Did this becuase No one’s Parents are perfect and lusus weren’t particularly talked about very much in the story (although i understand why. )
(( I apologize if you can’t read this. Tumblr hates me.))
W-WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS D:
*CREYS*
n
o
my heart
the last one got me
sob.
lhkjdhfkajdh LUSUS FEELS
FEELINGS
cries
hysterical sobbing
i don’t think i’ve spent nearly enough time thinking about dead girlfriends and mind control lately so here is a pretty picture of aradia megido kicking the bucket
holy shit dude this is gorgeous.
One of the many reasons why I will always think of Vriska as nothing more than a petty, manipulative bitch.
Also that’s just the sound of my heart breaking into a million pieces. Don’t worry; carry on.
Everything about this picture hurts me.
Imagining the emotional turmoil you would go through. This is like waking up from a deep, dreamless sleep and just happening to find your dead girlfriend at you feet. The fact also that you did not stop at just killing her, but defiled her body by painting in her blood… Sollux is not the kind of person to put this to mind control.
He would forever blame himself.
And I think it’s evident in every conversation he has with Aradia with that point on. It’s adorably sweet, like the most devoted boyfriend you’ve ever known. He’s the Rory Williams of the series. He’d go anywhere and do anything for the people he cares about. But there’s always this apologetic undertone that keeps him separated from her. It’s sort of like someone who’s afraid to hug you, and always keeps their body just slightly separated from you.
He’s afraid of touching her. Of hurting her again. And it’s the most tragically beautiful broken relationship I’ve ever seen in my life.
Pretty much. It’s weird how the only romance I really get is the kind where you accidentally murder the other party horribly.
Guess I never grew out of the lethal phase of my emotional development D:
Reblogging for the heartbreaking commentary.
Sollux….;A;
And my heart ached ;;;;
He manages to convince himself that it’s the right thing to do.
Three years to the day since the death of London’s greatest mind, since the death of the world’s only consulting detective, since the death of the great Sherlock Holmes.
Three years to the day since the death of John Watson’s best friend, and the pain of it has not been dulled by a single passing moment. He is tired. So, so tired.
He looks out over the rooftops, out over London. Below him, the world moves on, takes no notice the small figure standing on the ledge of Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.
Three years, to the day. It’s oddly poetic, if he were inclined to such sentiments. He tells himself that he’s doing what’s best – he hasn’t been the same since Sherlock died, hasn’t laughed and hardly ever smiles. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson tried, at first. He’d invite John out for a pint, she’d bring him tea in the mornings.
Nothing helped. Eventually they got the message.
John moved out of Baker Street two months later. Found himself a small flat he was able to afford on his army pension and whatever money he managed to make at the surgery, on the days he decided to show up.
Sarah was understanding. She put up with him longer than he could have asked for.
Now he’s jobless. Nearly homeless. Living off of tea and crap telly to numb his mind. No one to miss him because he’s pushed everyone away and the only person who really mattered, John buried three years before.
He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted him to, but Sherlock’s not there to tell him so. That’s the problem.
On the street below, no one takes notice of the man on the roof who spreads his arms wide, feeling the breeze telling of distant rain whisper against his exposed skin. He looks down – it doesn’t seem so far, I wonder if this is what he felt like, maybe I can ask him soon – takes a deep breath.
John Watson closes his eyes. Leans forward. Feels himself begin to fall-
-is violently snatched from behind, strong arms curling around his chest, yanking him back.
His savior doesn’t let go when they tumble backwards, landing hard on the building below them. John breathes deeply, evenly through his nose, does not open his eyes. The feel of those arms around his chest is oddly comforting, the scratch of wool on his cheek distracting, the scent of tea and unidentifiable chemicals familiar…
John opens his eyes, sees nothing but the sky thinly veiled by clouds. The arms around him remove themselves. His savior shifts.
Suddenly the sky is replaced by two pale eyes, half-lidded and grieving.
“You were going to jump after me,” Sherlock says. It’s the first time John can remember hearing the great detective say something so obvious.
You read Goblins??
omg DUDE I am a HUGE webcomics nerd, Goblins is one of the first webcomics I started following and omg I just love it so much I am SO GLAD to have met another guy who reads them! Goblins is partially why I’m so into D&D today!
Thinking about Chief still makes me sob uncontrollably, though. ;_;
;________;
And the newest pages are also kinda terrifying/super sad/KIN YOU ARE FOOLING NOBODY YOU CAN STOP LYING TO YOURSELF
Basically I have a lot of feelings about Goblins.
tl;dr
Yes.
