I just sneezed and one of my students said “bless you” and it reminded me of that one time at my charter school we had a PD session about consequences that included giving students a demerit for saying “bless you” when a classmate sneezed because that’s considered talking out.
And then we began sharing tips and best practices for the best way to break the automatic habit of saying “bless you” when someone sneezes.
Other things we’ve discussed while I was there: giving students demerits for saying “thank you” when someone holds the door open for them in the hallway because hallways are supposed to be silent.
Requested by @theimaginesyouneveraskedfor: “I think I would like a Thorin fic where the reader is in love with him but too afraid to confess because she thinks she could never be more than his friend and he is a king.”
Also incorporating “Imagine Thorin singing to you in order to calm you when you are homesick” from ImaginexHobbit.
Song lyrics are “When Morning Is Breaking,” an old Welsh air.
It was undeniably a beautiful, late-summer day in the valley, and your view from one of Erebor’s many terraces was unrivaled, but the loveliness of the sultry blue sky, sparkling river, and splashes of color from wildflowers among the waving grasses was lost on you as you stood leaning on the carved stone balustrade and absentmindedly rubbing your knee where it had collided with a table leg in your hasty retreat from the festivities in the Great Hall.
There had been many jubilant feasts in the month since you’d arrived at last in your ancestral home, but with each one, you had felt your celebratory mood slipping away.
For two long years, your thoughts had been full of Thorin. During the busy routine of the daylight hours, you missed his comradeship, his conversation, his steady presence, and at night, you lay in your bed with your heart seeming to burn within your chest, consumed with fear for his safety, anxiety that he might forget his friends left behind…and with the love that you had recognized for what it was only after he had kissed your cheek and walked away with his companions in the dim light of dawn.
ive seen so many nux lives fics but no potato lives fics
“FOOL!” screams Furiosa, and Potato knows. Knows that something’s gone dreadfully amiss.
The Rig shudders to life, lurching forward, but it’s a machine built for strength not speed. Next to it, the Wives exchange nervous glances.
There’s sand and gunfire and rattling engines. Potato shivers with fright - the Rock Riders have reneged and they are vicious and they will tear Furiosa to shreds - but somehow, miraculously, Furiosa appears at the hatch. She is sweaty and dirty and her eyes are wide wide wide but she latches on and the Wives grab her arms.
A Rock Rider!
Potato rolls around in anguish as Furiosa kicks at the monster holding her, but it’s no good. She’s going to slip!
Potato can’t let that happen. It has become fond of the Wives as they waited in the Rig overnight, and Furiosa is their best chance of survival.
With all the rage of its people, Potato launches at the Rock Rider.
Bops him on the side.
The Rock Rider tumbles.
As Potato rolls away, it hears the body thump under the War Rig’s immense wheels.
The War Rig keeps moving. Potato feels a glow of bittersweet warmth: it had liked the sound of a Green Place where plants and people lived in harmony.
But at least the Wives will make it there.
Potato rests, battered and bruised, half-buried in dirt. War Parties comes. War Parties go. War Parties come again. There’s an almighty crash. Silence.
A Warboy crawls towards Potato. He is caked in blood, not paint. He has eyes as blue as the sky.
“What are you doing here?” he croaks as he collapses in a heap next to Potato.
They are the wounded, the sacrificed, those left behind.
“Hngh,” a gravelly voice grunts.
It is deep night. The valley is silent but there is a man moving in silhouette against the backdrop of glittering stars.
The Warboy is hauled upright, arm slung over the stranger’s leather-clad shoulders. Potato wants to fight - the boy deserves better than a cannibalised end! - but then a hand reaches down and grabs Potato too, and it is stuffed in a pocket.
Conversation is sparse and muffled, but Potato gathers that the stranger and Warboy know each other, fought on the same side. Potato relaxes.
Citadel is gorgeous in the filtered pink light of dawn. Potato has never noticed the emerald hue of the frothy tops before.
Original request: “hello there(:! May I request a Legolas imagine? Reader and Legolas have been together for a while. He introduces you to the fellowship. Merry and Pippin get clumsy/try to impress you when the see you (like a crush). You overhear Legolas tell Aragorn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you and he is completely in love with you. Can there be romantic fluff at the end? thank you so much!!!”
Pairing: Legolas x Reader
Word count: 2020 (I’m not sorry - longest fic by 17 words)
The valley fell silent as Elrond announced the Fellowship of the Ring. Your eyes were filled with worry as you looked over at Legolas standing within the group, who now looked back at you. Your lips parted and your brows furrowed. Legolas would surely get himself killed. How could he possibly believe that he would be able to take the ring to Mordor?
He wouldn’t be able to, that was fact.
Once the council had dispersed, Legolas approached you. You rose from your seat, his arms snaking up yours in an embrace. He leaned in to place his forehead on yours, but you turned your head. Legolas looked at you with furrowed brows.
Of all the great dance sequences comes the chilling
performance by Shah Rukh Khan and Manisha Koirala. Choreography laced over the
silent valley of Ladakh. It’s a sequence where obsession and desire takeover
leaving no room for dialogue. Covered in earthy movements narrating the coarse
of a tragic romance, this piece becomes the epitome of the Bollywood love
story. The backdrop becomes a character just as much as the movement, and the
two protagonists bringing everything into a symbiosis. The performance is poetry
calling and crying for death ‘Mujhe maut
ki Godh me sone de.”
All night while the rain fell
the dark valley heard in silence
the silent valley did not remember
you were asleep beside me
while the rain fell all around us
I listened to you breathing
I wanted to remember
the sound of your breath
but we lay there forgetting
asleep and awake
forgetting a breath at a time
while the rain went on falling around us
W.S. Merwin, “The Sound of Forgetting,” Garden Time (Copper Canyon Press, 2016)
To the valley who silently weeps over the weight of the world:
you may stand in between mountains of pain and sorrow, you may be unable to face the marks of hurting truth, but you did what you had to do in times of need, you did what I cannot do alone in deed.
you may not bring the lost moments, back- but you tried to numb their pain; you tried to lift their burden, even when your heart is breaking for what you thought you lacked.
but I tell you this: you are not weak, you are not alone; Behind the valley’s clouds is the sun that always shone- this hope, this love that may never fully heal, but in this world, unfair and rough, you continue to live, you strive to survive, you need none to prove your worth and otherwise, because
I’ve seen the skies; i am your child and in my eyes, you are already, enough.