partial beard

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Prompt 5 Requested by Anon

Obi Wan x Reader


Obi Wan could see what Anikan was doing the second he entered the conversation. Several dramatic retellings of their adventures together, Anikan made Obi Wan seem like the heroic protagonist in every one of them. 

“I’ve never been to Hoth.” You told them as Anikan mentioned a rescue mission the two of them had gone on over a year ago. “What’s it like?”

“Cold.” Anikan laughed. “Obi Wan had to carry me some of the way back to base that day. We’d been attacked by a Wampa and I’d been injured - my leg was just about ready to come off!”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you glanced at Obi Wan with an impressed expression written all over your face. “Really? That’s amazing.”

A blush crawled up Obi Wan’s neck, partially concealed by his beard. “It wasn’t that far of a walk. I’m sure Anikan could’ve…” He trailed off, catching the smug look his padawan was giving him. “Anikan, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course, master.” He replied, his smirk faltering. 

“Oh, I’ll go.” You said, smiling. “I have somewhere to be anyway. I’ll be seeing you later, I believe.”

Exchanging goodbyes, Obi Wan feeling a little guilty for having to cut the conversation short, the two Jedi’s watch you leave before turning back to face each other. 

“Are you hitting on her for me?” Obi Wan asked.

“For you?” Anikan sniggered. “I thought it was against Jedi rules to have romantic attachments, master. And honestly I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Obi Wan resisted the urge to punch him, and instead rose a disapproving eyebrow.

“What?” Anikan sighed in defeat. “You’re both painfully into each other. I’m just trying to hurry the inevitable.”

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anonymous asked:

Wheeze hi okay I'm the guy with the killer clown who thinks I'm his kid? I checked with the breeder I got him from, (my clown's name is Battle-axe, by the way) and turns out my poor boy had a clutch of babies, that were born in winter, die from the cold at three days old. But I still don't get how he thinks I'm his kid?? I'm maybe four inches taller and I've got a partial beard going on right now. Plus he's still kind of young, there's no way I could be his kid. Plus, I'm not even a clown?? Help

There may have been something you did in the adjustment period after you got him that somehow reminds him of his chucklets. 

Clowns are hard to understand sometimes. It doesnt matter if youre not a clown, also, because if birds can think a human is their mate then a clown can think youre a child

On to @thebisexualmandalorian‘s gift!

Blacklist abby’s ficmas if you don’t want to see these

Fandoms: Star Wars
Characters: Boba Fett, Captain Rex, Commander Wolffe, Fulcrum/Ahsoka Tano
Pairings: implied Wrecksoka
Rating: T
Warnings: Fictional Swearing, Angsty Teenager™
AU: Boba is lowkey adopted by his older brothers

At a shady bar on Nal Hutta, Boba Fett was just looking for some anonymity. With the last skirmishes between Republic holdouts finally over, people were feeling none too friendly towards clones, even small ones.

Thankfully, the bartender didn’t much care about Boba’s age; as long as he had the credits, he could order whatever he damn well pleased.

It was a big galaxy, it should be easy for Boba to slip through the cracks and disappear, to never see anyone who knew his past ever again… but then a horrifically familiar face walked through the door.

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Peredhil, Beards, and the Kings of Numenor

Are you guys all in a club or something? Because I swear I got these three questions within the same 24 hours, lol.

Okay, about beards and partial elvishness: The closest we have to a direct answer is this quote from Christopher Tolkien:

In a note written in December 1972 or later, and among the last writings of my father’s on the subject of Middle Earth, there is a discussion of the Elvish strain in Men, as to its being observable in the beardlessness of those who were so descended (it was a characteristic of all Elves to be beardless); and it is here noted in connection with the princely house of Dol Amroth that “this line had a special Elvish strain, according to its own legends.”

So, it’s confirmed that the elvish ancestry of the princes of Dol Amroth kept them beardless. But what about other partial-elvish descendants? The issue is that the entire story of the elvish ancestry in Dol Amroth is a little different from the other man/elf pairings we read about. Most importantly. Tolkien never addresses the children of Imrazor and Mithrellas as peredhil (does this mean that they weren’t peredhil? See this post for that discussion.) So they might not necessarily be an accurate representation of the peredhil in general. But let’s put those concerns aside for now.

The kings of Numenor are also descended from elves, but in a significantly different way. Whereas the princes of Dol Amroth are simply the descendants of a man/elf pairing, the kings of Numenor are the descendants of a man/peredhil pairing. The difference being that technically - technically - Elros was a man. So, while the kings of Numenor did retain a few elvish characteristics (mainly height, some foresight, and general nobleness, as far as I can tell), it’s completely possible that the beardless gene didn’t carry over. (To be clear, Tolkien doesn’t really say whether the kings of Numenor did or didn’t have beards, though the Numenoreans in general were just men, and so perfectly capable of growing beards.) So it’s also completely possible that the earlier generations were beardless, but over the years this gene was bred out (while Imrahil was only 22 generations along, Aragorn was approximately 65 generations removed from his elvish ancestor, giving his line much more time to lose the beardless gene.)

Anyway, those are my thoughts: (a) the princes of Dol Amroth aren’t really peredhil, so the beardless gene works differently for them, (b) Elros was technically a man, so the beardless gene didn’t really pass on to his descendants, or © the earlier generations after Elros might have been beardless, but by the time we get to Aragorn that gene’s been bred out.

SOURCES: The Unfinished Tales (“The History of Galadriel and Celeborn”)

Untitled Fremione

Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Rating: G
Chapters: 1
Word count: 2,724

Setting: Takes place during Goblet of Fire. Actually starts the very moment Fred and George cross the age line to put their names in the Goblet of Fire.

A/N:

Been a long time since I posted Fremione! This was born of my insomnia at 4am. No beta, so I hope it looks alright. Should I post it on FF.net? Title suggestions?

^*^*^*^

They only had a second to savor the feeling of victory before…

Fred and George were thrown back across the floor. Hermione straightened in her seat, craning to see past other students, yet not bothering to get up from her spot. When Fred and George rolled over and sat up, long white beards flowed down from their jaws, the length of which could rival Professor Dumbledore’s. Hermione chuckled to herself and shook her head before reopening her book. She paused however when she heard the dying laughter rise again, even louder than before. Because of the crowd that had gathered, she was forced to stand in order to see. She had no idea what had started the scuffle, but Fred and George were wrestling on the floor. Hermione huffed and made her way over, pushing through the hooting and cheering crowd.

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Help the Homeless (to Help Yourself)

So, I’m in a bit of a sticky situation.

Some quick, basic background information to help you along and then we’ll get started with the problem - Four months ago I moved to the west from the northeast, mainly because I hate the cold, but also because the city happened to house the college of my dreams. This means that my family currently lives literally across the country from my tiny, underfurnished apartment. My roommate Kate likes to stay out all night and drink. She pays half the rent and respects the tradition of pajama/movie night Thursday, though, so I keep her around.

Anyway, about two weeks into my new life, I finally found a decent coffee shop to invest my time in. Seriously. Perfect. Not a big business, not over-busy in the morning, not so hot that it scalds my tongue every goddamn sip… It’s the perfect cup of joe, alright?

Not kidding - the next day, while I am still riding the high of this glorious discovery, I find out a homeless tramp lives in the adjacent alleyway.

And he takes a liking to me.

It’s not terrible at first. I’m not usually one to strike up a conversation with strangers. I mean, I’m a thin, seriously lanky, pale dude, with about as much muscle as you would expect a small kitten to have. And I respect the whole “teach people not to attack instead of teaching someone to defend themself” ideology but there was still no way I wasn’t considering self defense.

Turns out I didn’t need it. Although he looked off-putting, the vagrant who introduces himself to me and asks what my favorite book is (The Once and Future King, T.H. White) seems like a totally harmless, if not mildly touched, old man.

I don’t remember much about our first meeting, but something sticks about him telling me I looked lost, an awkward laugh on my part, and him then going on to proclaim that my hair was “too light” (I’m a natural blond) and “styled weird” (meaning messy). Despite this, he miraculously grew on me pretty quickly. In fact, more often than not, I would buy him a coffee in the morning too, and he would walk with me to my bus stop. The first few times I was slightly worried about him taking note of this crucial location to my life, but he never once made a fuss when it was time for him to leave. We had some pretty great conversations on our block-walks.

We’ll call him Al, because even though I’ve tried, no matter what, I still can’t bear to leave him nameless.

Al and I talked about a lot of things. We had a lot of similar views about the world. He said that he liked to go to the center of town and listen to the music young people played there. He said he liked to go to bookstores with the change he saved up. The only time I ever asked him why, he said, “This world, well- it’s a shitty one, son. No two ways about it. But in a bookstore, there’s millions of worlds that are slightly less shitty, or where it’s equally shitty, but the characters get better hands that I never got. So I like to share that time with them.”  Hearing him talk about the things he loved was one of the greatest pleasures of my life. His playful eyes lit up and he got a small smile on his partially-hidden-by-beard lips. He looked away to the left as he spoke slightly softer.

“What’s your all-time favorite book, Al?” I asked him after that.

He looked at me from the side of his eyes and smiled beneath that long, mangy beard of his. “It hasn’t been written yet,” he confessed. “But I’ll know when I find it.”

“Okay, well then, what’s your favorite, er, experience you’ve ever shared so far?”

He turned to face me full on, then. He looked me dead in the eyes and said softly, “This one.” It was the first moment I was sure beyond a doubt that I liked Al. I don’t know why I never invited him back to my house for a shower and a sandwich or something. I know Kate wouldn’t have minded. I think, at the time, I convinced myself that it was because of all my schoolwork, or that my budget was too low to care for him the way he needed it. I was selfish, but Al was nice. He never asked or imposed or even insinuated that he would like to see where I lived or use my phone.

And then, a month and a half later, out of the blue he stops showing up. I ventured as far into his alleyway as I dared the day it happened, but his treasured sleeping mat and plastic bag of books were nowhere to be found. I bought him a coffee and left it at the mouth of the alley just in case I had missed him, and I took my walk to the bus stop. It felt pretty weird to be alone. The bus regulars whom I had never spoken to actually asked me where Al was.

The next day the coffee was still there. I checked - the cup was full and cold. So, being a college kid in America and battling serious budget issues already, I couldn’t buy a coffee to waste again. I did check around the city’s homeless shelters, food pantries, and even the local emergency room as soon as I got a chance, though. Nobody had ever heard of anybody remotely like Al.

So, eventually, I let it go.

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Firsts

here is part 2 to four men and a baby :) soozzz it took like 7 years, it always takes a while for me to get inspired… anyway, i decided after this chapter the rest are not necessarily going to be in chronological order, just a bunch of related one shots so if you have any requests for this series let me know :)

When Michael was five, all he wanted for his birthday was a Tamagotchi.

He could still remember his sixth birthday party; how he had spent the better half of it starring longingly at the growing pile of presents on the picnic table, how none of the gifts looked quite the right shape, and how his mom had ruffled his dirty blond hair, uttering a phrase she used all too often in his childhood: “Patience, baby bear.”

Michael has always been a lot of things: loud, tactless, impulsive, and determined but never patient. Thankfully, his mom has always known him better than anyone else, and only made him wait long enough to secure a Spiderman party hat over his messy hair before gathering everyone so the birthday boy could finally open his presents.

Carelessly tearing the wrapping paper off of gift after gift, he was disappointed again and again when what was unwrapped was not what he had been pleading for. He was grateful, of course, for all the gifts he received, saying “thank you” with a toothy grin (even when his grandma gave him that dumb ugly sweater), but he couldn’t help but be extra grateful when his dad placed one last tiny package in his lap, joking “I think you forgot one Mikey.”

He spent the next two weeks with the egg-shaped game clutched tightly in his tiny palm; feeding, cleaning, and training his little electronic pet with a dedication that rivaled any true parent. He was probably on track to be the most responsible six-year-old Tamagotchi owner ever… and then he met Calum.

He didn’t mean to start spending more time playing with his new best friend rather than tending to his responsibilities as a virtual pet owner. He didn’t mean to lose the key-chain in the mountains of clothes and toys that comprised his bedroom. He certainly didn’t mean to forget it there until his mom made him clean his room so Calum could come over for their first official sleepover.

When he found it moments before Calum’s mom dropped him off, his poor pet Todd was dead. The first order of business for “Mikey and Cal’s First Sleepover” was holding a funeral for the forgotten Tamagotchi, with Calum holding Michael’s hand as he said goodbye to his first pet, and decided that maybe parenthood just wasn’t for him.

Now he was twenty and not much has changed: Calum was still his best friend, his mom still knew him better than anyone, and he still wasn’t sure if he was the most qualified to take of a election pet, let alone an actual human baby.

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