You watched as Thorin
unrolled the map across the long stone table, every one of his advisers shared the same look
of exasperation and boredom. For hours, you had been sat in the council
chambers, listening to him droning on about the elf king and their imminent meeting. It
had taken months and cajoling from every single member of his council, but he
had finally agreed to the affair.
Looking across the ink
which traced every tree and twist of the Mirkwood forest, you nearly guffawed
at the king as he stabbed an oblivious finger into the parchment, trying to lay
out his path on the aged map. You looked around at the other dwarves, hiding
their obvious amusement as the king went cluelessly on. You knew that no other
would have the gull to speak up.
“Um, your majesty,” You
chimed in the dulled silence, every head pricking up in anticipation, “You may
want to turn the map right side up.”
“Looks like someone’s cranky today,” you sighed, as the writing on your wrist flowed in a stream of invectives. Whoever you soulmate was, he had a very extensive and colorful vocabulary.
“If you had to deal with James T. Kirk everyday, you’d be cranky too!” Came the writing again.
You’d started seeing it show up soon after you joined the Enterprise for the five year mission and thus a strange form of drawn out flirting had begun. The man had been very reluctant to even have a soulmate in the first place, so you’d both agreed not to give out personal information until you both were comfortable with the connection. You enjoyed dropping occasional hints every so often to see if he’d pick up on them.
“Good thing I’m on Gamma shift then. Good night. Computer, lights off.”
You snuggled under your covers with a smile, wondering what he’d do with this new tidbit of information.
You had heard of the soulmate writing, but yours hadn’t shown up for an unusually long time and when it did, it surprised you.
“Five years in space. God help me,“You saw appearing on your wrist that day the Enterprise leapt into warp to start the five year mission.
“Don’t sound so excited.” You said out loud, secretly thrilled at what it signified.
“Who are you and what is this??” Came the writing. You started and flushed, realizing that your words had been seen in his end.
“Um, I think this means we’re soulmates.”
There was nothing for several minutes than a simple “There must be a mistake. I don’t do relationships.”
Ouch. Well, that wasn’t a good sign.
“Why not?” You said cautiously.
“I’m horrible at them, that’s why. The ex took the whole planet in the divorce. There’s no way I’m putting myself through that again.”
“So, you’re just going to ignore the connection?” You replied, heart sinking.
“Yes. Don’t believe in fate anymore.”
“Too bad,” you managed. “Sorry for inconveniencing you.”
After that, you pushed your sleeve over your wrist and did your best to utterly ignore any more writing, inwardly crushed over the rejection. You’d waited years for this?
Much as you wanted to never see the writing again, you couldn’t help but watch sometimes to see what the man was like. You figured out that he was definitely alpha shift due to the writing being mostly absent during your shift.
Judging by the stream of medical jargon, you managed to gather that he was a doctor, a very stressed one most of the time and some days, didn’t appear to sleep at all. Also, You couldn’t count how many times “Dammit, Jim!” appeared and guessed he was often around the captain.
“Poor guy” you thought.
After a few months of this weird avoidance dance, you were eating supper in the mess and poured out your woes to Nyota Uhura, a fellow communications officer that you really admired, but didn’t get to see much.
“So, whoever he is doesn’t want anything to do with me and it’s really frustrating.” You told her.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. Do you know who he is?”
“No. I promised I wouldn’t pry. Being able to see whatever he says feels invasive enough. However, I’m sure he’s a doctor and works Alpha shift. Also, he swears a LOT, particularly at the captain.”
At these words, Nyota’s face lit up and she smiled excitedly.
“Do you know who it is?” You asked, coming to full alert at her knowing expression.
“I think I do,” she grinned. “If it is who I think it is, you’ve got a very good man as your soulmate. He really is jaded, though, especially when it comes to women. I could put in a good word for you, if you like.”
“Maybe subtly, but it probably won’t do any good. He can’t stand the thought of me.”
You looked down. “That’s not true,” appeared suddenly. “I’m just really bad at this.”
“Couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe you’ll run into him one of these days and he’ll see just what he’s missing.”
She winked encouragingly at you and you mustered up a smile as she went to rejoin Spock.
“I hope you’ll give me a chance one of these days,” you said out loud. “You sound like a good guy.”
“And you’re way too good for me, but I’ll think about it. I’m guessing you’re in communications, because half the time, I have no idea what the writing even means.”
“You’re right, mysterious doctor,” you replied. “And when you’re ordering your staff around, it’s like a foreign language to me, so we’re even.”
There was a pause and you wondered if he was laughing and what his laugh sounded like.
“I admit, I’ve never been called mysterious before. Kinda like it. I’m usually known for being very transparent in my mannerisms.”
You chuckled at that.
“That’s very obvious. Good thing the Captain likes you.”
“He has a healthy fear of me, too.”
After that “chat”, the ice was broken and the two of you consciously took time to talk the times you were going on/getting off shift. You learned that he had a delightful sarcastic sense of humor and a definite Southern drawl that came through when he was in certain moods.
You were just at the point where you were going to exchange names when you came down with a bug in the middle of your shift and were sent back to your quarters to rest.
You slept fitfully for awhile, but woke up with horrible nausea and ended up puking your guts out in between bouts of chills and fever. It got to the point where you knew you needed Medbay, but just couldn’t get the strength to get there.
“Help. I’m sick.” You croaked out to your wrist, hoping he’d see it and wasn’t too busy.
“What’s wrong?” appeared seconds later and you breathed a sigh of relief.
“Fever and chills plus horrible vomiting. Even water won’t stay down,” you informed weakly, shuddering as a wave of dizziness passed over you.
“Can you get to Medbay or should I come get you?”
“I think I’m gonna need hauled there. This is really bad.”
You hated admitting this, but you had never been so sick and you were honestly scared. You knew your soulmate would understand.
“Okay. Where are your quarters?”
You spoke the location as clearly as possible and huddled back under the blankets. Miserable as you were, your pulse quickened with anticipation of finally seeing and hearing your soulmate for the first time.
It wasn’t long before you heard the door chime and spoke the command to open it.
A tall man in medical blue came in with a hover stretcher and approached your bed with tricorder in hand.
“Lieutenant Y/N, Y/L/N?” He asked you, already looking you up and down with a doctor’s eye. You liked that voice right away. It was deep and rich and soothing.
“I might as well own up to it,” you answered, with an attempt at a smile. “No point in secrecy anymore.”
“Right,” the doctor smiled sheepishly. “I’m Dr. Leonard McCoy, in case you hadn’t already figured it out.”
You gaped as he began to scan you with the tricorder.
“Really?” You squeaked. “The Doctor McCoy, famous captain wrangler, genius surgeon and CMO rumored to possess legendary hands?”
He sighed and shook his head, face flushing a bit.
“You forgot stubborn mule, bitter divorcee and well-known aviophobe,” he added, looking at his tricorder. He frowned and pulled out a hypo.
“You’ve got the new flu but that’s going around. Sickbay’s been flooded with cases, but yours might require a longer stay. You’re pretty dehydrated and that fever is really high. I’m going to give you something for that, then we’ll get you to Sickbay, okay?”
You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him. You wished you had met him under better circumstances, because good heavens he was attractive and you were a complete wreck at the moment.
The hypo was gently administered and you scooted to the edge of the bed so he could help you onto the stretcher. Strong arms lifted you and you were settled onto it and strapped in neatly. You planned to watch him all the way to Medbay, but your exhausted body had other ideas and you fell asleep mid transit.
We already kinda knew that Reiner, Bertolt, Annie, and Marcel
received their Titan powers at the same time, but now we learned that
Zeke also received his Titan power at the same time as RBAM, cause
both Reiner and him are getting a replacement.
Captain Magath mentioned that they lost the CT, and the FT,
but he didn’t mention that they lost the Dancing Titan. However the Dancing Titan isn’t on the
battlefield. Reiner and Zeke are on the airplane, getting ready to
jump on Fort Slava, while Jaw and Cartman are on the ground.
When Gabi said that “the time is approaching”, the word
for “time” that is used “時期”
basically means “season/period”, and it’s used when saying
“cold season”, etc. So Gabi is referring to the season
where there’s a succession for ALL THE TITANS!
Think about it. The Jaw Titan (Galliard) isn’t some kid, the dude
has a beard, and the Cartman/Mule didn’t look young either. Their time must be approaching as well.
Also, Captain Magath says to Colt that he’ll be the new war-chief.
But that wouldn’t make sense if someone like Galliard stayed, since
Galliard is obviously much more experienced and older than Colt.
So, Marley replaces all their Titans at the same time. They choose
young kids for every Titan, except the BT, who is the leader. Colt
was chosen to inherit the BT. Gabi is the main candidate for the AT.
While some other kids have probably already been chosen to inherit the Jaw,
Cartman, and the Dancing Titan.
So Ymir was held captive until now. Nobody ate her because they
were waiting for Titan succession season!
And obviously both Zeke and Reiner still have a role to play on
Paradis Island, so this Titan succession season won’t go as planned.
Zeke did say he’ll come back and save Eren someday, so Colt ain’t getting fur anytime soon. Calling it right now: He’ll die in the next
chapter or two.
Sid being picked for the 2nd task of the tri wizard tournament as geno's most important person. When sid is asked he is blushing, but he agrees cuz he is genos! Special! Person! When geno sees sid underwater he kind of blanks out...until they get to the surface and sid is okay, it doesnt matter that he won get sid a blanket!! other contestants are very weary/ slightly scared of geno the rest of the tournament. The merpeople respect him.
It’s cold. He knows this much. When they break the surface of the water, Sidney gasps for air as he’s reanimated, feeling Geno’s arms around him and hearing Geno’s voice shouting at the Durmstrangs, anyone, to get Sidney a blanket, quick.
The Beauxbatons are all yelling and crowding in from behind the Durmstrangs to grab Sidney and pull him up to the docks, Flower and Tanger especially.
“Are you okay? Holy shit, Sid,” they’re shouting. Flower taps a drying spell on Sidney’s clothes. “How do you feel?”
Sidney’s lips are quivering. The water really is cold. He remembers staring at the merpeople and their violent scowls like he’s watching them from inside a fishbowl. That’s the Durmstrang’s prize, they had hissed to each other. Sidney Patrick Crosby. I smell Veela in his blood. He’s lovely, isn’t he? The Durmstrangs do love a pretty face–
When Geno shoves his way back to Sidney with a heavy blanket, looking rather mournful, Sidney notices that he also doesn’t look like someone who won first place.
“Geno,” Sidney says, his voice raw from being frozen. “Geno, did you win? You won, right? Congratulations!”
“Put you in danger, Sid,” Geno says, his voice as heavy as the blanket. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He can’t keep the smile off his face. “They asked me. If I wanted to be your special per–Um. If I wanted to be the objective. I said yes.”
“Geno,” Sidney says again, tucking his face into Geno’s neck and feeling Geno hesitantly wrap his arms around Sidney. He’s very warm. “Geno, you won!”
“You okay?” Geno says again, still shaken. “Not hurt anywhere?”
Sidney peppers kisses all over Geno’s face, until the frown melts off and Geno’s grinning triumphantly. He finally turns to the crowd, his arm around Sidney’s waist, and roars out some chant that the Durmstrangs echo.
“Lucky Malkin,” he hears a Durmstrang sigh jealously. “How the hell he managed to snag a veela is beyond me.”
By being kind, Sidney thinks. By seeing Sidney as Sidney and not a piece of meat. By being goofy and loving Sidney when he’s being silly as well and stubborn as a mule and irrationally superstitious. By listening to Sidney’s stories about his family, about Taylor, about being bullied, and pulling him close as he murmured sincerely, “I’m so sorry, Sid.”
“You’re incredible, G,” Sidney says, pressing yet another tender kiss to Geno’s jaw. “You’re amazing.”
When I was in high school, I learned that the definition of a species is two animals that can interbreed and give birth to fertile offspring. Like, dogs are all one species because they technically can interbreed (although, functionally, watching a Great Dane and a Chihuahua work it out might be… difficult), but donkeys and horses are different because – although they can mate and give birth – their offspring (mules) are sterile.
At the time, I thought – well, that’s pretty straight forward. Thanks, scientists, for solving yet another mystery of life.
Fast forward to a few months ago when I asked one of my taxonomist colleagues to define a ‘species’ for me. The result of that (many hour-long) conversation inspired this video. Turns out, the answer isn’t, at all, straight-forward.
As a romantic to the bone, there hasn’t been enough chaRActer romance for me and Richard does romantic so beautifully.
I love Harry’s wooing of Geraldine in The Vicar of Dibley - who could resist that combination of charm, romance and sauciness?!Not me, that’s for sure. :-)
“…therefore, you would in fact owe me the sum of one kiss……with tongues.”
“I loved you the second I laid eyes on you, and I absolutely know that we are meant to be together.”
“You see, all I want, as Gabriel Oaks said to Bathsheba in Far From the Madding Crowd, whenever I look up, there will be you, and whenever you look up, there shall I be.”
However, as a Pride and Prejudice fan, and a lover of all things period drama/romance, North and South’s John Thornton and Margaret Hale just sneak in ahead of Harry and Geraldine as my favourite couple. The way he looks at her……
…and then of course, there is that kiss.
The. Most. Romantic. Scene. Ever. And the soundtrack for it is divine.
Okay, now for least favourite romance. Lucas North and Sarah Caulfield in Spooks S08 is the first one that comes to mind, mainly because of a lack of any real chemistry between them but I’m going to choose John Mulligan and Ellie Morgan from Moving On mainly because I’m not all that keen on the character of Ellie, and I don’t think there was much chemistry between them either. For all that Mulligan was stringing her along in order to get what he wanted - a drug mule - Richard played the bad boy charmer soooooo well. I’m afraid I didn’t feel sorry for Ellie one little bit!
* triggering content below, proceed to read/reblog with caution!
’ It’s all true. The bogeyman is real and you found him. ’
’ Let me ask you something. ’
’ How come you’re asking me so many jackassy questions? ’
’ You know, the crazy shit you see when you’re driving across the country. ’
’ I don’t drive cross country. ’
’ You little dickens, you. I know what your problem is. ’
’ Ya’ll think us folk from the country’s real funny-like, dontcha? ’
’ Yeah, well saddle up the mule, Ma! Slide me some grits! ’
’ I said, shut your fucking mouth! ’
’ You asshole! ’
’ Listen, you Malibu middle class Barbie piece of shit, I’m tryin’ to work here. ’
’ Work? You ever work? Yeah, I’ll bet you have. ’
’ Our bodies come and go but this blood… is forever. ’
’ I bet you’d stick your head in fire if I told ya you could see Hell. ’
’ Meanwhile, you’re too stupid to realize you got a demon stickin’ out your ass. ’
’ Have you seen this girl in the past twenty four hours? ’
’ The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin’. ’
’ You know, I like ‘em with a little more meat on ‘em. ’
’ Yeah, cute kid. Ain’t my type though. ’
’ Come on clownie, just answer the damn questions. ’
’ We ain’t interested in your love life. ’
’ Goddamn, motherfucker got blood all over my best clown suit. ’
’ I said get the fuck off him/her you stupid fucking whore! Fucking slut! ’
’ Oh, really? Are you gonna do something about it? ’
’ I’ll fucking cut your tits off and shove ‘em down your throat! ’
’ Why are you doing this? ’
’ I mean, I couldn’t have asked for a better speciman. ’
’ You don’t know what kind of dry spell I’ve had here. ’
’ This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real. ’
’ Oh, it’s real. As real as I want it to be, mama. ’
’ Fuck you, you fucking freak! ’
’ I’m the one who brings the Christmas candy. ’
’ I’m the one who beats you when you’re bad. ’
’ I’m the one who brings the devil’s brandy. ’
’ Who’s your daddy? ’
’ Now tell me, who’s your daddy? ’
’ Come on, sweetie. Give the old man some sugar. ’
’ I’m the one who loves ya when you’re fucking dead! ’
’ We like to get fucked up, and do fucked up shit. ’
’ Take his gag out. It’s more fun with the screaming. ’
’ Please don’t kill us, please don’t kill us. ’
’ That screaming is much more exciting that way. ’
’ Please don’t kill us… nah… please don’t kill us. ’
’ Shut your mouth and get your shit in the box. Get in now. ’
’ Wait, wait, wait… I wanna say goodbye. ’
’ Goodbye, sweetie. We could’ve been great. ’
’ Ain’t we just having a fucking hoot? ’
’ Just let us go, I swear to God we won’t tell anyone. I swear… ’
’ Get your fucking ass up, boy. ’
’ Come on, we ain’t got all night. ’
’ Where does she think she’s gonna run to? ’
’ She gonna run all the way home? ’
’ Where does she think she’s gonna run to? She gonna run all the way home? ’
’ Huntin’ humans ain’t nothin’ but nothin’. ’
’ They all run like scared little rabbits. Run, rabbit, run. ’
’ I hate fucked up families. ’
’ But most of all, fuck you! ’
’ Shit, I can’t do nothing with this now. ’
’ For the lot of me, I do not understand why you hang out with that asshole. ’
’ Well hell, arn’t they all? All they want to do is eat and fuck. ’
’ Well, if you knew him better you might understand his urges. ’
’ You know what his favorite thing is next to whacking his weasel? ’
’ He takes a sharpened pencil, sticks it in his eyeball and twists it. ’
’ He doesn’t hurt himself. He kind of twists it next to his eyeball. ’
’ Oh, he’s been putting that pencil someplace other than his eyeball. ’
’ What did you see? Who was she with? Where was she going? ’
’ They was nosing around… asking a bunch of stupid questions. ’
’ I figured, what the hell? Can’t do no harm. ’
’ You can shit ten bricks for all I care. ’
’ You miserable motherfucker, I ought to leap over this counter and bash your fuckin’ balls in! ’
’ Hand over the cash box, and I might leave your brains inside your skull! ’
’ Hey, I know you. You work down at the hardware store. ’
’ They call you ‘Little Dick Wick.’ They even sing a song about you. ’
’ Hands up! Keep your paws where I can see 'em. ’
’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean? ’
’ Well, shit the bed! Howdy folks, come on in! ’
’ I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. ’
’ Cause ya wouldn’t be fuckin’ with me, now would ya? ’
’ Better you leave here with your head still full of kitty cats and puppy dogs. ’
’ 'Shoo, shoo,’ said the maiden. ’
’ 'Come, maiden,’ said the rabbit, 'sit on my tail and go with me to my rabbit hutch.’ ’
’ The doctor is in! Its your ghost host, with the most! ’
’ You like blood? Violence? Freaks of nature? ’
’ Go into the garden and drive out the rabbit. ’
’ You know we like to get fucked up? ’
’ Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey! ’
’ That is it! I’m gonna count to ten and you’re gonna hand over all the cash. ’
’ I’m gonna splatter your grease paint mug across the state line! ’
’ Hey, Poopy-pants. What’s new? ’
’ Is that all? Now, I want you to think really hard. ’
’ There’s cops outside! ’
’ Oh, don’t worry about it! How many were there? ’
’ Fucking pigs always come in packs. ’
’ I’ll go around back and take control like I always fuckin’ do! ’
’ Here take this go down stairs and play nice. ’
’ How? Now, that is a question worth examining. ’
’ Buddy, look around. Would I be surprised? ’
’ How much we owe you? ’
’ Go buy yourself a new name… ’
’ That ain’t gonna break my bank, hon. Here, keep the change. ’
’ If I wanted to listen to an asshole, I’d fart. ’
’ You sure this fella’s supossed to ride with us in this car? ’
’ This just don’t seem right to me. ’
’ Well listen, it ain’t up to us. ’
’ I just hope he don’t get in my way’s all I’m sayin’ all right? ’
’ The guy’s an ex-cop and figures he can be a help some. ’
’ I’d say these kids got a cold six and are out getting shitfaced right now. ’
’ I sure hope you’re right. My guts are telling me different. ’
’ You’re spidey senses tinglin? ’
’ I myself always favored for the hulk. ’
’ Whatever you need to do, you do it. ’
’ If someone needs to be killed, you kill 'em. That’s the way. ’
’ If someone needs to be killed, you kill 'em. ’
’ Don’t scream, don’t move. ’
’ Sweet baby Jesus, girl. What the hell happened to you? ’
’ Oh, there’s a whole bunch of people been looking for your ass, girl. ’
’ All right, all right. Just sit back and relax. I’ll get you to a doctor. ’
’ You gotta have the marshmallows, that’s what makes it fun. ’
’ Ain’t the only thing tasty in this house. ’
’ Whoopy-fucking-doo. ’
’ Hey wanna play a guessing game? Guess what number i’m thinking of. ’
’ Hey wanna play a guessing game? ’
’ No wait please come on stop it! What do you want? ’
’ Please be quiet I don’t wanna slip. Ok one more. ’
’ You get this right, i’ll let ya go. If you get it wrong you are fucked! ’
’ Let me take a guess here, y'all are having a Halloween party tonight huh? ’
’ Well you sure are buying a whole mess of holy water for two people. ’
’ I’m going to cut you like a pig and make you eat your own fucking intestines… ’
’ Why are you, Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this? ’
’ Come on sleeping beauty, time to go to work. ’
’ No please, let me sit this one out. ’
’ You’re the one who wanted to be a photographer. ’
’ The door’s locked. I’ll gotta go around… wait here. ’
’ Christ, you scared the shit out of me. ’
’ You, my dear worm feeder, are about to become immortalized. ’
’ These are all my dolls. ’
’ These are all my dolls. I used to like to chop their heads off and their arms and stick 'em up on the wall. ’
SONG of the DAY _ Cold Water ~ Tom Waits - from “Mule Variations” (1999)
Well I woke up this morning with the cold water With the cold water, with the cold water Woke up this morning with the cold water With the cold water, with the cold
Well the police at the station and they don’t look friendly Well they don’t look friendly, well they don’t look friendly Police at the station and they don’t look friendly Well they don’t look friendly, well they don’t
Blind or crippled, sharp or dull I’m reading the Bible by a 40 watt bulb What price freedom, dirt is my rug Well I sleep like a baby with the snakes and the bugs Well I …
Stores are open but I ain’t got no money I ain’t got no money, well I ain’t got no money Stores are open but I ain’t got no money Well I ain’t got no money, well I ain’t
Found an old dog and he seems to like me Seems to like me, well, he seems to like me Found an old dog and he seems to like me Well he seems to like me, well he seems
Seen them fellows with the cardboard signs Scrapin’ up a little money to buy a bottle of wine Pregnant women and the Vietnam vets I say beggin’ on the freeway ‘bout as hard as it gets
Well I slept in the graveyard, it was cool and still Cool and still, it was cool and still Slept in the graveyard, it was cool and still Cool and still and it was cool
Slept all night in a Cedar grove I was born to ramble, born to rove Some men are searchin’ for the Holy Grail But there ain’t nothin’ sweeter than ridin’ the rails
I look forty-seven but I’m twenty-four Well they shooed me away from here the time before Turned their backs and they locked their doors I’m watchin’ TV in the window of a furniture store
And I woke up this morning with the cold water With the cold water, with the cold water I woke up this morning with the cold water With the cold water, with the cold
Well I woke up this morning with the cold water Cold water, with the cold water Woke up this morning with the cold water Cold water, with the cold
Prompt: Based on this video because I have zero control over my creativity.
Notes: I’m so not sorry about this, but you can imagine by now.
This is full of mistakes because it’s unbeta’d. There’s many easter eggs too, ‘cause I’m a fucker. And yes, my name is Des and I repeated “really really want” so many times that I think I have a problem.
Maimeó is one of the irish words for grandma. If I understood correctly, it’s one of the familiar ways to say it. If I’m wrong, I’d like to know.
JESS @askdeanthomass I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE EITHER BUT HERE, TAKE THIS
Seamus can hear music blasting with full strenght from his dorm. Muggle music, that’s for sure. The Spice Girl. Yes, he knows them, but not knows them. Just heard them once or twice. Hey, don’t judge a guy for getting ahold of what he really really wants in the top forty.
The thing is that music is blasting from the dorm he shares with the boys. And knowing the little group of misfits composed by the golden boy that doesn’t really shine, a plant lover and his faithful toad, one of the many Weasley’s clones and Dean, well. He’s pretty sure the one there is Neville. Maybe he’s trying to teach Trevor how to dance. The bloody toad already has the wit to disappear like the fucking Houdini, dancing would be one of the many other talents he could harbor.
Suddenly his traitorous brain tune the catchy hello my baby, hello my darling, hello my ragtime gal! and he tries to figure how difficult would it be to find a top hat so he could shrink it. Neville surely would appreciate it. Even though the Longbottom boy denied it, Seamus was pretty sure that the shrunk gardening hat hidden in Neville’s trunk wasn’t really homework but actually something to protect the green bumpy skin of that fly-eater friend of his.
Seamus shivered a bit, dismissing the thought that yes, his roommate was pretty lonely and maybe a bit crazy. But hey, he was a good guy. And if he wanted to hear The Spice Girls with his friendly toad there, well. He wasn’t going to be the bloody one to tell him that the princess was in another castle, that’s for sure.
But when he see Neville pass by him, with Trevor looking greener than ever on his hands, he locks his eyes on the big ol’ wooden door of the room.
Maybe Ron had an identity crisis with his cloned dna and thinks he’s Ginny. He stop that train of thought pretty quickly, before trowing up in his own mouth. The Finnigan’s mind can wander to many many places, but he’s going to stop it if it’s possible.
Maybe it was Harry. The pressure of being the saviour of the wizardly world maybe pushed him over the edge and he missed the muggle world a bit. Or he too wanted to tell everybody what he really, really wants.
Seamus pressed his lips into a thin line. There was something that grandma Finnigan said many many times, and it was that the men of the family where dumb as a chicken and tactful as a rock. That’s it. There’s no but. And he wasn’t going to be the first one in the family to make his dear maimeó a liar. So he stalked the last few steps to the door and opened it slowly, trying to not make any noise that could set him up.
The first thing that welcomed him was the strong music leaving him almost deaf. Just great. A wizard without eyebrows and functional ears. Maybe he could be the next Moody Mad Eye, who knows. And the next thing was a familiar silhouette jumping up and down and around the rythm. Seamus gaped once. Twice. Thrice. Was that really Dean? Dean fucking Thomas making faces and weird poses and shaking his waist chanting that if you wanna be my lover–
Seamus closed the door and stopped there for a moment. Leaned over the wood, the music still up. He blinked way quicker than expected and tried to remember something his father once told him. Something. Anything. Whatever could help him tune down the blush that sploched his face and neck and the tip of his ears. Or helped his heart with the bloody flip-flop it was doing. Nothing. Go figure. He should talk to his dad about the lack of meaningless advices in the relationship.
Break away from the door and walk down the corridor was pretty hard at the moment. Many things were hard at the moment. But it was needed, he had a purpose. Mainly it was to keep the mental integrity of his best friend intact. And then, well. His maimeó said that the Finnigan boys were stubborn as a mule and as passionate as–. Well, he doesn’t quite remember as what exactly, but it was something passionate. Very. And then again, he wasn’t going to let her be a liar.
He now needed to come with the perfect plan
and don’t stop until successfully let his best friend know that he really, really knew what he wanted.
OK, so, here’s the thing: the way I see it, McCree essentially has two selves. The heroic fantasy he’s constructed, and the person beneath that. This is not to say that the heroic fantasy is false by any means; it’s only to say that I consider both factors when characterizing him. I should note that, to my mind, McCree absolutely did not grow up on a farm, and Blizz’s recent confirmation that he was still a minor when he joined Blackwatch underscores that for me (I could still be wrong–I could be wrong about all of this–but right now, I don’t think so); if he joined OW at 17, and he was already a notorious gang member prior to then, it means he was likely in that life from a depressingly young age. I think the guy’s had a rough go of it, especially early on. I think he was a poor southern kid (for an indeterminate value of ‘southern’) who turned to Westerns as a means of escape, and in them he found a set of ideals and a particular type of personality that he wanted to emulate.
On this day in history (June 30th, 1478) the long awaited heir of The Catholic Monarchs, John of Aragon and Castile, was born at Seville.
After giving birth to infanta Isabel in 1470, Isabella did not conceive until 1475 - when she miscarried of a male fetus. It took her another three years to get pregnant again - not without the help of Ferdinand’s personal physician, Llorenç Badoç, who gave her special medicaments.
It is what Peggy K. Liss. wrote about this occurrence in her book:
In March, a letter from an agent of Juan of Aragón to Fernando conveyed a general atmosphere of expectation and the widespread hope that the royal child would be a boy: ‘It is good, Your Excellency, for here is the most grave and grand matter of Spain, and nothing is more necessary or desired.…’ The hope was fulfilled. On the morning of June 30,1478, Isabel gave birth to a son and heir. Present as the child was born was a midwife and, by royal order, numerous courtiers and city officials, for it was a state occasion and there was to be no question that the child was the queen’s. Court and city celebrated for three days and nights. That Isabel’s second child was male crowned the successes of those years and was widely interpreted as a sign from God of his approval, and of yet greater victories to come.
Seville resounded with fiesta. On July 9, the baptismal procession made its way from the palace to the cathedral through thronged streets, the prince nestled in brocade cloth in the arms of his well-born nurse, Maria de Guzmán, the mule she rode flanked by eight councilmen bearing staffs of office and wearing great cloaks of black velvet ‘provided by the city.’ Alvaro de Stúñiga, the late great rebel, walked directly behind. Three of the queen’s pages strode along at the head of the procession. One held a gold jar, another a gold cup; the third, carrying the customary candle, baby cap, and money offering on a tray, was “so small that he bore the tray on his head, holding on to it with both hands.” All the nobles at court accompanied child and nurse, on foot; so did many knights and other people. Silver crosses gleamed above, and trumpets, hornpipes, and sackbutts played ceaselessly.
The prince was baptized Juan in the cathedral, ‘very triumphantly.’ That observation was made within the description of those proceedings by a new chronicler of a new sort, Andrés Bernáldez, a militant Andalusian chaplain much less concerned with political relations, much less critical of anyone both orthodox and powerful than Isabel’s earlier chroniclers could on occasion be; Bernáldez exuded a crusading patriotism. Officiating at the baptism was Seville’s archbishop, Pedro González de Mendoza, chief among courtiers. The godparents were the constable, Benavente, Nicolò Franco, the papal legate, and Leonor de Mendoza, duchess of Medina Sidonia. A second procession, even grander, took place a month later, on August 9, when the queen went ‘to present the prince to the temple as was the custom of Holy Mother Church. She had waited until then as was also customary, for a woman was not to enter a church after childbirth until “being purified of her blood.’ Fernando led the way on a small silver-grey horse. He was opulently regal, wearing heavy brocade lined in gold and trimmed in gold and black velvet, and a broad hat also lined in cloth of gold. (It was sweltering midsummer in Andalusia; little wonder that Fernando reputedly said that all he wished to his enemies were winters in Burgos and summers in Seville.) At the center of that procession rode Isabel, dressed in brocade shimmering with pearls, mounted high upon a white trotter, its saddle of gold encrusted with more gold and with silver. Accompanying her on foot were most of the city’s council and many nobles. The constable, Haro, held the right-hand bridle rein of her horse; Benavente held the rein on her left. The infant prince, again swathed in brocade, also rode, carried by his nurse upon a mule with a saddle of velvet. Musicians kept pace, playing trumpets and hornpipes and many other instruments.
For how much Isabella loved all her children, it is clear John was the apple of her eye. Again, the qoute from Peggy K. Liss.:
She centered much affection and her dynastic hopes on her son and heir, Juan. She paid great attention to his education and did not stint on his court, his activities, his clothing, and his retinues, nor on his participation in court pageantry and festivities. He was given his own household and there waited upon as befitted a great prince, with exact protocol maintained from rising to retiring. A hierarchy of servants made a ritual of dressing and undressing him; grandes attended him. She attached to his household her own mentors: Gonzalo Chácon, now known as el viejo—the old one—and whose grandson of the same name was one of Juan’s companions, and Gutierre de Cárdenas as Juan’s mayordomo mayor and contador. Juan’s tutor, Diego de Deza, who had taught theology at Salamanca, was a nephew of yet another of her longtime comptrollers, Rodrigo de Ulloa. She arranged her son’s daily routine. Each morning there were prayers with Deza, then mass, then lessons. Since Juan particularly enjoyed music, she would often send to him during his daily two-hour rest period her music master and four or five choirboys, and he would sing with them, tenor. He was given his own musicians as well and he owned and played a number of instruments, among them the first Spanish claviorgano, a combination of organ and plucked string instrument, made by one Mofévrez, a Muslim grandmaster from Zaragoza; it was a present from his half-brother, young Alfonso de Aragón, archbishop of Zaragoza, Fernando’s son. Yet Juan’s health was always delicate. Isabel had his diet and regimen carefully monitored. Each morning doctors visited and he reported to them on how he had slept, and on his digestion and bodily functions. Münzer, indicating physical disability, wrote of having saluted the prince in Latin and of Juan’s understanding it but ordering Deza to reply for him since, said Münzer, he suffered from a weakness of the lower lip and tongue that impeded his answering plainly. Isabel spoke of her son as ‘my angel’, and had him sent treats considered good for digestion: strawberry conserves, lemon blossom candies, other sugared sweets, and jars of quincemeat from what she referred to as ‘Valencia del Cid.’ Juan’s upbringing tells a good deal about Isabel. One of his pages later recalled that in his education the queen had cared as much for letters as for other abilities and, above all, for virtue. Manly virtue included proficiency in arms. Juan was given a master of arms, and the prince slept with a sword at the head of his bed and was instructed in its use. His father had knighted him before Granada. His mother had even earlier provided as companions for him ten knights, five mature, five young, ‘a species of colegio.’ One, who had fought at Granada, dedicated to the boy a translation into Castilian of Caesar’s commentaries, avowedly to convey that arms would not benefit him without good counsel. Juan corresponded with the humanist Marineo Sículo and with the poet Juan del Encina, who adjudged him as learned in sciencia as in empire. Juan was, that is, raised in the atmosphere then permeating the royal court and compounded of a fervent and militant piety, a resurgent chivalry, and a rising vogue for humanistic classicism. Isabel gave much thought to Juan’s education, designing what she conceived to be the ideal upbringing for a Christian prince. She followed principles akin to those of the Siete Partidas and the mirrors of princes as though glossed by current usages and humanist studies, but their essential base and hers was orthodox religion. That unusual attention to his education and her ideas about what constituted it were reflected in a treatise written by a courtier close to her, Alonso Ortiz. Ortiz composed the work as a dialogue between the queen and Cardinal Mendoza. Surely echoing her own concerns, the principal question the treatise raised was how to achieve the spiritual health of the prince; the answer it gave was through learning good habits in childhood. In that treatise, Mendoza presents a highly traditional Christian rationale with some humanistic overlay. Thus he cites a Christian Platonist and somewhat Pythagorean understanding of purification in stating that the stars incline us and the wiles of the demons push us toward vices, that original sin infected everyone, corrupting the flesh and weighing on the soul; that the flesh submitted to the influence of the stars but the will remained free, subject only to God, yet needed instruction in order to gain wisdom. Training in will power, he explained, would develop natural abilities and correct bad inclinations; it could purify. Accordingly, he advised an education consonant with the stages advocated by Plato and Aristotle, an education leading to virtue both moral and intellectual, and so to the happy mean. Virtue and vice he declared within human power, life a pilgrimage toward blessedness and bliss, toward the eternal life of which Saint John speaks. That dialogue was itself a guide for a prince’s education, as it simply assumed much of what such guides had heretofore customarily stated, that the monarch’s spiritual health was the same as the common good. Taking for granted the importance of the prince, it concentrated on this specific prince’s personal development in wisdom, justice, moral qualities, and high character. In passing it revealed a good deal about humanistic education as understood at the Spanish court in the 1490s.
The Old Wild West was home to outlaws and sheriffs, cowboys and Indians. You only went out West if you were lookin’ for gold, a new start, or trouble. Most found trouble, and few found gold, and almost everyone got a new start. But there was one thing that was true all across the Wild West; we were all guilty of something.
“Sheriff! Sheriff Jones!” A little freckled girl with brown braids ran up the front steps to the town police house. Her boots clanked on the warm wooden floor.
“What is it, Miss Becca?” asked the sheriff. He was a tall blond man who sat behind the desk at the other end of the room. Pinned to his breast pocket was a gold star that would every now and then catch the light.
The little girl pointed out toward the town’s main road. “Someone new’s come ta town!”
The sheriff’s eyebrows came together and he walked outside of the building onto the shade of the porch with Becca trailing behind him. Coming up the road from the east was a lone rider. He sat on a brown horse with a well-loaded mule trailing behind on a rope.
Becca stared at the traveller from the porch railing. The man had stopped to read the town’s sign. “He looks funny.”
The man did look just that. He wore a black elegant tail coat and he sat in the saddle strange. Atop his head was a top hat that barely provided him adequate shading and the poor mule behind him suffered under expensive looking bags and boxes.
“That he does, Miss Becca… That he does.” The sheriff stepped down onto the dust road. He walked over to the strange man with a long, bow-legged gait. “Howdy, sir.”
The stranger looked up quickly, noticing the sheriff’s badge. “Oh, hello there. Are you the authority for this… town?”
Sheriff Jones’s noes scrunched up. The fellow had a weird way of speaking. “Yea, I guess you could say that. I’m Sheriff Alfred Jones. What brings you ‘round here?”
It was the man’s turn to scrunch up his nose. “My name Arthur Kirkland. I come from England, across the Pacific. I was told there is quite a booming business starting in Western America, so I thought I’d come and try my hand.” The man paused and looked around at the collection of wooden buildings. “But, it would seem I have been miss-informed.”
“It’d seem that way,” Jones chuckled, “Well, yer welcome to stay here as long as ya like.”
“Thank you. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of your town’s inn?”
Alfred chuckled again and started to walk along the town’s main road. “We don’t have an inn, Mr Kirkland. No one ever bothers comin’ out to a place like this. Yer welcome to stay at my place though. I’m sure I could find you a place to bunker down.”
“Ah, thank you.” Arthur said, tipping his hat from atop his horse. The mule trailing behind him flicked its ears and brayed.
Alfred grinned up at the Englishman. “No problem. Now, let’s get these two poor creatures some water and you some proper clothes.”
Arthur dismounted with a frown, straightening his overcoat. “What’s wrong with my current attire?”
“You all are starting to become real regulars here,” you smirked, jotting down what you needed to on the clipboard before putting it away.
Kozik stood at the sudden sound of your voice, “Yeah,” he bashfully smiled, “I’m starting to think that we should just buy out a room.”
You chuckled, “That might actually save the club some money.”
The way he looked down towards you, his long blonde eyelashes brushing against his cheek, hi eyes alone always seemed to make your knees weak.
“Speaking of,” his throat cleared and his face turned serious, “how is Piney?”
You shoved your hands into your lab coat and gestured for him to walk with you, “He’s a strong old mule-”
“-just as stubborn as one as well,” you grinned at your words. Despite his “moments” you actually really loved the time you did get to spend with that old stubborn mule. “He’s going to be just fine, just have you and the guys watch his drinking, cut out the hard liquor for a while.”
Kozik chuckled again, “I’ll try, but no promises there doc.”
I just realized who MacCready reminds me of when he’s complaining about me picking up junk. I loaded up Skyrim and my db’s husband
Marcurio just told me: “I am an apprentice wizard, not a pack mule! Oh very well, but make it quick.”
Both are guys I paid money to hire to carry all my stuff and complain about it when I do. And they are both nerds whose name starts with M.
Late night anon here, but don't you think deer!Matt and deer!Alex's antlers might get a bit tangled during /certain activities/? Like, okay I actually think that's cute as hell, but maybe that's just me
Oh my god Anon, I’m sorry for almost forgetting to answer this!! I love to get asks about the Deer AU, thank you!!! :DDD This is cute as hell indeed haha The antlers I created for Matt were based on the Mule Deer species, facing the front, so whenever Matt and Alex kissed or, well, engaged in other kind of activities as you put (:P) they’d clack and tangle and they always chuckle a little about it. Lately I’ve been thinking of changing Matt’s animal form to an Elk though, that has its antlers pointing to the back, but I’m not sure about it yet. The antlers facing the front have some inconveniences, but then again, as you pointed out, it’s kind of endearing in certain situations. Which do you think fits him better?