he's already gone

*Ragnarök calls* New squad who dis

So. I’m listening to Bliss as I blog these gifsets of them today and… HAVE YOU GUYS HEARD THIS SONG????  JFC EVEN ISN’T HIDING HIS FEELINGS ONE BIT. LOOK AT THE CHORUS:

Pure bliss, Like you’ve got the key to my heart, Simple as a touch and a kiss, Never knew a feeling like this, Pure bliss, pure bliss, Nobody can tear us apart, Baby it’s as good as it gets, (Kiss kiss kiss kiss), Loving you will never be hard, This is pure bliss

He can’t lose him. It would shatter him. 

You’ve all heard of “Full Boyle,” but have you considered… Full Thorin?

Dwalin having to hold Thorin back as he plans to make the most wild, over-the-top declarations of love to Bilbo inappropriately soon.

Balin explaining why it’s not practical, not at all, to propose marriage (two weeks into their courtship, mind you) in front of a full court, or to have a gold statue of Bilbo in full armour erected in the middle of the throne room.

“Support Me” Part 2a

I’m a little late so…sorry

Anyway, here is the happy (I’m reluctant to call it happy) ending to this fic.

Don’t worry lovelies…hardcore angst is coming ;)

Originally posted by newdscamander

The London air seemed a hundred times cooler that night as Newt sat on the stone sidewalk.

After a couple minutes of recollecting his thoughts, comprehending what had just happened, he went out to find you, only to realize he was too late. He frantically looked around for you, calling your name into the night, but you were already gone.

He clutched his scarf closer to his lips as the wind picked up.

He couldn’t believe he had driven you away. He should have begged you to stay, or to let him come with you, but he didn’t, and he prayed to God it wouldn’t be the biggest mistake of his life.

After what felt like years, his eyelids began to droop, threatening to plunge him into sleep.

So Newt got up off the side of the road and reluctantly walked back into his empty apartment.

———-

It had been two months. Was that how long you said you would be away? Was it longer? Was it shorter? Were you injured? He couldn’t stop the cascade of terrifying thoughts flood his mind.

He checked his mailbox religiously, hoping you had forgiven him and sent a letter, letting him know you would return early. He waited day after day for any note from you or the ministry, so when one finally came, he was beside himself with anxiety and excitement.

He tore open the familiar red seal, fumbling over his hands to read the smudged writing.

Sir-or-Madam,

We regret to inform you that a report has been received from the Department of Law Enforcement to the effect that Auror (Y/N) (L/N)…

Your name had been written in by some frighteningly unmistakable handwriting.

was posted as “missing in action” on the 1st of December 1931…

He couldn’t read any further. The thin parchment slipped through his fingers, falling silently to the floor.

Missing in action. The three words rang in his ears like thunder.

He fought the tears threatening to pour down his cheeks.

You had been missing for nearly four weeks, and not only did the Ministry wait so long to send him the details, but the details they sent were in a generic and impersonal fashion. The ministry sent this about disposable people. About meaningless people, both of which you were far from.

He felt his world come crashing down.

What if that was the last time he had ever seen you? What was the last thing he had ever said to you? He replayed that argument over and over in his head everyday, deciphering your actions over and over, yet now, he couldn’t place his mind on anything but that damned letter.

He bent down and scooped it up, knees wobbling and hands trembling.

There was another paragraph. inadequately trying to explain that “missing in action” was not necessarily “killed in action,” just rather wounded or possibly held prisoner.

Both of which made Newt’s stomach churn.

What was he suppose to do with this? You were thousands of miles away from him, and he had no idea what condition you were in. Nobody did. Was he suppose to sit and wait for you? Did he really have a choice?

The ministry assured that he would be notified as soon as possible whenever there was news of your activity, but he had a sinking feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

How many times had he waited by the door for news that his brother was safe, and how many times had he gotten this exact same letter? How many times had he waited for a loved one to come home, and how many times would he have to do it again?

He begged himself not to think like that.

————–

Another two months raged on, though it felt like lifetimes were passing, rather than days.

Minutes didn’t feel appropriate enough to describe the time you’d been gone, so he attempted to create a more appropriate calendar.

You had been away for ten breakdowns.

A hundred sleepless nights.

A thousand tears,

And about a million unheard apologies.

He had gotten a measly three letters since the first, each with more inconclusive information. What was so frightening was how consistent they use to be, one coming week after week. Now, it had been a month, and the mailbox was still empty.

It drove him completely mad.

He couldn’t even bring himself back into work because of his laughably low productivity, so he spent his days in his little blue loveseat, sat so far to the side it was as if he were making room for a person who wasn’t there.

He watched the wall clock strike midnight, mentally ticking off another day since your disappearance, fighting the tears threatening to break away.

When the apartment seemed too unbearably empty, he gathered his blue coat and headed for the door, ready to take another walk down the busy London streets. Maybe he could manipulate the  noises into some kind of company.

He reached for his umbrella and laid a hand on the door handle, eyes glued to the carpet.

When the door finally swung open, he expected his eyes to land on the door mat outside, but instead, they met a scruffy pair of brown boots, trembling and glued to the floor.

He dared to let his eyes drift up the person standing in front of him, until he finally saw your face.

He had almost forgotten what you looked like.

He had almost forgotten how beautiful you were.

Your eyes locked for a moment, a silence hung in the air, part from disbelief, and part of utter shame.

“Newt…I-” you started, expecting him to be heartbroken or furious. You couldn’t finish your apology, because his umbrella clattered to the floor and he hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you into an embrace.

And suddenly, the world fell away. It didn’t even feel like real life.

“I-I shouldn’t have run out on you like that” he focused on the sound of your voice, letting it calm his breathing.

“I’ve been so worried” he managed to say, realizing how hoarse his throat was. When was the last time he had spoken to anyone?

You attempted to pull him back to arm’s length, but his muscles froze and held on even tighter. You giggled and lightly stroked his back in return.

“It’s okay, I’m okay Newt!” You were cold and soaked from the rain, but you could still feel the hot tears soak into your shirt.

“Don’t cry…because you know…” your voice began to break as well.

“…you know when you cry, I cry” Newt stayed quiet, not wanting to risk saying anything that would ruin this moment.

He had tried every way to cope with your absence. He indulged into his work with his creatures, he went to drink at the pubs (among other things he wasn’t so proud of), but nothing made him feel the relief and the warmth that this one simple gesture did.

There was no amount of alcohol that could replace your heat.

There was no amount of work that could distract him like you did.

He held you tightly, never wanting to let you go ever again.

Because if he did, he wasn’t so sure he could survive.

You know who likes Obama? My socialist grandparents. The ones who are in New York because the last time of many that my grandfather was kidnapped by the Tonton Macoute, one of the kidnappers happened to be a childhood friend who told him it was probably a good idea to leave and not get kidnapped again, hint hint wink wink. Their beliefs were more than a word in a blog heading. They could have denied them and pledged support to a dictator and kept their home and their belongings. They didn’t. They stayed true to their beliefs even when that meant they had to give up everything and go from comfortable lives in their home country to working two or more jobs each and raising four children in a new city with a language they had to learn as they went along.

I remember sitting with my grandpa as a kid watching Castro speeches (and French new wave films). We’d watch the news together. I’d read the Times after he did (or before, if he had already gone to work when it arrived). I was one of those kids who actually watched Nick News. I’ve been having real political conversations with my adult family members since I was four years old. The 1992 election was the first one I followed in depth (after the primaries anyway). This is why I know things.

My family has been through hell in service of their beliefs. My grandfather made it through torture, exile, working multiple jobs for decades, having to watch his country ruled by a dictator and ravaged by coups and US political and military intervention from afar, and is almost eighty-nine years old. They know that perfect is the enemy of good. You strive for perfection, but if you sit around figuring out how literally anything less than perfect is complete garbage, you will never make progress. The more we build on adequate, okay, decent, and good, the closer we get to perfect.

You don’t think Obama getting two SCOTUS appointments helped with Obergefell? Or that the reduction in civilian casualties in US military actions from over a hundred thousand to three hundred twenty-five was a step in the right direction in terms of avoiding ground war (and the horrors thereof) and/or more destructive types of aerial combat? Or that the protections given trans people in select federal policy is not a step toward more and better protections in future policy?

I wish there was a remote possibility that we would wake up tomorrow in an ideal world. There’s not. But we progress by accepting progress, appreciating the steps along the way, and not rejecting the good-but-imperfect. We hold people accountable for the things we don’t like, but we also make clear the things we do like. This is how we win.

I’m reading all this ‘frosty relationship’ bs and I’m just thinking that if Ben had any social media he would’ve already gone out and say how much he loves Martin I mean, come on

Originally posted by rominatrix


Originally posted by nemoholmes


Originally posted by fyeahfreebatch


Originally posted by sherlockthinksaboutjohn


Originally posted by if-its-notlikethemovies


Originally posted by katrin09supreme

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Saeyoung: It’s literally!! The best thing ever! I look like a rockstar!

Saeran: //snorts Rockstar my ass. Stop dabbing, you look like a moron. Oh, wait. You are one already.

Saeyoung: … (He’s gone back to his tsun mode! Awwh ;w;)

youtube

June 20th, 2016

For those of you that don’t know, today is the day that the last episode of Young Justice takes place. So, I made this tribute for it. I came up with the idea just two days ago so I almost killed myself trying to finish it on time. Some parts you can tell I was really rushing.

All the drawings in this video were made by me and I edited it myself. The song is Photograph by Ed Sheeran, and its on my Spitfire playlist!

Concert Chapter 5: Unexpected Encounter

Welcome to part 5 of the Concert.
Today we will get to know who this Hyena is ;)

Thank you again SO much für the drawing @fuzzywuzzylittletail you made him look perfect!!!!!!

This will be a rather short chapter again but I think he deserves his own.

So, here we go:

Chapter 1: Friendship on the Brink

Chapter 2: Goodwil visit

Chapter 3: Apologies

Chapter 4: Crevasse

Chapter 5: Unexpected Encounter

Keep reading

tougher colder meaner: ponyboy

these are sad headcanons so please don’t read if it will make you sad

requested by @the-outsiders-slut and @unic0rns-f0rev3r

Keep reading

in the kitchen when Isak and the boys are coaching Magnus on how to get it on with Vilde, and Isak is so confident and happy and r e l a x e d, holding his beer and giving his protips on how it’s totally cool to get rejected, no big deal, just show her your attitude, and he’s teasing Magnus about developing a crush as if just a few weeks ago he wasn’t already so gone over Even that he would even want to end his ultimatum with a smiley because when it comes to Even Isak wants to be so careful and kind, but when Even enters the conversation Isak suddenly becomes a listener, because with Even he has butterflies and no game, no protips on making moves, and after the boys have left the room, just a few minutes after making fun of Magnus for falling in love with Vilde, after just a few minutes alone with Even, Isak is making this face

one of my favourite things.

Forbidden Fruit - Chapter Two

A/N: Forbidden Fruit part 2. This is my first time writing SOA, so please go easy on me. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks to my wonderful beta @thorne93.

Characters: Reader, Opie, Jax, Chibs.

Pairing: eventual Reader x Jax

Warnings: Language, Angst.. Think that’s it.

Wordcount:1091 (a little short.. I know)

PART ONE

*not my GIF*

Originally posted by rideimagines

Keep reading

  • Liberals: Well let's see how Trump does now that he's elected. I'm willing to give him a chance.
  • Leftists: uhhh... He literally ran on a platform of white nationalism, and you think he's going to be okay?
  • Liberals: sure I mean look he's already gone back on some of the stuff he's said
  • Donald Trump: *appoints a literal white supremacist as his top advisor*
  • Liberals: *crickets*