#thomas marshall

[lil-als-lil-pals]

Inspired by @anteabbie’s telling presidents on characterai that she’s pregnant…. Veeps!

[presidentialconfessions]

The vice presidents of the United States should have a sleepover. A veepover, if you will

[vice-prez-douglas]

Some of our many wonderful vice presidents and also sonic the hedgehog

[vilcade]

“How’s your faith now, Templar?”

James Purefoy as Thomas Marshall >>> Ironclad (2011)

[warringpeace]

James Purefoy roles ( 4/? ) – Thomas Marshall, Ironclad 

                     “I fight so you don't have to.”

[imprvdente]

@blckwales | Plotted Starter

It hurt. It hurt like a bitch. Sure, she couldn’t die, but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t be injured. There was no comfort in knowing this wound wouldn’t kill her. She knew she just had to suck it up and keep living through the pain. She had to live through everything, and her existence was nothing but a straight line with no end. If all the cells of her body worked relentlessly to keep her alive, they didn’t do anything to help her healing. It would take a regular amount of time to stop bleeding and hurting. Sure, she had toughened up with the years. Fish was reckless, and immortality had only worsened this particular trait of hers, which meant she injured herself pretty often. She was good at pretending to be alright. But still, it hurt like a bitch.

The blood had started to dry on her skin. Had it been days? Or just hours? She couldn’t tell, the sky was always the same, always that sad shade of grey. And when night came, everything just turned to black. The castle was starting to feel like a prison. She was not one to wait and sit, but she was also accustomed to war. She wasn’t reckless to the point of trying to fight off the army surrounding them alone. Especially in her state. So, she sat and waited with the rest of the Knights.

Whenever Fish needed to clean her wounds, she tried to find a secluded area. She hadn’t felt the need to share with the rest of the army that she was a woman. She had cut her blue hair short for the occasion. The unusual color was strange enough. You see, Fish had actually witnessed the burning at the stake of one Joan of Arc. This particular event had taught her that a woman in armor was not everyone’s cup of tea. Mix it up with Men’s false passion for God, and you end up burned.

Her armor carefully sitting on a chair, she was pouring cold water on her injured stomach. It wasn’t too bad anymore. In a few days, it would stop hurting as much. On her naked back was carved the Mark of Pan. The symbol of her curse. Fish’s skin told a story. If her scars could talk… Oh, the things they would say… They could tell you about the War of Hell; the day she lost so many friends. They could tell you about the Goddess that gave her the Sword she wielded. They could tell all you about the Worlds she saw. But they were nothing but silent carvings in her flesh.

The stones were cold under her bare feet. She wondered when she could come back home. Well, home… The Shop. It had become her home. She had so many lives, it was comforting to know that she had a safe haven. Fish always ran away. She didn’t know why, but she knew she couldn’t stop. The Shop was the only place where she agreed to rest for a moment.

As she put on her shirt -the fabric hurt her wound but she didn’t move a muscle; she heard a sound. Was someone here?

[hagleyvault]

Thomas Marshall in his stylish Halloween costume, 1925. Possibly the first and only non-terrifying clown.

From the Thomas C. Marshall photographs (Accession 1990.270), in Hagley’s Audiovisual Collections

[little-lion-rampant-blog]

When Marshall eventually arrived in Yorktown, most of the young women were disappointed. Instead of the dashing figure they had expected, they met a gangly, loose-jointed frontiersman whose disheveled appearance may have been appropriate for one of Colonel Daniel Morgan’s light infantry officers but was quite unsuited for the garrison world of Yorktown. “When I beheld his awkward figure, unpolished manners, and total negligence of person,” Eliza said, “I lost all desire of becoming agreeable in his eyes.” Most of the young women shared Eliza’s opinion and saw Marshall as another backwoods bumpkin. It was a hasty assessment they soon would regret, for as Eliza noted, “Under the slouched hat there beamed an eye that penetrated at one glance the inmost recesses of the human character; and beneath the slovenly garb there dwelt a heart complete with every virtue.”

John Marshall - Definer of a Nation by Jean Edward Smith (Chapter 3)

The Marshalls at that time enjoyed increasing popularity as war heroes to those who reside in Yorktown and the Marshalls mingled freely with the tidewater gentry of Yorktown, the Ambler family among them.

Thomas Marshall, John Marshall’s father, also a commissioned officer in the Continental Army, was a frequent visitor in the Ambler household and whenever John, who was still away in the North with George Washington’s army, wrote back to his father, his father in turn shared his letters with the Ambler family. His letters impressed the young ladies of Yorktown and expectations about Marshall’s appearance and character were built up.

““We had been accustomed to hear [of Captain John Marshall] as a very paragon,” wrote Jaquelin’s oldest daughter, Eliza, many years later. “His letters [to his father] were fraught with filial and paternal affection.” As the Amblers’ eldest daughter recalled, “perhaps no officer … excited so much interest as Captain Marshall. Our expectations were raised to the highest pitch, and the little circle of York was on tip-toe awaiting his arrival.””

When he finally came to Yorktown, all the women are disappointed that their expectations of Marshall are not met - except for his future wife, Mary “Polly” Ambler, who adored Marshall’s rustic manners and simple ways.

More of sloppy dresser John Marshall.