how gorgeous is she

baby- an imagine

a/n: im gay and i want to get married and have a baby and this is a writing piece about it. also try to reblog cos that helps stuff get shared n stuff. im also new so if you wanna follow hmu

“We always, we always, we always have a story,” you heard, your wife’s voice lulling the crying infant to sleep, and almost, almost succeeding. Leaning on the doorframe, your silhouette all that she can see, for light spilled in behind you. Your little girl was crying, and keep their new adoptive mothers up all night and somehow find a way to not have it even irritate them.

You come behind her, kissing her bare shoulder that’s poked out from her tank top, and her smile is genuine. You both haven’t slept in hours, both because of the crying and also because your daughter was a sight, and you were in awe of how gorgeous she was, her little breaths and her little sighs and her button nose- you can’t believe she’s yours.

She’s got tufts of brown hair, puffs over her head and her skin was soft and the warm brown you knew you’d love to see for the rest of your life. She’s lovely. She’s breathtaking. She’s the most beautiful thing you’d ever considered yourself tove. She’s yours.

A lot of people, (assholes) say that she’s not, that you didn’t make her so she’s not, and the thing is- you get it. She’s not made up of your DNA. She’s someone else’s, in that regard. She didn’t grow in your tummy.

But she’s yours, she became yours when you touched her tiny finger and she trusted you completely, relied on you for everything, trusted you to be her shepherd through life. She had big eyes that were brown and soft and sweet and you could swear they looked just like your wife.

You’re young to be adopting- only in your mid 20’s- and you hadn’t been looking for a baby at the moment. Your wife volunteered at a planned parenthood on the weekends, and she’d known a high schooler who’d gotten pregnant and was planning to put the child in the foster system.

And the love of your life, coming home frenzied on a Sunday, saying that she knows it’s crazy but you have a room and you have love and you’re married and you’d talked about kids and-

And you looked her in the eyes, you looked at the woman you would dedicate your life to in a second, that you did dedicate it to her, and she looked at you, eyes blown and you knew that fuck it, you wanted kids, you had a home, you had a wife, and this could be the time.

That leads you to here, where your daughter was finally falling asleep in your wife’s arms, and her voice is still the lovely thing that made you fall in love with her in the first place. She looks lovely, her hair falling over her cheeks and the streetlights pouring in the light on the woman you adore, and her looking at the bundle of joy in her arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Three girls in the home, you thought, a smile playing on your lips.

She laughed, kissing you, and you smile into it, and it’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that you’re kissing your wife with your daughter near.

3 years ago, if someone told you that you’d be sitting here, with a gorgeous, breathtaking woman holding a child you raise together, you’d have thought they were lying. Another one of those  people promising that shit gets better to make you feel better.  

But you’re sitting in here, with a little bundle in her crib, a ring on your finger, and lips tingling and her arms around you, eyes droopy from lack of sleep.

“I love you,” she smiles, lips against your cheek, fingers twining with yours. She says it like she doesn’t expect you to say anything back. She says it like it’s a fundamental truth to her, like the most beautiful and true thing in her life is to love you, and your heart swells because loving her is the thing she loves most in the world. Loving her is the thing you feel honored to do.

She looks stunning, even with her eyes tired and her fingers trembling with nerves of the momentousness of having a baby to raise.

You didn’t say yes to having her because it made sense on paper. You didn’t say yes because you had a home. You didn’t say yes because she wanted to, or because you thought that’s what married people do.

You said yes because when you looked at your wife, you saw what you always do.

You saw the girl you would dedicate your whole life to, the woman you wanted to build the world to make her smile, and you saw the only person you wanted to share the most incredible quest you’ll ever do. You couldn’t think of anyone you’d rather have a family with.

And here you were, the three of you, her humming under her breath to keep her baby asleep, and you were one.

A family.

Your family.

adothoe  asked:

are we complimenting taylor? that's good i have an entire arsenal. 1. taylor is so pretty i die 2. taylor is the nicest sweetest person ever and is always willing to spread positivity 3. taylor is honestly writing goals and i'm gonna cry when we finally start collabing 4. taylor is one of the best people i know and i'm so proud we share a timezone 5. moral of the story: i love taylor and you should too

No, we’re not complimenting Taylor because her heart will actually explode.

But here are some fun facts about Ant: She’s gorgeous. Like, it’s unfair how pretty she is. She’s smart. She’s funny. Her writing is amazing and we’re all lucky to be able to read it. She is an all around remarkable person and I love her a lot.

So, there’s that.

“I’m not letting you damn yourself!”

- Chapter 6: Family, The Awakening

art by @ichigomaniac

((DO NOT RE-POST/REPRINT))

Shit my Mom says: Shadowhunters 2.08
  • Mom: He's so handsome.
  • Mom: I bet the magic would be stronger if he had his shirt off.
  • Mom: Why does he wear clothes?
  • Mom: He has a really nice voice.
  • Mom: I really enjoyed that episode; I can't wait for the next one.
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everyone in harry potter is a poc: hannah abbot (x)

A pink faced girl with a white headscarf stumbled out of the line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ shouted the hat. The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table; the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.