be gentle with my feelings

Ok but I’ve been binge watching the Narnia movies again, after not having seen them for a long ass time, and now, being a little older and (hopefully) a little more mature than I was when I first saw them, I always feel physically sick when I see the Pevensies being children after The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe because they just aren’t anymore and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like, to grow up as kings and queens, respected and important, and full of duty, only to go back to being 8 years old (in Lucy’s case).

They didn’t remember England, or the wardrobe, or their old lives, they were Narnians and they were pushed back, not only into a world that was bound to make them miserable, but also into bodies that couldn’t reflect what they’d been through.

Just imagine Peter, waking up in the morning, not remembering that he isn’t the Magnificent anymore, imagine him subconsciously reaching for something to trim his beard, only to remember that it isn’t there anymore, to expect old battle wounds to hurt until he realises that they can’t because he doesn’t have them.

Or Edmund, who left England a stubborn selfish little boy who only wanted his mummy back, and came back the Just, the redeemed traitor, the diplomat, the man, having to resort to being ten years old and probably not even allowed to peek at a newspaper because he’s just a child after all. He plays chess, incredibly well, he doesn’t mock his siblings anymore and all the friends he knew when he was still a boy are either irritated at his behaviour or too childish, too selfish for somebody who knows very well just what selfishness can do, who has a part of the White Witch in him, always.

Susan forgets, we all know that. She must’ve lain awake at night, remembering just what it felt like to cover pain and viciousness and gore with a smile and a blush, remembering being the Gentle, but never in war. She must’ve cried for all the lost years, for all that she learnt and that she can never forget, for all that she has accomplished, that will bring her nothing in this world that doesn’t feel like hers. So she sits down in front of a mirror, talks herself out of believing, telling herself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream, that this Narnia her siblings talk about is nothing but a game.
The truth is too terrifying, to devastating to face.

Lucy, little Lucy, who grew up under Mr Tumnus’ smiles and Aslan’s approving gaze, who was loved by all, who did learn how to rule, how to negotiate but who never forgot just what it means to be a queen of Narnia, this girl who matured into a woman, who had a woman’s mind and body and a queen’s grace, she who they called the Valiant, the lion’s daughter, she shrank into herself, into a child, younger than even her siblings. She remembers, clearest of them all, she is the only one who still knows Mr Tumnus’ face, still knows Aslan, but she is just a girl, a pretty little thing who will never be the queen she was, who will never be the woman she was because queenship forms a person in ways no schools can.

They must’ve been devastated when they tumbled to the floor, short and small, and there’s a war they have no control over and Lucy is small, Edmund is skinny, so skinny and Peter and Susan have lost their glow and they’ve changed, they’ve changed so much. (The first time, somebody calls them by just their names, they feel invalidated and small. And offended. They’re kings and queens, they’ve earned their titles and now they have to sit in a dim room filled with children and listen to teachers, have to allow themselves to be insignificant and nothing more than what they were when Lucy first stepped into Narnia - frightened children in the middle of a war they wish was never there in the first place)

………………………..wholesome

hanzo is and will remain the most beautiful dude ive ever seen, like have u seen that jawline and those goddamn cheekbones????

also idk how to draw bows for shit so please accept the fuckery and embrace it like I did to my lack of skill thank you.

10

1.03 // 3.04

I didn’t know that it was possible to grieve someone who’s still alive.
—  I’m not being dramatic it’s just that missing you is like ripping my heart from my chest
2

bagginshield???? my city now

I miss soft intimacy, emotional intimacy. the gentle weight on my chest, The feeling of soft brushes against my skin & sleeping lips rested in the hollows of my neck along with strategically placed kisses on my collarbones, fingers run through hair, with legs tangled together. It’s something I can’t get out of my head.

anonymous asked:

(wowzaihavesomanyquestions) About deaf!Keith, is he still entirely vocal(still signs tho)? Or does he just stick to signing along with a few sounds for clarification? Also with Lance, is he an interpreter for Keith or another student just touring the school with Keith? Lastly, is Keith able to read lips? Thank you for taking time in reading this I adore your art as well as your au!!! 💞

oh gosh thank your for your interest in my AU anon! 

here are my own headcanons:

- Keith was born with severe hearing loss, so he wears really strong hearing aids. He relies heavily on lip-reading, sign language and writing as communication. (He used a tablet but it broke so he uses the sketchbook now)

- He didn’t really do speech therapy so he can’t speak? He was orphaned and moved a lot so he didn’t get to stay at one place to learn. He probably squeaks sounds out without realizing it tbh (lance thinks it’s cute and illegal stop that)

- Lance is a student at the high school and is Keith’s classmate. Keith is enrolled in a special scholarship for deaf kids that the school offers!

everything is pretty much still in brainstorming stage, but those are what I think are solid for my headcanons of the AU ^o^ 

Seijou Players As (More) Things That Have Been Said In My Workplace

Oikawa: Joke’s on you, as my employee you’re contractually obligated to come to my funeral!

Iwaizumi: I kind of want to adopt you… if only so I could ground you and take away your internet.

Hanamaki: Look, I know the scones are a best seller, but they’re a bitch to make so I hate them on principle.

Matsukawa: I’m sorry, it sounds like you’re asking me to be unhappy about something while I’m holding a tray filled with fresh cooked bacon. I’m afraid I can’t do both and you will pry this bacon from my cold, dead hands.

Yahaba: I know our relationship is based heavily on sarcasm but right now I am being so serious when I say get the fuck out of my kitchen.

Kyoutani: Overtime?? Ugh, it’s bad enough I had to leave my house to get here…

Watari: HOSTILE WORK ENVIRONMENT!! Everyone eat a cupcake and relax!

Kindaichi: (whispering) Why is everyone so gentle with the croissants, but so rough with my feelings?

Kunimi: Look, you’re my boss. And it is very important to me that you understand that that is the only reason I’m not flipping you off right now.

  • fighting my 1st dragon in Inquisition: The dragon is the monster. It rains fiery death upon me and my people. I must destroy it!
  • fighting my last, 10th dragon in Inquisition: I am the monster. Look at it, it's just sleeping there peacefully. Harming no one. And I'm about to kill it. The last of its kind in Thedas. Oh god I am the monster.
Jonsa Alphabet Headcanons: G

My second alphabet headcanon written for the ABC of Jonsa event organized by the lovely ladies over at @jonsa-creatives.  If you haven’t heard about it yet, I encourage you to check it out here and participate! 

G is for Gentle and Gradual.

Jon knows about the rape, torture, and other horrors Sansa has suffered at the hands of Joffrey, Ramsay, and their ilk.  He sees the way her body shifts subconsciously toward his when she is surrounded by men, even her own bannermen.  He knows life has taught her not to trust men, and that makes him treasure her trust in him all the more.

So when the politics of the realm force him and Sansa into an arranged marriage, he is quick to assure her that he will never touch her against her will or force his way into her bed.  She protests that the Northern throne must have heirs, and that he would not have to force her anyway because she wouldn’t fight him if he touched her.  But she trembles when she says it, and he says firmly that they can have heirs when she is truly ready, and not before that.  She trembles again on their wedding night, but Jon still does not touch her.  Instead, he leaves the bedroom so she can change into her nightclothes, and only returns when she is fully clothed.  He offers to sleep on the floor, and when she refuses, he folds up one of the blankets and lays it down over the middle of the bed so that he does not roll over next to her (or, gods forbid, on top of her) in his sleep and frighten her when she wakes.  When morning arrives, he smiles and gives her a gentle greeting, and then leaves the bed at once so she can dress in privacy.

Over time, Sansa stops trembling when they go to bed together, and more and more often she reaches for his arm when they stroll through the godswood, or fingers a tear in the chest of his tunic, or kisses his cheek when he presents her with some little gift or other.  She does not turn away when he brushes a lock of hair out of her face or tenderly kisses her forehead when wishing her good night.

One day, he kisses her lips - just a brush, and not before giving her time to turn away.  She doesn’t turn away, though.  She returns his kiss, and his hands reach up to cup her face and stroke her temples, and this time when she trembles it is not from fear.

It takes weeks after that yet for Sansa to be comfortable with him kissing her more deeply or upon her throat and shoulders, but Jon is always gentler than she dared hope.  One night she lets him see her in her shift, and another soon after that, she takes off the shift to show him her scars.  She rubs her shoulders nervously and apologizes for his having to see the ugliness of her bare body, but he kisses a scar on her shoulder and whispers that she is beautiful and perfect, and at first he tastes tears on her lips when he kisses them.  But the tears dry up, and soon Sansa is turning the tables and kissing his scars, and the trembling has left not only her body but her eyes and her smile.  And when she lets Jon into her bed and her body and her heart at last, he wonders not at how long it took for her to accept him but at how blessed he is that she should accept him at all.

He doesn’t know that she herself wonders what she ever did to deserve the brave, strong, gentle man Father had promised her all along.

When you say…

“Why haven’t you tried this yet?” Or “It’s been 3 years and you haven’t gotten better yet?”

It hurts.

It feels like you’re saying I’m not trying hard enough.

It feels dismissive.

Like my illness is a simple problem I haven’t bothered to solve.

Like I don’t live with it everyday.

Like I don’t already feel like a failure enough as it is.

Think before you speak, but especially to a chronically ill person. We have a lot of bed rest time to play your words over and over in our heads.

I wonder if I am your 11:11 wish, the one you’re wishing upon every falling star, the one who makes your butterflies alive and the one you’re dreaming of.

I am full of what-ifs, always wondering and thinking of your thoughts about me. I feel nervous when I’m near you, how much more if I find myself talking to you. You are the gentle breeze who took my heart by storm.

I feel my heart beats as I try to breathe deeply. I hear echoes, an endless one. My heart echoes your name. It screams your name venerated all over.