Gracious heavenly Father, I thank Thee for Netflix and libraries and English Breakfast tea. I’m really extremely grateful for them. And that’s all the blessings I can think of just now to thank Thee for. As for the things I want, they’re so numerous that it would take a great deal of time to name them all so I will only mention the two most important. Please let the Netflix Anne of Green Gables series be super good; and please let me be good-looking when I grow up.
my sister will die over and over again for the rest of my life. grief is forever. it doesn’t go away; it becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath. i will never stop grieving bailey because i will never stop loving her. that’s just how it is. grief and love are conjoined, you don’t get one without the other. all i can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her by living with daring and spirit and joy.
When they realized he was a boy, the Gerudo panicked. It used to be that the birth of the Gerudo male was a time of happiness and celebration. The goddesses promise to them was still there. Then Ganondorf came.
Even his mother wasn’t sure what to do, turning to their chief, chosen by Nabooru herself to lead them and keep the peace between the Gerudo and all other races of Hyrule. She held him for a long time before making her decision.
“We’ll raise him to be humble,” she said, “No destined to be king. If he wants to lead, he must earn the right.” The Gerudo sighed in agreement.
“He will grow up knowing he has to save even the smallest of us,” she said, “He will be raised to be a hero.”
Missing My Voice (Tony X Fem!Reader, Peter x Fem!Reader)
Characters: Tony X Daughter!Reader, Peter X Fem!Reader
Universe: Marvel, Avengers
Warnings: Blood, surgery, needles, injury
Request: OK, so I have another request
(If you don’t mind, of course)! So can you do a Tony x Reader (adopted
daughter/father relationship)/ Peter x Reader (boyfriend/girlfriend
relationship) where the reader loves to sing and play the guitar and a ton of
other instruments but goes mute during a mission (due to an injury), and how it
impacts Peter and Tony? And can Tony like, go to a ton of doctors and stuff to
try and find a solution? Whether he does or doesn’t is up to you. Thanks in
Tony was walking down the hall to your room to tell you, his
daughter, and your boyfriend, Peter, dinner was ready. When he got close
enough, he heard your guitar and a bit closer, he heard your voice singing
along, which brought a smile to his face.
You had loved the art of music since you were a baby. Before
you could walk or talk, you always smiled and giggled when your dad put music
on. When you could walk you would dance and when you could talk, you would try
and sing along. By the time you were 3 you had tried making your own songs,
which your dad proudly recorded you singing. You got excited to go see musicals
and to go to choir practice, as well as band practice. You had learned the
guitar by age 5, and you kept learning new instruments for fun; the trumpet,
harp, drums, piano… but your strong point was always your old guitar and your
voice. You had sung and played in public, and several record deals wanted you,
but your dad told them to come back when you’ve finished school. He didn’t want
you to get too overwhelmed and lose your love for music.
He knocked and opened the door, and you stopped and looked
up at your dad. Peter was sat watching you, and he turned as well. “Come on you
two, dinners ready.” He announced. You got up and followed your dad to the
Rachel Joy Scott went to prom with Nick Baumgart on April 17, 1999, only three days before her death.
April 25, 1999 -
“Nick remembers Rachel as she was a week ago Saturday night, the only girl at the prom in a sleek black dress. Everyone else wore poofy pastels. She had a good time pondering, he remembers now, why elephants don’t have toes. He sees Rachel in the restaurant, the only one in his group who dared sample the pate. He looks at a photo of her, so pretty, so bright, sees her laughing as she struggled to pin his boutonniere.
He and his friends have spent hours remembering Rachel. Joking about how she used to imitate the spitting dinosaur from “Jurassic Park”. Laughing at how she would take any dare you could throw at her.”
Andromeda Tonks, who hears
the wireless announce her husband’s death just moments after she’s stepped into
the kitchen with the cold tea tray.
Andromeda Tonks, whose
world has been upended, who can no longer hear anything but a strange buzz in
her ears and the crash of the china as she slams into a nearby counter.
Andromeda, who thinks that
something’s not right, something’s wrong because Lee Jordan is a nice boy who
wouldn’t lie about this, wouldn’t lie about things like this, but he must be because Ted can’t…he can’t have—
Then the buzzing stops and
there’s a strange wailing sound coming from the parlour…Nymphadora, Nymphadora.
Andromeda Tonks, who runs
on unsteady legs back to the living room to catch her daughter before she falls
to the ground, her tears hot and heavy and splashing against her mother’s arms.
Andromeda Tonks, who sinks
to the ground and holds her sobbing daughter to her chest and rocks her as she
stares unseeingly at the floral wallpaper Ted had always detested.
Andromeda Tonks, who has
to keep it together for her daughter’s sake—for her grandson’s sake—even as her
hands are shaking and her mind is numbing and her heart is breaking.
Andromeda Tonks, no,
Andromeda Black now, who comforts her
Dora until Remus Apparates to their door and all three of them hold each other
until Dora’s all but cried herself to sleep.
Andromeda, who feels only
cold and numb but touches Remus’ rough cheek in thanks when he cleans up the
kitchen and brings Dora up to bed.
Andromeda, whose wall of
dignity and grace from years and years of
Black upbringing finally collapses and she falls heavily on the couch because it’s
the middle of the night now but she can’t
she can’t go back up to the bedroom full of his things or the study that
still smells like him or even the kitchen because he’d bloody bought that tea set
Andromeda, who can no
longer stop the tears and the screams she tries to muffle by shoving her fists
against her mouth and the agony is too
much and she can be there for her daughter and her son-in-law tomorrow
because it is too much right now and
she’s panicking and gasping because she can’t remember Teddy’s voice she can’t
remember she can’t remember—
It’s many hours later
before Andromeda’s throat grows hoarse and closes up and she just stares across
the dark room with tears still sliding down her face and Teddy’s grin burned into
the backs of her eyes.
Andromeda Black, who can
hear many things: the cars passing on the street outside, Teddy’s whoop of
delight when he jumped into the lake that afternoon in their fifth year,
branches tapping the windowpane, Teddy telling her he loves her in a voice
that’s raw and low and brittle as ice, a neighbour’s dog barking at nothing,
Teddy laughing laughing laughing
Andromeda Black, who
finally gets up from her sleepless dark eternity on the sofa at six in the
morning with tear tracks on her sticky face and teeth marks on her fingers, who
goes to the loo and washes her face and fixes her hair, who rebuilds that wall
of strength and quiet courage and no, she’s not Andromeda Black, she’s bloody Andromeda Tonks and Ted Tonks will
always be her husband and their lives aren’t over yet.
Andromeda Tonks, who
marches onward for her daughter and her grandson and herself, who helps Dora
give birth to a healthy baby boy, who squeezes her daughter and son-in-law’s
hands when she hears her grandson’s name.
Andromeda Tonks, who goes
back to that bedroom and that study—eventually—and tidies it up but just a
little, even if just to remember the exasperated chuckle Teddy always used to
make when she cleaned up after him.
Andromeda Tonks, who
watches Remus Lupin come and go with more bruises and scratches and shadows
under his eyes, and who then (after weeks of arguments) tentatively lets Dora
back out because she trusts Remus to bring Dora back and trusts Dora to bring
Remus back and they trust her to care for their son, their Teddy Lupin.
Until one day, that
horrible day in May, where they go and they don’t come back.
And Andromeda Tonks, who
thinks she’s been here before, been in this suspended state of buzzing and
silence and horrible clarity, feels as though the ground is swallowing her
whole as she stares at Dora’s Lupin and her Dora, her beautiful beautiful baby
girl, her darlingdearestdea—
Andromeda Tonks, whose
legs refuse to let her fall even as she gazes at her daughter’s peaceful face
and thinks about how she’s failed Dora, failed Ted, failed the baby sleeping in the other room that has
Dora’s mouth and Ted’s ears and—
Andromeda Tonks, who sees
only blurs, who accepts condolences without listening, who returns stiffly to
the house that once held everything and is now empty and silent and cold.
Andromeda Tonks, who no
longer has any more strength to give, who no longer has any more tears to cry,
who no longer feels anything except the throbbing throbbing pain in her chest that's’
never really gone away and is now threatening to crack her open becausenone of this was supposed to happen
because being a Muggle-born wasn’t ever supposed to be a bad thing and this war
wasn’t ever supposed to last this long and her sister wasn’t ever supposed to kill her own niece and she wasn’t ever supposed to have to
outlive her own daughter, her own Nymphadora…
Andromeda Tonks, who finds
that there are always more tears to cry, and this time when she collapses she’s
scared she won’t ever be able to get back up again because all the walls of
poise and dignity are down crumbling disintegrating and she won’t bother
building them back up again—she doesn’t want to because it was that family that built them in the first
place scorching them into her like a
brand and that family that helped
start this bloody war and that family
that took away her entire world
Andromeda Tonks, who this
time is silent in her grief, Andromeda Tonks, who is drowning in the feeling of
her chest caving in and her mind screaming and her heart a writhing living
broken flame burning and burning and—
Andromeda, who through the
tunneling blackness her existence has now become hears the wails of the one
person, one thing she cannot abandon,
because her health and spirit and sanity would fail before she dared to fail
him; her grandson, her Teddy, her Dora’s pride and joy.
Andromeda Tonks, who claws
her way out of the empty chasm with no answer and furiously shakes away the
numbness, who pulls herself up on her shaking legs and can almost hear Dora and
Ted telling her to get up get up get up
Andromeda Tonks, who makes
it to her grandson and scoops him up and holds him to her chest and sinks to
the parlor floor where she’d held her devastated daughter once upon a time,
cooing and fussing and crying alongside him for a mother who won’t ever return.
Andromeda Tonks, who
remembers everything: Ted raising Dora above his head in the sunlight, the feel
of his stubble in the morning, Dora’s giggles as she turns her hair pink blue
green, those canary yellow sneakers she adored, licking the ice cream off
Dora’s cheeks, Ted’s horrible singing when they stargazed on the Quidditch
pitch in seventh year, Dora’s cartoons in the margins of her letters home, the
three of them all together and hugging and laughing—and she knows she can be
strong for Teddy and herself because she’s Andromeda Black and Andromeda Tonks and she will be the very best of both because this
is her daughter’s son in her arms and
their lives aren’t over yet.
Andromeda Tonks, who has
risen and fallen and risen again and who will keep on rising for herself and
for this boy, her grandson, her Teddy
Lupin, and remind him all the rest of their days just how much his mummy
and daddy and grandpa Ted and grandma Dromeda would always love him and love
him and love him.
listen I get why it's so easy to be cynical about disco and everything associated with it especially given how dead the genre is but dont tell me that there's no beauty in that balance between tacky and opulent that makes it both desireable and attainable for the everyman and dont you dare say that there isn't pure joy and sex and youth in this movement and dont you talk shit about disco not being Real Music because like all important genres of the present it was the music of the devil that parents didnt allow their kids to listen to and quite frankly if you dont see the charm in disco with all its rhinestones and dance and boundless sexuality then i'm sorry for you like seriously Donna Summer and the bootcut jeans belong on that pedestal we build for renaissance art and Bach<p/></p>
Hey... so I've read your last poem about bisexuality, and I thought you could do something aromantic/asexual related? Thanks :)
You’ll find the right girl
Maybe you just like boys
Have you ever tried it
How do you know there’s no joy
How dare you trust your instincts
How dare you know your mind
You’ve made up an identity
To seem more special than the rest of the vine
the fact of being who or what a person or thing is.
There is no physical way this can be falseness
An identity is who I call me
And if, god forbid, I don’t think sex is necessary
Who could you be
To tell me
My identity is not who I call me
You were right, Controller… I am just a ‘frail, deluded animal'… But I’m also a Time Lord. My people were mapping the routes of eternity when your planet was a pile of cheap cosmic dust. We’re the guardians of History… and you’ve just given me access to the ultimate source of our power. Bad move. The Space/Time Vortex is passion and wonder and joy. It’s my home! How dare you try to cage it? Oh, shut up! You’re like a blind man trying to tell me how useless colour is! You’re so finite it’s pathetic! You’ve angered one of the primal forces of reality Controller. But that wasn’t your biggest mistake… YOU’VE ALSO ANGERED ME.
Eri hugging night eye’s leg and him walking around like normal and when someone had to report to him they’re a little hesitant since she’s there and he’s just like, “don’t mind her,” so they continue on. Or someone tries to remove her because they think she might be distracting night eye and he just glares at them, taking it as personal offense. Then they both become so close that one day as she dozed off next to him as he worked he saw her future and sees her smiling happily so he smiles and pats her head
Excuse me, how dare you make me bawl out my eyes in joy while imagining this.
Bravo! Everything about this, please, with a bit of more happiness and fluff on top!
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a oneshot or something where the reader is practically believed to be like Negan's queen and all his people respect her like they respect him? She's always where he is and they're inseperable kinda thing please? :)
Ships: Negan x Reader
They were all afraid of crossing you. And honestly, you couldn’t totally blame them.
You were his right hand, his wife, but now, you are the Queen. You are the only one that he will listen to. You can calm him down when he is in one of his rages. You know all of his sweet spots and what he likes and what he doesn’t like.
There was one day, the day you knew that you were truly his, where one of the men had the misfortune of thinking that you were just “anyone” and he had let his finger slip, stepped out of line. Hell, there was no line in sight.
When Negan found out, he ripped though every man and woman before him, trying to find out who would do such a thing to his Queen. Queen.
The men and women at the sanctuary all bow down to you, and in their books you are as fearsome as the lethal man beside you. You have been with him through ever second of pain, torment, and joy. You are respected by everyone. Anyone who dares challenge your opinion is as good as dead when Negan finds out.
You are unrivalled by any woman. You are his only and you will always be his and he will always be yours. And at night, when he thinks you asleep he would sometimes whisper that he loves you. But your favourite thing that he would tenderly whisper to you is:
“You are my Queen.”
Hi Nonnie! I hope that this is what you were asking for :/ sorry it was a little rushed since I’m gonna be watching EP3 in five minutes so I was a little pushed for time :/ I hope you enjoyed it though! Feel free to message me if you liked it or didn’t! Have a great day! C:
HELLO HI I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT THE GARDENING THING WITH WHIRL MADE ME CRY LITERAL TEARS OF JOY IM NOT EVEN KIDDING HOW DARE YOU???? So idk since your blog says that requests are open i thought i might as well request something; im getting a budgie on monday and i jsut.. what if whirls s/o had a lil birb friend like that? (Also if u have any name suggestions id love some..)
name it whirl. easy. also im glad the headcanons could make you happy, that’s why im here <3
Whirl wouldn’t like to be around it very much at first, he’s always so afraid that he’ll accidentally smack it out of the sky or crush it or something. He normally kept his distance. However, as time went by, Whirl got to know the bird better and actually started talking to it (he will never let anyone else know that) and enjoys its company.
Whirl realizes that he doesn’t really mind having it around when he’s doing his own thing, but he absolutely refuses to let it join him when whatever he’s doing involves weapons. He’d feel so bad if something happened to your bird under his… “care.”
Because of his size, Whirl is extremely slow and gentle-moving if the bird decides to land on anywhere aside from his head. He likes having it perch on his prongs! Or his gun barrels.
He’d definitely love to go flying with your bird… if it wasn’t in danger of dying every second of the trip. Whirl has a hard time predicting the bird’s flight patterns and doesn’t know how to stop it from flying straight into his rotor blades.