#what's the lewis quote?

[rainintheevening]

The only clone/jedi ship I will look twice at is Blyla.

Personally, I see it as one-sided on Bly's part, and I kinda love the idea of him just... being okay with that. That he is in love with this fierce, brave, wise, beautiful Jedi Twi’lek, and he loves her enough to come up with a hundred ways to show her his love that won't tempt her to break her Jedi code of honour (clones know plenty about 'codes of honour').

I think Aayla senses the 'more' behind his devotion to her, but they don't have time to talk about it, and she won't abandon her Jedi vows. So she just accepts his love, and gives back what she can in friendship and care and watching his back in turn.

Her commitment to him being less, doesn't negate or diminish the beauty of his complete commitment to her.

If he dies for her, he will die well.

And then he kills her.

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

The BAU on a commercial flight:

EMILY: Stopped and searched at the security checkpoint because she forgot she was wearing an ankle holstered gun. Is the person who kicks your seat and hogs the armrest because gay people do not know how to sit on a chair properly.

JJ: Is the one having her armrest hogged by Emily. Opens a packet of peanuts and gives someone an allergic reaction. Should have stuck with Cheetos…

TARA: “It’s okay, I’m a doctor! Not a doctor of medicine, but I’m sure I can figure it out!”

PENELOPE: Watches movies on her tablet and eats M&M’s like the little iPad kid she is, eventually falling asleep on Morgan’s shoulder during ‘Legally Blonde’.

MORGAN: Shamelessly flirting with the flight attendants and trying to hide the fact that he is watching ‘Legally Blonde’ over Penelope’s shoulder—and loving it.

HOTCH: Reading FBI case files in his sunglasses, not noticing the kid who has been staring at him the whole time thinking ‘damn, James Bond be on this flight.’

SPENCER: Talking to that same kid and his mother, explaining aerodynamics and discussing plane crash statistics. The kid’s mother requests a seat change.

ELLE: Lets Spencer explain aerodynamics to her instead. She swaps her red jello for his orange jello from the airplane meal because red is his favourite.

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios

[introspectivememories]

too many of you guys think nico is the loser and not lewis for letting the divorce go on for so long. like they're both losers about each other. emotionally constipated idiots who can't talk about their toxic homoerotic friendship that imploded on itself like 8 years ago and are now making it everyone else's problem. yeah nico's on television or in beer gardens talking about lewis all the time but like every other month some reporter is like "lewis, what's your favorite moment in your career?" and lewis no hesitation is like "oh man, karting, y'know? everything was simpler then" and then spends another six months skirting around nico's name. like this whole thing they're doing in the media isn't some kinda extended foreplay for them. they're both still pressing on the bruise to make sure it's still there!!! every few months, they're literally just asking on public television, does it still hurt for you like it does for me? and like clockwork, someone will release new information about them or one of them will say something about each other (in my heart, he's still my best friend/yes... and teammate) and the answer will remain the same, yes, of course, always.

[maxcuntstappen]

F1 via The Interwebs™️ (x)

[dcvidsrossi]

Emily: Hey, Luke. We brought dinner.

Luke: What'd you get?

Tara: [gestures with the pizza box] A box of chicken. I hope you like it extra flat and crispy.

[theskyisthelimit06]

felt cute, might make another one.

[aaltilis]

[Before a race]

Toto: So George, you need to take out Verstappen for lewis, understand? Try to be subtle so FIA won't notice it.

George: Sure, Toto.

[Later]

George: Max! Do you have a free time after race?

Max: Yes, I guess?

George: Great! Toto wanted you to hang out with Lewis and I already looked for a nice place subtle enough that FIA won't notice.

Max: WHAT?

George: What? yes or no?

Max: *smiling shyly* Yeah, yeah. That of course would be lovely.

George: Great, see you tonight!

[boaduvet]

Wags but we also drive 💍🏎️ pt. 9/?

[yesterdayiwrote]

"I decided I was signing Kimi 5 minutes after I knew Lewis was leaving"... right so you've been chasing Max to what? Sit in George's lap?

Come the fuck on Toto, you can't get defensive about what James Vowles says about Mick then do this weird shit with your drivers?

[russilton]

Oh George… mark that the fifth time (by my last count) that George has refused to say who he’d like as a next teammate, and switched to talking about how much he’s liked being Lewis’ teammate instead…

[petit-papillion]

"Leclerc is too nice to be a world champion. A Hamilton or a Verstappen, Leclerc does not have that in him. Suppose Ferrari has the best car next year, then Hamilton will gobble him up. Leclerc doesn't strike me as tough when I look at the little mistakes he makes and how he treats his engineers."

Robert Doornbos during Chinese GP weekend broadcast | April 2024

Source: Ziggo Sport

Original Dutch:

"Leclerc is te lief om wereldkampioen te zijn. Een Hamilton of een Verstappen, dat zit er bij Leclerc niet in. Stel Ferrari krijgt de beste auto volgend jaar, dan vreet Hamilton hem op. Leclerc komt op mij niet hard over als ik kijk naar de foutjes die hij maakt en hoe hij met zijn engineers is."

[f1incorrectquotess]

Lando: Daniel is okay.

Carlos: He's okay? He said he was going to break my legs! And don't tell me he didn't mean it, okay?! 'Cause he gave me the mackerel eyes, he meant it!

Lando: Carlos, Daniel threatened me. He threatens Lewis every day. He probably threatened Yuki before breakfast this morning. It's what he does. Grow a pair.

[knight--error]

"In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, here goes—I mean, amen."

-Perelandra, by C.S. Lewis

[introspectivememories]

[rosey-blog06]

I decided to muck around on the Incorrect Quotes Generator, and Here's what came out (Shadowhunter version)

(Website Link) Simon: What’s up guys? I’m back. Jace: What the- you can’t be here. You’re dead. I literally saw you die. Simon: Death is a social construct. Magnus: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running? Alec: Oh, I’m always running Alec: The question is from what Clary: Jace and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us Simon: *Sighing* What did Jace do? Clary: He chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and... Jace: Who wants a steering wheel? *The squad right before Alec's wedding* Magnus: Well I have to go, I have a wedding to attend. Issy: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too! Clary: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well Simon: I THINK WE ALL HAVE WEDDINGS TO ATTEND Jace, panicked: I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE Clary: Can you keep a secret? Alec: Do you know anything about my life? Clary: No I do not. Good point. Alec: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much. Magnus: Oh, you’ve been? Alec: Once. In Monopoly. Jace: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Alec? Alec: … No. Issy: I do! Jace: I know, Issy. Issy: I’m sad! Jace: I know, Issy. Simon: You saved me. I owe you my life. Raphael: No thanks. I’ve seen it and I’m not very impressed. Clary: Alec isn’t answering their phone Magnus: I’ll call Simon: Clary and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi- Alec: Hello? I had to change the names around for them to make sense so many times lmao

[queenlucythevaliant]

Northern Lights

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I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!” 

.

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it? 

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her. 

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The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern. 

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious. 

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky. 

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And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

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The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise. 

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over. 

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything. 

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over. 

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all. 

.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood! 

She thought of grief. Of freedom. 

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

.

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him. 

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison. 

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short. 

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They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

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Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t. 

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

.

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 

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They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked. 

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

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Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

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The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end. 

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely. 

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters. 

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two. 

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth. 

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile. 

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

.

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

.

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest. 

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above. 

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance. 

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face. 

.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

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“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight. 

.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks. 

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave. 

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So perish the old Gods!

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The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute. 

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 

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“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.” 

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured. 

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

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Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

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The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways. 

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Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!