#going to cry myself to sleep

[scrollonso]

"carlos might go to williams" "someone save carlos" "alex and carlos might be teammates"

WHERE IS LOGAN GOING

[aybaybader]

it was always going to end this way, whether they got back to LA or not. don’t know why i even bother being upset

[bidisasterevankinard]

So sad and anxious (and I guess touch starved) I literally felt sick being not in one specific hoodie (good thing it's not hot today) and for hours I don't want to take it off

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[s-coupid]

Gojo is sliced in half but I finally understand mahoraga’s adaptation

[309971103278]

:((

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Like the majority of society I’m obsessed with Nimona

And I rewatched it a million times and one thing always sticks out to me 

There are moments when Ambrosius is surrounded by light like a little protective bubble 

That keeps him away from the man he loves more than anything 

[pidgydraws]

⚙️ for a moment we had it all... ⚙️

[keep-dreaming-killjoys]

I just want to have this on my blog <33

[dannyuta]

9-1-1 | 7x05: You Don’t Know Me

[glitteringpoet1685]

Not a day goes by where I don't think about how Sizhui is the embodiment of the Lan principles despite not being Lan by blood, exactly how Wei Wuxian was the embodiment of the Jiang principles despite not being a Jiang by blood. God I forgot how tragic this show was.

[simplepotatofarmer]

today is june 1st, today is what would've been technoblade's 24th birthday and it feels surreal he's no longer with us.

he touched so many people, changed so many lives, and made an impact on the minecraft youtube community that will never fade. despite everything, he leaves behind an amazing legacy full of accomplishments and kindness and humor, a community known for their generosity, and content people turn to even now for comfort.

and in that way, he's still with us. each one of us carries on his memory and legacy, always to be missed, yes, but always to be loved and treasured for the amazing person he was and the things he did.

i know he's looking down at us, amazed at how far we've come. happy birthday, techno. we love you and we miss you.

[magicandmundane]

I have a headcanon. But first: story time!

I am the elder sister, and when my little sister was born I was about two and a half years old. So, not really cognizant lol. But! I do remember just one moment, an instant really, and that is sitting next to my dad and getting to hold the little twerp (affectionate) and kissing her on the forehead.

Now for the headcanon.

Omega was probably right around the same age (maybe a little older idk) when her little brothers, the OG Bad Batchers, were born. She was probably running around Nala Se’s lab all excited about there being more clones like her, about having brothers. So, the only way Nala Se could get her to settle down was by sitting her down and letting her hold one of them.

And she held Hunter first.

[scratchybeardsweetmouth]

“If you're not ready to stop being with someone, I don't really know how to cope with it.” - Hannah | Jason Sudeikis and Hannah Waddingham on Richmond Till We Die, Ted Lasso Season 3

[shrimparts-blog888]

Can we get a drawing of Darling and Apple kissing? 👉👈💕

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

------------

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts.