i acutally like dis one :)

Malanya, I’d like to revive a horse.

The one I rode here on, please.

This noble creature watches over all animals that make their homes in the forest. Legends say this holy creature is the reincarnation of a sage that died on the lands it now protects. It has an acute awareness of its surroundings, so it seldom appears before people. It’s sometimes known by its other name, Satori.

Date night? - Dramione Drabble

Title: Date Night?
Author: Liana
Rating: PG
Genre(s): Romance/Fluff
Chapters: drabble
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Hermione decides to teach her best friends how to ask someone out on a date.
Status: Complete 
Timeline: ???? Not compliant with just about anything. It’s fluff.

“Honestly,” Hermione said with a huff. “It’s not that hard.”

“Yes it is!” Ron and Harry said in unison.

The topic of conversation as they left breakfast that morning was asking a girl out. Spring had finally arrived and all around them couples were pairing off. But, for some inexplicable reason, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley couldn’t get dates. Hermione firmly believed it was because they couldn’t be bothered to ASK someone.

“What if she says no?” Harry asked as they hurried down the hall.

“What if I stutter?” Ron asked, practically shaking with the thought.

“You survived a war and you’re worried about embarrassing yourself in front of a girl?” Honestly, she wasn’t sure how the human race survived teenage boys. If it weren’t for women like her taking charge the whole species would have died out of acute embarrassment centuries ago.

Taking one look at her boys she reached an uncomfortable decision. They were war heroes. They were legends. They could face any fear… except asking someone out.

“Look,” she said with a placid smile. “I’ll show you how easy it is.” Both of them straightened their shoulders and there was just a hint of smug gleam in Ron’s eyes that suggested he thought he’d just won a game. Poor, sweet boy. Poor, sweet, delusional boy. Ron was a dear but he had the emotional scope of a cricket and a very similar intelligence score. Besides, what would be the point of asking him out to show him how to ask someone out?

No, if she wanted to get the lesson across to her dear dunderheads she needed something that would hit them like a bludger.

The answer came sauntering down the hall with a pack of Slytherians on his heels. Perfect.

“Draco!” Hermione waved to get his attention.

Petrificus totalus wouldn’t have stunned him any better. “Granger?”

“Draco, I have a question for you,” Hermione said with a cheerful smile as if she didn’t notice the wands surreptitiously appearing in hands around the hall. First years were quaking. Hufflepuffs were hiding. Slytherians and Gryffindors were squaring off… the rivalry between Head Girl and Head Boy this year was the stuff of myth. The only time they even tried to get along was teaching the dueling class McGonagall asked them to teach as an elective, and they only managed to work together then because they were throwing hexes at each other.

“Who are you and what have you done with Granger?” Malfoy demanded as he stepped up and loomed over Hermione. “We are not on a first name basis.”

“Too true, we should fix that.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed and his hand slipped towards his wand. Not that he needed it. In the days since the war had ended Malfoy felt the need to be ever more prepared and had added several dizzyingly complicated wandless spells to his repertoire.

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday and have dinner?” Hermione asked. A pin dropping on the stone floor would have echoed in the silence. Everyone was holding their breath.

“Fine,” Draco said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Hermione nodded happily turned back to Ron and Harry then stopped. “Wait, what?” Rounding on Malfoy with a scowl she put her hands on her hips. “Did you say fine?”

“Yes, I said fine.” Malfoy sneered, it was his default expression when he was confused.

“Malfoy, honestly, you are not being the least bit helpful. I’m trying to show Harry and Ron how easy it is to ask someone out.”

“You managed that.” He took another step toward her so that they were isolated in the center of a growing crowd.

“Yes, I asked, but you were supposed to say no.”

Malfoy scowled at the two Gryffindor men behind Hermione and nodded. “True. Teaching them that someone will say yes when they ask is raising expectations far too high. In that case…” He cleared his throat and said very loudly, “No, I won’t go on a date with you this weekend.”

The student body of Hogwarts breathed again as equilibrium was restored.

Hermione nodded her thanks and turned back to Ron and Harry with the happy smile of someone who has taught the impossible lesson. “See? Not so hard at all.”

“Hermione,” Malfoy said.

She turned to him in shock. “We are not on a first name basis!”

“Granger, than.”

“Yes?”

“Will you go to dinner with me on Saturday?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “This Saturday?”

“Yes, around seven.” Malfoy leaned close and said in a stage whisper, “I’m trying to teach the first years how to ask a girl out. Aren’t you going to help?”

“Oh.” Confusion, trepidation, and then amusement all flickered through her mind before Hermione caught hold of herself and nodded. She was Gryffindor after all and Draco Malfoy wasn’t the least bit scary. “I’d be delighted to go out with you this weekend.”

“Excellent.”

There was a din of bubbling questions and whispered speculation from the throng. Really, in a situation like this a simple hand shake wouldn’t do.

Hermione stood on tip toe, lightly resting one hand on Malfoy’s shoulder and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Hermione,” he whispered as his fingers tangled in her curls. “You’re pulling your punches.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he urged her closer. A hungry moan escaped his lips as her tongue touched his. There’s heat, and hunger, and passion. Years spent locked in emotional combat, of practically living in each other’s heads as they tried to outwit each other, all of it fuses into a foundation of understanding. They already know each other’s secrets. There’s no darkness left to hide. All that remains is finally understanding the good in each other, and how good they could be together.

Only the whimper and thump of Professor Snape passing out as he comes to scold the students for being late breaks them apart.

Hermione giggled. Draco smiled.

“Saturday?” she asked with a smile, pretending nothing at all had happened.

“Saturday.”

“Have a good day, then.” She turned back to her boys with a smile and, with a finger under each of their chins, pushed their mouths shut. “And that’s how you ask someone out on a date.”

it's been a long, long time

“The irony of what happens to her is lost on absolutely no one”.
Peggy wakes up 61 years after the day she almost died. 

note: this is a gift for the Steggy Secret Santa exchange!! So a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to hellofashot-castle​. You said you liked stories where Peggy comes to the future, so I hope you enjoy the fic (sorry I went a little overboard word count-wise!)
linkao3 (or can be read below)

The irony of what happens to her is lost on absolutely no one.

In fact, the irony is so acute as to be downright cruel, and there’s no doubt that absolutely anyone involved would have done most anything to avoid it if they’d had even a little forewarning.

The problem is that one is seldom forewarned about these types of things. Indeed, when it happens, it happens fast. There’s simply no time to cobble together a better response than the one they resort to.

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Martin Freeman: No ordinary Bilbo Baggins

From ‘The Office’ in Slough to Middle-earth, he finds a heroism in everyday decency

BRIAN VINER 

Friday 30 November 2012

The clue to Martin Freeman’s appeal, which is on the verge of going truly global with his role as Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, lies partly in his name. Martin Freeman is a prosaic, everyday kind of name, far removed from the Clints, Brads, Leonardos and even Toms that imbue film projects with such glamour.

This unremarkable Everyman quality extends to his screen persona too. It is why he was so perfectly cast by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant in The Office. For even though Freeman has been at pains ever since The Office to explain that he is not really like Tim – the personification of witty, affable normality surrounded, in the Slough branch of Wernham Hogg Paper Company, by the hapless and humourless – we can’t quite bring ourselves to believe him.

We probably should. For one thing, those who’ve met him confirm it, one interviewer describing him as “searingly intelligent, angry, direct, caustic, lefty, sweary, as stunningly far from Tim as you could get”. And for another, in a feisty, somewhat confrontational appearance on Jonathan Ross's chat show a few years ago, Freeman denounced the word “Everyman” as a decidedly lazy way to describe him.

Certainly there is nothing Everyman about his fastidious and rather retro dress sense, which usually evokes a mid-1960s mod, but on Ross’s show embraced a silk cravat. “Do you know what I’d like to see you in? A top hat,” chirped Ross, after first asking Freeman whether he’d ever considered wearing a monocle. Freeman’s riposte was swift and merciless. “Do you know what I’d like to see you in?” he replied. “A f**king box.” He looked as though he half-meant it, too.

Even if we put the word “Everyman” into the same box, whether he likes it or not (and if he doesn’t, then his bank manager surely does), successive casting directors have seized on his capacity to present himself as the only normal bloke in a crazy, dangerous world. He played Arthur Dent in the 2005 big-screen version of A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and as Dr Watson in the BBC’s hit series Sherlock, he is an excellent foil to Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock Holmes.

Interestingly enough, the creators of Sherlock found it much harder to cast Watson than they did Holmes. Several actors auditioned for the role, but only Freeman offered the grounded quality they were looking for. According to co‑writer Steven Moffat, Freeman is “the sort of opposite of Benedict in everything except the amount of talent … Martin finds a sort of poetry in the ordinary man”.

That, at least, was a good way of putting it. Plainly, the ordinariness of his looks, his height, his voice, characterise many of the roles he plays. But he has made hay out of this ordinariness in an extraordinary way, and the latest and most dramatic manifestation of this phenomenon has him playing Bilbo in the first of director Peter Jackson’s three-part prequel to The Lord of the Rings trilogy, due to be released later this month. The comparison won’t please Freeman, but rather as with Tim at Wernham Hogg, he is again playing the straight man in a sea of grotesques, only this time on a vastly bigger stage.

However, unlike Tim, who sprang fully formed from the original minds of Gervais and Merchant, Bilbo is a long-established literary icon, if only to those people who treat the works of J R R Tolkien as more precious than their last will and testament. There will doubtless be some avid fans of the book whose picture of Bilbo does not chime with Jackson’s, and will feel that Freeman is all wrong, but then he was pushed into similarly treacherous waters in Hitchhiker’s Guide – “it’s a script, it’s not the Koran,” he said, in that snippy conversation with Ross – and indeed in Sherlock.

Still, it was ever thus. Even those raised on Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce as Hollywood’s interpretation of Holmes and Watson between 1939 and 1946 should note that Bruce’s portrayal of Watson as something of a buffoon greatly offended Holmes purists. “If a mop bucket appeared in a scene, his foot would be inside it, and if by some sardonic twist of fate  … he managed to stumble upon an important clue, he could be depended upon to blow his nose on it and throw it away,” one critic wrote. Freeman’s portrayal is actually much truer to Arthur Conan Doyle’s original vision. And judging by those tantalising cinema previews, it’s a fair bet that Tolkien himself would have approved of Freeman’s wide-eyed turn as Bilbo.

He was born in 1971, and raised, the youngest of five children, in Aldershot, Hampshire. Freeman was only 10 when his father, a naval officer, died of a heart attack, and like many men who lost their fathers at a young age, he admits to a sense of loss that became more acute as he got older, as it registered that they had never known each other on a man-to-man basis.

But by the time his father died, Freeman’s parents had separated. He was raised by his mother, Philomena, as a practising Roman Catholic, and his faith remains intact. “I’m one of the few people I know who believes in God,” he has said. He has also admitted to having “a very extreme state of mind”, adding: “Things are very black or very white. One minute you think you’re God Almighty, the next you think you’re f**king worthless. This isn’t meant to make me sound interesting and rock'n'roll, but I wouldn’t want to live with me a lot of the time.”

The woman who does is actress Amanda Abbington, mother of his two young children, and Freeman credits her with making him a good deal less gloomy than he used to be. Nonetheless, the state of the world depresses him. He has railed against the priorities of a country that appears to care more about The X Factor than it does about homelessness, and who could honestly argue with him? It doesn’t take a degree in psychoanalysis to see that acting is a form of escapism for him.

It has certainly kept him busy. He has worked more or less constantly since attending London’s Central School of Speech and Drama, and likes to point out that there was plenty of life in his career before The Office. In fact, his parts before Gervais and Merchant muscled into his life tended to be quite edgy; in a TV drama called Men Only, he played one of a group of five footballers who rape a nurse on a ketamine-fuelled night out. Too many more roles like that and it’s safe to say that Jackson probably wouldn’t have seen him as the perfect Bilbo Baggins. On the other hand, Quentin Tarantino might have come calling. After all, Freeman is, without the slightest doubt, a very fine actor.

Not everyone realised that at the time of his big break, in 2001. It tended to be other people in The Office, with more memorable names in real life (such as Gervais himself and Mackenzie Crook, who played the ghastly Gareth), and in some ways more to play with on screen, who took the acting plaudits. But a look back at The Office now offers a reminder of just how good Freeman was.

Away from his own office, Freeman is a man with interests teetering on the obsessive. He is a huge music enthusiast, with an enormous collection of classic vinyl, all of which is filed in alphabetical order. He is also passionate about classic British cinema, and able to expound in depth about that very British comic lineage which connects Kenneth Williams with David Walliams. These interests, and of course his young family, are more than sufficient to keep him at home in Hertfordshire, at least when he is not away filming. Showbiz parties are not his thing. “Do you have fun, do you go out,” Jonathan Ross asked him. “I have fun, but I don’t go out,” he replied.

“What do you do,” asked Ross, manifestly puzzled.

“I stay in,” he said, waspishly.

anonymous asked:

I don't know why but I firmly believe if Dick was to die, it would be from falling, kinda like a destiny thing? I thought that's how he died in Injustice until they gave us that pathetic death (by Damian no less like no)

(Nightwing Vol 2 #142)

Wow, you’re one of those angsty people who loves ripping my heart out. I can definitely appreciate the irony of that. It would be pretty tragic if the last of the Flying Graysons died the same way. I’ve always personally imagined Dick losing his life in the heat of battle, probably saving someone’s life. (Cliche heroic death; I’m so sorry.) But he factors enough danger into his life that there’s countless ways it could happen. He even seems acutely aware of that.

(Blackest Night #1)

It’s been kind of a night, so I don’t have a witty title. About a year into the future from Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies.

*

“I feel stupid doing this,” Erik says. He’s fighting at the sticky adhesive circle that’s holding the box of menorah candles closed, picking at it with his thumb nail to get it open.

“We don’t have to do it,” Charles says. “I mean, it was just a suggestion–you said after Sukkot that you thought maybe it was time to revisit and–”

“No, no,” Erik says. He glances up from the box at Charles. He’s blushing a little. “No, I know. I remember. And I’m glad you remembered too and I’m glad you brought it up, I just–” He turns the box of candles over and over again in his hands. “It’s weird, going back to this one. Because it was just–the rest of them were always big family affairs and even after Mom died I still went and saw everyone and sat through services or whatever. But this one–it’s such a dumb little holiday, but Mom loved it so much. She always said–”

Erik freezes, his expression suddenly acutely embarrassed, as if he realized mid-word that he was rambling. He’s not, though–Erik doesn’t talk about his mother as much as Charles would like, mostly because Charles wants to know everything about Erik, constantly, but also because, by all accounts, Edie Lehnsherr was an amazing woman.

“No,” Charles says. He reaches out and takes the box of candles from Erik and pulls off the sticky seal. “Go on.”

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