#*cries in American*

[daffsforstag]

My president, First Lady, and vice president.

[strugglingyetvibing]

(paraphrased)

Logan: "I'm sorry guys, It's been a tough weekend, I'm trying my best. Keep pushing tomorrow, though"

Logan's Engineer: "Yeah, exactly, never give up"

sobbing, gnawing at the bars of my enclosure, screaming, crying throwing up-

[falskihundr]

i already said it over on twitter, but figured i'd say it here too. if any mutuals ever wanna play Apex together, feel free to shoot me a message anytime! i play on pc, through steam.

[chotime]

I wanna watch Hoard!

[morganbritton132]

There’s a replica of a military tank in the center of the park.

Around the tank is a fence and around the fence, there are multiple signs telling you not to climb on it. The purpose of the tank is to memorialize the soldiers of WWII but currently, Steve Harrington is standing on top of it.

The (only) great thing about a trainee is that Hopper can send Callahan over to handle the trespassing first grader.

He looks away to scan the park and when he looks back, Steve is trying to kick Callahan in the head. Hopper whistles, “Knock it off, Harrington. The sign says no trespassing. Get down.”

Steve explodes, “I. Don’t. Know. How. To. Read!!”

He emphasizes this outburst by ripping off one of his shoes and throwing it at Hopper. It bouncing off his chest and Hopper gives him a flat look, “Get down.”

Steve goes for his other shoe but Hopper is already pass Callahan, grabbing him by the leg and yanking him off the tank. He gets kicked in the gut for his trouble.

He keeps ahold of him, carrying Steve kicking and screaming over to the truck and sitting him on the hood. The whole time thinking, this is new.

Steve’s troublesome but mostly polite. Half the time, Hopper’s just got to tell him to stop doing stuff and he will. He’s never seen a tantrum before.

“You know it’s against the law to hit a cop. What you just did would be called assaulting a police officer,” Hopper say because Steve likes to show off what he knows about law. “Could spend some time in jail.”

“Good,” Steve sniffles. He weakly kicks out again, just barely missing Callahan. “I want to go to jail.”

“That’s good,” Hopper says flatly. “Because that’s where you’re going.”

He picks the kid up again and unceremoniously dumps him in the backseat. He gets in the front. Callahan gets in the passenger seat, asks, “Boss, you’re not really going to..”

Steve’s still crying when Hopper starts the car. He’s eerily quiet about it but Hopper can see the tears in the rearview and he can hear the sniffles. He doesn’t say anything but drive.

He doesn’t go to the precinct despite what he says. He drives out to Benny’s Burgers, parks the kid in a booth, and then plays the cop, “I have some questions.”

Steve has his head down, pillowed by his arms. His shoulders are shaking with tears but his voice is painfully steady when he sniffles, “Need’a lawyer.”

“Callahan is not pressing charges,” Hopper says. “I need to know what happened for my incident report. I gotta explain why you tried to kick his head off his shoulders.”

“Cause he’s a butthead and I hate him.”

Hopper hums, “And what made you angry enough to do that?”

Steve looks up at him.

His watery brown eyes meeting his, and then Steve cries, “Tommy doesn’t want to be my friend anymore!”

Hopper thinks, Jesus Christ.

[coldhands-sunkeneyes]

WHO UP ROMANCING THEY CHEMICALS

[slipperywhenwet0o0]

i think about damian coming from an entirely different culture, and that on top of with his initial rejection by bruce (and murder attempts putting distance between him and tim) making him feel isolated. He’s in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar customs and unfamiliar people, hes alone and othered.

Then i think about little dick grayson who went through a somewhat similar thing. Romani practices being closed and so they leave with his parents, he’s not in the circus with the people he knows and loves, and i like to think this is the first time dicks been to america ( Haley’s primary touring europe). He’s in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar customs and unfamiliar people, and before he found out about batman he is alone, in a big empty cold house.

I think about Damian beginning to feel shame at some point over his own culture because bruce is against the league, and his mixed feeling about his mother who loves him dearly but could not protect him, who sent him away.

I think about dick finding pride in his culture when he becomes robin, and later teaching Damian to have pride as well. To be who he is unapologetically, and to not be ashamed of where he comes from or his mother(despite dick and Thalia’s beef which i love)

[kristiliqua]

CHUNSIK MY BELOVEDDDDDD

[thou-babbling-brook]

I may be cringe but I am free

[strugglingyetvibing]

LOGAN P1 (1:14:301)

STOP THE COUNT LET MY MAN WIN

[haunted-toaster-art]

hello hannibal fandom

had this saved audio on tiktok and immediately thought of this scene in potage lmfao

testing the waters on here before i post this anywhere else

i am. so normal about this show. more hannibal insanity to come i can say that 🙏🙏

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

Red Feather taking a hit to the back to protect the life of his little son (whom he is holding in the moment of the deadly shot) and dying while embracing his son— 😭

[astronnova]

my half of a trade w bongo @theweepingmortician. please dont look at me

[grape-jucie-dog]

... So uhm. I have to wait 3 more hours for the Ithaca Saga.

Thank the gods the cast in Ithaca are physically okay (from what Teagan stated in her TikTok live), but damn. Hope everything is alright with them over there.

[the-anti-reality-theorist]

Arcane S2 x 7 but mosh pit shakabrah or something (i regretted typing that)

[xoxomingi]

blue bambi

tate langdon x bambi!reader

warnings: sad themes, ahs murderhouse spoilers, emotional distress / panic attack, discussions of death and the afterlife, emotional vulnerability, drug/substance abuse, mentions of school violence, mentions of arson, mentions of murder, parental neglect/emotional abuse, mentions of grief/death/ghost themes, mental health struggles, intense emotional breakdown, hurt/comfort, angst/hurt/trauma. wc: 2.4k

you never imagined the day would come when your relationship with the love of your life would start to fall apart. the day your ignorant bliss would be snuffed out

you’d been in the house for six months, and it felt like a dream - a beautiful, surreal dream. you still vividly remembered the day you met tate, amidst the bare walls and the chaos of cardboard boxes.

there he was, with his warm smiles and an aura that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “hi, you’re violet, right?” he'd asked, his voice inviting.

those first few weeks were pure bliss; laughter and shared secrets echoed through the empty rooms. yet, lurking beneath that happiness was an unsettling feeling, a whisper that nagged at the back of your mind.

something about tate felt too perfect, too good to be true. you often found yourself grappling with questions that set off alarms in your head.

how was it that your parents never caught him sneaking around the house, unless he wanted them to see? why had you never once seen him eat, despite countless moments spent together? and then there was the biggest mystery of all—his past.

the way he skirted around it, always hesitant to share more than the surface, left you wondering what shadows he hid behind that charming facade.

there you were, the two of you seated on your cozy bed, legs crossed in a casual criss-cross applesauce position. the atmosphere in the room thickened with tension, almost palpable, as he leaned in, his expression serious.

he had dropped a bombshell: he needed to tell you something important—something that could change everything between you two.

your mind raced, churning through a whirlwind of possibilities, each one more daunting than the last. minutes dragged on like hours, and the uncertainty gnawed at you.

what could possibly be so grave? In an attempt to break the ice, you ventured, “did you kill someone?” the playful tone hung in the air, lightening the moment just a fraction.

his chuckle broke through the heaviness, easing your muscles just a bit, but the awkwardness rushed back in, wrapping around you both like an unwelcome cloak.

he grasped your hands in his while your brows knitted in worry, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he struggled to meet your gaze. “i… i’m dead,” he murmured.

those two little words left you confused. what did he mean by being dead? did he mean the consequences of his actions were so severe that he might as well be gone? you couldn't come up with an explanation.

“i don’t get it,” you murmured, “what are you trying to say?” at that moment, he finally met your gaze, and one solitary tear fell from his brown eyes, which you cherished so deeply.

one by one, they cascaded down his face, which was now filled with utter, raw sorrow. without hesitation, you enveloped him in your embrace—you couldn’t stand to see anyone, especially those you love and care for, in pain.

seconds tick by, and his cries grow louder, as if he hasn't been allowed to express his feelings for years, as if no one has ever been there to comfort him during his moments of sorrow.

you let out a sigh, your own eyes brimming with tears at the sound of his pain.

fortunately for both of you, your parents were out for the evening. “tate,” you swallowed hard before continuing, “i’m right here.” you exhaled, attempting and failing to wipe away your own tears.

you despised how deeply empathetic you felt; it was as if you both were linked by an emotional umbilical cord in that moment.

he briefly pulled away from your embrace. "imsorry, imsosorry" he murmured shakily, gradually extricating himself fully from your grasp, and now your face was punctuated with tears.

no single word could encapsulate what you felt then—unfathomable anxiety, confusion, utter dread. his tears stopped as he tried to steady his breathing, while your own tears only increased.

“tate,” you pleaded softly, “what is so terrible? i don’t understand what you mean. how can you be dead if you’re right in front of me?” you cried, shaking your head. he sighed as he took your hands into his again, inhaling deeply before he began to talk.

“it was 1994,” he started, voice hoarse, almost distant—like he wasn’t talking to you, but rather to the memory itself. “i was seventeen. still in high school. but i didn’t feel like a kid. not really. everything already felt… rotten. like the world had gone gray and i was the only one who noticed.” your grip on his hands tightened, grounding him. his eyes were far away again, but you didn’t let go.

“my mom… she wasn’t what a mom’s supposed to be. she didn’t love me—she barely looked at me. she used to talk about me like i wasn’t even in the room. like i was some burden she didn’t ask for. she made me feel like a mistake. like i was always in the way.”

he paused, swallowing hard. his throat visibly tightened as he blinked up at the ceiling, fighting it. you stayed silent, your breath caught in your throat.

“her boyfriend had this office. one day, i showed up while he was there—sitting at his desk, completely clueless. i poured gasoline all over his body. watched him beg. and i lit the match anyway.” his voice cracked, and he brought a trembling hand to his face. a single sob escaped before he could catch it. “i didn’t run. i watched him burn. and i didn’t feel sorry.”

your chest tightened. the image felt too big, too monstrous—and yet… his voice didn’t sound like a monster. it sounded like a boy who had never been saved.

“they never figured out it was me,” he said bitterly. “and no one ever asked me if i was okay. no one ever cared. and after that, it got worse. everything. my head. my heart. the nightmares.” his fingers curled around yours like a lifeline. his breath was shaky now, shallow and uneven. his lower lip quivered as his eyes welled up again.

“i started doing coke. at first, it made me feel like i was floating. like nothing mattered. like i could breathe again. but then… the edges started to blur. i didn’t know where the pain ended and the anger began.”

your tears returned silently, burning hot tracks down your cheeks as you watched him unravel.

“and one day… i brought a gun to school.” his voice cracked. your heart did too. he turned his face to the side slightly, as if ashamed to look you in the eye, and a tear slipped from the corner of his eye down to his jaw.

“i killed fifteen kids. at westfield high.”

he looked up at you, and you saw it all in his face—shame, grief, fear. and beneath all of it: a desperate, childlike ache to still be loved. “then the cops raided the house.” he choked, squeezing his eyes shut as if talking about it— reliving the memories was too much to bear.

“i wanted to die. i wanted them to shoot me. and when they came in… i raised the shotgun. they fired. and that was it.”

his voice dropped to a whisper, and suddenly he was crying in earnest—silent but heavy sobs that made his shoulders quake. his fingers clutched yours so tightly it hurt, but you didn’t pull away. he looked so small like this, so broken. “next thing i knew… i was still in the house. but different. everything felt wrong. colder. and i realized—i wasn’t alive. not anymore.”

the silence that followed was suffocating. you couldn’t speak. couldn’t even breathe properly. your entire body trembled under the weight of the truth. you could feel the sob stuck in your own chest, sharp and aching like it might never come out.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, so softly it was almost inaudible. his eyes were red now, puffy, lashes wet with tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “i didn’t want you to love a ghost. i didn’t want you to love a killer.”

you didn’t speak at first. your mouth was open like you were going to say something—but nothing came. your throat was tight. your chest even tighter. your whole body felt like it wasn’t yours anymore. just air and shaking.

you stood up slowly, and it felt like your knees were going to give out. your hands were pressed to your mouth, fingers trembling. you turned away from him because if you kept looking into those tear-filled eyes, you were going to collapse.

“no…” you whispered, so soft it was barely sound. “no, no, no…” your voice cracked. and then it shattered.

“you’re not supposed to be dead,” you said, louder this time. your hands dropped and your eyes found the floor, wide and frantic. “you’re not—this isn’t fair. tate, this isn’t fucking fair.”

you spun around, eyes glassy and soaked, and looked at him like he was both everything and nothing at all. like you didn’t know how to hold this version of him. “i thought we had time. i thought we had a future. i thought—” your breath hitched violently. “i thought i was gonna grow old with you. i thought you were gonna be there when i got my own place. i thought we were gonna—god, i thought we were gonna have kids someday.”

you sank to the floor. just dropped, legs folding underneath you, arms wrapped around yourself like you were the only thing keeping your body from falling apart completely. “i didn’t know you were already gone,” you whispered. “i didn’t know i was in love with a ghost.”

you sobbed so hard it sounded like it hurt. loud, aching, gasping sobs that shook your chest and made your head spin. and before you could even process it, you felt arms wrap around you from behind. tate slid to the floor with you, pulling you gently back into him like he was afraid you’d disappear too. you ended up sitting between his legs, your back against his chest, and he held you there—tight. grounding. protective. broken.

he rocked you back and forth slowly. like muscle memory. like something he’d maybe only seen in a movie once. his cheek pressed against your temple and you could feel his tears hit your skin, even as he tried to stay quiet about them. “i wanted all of that too,” he whispered, breath shaking. “i wanted you. i still do. but i’m not supposed to. i don’t deserve to.”

“don’t say that,” you cried, louder now. you twisted in his arms just enough to see his face and cupped it with both hands, your thumbs brushing away tears he couldn’t stop shedding. “don’t ever say that. you didn’t deserve what happened to you. you didn’t ask for any of it.” his bottom lip trembled. he leaned into your hands like they were the only real thing left.

“i don’t care if you’re dead,” you whispered. “i don’t care what you’ve done. i love you. and i’m scared. i’m so scared because i don’t know how to love someone who can’t leave this house. who can’t grow old. who can’t come with me.” his forehead pressed to yours.

“but i’ll stay,” you whispered. “i’ll find a way. because you’re mine. and i’m yours. and i’m not leaving you behind.” his arms tightened around you, and he broke. not loud—but steady. steady tears, steady breathing, steady pain as he buried his face in your shoulder and held you like a lifeline. like if he let go, he’d be nothing again.

and you stayed there—both of you crying, both of you holding onto something too impossible to name. it wasn’t forgiveness. it wasn’t healing. not yet.

but it was something.

something alive in a house full of ghosts.