favourite the vampire diaries characters: kai parker I guess I liked my brother, Joey. We played Dr. Mario together and he’d always win. Actually, one of my favorite memories is when I finally beat him. Of course, my favorite memory is when I finally beat him to death. You don’t have to waste your energy trying to change me. If Ricki taught me anything, it’s that liking yourself is the most important thing. And I like me.
tbh it always confuses me when people try to write Damas as Serious and Stoic, because like… this is a man who 100% canonically:
wears a skirt with slits up to the hips, exposing his bare, perfectly smooth thighs
probably implanted(?) a crown into his skull, purely for the ~aesthetic~ (or alternatively: glues them on every day?)
takes pecker as his ‘advisor’, despite clearly being a competent leader on his own, and no one questions it (implying that the people of Spargus are used to him doing weird shit like this)
is literally the dad equivalent of tsundere in his interactions with Jak. THE BIGGEST TSUNDADRE.
Pecker: 'oh, are you beginning to care?’ Damas: 'my concern was for the artifacts!’
and my favourite: 'you make me proud! …that…. our training system is so good…’
drives his car through a wall with perfect dramatic timing, casually mowing down several enemies that were about to kill Jak before referring to himself as an entire army
…which comes after he specifically advised Jak against being rash; when Jak calls him on the fact that he ignored his own advice about not taking enemies head-on, Damas responds with 'it depends on how hard your skull is’
actually emotes a lot? like just look at his shit-eating grin as he drops stupid one-liners, or the 'oh shit I fucked up D8’ face when Jak says he never knew his dad; this man is not stoic at all.
a/n: sorry for the lack of flower crowns // part 2 (x)
Marcus Flint is leaning up by the metal chainlink fence - gum popping, grin flashing white, and Oliver has the urge to run away because everything in the taller boy’s stature screams trouble, trouble, trouble.
“Fancy seeing you here, Wood. Didn’t take you as one to skip class.”
“I’m not.” Is Oliver’s automatic response. And he isn’t - yellow slip clutched tightly in his fist tells any wandering administrators that one of the teachers had sent him on an errand. He’d thought it’d be fine to take a shortcut, a little time in the sun instead of holed up in the academy, but his steps have led him unwittingly to the apparent hangout of Riverbrook Sacred Heart Academy’s resident delinquent.
Flint snorts, jaw still chomping vigorously. “Sports scholarship really keeping you in line, huh? Too straight-laced to even skip a lecture. Boring.”
Grey eyes scan him over, once, twice - Oliver fights off the color spreading across his body, attributes his sweaty palms to the spring heat, and the stiff collar of his uniform.
“What about you, Flint?”
Flint narrows his gaze, chin lifted. “What about me?”
“Playing bad boy but not a contraband in sight. Who are you fooling?” Oliver drawls, and he knows that he’s playing with something unstable right now, but life has been mundane, and he’s always been one for skirting danger.
Instead of lashing out, as Oliver expects, Marcus’ grin spreads, molasses-slow, and he straightens up, broad shoulders casting shadows on the hot pavement. Each step of his shoes - regulation style, but with sleek Italian soles and leather crafted more with money than skill - echoes as he moves forward to meet Oliver, eye to eye.
“Bad boy?” Flint’s voice is soft, almost playful. “So good little Catholic school boy Oliver Wood has a thing for bad boy’s huh?”
The Elder Mother is the guardian of the Elder tree in English and Scandinavian folklore.
The Elder Mother was said to appear on moonlit nights as an old lady dressed in a black gown with a white shawl.
Until recent times, in various parts of England and Scandinavia in order to take wood from the elder tree one would have to ask the Elder Mother first, or else ill luck would befall the woodsman. The woodsman would have to ask the Elder Mother like so:
“Old girl, give me some of thy wood and I will give thee some of mine when I grow into a tree.”
A tale from Somerset depicts the Elder Mother negatively, a witch that a farmer sees as an elder milking his cow. The farmer shoots at the witch with a silver bullet but misses and is chased back into the farmhouse. The old grandmother, however, picks up the burning coal from the fire with a shovel and throws it at the elder tree, burning cinders, and thus the witch is dead.
Another from Northamptonshire tells the tale of man who cut a stick from an elder, and saw that the tree was bleeding. Later he meets the local witch and sees that she has a bloodied bandage on her arm.
“Elder is the Lady’s Tree, burn it not or cursed ye be.”
In addition, it was thought that witches were able to turn themselves into elder trees.