#tv-tipps

[horseweb-de]

TV-Tipps der nächsten zwei Wochen

03.08.2023 – 06.08.2023 | ClipMyHorse.deBirkhof-Dressurfestival – Donzdorf03.08.2023 – 06.08.2023 | ClipMyHorse.deGörlitzer Summer Weeks – Springen – Görlitz03.08.2023 – 06.08.2023 | ClipMyHorse.deDressurtage der Reitanlage Winkler – Brünst05.08.2023 | 10:05 Uhr | KiKaPia und die Haustiere: Ein Tag bei der Pferdeausbilderin05.08.2023 | 10:30 Uhr | RBBOstwind (1) – Zusammen sind wir frei05.08.2023…

[plusperfekt]

Merry Christmas mit Körperaktivistin Andrea Schneider im Club Las Piranjas

Zehn Wochen lang drehte Schauspielerin und Körperaktivistin Andrea Schneider auf Mauritius für die RTL+ Serie „Club Las Piranjas“. Rechtzeitig vor Weihnachten Continue reading Untitled

[kreuzfahrttester]

AIDA Insider-ZDF will die Tricks des Kreuzfahrt Giganten aufdecken

AIDA Insider ZDF – ZDF will mit Nestbeschmutzer Interviews punkten. Wer mit den Verlockungen der AIDA vertraut ist, hat die Möglichkeit, bei seiner Urlaubsplanung erhebliche Einsparungen zu erzielen. Denn nicht alle Angebote des renommierten Kreuzfahrtunternehmens aus Rostock halten wirklich, was sie versprechen, so der Tenor der Sendung. Insidern zufolge, die jahrelang in der AIDA-Zentrale und…

[boerdebehoerde]

Die Koblanks

Meene Jattin, watt die Stefanie is, sacht ja imma, ick wäre wie ihre Omma Erika. Die hat immer ollen Klamauk in Fernsehn jejuckt und is dabei uff Sofa injeschlafen. Ganz unrecht hat sie wohl nicht, sei’s drum. Kürzlich habe ich die 13-teilige TV-Serie “Die Koblanks” aus dem Jahr 1979 für mich entdeckt. Im Mittelpunkt der jeweils ca. 25-minütigen Folgen steht der Bierfahrer Ferdinand “Nante”…

[the-pen-pot]

'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.' 'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?' Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.' ------ When Arthur assists Merlin in a magical ritual, he realises just how much could truly be his, if he only had the courage to ask for it.

Read on Ao3, or hit "keep reading" below!

Of Root and Sea and Sky

Arthur Pendragon watched the man who rode the pretty bay mare at his side, his seat confident and steady after years in the saddle. Merlin sat straight and at ease, his clothes suitable for travel but far more fine than his baggy servant things. A dark coat of soft leather fit across his shoulders, showing off his narrow frame and the subtle strength that lay within it. The blue tunic beneath, Arthur had noticed as they departed that morning, matched his eyes. Tight breeches clad his thighs, no longer threadbare at the knees and hems, but sturdy and perfectly tailored.

The sight had a detrimental effect on Arthur's composure, and he'd had to tear his gaze away more than once since they'd set out from the citadel.

'Where are we going?' he asked, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. Now was not the time to be caught mooning over Merlin. He could not tell when the unfortunate admiration had begun; only that it had been years. It had grown since their first meeting, unacknowledged as they seemed to careen from one calamity to the next. It was something Arthur had learned to live with: not just the lust that glowed in the pit of his belly, but the love that threatened to bloom in the caverns of his heart.

He was fortunate to call Merlin his friend. He had resigned himself, long ago, to the realisation that anything more was nothing but a fantasy.

'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.'

'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?'

Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.'

That, at least, Arthur understood. After his father had succumbed to a blade in battle and Arthur became king, Merlin had spent long evenings drinking wine with him in front of the fire and explaining the ancient connection between the throne, the magic and the land itself. They sustained each other, the rule of a kingdom going far deeper than the crown upon someone's brow.

In the days before the Purge, magic had been an integral part of every realm in Albion. A mere twenty-five years without it had sent many lands plunging into poverty and conflict. The earth withered, and the corruption his father had railed against found a home in the hearts of ruthless men.

Slowly, that damage was starting to heal, and it was something that could only be achieved by a ruler who took his vows seriously and a sorcerer who used his power well.

One of his first acts as king was to overturn Uther's laws. He had done it for the good of his kingdom, of course, but if he were honest, there had been more pressing, personal reasons to make it legal once more. He cast aside tyranny for Morgana and Merlin, neither of whom deserved to live in fear.

He still remembered, sometimes, how pale they had been when they confessed to him – terrified. In that moment, Arthur's character had been tested. The balance could have gone either way. He could have fallen back on everything his father had told him, leaning into the safe foundation of prejudice, or he could have tipped forward into a future of possibility, one that led his realm into a golden age as the wounds of the past began to fade.

To his shame, it had not been an easy choice, but in the end, he had placed himself firmly on the side of sorcery. Now, more than a year later, Camelot flourished with a new kind of peace.

'Anything we should know?' Elyan asked, raising his voice to be heard as they left the road, guiding the horses through last year's leaf-litter. It rustled as they picked their way through the boles of the trees, following Merlin's lead.

'Not really. It shouldn't take long, but these are holy places to the druids. Swords should be set down outside the edge of the grove. There's a good chance the magic will hide us from your line of sight. Don't interfere. Not unless I call for you, or you'll throw the whole thing off and we'll have to start again.'

Arthur hid a smile to hear the calm authority in Merlin's voice. It shouldn't surprise him. Even as a servant he'd had a way of speaking sometimes that gave others no choice but to listen. Now, with magic legal once more and its study permitted, Merlin only grew stronger and more knowledgeable of his abilities.

And with each passing day, Arthur found it easier to accept the druids' claims. He looked at Merlin and could well believe it when they said that he was the strongest warlock to walk the earth – and the nearest thing the magical community had to a king of their own.

And Merlin was his: his court sorcerer and his closest friend. Perhaps that was why Arthur had not spoken of the way he felt. One by one, so many of his excuses had fallen away, revealing the fear that lay at the heart of his silence. In truth, he had far too much to lose, and so he held his tongue and let his longing flourish unheeded.

A huff from Hengroen broke into his thoughts, and Arthur frowned, focusing once more on their surroundings. At first, he could not understand what had made his gelding tense, but before long he noticed the smell in the air: sweet, dry rot and arid earth. It was out of place in the lush, flourishing woods, tickling at the back of his throat and stirring some prickling, instinctive awareness to life. He was not like Merlin. He could not tap into the living world all around him and hear its hum, but he could detect that something was amiss. His kingdom bore a wound, and he could not leave it to fester.

'Gods.' Gwaine's curse was low and sympathetic as they brought their horses to a halt, staring. The oaks stood in a cluster, occupying a broad clearing amidst the more slender pines. Yet where Arthur would have expected to see tender young leaves, there were instead withered branches. Strong trunks were bleached bone-white except for where dark blisters pocked the bark, and more than one large branch had fallen from the stark canopy to lie, twisted and ruined, upon the ground.

'What happened?' Elyan breathed, sounding devastated. 'What could do this?'

'That's what we're here to find out,' Merlin promised. 'You two stay here. Arthur and I will need to be in the middle of the trees to work out what's caused this and set it right.'

'Be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

Arthur threw a glare in Gwaine's direction, but it softened the moment he got a look at his face. There was no customary leer, and the joking tone in his voice had fallen flat, dragged down by his concern. He and Elyan were more lax with protocol than Leon, but they still took their duties seriously. While they may understand that they needed to keep watch from a distance, that didn't mean they were comfortable having either Arthur or Merlin out of their sight.

'We'll be all right,' he promised as he slipped out of the saddle, the leaves rustling under his boots as he unstrapped his scabbard and set his sword aside. 'Merlin knows what he's doing.'

'Course he does,' Gwaine replied, all unapologetic confidence as he dismounted, stopping at Arthur's side and lowering his voice. 'He'll blast anyone who tries to harm a hair on your head. Just – Be careful, yeah? Watch his back?'

Arthur clapped a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. 'Always.'

Elyan took Hengroen's reins, promising to tend the horses as Merlin jerked his chin towards the grove: a wordless invitation. Each rustling footstep left the knights further behind, their weapons drawn and at rest, ready to fight any danger that made itself known.

'They'll be all right,' Merlin murmured, resting his palm against one of the ailing oaks.

'The trees?'

'No. Well, yes. I meant Gwaine and Elyan.'

'There's plenty of dangers that lurk in the woods,' Arthur pointed out.

'But nothing they can't handle. Besides, I put a up a ward as soon as we entered the forest. It covers more than a mile. If anything crosses it meaning us harm, we'll know about it.'

Arthur's heart fluttered, and he stepped closer, bumping his shoulders and grinning as Merlin nudged him back. He shouldn't be surprised about the wards. Merlin had been feral about protecting the people he called his friends, right from the start. These days, he made sure they were safe without apology, weaving stunning magic as if it were as easy as breathing, and it warmed Arthur through from soul to skin.

'So, what exactly are we doing?' he asked, peering up at the sad remnants of the trees. 'Can you really fix this?'

Merlin's long fingers grabbed the sleeve of Arthur's jacket, tugging him towards the centre of the grove. 'Remember what I said about how, once, rulers of their kingdoms were tied to the land? How they can act as conduits?'

Arthur suspected he knew where this was going. 'You plan to use me in the spell, don't you?'

'Not... exactly.'

Merlin stopped, turning to face him, and in his expression, there were subtle hints of that same old pain that had come to the fore whenever Arthur, in his uncertain past, had twitched away from Merlin's magic. It had happened more often than he'd like to admit, back when he had first confessed. His father's teachings were hard to shake, and Arthur had needed time to learn there was nothing to fear. Not when it was Merlin who wielded the power.

'If I can pour the spell into the land through you, it will have more strength and precision. This' – He gestured at the trees around them – 'is caused by a corruption in the natural magic of the earth. I can cleanse it without you, probably. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just that it would be easier if –'

'Merlin.' Arthur reached out, grabbing his hands and holding on, bringing the rush of words to a halt. He wished he could ease those scars of uncertainty that lingered still, not in his own heart, but in Merlin's. He had spent far too much of his life hiding what he was. Too many years had passed where he had heard, time and again, that magic was something monstrous, and Arthur hated to see him apologising for what he could do. As if his power was a curse, rather than a blessing. 'Of course I'll help you. Just tell me what I need to do.'

Merlin's grin was bright and infectious, showing his dimples and making his eyes gleam, yet he still gave Arthur a probing sort of look. 'Are you sure? I mean it. There are other ways.'

'You're the one who has been harping on at me about how king and kingdom are connected. Besides, I want to help.' He looked at the trees, stark and suffering, and saw nothing more than a cry for mercy.

Perhaps they were not important to the people within Camelot's walls, but there was more to his realm than the souls sheltered in the citadel. The druids had started to creep back in, tremulous and uncertain, but with growing confidence. This was their land, too, and he would not deprive them of assistance simply because of his father's old prejudices. 'You said this was a sacred place. Why? What makes it special?'

Merlin looked up at the window of blue sky above them, criss-crossed by the bare, skeletal branches. 'Oak is supposed to have a lot of magical properties. Different groves have different qualities. Some are meant to imbue strength to those who seek shelter beneath their boughs. Others offer wisdom. This one is a Sōþfæstnes.'' The word rolled of his tongue, comforting to Arthur's ear for all that he didn't understand it. 'A place of honesty. The druids use them for ceremonies and meetings. They believe you can't utter a lie when in one of these. They're used for handfastings, too, so that people know the vows are genuine.'

'Are they right?' Arthur was still not sure where the druids and magic came together. There was a whole system of belief that he knew very little about. It was part of the reason Merlin kept reminding him that he was not a druid himself. He had power, but not the culture that the druids valued so highly. 

'I don't know.' Merlin shrugged. 'In a way, I don't think it matters. The druids believe it's important, so it's worth fixing. Besides, it would be a shame to see these trees die.'

That, Arthur could agree with: on both counts. 'Where do you need me?'

He watched as Merlin closed his eyes, his body falling motionless as a sudden, playful wind swirled the leaves around them. Arthur did not know what he was looking for, but it seemed he found it as he reached for Arthur again, guiding him to a spot that looked like any other. 'Hold my hands, and relax. This might feel a bit strange, but it won't hurt you. If you want me to stop, just say.'

That last part was added in a firmer tone, as if Merlin knew full well that Arthur wouldn't back down, even if his instincts were screaming at him to retreat. It was enough to make Arthur shoot a quick, imperious look in his direction, trying to hide the flutter of trepidation that stirred deep in his gut.

He'd seen Merlin perform magic before. He had stood on the periphery as he wrought his enchantments, revelling in the warm-sunlight sensation. Yet despite all his talk about the importance of the realm's ruler to the balance, Merlin had never invited him to be a participant. He'd always worked alone.

Now, as he watched those blue eyes flare bright, brazen gold, Arthur felt a new world open up within him. It started softly, like the breath of a summer breeze, gradually filling his senses. He could hear the steady hum of life throughout the woods; could sense the birds on swift wing or taking their perch, the dart of deer and the slippery chill of water as it seeped through the roots. The rich, heady perfume in the air intensified, and he could feel the pull and ebb of sap across his skin, sticky and vibrant.

Yet there was more. Hidden within those details there was a sense of something vast and ageless: a slow, steady beat like the pulse of the earth itself, resonating up through the bones of the world. Magic flowed there, pooling and diverging, collecting in knots only to disperse once more: an eternal lightning storm miles beneath his feet.

Yet where they stood, the light had turned thin and frail, its thick branches ebbing to threads as it choked and stuttered. Here, the magic had fallen out of balance. Arthur could feel how it threatened to drain away entirely. It had retreated deep, deep down, leaving the oak trees withered husks of their former selves.

'Ready?' Merlin asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Arthur focused on the man before him. Seeing the world through the lens of magic, Merlin was like the sun, so bright his outline was almost lost. Yet Arthur could feel his heat and life: the warmth of a hearth and the cold splash of water on a sweltering day. He was helpless to do anything but shift closer, pressing near to the interface of that power as if he had been starved for it since the day he was born.

'Ready,' he managed, his voice little more than a rasp that faded to nothing as all that light poured through him and into the earth beneath his feet.

He had expected it to feel overwhelming, a surging tide threatening to eradicate every facet of his being. He had anticipated a struggle to contain it and feared being lost in its surge. He had never thought it could be like this: soft and brimming with love.

It did not smash through him, but whispered down his thighs and filled his chest with its glow. It rushed down to his feet and stirred the fine hairs on his arms into shivering awareness. Each breath tasted sweet, and as the magic reached out through him, he felt the tattered remnants of it in the earth stretch back, curving towards him like seedlings seeking the sun.

He watched them, not with his eyes, which had slipped shut in pleasure as Merlin's power filled him to the brim. Instead, it was as if it were the essence of himself that observed the world. Something deeper than skin and bone, intimately connected in ways he had never imagined. He bore witness to the magic's struggles to thrive once more, and he urged it on with the race of his heart and the mute cries of his being. He lost his breath, somewhere in the tumult of it all, until he felt that his own fate had aligned with the oak trees around him – that in this moment he would triumph or perish, and one was just as likely as the other.

And then, a single strand, as delicate as spider-silk, brushed against the plunging roots, and power surged up through the earth.

Arthur reeled as it exploded through him, his grip tightening fretfully around Merlin's hands. Yet there was no pain. It was euphoria and ecstasy: heat in his blood and the pit of his belly. Every part of him felt alive, tingling and pulsing as the darkness was washed away. It was like sunlight after the longest night, chasing off the shadows and bringing the warm touch of life in its wake.

Distantly, he heard the trees creak, their bark swelling as sap moved once more, sluggish at first, and then with growing urgency. The ground beneath his feet shifted as the roots shook of their rot, and overhead there was an ongoing susurrus as the magic rushed across the bare branches, doing the work of a season in a moment to shade them with a canopy of emerald green.

Yet there was something tenuous about it, and Arthur drew in a shuddering breath as he felt what he had to do. Merlin had provided the power. He had poured it through Arthur's skin and bones and blood, but it was up to him to anchor it in place. Without him, while the grove may not die, it would always struggle to thrive. The land would bear the scar, but with Arthur's influence, it could be healed in its entirety.

His lips parted, a question trembling on the tip of his tongue, but he did not need to speak a word. Merlin's magic was like his hands, strong and capable. It ran up his arms and curved around his shoulder, cupped his jaw and rested over his heart. And with it, silent but sure, came the knowledge of what he needed to do.

There was no incantation to utter – no grand spell to tie everything in place. Through the oaths he had taken and the crown he wore, he and the kingdom were one. All he had to do was accept the magic, and the land would welcome it in turn.

Once, it would have been impossible. Fear had been his foundation, and his father's words were nothing less than poison dripped in his ear. All his life, he had been told of the evils of sorcery, and yet, thanks to Merlin and Morgana, he knew his beliefs were flawed.

Morgana had been the one to show him the human face of sorcery – to bring the issue closer to home in a way Arthur had always secretly feared, but it was the man in front of him who had taken the time to teach him. He had shown Arthur that, in the right hands, magic was a gift. He had challenged his belief that it corrupted those who wielded it, because if there was anyone who Arthur truly believed was incorruptible, it was Merlin himself.

Yet it was also by his gentle explanations that Arthur came to understand that magic was far more than a mere tool. It was a natural force, like the winds or the tides: an essential part of the world that Uther had sought to strip away. To decry its nature was like shouting at clouds, utterly pointless.

And it was thanks to that quiet tutelage – to long nights in front of the fire and Merlin's steady, low voice explaining everything – that he was able to peel aside the lingering veils of his doubts and open himself to the power seeking admittance.

It was... indescribable. A falling star blazing through him, threatening to burn him up even as it chased off every last shadow. Each breath felt painfully inadequate, as if nothing as simple as air could keep him alive. His head spun and his muscles shook, his blood surging as his heart hammered fit to burst, driven wild with elation.

For one, fragile moment, he could feel his kingdom within him. Its rivers were his veins, its mountains his ribs and the valleys the spaces in between. He could sense the blaze of life and the tender cradle of death as existence unfurled through him, and he revelled and mourned in equal measure.

At last, when he thought he could bear it no more, the frothing tide began to recede, draining from him with a lingering caress that stalled the breath in his lungs. Every inch of his skin felt hot and aware, his flesh too tight across his bones. He came back to himself in increments, no longer standing toe-to-toe with Merlin, but slumped in his arms, that surprisingly broad chest holding him up as he sagged against him. His nose was buried in the hollow under Merlin's jaw, and one hand smoothed up and down his spine, coaxing him through it.

'You with me?' Merlin asked, his voice deep and rough. 'Sorry. I should have warned you it's a bit intense.'

Arthur managed a huff of agreement. He felt wonderfully drunk, warm and care-free. His senses echoed and blurred, so that for a moment he was able to enjoy the feeling of the sun on leaves he didn't have and the rich, dark earth between his roots. Gradually, even that dimmed from his awareness, binding him once more in the constraints of his human frame.

Yet there, on the very edge of his hearing, no louder than a breath of a breeze, there was a voice, soft and musical, whispering in his ear.

A truth, our dearest King, in thanks for what you have done for us: he guards his heart well, but he would be yours, if you would have him. He loves you, as you love him.

Arthur blinked, barely daring to believe his ears. At any other time, he might have written it off as the cries of his stupid, desperate heart, but Merlin himself had said that this stand of trees was a place for honesty: one where the truth found its way into the light.

'Arthur? Are you all right?' Merlin's hand was gentle as he cupped his jaw, lifting his chin so that he could look into his eyes.

He swallowed, feeling shockingly naked beneath the weight of Merlin's gaze. There, caught up in that bottomless blue, was everything he had never dared to acknowledge: tenderness, concern and a deep, abiding well of emotion that Arthur felt in kind.

He could feel the pressure of his choice before him – a split path that his life could take. On the one hand, he could retreat back to known territory: the realm of friendship, hard won and deeply cherished. Yet at the end of that road, he could see the end of them. One day the court would force him to claim a queen, and it would be duty, rather than distance, that steadily eroded what lay between him and Merlin.

Or, in this precious moment, he could reach for what he wanted: a life together and a love shared. Something he had thought impossible and still barely dared to hope for.

'Arthur?'

'I'm okay.' He flexed his grip where it was caught in the leather coat, the hide smooth like butter beneath his touch. 'I – I –' His voice hitched, tangled in the briar of his uncertainty. His courage – so dependable on a battlefield – threatened to abandon him, and he swallowed hard, pursing his lips. 'I'm okay.'

'What did you hear?'

He blinked, his gaze darting back to Merlin's in surprise. His hand still cradled Arthur's cheek, soft and careful, as if he were something precious. His body was a firm stretch of heat all down Arthur's front, and his heart thrummed, crying out for more.

After a breathless eternity of indecision, Arthur reached up, grasping Merlin's wrist. He turned his face to brush a kiss – butterfly-light, tremulous and desperate – against his palm. Merlin deserved so much more, and yet in that moment, it was all Arthur dared to offer him.

He heard the quiet gasp stutter past Merlin's lips, but he did not dare look at him. It felt as if he were awaiting judgement, the ecstasy of freedom or the horror of execution. He braced himself for Merlin to make his retreat, excuses on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, Merlin's free hand splayed across the small of Arthur's back, urging him close until they were nose-to-nose, their shared breath whispering between them. His voice was little more than a cracked murmur, laced with raw desperation as he repeated his question. 'What did you hear, Arthur?'

He shivered from head to foot, lost beneath his own, inevitable surrender. 'That you love me,' he managed, swallowing hard as he dredged up the words and laid himself bare. 'That you love me as I love you.'

The kiss scorched him, Merlin's mouth hot over his own as every inch of him sparked to life. It was no sweet, chaste brush of lips, yet nor was it restrained to wanton desire. There was devotion writ in the pressure of Merlin's lips and the stroke of his tongue. It was engraved in the strength of his arm around Arthur's waist, and he surrendered himself to it, clutching Merlin to him. Want and need, love and desire all battled for the upper hand, and Arthur was lost all over again, not to magic, but to Merlin.

He kissed him as if he would die without it. One hand gripped gently in that dark hair, the other crept beneath his jacket to clutch at his tunic, eager and desperate, fearful even now that this was some sort of figment that would vanish with the morning light, as so many of his dreams had done in the past. Yet not such cruel twist of fate found them. Instead, they kissed until they were breathless with it, shaking in each other's arms as years' worth of emotion finally revealed itself.

The only thing that stopped him from rutting himself blind against Merlin's thigh, right there in a grove of sacred oak trees, was the knowledge that Gwaine and Elyan were waiting for them back at the horses. It would only be so long before their knights came looking. As it was, while they might not get an eyeful, they would still find them both flushed, their mouths swollen and their clothes in disarray.

A regretful groan caught in his throat as he eased off, his kisses turning shallow and scattered. Try as he might, he could not pull himself away, and he stayed there, safe in the circle of Merlin's arms as they rested their brows together.

'Clotpole,' Merlin breathed, sounding unbearably fond. 'How could you not know I love you too?'

'You never said anything,' Arthur pointed out, deciding he had to defend himself, at least in that respect. 'You're never normally shy about telling the world how you feel.'

'It took you four years to acknowledge we were friends,' Merlin replied. 'I thought anything else might make you break out in hives.' He grinned, that bright, dazzling smile that Arthur loved so much. A moment later it softened, and Arthur looked into that face and wondered how he could possibly have missed it. Merlin's heart was right there for the taking: Arthur's, if he wanted it.

And he did.

Easing back, he held out his hand, feeling as if he were asking so much more as one word slipped free of him. 'Home?'

Merlin's blue eyes sparkled as if he had heard everything Arthur didn't say. The promises he made and the hopes he carried in his raw and bloody heart. Yet he did not hesitate or turn away. He met Arthur head on, unflinching, as if nothing could stop him seizing the future before them.

Those long fingers brushed against his palm before entwining with his own, and in his answer, there was the subtle glimmer of a promise. 'Home.'

As they departed, shoulder-to-shoulder and hand-in-hand, the trees ruffled their leaves and whispered their truths. One day soon, the two men would return, and there beneath the bower they would be hand-fasted to one another, their devotion absolute. Camelot would have no queen, but two kings to rule side-by-side in quiet triumph and eternal love.

And never would it falter.

[haefugbaum]

Guys I just found the famous „100 Ana tipps“ which were sooo popular back in the day in Germany. I think I came across them like 10-15 years ago? Idk and honestly some of the tipps are really weird but I will still try to translate and maybe comment on them. That was the early vibe and it’s funny to look at that if you weren’t alive or really young then, but I am reeeally glad a lot of the views has changed. There will be disclaimers for the really dumb and harmful ones (which won’t help you lose anyway in my opinion) or maybe I will skip those entirely idk

Day/Tipp No. 1: „Take showers where you change the temperature between warm and cold as long and as often as you can“

Aaaah yes the famous „changing“ showers, i did that a lot when I first tried to lose weight. I actually saw this tipp in magazines and tv shows for getting tighter skin and burning calories but idk if it worked for me. I didn’t really saw any difference so I am not doing that anymore but at least it’s not a harmful tipp so you could still try that if you want.

Be back tomorrow for Tipp No. 2 😂

[juliaandthephantoms]

Jetzt wo der neue Spatort gelaufen ist und sich vielleicht wieder neue Leute dem Fandom angeschlossen haben, hier ein kleiner hoffentlich hilfreicher Tipp.

Da AO3 nur Tatort allgemein als Fandom hat braucht es einen kleinen Workaround, wenn ihr (fast?) alle Spatort Fics sehen können wollt (unabhängig von Relationships etc.)

Dafür habt ihr 2 Möglichkeiten:

Entweder ihr fügt folgenden Text in das "Search within results" Feld ein

character_ids:"41028442" OR character_ids:"41110261" OR character_ids:"41110258" OR character_ids:"40987072"

Oder ihr geht direkt ��ber diesen Link:

Beides zeigt euch jede Fic, in der mindestens einer der vier Komissar*innen getagged wurde.

Weitere Tags/Filter etc. gehen natürlich wie gewohnt noch zusätzlich :) und jetzt viel Spaß!

[ardri-na-bpiteog]

Did they really bring that girl in from Tipp for the last 5 minutes of the show??? I'm screaming ahdhdhsksk. I hope her bus had a TV screen so she could keep watching.

[outofbluecomesgreen2]

Yeah, I know, “Thursday…” is a real good fic.

But first of all: Fergus!! 😳What is that?! Did your mother force you to do that?

Oh, she didn’t?!

And WHY do you flame your arm then?! 😰🥺🫣

To catch more readers?! Are you mad?!

🤬 STOP DOING THIS!! 🤬

I never asked you to do that!

NOBODY said you have to do that.

Not Cas! Don’t lie. And not Dean! Garth wouldn’t do that either! He is your friend.

As Bobby mentioned last week Thursday… is an “under the radar fic”, an “insider tipp”, Nobody needs to be seriously hurt himself for it.

That’s not worth it! COME ON! You are too smart for that! After all, it’s just a fic! Just a story I created. And, I tell you what, if I made my peace with less attention, you can handle that too.

It’s still good, that’s why we meet here, but please, PLEASE, turn of the flame!

So, now about you: what’s your next plan? Do you want to finish school?

Not your cup of tea? Funny. And very British by the way.

Of course I know you are from Scotland. Don’t you think I know this? I was the one who wrote your words.

Anyhow, go on. What’s your plan?

Oh, that’s nice. Searching for true love. You deserve it buddy. You are a funny guy and good looking.

Of course you find someone.

Yeah, that very special person.

If I will write about it?

What do you think. I will not leave you hanging.

Of course I’ll continue writing. No matter what. I love you people… on a platonic way…

Oh, come on, shut up!

So, before this conversation will getting even more weird, shoot: what song you like.

Anyone. Of course

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

The Amps - Maxwell's, Hoboken, New Jersey, July 1, 1995

I was watching this recent video of the Breeders in Big Sur a couple weeks back — and however great it is (it's great!), it got me thinking about the Amps, the one-and-done mid-90s Kim Deal project. Kind of a weird moment for Kim. She had climbed to the top of the Alternative Nation after the release of Last Splash, opening for Nirvana, playing Lollapalooza, hitting the late-night talk shows, etc. But by 1995, she was blowing it all up and starting again. Kinda. Here's the rundown from a very 1990s Spin magazine cover story written by Charles Aaron way back when. Those were different times, kids!

Kind of sweet, kind of pathetic. That’s how Deal has viewed her life following Last Splash‘s surprising success, propelled by the Top 40 single “Cannonball,” one of the most unlikely mosh notes ever penned. What was meant to be a well-deserved rest for the band after opening Nirvana’s last national tour, headlining gigs with Luscious Jackson, and joining Lollapalooza during the summer of ’94, became a boring winter exile for Kim in her childhood home of Huber Heights, the planned community outside Dayton that thrived in the ’50s with the opening of Wright Patterson Air Force Base, where Kim’s dad worked as a physicist. Instead of catching up on laundry and bad TV, she learned to play drums, patched together a batch of songs, and agreed to help produce the next album by her drinking buddies Guided By Voices (of which her fiance and SPIN Senior Contributing Writer Jim Greer is now a member).

Meanwhile, the other Breeders were plenty busy. Jim Macpherson finally spent some time with his kids and renovated a new house. Bassist Josephine Wiggs fell in love (with Luscious Jackson drummer Kate Schellenbach) and out of the closet (courtesy of a November ’94 Advocate story titled “Luscious Lesbians”), eventually moving from London to New York to be near Schellenbach. Kelley Deal made the most publicized move, out of Kim’s place and into a nearby house where she was arrested in November for receiving an Emery Worldwide package containing heroin. Her trial is set for July. Considering the circumstances, Kim’s desire to record a solo album made more than a little sense, for everybody concerned.

Pacer, that "solo record," hit shelves in the fall of '95 and — compared to Last Splash, anyway — was fairly low-profile. But it's a killer album, and somewhat forgotten these days, I think? If Kim had just called it a Breeders record, people might be more aware, I don't know. Anyway! The Amps toured a bit in '95 (I saw 'em open for Sonic Youth that October), and here's a nice audience tape of the band at Maxwell's that summer, playing a bunch from their then-unreleased debut, alongside a rambunctious closing cover of the Tasties' "Like A Briar." Take a trip down to Tipp City ...

[9leaguesofmirrors]

A Need For Something (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

Remember when I said I wanted an tender, intimate Gainsgoe fic (3 words I didn't think could be used in a sentence) based on the above quote? Well, this is it! This was perhaps my biggest challenge because how does one write a tender Gainsgoe fic? The answer: with great difficulty

Please remember that I used the quote as a prompt rather than the scene itself, this is NOT a crossover fic or a rewrite of the actual scene because I haven't seen the show the quote comes from (which I've learned is apparently Outlander)

They were at Ross' house when it happened

Neither of them could remember when they started being around each other socially, but it had something to do with the fact they both liked movies that made others sick to their stomach. So, in the end, it worked out well

Soon, it ended up being a conversation about work. Ross was the one to bring it up, much to the exasperation of Lisgoe, who was much happier focusing on the poor man being torn to shreds on his TV screen

"How far have you gone to collect a debt?"

"Knocked out a lot of teeth," Lisgoe answered casually "I keep those in a jar under my desk. Once smashed someone dick and balls in with my knee - that was fun."

"Do you always use violence? Surely people come to expect that, a change in pace would benefit you-"

Lisgoe looked at the TV, clearly hiding something he didn't want to divulge. After a few darting glances at Ross, who was watching him like a hawk, he caved with a huff

"Maybe once or twice, and I'm not proud of it, I felt like I was pimping myself out. But a few times I've needed to... sweet-talk my way in. Never kissed anyone, and I do not fuck them. The people here look like they were made in a lab."

"You've never kissed one?" There was a hint of surprise present in his tone "I mean, clearly too much is unecessary, but you've never gotten close?"

"No. I'd rather cement myself into a bathtub and let ants eat me alive. Besides, I can't think of a single person that would want to do anything with me except knock me out."

They watched the movie in silence, the only sound being the screams of the actors. After a while, they realised that it wasn't worth it and turned it off. That's when it happened

"I would quite like to."

"Like to what?"

"Kiss you."

Lisgoe looked at him with a confused expression. He couldn't quite believe it - actually, he didn't believe it at all

"What the fuck?"

There was no trace of mockery in Ross' eyes. No trace of smugness on his lips. No raise in the eyebrows

It was as if he were telling the truth

"May I?"

Ross' face was still, which unnerved him slightly

"What the fuck?"

"You've said that already."

"And I'll say it again: what the fuck?"

"Don't swear, it's unnecessary."

"It's completely necessary!" Lisgoe's left eye involuntarily twitched, a tiny tell of confusion "I mean... who just asks that?! Especially you! I thought you were completely against me and everything I am. I also didn't think you knew what a kiss was!"

"Rude. But OK."

"And it just- no! No it's not OK! You just sprung that shite on me out of nowhere!"

"Then pretend I didn't say anything."

The look on Lisgoe's face said it all: are you fucking joking?

In the thick, heavy silence, there was a strange and tense energy that they wanted gone as soon as possible. Lisgoe was the one to break it

"I think the rumours are true."

"Excuse me?"

"The ones about that failed comedian and Legz Akimbo's shite director."

"Why are you gossiping with me like a schoolgirl?"

"It's either that or carrying on with the conversation, and I can't be arsed with that."

There was yet another pause, this seemed to be a trademark in their conversations

"Plimsolls and Tipps, two sour grapes in a bunch." Ross leaned back in his chair "A match made in pathetic Heaven."

"Heaven?" Lisgoe barked out a laugh "Are you sure?"

Neither of them could resist laughing a little at that. Lisgoe was slightly surprised to see Ross let the cold mask slip slightly, seeing him smile (actually smiling, not that arrogant little smirk) was a rare but not completely awful sight. He'd never admit it, even to himself, but Ross himself wasn't an awful sight either

Why the fuck would he ask something like that?

Try as he might, small talk wasn't going to shake their prior conversation from Lisgoe's head. As the silence settled around them again, he realised that he'd never actually answered the question. When Ross refused to meet his gaze, he could tell he wanted a response

"What you asked me wasn't OK."

"You've made that clear-"

"Shut up, I'm talking."

Once again, silence. Anymore and Lisgoe felt he would go mad

"What made it not OK is that it came out of nowhere and you expect me to magic up an answer like some magic bastard."

He stood up and stood in front of Ross with gritted teeth, not quite knowing how to force the words from his throat

"But what makes it a really fucking twisted thing to do," he continued, his voice hard as nails and rising from the pit of his stomach "is the fact that my immediate answer wasn't even no."

Ross stood up slowly, brows furrowed in a questioning gaze

"Excuse me?"

"Fuck off, you heard what I said. You just want it repeated back to you! Go on then, have your stupid fucking ego boost! My answer wasn't no. OK? It. Wasn't. Fucking. No."

"Joseph, calm down." Ross' voice was stern and demanding, his hands gripped at Lisgoe's shoulders to hold him still "For once, can't you talk without blowing up?"

At first, neither of then registered the contact. Once they did, they both froze. Their eye-contact was unbroken, neither knew what to say. Ross almost pulled away, but he noticed a tightness in Lisgoe's jaw that his right hand moved up to touch with a strange quality

A quality that should never be attributed to people like them

There was stillness. Slowness

Lisgoe couldn't understand why he was being treated like this. Nobody ever treated him like this, which he knew was partly because he never let anybody so close - and that was both figurative and literal! Even now, he refused to let his guard down. He wasn't going to close his eyes or let himself lean into those gentle hands. No, he was better than that

"What the fuck are you doing?" His voice was level and direct "You want one over me? Is that it?"

"You still haven't actually given me an answer, you just said the answer isn't no." Ross moved his left hand to Lisgoe's other cheek and repeated his previous question: "May I?"

His hands are warm

"Joseph?"

Why are they so fucking warm?

"Joseph, answer the-"

"Shh, I was about to talk!" He snapped, then composed himself "Yes. You may. If you want to word it like that."

At this point, Ross accepted that talking no longer meant anything, yet he only managed to move so close before his limbs seemed to shut down

Both their eyes were closed, barely a breath away from each other

"I haven't done this in a very long time."

"Ross," came the gravelly reply "do you really think I give a shite?"

That was the only hint needed before the gap between them was closed. It was strange, not the kiss itself, but rather how slow it was. How carefully everything seemed to slip into place, nothing felt rushed or frantic. There was no battle for dominance or control, it was built on a simplicity that was a surprise to both of them

"You've been smoking." Ross observed, only pulling away for a moment "A lot."

"Is that a problem?" He retorted "I only do it when I'm fucked off."

"Do you feel like smoking now?"

"The fuck is this? Rehab?"

"I'm asking because you're tense."

"So what? Doesn't matter, does it? Maybe I am tense, this isn't exactly an everyday occurance for me."

Once again, silence. This time though, it wasn't from awkwardness. Ross was giving him a chance to fill it, to let it spill out

"Why are you being kind to me?" Lisgoe asked "All this... gentle shite. It's like you're biding your time until you have me right where you want me. Then you'll fuck me over. So, if that's what this is, then I'm onto you." His voice contorted into a hollow laugh "So you can fuck off."

"... Joseph, when the hell did I say I was going to do that?"

"That's what people do." He responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world "Trust is a weapon, we both know that."

Ross couldn't argue with that. Not because he was lying, but because they'd both used trust as exactly that. A weapon

But now? It was something else, something much more destructive

"You're right." Ross said "I'm doing this for completely selfish reasons."

"I knew it."

"This is entirely for my benefit. Because you could stand here and tell me that you find me the most repulsive, grotesque man in all of Royston Vasey and I would still find a way to you because, as I've already told you, I want something from you. I don't know what, but I need something."

"You said need that time."

"It means the same thing."

"No, it doesn't. But you have that something. I let you kiss me, now can I go? Or is there some more bullshit you want to say?"

Ross went over to where Lisgoe was stood and knelt beside him, which earned him a questioning look

"Are you gonna suck me off or something?"

"No, I'm not."

"Then why the fuck are you kneeling?"

There was no response, instead Ross ran his fingertips slowly up Lisgoe's arm. Although he could feel him shiver slightly, there wasn't any outwardly negative reaction, so he let his hand trail upwards and rest on Lisgoe's upper arm. His other hand carefully guided the man's jaw so they were facing each other, then rested itself on the back of his neck

That warmth again Lisgoe could feel his breath hitch slightly why is it fucking everywhere? It squeezed and wrenched at every part of him, and the more he fought the urge to sink into it, the more it hurt

Then something happened

In the silence, the moment of pause, Lisgoe could feel his mind slipping slowly. And with it, there was something that caused him to gravitate towards Ross. It was invisible, powerful and completely unknown

But their lips fit together like puzzle pieces and there was nothing else

[horseweb-de]

TV-Tipps der nächsten zwei Wochen

03.08.2023 – 06.08.2023 | ClipMyHorse.deBirkhof-Dressurfestival – Donzdorf03.08.2023 – 06.08.2023 | ClipMyHorse.deGörlitzer Summer Weeks – Springen – Görlitz03.08.2023 – 06.08.2023 | ClipMyHorse.deDressurtage der Reitanlage Winkler – Brünst05.08.2023 | 10:05 Uhr | KiKaPia und die Haustiere: Ein Tag bei der Pferdeausbilderin05.08.2023 | 10:30 Uhr | RBBOstwind (1) – Zusammen sind wir frei05.08.2023…

[zeroz2ro]

Old school tipp: RSS letöltő a tévésorozatokhoz.

Pofonegyszerű a használata:

Regisztrálsz.

Kiválasztod melyik TV-sorozatokat szeretnéd követni.

Beállítod hogy SD verzióban, 720p vagy 1080p-ben töltse le.

"My feed" menüben kapsz egy egyedi RSS linket.

Letöltöd a legstabilabb, legjobb torrentprogramot:

https://www.qbittorrent.org/

RSS fülön "Új feliratkozás" és a kapott linket beilleszted.

Ha megjelenik a követett sorozat teljes évada magától letölti.

Ha megjelenik a heti új rész mire betöltődik a Windows már le is tölti.

Feliratok hozzá feliratok.eu

[kreuzfahrttester]

TV Tipp 20.15 Uhr VOX - Herz an Bord - Kreuzfahrt gewinnen

Vox Herz an Bord – Diesen Dienstag gibt es die 3 Folge der AIDA & VOX Dating Klamotte “Herz an Bord”. In Folge 3 erwartet Sie: Im Hafen von Ajaccio auf Korsika warten auf Agnes, Bianca, Olga Maria und Ulrike die neuen Single Männer Nils, Hans Peter, Eugen und Sascha. Ihre Dates stehen ganz unter dem Motto „actionreich“ – ob motorisiert, zu Luft oder zu Wasser. Welche Männer können auf der…

[officialkendallroy]

Hey :) ich glaube man kann iwtv auf magenta tv streamen (absoluter abfuck I know), meine Freundin hatte dasselbe Problem und hat es dann aber dort gefunden.

bei mir gibt's das da leider nicht, zumindest steht da, dass die serie derzeit nicht verfügbar ist 😔 ich danke dir trotzdem für den tipp ❤️

WARTE da steht dass sie ab morgen verfügbar ist!! DANKEEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[haefugbaum]

Day 27 of translating/commenting the famous „100 Ana Tipps“

Tipp 27: „Always eat without distractions, never in front of your tv/computer!“

If the Tipps were from today they would 100% add eating without being on your phone but tbh I always eat when I am on my phone. I just can’t help it and won’t make it more than two or three days without it lol 🤣🤣 it’s still true though eating without distractions is better

Tipp 28 will be skipped too!