I have these paper birds in my room from 17883 years ago and I still think they look cool..😛

Breakfast in Bed

It’s a Saturday morning, just like any other. My father and I are sitting side by side at the kitchen table in our apartment, eating breakfast. Coffee for him, juice for me. Toast for him, cereal for me. It’s still early, but the sun is already high in the sky, illuminating my father’s newspaper with muted rays of light as he reads today’s business section. As usual, we eat quietly, our silence broken only by the small clinks of glassware and the rustling of paper as my father turns the pages of The New York Times.

I get up to pour myself another cup of juice, and my father watches me over the metal frames of his glasses.

“Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m still kind of tired,” I reply, grabbing the O.J. from the refrigerator. “Did you?”

“Not bad,” says my father, stretching in his seat. His hair is all messed up, matted down in the front and sticking up wildly at the crown of his head. His upper lip is slick with Vick’s Vapo-Rub. “But your mother was tossing and turning all night. She’s still not feeling well.”

“That’s too bad. Is she still asleep?”

“Not sure. Why don’t you go check?”

I tip-toe to the other side of the house, knowing better than to be loud. My father gets mad if I wake her up too early.

Slowly, I open the door to my parents’ bedroom, willing it not to creak. It’s dark in there, the shutters closed and the blinds tightly drawn over all the windows. I wait a few moments, listening for any sounds of movement. I don’t hear anything, apart from the hum of the dehumidifier and the slight puff of the plug-in air freshener. A heady wave of pine scent washes over me.

“Mom?” I whisper, but there’s no answer. She must be asleep.

I shut the door quietly and shuffle back to the kitchen, my slippers scuffing against the carpet.

My mother’s not well. She hasn’t left the bed in almost a year, not since she got pneumonia last winter. But my father and I take good care of her. Our medicine cabinet is as well-stocked as any pharmacy, and every other night my father gives her a sponge bath. During the day, we roll the TV into the bedroom so she can catch up on her soaps.

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” she always tells us. “Two handsome men to wait on me hand and foot.”

Back in the kitchen, my father is finishing his last slice of toast.

“How is she?” he asks. His voice is casual, but I know he worries about her. My parents have been married for 19 years, going on 20 this May. If she’s better by then, my father’s going to surprise her with a trip to France.

“Sleeping,” I say. I clear the dishes without asking, like I’ve been taught.

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To pre-T transguys, here's how you can increase your testosterone level:

1. There’s certain foods you can eat that will increase your testosterone level - nuts, avocados, egg, olives, olive oil, raw milk, yogurt, fish.

2. EXCERSIZE REGULARLY - I know tons of people hate excersize or find it difficult but you can increase your testosterone levels by up to 20 percent by lifting weights 3 times per week for 11 weeks dude.

3. Sleep seven/eight hours (recommended hours) - I know, i know. It’s hard to go to bed early for most people (especially people on tumblr) but less sleep can result in 10 percent lower testosterone levels.

4. Try to relax more - Stress produces the hormone cortisol and interrupts the production of hormones like testosterone.

5. Go out in the sun - Keeping vitamin D levels high can produce up to 20 percent more testosterone, man.



Thirteen years ago, the sun was shining and the high temperature for the day was 62 degrees. Not a record, but a blessing nonetheless. It was an answer to many prayers. It was my wedding day, and in preparation, I prayed for good weather in the dead middle of January. If I had been in grade school, I would have placed a statue of the Virgin Mary in the window. But instead, I went to a higher power: I talked to my mom.

I had picked our wedding date. No one understood. Some thought I was trying to save money on the venue. Some just thought I was crazy, risking snow, cold, and stranded relatives. But I knew my mom would understand. So I begged her, “please, Mom, if you have any influence with the powers that be where you are, just no snow. That’s all I’m asking.”

The next day was beautiful. And everything went without a single snag. And the day was filled with congratulatory messages amid shock at how lucky I was to have such nice weather—we were even able to take photos on the beach…without coats.

I knew what I was doing. I picked the day my parents had gotten married. I knew they wouldn’t let me down.

I’m thinking of them today and the beautiful weather my husband and I had, as I prepare for a record snowfall and a statewide state of emergency. I know it’s still sunny wherever they are.

Toast to Peg and Griff, married January 26, 1958

The tables are set, the flowers arranged
The dresses are altered, the scene has been staged
The drinks will be flowing, the food all dished out
The dancing will follow until we’re worn out

But what lies beneath the glitter and glory
Is the hope that we’ll follow in one true love story
We started as friends, with trust and with laughter
And hope that will see us through love ever after.

Just like the love the two of you shared,
Through good times and bad times, your hearts always bared.
Our hope is to follow those same loving ways
To smile and be grateful for all of our days.

On this day to remember, we hope that you’ll know
The love that is served ‘neath the chandelier’s glow.
And through all our joy, you’ll surely be missed,
To you both, raise our glasses, and send you a kiss.

Happy anniversary to all of us.

CHANGED URL: queen-of-terrasen to infinitemornings

So a friend of mine found my blog (even after I told him I didn’t want him to see it BUT I digress), so I changed my URL. I’ve gone from queen-of-terrasen to infinite mornings, an allusion to the 8th stanza of the poem ‘Ode’ by Arthur O’Shaughnessy, which is my favourite poem. The stanza I am referring to is:

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The Practice Yard

Set once more in my AU where Velahari is Inquisitor but Fena’dea is alive and well with the Inquisition.

Fena’dea seeks a moment of peace amidst all the craziness at Skyhold, but Abelas finds himself drawn to the practice yard while she trains.

If there were one thing certain to focus Fena’dea’s mind and drown out the voices perpetually whispering at the edge of her thoughts, it was sure to be training. The elf had made her way down to the training dummies at midday: the sun gleaming high in the sky and puffs of white clouds trailing past lazily against a backdrop of bright, vibrant blue. Her armor had been left behind and instead Fena’dea had donned training leathers which had been gathering just a bit of dust at the bottom of a trunk at the foot of her bed. If that hadn’t been a sign, Fena’dea didn’t know what was.

Cassandra was nearby, grunting as she landed a solid blow, though she glanced Fena’dea’s way only once before inclining her head and continuing. Fena’dea turned from the warrior and unsheathed her daggers, their familiar weight in her palms a comfort; the rogue whirled and twirled with the motions as one attack easily flowed into another, and another, and another. Iron Bull had once accused her of ‘dancing with her daggers’, and Fena’dea at the time had laughed heartily – had she seen the way she moved, she may have found room for common ground and agreement.

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my future partner is probably texting their bae right now about how they’re gonna be together forever. sike, see you in ten years bitch

Transformation Not Tuesday level 300 (my baby hospital bracelet in my hand today.)😛

"why do you always wear black"
cause i’m ready for ur funeral bitch

Tried to rub the ice off the window and realized it looked like a super hero. 👥