crying because of these two

anonymous asked:

Was an Ast healing v2s. Warrior doesn’t take hate for the tank swap. Dark knight is about to get hit with the tank buster and already has 2 stacks. I’m already crying because these two don’t believe in cooldowns. Preparing for the 30th wipe of the night but dark pops living dead. Dark has 1 hp and I somehow bring him back up. We clear. Was a wild ride...

I just got a hot flash of anxiety and fear reading this

- mod proxy

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Okay back to happier (?) topics - today’s prompts were firsts/future/tears !!!! and honestly that’s probably a happy set why did I go for this even we might just never know

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find yourself a best friend who looks at you the same way maui looks at moana

How Dan and Phil probably broke up #37
  • Phil: *gets Dan a whisk for Christmas*
MESSAGE DELIVERED | pt.1

→ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader / Namjoon x Reader
→ Genre: fluff, smut, angst, humor
→ Words: 2,517
→ Rated: NC-17
→ Warnings: alcohol, language
→ Summary: A text message sent to the wrong number turns into a long lasting affair between two people completely opposite one another.
→ Note: This is an old thing and actually the first thing I wrote after the accident, and I decided to post it again because I kind of hold it close to my heart ? It’s not all going to be texts between the characters, but quite a lot of backstory and stuff the more we get into it. It’ll be told from both Y/N’s POV and Jungkook’s. Please enjoy! :)

Parts: 01 : interim : 02 : coming soon

cr.


The first time you receive one it’s in the middle of the night.

At first you simply stir in your sleep, turning around as if that will somehow stop the annoying buzzing resounding from under your pillow. When it doesn’t, you grab the cursed device and flip it over in your hands, wondering whom of your stupid friends decided to be an excruciating pain in the ass this late.

Keep reading

There’s never any songs or advice columns or sad novels written for the aromantics  who feel like their hearts have been ripped out when they lose a friend.

So here’s to the aromantics who took months to figure out that the friendship was dead because friendships never get breakup discussions.

Here’s to the aromantics that tried desperately to keep their friendships in tact but failed anyways.

Here’s to the aromantics that were told not to cry because, “it’s not like you two were dating or anything.”

Here’s to the aromantics who lost friends to romantic relationships. 

Losing a friend can be just as hard as losing a partner. You’re feelings are valid and I hope your other friends are there to help you through it.    

hi I’m kelsey.

I’m in a really bad situation at the moment and it’s really hard for me to even write this, I’m not one to usually ask or even open up when help is needed but this is really urgent and apparently this is all I have left. 

So my mum was recently diagnosed with a disability called MS which is basically like brain damage and it affects the whole body, she had to leave her job because she’s in so much pain and she was on sick pay for a while which did help but now she’s not getting any money and even the government won’t give her money. 

Keep reading

Hopping onto that marriage train because goshdarnit I’m so gay for these two

Kobayashi is crying because Tohru is so beautiful. Tohru is crying because she’s so happy. I’m also crying

Voltron Ships in a Nutshell
  • //Positive version because I ain't about bashing ships//
  • Klance: "hey man sharp work out there. i'm with you but leave the math to pidge" gays in space, red and blue aesthetic *insert bonding moment*
  • Sheith: "it's killing me when you're away, but i'll save you as many times as it takes. it's good to have you back, i love you baby" *tender shoulder touch*
  • Kallura: "it's not what's in your blood, it's who you are that counts" alien leader power couple, red and pink aesthetic *random but appreciated hug*
  • Shallura: resident space dad meets resident space mom. do not mess with this power couple. when separated they'll keep moving on, even when the other is "...completely irreplacable" *throws into escape pod*
  • Hance: "THE HUNTERS HAVE BECOME THE HUNTED" friends to lovers aesthetic, mutual support. they probably have movie nights, such pure dorks :)
  • Pidgance/Pance: ouran high school host club vibes. gamer dweebs, most definitely gamer dweebs. spend their free time judging people, and roasting each other (read: roasting lance)
  • Pallura: "i like you more than peanut butter" strong women who don't need no man to fight for them but instead fight for their beliefs and loved ones <3
  • Punk/Hidge: nerdy science nerds. started out tolerating each other, but by season two they were crying because they had to go on separate missions if that's not solid development i don't know what is
  • Kidge: full on conspiracy theorists. fight about bigfoot and mothman more often than you'd think. "my name is keith, i'm sooo emo". look me in the eye and tell me keith didn't protect pidge when she crashed into him during the ulaz fight
  • Shance: THIS DUDE STRAIGHT UP FOUGHT A BUFF PURPLE ALIEN CAT JUST TO PROTECT HIS INJURED BLUE BOY "nice work, sharpshooter. you're my hero"
  • Allurance: "if i had to lose blue to anyone, i'm glad it was you. i'm not saying you're dumb, i'm saying you're a natural". cotten candy aesthetic going on with pink and blue, blossoming friendship as of season three
  • feel free to add more, i am fully aware i missed a LOT of ships

Okay so I’ve seen a lot of fanart and fics where aged up Lance has scars on his skin, and man do I dig that aesthetic, but what if it’s the opposite? What if healing pods not only repair injuries to the point where there’s no scarring, but they also repair old damage? Like, say, regenerating tissues and cells to the point where the whole body is like brand new.

The scar that Lance’s sister gave him when he was four? Gone. The old burn he had when he was twelve and touched the stove? Like it was never there in the first place. And siblings fight, and Lance has a lot of siblings, so he’s bound to have many “battle” scars, but they’re wiped away, one by one  — like they were never there, like his past with his family never happened.

So maybe at some point, when he only has so many scars left, Lance starts fearing taking an injury, not because of pain and blood, but because that means another trip to a healing pod. Another mark of his past, proof that he really is a boy from Cuba, washed away like ocean foam. Maybe at some point, even if the injury is severe enough to warrant a visit to the pods, but not quite severe enough that it’d keep Lance from piloting Blue, he denies Coran when he suggests he visit the infirmary. Maybe he wants to heal naturally, welcoming new scars to join the old ones.

Maybe he learns to accept it, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe the birthmark on his hip is one day wiped away, replaced by unblemished tanned skin, and maybe Lance stays up till two crying because there’s so little left of who he used to be. What’s left of him that hasn’t been stomped on by parades of war and sullied with blood, tears and duty?

And maybe, when years have passed and the universe is finally well off that they can return home for a few vargas, maybe… Maybe Lance still looks the same.

Maybe all his visits to the healing pods; being exposed to their magic and quintessence has regenerated him to the point where he still looks exactly the same as he did when they snuck out of the Garrison that one oh so fateful night. Maybe it’s been two years, maybe it’s been ten, but the Paladins all look the same, to the dot, like they’re untouched by time. But Lance’s family doesn’t. His little sister, who used to only reach Lance’s hip, all pigtails and freckles, maybe she’s now tall enough to reach his chest and better at math than Lance will ever be. Maybe she has new scars Lance has never seen or kissed away.

Maybe his mom has worry lines and grey hairs Lance knows she didn’t have when he last saw her, and maybe she talks less than he remembers. Maybe she has to pinch herself when she first sees her son after however many years, because he hasn’t changed a bit. Maybe she breaks into tears at the sight of him, and her hug is just as warm and three times as tight as Lance remembers.

Maybe his siblings give him a new scar to cherish before there’s another planet, another crisis that needs Voltron.

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anonymous asked:

Maybe some time you could talk about Susan and what it would be like if she didn't desert Narnia

How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan?

What if, instead of sending a stag to lead them astray, the Pevensies had been given time to end their first rule– to have finished their reports, their negotiations and treaties, that letter in the bureau Lucy was half-done penning to Mrs. Beaver to thank her for the fruitcake and to ask about her grandchildren. 

They had lived there more than a decade then, grown from children to kings and queens, to brave young adults with responsibility heavy on their shoulders. They had lived through storms and wars, peace and joy, lost friends to battle and old age and distance. They had made a home. What if they had been given time to say good-bye? 

What if we didn’t tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn’t have again. 

There is nothing wrong with Lucy loving Narnia all her life, refusing an adulthood she didn’t want for a braver, brighter one she built herself. But there is also nothing wrong with Susan trying to find something new to fall in love with, something that might love her back. 

You can build things in lipsticks and nylons, if you don’t mind getting a few runs in them. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty, especially when pretty is the only power left to you. 

Let’s talk about being the last one left. No, really, think about it. You get a call in the middle of the night, in the little flat you can just barely afford, and you are told there has been an accident. 

Think about it, that moment– you scramble over everyone you know, everyone you love, and try to figure out where they all are that night. There are things rushing in your gut, your fingertips, your lungs, your ears– there are words in your ears as the tinny, sympathetic voice starts to tell you: it is everyone. 

They were on a train. Something went wrong. They probably died instantly. A rushing sound. A bright light. (You try to imagine it, for years. You try not to think about it. You imagine it, for years–a rushing sound, a bright light.)

Your little sister, who you always felt the most responsible for, who you never understood, really– Your big brother, who disapproved of your choices but loved you with a steadiness you could never regret leaning into– Your little brother, a smug and arrogant ass except for the days when he drowned in self doubt– Ed was going to go far and you knew it, were waiting for it, were shoring up your defenses and your eye rolls for the days when he’d think he ruled the world–

Your mother is gone. Your father, with his stuffy cigar smell and big hands and the way he got distracted telling stories– he is gone. Your cousin Eustace, who suddenly lost that stick in his ass one summer. That friend of his, Jill, who you’d never actually quite met. Gone. A rushing sound. A bright light. 

Go on. Walk through this with me. You can’t sleep all night long, because you still can’t understand it, still can’t quite breathe in a world where you are the last Pevensie. You finally fade sometime between midnight and dawn and when you wake up you don’t remember for half a second. You think ugh and you think sunshine why and then you remember that you are an orphan, an only child. You remember there probably isn’t anyone else to handle the funeral arrangements. 

Get up. Make tea. Forget to eat breakfast and feel nauseous and empty all day. Call the people who need to be called. Your work, to ask for the time off. The mortuary, to ask about closed caskets. Distant relations. Friends. Edmund’s girlfriend and Peter’s boss. You listen to Lucy’s friends weep hysterics into the phone while you stare out the kitchen window and drink your fourth cup of tea. You call Professor Diggory, out at the old house with the wardrobe that started it all, and it rings and rings. You don’t find out for three days that he died in the train crash too. When you do, you stare at the newspaper article. You think of course

You are twenty one years old. You have ruled a kingdom, fought and won and prevented wars, survived exile and school and your first day as a working woman. Nothing has ever felt worse than this. You have a necklace in your dresser you meant to give your mother, because she loves rubies and this glass is painted a nice ruby red and it is all you can afford on your tiny wages. 

Excuse me, a correction: she loved rubies. She is dead. You never wear the necklace. You cry yourself to sleep for weeks. The first night you don’t cry, the first morning you wake up rested, you feel guilty. You wonder if that will live in the pit of your stomach all your life and you don’t know. The years reach out in front of you, miles and eons of loss. You are on the very shore of this grief and you do not know how you will survive feeling like this for the rest of your life. But you will survive it. 

Get up. Make tea. Make yourself eat breakfast. Make plans with a school friend to do lunch. Go to work and try to bury yourself in the busyness of it. Remember that you’d promised to lend Peter a hand with some task or other, but you don’t even remember what it was– Collapse. Hide in the bathroom until you’re breathing again. Redo your makeup and leave work the moment your shift is over. Drop your nylons and your sweater and your heels in the apartment hallway. Fall into bed and pull the covers over your head. 

Get up. Make tea. Eat. Don’t think about them for weeks. Don’t feel guilty when you remember. Feel proud. Spend an indulgent weekend in your pajamas, reading Lucy’s favorite novel and making Ed’s favorite cookies and remembering the way your mother smelled and how it always made you feel safe. Love them and miss them and mourn them. Keep breathing. Cry, but wash your face after in cool water. Wake in the morning to birdsong and spend three hours making breakfast just the way you like it. 

Imagine the next birthday, the next Christmas, the next time you hit one of those days that herald the passage of time, that tell you how much you’ve grown and how much they haven’t. 

Lucy, Peter, and Edmund will be at the same height for the rest of your life. Lucy will always be seventeen for the second time. You see, you think you know, when you lose them, what the dagger in you feels like. But it grows with you, that ache. You grow with it, too, learn how to live with that at your side but it grows, that ache, finds new ways to twist– 

At the first friend’s wedding you go to, you cry because it’s lovely, those two smiling and promising and holding hands– but you also cry because you wonder what Lucy would have looked like in white, joyous and smiling and promising the rest of her life to a boy who deserved her. 

Go on. You tell me if Susan deserted a world or if a whole life deserted her. You tell me who was left behind. 

So yes, let’s talk about it– what if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan? What if lipstick and nylons were things worn and not markers of worth? 

What if we had a story that told little girls they could grow up to be anything they wanted– all of Lucy’s glory and light, Susan’s pretty face and parties, the way Jill could move so quiet and quick through the trees? 

Because you know, some of those little girls? They were the little mothers, too old for their age, who worried and wondered, who couldn’t believe like Lucy or charge like Jill. Susan was reasonable, was hesitant and beautiful and gentle, was pretty and silly and growing up, and for it she was lost. She was left. And when Susan was left, so were they. 

The little girls who worried louder than they loved, who were nervous about climbing trees and who would never run after the mirage of a lion, who looked at the pretty women in the grocery store and wondered if they would grow up pretty too– some of them looked at their little clever doubting hands, after they read Peter and Eustace and Jill scoffing at Susan’s vanities, and they wondered what they were worth. 

Imagine a Narnia that believed in all of them. Imagine a Narnia that believed in adult women, lipsticked or not. Imagine Susan teaching Jill how to string a bow, arms straining. Imagine her brushing blush on Lucy’s cheeks, the first time Lu went out walking with a boy she was considering falling in love with. Imagine that when the last door to Narnia was shut, there was not a sister left behind. 

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NOCTIS WEEK | Day 4: Favorite Relationship / Burden / In another life (AU)

Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia

“Without him I’m lost.”

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Stelena Forever Meme || [5/9] Quotes

↳ 2x20: The Last Day

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For those who are able to go back to the Engeki Haikyuu Exhibition after May 10th, they’ve added new exhibits now featuring the props and sets from Winners and Losers, which has just finished touring!  

♪♫ it’s raining men ♫♪