vaguely reminiscent

Eric Bittle enters the Falconers team dinner. It is moodily lit, the silhouettes of many enormous hockey men looming on the other side of the long dining room table. Jack holds his hand slightly tighter besides him and sighs, swearing softly in French.

“Tater, the lights!” Bitty hears someone hiss from across the table.

“Oh! Sorry!” The lights come on and Bitty is faced by an entire team of NHL players, doing their very best to look as intimidating as possible. And given that a few of them have put much larger men in hospital with hits on the ice, some of them are doing a very good job.

Tater slides past him, thumping him on the back. “Hello Itty Bitty!”

“TATER!”

“Sorry!”

Jack has gone from disapproving to very clearly trying not to laugh. Georgia is sitting on the end of the table, rolling her eyes affectionately at her players.

Thirdy and Marty are sitting in the middle of the line of players, in a tableau vaguely reminiscent of the Last Supper. They lean forward, and Bitty feels the nerves rising in his chest. He wasn’t even this nervous going to dinner with Bad Bob and Alicia.

Thirdy clears his throat, and they lock eyes with Bitty.

“Eric Richard Bittle.”

He pauses, clearly intending to do so for dramatic effect, but Bitty is just a touch too nervous to appreciate the dramatics.

“Yes, sir?”

Jack scoffs besides him and squeezes his hand in his.

Marty leans forward to join his fellow captain. And then, in perfect unison, exhibiting the synchronisation and teamwork that had led to many a tumblr post about their partnership, they opened their mouths and said,

“What are your intentions with our son?”

I can say without a doubt that tyler1 is a creature that disguises as human, but is from a much more advanced race, and this is only vaguely reminiscent of the sustenance he partakes

I like the idea that Holt’s hair isn’t actually flames (at least not all the time?), it’s just really fluffy.

Name: Ziphius, Water-Owl
Area of Origin: Medieval Europe

The Ziphius was a colossal sea beast whose face was vaguely reminiscent of an Owl’s. With its name being derived from the Greek word for ‘Swordfish’, Xiphios, the creature had a large, sharp fin on its back that was said to pierce the hulls of ships. This is in addition to its powerful owl-like beak that could do just as much damage. Along with other bizarre monsters and leviathans, the Ziphius seems to have first appeared as an illustrative embellishment on a multitude of European maps, but nevertheless became a myth unto itself with sightings of the creature being reported around the globe. Though its size was likely to have been exaggerated, the monster has its roots in a real-world animal; Cuvier’s Beaked Whale. While the Beaked Whale is much smaller and avoids ships, it is still a very frequently spotted whale and is the only member of the genus Ziphius, presumably named after the legendary creature. 

And with this guy, I’ve capped off my Alphabet Bestiary. Will be getting a small run of books made, and will post them here when everything’s all set up!

Pinned

Pairing: Jillian Holtzmann x Reader

Rating: Teen (soft teen, really)

Summary: Every time you help her unpin her hair, you consider buying stock in bobby pins.

Read on A03


“Christ, Holtzmann,” you say, “You’ve got more bobby pins in here than an entire toddler pageant.” You add two more pins to the mountain that’s been slowly rising on top of the comforter. It never ceases to amaze you that she can, and often does, sleep with all the little metal clips poking into her skull. You treasure the times you can coax her to let it down and keep it down for a bit. Even if her keeping it pinned up does minimize the chances of her catching her own hair on fire. Again.

Her low laugh vibrates through you. You can’t decide if she’s laughing at you or whatever she’s doing with the mini blowtorch that’s causing the noise vaguely reminiscent of a balloon losing all of its air. She’s nestled in the vee of your legs, blocking your view. It’s probably for the best. Part of you is tempted to remind her that you’d agreed no blowtorches or soldering when the nice sheets are on the bed. The rest of you realized a long time ago that it was a rule you’d never really enforce because you’re a bit helpless in the face of her utter delight.

“Nothing wrong with emergency lock picks,” Holtzmann says, turning just enough to peer at you over her shoulder. Some of her hair tumbles free as you pull out another pin. It smells vaguely of formaldehyde and cinnamon. You don’t even want to know. “Broke out of a graveyard with those babies once.”

“I know,” you mutter. “That was our first date.”

She purses her lips. Makes an inquisitive face and an unimpressed noise. “Huh. Could have sworn that was our second.”

You roll your eyes. “I keep telling you, the lab accident doesn’t count. I didn’t mean to kiss you then.”

She grins, wide and goofy and like sunshine. It must be hurting her neck, gazing back at you like this, but she doesn’t budge. “Uh-huh. Never been accidentally kissed twice in the span of ten minutes before.”

“Turn around,” you say, flustered. “Let me finish.” Holtzmann clicks her tongue but does as you ask. You drape one leg over her thigh; she pinches it lightly before the hiss of the blowtorch starts up again.

You start combing through her hair in a search for more pins. The strands are soft, flowing like water between your fingers. Sometimes a curl spools around your finger before springing free and back into its previous shape. Holtzmann sighs quietly as your nails scrape against her scalp, leaning more heavily into your chest for a moment. You press a fleeting kiss to the side of her neck. And then curse as you stab yourself with yet another damn bobby pin. She laughs again.

It takes you five more minutes to pull out all of the bobby pins. Holtzmann is humming quietly to herself, one leg bouncing up and down off the edge of the bed. Every once and a while, she leans back into you. Her blond hair is brassy in the dim light of the bedroom and the concentrated flame of the blowtorch; the glow from the blowtorch keeps catching her blue eyes and turning them the color of the sea, even under her glasses. There’s a grease smear on the side of her jaw. The pang of affection is so strong and sudden that it almost hurts. You twist her blond locks around your fingers and lean forward rest your chin on her shoulder. “All set,” you say. You furrow your brow as her current project comes into view. “…Is that the toaster?”

“Finally,” she groans, rocketing to her feet and ignoring your question. The toaster-that-was thumps to the floor, along with the (thankfully off) blowtorch. She’s just as quick to turn around and settle herself on your lap. You can’t help the snicker that slips out. “What?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow above the daffodil lenses of her safety glasses, gazing down at you.

“You just look like even more of a mad scientist than usual,” you admit, taking in the unruliness of her unpinned hair. It’s going every which way, some parts straight, some parts still curling, and affection settles low in your stomach, soft and warm.

Holtzmann smirks and leans down, unhooking her glasses and letting them dangle from one ear.

“Then let’s experiment,” she breathes against your lips.

There’s a part of you that wants to point out that she’s actually more of a mad engineer and she knows it, but it’s quickly quieted when she closes those last millimeters to finally kiss you. You weave a hand into her hair (some part of you registers a section that’s crunchy with something but honestly, it’s not that unusual) and pull her closer. She huffs a laugh against your lips and pushes you backwards.

Directly into the sea of bobby pins.

Your shriek of surprise is something Holtzmann imitates for months.

The Marauders in terms of tea
  • Peter: he’s a lemon tea. like an herbal lemon tea with honey, great for when you’re sick and need a hug. comfortable and unobtrusive, but vaguely reminiscent of your grandmother’s house.
  • Remus: english breakfast tea. proper and feels like home. when he was little, he’d put cream and sugar in his tea, but as he grew up, he’d become exponentially more lazy. black tea all the way. no cream, no sugar, just tea. all the time. perpetual tea.
  • James: he is a social drinker. often that means firewhiskey, but before 5pm, chai tea all the way. and by all the way he really means just a little bit of chai and a whole lotta honey.
  • Sirius: he’s the one to be adventurous with his tea. mostly because he likes to be different, but secretly it’s because he feels bad for all of the under-appreciated types of tea. he’ll always come back to mint tea though. fresh and sharp, but easily sweetened.

inspired by remussiriusetc and her english teatime tea. which she may or may not have spilled…

2

He was still looking from you to… well, you. His expression was vaguely reminiscent of the time Sam had told him he accidentally ordered him a veggie burger instead of the baconator.

“What in the actual hell is going on?” Dean asked gruffly. He couldn’t stop staring between the two of you.

You turned and looked at the exact copy of you that you had managed to handcuff to the radiator. The expression on your copy’s face was boredom and annoyance. She had taken to chewing at her fingernails just for something to do. “I really don’t know. I was moving some things around in the storage room and there was this flash of light and the next thing I knew–” you hesitated, trying to figure out how to word the next part of your story, “Uhh, I was hitting myself over the head…” you trailed off, giving Dean an unsure and bewildered expression. “When I came to, I was, I mean, the other me, was digging through the gun room. I managed to get her handcuffed here with more than a little difficulty,” you said, shooting a glare at the strange version of yourself.

Dean opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, unable to think of any reasonable way to respond. He did the same thing a few more times before he just shook his head in disbelief and gave you a wide-eyed look. “I just am putting this out there–” he pointed over at your evil twin, “this is doing things to me on some sort of cosmic or physical level.”

You let your mouth drop open and you smacked him hard on the arm. “Dean!”

He flinched a little but shrugged. “What? I’m just being honest!”

“It’s–She’s–evil twin!” was all you could get out.

Dean gave you a small smirk. “I know.” His eyes glazed over a little and he shook his head again. “God, I would pay good money to watch you two fighting each other…”

You shot him a glare but you definitely had to stifle a smirk. “Pervert,” you muttered, breezing past him and out of the room. “Go take a cold shower!” you called at him over your shoulder.

“Y/N! Can we keep her?” he called after you, his heavy footsteps tracking yours. “I’m just saying–”

“COLD. SHOWER. DEAN.”

man okay but thorin’s and bilbo’s last reunion on ravenhill manages to kill me every time I so much as start vaguely reminiscing about it

thorin’s relieved ‘bilbo!’ and bilbo coming to his aid without a second’s hesitation - he’s not afraid of thorin, never was, he just knows he must help him, save him, warn him, do something

and thorin is just overjoyed to see him and then they share that NOD, MAN THAT NOD

thorin basically telling him 'I would ask for your forgiveness right here and now if I had the time’ and bilbo confirming 'nah it’s fine I know and you’re already forgiven’ and the two of them agreeing 'we’ll talk about this later it’s okay’ and off they go side by side into battle and well

they do talk about it later, only they don’t talk about much more ever again

The First Mass Extinction

During the Ediacaran period, complex life had begun to take form for the first time on Earth. “Life” had existed before this period but was mainly single-celled and very simple prokaryotes. In the Edicaran, tiny bacteria evolved into the more complex and specialized eukaryotes, some of which grouped together to increase their chances of finding food and avoiding becoming food. Most of these odd creatures did not leave a record because they had no skeletons. Fossils rarely formed, because their bodies would rot away before rock formed around it to preserve them. Only in peculiar circumstances could fossils of Edicarans form, such as a creature lying on soft mud which suddenly hardened and left an imprint. These few fossils tell us of seas full of creatures who are vaguely reminiscent of modern worms, sponges, and jellies. Edicaran life, like today’s species, were dependent on oxygen. So when the oxygen levels began to fall it led to world-wide extinctions around 542 million years ago. Over 50% of all species died. The huge numbers of dead creatures decomposing becane some of today’s “fossil” fuels. The exact cause of the lowering oxygen levels is unknown, but it ended the Ediacaran period and caused the first mass extinction in Earth’s history.

2

9.19.15 [1:44 pm] // handwriting work! i’m not totally happy about doing this, but my friends (and some teachers!) always complain that my handwriting is totally illegible and i figure it’s about time to change it. also, i like this ink because it’s vaguely reminiscent of writing in the blood of your enemies. 😋😋

2/100 days of productivity

Also examined a 380 lb man’s leg to find out that it was infected to the bone from a botched surgery

I lifted it up and blood and pus vaguely reminiscent of spaghetti and very watery marinara sauce gushed out all over the hospital bed.

Then my partner and I cleaned up and went to the cafeteria and ate meatball subs.

What I love about learning another language

Getting to relive your childhood in another tongue, giving you a whole new perspective on children’s songs and your favorite movies. Even something as simple as the alphabet song is like, vaguely reminiscent of the past but so symbolic of the future it’s beautiful

3

Dear Lady sitting in between us on this flight. In case you are wondering what that noise is, what you have mistaken for a holiday festive armrest is, in fact, an exquisitely tailored love handle that, no matter how many times you press it, will not change your TV but is making me giggle in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a stoned Pillsbury Dough Boy.