Im Sobbing - Tumblr Posts
you're the worst scene but it's relativity falls au
Somebody please write this fic I'm crying that it doesn't exist! Red is Arthur and Blue is Merlin. One-shot or long fic idc! Just pleaseeeee!!! And if anyone does write it please tag me here or on Ao3! My Ao3 is Actually_Icarus
Please and thank you!!!
I just need someone who loves classics as much as I do. Who is as enthralled with the idea of reading out loud to someone you love as much as I am. Like??? Getting to read to someone I love? Getting to read out loud? Listening to someone I love read? And we're both genuinely interested and having a good time! Whyyy is it not normalized?
And hand written love letters! And just old school, romantic love. Like really old school. Bring me flowers with secret meanings. Kiss my hand before my mouth. Chase after me without harassing me! Care about the little things! And let us read to each other!
Nothing like some bad quality pictures for today. I’ve been so excited to get this book and I finally did. Yay!!!!
did you guys know theres a betterhelp article about ayanos theory of happiness
i think theres two. but heres the link to one
I cant stop giggling at this
Look at my babies, playing Star Wars, together..
ˢᵗʳᵃᶰᵍᵉʳ ᵀʰᶤᶰᵍˢ ˢᵉᵃˢᵒᶰ ³ ⁻
Episode 14 Tier List!
…This is going to happen every week I guess the new episodes keep changing my opinions-
😭😭😭😭
im providing for the family in more ways than one (the family: @ohquail @b3achysea @blue-eyed-moon-child @b3achysurfur @b3achy5andy @5andysurfur @rot-decay-erosion)
fic below heheh
TW
violence and blood blah blah normal phantom sbg stuff, sad :(
I can barely hear Aiden screaming my name over the sounds of the infected's screaming, but I know something is wrong with the way he's sobbing.
I try, and fail to kick the infected off of me. I thought it would be easy, but apparently these things don't lose weight despite being starved. I flail under the infected as its claws rack down my chest, blood welling from the wound and falling down my shirt.
"Aiden! Aid please!" I try to catch his attention but he's distracted, infected surrounding him as he struggles to fight with a concussion and bleeding hand.
"Logan! I got this! Don't worry!" He screams at me, but he obviously doesn't know that I'm literally bleeding out while a phantom chokes on its own blood on top of me.
"Aiden please! I can- I can't move! Please!" I'm sobbing at this point, I can barely see past the salty tears in my eyes.
Aiden's fake blonde hair whips around his eyes when he looks at me, I can't help but notice how gorgeous he looks while covered in blood. He tries to choke out a word, but can't.
"Just, get this thing off of me." I almost beg, it's getting painfully hot in the room and I've lost feeling in my legs from the weight. Aiden grunts with effort as he drags the long, limby thing off of me. I try to wiggle my legs to get blood flowing again, then I realize.
I can't feel my legs.
I can't move my legs.
I can't move my legs.
I sob, I can feel salt in my mouth, at least I can feel that. "Aid-I, I can't move my legs at all. Aiden-Aid what's wrong with me?"
Aiden's eyes are big, his lower lip is shaking and there's blood on his roots. He looks beautiful despite all that's happening.
"Logan, you're back. It's bleeding, it's bleeding a lot." He runs warm hands over my back, I hear him gag when I lose his hands on me. "R-right here, the infected's claws, it-" He sniffles, tears are in his chocolate eyes. "It impaled your spine, probably broke it."
I'm able to put two and two together, I want to vomit. "I'm- I won't- I'll"
I can't manage the words, but Aiden seems to understand. He pulls me into his lap and pushes his bloody, tear-streaked, perfect face into my hair. I don't even register it over the horror of what's happened. I start to wail, he strokes my head, soft hands on softer hair, it only brings more tears to my eyes.
"I took too long. Oh god, Lo this is all my fault im sorry, I should've, you can't, I should've been quicker." Aiden chokes, his warm breath tickling my ear.
I shake my head, either to bring myself together or comfort him, I don't know. All I know is that he sobs into my hair with me. "It's okay," I whisper "Ashlyn and the others will figure it out. I don't need to walk to be a sniper."
Aiden just starts to scream
i also think sarah would fall asleep on mark and he wouldnt move until she wakes up
don't let that little girl fool you, she has an IRON grip and will cling to you until she wakes up <3
you are so right for saying Rapunzel Saint, but also because Bountiful would absolutely sing Mother Knows Best.
Anyways here have Princess Saint doodles because this idea is so funny to me.
Poor little Saint, locked away (not in a tower but close enough) by their awful mom (who technically isn’t their mom) who manipulates them and uses them for their magical powers.
(They’re literally Rapunzel guys)
(Arti saved them from getting eaten by a lizard) ✨
I was trying to explain slang to my mom and she was asking why one of my friends called me "babygirl" and i was trying to explain to her that it's just something friends call each other as like a joke sometimes, and she asked me "so do you call James babygirl?" and i-
I'm dying laughing rn guys i can't deal with this
Arti and Sainr hairstyle swap >:3
Arti: This has got to be the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.
Saint: If my memory serves me right, and I’m certain it does, this is far from the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.
Work smarter, not harder 🫡
OKAY FINE
It's 11pm, which is really early, and I haven't finished my homework, but I'll go to sleep now. happy? (cause i am definitely happy i get to go to sleep early. im so tired lmao.)
(I'm blaming you guys when my mom yells at me later for not doing my homework lol)
𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑨 𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑴𝑺
warnings: Soft!Larissa (she's a warning), Insecurities, tattoo talk but not detailed.
Larissa only noticed now the ink imprinted on your skin, in your chest, where your heart stands. L.W. her initial displayed on your body.
"When was this?" she asked, thumb coming across the ink.
You shyly looked away. "Five months into our relationship." She tranced her slender fingers on your delicate skin, admiring the work of art. “Why?” she whispered. You knew she could be self-conscious about herself, feeling like she wasn’t feminine or pretty enough.
“We have different perspectives in life.” you reached to her cheek as she leaned in on your touch, almost yearning for it. “And the same goes for how you see yourself. To you, you feel like you aren’t in the standard of a woman.” she felt shame build up inside, lowering her head. But you placed your finger and gently lifted her face to look at you.
“I see you as a Goddess, worthy of worship and love. Someone who’s adored by your people. You are a deity who deserves everything.” Words cannot describe how Larissa felt. Your eyes didn’t hold lies or fraud. All she saw was herself in your eyes, the way your eyes shine when you simply look at her, the way your eyes hold so many emotions.
In your eyes, she was like the art you can’t put a price on. An art that deserves to be seen by the world.
Her tears felt unknown to her, she didn’t realize she let her walls down and allowed herself to be vulnerable. Her wobbly lips try to make up the words, yet she finds herself speechless. You simply kissed her tears, gently wiping them away whilst you rest your forehead onto hers.
“Shh, It’s okay. You don’t need to speak.”
HE SAID IT HE SAID IT HE SAID IT AHHHHGGYG
the biggest male yearner
I just realized smth heartbreaking- also to everyone who is hasn't listened to Epic the musical...go listen to it all in order then read this...
EUROLYCHUS WAS SO UPSET AT ODYSSEUS IN MUTINY BECAUSE HE THOUGHT ODYSSEUS WAS THE MAN HE WASNT. ODYSSEUS ROUTINELY MAKES THE RIGHT CALLS AND EUROLYCHUS OFTEN DOUBTS HIM OR FUCKS IT UP. EUROLYCHUS EVEN SUGGESTS ABANDONING THE MEN WITH CIRCE, AND ODYSSEUS INSISTS ON GETTING THEM BACK. SO WHEN ODYSSEUS WAS WILLING TO SACRIFICE 6 MEN AND DID SO IN SECRET, EUROLYCHUS'S PERCEPTION OF HIS 'BROTHER' WAS SHATTERED. AND THAT'S WHY HE WAS WILLING TO TURN ON HIM. THE MAN LEADING THEM WASNT THE MAN WHO HAD BEEN HIS 'BROTHER'. STOP IT I AM IN AGONY-
When I almost cry because of the good shit I read.
"once more to see you" ; aventurine
summary — to him, love was like a religion waiting to be discovered and he’ll find god in the way the sun looks on your skin; alternatively, aventurine thinks he’s rotten work and tiring to take care of but not to you, not if it's him (please get the reference).
pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)
tags — established relationship (but aventurine wants to de-establish it), somewhat fluff, slight angst with comfort, never proofread never what?!!, 1.3k ; ficlet
note — 2.1 broke me (the whole quest knocked at the door of my house, shook my hands, congratulated me, and invited itself into my home before pouring water on my face, slapping me, throwing me around, and left with the door open, all the while, my family watched). this is day 1 of writing for aventurine until i have him.
“you have a lot of moles.” his voice, despite a gentle whisper, tears through the silence of the night like a drop of water that ruptured and disturbed the surface of the pond. “especially here.” he gently taps on your skin; they seem like stars, he swallows the words back down.
you feel aventurine’s finger trace on the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulders, seemingly drawing—or connecting something. it was ticklish, the way he gently drags his hand and ghosts over your skin, a soft laugh slipping past your lips (you’ll capture his touch on your skin as if you were a sinner remembering how forgiveness tasted on your lips). there was something intimate that lingers in the air between you two as you lay in his bed with him, a fleeting moment that will be inked into your mind.
(the both of you leave your titles behind, mixed together with the scattered objects on the floor, laid on the cold ground to be picked up and worn later like a shiny medal even if you weren’t proud to have them.)
“they say it’s where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.” you stir in your position as you speak, coming to face him and meet his pretty jewel-like eyes—how alluring it was, painted with vivid colors yet it never shines. the sound of mirth laughter bubbles from his throat, a pleasant melody to your ears.
he asks, curiosity tracing the tone of his voice, “and from where did you even hear that?” and you shrug, bringing your form closer to him as you seek for more warmth, “i can’t recall. perhaps i heard it from topaz or maybe from one of the members of the ipc? they’re the only ones i often see and talk to.”
“the doctor?” he wraps his arm around your figure, his hand settling on the small of your back.
“that man will only scorn at that idea and call it stupid. he’ll most likely say that ‘only fools would believe such concepts.’” you mimic the way the esteemed doctor spoke, from the serious expression that he always don on his face to the deepening of his voice. your seemingly successful imitation earned a chuckle from the blonde-haired man before you.
“i’m sure he will.”
silence falls between you two and you took this time to adore each and every line of his being. a few strands of hair fall over his eyes—beautiful, captivating, mesmerizing, you could list out every word to describe his eyes but it would never be enough. you had always wondered why he would hide it until you witnessed the reason why he does so.
aventurine seems to study your expression at the same also, a soft look on his face as he did, and you can’t help but be curious. “what are you thinking about?” you ask him, breaking the silence that nurtured itself in the space between you and him.
you, he wishes to answer. how you look at this moment in his embrace: you were wearing one of his shirts, albeit, not exactly to your size but you insisted, saying that you liked it as it smelled like him. how gentle, loving, adoring, you were everything; he looks and thinks of you as if you were his everything (he doesn’t deserve you). but he doesn’t say it—the thought weighs too heavily on his mind, claws at his throat, and suffocates him—, instead he utters something entirely different that creates a shift in the air between you two.
“i don’t think i can do this.” he turns his head to look away from you, staring at the ceiling instead. it seems to extend itself far and far away from him.
the horrible part of being human is the tendency for destruction that lies in your bones. stained palms, calloused pads, despite the gentleness of your touch and the comfort of your caress. the desire to devour flesh and bones, to understand the underlying thoughts and meanings behind words and unexpressed feelings by consuming them. to submerge and drown in the depths of one's despair and desire (too close that the line blurs into one). the horrible part of being him was his tendency to destroy—hesitation and doubt lies in his being and aches at his chest, tugging on his heart’s strings, and settles on his throat—, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hold you, it’s just that he can’t.
“do what?”
“this.” you know exactly what he was referring to, know what he’s afraid of. he has laid himself bare and vulnerable in front of you countless of times that you have memorized the constellations that adorns his skin. you know him, you have known him enough to recognize the fear that tugs on his voice and see the walls that he tries to build up in front of you. you know him enough to know what thoughts are plaguing his mind.
“why do you think so?”
“don’t you think i’m too much to take care of?” he tries not to choke on his words and bite his tongue, careful not to let his voice crack lest he crumbles underneath your caress. i am undeserving of it. worthless. failure. selfish. discarded. coward. loser. nothing. you are bound to leave.
“not for me.” you caress his cheek and guide him to look at you—instead of the ceiling that seems to appear farther than it originally was in each passing second as the walls glean over him like a shadow—, to meet your gaze and see the sincerity that lurks deep within. “never will i get tired of you. so, let me carry your burden.”
he takes a few seconds to answer, uncertainty lingering in his tone: “it’s not yours to have.”
“it may not be.” you answer with no hesitation, “but it doesn’t mean that you must shoulder them alone.”
he opens his mouth to speak but unable to find the words to say, he closes them. there was a moment of stillness shared between you two. comfort, relief, assurance seeps into the ache of his bones and you say something too heavy even for this steady and silent night to hold, the words too much to be held—light spills in like a flood as if it was pouring out from the sun itself.
“i love you.”
“you utter such words as if it’s something easy for you.” as if loving him was just as simple as waking up in the morning and adoring the way the honey-light hugs your form as the dust settles in the corner of your room. when he’s stripped of everything and left with nothing, would you still love him the same? would you still kiss him as gently as you did? would you still hold the shards of his form even if it makes your hand bleed?
you spoke in a gentle yet firm croon, gaze unwavering, “because it is.”
you see the falter in his expression: his face, that once was crumpled, relaxed and so did his gaze soften. and you smile at him with only adoration in your eyes—like a devout follower to a divine being. “are you still afraid?”
“i don’t know.” he whispers.
“it’s alright. you have all the time in the world.” your hand weaves itself into his own, fingers lacing with one another, and you gently squeeze. it was a form of reassurance, a way of telling him that you’re here with him through all of it.
the warmth has settled in your being and you spill yourself into the cracks of his vulnerability. “i love you.” you say once more and you kiss the mark on his neck—lingering and soft as if you wish that it would take all his hurt away. the way he shudders underneath your touch, the hitch of his breath soon followed by a gentle sigh as he cradles you closer to him tells you everything that you wish to hear.
for once, he sleeps as if he had nothing to carry, nothing that shackles him to the stars that forsakes him.
© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
Wanted to share this Golden trio fluff:
Who was Harry Potter anyways? The Chosen One? The Boy-who-lived? The Saviour and Golden Boy of the Wizarding World?
Did the press actually got it right when they wrote pieces about him? Could they know what kind of person he was just by the major events of his life? Coul he?
Did Hermione and Ron knew who his best friend was? During those nights filled with dread when the dead became living and the living bled to death in the most excruciating ways. When they were there for him, did they know?
When they took his hand and slept right there besides him, whispering sweet nothings until he fell asleep again. Could they describe who he was with the same certainty one would talk about the lush and green hills in Scotland?
Mione watched him with that look of hers, one of unwavering faith. Her eyes softening as she lulled him to sleep.
The moonlight filtered through the tiny gap between the curtains back in his room in Grimmauld Place, illuminating the seven freckles scattered in her nose and cheeks. A hundred years could pass and he’d still be able to trace those freckles to memory, like one traces the starts and constellations in the nightsky. She’d stay there for hours, stroking his hair and drawing silly patterns in his skin. Like a mother would. Soft fingertips and soothing lullabies.
With the tenderness of a mother, the devotion of a lover and the undying loyalty of a friend.
In those moments he could be sure of one thing: Hermione Granger knew exactly who Harry Potter was: His best friend, the person looking back at her with grief and open adoration.
And Ron. Ron held him while Mione grounded him and brought him back to Earth with them. Soft breath tickling his neck. He was too tall for the bed, so his feet stayed dangling from the edge most of the times.
Ron was home, Ron was family.
Ron was the first person to ever say I love you, his chubby cheeks bouncing as he smiled, honest in his love like only kids are.
There wasn’t much of that Ron in the 6’2 ft tall man that layed besides him. Except maybe his eyes. They were blue, blueblueblue, round and big and completely sincere. Every emotion he felt reflecting back on them.
Violent but oh so soft. Harry had never seen the ocean, but he reckoned that’s how it looked like.
His presence was enough to make the world stop spinning, so he stayed with them: A hand in his arm or a leg tangled between Mione’s.
Always touching.
His silence saying more than a million words could.
I’m not going anywhere Harry. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever again.
But so they knew? Did they even care?
You’re every Harry love, the ones you like and the ones you don’t
Harry Potter was the guy that passed the Auror official test in record time. The one that later on had a flashback in the middle of a raid and almost got everyone killed.
Harry Potter was the man who stayed alone in New Year’s Eve changing napies and falling asleep besides his godson as he burnt in fever.
It was the five year old boy that one day came home from school with a carefully written card he’d dedicated to his aunt on Mother’s Day.
It was the boy who loved to fly. That felt more free in the air than any place on Earth. That enjoyed the breeze against his hair and the feeling of wood under his fingers.
It was the man that spent half a year in muggle parties with his best friend’s sister fucking his way through London. High with the thrill of anonymity and pissed out of his mind.
The person that loved to control, to humiliate and to hurt: The man more scared of his own shadows than he was of any threat out there.
The one that stood in front of Voldemort when he was 17 and killed him like he was born to do so.
Harry Potter was the man scared of dark and cramped spaces. The man that fell apart in his best friends’ arms and sobbed for hours like he couldn’t do anywhere else.
It was the little boy who looked just like his father, that had his mother’s eyes.
It was the man who loved with every fiber of his being, that loved and loved like it was a race, that burned and consumed and desperately wanted to be loved back. It was the man that remembered Molly’s favorite way of taking tea, that visited Goerge on the weekends at the shop. The one that discussed muggle phones with Arthur. It was the man Andy could always remember his daughter with
Harry Potter was the boy that walked to his death on a cool May evening because he loved, and wanted his friends to live and to be happy more than he wanted it for himself.
And so Hermione stroked his hair, and Ron hid his face in the crook of his neck, and so they’d remind him.
I love all of them Harry, each and one of them
You’ve carried enough burdens mate, leave some of them to us alright? We’ll carry them too
Harry Potter was Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley’s best friend. And sometimes, that was enough.