#National hero day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wandazworldz · 1 month

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Happy National Hero Day 🤍

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spiderliliez · 19 days

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JANE GOODALL : AN INSIDE LOOK An intimate portrait of Dr. Goodall and her pioneering work The documentary draws from an extensive collection of unseen footage, totaling more than 100 hours, capturing Jane Goodall’s work in Gombe during the 1960s, meticulously filmed by Hugo van Lawick. Thought to have been lost, this invaluable footage resurfaced in 2014, providing a glimpse into Dr. Goodall’s groundbreaking research and the natural world she dedicated her life to studying.

[+] JANE (2017) 🌿

#HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY #MOTHER'S DAY #DAME JANE GOODALL IS MY HERO 💖#Jane Goodall #Dame Jane Goodall #Jane #An Inside Look #National Geographic #Gombe #Tanzania #Africa #Jane Goodall Institute #Roots & Shoots #Quotes

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nationaldaycalendar · 2 years

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October 8, 2022 - NATIONAL FLUFFERNUTTER DAY – NATIONAL HERO DAY – NATIONAL PIEROGI DAY – INTERNATIONAL OFF-ROAD DAY – NATIONAL CHESS DAY – NATIONAL MOTORCYCLE RIDE DAY - AMERICAN TOUCH TAG DAY – NATIONAL COSTUME SWAP DAY – I LOVE YARN DAY

October 8, 2022 – NATIONAL FLUFFERNUTTER DAY – NATIONAL HERO DAY – NATIONAL PIEROGI DAY – INTERNATIONAL OFF-ROAD DAY – NATIONAL CHESS DAY – NATIONAL MOTORCYCLE RIDE DAY – AMERICAN TOUCH TAG DAY – NATIONAL COSTUME SWAP DAY – I LOVE YARN DAY

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cat-cosplay · 1 year

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Wait-a-minute...

#spider man across the spider verse #Spider-Man #spider-cat #Spider-Nyan #cat cosplay #cosplay #cats #kitty #cats in costumes #cat #fan art #cat costume #cats of tumblr #aww #marvel #national super hero day #super hero day #spiderman

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allaboutjmo · 8 months

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#jennifer morrison #jmo #Jen Morrison #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat #national heroes day

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oumaheroes · 7 months

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Got any spooky local folklore and stories?

Not local to me (though there are a good few I could tell), but have this strange tale instead

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The Teacher

There is a ghost past the schoolyard.

Over there, past the field to where the trees touch the iron railing on the other side. Do you see? By the forked one with the crack. In and out between the trees he walks, to sit or stand a while alone. He’s always been there, for years and years and years. Everybody knows. Pale skin, pale hair, and blood red eyes- all life sucked out of him. It’s true! You must know him, Sir, you must. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You were a student here too, Miss says, back when you were young.

He was. And the teacher can remember the story of the ghost behind the playing fields, one who walked there a few days every year to sit in silence amongst the trees. There is a little bench on the other side of the school’s railings, old and rusty as if left behind to guard a forgotten track, and the ghost would come and haunt the grounds a few times in October, every year since the beginning of time.

Maybe he was there more often, in the summer when the leaves hide the shape of him amongst the green, but he was always gone by the time the last of them fell, leaving only the old bench and the muddy floor of the forest. Or, perhaps he only appeared when the spirits grew in strength as the summer died, old year peeling away to reveal the world of the beyond.

This is only a story. One passed from year group to year group, new students taken by the shoulders and made to stand at cool railings, five years old and dreading to spot the dead man emerge from the trees. Children said he died there, waiting for a lost love. That she betrayed him to her secret lover, who shot him from behind as he waited to meet her. He’d kill you, if you looked him in the eye. Drop dead from fright.

If you listen, Sir! If you listen you can hear the shot. I swear it, and Ada says that she saw blood last year on the leaves. Gone in a blink but she swears-

The teacher enjoys these stories. He is pleased that after twenty years that it prevails, almost entirely unchanged. He remembers some encounters that now come back to him, stood as he is in his new-old classroom on the first weekend of October. His brother swore blind that he saw the man once, a flash of white before vanishing when he looked. Several of his classmates had a similar experience, a noise of twigs snapping when no one was near, the smell of gun smoke and unseen cookfires that left as suddenly as they came.

The teacher has no stories of his own. He had been too scared to get close to see when he was a student, staying well in the safety of the school field as his classmates screamed and ran from the edges, daring each other to get close, closer.

He wonders how old these stories are. Every school has something of the like, he knows- girl dead in the toilets, boy thrown from the roof. Sad and lost children, furious at their lot and stuck forever to watch the life they left behind. But this one, the teacher thinks, is unusual. The details still so solid and exactly the same as what he remembers.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The librarian, the same as was here when the teacher was a boy, takes a sip of her coffee and blinks at him behind thick glasses, ‘The whole time I’ve worked here, I think. Unsettled me, at first. Thought it morbid.’

‘And now?’

She chuckles, ‘Now, I’m fond of it. It’s nice that it hasn’t changed. Traditions passed by children are special, I think. Don’t you?’

Stop.

Wait.

What is that, by that tree? A movement, quick between tree trunks. Hold still, listen a moment. Is that not the snap of a twig, the rustle of something move?

Perhaps, after all, there is something past the schoolyard.

The teacher spots it, one day, taking a walk around the edges of the field. Too many papers, too much marking… and it’s nice to be outside. The sun is out today, the autumn leaves orange and red fires in their branches or in drips and splotches along the ground but there… what was that. A glimpse of white amongst brown. Could it be?

Don’t be foolish. Go and look.

How many years has it been, the teacher thinks to himself, as his heart beats faster close by the railings. A too fast trip ta-tum ta-tum, a marching drum as he nears. Caution grips his stomach, a flutter of a warning. Silly children’s stories, silly exaggerations and games, he is too grown up for this. But stories long held and passed down hold truth, don’t they? Isn’t there something true, in every tale that is told? Something that makes it important to be kept, something that demands it be remembered?

Closer, closer. One step, two.

The teacher has never been this close before.

On the edges of the schoolyard, almost beyond the shouts of playing children where the trees touch the railings, there is a bench. It is warped, rusted by wind and rain and time. It sits alongst the branches and the roots, a forgotten rest stop in the thickness of the forest. And by the bench, stands a man.

He is a normal man. Average height, average build. Maybe a little too slim, coat too loose about the chest, but there is a body to fill it. He swings his head around as the teacher approaches, a polite nod in greeting that the teacher does not- forgets to- return. The man’s eyes are red, his hair is white, and hundreds of old stories murmur in the teacher’s head at once like whispers.

‘Can I help you?’ The man speaks, awkward silence between them gone on for too long, and the teacher finds his senses return. This ghost has a voice, and a body. He is a man, after all.

But… but.

‘Hello.’ The teacher steps closer to the stranger. ‘Are you lost?’

‘Lost?’ The man scoffs, as if offended. ‘Nah. Just on a walk.’

‘This is a school.’ The teacher says, patting the railings that separate them, ‘You are scaring the children.’

The man raises his eyebrow, disbelief and scorn all over his face, ‘The children?’

Swallow, breathe. A shout of young voices on the wind. ‘Yes.’

‘Huh.’ The man turns away and looks out through the forest. ‘I’ve been coming here for years and not had trouble before.’

The teacher goes to respond but the stranger scuffs the mud underfoot with the toe of one boot and the teacher finds himself silenced.

‘There used to be a road here. A single horse track through the woods.’ The stranger lays a hand upon the bench, wide hand light on the metal back, ‘The Prussian army camped here once and left this behind. Wouldn’t know that now, would you?’

Muddy ground, thick trees. Where had this man come from? The teacher shakes his head, ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘Not on any maps anymore. Used to be. Then they built the manor-‘ a head jerk towards where the school now sits, directed to something missing, ‘and everything shifted east. Then, this became the edge; the last bit.’

The edge? Of town, yes, but that felt like there was more there, underneath and between the man’s words. The teacher opens his mouth, closes it. Then, ‘My family lived there.’

The man turns back to him, bright eyes and a knowing smile, ‘Yeah?’

Why had he said that? The teacher didn’t mean to say that, he had meant to sa- ‘Yes. My great great grandfather was born in the gatehouse. They worked for the family.’

The man snorts. He knew that already, the teacher thinks, he knew that. He knows me too, somehow, something in his face gives it away. The normalcy of family, shared blood and kin amongst strangers.

‘Well, all gone now.’ Red eyes, white hair. Broad shoulders pulled back and straight naturally- a soldier’s stance. There could almost be a sword at his side, and if the coat were not there the teacher could believe that there was. The man nods at him, sober- ‘Nice to meet you’- and the teacher knows that he is dismissed.

Where is he going? Why is he walking away? But he is, the teacher finds that he is walking. Back across the field, back to the school- sat atop the ruined foundations of a manor house that hardly anyone remembers was once there. A general built it, some documents say, a young man who was rewarded for his efforts in helping Prussia to greatness and it fell when the Russians came.

How strange, the teacher thinks to himself as the hours tick by, how odd. His shoes are muddy and he knows he walked during lunch, but the route… where did he go? Who did he speak to? Did he speak at all; he thinks that he did. He has memory of words there, in his mind, but he can’t quite hold onto them. It is like his mind shies away, refusing to acknowledge something he isn’t supposed to know. There is the taste of something in his mouth, something metallic and sharp, and it lingers there until the night like soot.

Sir, sir! Look, did you see-?

No. No, he did not.

#hws prussia #aph prussia #hetalia #hws #gilbert beilschmidt #aph #nations as they appear to humans #Seen From The Other Side AU #nations as seen by humans #friends I slapped this out in about an hour please forgive me #might be HEAVILY rewritten in the coming days #heroes writes

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voltfruits · 1 year

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hmm. thinking about how when the party goes into Aubrey's bedroom on One Day Left and she finally apologizes, Kel's immediate reaction is to apologize to her in return. and also thinking about how Aubrey always targets Kel in physical combat but also in her verbal accusations (Aubrey's dialogue upon winning in the church fight is "serves you right, Kel" and she doesn't seem nearly as mad at Sunny despite him actually slashing her with a knife). i know the common fandom perception is that Kel and Aubrey simply drifted apart after Mari died, but... i think it's very likely that something actively bad happened between them, but neither one of them wants to bring it up again. and i definitely feel like Kel secretly blamed himself for Aubrey's downward spiral.

#this is all headcanon ofc but my personal theory is #that after mari was buried aubrey would visit her grave ever day and try to get kel to come to #and eventually kel was like ''are you gonna do anything besides sit by her grave all day? when are you gonna move on and live your life?''#and aubrey (justifiably) took that REALLY badly and then there was a screaming match #i think kel is generally well intentioned and he always wants people to look on the bright side of life #but he doesn't yet realize that it's not appropriate to force positivity on people all the time #idk. he's always forcing himself to fake happiness so i feel like he could force it upon others too #TLDR what if kel and aubrey had a fight like kel and hero except things didn't get better afterwards. are you crying yet #omori #aubrey omori #kel omori #omori headcanons #volt.txt #kelbrey #not romantic ofc but i know kelbrey nation will eat up this angst so. take it #oops there are hella spelling errors in these tags. whatever. L taken

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bookshelf-in-progress · 3 months

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Daughter of the House of Dreams: A Fragment

Author's Note: This is the opening to a long-abandoned "Sleeping Beauty" retelling that I no longer plan to write, but I still like it as a piece of prose, and it sparked my enduring interest in second-person narration, so it feels relevant, and why should long-dead authors be the only ones who get to have their unfinished fragments published?

If you ever travel to Monetta City, be sure to visit Faraway Lane. Walk past the glittering new shops, and the shoppers in their bright silk dresses and top hats, and you'll find a cozy stone shop at the end of the street. This shop isn't grand and mighty like the other shops. It won't sniff and turn you away if your clothes aren't the latest fashion. It's a grandmotherly old shop that shakes its head at the prancing and preening of the younger shops, and invites you in instead. It holds no wares in its windows; it hardly has windows at all. But it has a warm and wide wooden door, with a shingle hanging above—Alessia Day, maker of dreams.

Don't ponder the sign's message too long—it means exactly what it says. Just slip inside, shut the door behind you, and look. Don't breathe too deeply, unless you want a week of crazy dreams, but allow yourself one gasp of astonishment. You won't be able to stop yourself. No living person has failed to feel awe toward the rows and rows of shelves, longer than streets and taller than palaces, filled to bursting with glass bottles in such bright colors that the dresses in the other shops' windows would weep in envy. Some bottles are the size of thumbnails. Most fit comfortably in the palm. Some are as large as breadboxes or steamer trunks or carriage horses, but the shelves manage to fit them all. And each bottle is filled to the brim with dreams.

If you don't understand, ask Alessia Day. You'll find her at a counter half a mile from the door, polishing bottles and humming a song you've heard but can't remember. She's an old woman now, and proud of it, but squint your eyes and start to daydream, and you'll see her as I remember her—a willow-wand girl with shining brown hair and eyes that sparkle with half-formed jokes.

Tell this girl how pretty she is (she'll laugh and call you crazy) and ask about her dreams. She'll tell you of her stock and sell you any dream you ask for—daydreams and pipe dreams, dreams of love, dreams of adventure, dreams of loved ones lost and loved ones found and people you've never met but wish you had. She'll show you dreams of lush and perfect islands, dreams where fishes fly through the air, and dreams where people swim the seas with fishes' tails. She'll pull down dreams that last a second but linger a lifetime, dreams that fill a month of stormy nights, dreams that fade on waking and dreams that drown out memories. If you let her, she'll talk of dreams until you drift off, and she'll bottle up your dream while you doze.

But if you're smart (I know you are) you'll step to the counter with a clear glass bottle, empty of everything but air, and ask for her story instead. She'd distill it in a dream for you, and be glad to do it—I once saw her whip it up in half a minute, and I'll bet she's even faster now. Buy the dream, but don't drink it right away. You won't be ready for it. Linger in the shop a while. Hear the story first from Alessia Day's lips, in that voice of hers that's sweeter than singing.

You won't believe half of it, but when you stagger from the shop and wander the empty, starlit streets, you'll ponder over passages until you stumble into bed at sunrise. And when you wake, the world will be different—you'll see tiny footprints on the windowsills, know things about the shadows on the walls, tip your hat to creatures in the corner of your eye, and realize there is another color no one else can see. You'll laugh and call it your imagination, but every second Tuesday, you'll start to wonder if the old woman was right, if the things she told you were true.

If you drink the dream she made, you'll know. I'll understand if you don't—some things are easier not to know. But if you do, and dream through her story, come to my house and ring the bell. My man will let you in—he'll know you by the wonder on your face. He'll bring you to my study, set you in my oldest, softest chair, and get us both settled with a steaming pot of tea. Then, once you've finished babbling, I'll close my eyes and tell you my part in the tale.

#the bookshelf progresses #i had completely forgotten the story that this was supposed to be the prologue to #then over the weekend i found the plot summary again #it was actually pretty cool #it was about this girl whose family served as the most prestigious dream-makers in the nation #because they provide dreams to the famed cursed and sleeping princess #and then she discovers that the princess could have been woken a bunch of times over the century #but her family prevented it because they didn't want to lose their cash cow #and then of course she has to find a way to break the curse #i don't know why i thought having this random dude as narrator was the way to go #(unless the story morphed a lot between initial idea and whatever story i intended to write with this prologue)#he was probably in the prince role #and would marry the princess while remaining friends with alessia #beyond that i have no clue what i was going for #(also i don't think i would do the 'he teams up with this girl and marries someone else' plot if i did it today #because i hate marian halcombe situations where the hero develops a strong dynamic with his adventure partner #only to for some inexplicable reason marry someone pretty and boring)#anyway today's a day where i want to write and don't really have time to #so i'm just posting this instead

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epiclamer · 2 years

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Hero x villain fake dating. Now. NOW.

(Also love you MUAH MUAH)

Yes ma’am. HAPPY NATIONAL GIRLFRIEND DAY, BABY!!! I love you so so so so so so so so so so much <33333333333333333

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)

Love is in the Air

“Mmmm, you look so hot in that outfit…” Villain drawled, eyeing up the hero who was panicking to get dressed and ready.

Hero stopped their fussing and glared at their nemesis. “Thanks. It’s for the gala, if you had forgotten?” The edge in their tone was evident, they were slightly annoyed—if not frustrated—with the way things were panning out.

Oh, and not to mention the fact that they were stuck having to pretend to be Villains lover for the night.

“Come on, I’m not that bad am I?” Villain stood up, heading over to Hero’s side as they helped them pick miscellaneous things off the ground and tidy up. Hero let out an annoyed huff but they continued with their rushed cleaning alongside Villain.

“You are that bad. You’re terrible.” Hero scoffed, dropping their things on their half of the bed—which was defined by a very large pillow wall Hero had created to keep the two halves separated.

Villain winced playfully. “Ouch, are you always this mean? Normally the roles are reversed, hm?”

Hero’s patience was beginning to run thin, they were already overwhelmed with the whole undercover situation and Villains incessant teasing was becoming a bother at this point.

“Do you ever shut up?” Hero asked, pausing to turn and glare at their enemy. “Like seriously, all you’ve ever done since we got assigned this stupid project is talk. Talk talk talk talk talk. Can you just be quiet for one second???”

Hero had to admit that it came out harsher than they wanted it to. They didn’t mean to actually hurt Villain, they just got caught up in the heat of the moment. And when Villains face dropped and they took a step back, Hero knew they had fucked up.

Villain cleared their throat, acting unfazed as they angled themselves away from their fake partner. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, yeah.” As much as Villain refused to be hurt by Hero’s words, they stung. But they pushed away their pain and squeezed their eyes tight, they were not about to cry over a stupid fake dating game with their stupid nemesis.

The words left an acid-like taste behind in Hero’s mouth, filling their throat with a taste similar to bile as they swallowed back their guilt. The night had barely started and they had already ruined everything. There was no way this mission could continue if they didn’t fix it right here, right now.

Just as Hero was about to speak up Villain interrupted them. “Do you really mean that?” Villains back was turned completely towards the hero, but a slight wobble in their voice gave their hidden pain away. “I mean, about like me being terrible?”

There was a moment of silence between the two since Villain had stopped their cleaning and Hero froze in their steps. Hero sighed, rubbing a hand over their face as they let their chest deflated in defeat. They hadn’t meant what they said, but it was too late to take it back now.

Villain scoffed, it was quiet and under their breath but it was there. They shook their head, “I’m sorry.” They whispered, Hero barely heard it. They almost wished they hadn’t, but the second they did—the second Villain began walking away from them—they reached out and grabbed them.

Pulling Villain close and then pushing them up against the wall, forcing them into close contact and to lock eyes. “Villain. You are terrible. You’re the worst. You’re a villain for fucks sake. But you’re my villain. You’re my beautiful evil and you’re my date tonight. And if there’s one thing I know for a fact it’s that you are the best lover out there and it’s about time I made it up to you.”

Villain averted their gaze, pressing themselves closer to the wall to create a space away from Hero. “You’re just saying that.”

Hero chuckled slightly, watching the blush creep up Villains neck, but the sound of footsteps outside their bedroom door was enough to snap them back into reality. “Want me to prove it?” They smirked as they heard the handle turn and click to open the room door. In the blink of an eye their lips were on Villains, both hands on their hips, toying with the dress clothes on Villains body.

To Hero’s somewhat surprise Villain kissed them back with such passion, one hand on the back of Hero’s head, pulling them closer and the other too close to the crime-stoppers inner thigh.

“Ah, young love. Always so strong and vehement. Oh, how I long to feel such ways again…” Supervillain groaned from where they stood in against the doorframe. The couple separated for a second to turn to the gala host and blush nervously, but Supervillain waved them on. “Don’t let me interrupt you, just making sure all my guests are having a good time!” The master criminal laughed as they turned and shut the door.

In the end, the mission worked out surprisingly well. They both gathered the information they needed off Supervillain and they didn’t have to fake any of the feelings between them any longer.

#I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DARLING #HAPPY NATIONAL GIRLFRIEND DAY!!!!#to the best girlfriend out there <3 #hero x villain #villain x hero #villain #hero #drabbles #fantasy #imagines #oneshots #scenarios #fake dating #hero and villain #villain and hero #supervillain #gala #fake dating>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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webshootersandwingdings · 2 months

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We're celebrating #NationalPuppyDay with this adorable Concept Art of Cosmo by Bruno Gauthier Leblanc, Art Director

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#cosmo the space dog #video games #gotg game #guardiansofthegalaxy #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy game #hero pets #gaming #marvel games #eidos montreal #gotg #marvel #gamerverse #national puppy day

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toonrandy · 24 days

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April 28th was National Superhero Day! Mo and Sam from 50/50 Heroes are the perfect sibling superhero duo!

#fan art #my art #50/50 heroes #5050 heroes #mo #sam #national superhero day

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freedom-barricades-bighero16 · 8 months

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Happy Taiwan National Day!! 雙十國慶快樂！！

Also yes this is the Monsters and Comets edition, so there's more characters. Gogo has officially got her character development, while Vincent is my second Taiwanese oc for this series (Hiro is here because he is Vincent's friend, and Baymax also had to join the fun). The more the merrier!

#big hero 6 the series #big hero 6 #bh6 the series #bh6 #hiro hamada #gogo tomago #baymax #tammy hardy #vincent lin #big hero 6 oc #oc #big hero 6 monogatari #double ten day #taiwan national day #Spotify

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maxsix · 1 year

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Congratulations to South Korea NT for making it into the Round of 16!

#south korea nt #fifa world cup #hwang heechan #nation's new hero tbh #son heung min #you were good too bro #cho gue sung #because i love you and your two goals the other day #what a wild ride #omg #i thought they were out then they scored last minute

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misspaddockverse · 1 year

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It’s only MONDAY (m o n d a y) and my feed is already 100% Daniel Ricciardo!!! What. Stop. I can’t afford crying today. (Keep going I love him and my obsession needs to be fed)