thesunflowersqueen reblogged
when Van Gogh said “I want to touch people with my art. I want them to say 'he feels deeply, he feels tenderly'.”, I felt that.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
I can’t stop thinking about that post about how because of the immense distances between planets, Leia would’ve been able to see Alderaan in the sky for years after it was destroyed, if she went far enough away
And thinking that as time passed she’d have to go further and further away
And someone might ask why they were moving again
“No reason. I just like the skies here.”
Hi I’m having feelings
Summary:
Christmas Eve and Derek's at the Stilinski house after receiving a text from Stiles to meet him there urgently. He finds the teenager asleep under the Christmas tree and on waking him up he discovers that Stiles has found a huge missing part of Derek's past and a loving reminder of the Hale Family. The resulting emotional upheaval leads to revelations between the Alpha and his teenage pack member which leads to kissing and touching..
Christmas morning the Sheriff finishes his shift but what he finds beneath the Christmas tree is the last thing he ever expected.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
For Halloween sterek, could you maybe do an au with Derek making homemade cider and it's his mom's recipe or something so he makes it every year and Stiles lives in the same building as him and he comes home from a college costume party and he's drunk so he just walks into Derek's apartment because the cider smells so good and Derek turns around and suddenly there's just a guy dressed up as Batman or something and idk maybe drunk cuddles end up happening?
I fucking love apple cider, so I really loved writing this, even though it took months (on ao3!)
When Derek turned twenty six his mother finally gave him the recipe for her famous apple cider.
It had been a tradition in the Hale household since long before he’d even been born, one every member of the family eagerly looked forward to each year. On the first day of fall in mid-September, without fail, after they offered Mabon prayers and shared blessings around a bonfire in the middle of the preserve, his mother would head straight to the kitchen to start making apple cider, her way of ushering in the new season.
When he was old enough, around six years old, she let him help, his siblings never having any interest whatsoever in helping out in the kitchen, too busy rough-housing with each other or watching football with their father and uncle Peter. But Derek was always eager to help, dubbed a mama’s boy at a young age by both family and friends.
His mother would always smile indulgently, happy to have a little helper, and pull over a footstool for him when he politely asked if he could help in the kitchen, peering up over the edge of the countertop at whatever she was doing at the moment. So every year on the first day of fall she’d help him up onto the footstool or lift him onto the counter and let him measure out the sugar and cloves, count out the sticks of cinnamon to add to the slow cooker.
Once he was older, and no longer needed a footstool, his mother would have him slice and core the apples while she peeled the oranges, both of them talking about their week and upcoming activities, classic rock on the radio. Throughout middle school and high school, Derek would rant and rave about the basketball tryouts in late November and his mother would nod and hum in acknowledgement, offering a few kind words about how well he’d do and occasionally asking about his classes or how his friends were.
And every year she’d have him turn around, rolling his eyes like a typical teenager, when she added the secret ingredient, only giving him the okay to look again when she’d placed the lid back on the slow cooker. She’d smile brightly at him as she set the slow cooker on low to simmer for several hours, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and leading him into the living room to sit with the rest of the family.
The entire house had smelt of cinnamon and apples for weeks after just one batch of her cider, welcoming fall with the scents of the season. It was the scent of his childhood, hours spent lounging around basking in the aroma while his siblings tried to sniff out the secret ingredient.
He’d never actually tried to seriously figure out what the secret ingredient was himself, save for the times when he was younger and always tried to steal a peek from between his fingers. He’d simply chalked it up to his mother’s many quirks and carried on, shrugging and figuring he’d find out eventually when she felt it right to finally reveal the secret ingredient.
It happened to be on his twenty sixth birthday, when he’d been back in California to visit his family, taking a few vacation days to fly back to Beacon Hills and spend his birthday with all his loved ones. Early on the morning of his birthday, just as the sun was rising up over the horizon, he’d walked downstairs into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee before going for a run through the preserve, only to find his mother sitting on the counter with a book in her lap.
She’d pulled him into a tight hug with watery eyes, whispering happy birthday and telling him how proud she was of him. He’d had to hold back tears of his own as she handed him the leather bound book which, upon further inspection, he found was a handwritten copy of all mother’s most safeguarded recipes.
The rest of their family had found them like that a few hours later, holding each other tight and crying into each other’s shoulders, any thoughts of coffee and running completely forgotten. Laura had teased him for the rest of his visit about him being a giant sap, only stopping when Derek threatened to withhold apple cider from her the next time she stopped by his loft in New York, their mother rolling her eyes fondly as they bickered like the children they’d always be to her.
He boarded his flight back to the Big Apple a week later feeling more like an adult than since he’d gotten his driver’s license, since he’d gotten his PhD early, since he’d bought his loft in Brooklyn and started teaching at Columbia.
So, there he was at ten p.m. on Halloween night finishing his third batch of apple cider since he’d been given the recipe, singing along off-key to the Queen song he had playing on his phone, a batch of white chocolate caramel cookies baking in the oven. He was straining the cider through a fine mesh sieve, his cat, a calico aptly named Autumn, watching him from her spot on the kitchen floor, stretching lazily as she swished her tail.
Tossing the drained apple mash into the trashcan, Derek moved to strain the cider again to make sure there weren’t any solids left behind. He paused when he heard Autumn meow, the lilting trill she used by way of greeting, turning on his heel to see what had elicited her loud mewl, the words of Somebody To Love dying in his throat when he saw someone standing in his living room.
He tightened his grip on the metal handle of the sieve, ready to bash the intruder over the head. But it wasn’t just anybody standing in his living room—it was Batman. Well, someone dressed as Batman, anyway. It was Halloween, after all.
The mystery man’s identity didn’t remain a mystery for long as he yanked off his cowl and asked in a slurred whisper, “S'at apple cider?”
Derek nodded silently, completely flabbergasted, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the sight of the intruder, immediately recognizing him without the obstructive mask. It was his neighbor Stiles, an undergraduate at Columbia who lived across the hall and always said hi in the hallway and hummed loudly in the elevator every morning and had an overabundance of male guests that Derek’s jealousy couldn’t handle.
They’d talked a few times in the year Stiles had been living in the same apartment building, at the mailboxes and in the elevator, occasionally running into each other on campus, even hanging out with mutual friends to watch baseball a couple times. But they were nowhere near close enough to just come barging into each other’s apartments uninvited and unannounced, let alone barging in dressed like DC characters.
Not that Derek would ever kick Stiles out of his apartment, Batman costume or not. He’d been harboring a crush on Stiles for an embarrassingly long time, falling head over heels for him the moment he’d overheard him ranting to his friend about how rampant bisexual erasure in history was, citing a disclaimer in his history textbook which essentially no homo’d Chopin’s letters to Titus before switching to fluent Polish and reciting a snippet of one of said letters.
That had been almost a year ago and he still got butterflies whenever he saw Stiles in the hallway or shared an elevator with him, blushing like a little schoolboy whenever Stiles waved at him or asked him how his day was going. He’d actually run into a wall once, distracted by the way Stiles’ entire face lit up when he smiled, not paying attention to where he was walking and smacking face first into the wall, his nearby students dissolving into hysterical laughter.
Derek had nearly had a heart attack when Stiles first met Autumn, sinking down to his knees in a move that made Derek’s gut twist with arousal. He’d scratched under her chin and raved about how gorgeous she was, claiming he adored cats, always greeting Autumn with a smile and a coo about her adorableness whenever he saw her after that.
Every morning, Derek looked forward to passing Stiles on the stairwell or seeing a glimpse of him at school, feeling like a lovesick puppy. And now Stiles was standing there in his living room dressed like Batman.
Derek had a dream like this once — it had quickly become R-rated. He swallowed thickly at the memory, reflexively licking his lips.
“Uh, yeah,” he managed to croak out, glancing back at the slow cooker, wondering what about apple cider was so intriguing. His eyes widened when he turned back to Stiles to find him crying softly, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Derek tossed the sieve into the sink with a clatter as he rushed over to Stiles, stepping over Autumn who let out a plaintive cry as he did. He gently held Stiles by his upper arms, frantically looking him over for any injuries, for anything that could have elicited his tears, urgently asking, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles sniffled quietly, his soft voice a far cry from his typical loud, endearingly brash, confident demeanor, the sound breaking Derek’s heart. Stiles raised a hand to wipe his wet eyes, bottom lip wobbling as he tried to hold back more tears. "It’s just… My mom used to make homemade apple cider and I smelled it, and it smells so good, and it just reminded me of her so much and I really miss her and your door was unlocked… And I’m really drunk and…I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey,” Derek soothed softly, rubbing his hands up and down Stiles’ arms, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly. “It’s okay, it’s alright. I know. Here–” he turned Stiles by his shoulders and led him towards the couch, gesturing for him to sit “–just sit down and relax. I’ll finish the cider and pour you a glass, okay?”
Stiles sniffed as he sunk back into Derek’s couch, relaxing into the comfortable cushions. He lifted his head to look up at Derek. “R-Really?”
“Yeah, really,” Derek confirmed, grinning warmly as he ran a hand through Stiles’ sweaty, disheveled hair, stroking his thumb over his cheek. “Just sit here and relax. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Stiles mumbled, voice thick and gravelly as he hastily wiped his eyes, looking up at Derek with wide, trusting doe eyes. He licked his lips, sniffling miserably, “Okay.”
Derek grabbed the blanket he kept draped over the back of the couch and laid it over Stiles’ lap in case he got cold, tucking it around his hips before jogging the short distance back to the kitchen, weaving around Autumn. He picked the sieve up out of the sink, quickly rinsing it off before he strained the cider again. He stretched to grab a ladle from the drawer on the other side of the sink before fetching two mugs from the cabinet above the sink.
He spooned some of the hot cider into the mugs, adding a half stick of cinnamon to each the way his mother always did, and ventured into the medicine to grab a bottle of aspirin, remembering of some of his own more horrendous hangovers. He carefully carried the mugs back out to the living room where Autumn was curled up at Stiles’ hip, front paws in his lap, purring loudly as he scratched behind her ear, green eyes closed in pure bliss.
Smiling at the sight, Derek rounded the coffee table where Stiles had tossed his mask and took a seat beside him on the couch, Autumn mewing at him in greeting. He set the bottle of aspirin down on the table and handed Stiles a steaming mug of apple cider with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” Stiles murmured, uncharacteristically demure as he looked down at the mug in his hands. He carefully raised it to his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in the heady scent of cinnamon as he took a small sip.
His eyes popped open, wide and shocked, the moment the cider touched his tongue, moaning emphatically as he took another, bigger sip and then another. Derek smirked into his own cup at Stiles’ reaction, savoring both the amusing expression on Stiles’ face and the familiar taste of his mother’s cider.
“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned, blotting his upper lip with the back of his hand, gloves beside his mask on the coffee table. He pointed at his mug excitedly, licking his lips before he spoke, voice much less slurred, “This is amazing!”
“Thanks. It's—” Derek paused, not wanting to upset Stiles any further by being insensitive “—it’s my mother’s recipe.”
“S'really good,” Stiles reiterated, nodding gravely to himself. He raised the mug to his lips again, taking another deep swig, eyes falling closed at the taste.
Derek was about to ask him if everything was alright, but he stopped himself. He would let Stiles sober up, offer him the use of his shower, maybe give him a change of clothes. But for now, they would just sit there and enjoy each other’s company and his first batch of apple cider.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
wickedwitchofthewifi
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
The real Todd should turn out to be there, because he really was a good grandson and he’d never have wanted to neglect his grandma like this, but no one knew for sure he was dead because they never found a body, and he’s all like “Thanks for taking care of her when I couldn’t, man,” and we find out Annette knew all along that the demon wasn’t really her grandson but she wanted so much to believe her grandson wasn’t dead, and now there are two Todds and they’re both her grandson and she loves them both.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
Source: inspiring-pictures.com
Talking through things with friends makes everything better.
I feel so much better.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
Peggy Carter’s 1951 1953 interview, part of which is seen in the Smithsonian exhibit in The Winter Soldier
I'm in a bit of a slump, taking the day to go slow and work through it.
Fucking emotions. I really just want to move past this and get on with my life.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
All we’ll ever need is each other.
Absolutely, that’s true, my dear brother.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
Have you ever thought about how Harry wasted a huge opportunity when he dropped the Resurrection Stone in the Forbidden Forest?
Okay just imagine if he had kept it.
He dies, comes back, defeats Voldemort…
Only now there are over one-hundred people who have died in just The Battle of Hogwarts alone. Not to mention all of those names that were read on the radio throughout the year. (And everyone else who died before then.)
So the Golden Trio gets this idea…
They quickly spread the word and pretty soon, Harry sets up a room in Hogwarts with nothing in it but a desk and a chair. He sits in the chair behind the desk and calls people into the room one at a time.
Harry insists that the Weasleys be the first to enter. And so George walks in, puffy-eyed but smiling, and asks Harry what the big secret is.
Harry then plops an ordinary pebble into George’s hand.
George is very confused until he hears his name being whispered from behind him. George turns and of course there’s Fred. And the two twins are able to properly say goodbye to one another.
Harry then allows the entire Weasley family to come in and they all huddle around Fred’s spirit and are able to say goodbye. And of course Mrs. Weasley drags Harry out from behind the desk and he joins the family hug.
Are you crying yet?
Because I am.
But let’s keep going.
Mrs. Weasley’s hand brushes against the stone and Fabian and Gideon appear to say goodbye to their sister.
After the Weasleys finally leave, Harry brings Dennis in so that he can say goodbye to Colin.
Harry then individually brings in the family member(s) of the unnamed one-hundred students who died during the Battle of Hogwarts.
Harry then brings in Luna so that she can say goodbye to her mother.
He brings in pretty much all of Hogwarts so that they can say goodbye to Cedric.
He brings in Aberforth so that he can say goodbye to Albus and Ariana.
He brings in those who want to say goodbye to Snape.
He brings in Kreacher so that he can say goodbye to Regulus.
He brings in the rest of the house-elves so that they can say goodbye to Dobby.
And when Harry is done letting everyone else say goodbye to their loved ones, he closes his hand around the stone.
The first one to appear is a beautiful white owl who flies over to Harry and allows herself to be affectionately petted.
Then of course the others appear, just as they did in the Forbidden Forest on that fateful night. Harry doesn’t talk to them for too long, he’s grown up a lot since the Mirror of Erised, but he is able to make peace with his loved ones’ sacrifices.
And even then, he still keeps the stone.
He doesn’t use it again. Not personally, anyway. In fact, he stores it in a dusty box on the mantel in his house. He doesn’t use it. But he doesn’t forget it, either. Because he needs it for one last task.
And when the boy with the turquoise hair is old enough to understand, Harry gently sits him down and places a stone in his hand.
And Teddy Lupin meets Remus and Nymphadora.
thesunflowersqueen reblogged
dauhghter-archive-deactivated20
FIRST BELLARKE VID! Please watch I am pretty proud.
"The most sincere feelings are the hardest to be expressed by words."
<3
