#thank you for making me cry :'))))

[dreaming-in-daylight]

Idk when you’ll see this, if you see it at all that is, but, happy birthday Leta <33

this made me cry :D

[creschendos]

첸 (CHEN) ‘빈 집 (Empty)’ MV

[fabbyf1]

Just gonna leave this here 💜

[andvys]

Omg Andy i read the most saddest shit ever that got me sobbing it's an old fix but its hurts and the worst thing theirs no part 2 ..

https://www.tumblr.com/hauntlikeaghost0/687245869870923776/boyish-em?source=share

WHY DID YOU NEED THE FEEL TO DO THIS TO ME?? IM BAWLING MY EYES OUT RN

in my mind, eddie realized that he was a fucking idiot, that he only focused on chrissy and convinced himself that he had feelings for her because he was so afraid of the ones he had for reader….. that it was better to lie to her and break her heart because of the fear that she’d break his someday 🫠 but i’m delusional

anyways, this is me going to steve now

[trashcanfromgallifrey]

I’m sobbing😭😭 this should honestly be the trailer for TIT

we were put, two little boys from reading and rawtenstall, and then we met via the internet and created this thing called dan and phil

[magerightsmagefights]

Nothing Rook can say to Solas will ever be more savage than Spite looking him in the eye and going “Hmm. Smells like lies and crying.”

[jynjackets]

parents

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[ladyzirkonia]

If you see something that doesn’t look right, speak to a member of staff or text the Coruscant Transport Police

[cairafea]

On the idea of Theseus's Ship: in the end, it's still his, isn't it? It was known as Theseus's, and it will continue to be known as Theseus's.

Even after he has returned to the ground which grew the wood of the hammer used to nail the ship's frame, Even after generations of new wood have rotted and the sails are rags clinging to threads, Even after millennia,

it will still be Theseus's Ship.

Thank you for bringing us home.

Goodnight, Phosphophyllite.

[hinamie]

god, i wish i knew you back when i was a kid / but when you stare into me now, it feels like i did

[bunnieswithknives]

Thanks.

Prev

[shepscapades]

Xisuma, why in the world were trying to fix your helmet with TAPE?? I thought the superglue idea was unhinged but THIS IS A NEW LEVEL

(I know that it's probably not holding itself ONLY on tape, but the image in my head is too funny)

What's next? You tell me he attached Doc's new arm to his body with tape and glue too??

THIS RESPONSE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE COMICAL but I let it get away from me;;

[ephemeralfatalgrace]

So in a lot of fanfics I’ve read Edwin is touch averse to everyone, including Charles, and it’s like “touches like this are rare” blah blah blah (not hating bcs I love them all) but if we look at the show, they casually touch all the time, (they’re obsessed with each other). My absolute favourite scene is in episode one where Charles is trying to teach Edwin boxing and he’s all bouncing around and he does this thing where he mimes drilling into Edwin’s head with a hand drill and Edwin just looks like he’s trying not to smile and lightheartedly shoves him away. Trust me that is not something you do with someone you’re not comfortable touching. Give me Edwin seeking out touch from Charles and he’s so gentle even in his admonishments and it’s not the kind of touch either of them are used to. Give me Charles shying away from Edwin at first because he had to be such a typical boy when he was alive and the only touches with his friends were slaps on the back or punches on his arms, and he wouldn’t dare hurt Edwin because he’s the best person Charles has met. Give me them learning how to touch until it’s so casual they barely notice when Charles swings his legs over Edwin’s on their little sofa, or when Edwin uses a hand on Charles’ back when he’s going past, or when they fumble into each other (because come on they’re lanky teenage boys they don’t have control over their limbs, coming from a lanky teenager) smoothing over the nonexistent pain with their palms.

TLDR: I want more soft DBD fanfics with casual (platonic) touches until it’s not so platonic anymore.

[thewatcher98]

THIS. IS. FUCKING. BREATHTAKING.

There is a man with fire-red hair running a bookshop in Soho.

He hasn't always been the original owner, as almost all residents on Whickber Street know, but it is a fact you never bring up with him. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and layers of rough sarcasm, he is a shadow moving silently between shelves and plants, the Bentley parked outside seemingly more for decoration than actual use.

Previously, there had been a white-haired man with gentle eyes and a favour up his sleeves living among his books, and while he barely sold any of them, he was a pillar of the community just like the building itself. When he disappeared, an unspoken vow to never discuss the subject matter in the vicinity of the shop was made.

There is a woman with fire-red hair sitting in St. James's Park.

She feeds frozen peas to the ducks and puts the fear of God into everyone who dares to offer them bread or attempts to scare them away. The bench is hers, always empty, awaiting her arrival; sometimes she brings a bottle of wine, other times she cradles a Polaroid in the palm of her hand, and even the dark shades cannot stop the occasional tear from dripping down her cheek.

Rumours of her companion and his absence spread quickly, yet no one dares to ask, and the spies scattered around the park form a mutual understanding to avoid her.

There is a person with fire-red hair wandering the streets of London, wearing sunglasses and no coat, no matter the weather or time.

Their head is tipped back, their eyes glued to the sky, and yet they navigate through the masses parting around them with an unnatural ease. No one stops them, no one dares to ask why, and even if they did, they wouldn't offer an answer, not when they are asking themself the very same question.

When it begins to rain, they stop moving, stretching out their hands in a weak imitation of a prayer and allowing the water to seep into their clothes until they're as dark as the wet concrete beneath them.

There is a man with blinding white hair stepping out of an elevator that does not exist, and the end of the world comes with him. If someone were to listen in, they would realise that the man with fire-red hair meets him in the middle of the street, the air thick with lightning that will never find a home.

As they talk, nightingales all over London begin to sing.

[lil-lemon-snails]

decided to draw some of your guys' tags from my harlequin sun and moon post!!! These guys are so much fun and you're all so funny >w<