lies on the floor sobbing

James Marsters singing about Harry/Karrin?!

So @it-hurts-because-it-mattered​ put me on to this song by James Marsters’ band Ghost of the Robot, and… holy shit. There are plenty of songs that could perhaps be associated with this ship, but not only are the lyrics of this one ludicrously accurate, on top of that we get to hear Harry Dresden singing it himself!! When I listen to it, I can so easily picture Dresden sitting on the couch, playing his guitar in a quiet moment of reflection, and writing this song while thinking of Karrin. The lyrics capture the sweet, reverent way Harry thinks about her, the fact that he understands her in a way no one else does, and he appreciates things about her that she has difficulty appreciating within herself. Also, of course, listening to the chorus immediately brings to mind these passages from Grave Peril:

The door burst open. Murphy came through it, her eyes living flames of azure blue, her hair a golden coronet around her. She held a blazing sword in her hand and she shone so bright and beautiful and terrifying in her anger that it was hard to see. The Sight, I realized, dimly. I was seeing her for who she was.

“For a minute there, when I came in. You stared at me. You stared at me with the strangest damned expression on your face. What did you see?” she asked.
“You’d laugh in my face if I told you,” I said.

I smiled, remembering the vision, sharp and brilliant in my mind’s eye. Murphy, the guardian angel, coming through the door in a blaze of wrath. It was a picture I wouldn’t mind keeping with me. Sometimes you get lucky.

So please listen to this beautiful song, and if anyone sees James Marsters at a convention, thank him for me <3

Angel, by Ghost of the Robot (sung by James Marsters)

She comes home to me after a hard night’s work
Falls in my arms and sleeps like a bird
Startle, wakes up, like she don’t know me
Cocks back her fist like she’s going to slug me
Like, who are you anyway
And what are you doing to me?

She’s an angel
But she can’t see it
She’s got wings,
But she can’t feel ‘em
She’s an angel
But she can’t see it
But she’s flying above me every day
Every day of my life

Bright diamond eyes with daggers beneath them
She carries the chains of a million decisions
That weren’t even hers to begin with anyway
But she carries them all
All the people around her
Never even notice that she’s very very tired

She’s an angel
But she can’t see it
She’s got wings
But she can’t feel 'em
She’s an angel
But she can’t see it
But she’s flying above me every day
Every day of my life

La la la la…

Finally finished this! *lies sobbing on the floor* Darn, hundreds of hours spent feeling like an utter failure was not a fun experience XD, but I have completed it and am very happy through my tears at this moment.

My feeble attempt at paying tribute to Hetalia Greece, Laurels are long considered a national symbol of Greece, so I’ve drawn the blue escutcheon and the surrounding leaves as an acknowledgement to the coat of arms. The Orthodox cross and the broken chains are a nod towards Greece’s traditional and national identity(e.g. Greek liberation), while the design on the edge of the cloak are ones typical to Orthodox garb(priest).

As usual, my artistic skills can only reach for shabby demonstrations, but hopefully I have not made too much of a mess of it all.

anonymous asked:

Flint was in full on "I was lieutenant for a reason y'know" mode in season 4 and I love it. His ordering the redcoats, his ordering Rackham's crew, him getting the unwavering loyalty of Madi and her mother. He was so respected and so trusted for a few episodes and honestly it goes to show what he could have achieved had people trusted him and his brilliant mind earlier.

[lies face down on the floor sobbing] oh godd

i love how everyone in the show, even his enemies and reluctant allies, acknowledged his brilliant, strategic mind. his enemies didn’t underestimate him and his allies relied on him to come up with the best possible solution during their war, not only because he was the most skilled of them all, but because the man was literally unstoppable. unkillable. i mean even the nature was like ‘man fuck this i give up’ because hell itself seemed to spit him back out each time he faced certain death. and who wouldn’t want to be on the side of those who appear to be unbeatable?! in s4 everyone seemed to have kind of forgotten all the atrocities he’d put the people (mainly his crew) through, and just decided to give him their full support, crew and allies alike. in part because he was silver’s right hand man and queen’s/madi’s favourite ally, but also because they knew that without him they didn’t stand a chance. ‘’Captain Flint was the only true strategist among them.‘’ he was more and more respected and revered as the war reached it’s peak because he was more and more in control of both himself and the situation around them. he was so alive and ready to fuck up everyone in his path. fuck just remember him in that scene with the crews on the maroon island when he suggested they sack boston. the idea itself was ludicrous, but no one except julius dared to oppose it because they all thought him capable of seeing it through.. I MEAN…. gha

Super Fun Day

A long summary of my day:

–Alternate between extreme nausea, fatigue and dizziness

–My Stomach Hurts: An Autobiography in Three Parts

–Make futile attempt at productivity at work; surrender to dry heaves and leave early. 

–Get email. Panic. Oh, God.

–Got my first voice over audition via email. It’s due tomorrow.

–Momentarily excited. Holy cow, it’s finally happening! It’s–

–Oh, God, I’m going to throw up.

–Suppress nausea

–Drive home

–Three accidents on the freeway; anxiety now at boiling point. Am vibrating in my seat and letting out noises akin to whistling of tea kettle.

–Arrive home. Collapse in bed. Sweating profusely. Something smells vaguely of tuna. Sincerely hope it is not me.

–Update: It is.

–Wake up from nap I didn’t realize I’d taken. Four hours later.

–Shoot out of bed; Oh, God, the audition!

–My Stomach Still Hurts: The Riveting Sequel to the #7 New York Times Bestseller

–Set up recording equipment. Okay, I can do this. I can do this. What the hell is that tuna sm–I can totally do this. Yeah! I got this! I can–



–Recording equipment not working. Broken? Don’t know. Wiggle a few parts. No sound. Check connectivity. All good. It has never done this before. Check computer. 

–Computer lets out low, mournful beep and dies.

–No. No, no. No, no, no.

–Wrangle with wires. Check condition of recording equipment. All good. Probably. Possibly not. I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. I am a fraud. Throw me in the stocks; shame me in the streets, set your hounds upon me.

–Computer turns back on! Hallelujah! I’m saved! I’m–

–”Now updating Windows. Your computer will restart several times. This may take a while.”


–Let out a pterodactyl shriek. Cue hysterical sobbing. Nausea naturally worsens. I no longer care. The feeble, analytical part of my brain raises an eyebrow and hums in disapproval. I kick it in the balls, hurl myself into my bed, and continue to sob. “This is it,” I think. In my mind, my voice is appropriately tragic and not nasally at all. “This is it; that was my one chance, and I have blown it. I have blown it to tiny, tiny pieces. I will never find work again. I will starve in the streets. My acting career is over before it has even begun. Farewell, cruel world. You always knew I was an impostor, destined for failure; an impostor, I say, twelve ferrets standing on top of each other beneath a long coat cleverly masquerading as a capable adult.”

What the heck is wrong with you? Like what the actual hell? Analytical Me cries from the back of my brain where it lies sprawled helplessly on the floor, balls throbbing. I have not sobbed like this in at least a year and a half. Belatedly realize that I have been bottling this up for at least a year and a half. This is not just about the computer. Little things have been nicking at the floodgates and they have suddenly burst: financial crap, life crap, anxiety and depression crap, trying-to-get-my-shit-together crap, will-nuclear-war-accompany-my-morning-coffee-tomorrow? crap. Snot flows freely. I wail. What is this quintessence of dust? “Windows is still updating. Do not shut off your computer.” 

–Concerned family rushes in. They are met with wailing that puts La Llorona to shame. La Llorona experiences burning secondhand embarrassment as she takes in the spectacle of me, devoid of pants, snot streaming and makeup smeared, curled in on myself and writhing on the bed. 

–Assure my concerned family that I’ll figure it out, really, that my life is just falling apart at the seams and I may have blown my first shot at an actual acting job and my stomach is a mess and explosive diarrhea has been waiting in the wings ALL DAY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST EVACUATE MY BOWELS, ALREADY.

–Concerned family slowly backs out of the room, along with La Llorona, who looks like she’d literally rather be anywhere else in the entire world, including Costco on Black Friday.

–Cry for approximately forty five minutes. Computer still updating. May flights of devils wing you to your rest, Windows.

–Clean up. Eye twitching. Attempt to connect two other computers. Does not work. Of course not. Disney lies. Life is terrible.

–Stare at wall for ten minutes, my own cries ringing hollowly in my ears, feeling more and more like Hamlet except I actually do shit instead of listening to Simple Plan alone in my room for five acts.

–”Do not shut your computer off,” the blue screen says. Rules are for the weak. Jaw set firmly–more to prevent myself from vomiting than out of stony resolve–I push the power button. Hasta la vista, motherf–

–Computer struggles to turn back on. I uselessly fiddle with the audio equipment. Pace the floor. Dart in and out of the bathroom. Goodbye, everything I have ever eaten. Thank you so much for coming out all at once.

–Computer beeps. What?

–It’s alive. 


–Tentatively, gingerly plug it in to sound system. Gingerly test audio equipment. Not working still.

–Don’t panic. Do not panic. Do not. You already did that.

–Analytical Me takes the reins. Flips some switches.

–……………………………….It’s working. The sound equipment is working.

–Start crying again.

–This is a disaster, honestly.

–At this point, it’s really quite unnecessary. 

–Through tears, I record some test spots. Disastrous. Phlegmy.

You have to calm down. This one thing right here is fine. Other things are not fine, but this one thing right here is f–BATHROOM. NOW.

Return, feeling mildly like I’ve ascended to a different plane of existence. Also feeling slightly better?

–Power through audition spots. Retain little to no memory of it. Edit and send off the files. I am a mess, but I have done it. I have done the deed. I have honored God and my country with my 30-second commercial spot.

–Numbly sit and stare at the wall. Boyfriend has called to offer reassurance and updates on his dog. Always makes me feel better. He is a good boy. He understands that I continually have to fight off Nietzsche’s creeping abyss, which is generally all up in my business even though I’ve told it politely to back up outta my crib, please. Boyfriend offers his condolences and recounts similar experiences. We laugh about nihilism together. I am immensely fond of him.

–My dog comes in, concerned. Aw, hey, little buddy. Sorry I was crying. Did that upset you? Are you gonna give me kisses? Yes you are! Yes, you–!

–Dog squints, then leaves. Strong smell unfurls in my nostrils. I look down. His butt juice has leaked onto my fresh sheets, the fluid imprinted onto the cotton in the shape of his anus.

–I blink. Stare at it.  Lay down on the floor, face down, all sound curiously muffled. 

–I am done with today.

–In the hallway, my dog burps. 


Genre: Angst
Info: Yoongi/Reader
Rating: PG-13
Word Ct: 1.247 
Summary: It was my first big family gathering since he broke my heart, and there wasn’t enough liquor at the bar to make me forget the pain.
A/N: Rewrite of an oldie that I deleted because I detested the ending. I prefer this one, no matter how much it saddens me.

It’s just a dinner. I found myself telling my reflection as I straightened out my dress. It’s just a couple of hours, I can handle that.

Keep reading

Handling Life Crisis
  • Ni: ok ok we got this guys, now let's just stay calm and tackle the issue
  • *ten seconds later*
  • Fe: *lies on the floor, sobbing grossly*
  • Se: *screaming*
  • Ti: *hysterically yelling at Se to shut up*
  • Ni: *hiding his face inside his legs*
  • Ni: Life is meaninglessness, truth is unattainable, existence is just a loop of eternal suffering and pain, we are doomed and dead and thrice forsaken and alone

anonymous asked:

*Sees the latest Years Later AU artwork* Thanks for reminding the fandom and I how much angst there is in this AU.... *Lies on the floor and sobs quietly*

ur welcome

Do you think, that one day after Sherlock died, John went to the bar and he knew that it was a bad idea, but life was a hell anyway so who cared. And he come back home complitelly drunk. He went to his bedroom and took out his phone from a pocket. But he realized that batery was almost dead. So he took his charger to plucked into the phone, but he couldn’t do it, bacause he was to drunk and his hand skaked too much. And then he remembered: the first night with Sherlock and his deductions, and everything. And he just started crying, because memories were flooding him now. So he just lied on the floor, hugging his hands protectively around himself and he was sobbing quietly, until he finnaly fell asleep to tired to do anything else.

Imagine being autistic. You went through a lot today. Normally when you walk your dog there is no one you need to talk to but today there were at least ten people and each of them stoped to ask to pet your dog. Then the tube came ten minutes later than expected and as you got in and found a seat a guy who smelled a lot like sweat sat next to you, so near that his arm touched yours which felt honestly disgusting. But not enough with this. Even in university everything was different! The rooms you normally have your seminars in were closed so you had to find the new room, find a new place to sit. Exhausting! And now that you are home in your flat it just stinks! Your boyfriend seems to be doing one of his experiments so the whole flat is covered in a smell of rotten eggs. It is just unbearable. It is too much! Too much differences, too many smells, touches, you feel like the whole worl lied down on your shoulders. You begin to cry, falling on the floor, sobbing and rocking back and forth when Sherlock comes out of the kitchen. Hair trousled as always and with a smile like an angel. But you don’t have eyes for him. As he sees you he immediatly knows what you are going through, he saw you having melt downs before, he knows that you must have had a hard day. And he doesn’t ask. He is just there for you. Gently takes you by the shoulder and as you cringe away from him he accepts it, just sits there, next to you untill you got a little calmer. Again taking your shoulder he now presses you against his chest as tight as he can. Showing you he is there for you. Smelling him, and being in a narrow surrondings helps you get better. As you look up and try to apologize for your behaviour Sherlock just smiles at you, kisses your forehead and brings you to your bed where he tucks you in. After two hours of sleep you feel better and just as you want to get up Sherlock comes in, smiling: “Ah, I see you are better now! Do you need something? I am sorry I didn’t talk to you about the experiment before I began it!”


Jenny: Father… did you always know how to sail a boat?
Edward: The Jackdaw is a ship, Jenny. Not a boat.

She was prepared and it happened. Jake hit, and hit again, on all parts of her body. Meanwhile, he was crying and shouting “I LOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVE YOU, HONEEEEEEYYYYY !”. The worst of this shit is that IT WAS NOT A JOKE. The face of the beauty transformed itself under the violence of the strokes, and that time, she vanished more severely than one hour before. For several hours Jake lied on the floor, close to his darling, sobbing, hitting his head against the floor. Strangely, no one was coming. Apparently, people hadn’t heard Jake’s shouts, and it’s true that he had held them back in order to avoid being caught. At 5am, he started to caress the face of Katia, who was now blue, red, and yellow. He put a bit of music, Total Eclipse by Klaus Nomi, and started to wank on the belly of Katia. (to be continued, maybe…)
—  Won’t Be a Debaser, 13 October 2 017.