i can hear it in her voice



Matthias was dreaming again. Dreaming of her. The storm raged around him, drowning out Nina’s voice. And yet his heart was easy. Somehow he knew that she would be safe, she would find shelter from the cold. He was on the ice once more, and somewhere he could hear the wolves howling. But this time, he knew they were welcoming him home.

Farvell,” she said in Fjerdan. “May Djel watch over you until I can once more.”

Mbti Types as The Great Gatsby Quotes

ISFJ: “I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

ESTJ: “But I can still read the gray names, and they will give you a better impression than my generalities of those who accepted Gatsby’s hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of knowing nothing about him.”

ISFP: “The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.”

ENFJ: “There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams- not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion.” 

INTP: “I tried to go then, but they wouldn’t hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.”

INFP: “No amount of fire or freshness can change what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”

ENTP: “’You see, I think everything’s terrible anyhow,’ she went on in a convincing way. ‘Everybody thinks so- the most advanced people. And I know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.’” 

ESFP: ”It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced- or seemed to face- the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor.”

ESFJ: “The bottle of whiskey- a second one- was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who ‘felt just as good on nothing at all.’”

ENTJ: “The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored for so long.”

INTJ: ”Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire to meet her- but I did. I went up to New York.”

ISTJ: “he saw himself standing alone on the last barrier of civilization.”

ISTP: “’I am careful.’ 

‘No you’re not.’

‘Well, other people are.’”

ENFP: “Daisy began to sing with the music in a husky, rhythmic whisper, bringing out a meaning in each word that it had never had before and would never have again.”

ESTP: “They were at least agonizingly aware of the easy money in the vicinity and convinced it was theirs for a few words in the right key.” 

INFJ: “and for a second I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as breaks on my desires,”

here’s the ‘Jemma Simmons has so much trauma that needs to be addressed’ fic that no one asked for. Takes place sometime in early season 2, after Jemma returns from Hydra.

Jemma passes her in the hallway, and May doesn’t need a second glance to know that something’s wrong.

She pauses in place, hearing Jemma’s heels click farther and farther away before May goes back the way she came and places a hand on Jemma’s shoulder. She jumps—just a little, but enough— before cracking a smile.

(It’s the kind of smile you crack because you’re cracking and there’s all these little pieces of yourself on the ground and you wonder how you’re going to put you back together again.)

“May! How are you? Can I help you?” Her voice is light but her eyes are bloodshot and puffy and she brings the stack of folders she’s holding closer to her chest.

“Okay.” May responds. “You?”


(But when has Jemma Simmons ever been? When will she ever be?)

“It’s alright not to be.” May finally says. “Okay. You’re allowed not to be okay.”

Jemma takes a shuddering breath, inhaling and exhaling, and cracks a smile larger than the one before. “I’m actually quite busy, so if you would excuse me–”

“No.” May takes Jemma’s hand and pulls her away, the folders falling unceremoniously to the ground, the papers in them spilling everywhere.


“Leave it.” May orders.

May doesn’t care about that—May doesn’t care about anything or anyone else right now.

May cares about Jemma, and she does what she should’ve done the moment Jemma came back.

(She takes her, and she runs.)

Jemma sits on the edge of the bed, looking around twirling a piece of her short hair with her fingers.

She stares at May, and May stares back.

(It’s like staring into a mirror. Staring into a mirror after pulling the trigger and after the blood stained her hands. She’s just a kid, May once thought.

She was a kid, May thinks now.)

(And this this what scares her the most.)

“Talk to me.” May says, moving forward to sit on the bed besides Jemma, reaching out once again and taking her hands in hers.

May doesn’t care to talk, but May cares to listen, and she cares that Jemma Simmons has to be heard.

Jemma’s lips quiver and she blinks rapidly and she gazes at the ground and she says nothing.

May waits.

And then Jemma begins to cry.

“I left and I left him behind and I had to but he doesn’t understand.” Jemma buries her face into her hands, shoulders heaving. “How can I explain it? That he’s the one who was hurt but I was the one who had to leave? How bloody s–selfish was I? How could I do that? How can I say that to him?”

May’s never been good with words, but this time her words are the only weapons she’s got to fight for Jemma.

(What Jemma needs, right now, is someone to fight for her when she isn’t able to.)

“Fitz went through something traumatic, yes. But, Jemma, so did you.” May sighs and sits gently on the bed, wrapping her arm around her. “He was hurt, and you were hurt. He needed time, and so did you. Don’t ever let yourself believe you weren’t.”

“But I had the oxygen–”

“– and you had to drag your best friend from the bottom of the ocean not knowing if he was going to live.”

May pauses, and draws Jemma in closer.

(and Jemma lets her.)

“Listen to me, and listen carefully: it won’t become easier. All that talk about how ‘time heals’? It’s bullshit. Wounds become scars but scars still hurt.”

She nudges Jemma and Jemma lifts her head, May brushing the hair away so she can meet her eyes.

“It’s bullshit, but it’s life. And wounds become scars and scars still hurt, but they make you who you are. You are Jemma Simmons, and you are anything but selfish. You jumped out of a plane to save everyone else, even if it meant you couldn’t save yourself. You covered a grenade with your body to protect your friends, even if it meant your death. You dragged Fitz up from the bottom of the ocean because you couldn’t leave him behind.” May inhales, and tries to make Jemma understand.

“And you left because you had to for you. You left because you needed to, and because you had to take care of yourself. That isn’t being selfish. That’s being human.”

Jemma squeezes her eyes shut and breathes deeply, shuddering. “I’m so… tired.”

(May reaches out again, holding Jemma’s hand with the very fingers that pulled the trigger and couldn’t save the girl but can try to save this one.)

 “Then you should rest.” May stands up and pulls away the covers, patting the sheets and glares at Jemma, who’s watching with wide eyes.


“But this is your room.”

“Exactly. No one’s gonna bother you here. You can take a break for a little bit.”


“When’s the last time you really slept, Jemma?”

Jemma doesn’t answer that, which answers May’s question all the same. May just pats the sheets again and Jemma sighs, taking off her shoes and climbing into the bed as May lifts the covers over her.

“Thank you, May.” Jemma whispers, her eyes already fluttering and her breaths becoming more even.

“You’re welcome, Jemma.” May whispers back, but Jemma’s already asleep.

And when Jemma wakes up, May is gone. But there’s tea and toast on the nightstand and clean clothes on the chair, and for the first time in a while Jemma cracks a smile.

(It’s not the kind of smile you crack when you’re cracking and trying to pick up the pieces, but the kind of smile you crack when you realize you’re not alone.)

Aysel Archeron head-canons because I was bored and wanted to do it

  • Aysel’s psychic magic is similar to that of Professor X from the X-Men. When she is eight, her magic starts to develop to the point she can hear others thoughts and can speak into their minds. Its similar to Demaeti but not quite the same
  • she starts hearing eveyone’s thoughts and she starts freaking out because there were so many voices in her head. And Bay, who she is very close to, he just wants to help her but she hides from him the most because his thoughts are the loudest and fastest. He has Bipolar disorder and if you have it, you understand just how much of a pain in the ass rapid thoughts are

  • She locks herself in her room, her hands over her ears and screams at Cassian to go away seeing as how he is at her door. Cassian doesn’t know what to do, he doesnt have this kind of magic, doesnt know how it works. So he gets Amren.

  • “Help my daughter. Please.”

  • He hates that he cant do it himself. 

  • Amren sniffs and agrees to help him.

  • Amren gets into Aysel’s rooms and talks to her about her magic. Aysel is screaming at her to take it away. She doesnt want it. The thoughts are too loud. The emotions are too strong. She is afraid of feeling/hearing so much she loses control of her fire and burned someone.

  • amren snaps at her to get it together and that she would teach her how to control it . That it was possible. That she was to be Queen and she was too strong to be afraid.

  • After a while Aysel slowly nods and says, “When do we start?”

anonymous asked:

Can you do a HC where the reader has a speech impediment and constantly deals with people asking her about her "accent" and she hates it, but Ethan actually loves it

I sure can!! Please enjoy😊😊💕💕


- ‘Can you say this?’

- ‘Can you say that?’

- Always getting really annoyed cause that’s all you hear

- Makes you hate your voice because of it

- But Ethan is an innocent bean who honest to god loves your voice

- He loves hearing you talk

- Thinks it’s adorable when you get a little frustrated with your words

- 'You’re voice is so nice to listen to’

- 'Okay… that may be fake but okay’

- He makes you feel a little bit better about yourself but you still hate your voice

anonymous asked:

These insufferable closed minded people decide to bash and talk nonsense. I completely understand there being a lack of representation in SJM books, but it doesn't mean they need to tell the people that read the books that they are racist or hate on the people. Especially if that person has clearly said countless times that SJM books need more representation and so on.

Yeah, I agree with you. And it’s people like us, who can enjoy the books while also being critical of the lack of representation, who will ultimately be heard. Not saying that I think Maas is going to change, or that she needs to change. (It would be ignorant of me to expect that of her, or to put that on her.) 

But if she is going to change, or be open to changing, or recognizing the lack of representation in her books, then she’s going to be receptive to hearing the message when it’s voiced from fans before she hears it from people who position themselves against her. 

It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.

In “King of New York” I think one of my fave parts is when you can hear Katherine singing with the boys, and her voice comes in and out because of all the guys singing so loudly together. It just works so well

myheartissteadfast  asked:

To hearing God anon: God speaks to me through my thoughts and through other people. BUT that might not be the way He speaks to you or S. God can speak to us through dreams, visions, thoughts, other people, but most importantly, the Bible. 1 John 4:1 says that we need to test spirits to see if they are from God. You learn His voice by spending time with Him. You know your best friend's voice by spending time with him or her. Test what you are hearing, ask for signs, God will give them! Xx

Hi friend,

Thank you so much for this! I pray that our brother/sister in Christ sees your message. 

All my love,


hystericalnoisemaker  asked:

Hi, I have been a follwer now for awhile but didn't really have any questions until now and it's related to your whole spirit talks(?). I'm not 100% sure if it's any spirits who like to talk to me or if it's just my voice hallucinations that irritates me, the thing is I can hear a voice say my name with a voice that sounds like my mother. And she says it's not her, you know? How can I really determent if it my head or actual gods or spirits, because I can't get any contact with them.

Hooboy so. The best tip I know of is to know oneself. Which as someone with AvPD and BPD and a super active maladaptive daydream world… I know this is an incredibly hard thing to do sometimes. Is it just imagination? Or is it substantial? And when knowing yourself is hard, how can you determine between them?

I’m not sure I have a reliable system worked out. I’ll be up front about that; I’m still working on this stuff a lot. One thing I learned just the other night that can help is to look at the circumstances of what was said vs what was currently going on in the brain. For instance, the other night I was relaxing and doing a very good job keeping my mind empty in a vaguely meditative state when suddenly I got the overpowering urge of “I need to talk to you” and a distinct sense of who was saying it too. As this didn’t match the relaxed idle state I was in I figured it might be something legitimate. When I did divination to ask what needed to be said, the urgency of the song I got matched what I had going on in my brain so I took it as valid. If I had been having a daydream where exciting or stressful things had been going on, I likely would have discarded that urge as mere imagination. 

Another thing to do is to keep track of the little things. Sometimes the most subtle signs are the most legit ones. When I first started trying to communicate with the spirits in my yard, I tried seeing if I could get a non-divination reply to a species identification. I got some sort of a small sensation when I though “elf” and when I did divination later, I got elf for the species identifier. It might have been nothing but it turned out to be an actual indicator of “hey dat’s me!” that I pretty much ignored until I got the divinatory result to back it up. I’ve had instances of this before where I had to double-check if I was being touched by a spirit or not. The sensations were so minor I was going to discount them but I decided not to just in case and it paid off.

A lot of this seems to be trial and error of wash, rinse, repeat. Pay attention to the little things. Keep note of them even if they seem insignificant. If you can, do divination to double-check and back up your feelings. If you can’t, I like to ask myself the following: Does it pose any harm if I assume this to be legitimate? If no, roll with it. If it could, then I play it safe and hold off on it. 

I hope this is a little helpful :x

anonymous asked:

Chaalupaa is already dead. She could be in the same realm as Kravitz! Especially considering she was a lich who might be stuck in the Stokades

True she’s (most likely) dead but Taako did hear her voice presumably right before returning to base, and someone has been controlling the umbrella on those few occasions.

That being said, I would love to see Lup working together with Kravitz because imagine the possibilities. “So you tried to kill me.” “Yes, but to be fair you hunt liches and also you’re not good enough for my brother if you can’t take a little scorching ray.”

Evermore is the most gorgeous song that rips your heart out and makes you feel all the FEELS!!

- Josh Groban’s version is absolutely wonderful 

- I literally can’t comprehend how he stole an angels voice and made it even better 

- You can really appreciate the depth and strength of his voice like damn 

- I get Phantom of the Opera vibes and can totally see the song in both 

- Thank you my enchanting siren 


- This one literally makes me clench my heart in pain 

- At the end of the song I’m on the verge of tears 

- You can truly feel how much she has affected him and he can never let her go inside his heart 

- But he does because he is selfless as fuck and wants her happiness before anyone’s 

- It just has so much emotion especially the last lyrics like I’m bawling just writing this 

- Forever in love with you my Beauty 


I was the one who had it all
I was the master of my fate
I never needed anybody in my life
I learned the truth too late

I’ll never shake away the pain
I close my eyes but she’s still there
I let her steal into my melancholy heart
It’s more than I can bear

Now I know she’ll never leave me
Even as she runs away
She will still torment me, calm me, hurt me
Move me, come what may

Wasting in my lonely tower
Waiting by an open door
I’ll fool myself she’ll walk right in
And be with me for evermore

I rage against the trials of love
I curse the fading of the light
Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach
She’s never out of sight

Now I know she’ll never leave me
Even as she fades from view
She will still inpire me, be a part of
Everything I do

Wasting in my lonely tower
Waiting by an open door
I’ll fool myself she’ll walk right in

And as the long, long nights begin
I’ll think of all that might have been
Waiting here for evermore!

Originally posted by partofyourtaleasoldastime

Originally posted by poissonxquad

i’m cute but psycho, she says. she smiles at me.

in my backpack are sixteen emergency items for panic attacks, for shutdown mode, for in case i can’t stop urges i can’t control, in case i am in trouble. i have under my bed razors i can’t bring myself to throw out, even though i’ve been recovered for ages. i forget what i said to him after i say it. i don’t mean any of it, but maybe i did. am i steering this ship or am i just a passenger on it.

i put the hot in psychotic, she says. i hear her laughing.

i can’t feel my lips. back when the hallucinations were bad i didn’t tell anyone but him, because i knew what was happening. when i woke up in a hospital i tried to kill the doctor. my therapy group was full of wonderful people. the girl who was schizophrenic had a beautiful singing voice. i can still hear her crying sometimes.

normal people scare me, he says. i know it’s from tv.

we faltered on the edge of bad things. when he tried to burn his house down he didn’t know what he was doing. he’s being charged as an adult, they tell me. when he saw me looking he said it was his responsibility. the girl with split personalities is sweet. her trauma rendered her largely unable to speak. i sit outside with the other three who raid our own bodies and we pluck flowers and play a game: what if i’d been born normal. what if i had been given executive functions. what if i hadn’t been given depression in bucketfuls until it overcame my lungs. my parents don’t know how to look at me anymore and neither do my friends. they all tiptoe around me like i will break at any second.

try yoga. it’s just a phase. we all feel that way. you have so much to be thankful for. someone has it worse. mentally ill people are dangerous. therapists aren’t real doctors and by extension you have no real problems. go for a run. just choose happiness. you’re not really sick. you’re faking it.

i lace my shoes. it’s nice to have laces back. i will try to work out without letting myself get back into my disorder, but we all know how well that will go. i have been working out since i was six years old. yoga is on my schedule but it’s never active enough. there’s a good chance that out of the people in my group, one of them is being taken advantage of. we are so quick to give ourselves out for the safety of others. the boy who, like me, has burn scars on his skin - he tells me his girlfriend likes that he’s sick. it makes him sensitive. the girl who is schizophrenic gets picked up by her father. i know he hits her. she says she kind of deserves it.

sadness makes for good art, she says. i don’t look up.

when they ask me where i’ve been i say i’ve been out of town. i feel fine thanks for asking. i don’t know who i am when nobody’s looking. i don’t know if i’m even real anymore. i don’t know how to get close to people because they’ll end up finding out and hating me for it, or i’ll be a burden, or they won’t know how to handle it. my family never brings up the hospital again. sometimes i think i dreamed it. 

you won’t find love until you love yourself, he warns. it’s been a long day.

i’m so alone.

“If there was anyone who cared about me, God already killed them. My mother died when I was eleven. She had heart problems because of all the drugs. These two tears are for her. I can’t even remember her face. I remember going to her funeral but I don’t remember her face. When I dream about her, all I hear is her voice. There’s no dialogue or anything. It’s just her voice, saying: ‘Come here, Jeff. Come here, Jeff.’ After she died, all that mattered was surviving. Nobody showed me love. Maybe things would have been different if I had parents. Maybe I’d have a place to live. Maybe I’d have accomplished something. So I don’t feel guilty for anything. Why should I? God doesn’t feel guilty for killing my mom.” (2/2)

(Rio de Janeiro, Brazil)

A long time ago, with medical advancements far, far away...
  • The Writers of Star Wars: *Darth Maul literally cut in half and falls from very high up* This is completely survivable.
  • Also the Writers of Star Wars: *Padmé gives birth in a fully qualified medical facility* OH NO! A WOMAN HAS DONE A FEMALE THING. WITH A UTERUS. She died. Sometimes I can still hear her voice. She's gone forever! Oh no.