rockin'-on

anonymous asked:

So I saw this on my dash: Which half of your OTP starts Christmas morning by casually leaning in the kitchen doorway, reading a book, acting like they don’t know there’s mistletoe right above their head and which half walks past them while mumbling sleepily “Your book is upside down”

I took some liberties with both the prompt and what’s going on in the show right now, but I hope you enjoy.

Rockin’ around the Christmas tree,
At the Christmas party hop.
Mistletoe hung where you can see;
Every couple tries to stop
.

Three things Owen Hunt loved: his wife, surgery, and Christmas (order pending). December 1st, he broke out the matching sweaters, and by the fifth, their entire house reeked of Santa’s second home. Where he found the time or the energy after back-to-back shifts in the E.R., Amelia would never know. Every time she came home, though, it all just seemed to grow.

Scrooge, he called her –– Amenezor Scrooge, to be exact –– earning him a heavy eyeroll each time until he kissed her pout away. All because she wouldn’t let him put out a second inflatable Frosty outside their door. But she had to draw the line somewhere, she told him, before the power lines in their neighborhood overloaded because of his ridiculous decorations.

It’s not that Amelia hated the holidays. Far from it, really. The joy spread across her nieces’ and nephew’s faces as they ran toward Santa in the mall was enough to bring a smile to her lips every time. But there was a bittersweet kind of nostalgia, too, and a mourning period, for she couldn’t quite erase the memory of the faces who should have been here. Her father, her brother, her son… All missing from the dinner table on Christmas Eve. This was exactly why she always worked through Christmas and ignored the holidays altogether. They just weren’t her thing anymore. Not after everything she’d been through.

She didn’t mean for it to happen, but as December 25th approached, she started to notice his excitement dwindling. At first, maybe it was a relief not to hear carols all hours of the day, but she found herself starting to miss them. Not the songs themself, really, but the spirit that came with it. Once the smile of a little boy getting his first big-kid bike from Santa, now his expression was much more subdued. He wished people a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays as he passed them in the hall, but the stupid Santa hat was gone, and while she had begged him to take that thing off, its reluctant disappearance struck a chord of sadness through her. Her grief shouldn’t have to be his, and she vowed not to let it ruin their first Christmas together.

It was an ungodly hour on Christmas morning when her vibrating alarm woke her up and Amelia dragged herself from between the sheets, praying her husband wouldn’t wake as she tiptoed out of their room to get started. Good thing she had gotten so good at sneaking out of people’s beds in her wilder days…

When he finally awoke, it was to the smell of freshly-baked gingerbread wafting through the house. Now, before you get crazy. She didn’t bake them. Maggie baked them. But Amelia was the one to lay them out nicely on a platter and spray that ginger-scented room freshener (sickening though it was) through the halls to lead him down to the kitchen. What she did cook for him were her special waffles, cut into what were supposed to be Christmas shapes, even if they were a little rough around the edges. Okay, a lot rough around the edges. And she filled their milk glasses with red and green food coloring, respectively, which actually looked really disgusting, but she was going for an effect here.

Brow furrowing as he realized he was alone in bed, Owen called out for his wife and got to his feet. “Amelia?” he tried again, but to no avail. Frowning with worry that perhaps she had gone into work or something, he wandered out of their room, down the stairs in search of her. This was Christmas. He was supposed to wake her up with a dozen kisses and then surprise her with the antique locket he’d bought for her, not play hide-and-seek with Scrooge.

It turned out, however, that she wasn’t all that hard to find. Balanced in the doorway of their kitchen, she stood reading a book, trying to look entirely nonchalant despite her ridiculous short-skirted Mrs. Claus outfit, complete with a hat to match his own. In her hand, she held a book, pretending as if she often just stood in doorways reading. His breath was stolen away, a smile crossing over his lips. Bright eyes flickered up at him and then quickly back down at the book, and he stifled a laugh. His wife was so cute.

“Really invested in that book, huh?” he asked, moving closer.

“Mhm,” Amelia hummed. “It’s captivating.”

“Is that why you’re holding it upside-down?” Owen chuckled.

Cerulean eyes widened for a second and she flashed a sheepish grin. “It’s better that way.”

War and Peace is better upside-down?”

“Yeah, have you ever tried to read this thing? Not only is it the longest book ever, it’s so boring. Reading upside-down makes it more interesting,” she fibs.

“And this has nothing to do with the mistletoe above your head?”

“Is there––?” she looked up, feigning surprise and then smirked at him. “Huh, I guess I am standing under the mistletoe. You better do something about that.”

Owen laughed, shaking his head and leaning down to press their lips together. “You are adorable, you know that?”

“I know,” she beamed, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen.

He looked around at all she had done to prepare. The crazy outfit, all the fresh baked goods he was sure she had bribed out of Maggie and April, the candlelit breakfast setup… Of all the Christmases he’d ever had, of all the holidays he’d ever imagined, nothing could top this. “You really did all this for me? I thought the holidays weren’t ‘your thing.’“

“They’re not, really, but they’re yours,” Amelia replied, pulling out his Santa hat and propping it up on his head. It still looked ridiculous as ever, but his smile made it work. “And I wanted to make this one special for you.” Standing on her toes, she pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Owen.”

“Merry Christmas, Amelia.”

whenever i see furry art of pokemon (you know… by accident……………………………………..) where all of the humanoid pokemon are given massive breasts, i wonder what it’s like to live in that world where human values regarding modesty are the same

like nudity is still taboo but there’s a distinct chance you might see a blaziken with rockin’ tits just walking around outside 

actually no this post is too weird and i can’t spin this in to a joke everyone will just know that i’m a closet furry

how to delete post

siri how do delete post

siri how to delete embarrassing furry admittance post 

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Yams rockin tha gleesh water collection

Dear Ozzy

It’s your birthday, man!  Can you believe it?  I can’t hardly, knowing all you’ve been through.  Losing Lemmy last year was so hard, I can only tell you now how grateful I am that you’re still around and still rockin’.  

I just wanted to write a little note to let you know how much you’ve meant to me over the years. You were truly one of the first rock ‘n’ roll heroes I had when I was just a little sprout first getting seriously into music. I remember the first time I heard “Crazy Train” - David D’Agostino blaring it repeatedly from his boombox in the hallways at school.  I was stunned.  “What IS this?” I wondered.  And then the night I woke up with the radio on and heard those metallic words…”I…Am…Iron Man…” coming out of my speaker, followed by the heaviest riff imaginable.  Shudders. Down my spine. Literally.  Ever since then you’ve been a part of my life.  I borrowed Desiree’s cassette of “Speak of the Devil” and then lied to her about it breaking so I wouldn’t ever have to give it back.  I hung your pictures on my wall and had fights about it with my dad, the preacher.  I started growing my hair long (but, alas, never got the shag-and-frosted hair cut I wanted to look just like you). I started telling everybody at school that you were my uncle.  “Uncle John” from the English side of the family.  I did it until people actually started to believe me, haha.  I got high with my friend, Dan, in his Chevette (before we rolled it and killed it for good) listening to “The Ultimate Sin” and wishing we could play guitar like Jake E. Lee.  And, yes, like countless other young rockers, I copied your “O-Z-Z-Y” tattoo on my fingers.  

I cried the night you played in Seattle on your “No More Tours” tour because I truly believed you were retiring and that I would never get a chance to see you play live. I still remember the radio DJ going on and on around midnight about how fucking amazing your show was that night.  And I just stuffed my face into my pillow and let the tears go.  Can you imagine how ecstatic I was when I did get to go see you on your “Retirement Sucks” tour?  Hahaha.  I should have known.  A true rocker never stops rocking.  

I’ve seen you solo once and with Sabbath twice.  Oh my god, that first Sabbath show.  Utterly incredible.  You were on fire that night, man.  You had the Seattle crowd going fucking crazy.  And to hear you sing all those classics…again, it brought tears to my eyes.  

Musical fads and styles come and go and I grew up through my “all heavy metal or nothing” phase to embrace a lot of different kinds of music; punk, blues, jazz, country (real country, thank you very much, not this contemporary pop country bullshit), experimental, etc.  But I still have “Blizzard of Ozz” and “Diary of a Madman” on vinyl and bet your ass I bust them out and crank the stereo still.  I’ve been a fan through all your phases: the insane, drunken, drugged-out bat-biting phase, the maybe I’m in league with Satan maybe not phase, the glammed-out I look like an overweight Beverly HIlls housewife phase, the return to awesomeness Prince of Darkness phase, the terrible TV sitcom family phase, the Black Sabbath reunion phase…ALL OF IT.  Through thick and thin even when it wasn’t seen as “cool” to still be an Ozzy Osbourne fan.  I did not give a shit.  Still don’t.  Your music has meant a lot to me and got me through a lot of rough times.  And that, of course, is the power of music…something I’m sure you understand completely.

So, thanks Ozzy.  For everything.  Keep rockin’ and stay crazy.

HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY!!!

Your friend,

King D.

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When you suck so bad at art but u rockin at using the tablet

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anonymous asked:

Well clothes that are generally made for females as they're in the female section of in stores but i know what you mean. So it is he or it is genderfluid or something or other?

hes just a stylin goat, theres nothin inherently female about rockin some nice fashion

but the goat is a boy.