i could never have been prepared for this

New Year’s Eve

Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve, and Tony Stark is hosting another one of his extravagant parties. The reader, however, is hiding somewhere in the tower, not fond of parties and preferring to be alone.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 1034 

Warnings: FLUFF. I mean that’s not really a warning but you might die of cuteness.

A/N: So here’s a New Year’s drabble oneshot for you all to hold you off until I have a whole week to work on “Made For You”! Prepare for Bucky cuteness. Kbye. also I didn’t proofread this because I wanted to post it before midnight so if you see any errors please let me know


Originally posted by mylastlove-mylastsong

The balcony you sat on was fairly quiet, sans the normal sounds of Manhattan at night. However, tonight, you could hear music playing everywhere, especially from Tony’s party downstairs. It was New Year’s Eve, and you preferred to be alone. It had been this way since you were little, never knowing who your parents were, so you were used to it. You never were very talkative, either, and that in itself was a bit of a problem; despite being with the Avengers for a year now, you never really made a connection with any of your teammates. You showed up when they needed you, and promptly went back to minding your own business when you were done.

You sighed, leaning on the railing of the balcony, looking out from the tower. It was bitterly cold outside, but the lights of the city were too pretty to not look at. It helped keep your mind off your loneliness. You could see all the way across Manhattan, the Christmas lights from the week before still hung up on every building, looking like tiny stars that fell to Earth.

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Because you were foolish enough to love one place,
now you are homeless, an orphan
in a succession of shelters.
You did not prepare yourself sufficiently.
Before your eyes, two people were becoming old;
I could have told you two deaths were coming.
There has never been a parent
kept alive by a child’s love.

Now, of course, it’s too late –
you were trapped in the romance of fidelity.
You kept going back, clinging
to two people you hardly recognized
after what they’d endured.

If once you could have saved yourself,
now that time’s past: you were obstinate, pathetically
blind to change. Now you have nothing:
for you, home is a cemetery.
I’ve seen you press your face against the granite markers –
you are the lichen, trying to grow there.
But you will not grow,
you will not let yourself
obliterate anything.

— Louise Glück, Adult Grief

“The city had heard the fire was coming closer, but it was more a hassle than a threat. People would only complain about the smoke and ash. When it hit [a community on the outskirts], you could tell the attitude had changed. People were scouring the city for evacuation kits. The morning of the evacuation the sky was blue and calm. I just forgot about the imminent danger. The headlines from the emergency update seemed to say things were under control. We went about our lives. Around noon, the sky was filled with thick black smoke. I was rushing around to collect what I valued most. Shortly after, the first notice to be prepared to evacuate had been called. Maybe half an hour later the Emergency Alerts were blasting our radios. I have never seen more traffic in my life. We passed hundreds of cars abandoned, people parked on the side of the road expecting for this all to be called off. Campers were set up on the side of the highway. This drive should have taken an hour and a half on a normal day. We left at 3:30 [p.m.], and arrived at the [evacuation] camp shortly before [midnight].”

Unless you’re the sort of person who keeps stacks of chlorine pills in a backyard bunker, you’re probably not truly prepared for an emergency. Oh, you can have supplies and a plan. But emotionally, the idea of your home catching fire will never quite be real until it’s right in front of you. Once that happens, it’s chaos, as Derek explained:

“The radio stations continued to play music and made short announcements about evacuations. It got to the point where one of the hosts lost his nerve and just left. He started to panic and just wanted to get out. I don’t blame him. Downtown looked like a ghost town. All the trees looked like burnt match sticks. My phone was flooded with text messages and voicemails yet I couldn’t respond to any. Any out-going calls or messages failed. All I could do was listen to satellite radio and try and keep my mind off everything.”

Evacuating A Modern City: 5 Realities In A Real Apocalypse

Wedding Night

In honor of @yeahiliketheredleatherjacket ‘s birthday, I wrote something tiny! Here’s a little fluff from the Unbreakable realm, Happy Birthday, hun!!! <3


Emma sits down on the beach and stares out into the ocean. Everyone in her house is finally asleep so she could sneak out. She knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy, it’s the first night in almost three years her and Killian have spent the night away from each other, so she was prepared. Regina suggested making a sleeping tea for her, but she refused.

You never know with her.

She hears steps behind her and her lips tug up, without looking, she knows who it is.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

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Left Hand

request; hi! my name is layla and i was wondering if you could write a bucky imagine with #39? thank you!!

prompt; 39. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

a/n; guys!! i finally wrote a request, sorry for the long wait, and i’ll have the rest up eventually. just been in a bit of a writing-rut lately.. i hope this is good!! :-) {slightly changed the request a lil bit}

warnings; allusions to nightmares, like one swear.. think thats it


Bucky never used his left hand.

She noticed this, watching him walking around the kitchen of the compound. She watched him prepare himself a sandwich, using his right hand to open the fridge, grab something from the fridge, and use his right elbow to nudge it closed. His left arm laid limp by his side, only moving with a slight sway as he maneuvered around the kitchen. Layla wanted to question him, but the two weren’t exactly on that stage of their friendship. She took a sip from her coffee mug, her eyebrows furrowed in concern at this sight, opting to question him on a later date.


The next time she noticed this was at pool party Tony held, the group gathering at the huge inground pool he had installed. The boys found an old soccer ball from inside, opting to a game of soccer as most of the girls sat by the pool. Layla found herself sitting on the “sidelines” of the match, Buck sat in goal on one side, Scott in the other. She watched as the game started, the first goal flying to Bucky’s left side, seeing him desperately try to grab for it with his right, but missing by inches.

“Oh, c’mon, frosty! Pick up the pace!” Tony shouted, rolling his eyes as the other team celebrated their goal, causing for Bucky to roll his eyes. Layla rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, seeing a split second of sadness on Bucky’s face before getting into position. She noticed his eyes flicker to her, noticing the furrow of her eyebrows, before quickly turning back to the field in front of him.


At this point, she questioned if she had ever seen him use his left hand. As she noticed the pattern, she couldn’t remember a time that she had seen him use it. Until, she found herself fighting by his side in a mission.

“On your left!” She shouted to Bucky, watching as a quick elbow jab with his left arm sent the man to the ground. Her eyes widened as she continue to fight, his eyes falling on the shocked expression on Layla’s face. He elected to ignore this, snapping his hair back to rid the hair from his face. They cleared their area, a small frown on Layla’s lips as shock still wired through her body. 


Layla woke one night, a shutter falling through her body at the cold temperature in the air. She tried pulling her duvet closer to her body, but it didn’t completely eliminate the cold temperature from prickling at her skin. Layla let out a groan, pulling her robe around her body, the thumping of her feet against the hardwood filling her ears as she walked to the closest thermostat.

“Jesus,” she muttered, her teeth chattered as she saw it was set to 55 degrees. “Who the hell-” she stopped her sentence, hearing snoring coming from the kitchen. She turned the thermostat up, then walked into the kitchen, seeing a figure slumped over the island, small snores falling from the presence. Layla recognized it as Bucky, seeing his hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck. Layla noticed his plaid pajama bottoms, matched with a black sleeveless shirt.  She frowned slightly, seeing his left arm slung by his side as his head rested in his right. Layla looked over him for a minute before taking a few steps to stand next to him, hesitantly placing her hand on his back.

“Bucky,” Layla muttered, her hand gliding from his back to his right arm, squeezing it slightly. His head snapped up suddenly, Layla jumping slightly, their eyes meeting as she realized just how tired she looked. “Hey,” she spoke softly, a small smile on her face as Bucky’s eyes darted over her face, as if he was trying to figure out where he was.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, coming to his senses within seconds. Layla’s hand still laid on his arm, concern masking her features as she shrugged, pulling the hand from his upper arm and running it through her hair.

“Someone decided to set the thermostat to 55 degrees-” she stopped herself from continuing, a bashful look falling upon his face as she smiled slightly, realizing it was him who had done so. “Why so cold?” She asked, sitting in the stool diagonal from him. She and him weren’t close, barely speaking unless they were on missions. It’s not that they didn’t like each other, but that they just didn’t think of going out of their ways to talk to the other.

“I uh, I woke up and I was really hot,” he explained and Layla knew he wasn’t telling the truth, watching the way he avoided her gaze. Layla pursed her lips slightly, standing and filling the tea kettle with water. “What are you doing?” She noticed how he sat slightly uncomfortable, not being completely comfortable with her yet.

“I’m making us some tea, it always helps me sleep,” she explained, her back to him as she reached for the box of tea above her, pulling a few bags out of the container. She turned to him, placing her palms against the granite countertop. “So, tell me the real reason why you woke up, and maybe I can talk you through it.”

The rest of the night, the two sat; sipping their tea and speaking of their dreams.


“Hey, have you seen Buck- Oh,” Steve began to question before spotting him and Layla on the couch, her head on his lap, and the fingers of his left hand entangled in her hair. A small smile etched on Steve’s face at the sight, Bucky never used his left hand.

“Levi doesn’t care about anyone”

okay, so, please explain this

and this

and what about

I mean look at his facial expression, does he look happy to you?

Oh, and let’s not forget about

and to those who say he’s a heartless son of a bitch,

in your face

And don’t even get me started on “Levi is so ruthless” because

I am prepared, motherfucker

CAN YOU FUCKING READ?

No one gets left behind if there’s a chance to save their life


and why does no one talk about how he puts his life in Erwin’s hands

He’s always portrayed as the lone wolf but i’ve never seen anyone pointing out how he trusts someone

ah, and for those of your who call Levi an “abusive asshole”, look what I’ve got here:

What if he hadn’t beaten Eren up in front of the judge? The kid would’ve been shot in the head. Levi saved his fucking life

but I guess you already knew that, because you’re such an expert on the “abusive Levi”, right?

AND THESE ARE ONLY A FEW SCREENSHOTS I COULD FIND WITHIN 5 MINUTES OK

I KNOW THAT THE LEVI HATERS “do NOT SEE” THIS ON THEIR DASH haha YEAH I know that u r reading this u lil bitch

have a nice day

Holidays & #Aspergers #Autism:  Surviving That One Relative

Holidays are stressful enough but many of us on the #Autism spectrum have at least one family member who is bitterly disappointed with us. I have one. My best friend has one.  And they’re nearly impossible to please - nothing you do ever seems to be good enough.  If you have a job, it’s not a good enough job.  If you live in an apartment, it’s not a house.  (And heaven forbid if you don’t have a job or a house!)  There are times you suspect you could have a mansion and a BMW and they’d just complain that you don’t have a Porsche.

They always seem to pick on us during dinner, when we feel trapped and they have an audience.  What have you been doing lately?  It’s almost always a challenge, never a question delivered in genuine curiosity.

A lot of us prepare for this ahead of time by creating a list that I cheekily called the “Sod-Off” list.  This was a list of everything I’d accomplished in the past year.  It doesn’t have to be a big accomplishment, just something you’re proud of.  Did you finish a knitting project?  Finish a NaNoWriMo?  Start a NaNoWriMo?  Win a battle with a government agency?  Take a course?  Sure, there are “big” things like buying cars and earning degrees, but make no mistake, those “little” accomplishments count.

Here’s the thing:  The Sod-Off list is not for them - it’s for you.  If we try to list these accomplishments, they’ll just challenge their validity, tell us why they’re not satisfactory, and strip away everything that made us feel good.  No, this list is for you to keep in your mind, when you’re put under the spotlight.  It’s to remind you of when you felt proud of yourself, so that when that person asks you “What have you been doing lately,” you can shrug and say “A bunch of things here and there,” then turn to someone else and ask them, “What about you, what’ve you been up to?”  You might add “I’ve heard you’ve been doing X, what got you interested in that?”  This deflects attention away from you without sending the ball back to the challenging person.

The list is also for friends and family members who are genuinely curious about our activities and aren’t out to find reasons to be disappointed with us.  If possible, try to converse when the challenging relative isn’t around, so they aren’t tempted to interrupt with disparaging comments.

If possible, try to buddy up with a sympathetic relative or friend.  I have an aunt and a cousin whom I buddy up with.  My aunt is also trying to avoid our challenging relative, so whenever one of us sees that person trying to move in, we glide in and lead each other away with a “hey, come try some of this” or “hey come look at this game” or a “let’s go to the corner store, I’m craving buttertarts.”  We even have a text code for ‘challenging relative alert, come get me.’

That’s another thing, try to arrange an escape so you don’t have to spend a lot of time at the function.  Whether it’s going out with friends, an appointment in the morning, work in the morning, whatever gives you the excuse to leave.  We know that the challenging relative doesn’t give up easily, they’ll keep trying to corner us so they can grill us.  They seem to delight in being disappointed with us, so escaping the situation is our best defence.  If you have to live with the challenging relative, then it’s a temporary escape, but that can be enough to give your self-esteem a breather.  Look at your Sod-Off list and remember when you felt proud of yourself.  Because you deserve to.

You’re going to push her away.

If you want to talk it out, but she’s already made her decision.
You’re going to have to prepare to lose her, if she fell out.
“Friends” maybe in a different universe.
Because the door swings both ways.

You have to accept that you’ll never know what we would’ve been.
And I wish I could say what I mean.
And I wish I could say that was me.

You’re going to push her away.

I was always stuck between missin’ you and lettin’ you go.
And from experience, tellin’ you how I felt, fumblin’ through my fear, stumblin’ through my words.
It all didn’t matter.

You’re all I see in my dreams.
And I would’ve gave you 100%.
I would’ve caught you if you fell.
I would’ve shown you the light when it was dark.
When the storm was brewing in the ocean I would’ve been your lighthouse.

You’re going to push her away.

You can’t force her to feel what you feel.
No matter if you think you didn’t deserve it.
And you can write about her everyday.
Hoping that your pen will create a map to a new beginning.

Letting go wasn’t easy, giving up was harder.
I haven’t seen you in a while, but that doesn’t mean you’re not on my mind.
And I know I pushed you away.

—  S.S
I’m Gonna Need Your Loving


Karolina’s Playlist (1k Followers Celebration Challenge)

Prompt: Whole Lotta Love – Led Zeppelin

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You’re alone at the bunker one night, so you decide to have some fun until an unexpected guest decides to show up.

Word Count: 1841

Warning: fluffy fluff, implied smut, sickness (nothing graphic), very little angst if you squint, Dean being sexy (you need to be prepared for that shit)

A/N: (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname, (Y/F/B) = Your favorite books, Italics = Thoughts, Bold = Lyrics, I do not own Supernatural or the song.

P.S. I had a lot of fun with this challenge. Thanks for letting me take part Kari. I had a lot of fun spending my birthday writing. Hope y’all enjoy <3


Originally posted by dean-sam-winchesterbros

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Heaven only knows what goes on behind closed doors

A/N: OH WOW IT’S BEEN SO LONG HASN’T IT?? i’ve decided to write it in taron’s POV and I’m telling you this one here is gonna be full of sex. A tiny bit of fluff on the side, it’s hardly noticeable but it will still lead you to sex haha and it contains a slash smut, not going into details so prepare your bibles because it’s about to get dirty

Taron’s POV


Y/N has been acting immensely weird lately. I don’t understand why. She was so clingy the past days, demanding to come with me wherever I go like on sets, on my interviews, promotions or wherever I have to be. Not that I’m complaining though, but she never leaves my side and she’ll freak out everytime I leave her sight.

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I’m standing in the kitchen leaning against the sink, staring blankly at the ugly painting my mum bought ages ago.
The water I’m sipping on is lukewarm and has been standing on the counter for hours.
I had been waiting for your call for days on end but you stayed silent.
But today I guess you decided it was time, time to hit me up and end this once and for all.
No one could have prepared me for it, even though the thought of you leaving me has always been close in my mind; I always pushed it away thinking it wouldn’t happen today.
But when you called your voice wasn’t yours, it was dull and I knew what was to come.
The phone call didn’t last for long, only 2 minutes and 47 seconds.
It only took you 2 minutes and 47 seconds to break my heart for real this time saying we are better off not seeing each other.
I’m thankful for your honesty but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, knowing you are in love with someone else only makes my mind wander thinking why I couldn’t be that person for you.
But I also know that I cannot be mad at you for what you do not feel.
If it’s something I am certain of it is that you can’t control your feelings, I sure as hell learnt that with you.
But now I’m standing in the kitchen, my phone placed next to me, I am stupidly waiting for it to ring hoping it will be you calling me back saying it’s me.
The nausea is creeping up on me and it feels like someone just kicked me hard right in the stomach.
I finish my water and put the glass down into the sink so hard it breaks between my fingertips.
Maybe this could be a metaphor for how my heart looks crushed in your hands, I laugh at that idea and then my phone rings.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #25

The two decided to spend the rest of their time watching the stars.

Fiona: You’re an expert at this now. I remember when you’d never been stargazing or cloudgazing.

Rochelle: An expert, huh?

Fiona: Yep! You’re pretty great at a lot of things. You’re a great cook, a great singer, a great stargazer, a great mom, and a great wife. The list could go on and on really.

Rochelle: Speaking of being a mom, we should probably head home and prepare dinner for the kids. I’ve had a lot of fun today, but I can’t wait to get home and see them and listen to how their day went.

Fiona: Me too. We’re really lucky, you know. We have a great marriage, great kids, a great family.

Rochelle smiled. She couldn’t agree more.

Rochelle: So it seems like everything’s pretty great right now for you, isn’t it?

Fiona: It really is. I’m just so happy!

Rochelle: I am too. I could have never imagined that I’d be living such a wonderful life right now. Everything really is great.

SEEING ‘HAMILTON’

*

Can an essay capture an event so completely life-changing? Probably not. Where to begin? What clumsy collection of words would ever suffice?

Still, if this can convey even an echo of what I have witnessed, it will be worth it. Otherwise, you might never know.

It came at a time when I had resigned myself to never seeing Hamilton. At some point, the odds become too steep and you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. I could survive without it; I would have to.

But one morning there it lay on my doorstep, a rolled-up parchment tied with pale lavender ribbon. My lottery number had been chosen. The committee had reviewed my essay, the first check in the payment plan had cleared. I was going.

In the weeks that followed, I took time to prepare. I scheduled hearing and vision exams and began meditating to ensure my attention span was in top condition. I read the book, of course. In retrospect, nothing would have prepared me for what was ahead.

The day arrived. I called my parents in the morning and told them I loved them. My wife accompanied me to the theater and hugged me goodbye as I passed from her arms into the lobby. My paperwork was approved and I was shown to my seat. All around me sat celebrities, foreign dignitaries, high-ranking military personnel. No attention was given to them: we were in the presence of something greater.

There was a brief pre-show announcement. I couldn’t afford to take chances: I wrapped my phone in a scarf and crushed it. The glass shattered in my hand with a satisfying muffled crunch. Everyone else had done the same and ushers moved through the aisles holding wastepaper baskets to collect the debris.

The lights dimmed and a great hush fell over the crowd.

The curtain slowly rose to reveal the entire cast, all of them looking towards a single figure downstage center. It was him: Lin-Manuel Miranda. It hurt to look directly at him; The air around him was blurry with waves of humble creative genius. While the overture played, he scribbled in a notebook and jotted down lyrics for three songs in his next project.

Finally he tossed the notebook aside and spoke.

The words. The words were everywhere, Lin-Manuel’s genius words. They filled the theater, they ignited my time-dulled sense of what was possible on Broadway. The words caressed my brain and flowed over my face like hot, relevant syrup. Subtle changes in tempo gave us words slow and sensual, words urgent and unstoppable, all filtered through the amplifying prism of America. The crowd was mesmerized. Rhymes came with such speed and dexterity that I can only describe it as being spanked raw with a dictionary. My previous understanding of cadence and sentence structure were gone, replaced with Lin’s truth. All language was one, all things had become possible. Lin rhymed ‘Constitution’ with 'door’ and we cheered.

[For the record, I’m not some mindless sheep jumping onto the hip-hop train along with public opinion. I saw Into The Heights.]

Intermission arrived. We all sat stunned in our seats, unable to move, unable to leave the temple that this theater had become. Many were rocking and weeping; others soiled themselves. I tried to recall the details of my life before this moment, but nothing came: All I was, all I ever would be, was a person seeing Hamilton.

The second act roared to life and made a mockery of all we had seen before. Miranda was using words that didn’t exist; He was rewriting the rules of the spoken word before our eyes and we loved him for it. At one point he sang:

    LOTSA DIFF'RENT PATHS TO FAME AND POSTERITY,

    BLAFFA DIGGUM PLANTS IN A CAMEL MOCKUMENTARY.

I wrenched my eyes from the mesmerizing action to consider the set itself, made entirely of Tony awards. Thousands of them, glued together to form chairs, pubs, an island in the Caribbean, the White House. The reflected light was nearly blinding, but not as blinding as the words rawdogging my brain at every turn.

The show rocketed towards its conclusion and employed every possible theatrical device, boldly reimagined. Lyrics spoken faster than the human brain could comprehend. A flurry of costume changes for both cast and audience. Fireworks shot from the mouths of enormous papier-mâché founding fathers. A storm of eagles circled overhead and a cyclone made of tattered American flags lifted Lin-Manuel, chanting the alphabet, into the air before us. With the vocal power of an army of angels, the entire 500-person cast sang with one voice:

    IT’S NO FUN TO HAVE A BULLET IN YOUR ABDOMEN,

   THIS WAS THE STORY OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

A blinding light, a roaring wind, and then darkness.

The audience exploded into applause. We were screaming. We were crying. I was spent; It was like America had taken physical form and made three hours of crazed, carefully-researched love to me. The stage lights returned for the cast to take their bows, shiny with sweat and the sheen of revolutionary theater. People applauded until their hands were bloody and ruined; I saw bone poking through the palms of the older woman next to me.

The last bow came from Lin-Manuel himself, exhausted and radiant. People threw flowers, gold, undergarments, infants. He caught them all, freestyling about each as it flew towards him.

Long wooden tables were brought onstage and all were invited to sit. A colonial-style feast was served while Lin-Manuel led a discussion of the greater lessons and themes of the show. A bonfire was built in one corner; We were encouraged to add the soundtracks of other, lesser shows, rendered irrelevant. I tossed in Company. I hated it now.

As we finished the last of our tankards of ale, the house lights came on. Lin-Manuel hugged each of us and thanked us for bearing witness to his work. Grief counselors waited in the lobby to assist those grappling with the reality that nothing after tonight would hold any significance.

I stood before the theater a long time, then began the journey home.

I approached my house. I could see my wife’s familiar silhouette in the window, waiting. But that woman was a stranger. She hadn’t seen Hamilton. I walked away.

I roam the earth now, reflecting on what I’ve experienced. Yes, I miss the cast of my former life. I hope to see them again someday and find some common ground, especially if tickets open up in 2017 or the national tour begins.

Until then, there is only the rare glimpse of a familiar face within the crowd. Were they a few aisles back? In the balcony? It doesn’t matter. We approach each other and share a smile or a firm hand on the shoulder. We flash our torn ticket stubs, quietly nod, and walk away.

*

anonymous asked:

"Prepare to be amazed!" Trupearl

“Aunt Maya, where’s Pearly and Aunt Franzy? I thought she was going to hang out with us at our sleepover…” Trucy said, reaching her hand out so her “aunt” could paint her nails. Ever since Phoenix adopted her about two years ago, it had been a tradition for the four to get together at Fey Manor for a sleepover every couple of months. They would build pillow forts, drink tea, gossip, watch movies, play board games… Franzy and Pearly would never miss it, would they?


“I’m sorry. Pearls isn’t feeling well today. She’s resting in her room, and Franzy’s taking care of her.”


Trucy frowned. She always hated being sick. Daddy would make her lay down in bed, the TV off, wrapped in hundreds of blankets. She felt she would rather die of boredom than the actual illness. And then Papa Edgeworth would come home with that disgusting medcine…


“Can I see her?”


Maya shook her head. “I know you’re friends with her, but she needs to rest…”


She took off her top hat annd made a bouquet of flowers appear from inside. “Pretty please! Auntie, she’s probably soooo bored! I can throw a magic show for her. Oh, please! It won’t hurt her! Don’t they say laughter is the best medicine?”


Maya sighed and surrendered. She handed her phone to the young girl who gleefully sent a text to Franziska asking her if it was okay to come in Pearl’s room.


[6:38 pm] Franzy: ofc trucy, she could use some cheering up :)


Pulling her suitcase behund her, she skipped all the way to Pearl’s room.


“Trucy!” Pearl giggled as the little magician started setting up for her impromptu show. Franziska and Maya stood in a corner by her bed, Maya warning Pearl not to excite herself or she might get worse, and Franziska shaking her head and giving her the thumbs-up.


“May I have everyone’s attention please. What you are about to witness can only be described as the realest magic. Ladies and… ladies, prepare to be amazed!”


The show was one of Trucy’s best. After all, there’s something about your “special someone” that brings out the best in you.

Day 7 - A New World

game: Twilight Princess.

summary: He teaches her what joy is.

“Your Majesty,” Link began.

 “Zelda,” she corrected, barely glancing up from the papers strewn across her desk.

Link rolled his eyes in a way that would get any other member of her court executed.  “Are you really telling me you’ve never had a birthday party?”

Zelda sighed, putting down her quill to look up at him.  “I spent the first eighteen years of my life preparing for my coronation—I learned everything from foreign languages to court etiquette to diplomacy to finance.  Last year my kingdom was conquered and nearly vanquished; this year I have been working day and night to restore it.  There was never time.”

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anonymous asked:

hey turns out i was an accident and my abusive mom never wanted to have me in the first place. how am i supposed to feel about her now?? i dont know much i can reasonably hold my neglect and abuse against her. she already had two kids seven years before me though, who i think were planned. i just dont know how to process this.

still yet, though, she had nine months to prepare for you. she could’ve set you up with a home that would’ve been more welcoming. instead she has decided to abuse you and hold you accountable for her own choices

she is responsible for her own actions. you as her child should be able to expect positive treatment and non-abusive behaviors from your own mother. you can hold her accountable. you do not owe her anything for having been born

[just btw, i’m very glad you were born]

Childish Mood

Do something with cute with Manuel Neuer where you go grocery shopping and he’s acting like a little kid and throws in random unnecessary stuff ^^

I had been telling Manuel how we had needed to go shopping for ages now. We practically had nothing in the fridge, it was desperately needed. I had set myself a list of all the food we needed. “You are so prepared for everything. have you always been like this?” I looked up and saw my extra tall boyfriend standing over me. “No not always” I laughed.

“Right we need loads of stuff  so will you be able to function like a normal human today please” I told him sternly. Usually when we go shopping he would act so stupid so he could get out of coming with me the next time. But because I didn’t drive I had to make him come, as there would never be any shopping done.

“Oh is that how you play it babe?” He moaned as he rolled his eyes. “Yes because whenever we go out shopping especially food shopping. You act like an idiot and an absolute child.” I moaned at him. “True I am that child” I glared as I got my list in my handbag. “I dislike you sometimes, you annoy me so much” I said to him.

“Whatever babe, right are you ready to go” Manuel said as I walked in front of him. We drove to our local shop, it was quite a drive away. But it was a relaxing drive and I was getting read for Manuel being that annoying person that I knew he was going to be when we were shopping.

I got out the car and Manuel walked over to the door. “I got the trolley” He shouted as I followed on behind him. I got out my shopping list from my bag. Manuel started looking at all of the food. “Can I take it now please?” I asked him as he pushed it over to me. “Yeah but you know what this means” I looked up and him confused.

“Oh no” I answered him. He started throwing everything in the trolley. I sighed as he was now really starting t get on my nerves now. “Manu please stop” I sighed as I pulled the products we didn’t need out. “That’s what happens when you dot give me anything to do” He cheekily winks. Nope I wasn’t having any of it.

“I don’t need that ” I pointed at the sweets. “You don’t want sweets what” I rolled my eyes. “No just put them back please” He nodded and did what he was told. “Thank you” I weakly smiled as he pouted. “I knew that was hard and I guarantee you will still be annoying but it is fine”

He was now just walking up and down the aisles. Coming from someone who hates being seen out in public, he had a funny idea of it. He was always so shy when fans come up to him asking him for pictures. He was acting just very cocky today which isn’t like him, he is usually a reserved character.

As I was walking down the rinks aisle, Manuel flung his strong arms around my stomach. I squirmed out of his presence, but he wasn’t having any of it. “You smell so good” I blushed as I felt super hot from his cute compliments. “Thank you” He kissed my cheek and started kisses my neck.

“We are in a supermarket, you need to stop. Maybe when we get home. But you are so annoying and in just a childish mood” I walked away from him as he was giggling to himself. “Oh shh you” I moaned at him. I smirked as I playfully slapped his chest.

Secrets

The first part of a what if Oswald had a kid, no one in Gotham knew about (with the exception of a few and Gertrude is dead).

part 2

Tagging : @queencobblefreezestuff  @awordwhichmeans  @multi-villain-imagines  @aya-fay  @moaningvaleska  

Characters involved : Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot (hallucination), Lilith (OC)

Setting : Edward is trying to not panic after learning about Oswald having a kid, who showed up at the mansion wanting to see her father.

Contains : some swearing, reference to Oswald’s “death” at the docks, contemplation of murder/assassination, hallucinating Let me know if I missed something

Keep reading

I really love only now fully realising that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship with a full blown narcissist for four years of my life.

I struggle to believe how many times I may have been in danger but I had no alarm bells ringing. I struggle to believe I was lied to about something serious just so I could be sucked back in. I struggle to believe I was so prepared to take on such large baggage that didn’t belong to me (I will never believe I’m not a caring person ever again). I struggle to believe that I was belittled and patronised I bought every word. I struggle to believe how small I’ve made myself when I used to be so bold. I struggle to believe that I got so deep in someone else’s vision that I was crushed to the point where I didn’t laugh whole heartedly for atleast 8 months of my life except maybe once with someone else.

I got myself out of it though… I did it myself and that is good.

Because you were foolish enough to love one place,
now you are homeless, an orphan
in a succession of shelters.
You did not prepare yourself sufficiently.
Before your eyes, two people were becoming old;
I could have told you two deaths were coming.
There has never been a parent
kept alive by a child’s love.

Now, of course, it’s too late –
you were trapped in the romance of fidelity.
You kept going back, clinging
to two people you hardly recognized
after what they’d endured.

If once you could have saved yourself,
now that time’s past: you were obstinate, pathetically
blind to change. Now you have nothing:
for you, home is a cemetery.
I’ve seen you press your face against the granite markers –
you are the lichen, trying to grow there.
But you will not grow,
you will not let yourself
obliterate anything.

—  Louise Glück, “Adult Grief,” The Triumph of Achilles