rare encounter


HAHAHAHA that’s Sidon for ya! The man has the spirit of a thousand puppies!

It seems like Sidon becomes really EAGER when he see’s a hylian near by. I believe the reason has to be because of his first encounter with Link. Also, there’s barely any hylians who tour by the zora’s domain due to the obsessive rainy weather so it’s quite rare for Zoras to encounter Hylians.

Find the original screenshots here!: https://fishcakey.tumblr.com/post/159043658050

Hannigram Drabbles Repost: 2-3

Amuse-Bouche: in which Will makes a confession.

‘You’re supposed to be my paddle.’ Will doesn’t mean to sound accusing, but since the shooting he’s existed in an almost permanent state of unease and his agitation is increasing. Hannibal’s talking again and then he stops, snaring Will’s reluctant gaze - his voice so gentle, so knowing. 'Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?' 

Will wants to look away but he can’t; he doesn’t want to answer but he does. 

'I liked killing Hobbs.’ It’s barely a whisper - shaky, appalled. 

Hannibal shifts in his chair, leans in close, intimate. And still Will can’t look away. 

'Killing must feel good to God, too.’


The effect of his words on the trembling boy in the chair opposite. Hannibal wields each syllable with care, slicing with calculated precision through layer after layer of tiresome moral posturing, exposing ever more tantalising glimpses of the exquisite darkness of Will Graham’s consciousness.


The intricacies of that delicate mind, ripe for plucking. To be savoured, for Will possesses a rare intellect, too precious to be stripped and devoured all at once. Timing is everything and Hannibal finds himself relishing the challenge. The opportunity afforded by Will makes him feel…


Potage: in which Hannibal observes Will.

Hannibal likes Will. He likes his voice: a relaxed drawl conjuring images of soft sunsets over glistening Louisiana bayous. He likes to watch him: his economy of movement, his expressive eyes (even when Will attempts to hide them behind the protective barrier of eyeglasses). He likes his intellect: rarely has Hannibal encountered such a fascinating, challenging, promising mind. Standing in the doorway of the lecture theatre with Jack, listening to Will deconstruct the 'Copycat Killer’s’ modus operandi with pinpoint accuracy, he feels an unexpected surge of pride and a warm smile tugs at his lips. Hannibal likes Will very much.

Will feels him first. A quiet, reassuring presence. His paddle. His way out of dark places. The man in the shadows who could almost have been conjured out of Will’s head steps forward with Jack and suddenly the air hums with vibrancy. Will doesn’t acknowledge his guests but Hannibal’s presence has snared his attention. He maintains his focus - doesn’t allow himself to be distracted by that steadfast regard, by eyes filled with admiration and lips that quirk into an approving smile. Still, he can’t help preening a little at the unaccustomed attention. It’s nice to be understood. To be seen.

The drabbles on AO3

Enough Is Enough (addict!Sherlock x reader)

A/N: I thought of watching Sherlock today to get my inspiration back, and it worked!! Also I love the grey sweat pants on Sherlock, I don’t know why but I just do.

Warnings: Drugs, alcohol, fluff. And Mycroft. HAHA

You had been used to Sherlock’s quirks. Some of them happened on daily basis as others you encountered rarely enough to count them out. One of them was his drug addiction. You had witnessed it twice by now and it had been enough for you to form an opinion on your addicted partner. Yes, you called him your partner rather than boyfriend, it was the result of your conversation while you discussed your relationship status and even if it sounded like you were just as heartless and up tight as Mycroft Holmes it wasn’t true. You had always had mixed feelings for the word boyfriend, as you were an adult and so was Sherlock, so why call him that, when you could address him with something more appropriate. This of course didn’t surprise anyone, for they ha already wrapped their pretty little head around the fact that you and Sherlock were together and matched in a way no one could’ve ever imagined anyone to with Sherlock.

You didn’t complain about Sherlock’s drug use. You knew no one was a saint and he usually, or so he claimed to be, used when he needed. It was a bit obscure for someone to need to get high while working but Sherlock had always been different to say the least so you let it pass. Or tried to. Then there was the amount he had used at those previous times and you had to admit him being right those times. The amount had been so little you had suspected he had even taken all that for a case, but like always you let it go. But this time wasn’t the same.

You had stayed over the night at Baker Street, at Sherlock’s flat and just like every other time, you slept longer than Sherlock. You always had his word for sleeping next to him, but rarely did so, or had tried not to, knowing he wasn’t one to cuddle and even once fell off the bed when you had moved too close for his liking in his sleep. An argument had erupted from that as you had declined his suggestion of saying over the second time and sleeping with him in his bed. You had told him you could sleep on the couch, the night had closed in and Sherlock, wether he admits it or not, didn’t want you wondering about London alone in the nights after the ’study in pink’ cabby incident he had years ago. You told he you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by sleeping close to him to which he answered he had moved in his sleep, not being able to control his movements. You had given into his command on staying and sharing the bed, but had tried to keep still the whole night. Good thing you could control your body while sleeping if you really concentrated on it. Sherlock on the other hand had been clinging on you the whole night, trying to prove you he could let you get close to him, and as you were both adults you had another fight.

From there on you avoided even talking about sleep. When you did stay over longer than supposed to, you faked you had fallen asleep on the couch while Sherlock was distracted by work. It never took you too long to actually fall asleep, before Sherlock went to bed or after, it always depended how soon after you had drifted off he’d go to bed, but always he pulled a blanket over you before heading off to his room. Sometimes you could hear him grunt when he noticed you sleeping and you could tell he would’ve wanted to sleep with you at those nights, but you still kept this act up, until Sherlock came up by his own tactic to evade this problem. He started to take his work to his bed and since you were helping him and assisting you couldn’t deny him for doing so or even circle around his sly way of getting you to sleep next to him by nights. You didn’t last long on his comfy bed with all the papers and text you had to read in the dimly lit room, your eye lids growing heaving sooner when you did your work in his bedroom, but that didn’t stop him from doing so. He was only humored by your little game and you being too polite and plain bored of all this playing and games let it be.

Last night had been the same for you, you had fallen asleep after two hours of work, face first falling on the cushions, next to the papers you had just been trying to read and memorize. Sherlock had noticed your tiredness before your eyes started closing and he eyed you, humored by your tries to stay awake until you lost your inner battle and fell asleep. He always lay a duvet over your body,  pulling the blankets aside before getting to work with you since he knew you would drift off before him and now had no problem with tugging you in. And after an hour or two doing the same, laying next to you and pulling you close to him under the covers.

You woke up in an empty bed, the side next to you cold by now while you tried the empty space with your hand, patting the mattress. You heard sounds from the living room and kitchen area and were sure Sherlock was on to something. He didn’t make much noise, knowing you’d wake up if he was to make a racket, trying quietly go through the cabinets for clothes and what ever he would be needing. He had already had tea, Mrs. Hudson always made two cups for the both of you but hadn’t yet found out Sherlock was usually the one emptying the cups as you were still fast asleep.

You rolled on to your back, stretching your hands upwards to reach the ceiling and a pleasurable smirk spreading on your lips. There was nothing better than a good morning stretch and you were sure no one would be to disagree with that. Your legs and toes tensed and you tried to get the best of your morning work out, tossing and turning on the bed as you tried to get the stimulation to other parts in your body. The thin blanket around you wrapped around you when you rolled and when you went to get up you nearly fell. You had been now entirely tied up by the sheet, but able to pry it off of you you tossed the sheet on the bed in a bundle and scouted to pick your clothes from the floor. You always slept in a top or a shirt at Sherlock’s, not sure how he’d react if he’d find you topless next to him in the morning and not really looking forward to that you kept as much clothes on as you could. Now you pulled you pants and socks on and let your hands go through your hair. You gazed at the bed before opening the door. Right then Sherlock dashed by you, entering his room with a quick good morning and went through the papers you had studied just yesterday. You told him the same and went to the living room, taking comfortable position on his chair. You knew he didn’t mind you doing so, at least when he was leaving the apartment. You knew well enough from his hurried movement that he was on to something with his previous case and would leave the apartment in any second now.

You took the tea cup next to the chair that was companied with an empty one, yours half way through, but still warm enough for you to finish. You always enjoyed those mornings when you could just watch everyone else making a rush, hurrying to work and you could just sit by and look. Unfortunately the tea tasted plain for your liking, but you sipped all of it anyways. You wiggled your toes inside of your socks on the chair, the cool fabric trying to break through the clothes. You loved Sherlock’s chair. It looked nice and it felt soft and comfy. Pity you didn’t get to sit on it often.

Sherlock came from his room not looking towards you, his whole body covered in two sizes too big clothing. He had grey sweat pants and a dark blue hoodie, the hood being pulled over his shaggy hair when he hurried to the stairs and called for you, informing he’d go out now to work on a case to which you answered wishing him good luck. The door closed right behind him with a soft bang and the flat was filled with silence. You waited a second, then two trying to control yourself. You had seen him in those clothes before and it always made your stomach turn. Nothing good ever followed when he went out dressed like that and it made you sad and disturbed. You thought of calling Mycroft and asking him to send someone to keep an eye on his little brother but knew Sherlock would notice right away if someone would be to follow him. Also there was John, but you figured not to bother him so you decided to just wait it out.

The day went by slowly and you couldn’t help but keep thinking what Sherlock was doing right now. You hoped for the best and that he wouldn’t disappear for days or weeks on his mission. You would hate that to happen since you knew you wouldn’t hesitate to call someone on his ass if he’d be out longer than a day or so. He hadn’t mentioned how long he’d be out, maybe to evade you from questioning or he really didn’t know. This made your mind go nuts, making all these alternate future possibilities where he’d come home after a week or being found and brought to hospital or even worse. You shook your head at your imagination going wild and decided to do something that would take your mind off of Sherlock.

It had been about eight hours now that Sherlock had left and you started to get bored. He hadn’t asked you to wait for him so you were free to leave, but wishful thinking of him finding his way back home kept you there. Now you were second guessing your decision, but couldn’t leave just yet before eating. You had started to feel hungry, the last time you ate was three hours ago. You were just getting to the kitchen when you heard the front door open and shouting filling the flat. You went to the door that gave you a view of the hallway and the stairs and saw Sherlock and John.

”I told you I’m clean!” Sherlock shouted frustratedly waving his hands in the air. His hair was still a mess but his face had changed. There were circles under his eyes and he looked like he had been up the whole last night, then again you didn’t know had he been, but at the morning as much as you had seen him, which was not much, he had looked normal to you.

”You don’t look clean to me and I’m a bloody doctor!” John snapped back as he pulled the door close behind him with a loud bang. He eyed Sherlock with a nasty scowl and leaned close to him, trying to intimidate his taller friend who was not impressed by his though act, more humored than taken aback. ”I have told you countless of times not to do this to yourself, and I’m saying it again, STOP DOING THIS IT WON’T HELP YOU ACHIEVE ANYTHING!” His voice echoed in the staircase and you flinched at the sudden change of volume. Sherlock on the other hand didn’t move a muscle and glared at his friend. ”And I’ve said I haven’t taken anything!” He shouted in John’s face.

”Oh don’t pull that shit with me, Sherlock.” John mused, but his voice was deceiving. It was clear that he was far from amused by the situation at hand. He just used sarcasm often. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Sherlock, trying to get glimpses of him that would give away how mush he had taken by now. Sherlock had covered himself well enough for it wasn’t evident what and how much he had taken, but that didn’t make John stop. ”You could’ve called me! You have any idea what it will be to explain to everyone how you almost ended up in the hospital for over dose?”

”That has happened before.” Sherlock muttered as if it changed anything. ”And who said you have to explain this to anyone? I haven’t taken anything and it was a misunderstanding. I am clear.” Sherlock stated calmly and headed up the stairs, John right behind him, yelling, ”I’m not covering up for you only because you claim to be clear! You should thank me for not calling Mycroft on your arse by now!”

You took a step away from the door, getting back to the kitchen. You waited for Sherlock and John to arrive to the living room and as they did John looked at you worriedly while Sherlock tried to play it cool. ”Oh, you’re still here, good, I were in a need of assistance.” Sherlock said and looked around, searching for something or he was to restless to keep up the eye contact and stay put. ”I’m leaving.” You announced and took you jacket that had been laying on the backside of John’s arm chair. You pulled it over yourself and passed through the two men without saying another word. You were fuming from rage. This was the last drop. John had stepped aside, his eyes wide and body tense as he sensed your silent rage, he was married for god’s sake and knew when a man was in trouble and this was it. Of course he would be the one explaining this to Sherlock after you had left.

You knew it wasn’t the best idea to get hammered after encountering your partner in that state, but you needed to clear your head so you went to a bar far from Baker Street just in case John would wonder around. You offered a shot and a big drink, with a one sip finishing the shot and hitting the bottom of it to the table. The drink you drank slower, sipping it slowly and trying to enjoy the taste but soon gave up on enjoying the drink and instead started ordering liquors that tasted bad but strong. You didn’t stay long, after three drinks you started to feel bad enough to leave the bar. You were alms home, but decided to avenge Sherlock’s way of ruining your day by calling a cab. You knew he weren’t there to see you get into the cab and would probably never know of it, but you felt good going behind his back and rebelling.

When you got home it was almost 11pm and you decided to go to bed, taking your shoes and jacket off, but leaving all the other clothes on for the lack of care. You would be undressing yourself in your sleep if needed to. Not even bothering on checking your phone or that did it even have any power left you let yourself fall face first on the bed, pulling the blanket over your body. You curl up and let tears fall over your cheeks as the alcohol has started to wear off. You felt bad for going drinking and for letting Sherlock get under your skin like that. You had known this would happen sooner or later, you’d seen it before and still here you are, crying. You would have probably hit yourself by now if weren’t too sleepy so you concentrated on trying to stop crying and try to get some rest.

You woke up early the next morning, your head felt dizzy but not too bad. Your stomach was also turning but you could handle it. You just needed a minute or two for it to calm down. Your body and mind protested against getting up just yet but you graved for your phone and when you finally found it from the pocket of your jacket you saw there were five missed calls and twelve messages. All the calls were from John, the text too. He apologized for you having to see Sherlock in that state and he asked how you were. On one of them he told you he had recommended Sherlock not to try contact with you since it wouldn’t end well for him or you. One of the messages had arrived an hour ago. There he asked were you okay and safely home, and to this you answered by informing him you were home and just woke up. He was relieved that you texted back, but then he opened up a conversation your were not ready for.

John texted you that he had indeed called Mycroft after you left yesterday, who had informed Sherlock that leaving his apartment wasn’t even an option for him since now some of Mycroft’s henchmen were keeping an eye on the flat twenty-four seven. He told you if you wanted to see Sherlock it would be up to you, letting you know he couldn’t get to you by himself if you didn’t count phones that is. You of course had no desire of seeing him which John understood but still tried to bend you to go over there, not necessarily today but soon. Sherlock would appreciate it he assured you. As your texting came to an end, John needing to get to work you received a message. From Sherlock this time. He asked were doing anything particular today to which you stated coldly, I’m not coming over. And put your phone away.

You didn’t intend to leave your house and you were already half way through it, when your phone informed you of a message. You looked at the screen and was from Mycroft. It said, Go visit him before he does something stupid, he’s becoming impossible to keep inside the house and I can’t have the press finding out he’s using again. you sighed at his way of not dancing around the problem and how he was always able to get you do what he wanted, and then another text message came from Mycroft. The car will be there in two minutes. You groaned. Why had he always need to be so pushy? You were thankful it was Sherlock you dated instead of Mycroft.

The car pulled over your house when the two minutes had passed and you had to admit that maybe Mycroft had problem with being in control of everything like Sherlock always suggested. You climbed in the car, greeting Mycroft’s little henchmen girl that was texting back to his boss of the trip over to the Baker Street. You didn’t bother by chatting with her as you knew well enough it would only irritate you or the girl wouldn’t even answer to half of your questions. When finally the ride was over the car left. You hesitated for awhile. You could maybe try and flee but as your thoughts went through your head you received a message. Don’t even think about it.

You sighed and went for the door, opening it and getting inside. You heard noise from upstairs and a familiar voice yelling, ”I’m still here as you know, but I will find a way out soon enough.” You shook your head and gazed about the lobby. It was dark and gloomy, you wanted so bad to just leave and not come back but you knew Mycroft wouldn’t have that. You had no choice but to do as he said, you taking the first step on the stairs as you answered to Sherlock with a loud voice, ”Good to know I didn’t come here for nothing.” And the living room upstairs grew silent. Soon Sherlock’s head peeked from the end of the stairs and he smiled at you. You walked up the stairs, keeping your distance even if he tried to bring you close to a hug.

”I’m here because your brother forced me to come. Don’t get any ideas.” You said and walked past him and sat on the long couch facing the fire place, the one you slept on at times. Sherlock followed you, but instead of sitting on his chair he sat next to you on the couch, close enough for your knees to touch. He was wearing his pajamas, purplish pants and a white shirt, his blue robe covering his arms which you were thankful of. You didn’t want to think how his arms looked like. You knew well enough there would be see through needle marks and even the thought made you sick to your stomach and to top it all you had been drinking last night.

”I would’ve appreciated it if you had stayed yesterday.” Sherlock said. ”I really needed your help with finishing the case.” He coldly explained. You could only see glimpses of him from yesterday every time you turned to look at him and it irritated you. He leaned closer and made you want to move further away from him, but didn’t. You knew he’d only grab onto you and pull you back to him if you did try to leave and there was Mycroft of course. You had to stay and try to solve this situation soon somehow if you wanted to get home before dark. You turned towards Sherlock. ”I couldn’t look at you when you were in that state.” You stated coldly.

”You have seen me in that state before.” Sherlock reminded, but earned a scowl from you and a scoff. You held your head high and snapped, ”You have never been in that deep. You’ve usually taken just a little or just smoked.” You narrowed your eyes. ”There is only enough I can take and you crossed it. I don’t need to bare everything just for your career.” This shut Sherlock up for a minute until he wondered out loud, ”You were worried about me?” You fixed your position and nodded your head. ”Well, I had never seen you in that deep.” You admitted. ”You went drinking.” He deduced. You hit his shoulder and glared at him. ”Yes, and who’s fault it that?” You asked and were sure Sherlock was about to tell you how he couldn’t care less for your pity on him and your emotions but instead looked down at his feet. The air got caught in your throat as you saw him regretting?

”I- I’m sorry, (Y/n).” And he turned to look at you, his eyes shining in the light that pooled into the living room from behind his back, from the window next to his desk. He pulled you to a hug and for a second you didn’t know what to do. Should you hug him back or just freeze? ”I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never want to do that for you.” Something in his words pinched your heart and you gripped the back of his robe, pulling him closer. ”Just please, stop doing that, Sherlock.” You whispered, about to start sobbing. ”I will, for you.” He whispered back. You held each other for a couple of minutes before Sherlock pulled away, he smirked at you and said, ”You still have to make yesterday up to me.” You pulled even further away from him and playfully narrowed your eyes at him, questioning him, ”Me?”

”Yes, you did take a cab at night even if I have specifically told you not to.” You didn’t even bother to ask him how he knew that so you just decided to roll your eyes at him. ”Also, I still need your help with the case.” He said and stood up, walking over to his desk and scooping up a pile of papers. You sat there and he came over to you, handing you the pile and going to take one for himself too, then heading towards his bedroom and calling for you, ”Come now.” You sighed. Here you go again. You’d have to stay at least over the night.

anonymous asked:

hey so i have a character who's just disarmed someone and he need to somehow stop them from going anywhere - he doesnt particularly care if they die, but for plot reasons id prefer if they were just taken care of in a nonlethal way. if my character were to decide to break a leg or two to stop them from getting anywhere fast, how would he go about doing that? he isnt human, so strength probably wont be a problem but how would he go from standing close in front of them to breaking their leg/s?

Then, there’s a very real possibility he’s going to kill your character. The most efficient way, given the circumstances you’re providing, for him to make absolutely sure they’re not going anywhere would be to snuff them. It’s also safer. If they’ve just been engaged in a duel, using weapons that are designed to kill people, then it’s going to be a lot easier and safer, to simply finish the job, rather than to drop his guard, hope his opponent doesn’t use this opportunity to pull a hidden weapon, or try something futile and reckless, like dragging them both off a balcony. If your character does not care, then the smart thing, the safe thing, given the circumstances, is just to finish the job. It’s not to stop, give their foe one last chance to mess things up, while they screw around.

So, let’s step back from this for a second. Your characters operate under the restrictions you set for them. You define their personalities, what lines they will and won’t cross, and in general, who they are. That informs how they should respond to situations they encounter. With rare exceptions, they do not serve the plot in defiance of who they are. They should always be following their own identity and agenda. When that conflicts with the plot, you need to decide: Either move them elsewhere (rewriting scenes as necessary), completely change who they are (rewriting everything involving that character), or they win.

You have a character who wants to stop someone from going anywhere. They don’t care if their foe lives or dies. Death will make sure their foe doesn’t wander off, and it’s far more reliable than breaking a leg or severing the Achilles tendon. In those cases the defeated character could, potentially, drag themselves to help, and screw things up.

Unless your character has an actual, internal, reason to avoid killing their foe, you’ve just killed one of your characters. You made the choices that lead to this awhile back. This is the secondary or tertiary consequences of your character building, and the way you’ve positioned your characters. However, it’s a legitimate kill. It will affect your plot going forward.

Often times, saying, “this will mess up the plot,” isn’t really a reason not to do something when you’re originally drafting a piece. Later, in rewrites, where you’re multiplying work for yourself, then it’s a legitimate concern. But, when you’re writing a scene, and realize that one of your characters would flat out kill the person they’re fighting, saying, “no, I wanted that guy for later,” isn’t a good reason to walk back the kill at the final moment.

Depending on how creative you want to be, and how willing you are to mess with expectations, it’s entirely acceptable to kill off major characters this way. That said, you’re going to need to address the character’s death. If your story really isn’t set up to do that, then it’s entirely possible your killer doesn’t fit the tone of your work.

It’s also entirely acceptable to have a character that doesn’t want to kill people. If that’s the case, then you’re still looking at rewriting earlier material to suggest that’s the case (even if you don’t spell it out.) This is a legitimate character outlook. They’ll go to violence, but draw the line at executing their opponents. The problem with this is, depending on your setting, they’re probably dealing with foes who lack that qualm.

Having a situation where one of your characters needs to remove another from the story is a problem. When that character is willing to kill their obstacle, the problem is self-solving. As a writer, when you get to a moment like that and go, “this is a problem for me,” it’s usually a sign you need to reevaluate the situation you put your characters in, or where your story is headed.


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Feeling The Signs Rarely Encounter
  • Aries: Content
  • Taurus: Instability
  • Gemini: Exhaustion
  • Cancer: Apathy
  • Leo: Emptiness
  • Virgo: Calm
  • Libra: Abhorrence
  • Scorpio: Acceptance
  • Sagittarius: Intimidation
  • Capricorn: Satisfaction
  • Aquarius: Envy
  • Pisces: Inflexibility

geekhyena  asked:

Have you already done a breed overview of the Queensland Heeler/Blue Heeler? We had them growing up, and I'm quite fond of them, but we never learned a lot about them in my animal science classes as a breed (they're not super common in the Midwest). We lost one at age ~11 due to heart cancer, but I don't know if that's common for the breed or just bad luck.

Also @osteoarchivist said:

If you are so inclined, would you do a post on Australian Cattle Dogs? I have a 10 month old ACD mix (his father was a handsome stranger) and I’m curious what your take on the breed is. Love your write ups!!         

Two of you have asked about this actually Australian breed. It was absolutely on the list, there’s just a bit of a waiting list, that’s all.

Nobody really uses the term ‘Queensland Heeler’. They’re usually Blue Heelers, Red Heelers, or officially the Australian Cattle Dog.

These dogs are stubborn and in many cases they are more stubborn than their owners. They can be lovely, but they’re equally likely to be undisciplined, spoiled rule breakers with attitude. That’s what happens when you have a breed that’s highly intelligent, but also very willing to be lazy.

Originally posted by butter-and-simba

I kind of like ‘em. Wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them, but like them anyway.

The breed clubs are still very big on screening for hip dysplasia, and I think this is wise. Though it’s rare for me to encounter a Heeler with dysplastic hips, the dogs I see only ever seem to have hips that are great, or atrocious, and no inbetween. I don’t know why this is. While hip dysplasia is not as common as in certain other breeds, it’s still worth screening for.

They tend to reach old age reliably but many seem to have vision problems in their senior years. The bred is known for its cataracts, but I also seem to see them over represented among our diabetics. Whether this is genetic or environmental I cannot be sure. As a breed they will happily pack on a few extra kilos, and this can lead to pancreatitis, but I don’t think I can call that a genetic correlation.

There is reasonably extensive genetic testing for progressive retinal atrophy, and attempts are being made at removing deafness from the breed, though they do pop up occasionally.

I often see these dogs in their old age with arthritis, either secondary to cruciate rupture due to their active, energetic bursts, or ankylosing spondylosis of the spine, which seems more common in any individual dog that has spent a large percentage of its life jumping up onto things.

Oh, and while I haven’t personally encountered this too much, they have a reputation for giving themselves intestinal foreign bodies by eating objects that really shouldn’t have been able to be chewed up and eaten.

It should go without saying, but if you intend to own this breed please be smarter than the dog. They can be loyal and great friends, but they will also push boundaries and have a tendency to snap. It’s all too easy for someone to find themselves cooking steak for the dog’s dinner each night and ending up with a canine shaped more like a wombat and less like a working breed.

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anonymous asked:

Would you ever be fwb with your last ex?

I actually considered whether it was ever going to be possible to go down that route, in the distant future, because our chemistry was rare, but a recent encounter made me realise that it wouldn’t be wise. Way too many emotions attached and nothing has changed, so it wouldn’t be worth the drama that would follow afterwards. Plus soul ties are very real & I’m not trying to feel like that again.

And While We Live (chapter 2)

Uncle Lambert’s little helper


It was so windy… So loud. Such a turmoil inside my body. It looked like my organs had separated from their cavities  and stood in suspension for a while, before they return to their place. I felt my hair in the air, I felt so light.

Glasgow, present day

She had dreamed of that day, tonight. And she had dreamed of Uncle Lamb again. It was all a mess in her sleepy mind… Opening the curtains of her bedroom, she noted how the clouds seemed to match the turmoil going inside her brain. They were white and grey and so, so angry. I am not angry. I am confused, I am tired of battling demons I don’t recognize. Adapting to a new place, a new job, a new time (JHRC!!), was not easy. Letting go of the past, of the literal past, felt like tearing up an arm. But she had made a promise to her Uncle, a promise she was hell bent on keeping.

A few months after moving into her apartment, Claire was still in a whirlwind of new things, shiny discoveries, amazing places that she reached without leaving the same spot. On that Netflix programme, she found and watched the most amazing film - “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”. Sean Connery reminded her so much of her Uncle Lamb, that she found herself putting it on for company and comfort, while she cleaned or cooked.

Uncle Lambert knew. He knew a lot and while he hadn’t prepared her for it, he had left everything ready for a life she had to now live as if she hadn’t had one before. She was thinking about her old life, as she made her coffee and toast. The war was over, it was time to think about other things. About marriage, about family, about where in the world Uncle Lambert was now. About not wanting to stop being a nurse… What would Frank think about that? Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was a Blitz survivor, a true bachelor of the english kind. If he was a wanderer before, the war had just turned him into a bigger one. While he hadn’t asked to raise Claire and certainly wasn’t a by-the-book child tutor, he had done a good job. Claire was who she was, in part, because of the life she had led with this man. All the adventures, the stories, the work, letting her be who she wanted and do things considered not proper for an english little lady or lady to be…

After the stones, however, Claire had a turmoil of doubts about Uncle Lamb. The pieces of the puzzle started to be put together quickly after her arrival.

In the 30s, Lambert Beauchamp had settled for a bit in merry old England while Hitler rose to power. He had decided to teach at Oxford. There, a few years later, Claire met one of her uncle’s students, Frank Randall: dashing historian, older man. Uncle Lambert liked Frank and never stated any sign of approval, or disapproval, for that matter, regarding the relationship. But he did insist on them not getting married right away, not for the wrong reasons, or so she thought… “Wait until we settle this mess, my darling girl.” This mess being WW2. Claire saw right through him and while Frank would have liked to be legally married, Claire followed Lambert’s advice. Nothing prevented them from meeting and act like husband and wife when their leaves from duty allowed it. What was a piece of paper? But now, it seemed Uncle Lamb simply didn’t want that tie to exist, that legal impediment. What else Uncle Lamb, what else? Frank and Claire had seen each other and had a good relationship and courtship for a year, until war erupted. The United Kingdom did its call to arms, Claire followed her calling and trained as a nurse… you said it would be the appropriate thing for a woman, Frank, but if you saw me now… And if you had listened to me then… and Frank put his knowledge to the service of the MI6 after being recruited from officer training.

Their correspondence kept them alive to each other, the rare but well enjoyed encounters had been good. And they were planning on getting married once the war was over. In the autumn of 1945, they were in Scotland, in Inverness, in a magical romantic inn. They had been together for a few days. They would have gotten married on *that* day, if it weren’t for Uncle Lambert’s accident, that delayed his trip north. Accident…? It was going to happen the day after, if it weren’t… If it weren’t. More than 70 years had passed, it literally felt like yesterday. Claire also thought about those days with some longing, but with a tug in her heart, a question mark forged into her sixth sense. After years of seeing each other scarcely, of two day trips where the needs of the flesh were more urgent, after letters that were rare towards the end and in which a quick “hello, I’m alive, I’m alright” seemed enough, there had been some awkward conversations, some clouds of doubt that were quick to dissipate when the adrenaline of the decision of getting married rose in her heart and in his pleading arguments.

Claire’s loneliness made her heart ache for Frank and what could have been… But she had made a promise to her dear Uncle. She promised to carry on living, she promised to follow her dreams, she promised to not look for him, she promised not to look for Frank. There had been a Claire Beauchamp in 1945. Unfortunately killed in action, or so the documents said *snort*. But there was a new Claire Beauchamp in the 21st century, born in 1989. One that had in her hands a pack of letters to open, in order, per another request.

“Please madonna, please follow your uncle’s instructions and open one by one, follow the dates on the envelopes. Trust us.” “Please Claire, ye have to promise us.” She was still so confused, so dizzy, but these people were there, they knew her, they knew Uncle Lamb, they were standing in the middle of the square in Inverness while she was running around looking, wanting to go to the police because surely someone must’ve stolen her car after. “I feel asleep picking flowers. That was it! I must’ve forgot to have a decent breakfast.” They were there when she started looking around and getting out of her frenzy state into a slightly more frenzy scottish town with cars that really weren’t cars, street signs that she did not recognize, clothes that looked strange. Everything was the same and everything was different. The short froggy man and the tall read headed woman approached her, casually, “Hello Claire, please keep calm.” “WHERE AM I?” They smiled like she hadn’t just screamed, like she had just said hello how are you dear friend. “Please Claire, we are friends, we are here at the request of your Uncle… I’m Gillian, this is Raymond.” And so she went.

Claire shook off the memories, the doubts, the questions. Every three months she opened a letter, an action that left her with more questions than before. She had been so tempted to look for them. When the loneliness was almost strangling her. But she kept the promise.

Putting the mug in the sink, she checked her reflection in the mirror, applied lipstick, tucked her shirt in her jeans, put on her coat and went off to another day of classes. As she turned to close the door on her building and check something in her purse, a black motorbike stopped at the traffic light in the road ahead. The helmet didn’t quite completely hid the mop of red hair peeking underneath. The biker liked what he saw, when he turned his head while waiting for the light to change.

Have a great weekend! :) 

You know what I really wanna see in the next part of Aelin’s story? Aelin interacting with the cadre in their fae forms. Give me Rowan resting on her shoulder and her stroking his feathers. Give me Gavriel leaning against her legs and little head touches like he’s just a big Fleetfoot.

But I want it as more than just a little cute ‘oh, yeah, let me just luxuriously stroke this big cat’. I want details on how fae in their animal forms are treated. Is it as though they really are just animals? Do Fenrys and Connal get stroked and get attention like normal tame wolves?

Or is there a distance because, yes, that is a person inside that body? Like I’m picturing little kids making things very awkward when they want to pet the doggy and their parents have to be like ‘nope, not appropriate’. Or, say if Aelin was petting Gavriel. Would that be weird because it’s a male in that body? Would it be uncomfortable for Gavriel? Like the equivalent of her just awkwardly running her hands down his body?

Is it generally agreed among fae that you don’t touch them as if they were just an animal, or is it all just considered normal? Are the lines blurred a bit because things are so different in an animal form? Is it acceptable to pet them because, in that moment, they’re an animal? Or is it still weird?

And I really want to see someone who’s rarely encountered the fae trying to figure out the social conventions around it.

(I’m looking at you, Dorian, because you would totally try to pet Fenrys as a wolf, don’t even lie)

kajuned  asked:

Do you ever get this feeling in the earlier seasons (like one or two) that Sam and Dean haven't really done much? Like, they're not the prestigious and highly experienced hunters they are said to be nowadays? They didn't know about vampires or rugarus, were barely equipped and rarely ever encountered a demon. Later seasons portray them as always hunting, always busy when young, but season one makes me feel like they were studying 70% of the time and not much else besides a ghost or three.

Yeah, I think they were really, truly sheltered from a lot of the reality of what’s out there as kids.

I mean the few cases we do see from their childhood, it seems like even Dean was getting left behind as Sam’s caretaker more often than he was actively participating in larger hunts. Off the top of my head, notable mentions/flashbacks to their younger days. Note, I am not a fan of John Winchester’s parenting skills (or glaring lack thereof):

1.18: The shtriga case where it essentially seems like John was using 5-year-old Sam as bait for the thing and trusting 9-year-old Dean to follow his order to shoot first, ask questions later and hope he was able to kill the thing before it killed Sam >.>

3.08: it’s never even mentioned WHY John missed Christmas, just implied he was hunting something… and he’d left his journal behind for Sam to find. Kinda makes me think he WANTED Sam to find it, again leaving the hard work of trying to explain everything to Dean…

4.13: Even though Dean had to be too old to be hanging out in high school if SAM was also in high school >.> he still got left behind on a longer, theoretically more complicated or dangerous hunt…

4.19: We know John had been hunting a ghoul when he met Adam’s mother in 1990, so Dean would’ve been about 11 and Sam would’ve been about 7. They obvs weren’t with him on that case. No idea why, or where they were. They probably did know about ghouls in general though. Like ghosts and vengeful spirits and things, John probably thought of them as safely distanced from the demon to tell them about.

7.03: We see Sam accidentally make friends with one of the monsters Dean and John were hunting. Not a common monster, either. I don’t think we’ve seen another kitsune (or even heard of another one in passing).

9.07: Dean claims he’d received his injuries from a werewolf (but in 2.17 he was all excited about a werewolf case because he hadn’t seen one since they were kids, meaning it wasn’t something they’d run across often at all)

11.08: We know Sam was largely left behind on his own while John and Dean were going on hunts. 

It largely seems like John deliberately kept them out of the Major Monster hunts, and kept them informed about these “one off” sorts of hunts. The rare things that didn’t have vast networks or social hierarchies, you know?

Even in 1.06 we learn the shapeshifter may have even been the first one of its kind they’ve encountered, and we’ve seen them quite a bit over the years now.

Plus John said he’d never told them about vampires because he’d thought they were extinct. >.>

Then explain Gordon Walker. :P

A lot of hunters DO seem to specialize in a specific monster (like Gordon with his vampires he was so precious about not letting Sam and Dean help him with, and the implication that Wally spent most of his time hunting rougarous, and even Bobby at first was presented as a “demon expert” before we discovered the true breadth of his scholarly knowledge of the lore). Like that’s their “comfort zone,” in a manner of speaking. But even Gordon eventually branched out from vampires in s3 and began hunting the “special children” like Sam. 

But even still, even when they have their specialties, there is that loose network of support, or “hunter gatherings.” In s2 we had the Roadhouse, then Bobby, then Garth, and now everyone who attended Asa’s funeral in 12.06. They do share info, but Sam and Dean had largely even been kept out of THAT network as kids. John really did try to keep them as much in the dark as possible, while still training them in the basics of hunting, lore, and research.

They’ve just been honing all those skills over the years, and like Dean said in 12.16, you put on a flannel and pick up a gun. Either you get good fast, or you get dead faster. They got good. (and heck I mean they got dead a bunch of times too, but that just seemed to drive them to want to get even better… what, hunting is strange like that :P)


Musee des Blindés Part 9

1 & 2) KV-1. Soviet heavy tank of WWII. The KV series were known for their heavy armour protection during the early part of the war, especially during the first year of Operation Barbarossa. German tanks at that time were rarely used in KV encounters as their armament was too poor to deal with their armor. This example is displayed in the Museum as if it has been knocked out. Note the missing track.

KV-1. Tanque pesado sovietico de la SGM. La serie KV fue conocida por su grueso blindaje durante el principio de la guerra, especialmente durante el primer año de la Operación Barbarroja. Los tanques alemanes eran rara vez usados en encuentros con KV, pues su armamento era muy débil para lidiar con su blindaje. Este ejemplo es mostrado en el museo como su hubiera sido noqueado. Notece la oruga perdida.  

3 to 5) Type 59. Misidentified by the museum as a T-54A, though they aren’t necessarily wrong, as the Type 59 was nothing more than a Chinese copy of the T-54A. The Type 59 formed the backbone of the PLA until the early 2000s, with at least 5,000 Type 59s in service in 2002. This example was captured in Iraq during Desert Storm.

Typo 59. Mal identificado por el museo como un T-54A, aunque no están necesariamente equivocados, pues el Tipo 59 no es mas que una copia china del T-54A. El Tipo 54 formó el núcleo del ejercito chino (PLA) hasta principios de los 2000, con al menos 5,000 Tipos 59 en servicio en 2002. Este ejemplo fue capturado en Irak durante Tormenta del Desierto. 

6 to 8) Carro Armato M15/42. The last Italian medium tank produced during WWII. It was based on the earlier designs and was built with the lessons from the North African campaign in mind. The tank was meant to be a stopgap until the heavier P26/40 tank could be produced in numbers. It did not serve in North Africa but served in Italy and in Yugoslavia with the Wehrmacht.

Carro Armato M15/42. El ultimo tanque medio italiano producido durante la SGM. Basado en los modelos anteriores y construido con las lecciones del Norte de Africa en mente. El tanque fue diseñado para ser un modelo provisional hasta que el P26/40 mas pesado pudiera ser producido en numerous. No sirvió en Africa del Norte pero sirvió en Yugoslavia con la Wehrmacht. 

9 & 10) Semovante da 75/18. Italian SPG of WWII. It was built by mounting the 75 mm Obice da 75/18 mountain gun on the chassis of a M13/40, M14/41 or M15/42 tank. The Semovente da 75/18 was intended to be an interim vehicle until the heavier P40 could be available.

Semovante da 75/18. Cañón autopropulsado italiano de la SGM. Se construyó montando el cañón de montaña 75 mm Obice da 75/18 en el chasis de un tanque M13/40, M14/41 o M15/42. El Semovante da 75/18 fue destinado para ser un vehículo provisional hasta que el P40 mas pesado estuviera disponible.

Submitted by cavalier-renegade, spanish translation by yours truly. 

NCT 127 + Ten reaction to you being very confident


Anon: Hi! I looooove your account, could you please do a nct127/nctu reaction to you being really confident? I always see insecure ones but I wanna bit of positivity

I agree with you - there’s not enough positivity on the internet these days, which is a shame… hope you like this.❣️❣️Also thank you for 2.7K!💓🌟🌟I’m literally so thankful and I didn’t think this blog would get this big so quickly like ????? I’ve only had this blog like 5 months why do y'all follow this shit lol


Originally posted by taeiloves

I don’t think he’d think much of it in general. He’d like you for being you, and whether that meant you were also confident, then great! If you were confident, it wouldn’t necessarily be something he noticed or attracted him in the first place - it was just an added bonus. Subconsciously, he’d become more confident and open himself, your confidence brushing off onto him. That’d also be something he liked about you - the fact that without either of you realising, you had helped him become a better person. 


Originally posted by taeyongd

Johnny would be attracted to more confident people in the first place; he’s probably not great with words and comforting someone who could be self conscious. Anyway, he’d be very proud of you and your confidence; he’d always watch you in awe and smile widely whenever you stood up for yourself or picked yourself back up. He had never met someone as strong as you before, and for that he was proud of you. 


Originally posted by tybeoji

When you first met, Taeyong would be a little awkward around you, not knowing what to say or do without embarrassing himself or making you think that he was an idiot. You’d notice this quickly and would react quickly and smoothly too, making sure he was relaxed and happy around you and that you didn’t come across too strong. He’d end up really loving this trait of yours; it’d really help him with his own confidence and would always go to for a quick pick-me-up or advice. Even the other members would notice this subtle change in him. 


Originally posted by taebreez

In a relationship, Yuta would find anything you did hot or attractive whether you whether really confident or not. But this would be an attribute he’d definitely like in you. He’d find it very striking and impressive and he’d love watching the faces of others watching you in awe sometimes, since they too were impressed by your confidence. Expect a lot of compliments from Yuta too. Even though he’d know that you were already very confident, he’d love showering you with compliments and affection, liking to think that some of your confidence did come from him too. 


Originally posted by nctuhohahyes

You two would get on just fine. I don’t see him blatantly noticing this trait of yours, nor would he change himself like some of the other members. Doyoung is very confident himself and would match someone with the same amount of confidence perfectly; it’d mean that neither one of you overshadowed the other and you could easily get along and support each other. He would eventually notice this trait of yours, when he overheard you giving a pep talk to the younger members and supporting them - just as he does too. 


Originally posted by nakamotens

Ten would sometimes get a little shy and awkward around you. He’d be used to being the one overflowing with confidence and radiance so it’d startle him a bit when he met you. If you ever complemented him or gave him some advice, he’d get a little shy and awkward, the feeling of being supported in that way, being unfamiliar to him. Any of your words would easily make him blush and get all fluffy, a side that not many people would have the honour of seeing. 


Originally posted by visualjaehyun

He’d absolute love showing you off to other people. Like the other members, he’d initially be surprised meeting someone like you - it can be a rare encounter meeting someone with such a bright and big personality. He wouldn’t show you off in a way to intimidate or ruin other people’s confidence though, no. He’d do it knowing that you would help other people and could inspire other girls and guys to gain some confidence. He’d be in total admiration of you and would want to get as much confidence you eventually. 


Originally posted by yutaejpg

I see WinWin getting a little shy around you sometimes. He would probably felt a little insecure and self-conscious around you, knowing that you were a strong person who literally did not care about other people’s insults whereas he could get upset over it. He’d really rely on you for advice and help though; he’d need you to reassure him that you wouldn’t leave him for someone else more confident than him and would just help him with his confidence in general. 


Originally posted by nct-marklee

At first, Mark would be intimidated by your big personality. Not often, had he met someone who had so much charisma and confidence so he wouldn’t know how to approach you or speak with you. But, very quickly, you two would ease in conversation and Mark would naturally be able to get on with you. As long as you were able to maintain a relaxed and calm atmosphere and weren’t overly confident to the extent where he thought of you as arrogant, you two wouldn’t have any problems. 


Originally posted by haenyan

Your confidence would basically boost his own ego. He’d absolutely love your bright and happy side, and it’d definitely help him build up his own confidence knowing he had someone like you beside him. Although he wouldn’t speak of it, he’d admire how you always helped other people, including other members of NCT, with their own confidence and would support them as much as you could. He wouldn’t be jealous, but would be very proud of you and thankful for your existence.

consider, if you will, a character who’s normally the picture of calm and collected; very reserved and disciplined with their emotions, no big expressions or gestures, some would even call them stone-faced… except for the rare occasion when they encounter that one thing they’re fiercely allergic to

its effect on them is so torturous and overwhelming that all their self-restraint goes out the window in an instant. building up to the attack is an outright dramatic affair, complete with frantic hand-fanning and stammered warnings/apologies for what is about to happen, followed by spasmodically twitching nostrils and vocalized gasps for air, hitching in and out of them with mounting urgency until tears are soaking their eyelashes, their lips are drawn back in a desperate grimace, nostrils flared so wide that one could glimpse their inner, reddened, mercilessly itchy depths -

then, when they finally start sneezing they do so with complete abandon, because there’s no way they’re going to endure this sensation a second longer than necessary, and they know from past experience that any attempts at holding back are only going to make things worse

anyone who witnesses this happening for the first time is usually left in a mild state of shock at this highly uncharacteristic production.