disinhibited and compulsive, often making snap judgments and irrational decisions.  He also had less control over his emotions, becoming moody and depressed.  In his journals, his writing became more simplistic, disorganized, and nonsensical.  In the air, he became more and more reckless, taking more dangerous risks and ignoring the Boelcke Dictums which he had rigidly adhered to before.  It is was quite clear that Richthofen was suffering from head trauma (and perhaps battle fatigue) resulting in decreased cognitive ability. It is a good possibility that the Bloody Red Baron had lost his edge due to his injury.

On April 21st, 1918 Richthofen broke formation with his squadron to chase an Allied plane.  Flying mere hundreds of feet above the ground, Richthofen pursued the fighter deep into enemy territory, totally oblivious of enemy fighters diving on his six and a mass of anti aircraft fire rising from the ground.  Neurologists call this “target fixation”, a habit common among those suffering brain injuries where a person will fixate on a particular object or thing while losing awareness of his or her surroundings.   Richthofen sustained a mortal gunshot wound to the chest, going down and crashing.  He was buried with honors by British forces.  Today, most medical and military experts agree that the Red Baron would have never been allowed to fly again in any modern air force.

The Inter-System Kenobae Fanclub

Also known as The One Where The Entire Galaxy Realises Obi-Wan Needs To Be Mothered

Summary: As above. Mildly crack. Mostly my favourite combo of angst + humour. Oneshot. Early/mid-Clone Wars. (I have no excuse but it was very liberating to write something as tropey as possible so…)

Really, in hindsight, that particular event shouldn’t have made the war-reels.

But it did.

As it turned out, there had been a holonet war correspondent on board The Negotiator when Ki-Adi-Mundi and Obi-Wan Kenobi returned from the second battle of Geonosis; already, the hangar had been aflutter with whispers that the landing at Point Rain had not gone well.

The journalist had carefully leant out from behind a supply crate (he is technically not allowed in here, he knew), and raised his holocam at the exact moment an oil-streaked, blood-spattered LAAT/i scraped open its doors to reveal a russet-haired Jedi general, clad in equally russet robes.

A general that took two halting steps forward before collapsing onto his knees, blood splattering across the duracrete from lips muffled by a dirt-streaked gauntlet.

Shouts rang out across the hangar’s oil-slicked floor; General Mundi crouched beside Kenobi, hand on his counterpart’s shoulder, whispering words that were lost in said counterpart’s hacking coughs - Kenobi sounded as though he was disgorging half the contents of his chest.

The journalist’s shock at seeing a High Jedi General reduced to this state had not impeded his holocam from recording everything.

And slowly, the holonet correspondent had realised that Kenobi’s robes were not supposed to be dyed russet.

Engine oil. Blood, too. Mostly blood.

Now, after a veritable army of medics have lifted General Kenobi onto a hover-stretcher and whisked him away, the journalist flips open his holocam display and reviews the footage.


He pulls a wadge of stickli-root gum out of his pocket and jams it in his mouth, chewing eagerly as he slinks back down the hallways to his cabin. He is not stupid; his superior will want to see this. But that being said…if his boss deems it unfit for the war reels, footage of this particular subject will fetch a very high price indeed.

He smells profit, indeed - even if for the moment, it smells like stickli-root.

The footage hits the holonet three days later, and instantly crosses the galaxy faster than a Hutt power-coup through the information black market.

Keep reading

Lovesick || Jughead Jones

Prompt: #33 Is that my shirt?

Warnings: Fluff 

You haven’t been feeling well for the past few days, so you locked yourself up in your room so you don’t infect anyone else. Wrapped up with blankets piled high on top of you, your phone beeps. Everyone is on the group chat asking you if you’re dead.

“Guys, I’m not dead. Just feel dead, I have a stomach bug,” you sent.

Veronica, Kevin, Betty and Jughead decide you need a personal nurse. You argue that you’re fine and don’t want anyone to get sick. But they’re persistent and determined so they put it up vote. Veronica, Kevin and Betty nominate Jughead; your boyfriend to be your nurse. Of course you’re not thrilled, you don’t want Jughead to get sick because being sick is atrocious. Encumbering someone else with caring for you would not be fun for both parties.

After about 15 minutes you see Jughead leaning on your door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “How many blankets does one person need?” Jughead mocks.

“Well hello to you too. You can go you I still may be convalescent, but I’ll live,” you groan.

“Y/N, you’re sick. Your parents are at work so I’ll be here to help. Also is that my shirt.”

Under all of your blankets you are in fact wearing one of Jugheads flannels. It was the first thing you saw when you changed and it is comfortable. You burry yourself deeper under the blankets to hide your embarrassment. Jughead walks over to your bed and sits on the end looking at you with a smirk.

“Aren’t you sweating under there?” Jughead chuckles.

“No. Yes. Maybe. I think I’m going to die, I hate being sick,” you’re eyes look glassy.

“It would be funny if the great Y/N got taken out by a stomach bug.” Jughead laughs.

“Don’t laugh Juggie its not funny,” you lightly hit his arm.

Jughead takes off some of your blankets and crawls under with you. He wraps his arms around your torso and rests his chin atop of your head. You kick off more of the blankets because Jughead has heat radiating off his body. But the thought of Jughead catching your illness creeps through your mind. 

“If you get sick it’s all your fault, not mine.”

“Noted. But at least I don’t think I’m dying when I’m sick.”

“Shut up.”

Jughead kisses the top of your head. “Go to sleep you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever you say doctor Jones.”

Legionella (?)

Three and a half months after Convalescence…

“I don’t have legionnaire’s disease,” she complained as he tightened the tourniquet around her upper arm.

“I didn’t know you were a 100% fool proof blood test,” Owen coyly replied as he flicked his finger against the veins in her arm.

“I haven’t even bathed or washed my hands in the hospital for the last two days,” she groaned, “I haven’t even been here for the last two days.”

“Then how would you explain your recent coughing, nausea and vomiting?” he further pursued, “Those are about three of the symptoms for legionella.”

Gasping and pretending to be shocked, Amelia replied in a sarcastic tone, “Oh my god, you’re right. But…what if it’s just the common cold? Or what if I’m pregnant? Or what if I have a rare tropical disease? How will we ever know?”

“Firstly, you having the common cold the same time there’s a legionella outbreak is way too convenient,” he began, destroying her hypotheses one by one, “Secondly, we haven’t even been trying for a baby, so it’s unlikely that you’re pregnant. And thirdly, you need to have recently gone to a tropical country to get a tropical disease.” Owen rolled his eyes and smiled as he wiped her arm with alcohol. “If everybody else has to take the test, so do you. Those are the rules; no exceptions.”

“You clearly missed the sarcasm in my-ow!” she whined as he pulled her blood, “You are terrible at taking blood.”

“I didn’t miss your sarcasm, I ignored it,” he said, pulling the needle out and replacing it with some cotton, “But I’d definitely welcome the idea that you’re carrying another me inside you.”

“If it’s anything like Rosie, I don’t want it,” she said, replacing his fingers in keeping pressure on the cotton on her arm. Amelia loved her daughter unconditionally, but the girl knew how to get under her skin.

Owen shook his head and chuckled, dispelling her blood in a purple top vial. “I’ll get your results rushed but you should go rest somewhere in the meantime. I’ll page you if you’re dying of a rare disease.”

“How reassuring,” she mused as he stood up and left.

As he made his way to the medical laboratory, Owen’s mind ran rampant with thoughts and doubts about Amelia’s diagnosis. Although they had visited Barbados, her symptoms would’ve shown sooner if it was a tropical disease and not 2 months later. And they hadn’t been actively trying for a baby for over a month now. Legionella was the most obvious diagnosis, as unfortunate as it was.

“Dr. Hunt,” the lab tech greeted Owen, “Legionella test too?”

“Uh, yeah,” Owen said, looking at the vial in his hand.

“It’s legionella, it can’t be anything else,” he tried to convince himself.

“Dr. Hunt?” the tech called, trying to pull him out of his thoughts, “I need you to give me the blood to take the test.”

“Her nausea, headaches and coughing all point towards it,” he thought.

He handed the lab tech the vial. “Do a blood beta-hCG test instead.”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, are you sure?”

Owen hesitated for a moment. He was lying to Amelia and wasting her blood on a non-urgent test. Worse yet, if it was negative, he’d have to lie and get more blood from her and test for the disease she’d more likely have. She’d skin him alive if she found out what he was about to…

“I’m sure,” he nodded, taking a deep, staggering breath, “Run the test.”

“Very well then, doctor.”

After spending half an hour looking around the hospital for Amelia, and eventually having a nurse tell him she arrogantly went home, Owen came home that night with his heart racing.

“Amelia?” he called with an edge in his voice as he opened the door.

“In the kitchen,” she said, fishing in the fridge for something to eat.

“Why did you go home?” he chastised as he made his way into the kitchen, “You could’ve spread your possible legionella to the kids.”

“So then I don’t have legionella?” she sought to confirm, spraying canned cheese on an apple slice as he approached her.

“Ew, don’t eat that,” he quickly said, taking the apple slice away from her before she could get a bite.

“There better be a good reason why you took that away from me,” Amelia grumbled, folding her arms across her chest.

Owen set the snack down and looked at her with a big, cheesy grin.

“What, Owen?” she huffed, becoming increasingly confused and annoyed by his behaviour, “Just spit it out. Do I have legionella or not?”

“I didn’t get the legionella test,” he said, barely giving her enough information to understand what kind of conversation they were having.

“What?” she exclaimed, “Well then what did you do with my blood?”

“I got a blood beta-hCG test,” he announced giddily, holding the paper up in the air.

“So instead of finding out if I have a contagious and potentially fatal disease…” she clarified.

“Amelia, look at the paper.”

“…you used my blood to get a non-emergent pregnancy test…”

“Look at the paper,” he tried again.

“…and now we’ll have to go back to the hospital so I can get another-“

“Amelia!” he said a little louder, stopping her rant mid-sentence. He held the paper closer to her eyes. “Look at the paper.”

Sighing, she gave him a death glare before she took the paper from him and read the results. 6,190 mIU/ml popped out at her; she didn’t even read the base values or the rest of results. All she saw was those numbers.

With now widened eyes, Amelia looked back at Owen. “Is this…?”

He nodded.

Pointing to herself, she asked, “Am I…?”

He nodded again, his eyes glistened. “You are.”

She grinned, her eyes watering as she looked at the paper again. “This better not be a joke, Owen.”

“No joke,” he confirmed, his heart warmed at the sight of her shock and happiness; rewarding was an understatement. “I definitely knocked you up this time.”

“We’re having a baby,” she said aloud, to make it true.

“We’re having a baby,” he sang softly, picking her up and spinning her around, causing her to squeal.

“We’re having a baby,” she sang with him, giggling.

“Why are you guys singing and jumping and crying?” Ryan asked as he entered the kitchen and rubbed his eyes, finding Owen and Amelia jumping up and down in a circle. Rosie stood behind him in pyjamas like him, just as curious at her parents’ sudden outburst of singing and screaming. The two adults froze and stared at them, their cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Um,” Owen tried, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat, “Well…”

“I’m pregnant,” Amelia blurted out to the five year old.

Ryan looked between the two suspiciously. “Like, actually pregnant?”

Amelia nodded.

“Finally,” the little boy sighed, rolling his eyes. Amelia and Owen laughed at his response. “A boy would be nice. A girl too, I guess, once she’s not like her.” He subtly tried pointing at Rosie, and Amelia chuckled.

“No promises,” she told him.

“Yay!” Rosie squealed, unsure of what pregnant meant. All she knew was that it had to be something good, because everyone looked happy.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Ryan announced, already bored with their behaviour, “A little less singing, please.” He took Rosie’s hand and led her back upstairs to her bedroom.

Once the two children left the room, Amelia snaked her hands around Owen’s neck and kissed him. As she undid the buttons on his shirt one by one, she whispered, “Celebration time.”

“Right here?” he sought to confirm, shrugging his dress shirt off, “What about…”

“They’re upstairs and sleepy,” she dismissed, letting him pull her black jersey over her head, “They won’t hear us once you don’t moan.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” he said, lifting her onto the kitchen island before tugging her pants off of her.

“Where’s the fun in playing safe?” she taunted him, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him close. Her fingers laced in his hair and tugged on it as she waited for his response.

“I like the sound of that,” he hummed, unbuttoning his pants.

Bones Headcanon

This ties in a little bit of canon, a little bit of stuff @mccoymostly mentioned in an answer to an Anon ask earlier, and a little bit of what’s bouncing around in Jules’ head right now.

Bones is an impeccable diagnostician.  He’s an amazing clinician.  He notices things.  His observational skills parallel - sometimes even surpass - his technological acumen.

He’s got the newest, state-of-the-art equipment at his fingertips so that when shit hits the fan, he’s ready and able to treat every patient as minimally invasively as possible, and in order to achieve the best possible outcome for them.


He’s also old-fashioned.

Maybe it’s because he trusts his own hands more than the machines, or maybe it’s because he knows a little bit of touch goes a long way in reassuring his patients, but when time is not an issue, I feel like he falls back on a good, old fashioned physical exam.  Where Starfleet hasn’t mandated how things must be done or using what instruments or methods, he takes the liberty of using his best judgment to assess and treat his patients.  Where an old fashioned method would not extend convalescence any more than a modern method, he would favor that.

Convalescence Pt.12

Thanks for following me on this journey. This was my first time writing a two parter so i hope you guys really enjoyed it. As always, lots of constructive criticism and compliments are welcomed.

Monday 18th July 2017.

“Follow my finger.”

“Oh god it’s brain cancer, isn’t it,” the patient exclaimed, panicking as Amelia assessed her, “I have brain cancer.”

Sighing and slowly rolling her eyes as subtly as possible, Amelia announced, “You don’t have brain cancer. You have a concussion.”

The woman furrowed her eyebrows. “Wh-what?”

“A mild one, too.” She pulled out her pad and wrote her a prescription. “There’s a pharmacy right across the street. Have a nice day.”

Keep reading

The ongoing decay of brittle limbs
Dry and barren in convalescent light
Still a shade caster, still nutrimental
A giant in its post-life existence

When its back breaks I will know violence
Were it to be vengeful it would take me

A creaking, a thud; a bloodstained notebook

Seven were hanged for practicing witchcraft
Six came, supposedly of their own accord
Fourteen restores the natural balance
The accursed tree is finally dying
Oh! - May_Shepard - Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 6/?
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Victor Trevor, John Watson, Probably Others from the Show
Additional Tags: Mind Palace, Written After TAB, Masturbation, Self-Stimulation, Sexual Fantasy, lots of orgasms, Friends to Lovers, First Love, Feels, First Time, Character Study

“The Mind Palace is a memory technique. I know what it can do; and I know what it most certainly cannot.”

“Maybe there are one or two things that I know that you don’t.”

Newly updated after a long and unintentional break! 

I started writing this long before s4, so I suppose this is going to function a bit as a fix-it of sorts, since it involves a very insecure unilock, who is wildly in love with a university-aged Victor Trevor, a dude who is just sweet and wonderful enough to deserve it. It’s also an anatomy of sorts of the mind palace: specifically, why things seem to be so sexy and Victorian down there.

Tags only after the cut.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

(BYSOTI[D]) Drabble Suggestion: Yuuri gets a cold and needs to stay in bed for an indefinite about if time. Cue parents, skating parents, worried Russians, a caring boyfriend, and essentially the entire Japanese skating community ready to wait on him and and foot.

Katsuki Yuuri fan board (on a Japanese skating forum)

I just got off the phone with my coach.  I can’t go to Osaka for choreo because Yuuri-kun is SICK!  Everyone should send him good wishes!  I’ll be sending a get well soon card!  I’m sure Yuuri-kun would love to know we’re thinking of him!

200+ replies 


Riku thanked Shouta as she took the container of soup from his hands.  “Please thank your mother for me, Nakagawa-kun.  I’m sure that Yuuri-kun will appreciate it.  If you wait for a few minutes, I will prepare a tray for him and you can take it up.”

“Ok.  How is he?  He looked bad the other day when the nurse sent him home.”

Riku sighed.  “I think he’s been pushing himself too hard with all the things, but he’s a little better.  He has some color now, but he’s still very tired.”  She started arranging things on a tray.  “Here, you go.  Just be careful not to spill anything on the way up the stairs.  His door should be open so Vicchan can come and go without him needing to get up.”

Shouta nodded.

“And please tell him to drink as much as possible!  Fluids are important!”

“Yes, Riku-san.”  Shouta carefully started up the stairs and headed to Yuuri’s door, pressing his back against it so that he could enter without spilling anything.  “Yuuri, I have soup.”

Shouta set the tray down on Yuuri’s desk and looked at the bed.  Yuuri was sleeping under a pile of blankets, his cheeks flushed red as well as the tip of his nose.  He reached out and brushed the hair off Yuuri’s brow and then leaned in and pressed his lips to Yuuri’s forehead.

To take his temperature.


“Hmm.  I have soup.  My mother made it for you.  Want some?”

Yuuri nodded and rolled over, scooting up the bed until he was sitting.

With a smile, Shouta picked up the bowl and held out a spoonful of soup.

“Shouta, I can feed myself.”  Yuuri reached for the spoon, but Shouta moved it away, back toward the bowl.

“Let me, please?  Just a few?  And then I’ll give you the spoon.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, but let Shouta feed him soup.


“Yuu-kun, Yakov called and gave me a list of things that I’m to check that you have since you’re sick and to check that the package arrived.”  Alexei came in carrying a disturbingly large box.  Half of it seemed to be DVDs with skaters names on them.  “He sent some of his collection of the past greats so that you don’t lose your edge while you’re convalescing.”  

Yuuri groaned.  “I’m not going to be sick for a month.”

Alexei set the box down next to the bed.  “I know, but people care.  Viktor sent some magazines.  I think he has a photo spread in all of them.  Mila sent a CD of songs she thinks you’d like to skate to.  Katya sent… I’m not quite sure… cookies maybe?  They’re black.”

Yuuri shuddered.  Katya could cook, but she could not bake at all.  No patience for the measuring.

“And Georgi sent some sort of romance novel.  It’s in Russian… which, makes it pointless, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”  Yuuri laughed, and doing so made his head spin, so he ended up groaning and falling down on his side.  Alexei ran his hand over his hair.  “Get some sleep.”



“Is that Katsudon?!”  Yuuri sat up in bed.

“Your sister arrived with it.  Took the train up with all the parts and put it together.  Said your mother knew you just wouldn’t get better without it.”  Riku smiled.

“Eat up, kid.”

“Thanks, Mari-neechan.”


Yuuri looked over at the very large box that Alexei set down next to where he was working at his desk on the work that he’d missed while he was sick.  “What are those?”

“Get well wishes.  Apparently, Minami-kun organized it all.  Lots of get well cards and letters.”  Alexei paused.  “The mailman laughed when he dropped it off.  Oh, and he says to get well soon, too.”

Yuuri groaned and let his head fall to his desk.

askkakuro  asked:

People will demonize Nick with every chance they get. I'm still mad about Steve blaming Nick for Hydra infiltrating Shield, despite the movie even stating they've been in the organization since Steve/Peggy's era which is completely on them. But sure, let's blame the black guy who spent the movie seriously injured and recovering from having to fake his own death.

What I’ve found interesting is that it’s never Peggy’s fault. Even if we assume that Nick is Samuel L Jackson’s age (turning 69 this year), he wasn’t even AROUND for the majority of what Peggy and Howard put nto play with the organization. 

Peggy ran SHIELD for DECADES. Hydra agents slipped in under her nose. Others were definitely invited in to make the scientific arm of the organization more advanced.

We know this because AoS and Winter Soldier basically say it. 

And yet, who gets blamed for things that happened when he was probably not even an agent? (Or born!!)


And let’s talk about how everyone blames Nick for not running around and kicking ass when he’s recovering from being shot at and blown up and god only knows what…

Every other (white) character gets the chance to recover. To be fawned over as they convalesce. Fandom writes tons of hurt comfort stories or meta where the point is that they were dissatisfied with how canon handled injuries or trauma. 

But Nick is faking it. He’s lying. He got Phil killed. He didn’t do enough to save the world from a threat he only figured out how to handle within a few in-series months.

So fandom doesn’t have to care about him.

Fandom instead demands that Nick handle things on his own. They write stories where Steve says that he doesn’t trust Nick as far as he can throw him. They make him spy on the Avengers and interfere in their personal (romantic) relationships. They kill him off. They make him (physically/emotionally) abuse “nice” white characters.

They write him off as less of a character (good or otherwise) than the Hydra agents murdering their way across the government. 

I’ve seen people turn his bit part in Age of Ultron into a way to make him a villain there too despite the fact that Tony created a murderous AI that was intent on wiping out humanity. (But I forget, white guys trying to commit genocide are always excused…)

This has been going on since the moment Nick was introduced and it only got worse once fandom realized that he was unwilling to put up with shit from white characters like Steve/Tony that had ZERO common sense.

april comes in fractures,

a slow convalescence,punctual as a toad

where, foisting a mouthful
of arrows, our sun spears
the water, merciless

infinity pours

within the feeling of
the river:

birch, saffron, fig, paw

a bird aboard its own shadow,
into the angle of a
                    gore or dread 

all is blue to the end of
remembering , mended by
this brilliant light

Evergreen willow

May I rise tall and see fingers branch out,
Then feel my toes root in nurturing soil;
How evergreen leaves purposefully sprout
As I yield to a heart-shaped ivy’s coil.

Let it be love, flowing from my essence
Amid the quiescence of birch and oak;
Witnesses to my trunk’s convalescence,
Nursing the heart I denied ever broke.

Now a willow among enchanted trees,
To whom may listen, my love I proclaim
In whispers resembling a gentle breeze,
Zephyr carried will be– your sacred name.

Let seeds that fall from my each slender limb
Grow into willows, whispering your hymn:

   “Love is your name, a zephyr sigh
   Rustling the leaves to unify
   Two hearts with one beat, can’t you hear
   This call out for love, so sincere,
   Traversing the oceans of rye.

   Your name is Love, chirps a magpie
   Atop a tree branch, way up high.
   Elated the animals cheer:
   Love is your name.

   Let this whispered hymn signify
   Our meeting again, in the sky;
   That you will appear crystal clear,
   Illumining the atmosphere.
   Then no soul will ever deny
   Love is your name.”

Perhaps one day you will hear this soft song,
Reminding your heart of when it was young.

May you then feel how my love is still strong;
How a wooden heart beats truer than gold,
How zephyrs may whisper truths rarely told,
How willows may sigh: 

“What kept you so long?”

- M.A. Tempels © 2017

Downton Abbey: Sybil Crawley – INFP

See also this post about Sybil, as well as my other Downton Abbey typings (so far).

Fi: The first impressions we get of Sybil are of her kindness and empathy (She defends Edith’s crying after Patrick’s funeral, tries to reassure Mary (“I know you’re sad about Patrick. Whatever you say, I know it.”), and she makes it her mission to help Gwen find a job as a secretary.). We also get to see her valuing morals early on, first through gentle remonstrations to her sisters (Mary: “I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up.”, Sybil: “Mary, what a horrid thing to say.”, “You shouldn’t laugh, that’s so unkind.” (about Mary and Edith likening Matthew to a sea monster)), but then also by giving her opinion freely and being perfectly honest about things (“Of course it is [worth it], because of the people who will live in them.” (about Robert and Matthew restoring houses in the village), “I know this is hard for you to grasp, but I’m not there to go out to dinner. I’m there to learn.”, “He is a person. He can discuss other things.”, “I’m nor eloping like a thief in the night. I might have once, but Mary and Edith talked me out of it.”). She has a deep interest in helping others and doing good (“Because it’s the gloomy things that need our help. If everything in the garden’s sunny, why meddle?”), and she is passionately immersed in her causes (“Papa, I’m sorry I disobeyed you, but I’m interested. I’m political. I have opinions.”, “Blame me.”, “I will not give him up!”). Others often mention her gentleness when describing her (Isobel: “Her innocence will protect her.”, Mrs Hughes: “The sweetest spirit under this roof has gone.”, Thomas: “In my life I can tell you not many have been kind to me. She was one of the few.”, Mrs Hughes: “She was a sweet, kind person. And a real beauty. Inside and out.”, Gwen: “Her kindness changed my life.”), but also her single-mindedness (Matthew: “I admire Sybil’s passion, though.”, O’Brien: “So, Lady Sybil got off all right in the end. I’m afraid we have to admit, she knows what she wants.” Cora: Yes. She certainly does.”, Mary: “We can’t leave all the moral high ground to Sybil. She might get lonely there.”, “But I am sure! How many times do I have to say it?”, Anna: “Aren’t I as strong as Lady Sybil?”, Mary: “Sybil’s the strong one. She really doesn’t care what people think, but I’m afraid I do.”, Branson: “There aren’t many as free as my Sybil.”). She’s sensitive and quick to take offence at indirect or implied criticism (“What do you want from me? Am I to see if Sir Richard Carlisle has a younger brother? One who’s even richer than he is?”, “Appropriate for whom?”, “I don’t deserve to be told off. Not by her or by you.”, “Perhaps. But we do have feelings and don’t make the mistake of thinking we don’t.”). As she always gives 100% of herself into something, she desires the same whole-heartedness from others (“Then be on my side!”).

Ne: Sybil enjoys the idea of something (“I think it’s romantic.”, “Why, Granny, you’re a romantic.”) and has no trouble in seeing possibilities everywhere, which she often uses to cheer other people up (“Then we must be ready by tomorrow, mustn’t we?”, “You’ll see. We’re not giving up. No one hits the bull’s eye with the first arrow.”, “Then I’m a fool for I’m a long way from being beaten yet.”, “Then that’s why we must stick together. Your dream is my dream now, and I’ll make it come true.”, “But have you filled the post yet? Because I know just the woman.”, “Trust me, you have a talent that none of the rest of us have. Just find out what it is and use it.”, “But you believed in him, whoever he was, and that’s worth something.”). She’s often frustrated at other people being unable to think outside the box (“Women must get the vote, mustn’t they, Branson? Why does the prime minister resist the inevitable?”, “Why will we only have officers? Surely all wounded men need to convalesce.”, Mary: “The chauffeur? Branson?” Sybil: “Oh, how disappointing of you.”, “But I’m not giving up my world! They want to give me up. That’s their affair. I’m perfectly happy to carry on being friends with everyone.”). She usually believes the best of people (“I expect Mary was just showing the duke the house, weren’t you?”) and isn’t prejudiced against them because of social rules (for example, she tries to defend Matthew from her sisters when he first arrives). She is excited with new ideas that are congruent with her values (Fi-Ne), seen in her enthusiasm to help Gwen (“I think it’s terrific that people make their own lives, especially women.”), her interest in politics and feminism, even in her love for Tom Branson (“That I’m ready to travel…and you are my ticket.”). They also help her when she’s feeling down (for example when Isobel cheers her up by suggesting to train as a nurse and learn new things, like cooking.) She often challenges the status quo and doing things in a certain way just because it is done like that (“But nobody learns anything from a governess apart from French and how to curtsy.”, “I don’t know why we bother with corsets. Men don’t wear them and they look perfectly normal in their clothes.”). She takes her inspirations from the world around her and is constantly comparing situations and ideas in her head (for example she has the idea for Gwen to fake being ill in order to go to her interview from Anna having been ill the day before, and she is inspired to give Tom her final answer by Matthew and Lavinia announcing their marriage.). Since she seeks meaning in everything, she doesn’t value things without seeing a point to them (Ne-Te) (“But what is the point of Mama’s soirees? What are they for?”).

Si: Though fascinated by new ideas, Sybil prefers to mix novelty with the familiar, and in details – for example with her “new frock” (“Can it be my choice this time?“, Edith: “What do you want her to make?” Sybil: “Something new and exciting.”, “Is there anything more thrilling than a new frock?”). She knows her family well enough to not expect support in her political interests (“I knew you wouldn’t approve.”), and thus keeps her visiting political events a secret. She is also bitter about them wanting to return to the state of things before the war (Sybil always is completely immersed in the present: Branson: “So you wouldn’t go back? To your life before the war?” Sybil: “No. No, I can never go back to that.”, “But I just can’t think about it all until the war is over. It won’t be long now. So, will you wait?”, “They were sighing for the old days at dinner, but all I could do was think about how much more I want from life now than I did then.”, “I don’t want to get used to it.”). She pretends not to feel the parting when she goes to train as a nurse, but once she is alone in the car, she starts to cry, and she tells Branson that it’s hard for her to let go (“It’ll be hard to let you go, my last link with home.”). She also admits to him that she finds it hard to break away from her old world (“You say I’m a free spirit, and I hope I am. But you’re asking me to give up my whole world and everyone in it.”), and her meditation on whether or not she loves Branson takes two years. After her hasty decision to elope with him, she is quickly persuaded by Mary and Edith to return to Downton and to pursue a more open and gradual (Fi-Si) way of change (“I don’t like deceit and our parents don’t deserve it. So, I’ll go back with them.”). She also gets suddenly uncomfortable when Branson enters the drawing-room to let them know about their engagement (“I don’t think this is such a good idea. We mustn’t worry Granny.”). She’s also uncomfortable with Branson causing conflict after their return to Downton and tries to smooth things over (“Please don’t talk about Ireland all the time. I just want to make things easier for you.”).

Te: Seen in her need to take action in order to help others (as with Gwen), and later explored in her growing need for “real” work (“I want to do a real job. Real work.”, “I know what it is to work now. To have a full day, to be tired in a good way. I don’t want to start dress fittings or paying calls or standing behind the guns.”), Sybil is always searching for a task in order to feel useful and to have a purpose (“I just feel so useless.”, “but I feel useful for the first time in my life, and that must be a good thing.”). She also advises Edith to seek work as a remedy for her low spirits (“It’s doing nothing that’s the enemy.”). She is soft-spoken and kind, but she gets blunt and outspoken when it comes to her opinions and decisions. She is unapologetic about her values (“If you mean do I think women should have the vote, of course I do.”, “But I don’t acknowledge it. You want me to give up the man I love for a system I don’t believe in. Where’s the sense in that?”), and when really angry, she gets aggressive and tends to be harsh and extreme (“If you punish Branson, I’ll never speak to you again, never!”, “But if I find tomorrow that Branson is missing, I’ll run away, I warn you.” […] “Well, I can’t think now, but I will go, and you’ll be sorry.”, “I don’t want any money and you can hardly lock me up until I die!”). She longs to live her feelings and values, finding satisfaction in an “all or nothing”-attitude (“It is drastic. There’s no going back once I’ve done it, but that’s what I want. No going back.”, Branson: “You won’t mind burning your bridges?”, Sybil: “Mind? Fetch me the matches!”). She also has a streak of sarcasm (“Well, bully for that.”, “Am I so weak you believe I could be talked out of giving my heart in five minutes flat?”) and sass (“Then she can jolly well wait.” (about Violet), “Hear, hear!” (to Anna’s opinion on suffragettes), “Good evening, everyone.” (showing off her trousers), “Really, Branson, I thought I gave the orders.”, Edith: “I shan’t sleep a wink.” Sybil: “Tonight or tomorrow.” Violet: “Sybil, vulgarity is no substitute for wit.” Sybil: “Well, you started it.”). Since Te is her inferior function, it makes her prone to precipitous action (seen for example in her elopement with Branson, or “Everyone knows that [how to fill a kettle]).

Headcanons on Rukia’s marriage (because the timeskip and WDKALY explained nothing)

Disclaimer: While I’ll never acknowledge 686 or the novel as anything but a nightmarish AU that’s best killed with fire, this is me trying to build some coherence from the ending/WDKALY garbage pile. Why? My inner INTP compels me I guess. And this is an IR post. RRs might want to scroll on if you come across this. There’s nothing for you here.

I’m never going to believe that Rukia would marry Renji of her own volition for ANY reason as long as Ichigo’s alive – not prolonged separation, not Soul Society’s laws, not if Ichigo loses all his powers.

Even if Ichigo and Rukia were kept apart for some reason, it’d be completely ooc for Rukia to suddenly decide to marry Renji. 

Imagine Rukia like, I thought I deserved death till you convinced me otherwise by breaking into the fucking afterlife for me. You changed my world, figuratively and literally. I have lingering thoughts about you when I’m about to die. My happiest memories are overwhelmingly with/about you. I once had a crush on a man who looked like you. But i’ll marry Renji. He’s waited more than 40 years although he spent all that time not talking to me and then our reunion consisted of him slicing my face. 

Just. Ridiculous.

For Rukia to choose Renji over Ichigo, the RR bond must surpass the IR one, which it clearly has not. Let’s not even bring up Ichigo and Rukia’s entwined destinies - at no point in the manga has Rukia been shown having tender thoughts about Renji or has it been shown that she prioritises Renji over Ichigo in her heart (I’ll do another post about that one day).

And the FB arc has already given us the answer to what would happen if Ichigo and Rukia were kept apart – “time goes on but these bonds will never break”. Ichigo and Rukia were still shown to be each other’s Most Important Person™ when they eventually reunited; Renji and Rukia were still just friends; Ichigo was still indifferent towards Inoue all that time. So even if they were forced apart again after 684, nothing between them - all four of them - would change.

So what would be a possible in-character reason for Rukia marrying Renji?

^We know that Rukia always, always places Ichigo’s well-being ahead of her own, sometimes even being cruel to him as long as it ensures his safety.

What if Rukia married Renji to keep Ichigo safe from Yhwach?

Post-684 headcanons (under the cut because this has gotten long):

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