following the footsteps


Doctor Who on Abbey Road Photoshoot

Another Abbey Road type photo happened two years ago on this date (September 19, 2015), this time with Doctor Who! I just know it was Peter’s idea since he’s a huge fan of rock n’ roll and The Beatles.

At the 00:29 mark you can hear Jenna yell to Peter, “Right foot!” when he had his left leg forward (the same as John Lennon). My guess of the photographer wanting to switch is to match Jenna’s footing (in place of Paul McCartney who had his right leg forward). I think the switch in Peter’s legs was made because the photo is intended to capture Clara following in the same footsteps as the Doctor. It’s anyone’s guess, I just think how Series 9 played out with her being more reckless, she was a lot like the Doctor, and it eventually led to her untimely death.

Little Girls In Fairytales

“Don’t do it!”

“You must.”

Allura looks up at the flickering holograph of her father. She knows she has to ‘unplug’ him. It sounds so impersonal, like she’s merely turning off her bedside lamp, but she knows what it truly means. It means losing her father forever, losing Altea a second time. Allura wishes she was one of the fairies in Altean stories, that she could wave a magic scepter and undo the corruption in her father’s code. She wishes she could fix everything, that it would all go back to normal, that she lived on Altea again and there was no war. She wishes that she could sit with her father forever, running through the juniberry fields and listening to his endless fairytales about little girls who save the universe.

But fairytales are not real, and sometimes little girls must lose what’s dear to them.

“Goodbye, father,” she says, trying to put everything into those words, the last she’ll ever say to him. 

“Goodbye, Allura.”

She feels glass shattering under her fingers, but holds on, trying to preserve memories of a life that no longer exists. Eventually, she turns and watches the last remnants of her father float away. There is no time to grieve, she knows that much. She must be strong, follow in the footsteps of her father and lead Voltron. She must lead and fight as he did, so Zarkon never destroys anyone else. She must not linger on what was.

But even little girls in fairytales must weep for what they have lost.


                            agape : the most radical and selfless love. 

// @iceaffluent @asterbatics


While Kai was trained to later become one of the Kings Knight and follow in his fathers footsteps, Nya was kept at home where it was safe.

While she encouraged her brother to become a real Knight, she was angered about the fact it was forbidden for her.

Kai, having sympathy for her wish, promised her to give her training lessons, once she was a little older.

One day, their father Ray had an audience with the King, who wished to see how Kai was developing. Nya begged her father to come along and he only willed in, if she would behave and stay close to him, where he could keep her safe.

But once in the castle, she got quickly bored. The whole conversation focused on Kai, no one would notice her sneaking away.

Strolling through the castle, it was also the first time she ran into Lloyd. Or better, he ran into her. Fleeing from his overprotective and strict teacher, he tried to find a good place to hide from him. Nya, understanding his dodgy situation quite well , helped him to get away. They quickly became good friends during it, with Lloyd asking her to ‘come over and play again’.

It was also him who later told her about the 'Legendary elemental swords’ his teacher taught him about the other day.

The 'Sword of Water’ especially aroused her interest, as it was said to never have been found. Only those who were chosen, it would appear to.

Reaching the age of sixteen, it was the day, everything would change for her. Going as usually to the river to get fresh water, it was then, when a strange appearance occurred: A bright silver-blue light flashed before her, revealing the sword of  Water. Reaching out to touch it and once holding it in her hand, she knew from that moment on..where her place had to be…

anonymous asked:

Is it okay if I ask how the saniwa, awataguchi family, and rai family would react once they find out that Gokotai admires and crushes on Hotarumaru who is not only shorter than he is, but also stronger as an oodachi (KO-ing three opponents in one shot). And how they would react if Hotarumaru and Gokotai suddenly tells them that they're going out?

Very precious ask. Little kid crushes with big brothers taking it way too seriously is where I’m going with it ofc. They’re probably a bit ooc for this but I wanted to joke around with this response.

• I think this would turn Ichigo and Kuniyuki against each other, each silently accusing the other of trying to steal away their respective albino boy. I adore the idea of them having the dumbest most baseless rivalry.
• Kuniyuki’s probably pulled Aizen aside and as is all “don’t you follow in his footsteps and run away with Shinano.” Because they’re both red haired.
• Honestly Kuniyuki and Ichigo are the only ones who have a problem with it. The others really don’t have a problem with it, aside from teasing and questions arising about what it even means to date someone, there’s little reaction from them.
• Kuniyuki is usually chill about everything, even teasing when it comes to Ichigo making his job easier but for some reason Hotaru and Gokotai “dating” has set him off into a panic.
• He’s just worried about them trying to do the mature type of dating and dreads the idea of them not being innocent.
• Ichigo however has long since been convinced that Kuniyuki is evil and out to get him and thinks in extension he’s set this up to try slow steal his brothers away from him.
• The assumptions quickly fade as they see it is just cutesy closeness between Hotarumaru and Gokotai, nothing more.

EDIT: I totally forgot the Saniwa part but I mean the reader is the Saniwa really unless you meant Katsugeki’s Saniwa. Regardless you’d just think it’s a cute scenario, yeah?

anonymous asked:

How about some early stages David (like when he was 18 and first got the job) x reader with the reader being an older camper (like 16-17) and just. Craving attention and praise. So David tells them they're doing a good job on the first day and they hang out near him trying their best and following him like a lost puppy (with a puppy crush) and EVERYONE BUT DAVID picks up on it

Yes! You guys have beautiful ideas-


Since her arrival to camp, (Y/n) had been following in David’s footsteps. Literally. She would do everything he asked of her, which resulted in an immediate praise.

Suffice it to say, she’d developed a crush on the young counsellor. And it seemed as though everyone but David had picked up on it so far.

Everywhere he went, (Y/n) went. So when David announced they’d be going on a hike, no one was surprised to see the girl following him around for the entirety of the morning.

She liked to ask questions to watch his eyes light up as he excitedly answered. She thought it was absolutely adorable.

He was in the middle of explaining the difference between edible mushrooms and non-edible ones when he’d noticed she didn’t seem to be paying attention. Usually she would be staring at him with those wide eyes of hers.

“(Y/n)? Are you alright?” He asked, tilting his head curiously. The girl hummed as she looked at David. Heat was starting to rise to her face as she couldn’t help but mentally fawn over how adorable he was.

“What? Y- Yeah! Of course I’m fine!” She stammered, hoping he would fall for it. But apparently luck just wasn’t on her side today.

“Are you sure?” The girl nodded vigorously, giving the counsellor an awkward laugh. “It’s not like I really enjoy being in your presence and I really like you or anything like that, am I right?” She exclaimed in an inarticulated manner.

David just stared at her, trying to figure out what on earth she’d just said. And though he didn’t understand what she said, someone else apparently did.

“Come on! Just kiss already would ya? I’m tired of watching her trying to impress you!”

David’s eyes turned from (Y/n) to the camper who’d just spoken and then back to her. The girl’s face was as red as a tomatoe and her eyes were glued to the ground, as though it was the most interesting thing she could look at. He stared at her for a moment. Now that he thought about it, it did make sense. But one thing nagged at the back of his mind.

How had he not seen how beautiful she was until now? His heart picked up speed and his face flushed a light pink.

“Maybe we should… Leave them alone or something?” Neither David nor (Y/n) were bothered to watch the others leave. Instead, the counsellor grabbed her face gently in his hands and looked into her glimmering eyes, giving her a small smile and bringing her into a quick kiss. And although short, she found it just as sweet as David.
When the “Symbol of Peace” is a Warrior

Remember that time Gandhi punched a man into the stratosphere? Or when Nelson Mandela dropped the atom bomb? While such events might make for a good game of Civilization VI, the societal and cultural implications would be rather bleak.

That’s the world of Boku no Hero Academia. A world where peace is assured, not by treaties and accords, but by the threat of overwhelming force. The threat of All Might bearing down upon you with all his might.

The surface level problem with this arrangement is not so much an issue for the majority of law-abiding citizens. At least, it wouldn’t be if not for the way this society pushes people toward villainy (which I wrote about here).

The deeper issue here, is the idolization of violence.

Pictured above are 4 of the top 10 ranked heroes in Japan. There are 2 others, but they don’t support my claim, and the remaining 4 are unknown.

All Might - OFA: punches so hard the sheer pressure changes the weather
Endeavour - Hell Flame: kills it with fire
Ryukyu - Dragon Form: claws, fangs, probably eats livestock whole
Edgeshot - Foldabody: makes body thin as a razor, punches at speed of sound

Ignore the Shigarakis and All For Ones of the world, they are few and far between. Consider the more innocuous criminal, like a shoplifter. What strategies would any of these heroes employ in that case? Step 1, offer chance to surrender. Step 2, murder? These heroes do not have a non-lethal option.

And that’s a real problem. Not just for these heroes, but for the society that elevated them to the top 10, rankings which account for popularity more than anything else. 

Every child dreams of being All Might. Everyone looks up to this incredible powerhouse. The term “Hero” was meant to mean “one who saves others,” but has twisted to mean only “one who fights villains.” This perverse understanding of what makes a hero pervades society at an institutional level.

Take it from Aizawa, the UA entrance exam is illogical and harmful, stemming from society’s fascination with brute strength. To get in to the UA Hero course, you need a combat-capable quirk. This system precludes people like Shinso or Aizawa from gaining admission, people who posses some of the greatest and most useful quirks any hero could ask for.

But the exam never asks, “What’s your true potential?” It begs but two simple questions, “How many villains can you beat up? How many people can you save (from villains)?” And the results end up looking like this:

That’s right, Lord Explosion Murder is the star of this year’s class. Bakugou’s quirk and personality are only useful for trying to kill things. Maybe he just needs a better role model. Who does he look up to? Oh, right, it’s All Might.

All Might is a defacto demi-god of this world. Outside of villainous circles, you won’t find anyone who doesn’t idolize him. But what good is that idolization? If someone like Bakugou genuinely believes himself to be following in All Might’s footsteps. 

Well, maybe this is an isolated problem. All Might is UA’s celebrity alumni, of course they’ll try to keep up that image. But the other hero schools can’t all be like that, and the hero licensing program is bound to be–

Oh, nope. It’s all violence, all the time. Neat.

Granted, the provisional license exam does have a rescue phase, but almost everyone passed that. The part intended to cull 95% of the applicants is combat-based. Are there even enough villains in the world to justify being this focused on combat?

As tragic as it is, the elevation of violent heroes is only half the problem,

Because this is a zero-sum scenario: if brutality rises to the top, then utility is pushed to the bottom. 

Non-violent heroes simply do not have a clear path to success. I’m using Shinso as an example again, because there are so few like him that manage to rise to the point of being mentioned in the story. The realm of heroism is all but institutionally sealed off for them. 

Society wants heroes who fight villains. That is what their purpose has become. And anyone who can’t conform to that mold gets pushed out. Maybe Stain was on to something; heroes have deviated from their original purpose, they now exist only for the spectacle of the fight.

All Might’s position as the Symbol of Peace does not extol heroism, but rather violence in heroism’s name.


when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

Pant-sing the Bartender

So this is the very first session of our campaign and we all meet in a tavern, we just learned that a murder occurred in town and the rest of the party is asking the bartender about that. While the bartender is distracted I attempt the following.

Me: (OOC) “Can I reach over the counter to try and try and steal some gold?”

DM: “Sure, roll slight of hand.”

*Nat 20 plus*

DM: “Jesus with that roll you could take his pants too!”

Me: “Naw I’ll just pants him and take the gold.”

The party at this point is going nuts at this, and now another party member follows in my footsteps and tries stealing more gold.

Me: “I attempt to distract the bar to help my friend steal more gold.”

DM: “K. Roll deception.”

*Nat 20*

At this point I distract the whole bar and we successfully rob the bar as well. Now at this point we’re all going nuts, so I decide to hop the bar and pants the other bartender.

*The whole party is loosing it.*

I get the guards called on me and I bolt. Only later to return to the bar by the backdoor and I dead sprint into the bar and finally pants the last bartender and getting punched in the face. I leave the bar again with party in tow having robbed the bar of ale and gold, and also having pantsed all the bartenders.

anonymous asked:

I tend to think that Qui-Gon realised that his and Obi-Wan's partnership was meant to be the day Obi-Wan brought back a Pathetic Lifeform of his own. Like say it's chucking it down on some world where they are and Obi-Wan hears this pathetic mewling and it's this sodden cat and he keeps it close to him all day (inside his robes, maybe inside his hood like he's seen Qui-Gon do to the PLs) and Qui-Gon lights up when he sees what Obi-Wan has brought back to their quarters

Qui-Gon: Sounds fake but okay ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Obi-Wan: Master NO

His Padawan’s learning. He’s so proud.


The Dragon Prince’s Heart and Winter Crowns

The scene intercutting Jon and Dany’s lovemaking with Rhaegar and Lyanna’s wedding suggested a certain parallel between the two love stories; however, the connection between them goes so much deeper. In the Dragonpit, the history of the Harrenhal Tourney literally repeats itself and the past meets the present as Rhaegar’s son unknowingly follows in his father’s footsteps to the point where Jon’s every action echoes Rhaegar’s. 

Both future-defining events taking place at once monumental buildings brought to ruins by dragons and hosting members of Great Houses, legends and heroes of their respective generations. And once again a Targaryen prince who declares for the queen of his heart for the whole world to see and makes all the smiles die. Just when everyone present expects him to accept Cersei’s offer, Jon shocks them when, like his father before him, he chooses a different queen - instead of doing the prudent thing, instead of conducting an illicit affair in private. At the Harrenhal Tourney, Rhaegar crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty with a crown of winter roses, 25 years later their son bends his knee to Dany and figuratively lays his crown of the King in the North on her lap - a crown of the Kings of Winter - a love confession of his own. It’s as much as they can publicly show their devotion and admiration they have for these women. 

And just like Lyanna a lifetime ago, Dany sits on the gallery; Dany, a khaleesi, who is an expert horse rider just like Jon’s mother used to be; Dany, who like Lyanna fights for those who can’t defend themselves. In that sense, Jon falls for a woman that is so much like the mother he never knew, a woman so much like the one his father loved so dearly.

Best Birthday - Smut

Originally posted by sarcasticallystilinski

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Dylan O’Brien/Reader
Words: 3,330
AN: Okay I’m late I’m sorry! This fic was to celebrate my favorite little nugget’s 26th birthday. It would have been here sooner but they just wouldn’t stop having sex? Sorry, not sorry.

You woke up, your boyfriend’s firm body pressed against your back, and you sighed in delight. You were so glad he was home, finally, after being away for so long with his hectic schedule. His nose was pressed against your shoulder, his deep, even breaths tickling along your skin. You pulled his arm tighter around your waist, and settled back, your eyes sliding shut as you tried to go back to sleep.

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