cries at his body

SYRIA. Aleppo governorate. Aleppo. October 3, 2012. A Syrian man cries while holding the body of his son near Dar El Shifa hospital. The boy was killed by Syrian army shelling.

This picture was part of a larger portfolio of images from Syria by AP photographers that won the 2013 Pulitzer Prize.

Photograph: Manu Brabo/AP


Inspired by this absolutely angsty masterpiece by @jackalopes-vld

This is really angsty and references intrusive thoughts, so please keep yourself safe.

WC: 1574


He’s not annoying. People like being around him. He’s not annoying.

Good for nothing.

He’s their sharpshooter. He has a purpose.


He’s worth something.

Seventh wheel.

He’s… He is the seventh wheel. There isn’t a doubt about that.

Can’t handle the stress.

He can’t. It gnaws at him every waking moment.

Can’t deal with criticism.

Fuck. It hurts, okay? Not everyone is graceful with that shit.

Useless weight brought along out of pity.




Just fucking leave.

Please. Please, just stop. Please.

Keep reading


“The crimson bird took in the sight of his blackened, frostbitten body and cried. He heard its musical lament and saw the sorrow in the depth of its obsidian eyes for the loss of its master, a loss that it would carry for the rest of its immortal life, and for the first time the Dark Lord understood empathy. He would grant it mercy. 

They say it is a great sin, to slay a unicorn. They say it is an atrocity, to kill something so pure, so innocent… That to drink its blood will save you from the brink of death, but that the moment the liquid touches your lips, you will live a half-life…a cursed life…They say nothing of what it means to kill a phoenix.

To take the life of the eternal. No one has ever accomplished such an impossible feat, would even think to try. But the ability of Lord Voldemort knows no bounds, bows to no laws, conforms to no boundaries… He drank its tears and drained it of its blood. He consumed its heart. …Such power. Such ancient, pure magic. It ignited in him. It was the healing fire. It brought his frozen limbs back to life in a burning, scorching pyre.”  Hauntingly


Imagine the Hogwarts student that discovered Remus Lupin’s body and brought him to the Great Hall.

Imagine that student, and many others, knowing this man to have been one of their greatest teachers because he was kind and wise, despite the life he had been given.

Imagine being a Hogwarts student within earshot when Minerva McGonagall spots his body and cries- because she protected this man when he was just a boy.

Imagine being Neville, seeing the man that tried to build your confidence laying dead at your feet.

Imagine how many lives Remus Lupin helped shape during that one singular year of teaching.

Imagine how many lives Remus touched in a positive way, despite his condition.

Now imagine how many of those people would meet Teddy Lupin- and how he’d impact lives in an equally positive manner, because he’s his father’s son through and through.

Don’t Die On Me (Stiles X-Reader)

Originally posted by life-as-a-mediocre

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Angst!!! AHHHH

Word Count: 307

You had never felt more pain in your life. Just below your rib cage, a searing sensation had began. You looked down at the puncture wound in your side, blood soaking through your shirt.

You had broken into a cold sweat as you limped onto Stiles’ front porch. You knocked once, twice, three times at a rapid pace before you collapsed by the door.

Stiles had thrown open the front door, your pale body lying lifeless on the porch. He became panicked, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” He cried, struggling to pull your body into his house. You stirred a bit, but didn’t wake. A cold sweat had broken out on your forehead, as you rolled over onto your back.

Stiles frantically looked around for his phone, calling an ambulance as fast as he could. He cradled your fallen form, pulling his sweatshirt off and pressing it against your wound.

“Don’t die on me, Y/N!” He cried, pulling you against himself. You shuddered, and slowly opened your eyes.

This action took most of your energy, as you looked into Stiles’ chocolate brown orbs. You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, and Stiles already had tear stains on his cheeks.

“Please…” He said shakily, his voice barely above a whisper. You closed your eyes, the pain radiating to every part of your body.

“S-Stiles-” You muttered, pushing the words out as you struggled to breath.

“Stiles I-I love…you.” You murmur, your eyes closing again.

“No, no, no, Y/N. Open your eyes, come on! Please!” Stiles cried. You felt your sense of sight slowly fade away, but as you slipped into a sense of unconsciousness, you heard sirens, and Stiles yelling your name over and over again. But It all soon went black.  

@love-in-mind-palace and @addignisherlock started an angst olympics of sorts so I’M GONNA WADE INTO THE FRAY 

“Do it johnny boy, you know you have to,” a greasy voice croons as a hard metal object is shoved into his hands, “Otherwise both of you will die.”

John trembles as his fingers close around the proffered gun, his eyes darting back and forth as the gravity of the situation settles around him.

He’s going to have to shoot Sherlock Holmes.

His best friend.

The one person in his life who matters.

“John, just do it,” a hoarse voice calls and John immediately raises his head to face the speaker in question.

He takes in Sherlock’s tired eyes, the dark circles that ring bloodshot scleras, the dark lines of dried blood that criss-cross his friend’s face… What has Moriarty done to him? What the fuck has he-

“John PLEASE,” Sherlock cries, his body trembling under the ropes binding him to the wall, “John, for me.”

Moriarty chuckles at this, flashing John a Cheshire cat grin. He winks, stalking over to Sherlock’s side, circling him like a shark.

“Well?” he hums, smirking at him when he finishes another round, dragging his feet back to John’s side, “What are you waiting for?”

John blanches.

He can’t do this, he can’t-

He lets the gun fall to his side, the fingers of his right hand twitching as Moriarty sighs, raising his phone to his ear.


“NO STOP!” Sherlock cries, his voice sounding oh so broken and John’s eyes immediately snap back to his.

“John, god JOHN I LOVE YOU-”

John freezes in answer.

Oh god no.

“PLEASE JUST DO THIS,” Sherlock cries again, tears gathering below the creases of his eyes, “GET IT OVER AND DONE WITH. I BEG OF YOU. IT’S WHAT I WANT.”

John stares at the man for a moment, his eyes widening in sudden realisation.


There’s only one thing for it now.

He raises a determined gaze, meeting Sherlock‘s eyes as he lifts the gun, aiming it at his best friend.

“I love you too Sherlock,” he whispers as he shuts his eyes.

But then he jerks, flicking his wrist - so that the gun is now pointing at himself instead, the barrel resting coldly against his beating heart

He watches as Sherlock’s face whites out.

“I love you so much.”

He pulls the trigger.

He’s driving a car, and every time he realizes he’s driving a car, he figures he should just keep driving the car, and sometimes he sings, and sometimes he cries, and the left side of his body is beginning to grow slack and numb, and all he wants to do is just keep driving, somehow to keep on driving. He has no more directions to follow, but he fills the car with gas again and again and keeps going into the night. He wants to keep going. He wants to go forever.

It’s Such a Beautiful Day (2012) dir Don Hertzfeldt

No ‘I love you’: Draco Malfoy

Originally posted by daz-zling-bling

“D-Draco,” a weak voice called out as the blond was about to run out into the battle once more. Recognizing the voice right away Draco whipped around and found his girlfriend laying on the ground and surrounded by rubble. Her white school shirt was stained scarlet and her usually healthy and vibrant glow was now gone and replaced with something duller. Forgetting that there was even a war the Slytherin boy ran over to his beloved and kneeled beside her, taking her hand in his he shivered at how cold they were.

“We got to get you help,” he says and goes to lift his lover’s body but she cries out and Draco looks down to see that the young girls body was propelled on a sharp rock that hadn’t pierced through her body fully. He carefully lowered her back down and frantically looked around for help but stopped when he felt a gentle hand rest on his and he looked down to see (Y/N) staring up at him with those (eye color) gems filled with nothing but love.

“Please Draco, just stay with me,” She whimpers and the blond nods his head and laces his hand with (Y/N)’s and leaned down to give her lips a chaste kiss before pulling away. “I can’t feel anything anymore. My body feels so cold and numb.”

Draco released a throaty cry and peppered the dying girl with more kisses, hoping that it would somehow make everything to away. He wanted this to be a bad dream, he wanted to wake up and find that the girl he wanted to marry was sleeping right beside him with that soft smile on her face and her soft snores filling the silent room. Why did fate have to be so cruel to him, why did he have to lose the one thing in this world that really brought him joy?

“I know baby, I know you’re cold but it’ll be over soon and then you’ll feel warm again I promise,” He mumbled and when he pulled away he saw that (Y/N) had begun to cough up blood and her eyes were rolling to the back of her head. “I love you (nickname). Remember that, I’ll always love you.”

When she took her last breath the world seemed to have lost it color and everything sounded muffled to the young boy’s ear. (Y/N) was laying on the ground in her own pool of blood, (eye color) eyes staring up at the clouded sky above and her beautiful features covered in wounds and dirt from battling in what she believed. Draco watched as his future disappeared and his cracked heart shattering, he suddenly found it heard to breath and his hands were shaking as he stood up and blindly walked into the middle of the war.

She hadn’t even said she loved him back.


Pain. Dry, burning pain that radiates up his spine and makes his nails leave deep crescent marks in his palms. With nothing but Sehun’s precum to ease the slide inside of Luhan’s tensed core, the older boy’s breathing chokes in his lungs, though he gasps for more air. He reminds himself that this is his punishment - he deserves this raw pain which still, somehow, feels so good. As he slowly relaxes and Sehun moves inside him again, white pearls drip down his pulsing crown and shaft. He can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through his whole body and he cries out when Sehun finds something inside him that fully blurs the line between his pain at the unprepped stretch and the ache to have him move faster and harder.

- Admin J


Y/N: Kai! You can’t die! Don’t leave me! *cries while holding his weak body*
Kai: I don’t know if I can fight this anymore. Sorry Y/N… *whispers weakly and reaches for your cheek with his palm*
Y/N: You must fight it. You can. I know that you can. *you cry out*
Kai: I would like to think that way too. *he smiles softly and closes his eyes*
Y/N: No! Kai, I love you! You can’t leave me! *shouts and shakes Kai’s body. He breaths in slowly and opens his eyes. A cheeky smile appears on his face*
Kai: Got you. *he smiles and pulls you in a deep kiss*

My father kissed me in the womb right
where my palm meets my left pinky.

My July-cousin and I fell on the same patch of heaven’s grass
on the same leg and branded ourselves
with the same cylindrical melanin-scar.

I have five dimples and two raindrops
making quiet room on my smiling upper lip–

the only birthmark my canvas of a body hasn’t housed
yet, are the words my grandfather found
when his wife needed to see heavens’ gates
for the second time.

I don’t say it for the sake of poetry
but when she was gone, he cried so much
his eyes clogged with cataracts;
his body exhumed the fact that her cold bedside
was a part of the family now.

I have written nothing about the time he left me,
how writing was a pipe dream rusting under the breaths
of his wife and four children
until his depression clenched his chest
so hard his mind begged for air.

He forgot his wife and four children for seven days.

Writing brought them back; he could not bear
to lose them in his head yet.

Years that followed turned his bedroom into an office.
His plastic table stacked with photographs,
handwritten pages until leather-bound.
I remember his frail hands clasping
a pairs of yellow scissors, eyes scrunched in absolute focus.

He taught me what real loss looks like,
what fear would sound like if it opened
its doors to love banging for dear life.

He gave me my heart, my words.

See, if I sit still for too long,
I confuse my pulse for earthquakes;
this is the birthmark my grandfather gave me.

When I rubbed his cold feet
as he let his last breath go, he left:
his love for ghazals in my throat
his thirst for strangers’ stories in my ears
his beating heart, echoing still in the corridors
of my body.

Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night,
my knees shake, toes twitch. It takes a while
for me to realize: it isn’t another earthquake.

—  Birthmarks, Orooj-e-Zafar

Okay but picture this:

Karasuno, Nekoma and Fukurodani at a night club and everyone’s dancing and having fun.

Bokuto wants to dance with Akaashi and Daichi wants to dance with Suga.

But the two setters are little shits and decline and go to dance with each other.

By dance I mean sexy, sensual, languid body movements while being unreasonably close to each other and glancing provocatively at their respective captain from time to time.

Daichi forgets how to breathe.

Bokuto’s soul leaves his body.

Kuroo cries bc “I’m surrounded by homos”


Anonononon asked: Baekhyun hand porn.

Sorry if it sounds a little rushed. I had sudden inspiration and wanted to post it before I forgot…

Summary: Maybe painting his nails was a bad idea

Idol: Byun Baekhyun (Exo)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1,417

Originally posted by a-bacon-and-a-happy-virus

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

*sees the Elsa fic* *slides up from behind counter* *whispers*part two? *slides back down*

*whispers* as yoouu wiisshhhh *slides back down under my blanket to write*

“Y/N!” BamBam exclaimed, running out onto the ice towards you with tears streaming down his face; he had never meant to hurt you with his powers - it had been what he was most afraid of, and now you were frozen in ice, gone forever.

“No…please…” BamBam cried, throwing his arms around your frozen body and hugging you tightly as he whispered how much he needed you to be with him; at his words, a bright light began to glow around you which BamBam barely noticed through his tears until it began melting away the ice that was encasing you at which point he gasped and held you in his arms, smiling down at you.

“Bam…Bam…” you whispered, weakly in his arms as you looked up at your savior whose white hair was blowing in the wind; “It’s okay, Y/N. I’ve got you know. I won’t let you go,” he said, stroking your cheek fondly and pressing his lips lightly against yours as the warmth around you began to spread towards the frozen palace to bring back summer. 

Give me a pairing, an AU, and I will write a three-sentence fic~

anonymous asked:

do you have any hc about trans!steve??? or any good fic?? it's been a while, i miss him!! have a good day, sweetheart ♥

i have a lot of hcs! (as for fic, war, children is eternally a favourite, but read the warnings and stay safe!)

  • he gets top surgery three weeks out of the ice after constant research. it’s the only thing that keeps him occupied when he can’t sleep (when he doesn’t want to sleep), and it feels like breathing properly again without that literal weight on his chest
    • six months after that, he gets a series of tattoos (vines twisted into names and hands of those he loves most) and the howlies insignia
    • it’s the first time since he was 16 and sickly that he feels truly, completely happy in his body

  • he cried after erskine called him a good man and erskine didn’t shame him for it, not for a moment. besides bucky and peggy and his ma, no one really ever acknowledged he was a man, and it hit deep and good and felt right

  • his ma was the first person he “came out” to, though considering sarah rogers’ disposition it was more a “ma i ain’t a dame” than a tearful affair, and she spent weeks adjusting all of her husbands clothes to fit steve, because they were poor but she wasn’t letting her son walk around uncomfortable
    • (his ma was the first person to help him find names. bucky helped, of course he did, all wide grin and dirt under his nails and love in his heart, but sarah rogers sat down with a book of irish names and a lot of others and helped steve find names that fit)

  • when his chest grew (not much, the one thing his sick body was good for) at fourteen, sarah found ways to prevent it. didn’t let him go bandaging (not after the first time where she caught him wheezing and bucky was glaring down at him and saying “ms rogers, i really did try ta stop ‘im”). she made tight binding shirts out of old military wear and fabric from the hospital that would have been thrown out if she hadn’t snatched it, and steve could breathe in it in more ways than one

  • post-ice, steve comes out more or less out of rage that this huge part of his identity and journey was erased; hell, if they weren’t gonna talk about captain america being bi, least they could do was acknowledge him being trans, and he told the world that through twitter, scathing and cold