Ron: “Ho un problema. Io amo Hermione, ma amo anche Lavanda”.
Harry: “Ho un’idea: crea un elenco di svantaggi per ognuna di loro. Vedrai quella con il tratto peggiore e la tua decisione sarà facile dopo”.
Ron: “Che idea brillante! Va bene.. Hermione: controllo, capelli arruffati, sapientona e parla troppo”.
Harry: “Bene, ora trova qualcosa di brutto per Lavanda.”
Ron: “Beh.. Lei non è Hermione”.

Harry Potter

Speed Dating - The Morning After

Alright alright!! You guys were so excited about @outlanderedandoverhere‘s speed dating prompt that I wrote more! Now y’all got my brain going so I’ve got at least four different thoughts going for this story. I guess we’ll just have to see what happens! Catch up below!


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Outlander 03x01 The Battle Joined

I didn’t have time to do a full rewatch of both seasons before the new season of Outlander started so I only did a rewatch of my absolute favorite episodes. For Season 2 that was 2x01 Through a Glass Darkly and 2x10 Prestonpans… and those two episodes couldn’t have been more relevant to the Season 3 premiere episode with so much of the episode revolving around Frank and Claire’s renewed marriage and a battle and its aftermath.

As has been the case before with Outlander, having read the books and having that vague idea of what’s coming helps me to emotionally prepare for certain events. And has also been the case before with the adaptation, this was an episode where I emotionally prepared for one thing so they decided to wallop me with feels from a direction I wasn’t anticipating (and I LOVE it when the show does that).

Episode spoilers and more below the cut. Also it’s been a long time since I’ve written one of these and I’ve been very excited about it all so this is a verra, verra long analysis.

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Applejack: We, uh, only had one chair, then she told me to hold her down to make sure she didn’t take too many breaks. She said she really needed to concentrate. Golly, I can still feel the way she laughs in my chest. T-then she told me how much she appreciated me being there for her. I’ve never felt this happy before.

Rarity: So when’s the wedding?

Applejack: Huh? No way! She ain’t into me like that. I’ve seen the way she looks at that one girl, Spitfire? Yeah, she’s a perfect match for Rainbow. I’m just a dumb country hick. I don’t even know why she’s my friend.

Rarity: Applejack, you can’t do this to yourself. She likes you and we all know you’re so much more than a “dumb country hick.” Please just ask her out.

Applejack: I just can’t do that!

Rarity: And why not?! She is a walking pride flag! So she likes girls. She loves hanging around you all the time! You go see movies together without any of us, you go out for pizza at that terrifying diner together without any of us. 

Applejack: Hey, Greasy’s Pizza Pit is a fine establishment.

Rarity: Whatever! If it weren’t for you constantly claiming that you’re not dating, I would have assumed that you were already an item!

Applejack: Look, right now I just wanna help her win the Nerd Off, okay? 

Rarity: Fine! But after these games, if I don’t see a ring on her finger I’ll have to take matters into my own hands

Twilight: I really don’t want to do this.

Fluttershy: Have you told Sunset?

Twilight: I did, but she said that I should at least try. I mean she made me feel confident that I could win…but I just don’t want to win in the first place.

Fluttershy: I’m sure Sunset means well, but I think there’s still a part of her that needs to be dominant.

Twilight: I wish she’d keep that to the bedroom.

Fluttershy: …oh my.

Twilight: I just said that out loud didn’t I?

Rupert: Alert! Mother unit has perished!

“It was not until the Renassiance that mermaids lost their sinister reputation as prostitutes and demons, and finally became the protectors of sailors, their charming bodies embellishing maritime charts. In the midst of oceans was printed the following couplet; Hic sunt sirenae (The mermaids are here), alongside the coat of arms of ports, and the bow of ships.” – People of Light; a fantasy encyclopdeia.

I am PUMPED for mermay this year! I hope to at least sketch something everyday if not do something coloured ;v; (maybe a couple of illustrations?). But hey, have a dumb page/illustration for my first day~


“I must have dropped it, in all the excitement,” I said. “Just as well; I’ve no idea what to do with it. I’d likely have stabbed myself if I’d tried to use it.” 

Ned eyed Jamie censoriously over his half-spectacles. 

“Ye gave her a knife and didn’t teach her to use it?” 

“There wasna time, under the circumstances,” Jamie defended himself. “But Ned’s right, Sassenach. Ye should learn how to handle arms. There’s no tellin’ what may happen on the road, as ye saw last night.”

So I was marched out into the center of a clearing and the lessons began. Seeing the activity, several of the MacKenzie men came by to investigate, and stayed to offer advice. In no time, I had half a dozen instructors, all arguing the fine points of technique. After a good deal of amiable discussion, they agreed that Rupert was likely the best among them at dirks, and he took over the lesson. 

He found a reasonably flat spot, free of rocks and pine cones, in which to demonstrate the art of dagger-wielding.

“Look, lass,” he said. He held the dagger balanced on his middle finger, resting an inch or so below the haft. “The balance point, that’s where ye want to hold it, so it fits comfortable in yer hand.” I tried it with my dagger. When I had it comfortably fitted, he showed me the difference between an overhand strike and an underhanded stab

“Generally, ye want to use the underhand; overhand is only good when ye’re comin’ down on someone wi’ a considerable force from above.” He eyed me speculatively, then shook his head. 

“Nay, you’re tall for a woman, but even if ye could reach as high as the neck, ye wouldna have the force to penetrate, unless he’s sittin’. Best stick to underhand.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing a substantial furry paunch, already glistening with sweat. 

“Now, here,” he said, pointing to the center, just under the breastbone, “is the spot to aim for, if ye’re killin’ face to face. Aim straight up and in, as hard as ye can. That’ll go into the heart, and it kills wi’in a minute or two. The only problem is to avoid the breastbone; it goes down lower than ye think, and if ye get yer knife stuck in that soft bit on the tip, it will hardly harm yer victim at all, but ye’ll be wi’out a knife, and he’ll ha’ you. Murtagh! Ye ha’ a skinny back; come ’ere and we’ll show the lass how to stick from the back.” Spinning a reluctant Murtagh around, he yanked up the grubby shirt to show a knobbly spine and prominent ribs. He poked a blunt forefinger under the lower rib on the right, making Murtagh squeak in surprise.

“This is the spot in back— either side. See, wi’ all the ribs and such, ’tis verra difficult to hit anythin’ vital when ye stab in the back. If ye can slip the knife between the ribs, that’s one thing, but that’s harder to do than ye might think. But here, under the last rib, ye stab upward into the kidney. Get him straight up, and hell drop like a stone.” 

Rupert then set me to try stabbing in various positions and postures. As he grew winded, all the men took it in turns to act as victim, obviously finding my efforts hilarious. They obligingly lay on the grass or turned their backs so I could ambush them, or leaped at me from behind, or pretended to choke me so I could try to stab them in the belly. 

The spectators urged me on with cries of encouragement, and Rupert instructed me firmly not to pull back at the last moment. 

“Thrust as though ye meant it, lass,” he said. “Ye canna pull back if it’s in earnest. And if any o’ these laggards canna get themselves out of the way in time, they deserve what they get.”

I was timid and extremely clumsy at first, but Rupert was a good teacher, very patient and good about demonstrating moves, over and over. He rolled his eyes in mock lewdness when he moved behind me and put his arm about my waist, but he was quite businesslike about taking hold of my wrist to show me the way of ripping an enemy across the eyes. 

Dougal sat under a tree, minding his wounded arm and making sardonic comments on the training as it progressed. It was he, though, who suggested the dummy. 

“Give her something she can sink her dirk into,” he said, when I had begun to show some facility at lunging and jabbing. “It’s a shock, the first time.