St. Uriel - mosaic by James Powell and Sons, 1887, in St. John’s Church, Boreham, Wiltshire. While the Archangel Uriel is venerated collectively with other angels in Eastern Orthodoxy, Anglicanism is the only Christian tradition to give any particular recognition to Uriel, who appears in the deuterocanonical 2 Esdras and the noncanonical Book of Enoch. Anglicans regard him as the patron of the sacrament of confirmation.
“No way,” you protest fiercely, the two of you still standing outside your house. “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let you plan this date, too.”
Giving you a look, a little smile on his face, he remarks, “Ya forget, babe. I know where ya live.” Smirking, he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his hands apologetically.
“Ah, but so do I, good sir,” you point out, eyebrows raised as you pat the pocket where you placed the note with his address on it.
“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, knowing there’s no way he’d be able to win this one. Sighing, he replies, “Fine, but let me at least take ya…wherever it is we’re goin.” As he trails off, your eyes dart to the bike. Incredulous, you frantically shake your head at the suggestion.
Laughing at your horrified facial expression, he cries indignantly, “I have a car!”
“Thank the Lord,” you chuckle, rubbing your aching backside that‘d probably have handlebar marks all over it for a week. “See you at seven then.” It’s your turn to wink, but the twinkle in his eyes keeps you from being able to keep a straight face.
“See ya, love,” he murmurs, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before he climbs back on his bike. Pedaling away, he calls, “But don’t you dare think you’re gonna pay for whatever it is we’re goin ta tonight!” And with that, he’s gone, purposefully leaving you with no way to argue.
Intently watching the GPS on your phone, you command, “Okay, turn here.”
Doing so, he mumbles, disgruntled, “Now we’ve gone in a circle.”
Trying to keep him from figuring out where you were taking him, you’d been giving him false turns. That way, when you finally arrived, he wouldn’t know where he was. Too bad you had never been the best at directions.
“Do you know where we’re going ye—“ you interrupt yourself to give your final direction. “Oh shit! Turn here,” you cry, grabbing onto the door handle to keep from ramming into him as he turns the corner sharply. You didn’t need to end up in his lap just yet. This was your first real date after all.
Seeing that it’s some kind of indoor/outdoor entertainment center, he teases, “What, we gonna play laser tag or somethin?” Though he’s watching your expression a littletoo closely for his comment to be a joke.
“Oh, I see,” you say slowly, catching on. “Ni doesn’t like surprises, couldn’t even stand the idea of not driving wherever we were going.” A smile growing on your face, you can’t help but grin as you draw out his discomfort.
“No, that’s not it!” He protests, but even he knows you’re right.
You had been planning on telling him the plan when you arrived, but now that you knew how invested he was, you were aching to prolong it as long as possible.
“Mmm, no? Well you’ll see,” you taunt. Opening your car door and stepping out, you spin your head around to face him. “If you didn’t care so much, I would’ve told you,” you tease, hearing him grunt as you close the door.
Leading him into the building, you make sure to stop right inside the entrance and take your time looking around the premises. As you drag him to the laser tag kiosk, you ask the employee how much a game of laser tag costs.
“Eight dollars a person,” he answers as you flash Niall a smirk. Nodding, you dramatically put a pointed finger over your mouth as you look off into the distance, pretending to think. “Nah,” you finally respond and you thank him as you lead Niall by the hand away from the kiosk.
“Damn it. You’re killing me,” he whines, starting to pout.
“Sorry, love,” you reply, no mercy in your voice, still very much amused by his protesting.
“Ya know, it really worries me how much you’re enjoying this,” he groans.
Continuing to lead him around the whole building, you call back to him, “Not so easy when you’re on the other side of the surprise, eh?” Beaming at him, you mutter, “At least you only had to wait, like, half a day.” He doesn’t respond, just starts to impatiently shake his arm that you’re still holding on to. At long last, you give in. After you slide by the arcade and leisurely ponder the wonders of the change machine, of course.
Your eyes finally stopping on the counter in the back left of the store, you lead Niall to the area you had been purposefully avoiding for the past ten minutes. “Two for mini golf, please,” you smile, glancing over at Niall.
“Finally,” he exhales, his expression immediately shifting from one of restlessness to one of peace. “I was afraid this wasn’t even the right place and ya were gonna make me drive somewhere else!”
Shaking your head, you pat his hand and retort, “I was afraid you weren’t gonna make it.”
“You’re such a dork,” he quips fondly, rolling his eyes as the employee heads to the back to fetch two clubs and balls. When you don’t respond, he continues, his voice low, “You remembered I said I was inta golf.” He rearranges your hand so that he can interlace his fingers in between yours.
“I thought about taking you to baseball just because of that comment, but I didn’t want you to be too embarrassed when I beat you,” you laugh, lighting hitting your shoulder against his.
“Thank ya,” he replies gratefully, playfully wiping his forehead of sweat.
When the employee takes longer to come back than you expect, you add softly, more serious this time, “And of course I remembered, Ni.” A warm feeling slides up from your stomach to your forehead when you look up at his bright eyes and content expression. “How could I forget? When it comes to you, I’m like an elephant.”
By now, the employee has come back with the balls and clubs. Before you can stop him, Niall is pulling out his wallet and handing the guy a twenty-dollar bill.
Turning back to you, he squeezes your hand and whispers breathily in your ear, so close you can feel his smiling lips against your ear. “You’re the cutest elephant I’ve ever met, darlin, and I’ve come across a whole lot of em.” Leaning your head against his shoulder, you have a feeling he isn’t talking about elephants anymore.
In the last chapter of Art School AU Marianne and Bog were laying on the couch watching tv and he (totally not flirting of course) brushed the hair back from her face and remarked she needed a haircut.
And I was thinking … she gets her hair cut, but leaves the bangs long. And Bog keeps brushing it out of her eyes all the time.
Boston Legal represents a lot of things to me personally, but the most important things to note about it is its extraordinary writing, acting, and general sense of fun. I watched the show when it first aired – in fact was looking forward to it! – and that may not sound all that remarkable on its face, but it’s important to remember I was 15 when it premiered. For me to watch something like a David E. Kelley legal show at that age was a huge outlier in my normal television consumption, but I couldn’t get enough of Boston Legal.
This was also around the time I started watching The Daily Show on a regular basis; my political and social mind was awakening and I felt one way or another about most topics, and if I didn’t then it was usually only because I had yet to be educated on them. Boston Legal served as an education as well as an opinionated soapbox that spoke to me often. And James Spader, my God – what he was doing every week was unprecedented to me. I had never seen such charismatic, charged acting on TV before, and his character was impossibly deep and layered. But most importantly, Boston Legal was funny. That’s really why I kept coming back, at least for the first few years, and its humor opened the doors to the tougher, more serious subjects Kelley & co. wanted to address each week.
Hi~!!! Good luck with the blog! Can I request a scenario wherein Mei from DNA, Kise from KnB, and Oikawa from HQ met with each other like for example in a sports convention or something and start arguing who has more fangirls. Thankies~!
Mei was walking down the hallway with a trail of girls behind him. This was usual for him so he thought nothing of it until he turned around and they were all gone. He looked around confused until he saw a brown haired boy smiling and waving at the group, his own fangirls surrounding him.
“Why did you leave me?” Mei stomped over to where the other guy was flexing at the swooning girls. Mei made sure to put on his best pouting face and soon enough the girls diverted their attention away from Oikawa to comfort Mei, even Oikawa’s own groupies.
“What’s going on over here?” Another boy who had a remarkably pretty face strode over to the other two and put his hands on his hips. His pack of girls were attempting to take pictures of him with their smartphones.
“This guy is trying to steal my fans.” Oikawa glared at Mei and Kise’s fans began turning their attention to this intriguing volleyball player.
“Ladies ladies! Don’t let this man steal your heart away from me. I need you all to cheer for me so I can win.” Kise grinned seductively and all the girls screamed with glee.
“I have more fans than you two anyway.” Mei scoffed and Kise gasped while Oikawa puffed his chest out.
“That’s unlikely seeing as I’m the ace of Aoba Josai.” Oikawa stated proudly.
“Well I’m the ace of Kaijo.” Kise whined like he was distressed and all the girls turned their attention to him trying to comfort him.
“I’m an ace too.” Mei grumbled and his original group of girls flocked to his side. Pretty soon the three aces got into a wrestling match with a giant group of girls surrounding them and cheering them on taking pictures.
Kasamatsu, Iwaizumi, and Harada ran from opposite directions but ended up standing side by side outside the ring of girls. “Not again.” They all groaned, looked at each other in confusion, then ran into the middle to stop their three aces.
Why are people so against eating healthy? Why do I get crazy faces or remarks because I want to make a change in my life? Make my family have a healthier lifestyle. Why would I be stubborn to the fact that just because I grew up my whole life eating meat and processed foods I can’t change that? I can’t change what society made my family which made me think that shit was okay? It’s not. I’m just glad I can see that. I’m glad I can get out of my comfort zone and do better, eat better, and feel better. Who wants to willingly allow that SHIT to ruin your body? Ruin your mind and cause diseases years from now. So you’re telling me if someone gave you a cancer cookie and said “ hey this cookie right here, I know you’ve been eating these all your life and I know the cookie is so good, but this cookie is made of countless ingredients that has been PROVEN to cause cancer years from now, its been proven to cause diabetes and high blood pressure. Its a really really yummy cookie though. I mean hey, you’ve been eating them all your life why change now?” Lol, I don’t get it. I just wish people wouldn’t be so negative towards me because i’ve made the choice to eat better. If you choose to continue to eat the way your eating then do so. I’m just here to try and open your mind and see another way. Dont bash me though. I’m doing nothing wrong.
"Aye, move ov'ah I can't see da' tv" huffed the potoroo.
“Sorry, Mate, but ya missed th’ last seat on th’ couch t’ th’ idiot box an’ Ah’m sittin’ in it. Besides, mi arse can fit fer two couch potatoes, ya couch tater tot-aroo. Heh, heh, heh…” Dingodile condescendingly remarked, stuffing his face with popcorn.
Disdain wryly crept its way onto the hybrid’s face. Creases in his features spoke tails of agony and deep, unrelenting anger. Even the way the orbs that now mocked his eyes narrowed in such a way that already spoke of how fed up he had been at such a question.
❝Do you know not the difference between the malformed and their master? A demon is FAR beyond your understanding of anything but the light of dawn.
Even your face remarks that of a mere babe.❞
Intimidation had been fair play for the Betrayer. Standing on his demonic haunches as tall as they would allow him to to stand, wings unfurled, he stared at the being before him with the fires of Sargeras.
The …individual’s answer spoke volumes beyond what the few and scathing words he’d conceded to had. This being. It wasn’t an alien, but it had met aliens, before, and it obviously hadn’t been a treasured experience. Malformed, he had called them. Harsh, but he’d met a few off-worlders too, and of the variants, he hoped never to cross paths with the Chitauri again, himself. Couldn’t rightly fault this guy’s assessment, if his own journey resembled that nightmare.
A ‘demon,’ though. That’s what the stranger had called himself. Indirectly, to a point, but the claim was still there. That was new. He was more accustomed to boasts of godhood. The figure put up a good display, too. Otherworldly fires, a formidable physical presence, sharp, inhuman features; even sporting a pair of horns and hooves - the guy certainly looked the part. But, was it a bad thing that it came as a relief? There was something …acceptable about the introduction. Most trouble came about because a person deviated from humanity, into realms unsuited for a mortal mind and heart. A demon doing its demon thing - by nature and default, wasn’t that correct?
❝I wouldn’t suggest taking everything at face-value; especially me. But I can’t argue that I’m unfamiliar with your kind… in the flesh, I mean. We have stories, I guess.”
Was it right to call them stories, really? Benefit of the doubt. Benefit of the doubt. His culture had been conditioned to a mindset against that which this being claimed to be. But other than looking terrifying and scoring an arrogance level even beyond Stark’s, he really hadn’t given much cause for Rogers to adopt a hostile approach. The Soldier camped his shield at a low angle; posture attentive, but not combative. He inclined his head in a respectful motion, resolving to treat the stranger like an ambassador, so to speak, and for the time being.
❝I hope you don’t see my ignorance for disrespect. I don’t exactly know the protocol for this kind of an exchange, so I’m grateful if you’ve been patient with any offenses, so far. I’m Steve Rogers, from …uh, I guess it doesn’t matter. And even if our respective races aren’t accustomed to getting along, I’m not the type to follow suit just for that reason.”
There was no fear in the Soldier’s keen eyes, and the only concern in his cordial tone was on behalf of the demon, and whether he was being addressed with the formality his mysterious race warranted. For Rogers, he was dealing with a dignitary, not a monster.
“But”, he silently amended the record, “I am never acting as Stark’s test subject, again.” No matter how amazing gate-way technology sounded, he’d realized that there was precious little to draw from as qualification for ending up stranded on an alien world, conversing with demons. He just hoped that the projector’s energy spiked again, and re-opened the portal back home. Until then, he would try to encourage the massive, affronted entity to remain civil for a little while longer.