WHY AM I CRYING????? - Blog Posts

Do You Love the Colour of the Sky? (Or: This Must be the Place)

(I apologize for the resolution in advance. Still troubleshooting.)

GREETINGS EVERYONE!!! I've spent the last couple of months working on a full length comic adaption of @goodlucktai's beautiful 'fishbowl' fanfic!!! Below you can read the fruits of my efforts :) Enjoy!

This comic takes place before Dressrosa

CONTINUE >>>

Cale says he is a bad person, a selfish, stone cold bastard because he spent at least 10 years believing the words he heard on his team funeral and after it.

And he had nobody to say the opposite, nobody who knew him, who cared about him. To prove them wrong, to insist that they are the actual bastards without heart for saying that to a mourning person.

He was alone, terrified of getting close to people again, and thinking that the deaths of his family was all his fault. Of course he thinks he is a bad person.

For him, people that don't protect their family are trash, so he is the worst human being that ever put a foot on the planet.

Kung Fu Panda 2 is a movie I'm rarely able to sit through without crying anyway, but seeing Oogway's spirit sitting on the Dreamworks moon already makes me feel all kinds of emotions before the damn film's even started.

I really wish more writers would clarify if their stories with extreme angst end happily or not. I ended up sobbing at a fanfic I thought was gonna end cute and fluffy but alas, no. I just want happy endings, my guy 😭😭

Happy Valentine's Day to only them

MDNI 18+

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ━ simon riley getting the love he deserves after being a loner and thinking that he was unlovable.

cw: fluff, broken simon, vaginal sex, not proof read

he was too scarred, experienced the cruelest of things in mankind after being in the military and now he was a nobody. living in a shady apartment that coincidentally had its heating broken during the winter, only having cold water running in the shower, and just having an apartment that was plain and dull. his whole life simon was convinced that he didn’t deserve anything, hence why he joined the military, to deprive himself from anything that could potentially give him happiness.

so, he had an old couch that was so damn firm he got back pain whenever he laid on it. a flimsy bed that barely fits his large frame, his legs dangling off slightly as he tried to keep himself warm in the harsh winter with the thinnest blanket ever. oh, and he didn’t take care of himself, grabbing the reheat-able meals and ramen from the convenience store after his late night shifts.

that was until he met you, his sweet little birdie that made him feel just a little warm and fuzzier inside. he was accustomed to the usual sympathetic looks on the streets, the weak smile the cashier gave him whenever he bought another bowl of ramen. but you? you didn’t care that he was broken, you viewed him as an equal.

his sweet neighbour that cooked him homemade meals for him, made him his lunch for work that made his co workers jealous and shocked at the sudden sight of simon eating a filling meal.

“where’d ya get that meal from? looks homemade,” his coworker grumbled eyeing the container in his hands. simon muttered a half ass response, he was going to keep you a secret from these dirty men.

he tried to ignore the way his heart rate increased just the slightest when he read your little notes plastered on the container, small words of encouragement as if you knew what he was currently thinking.

slowly you embedded yourself into his daily routine, inviting him for dinner as you cooked his favourite meal, whilst he fixed your table. it was something more than transactional, but neither of you spoke on it, especially simon, he didn’t want to ruin the one good thing that he had in his life.

but deep down he was secretly wondering when you were going to leave, after all - all the good things in his life seemed to go away eventually.

you didn’t though, instead you showed him things that he never thought was possible. self love, though he was dork new to it, he couldn’t help but to feel just a little more confident in himself. the way you were perched up on the tiny bathroom counter gently shaving his face whilst whispering words of affection, or the way you kissed every single one of his scars.

then came the most intimate moment of his life - sex. it wasn’t just something that was done and dusted, no. it was a ritual for the two of you. the sheets rustling as simon kissed your neck, your legs wrapped around his waist as if you wanted him closer, even though it was physically impossible. he refused to make you feel like a conquest, making you come multiple times before cleaning you up and making you your favourite meal.

the change wasn’t internal only, his apartment seemed to reflect the blooming relationship between the two of you. his old beaten up couch all new and replaced because he couldn’t stand the idea of you being uncomfortable whilst watching your favourite show. adding more shelves and storage to his bathroom as you slowly moved in, your toothbrush on the bathroom counter, your pink hair dryer on the shelf and a random vase of flowers.

simon never expected a simple domestic life with a lover, but here he was. lazy morning sex with hushed whispers and basking in each others warmth, trying to ignore the demands of the outside world. cooking breakfast together as simon wrapped his arms around your waist. kissing each other goodbye as you two left for work, your hands brushing against each other one last time.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969

Awe Jesus.

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena // Alain de Botton, Essays in Love // Eden Robinson, "Writing Prompts for the Broken-Hearted" // Chloe Liese, Always Only You // Anne Carson and Euripides, An Oresteia // Two—Sleeping At Last // Studio Bones, SK8 the Infinity // Trista Mateer, "is it okay to say this?" // @moodylilac // D. H. Lawrence, "The Rainbow"

It Is Saturday

So I did it.

I succumbed to that shidge writing itch that you guys threw poison ivy on because this is something we all want and need apparently

Original post

The hardest thing that Takashi Shirogane had to do was get out of bed.

Not to say that he was sinking into depression and couldn’t arise, no, it was the exact opposite. His bed, their bed, was one of the safest and most comforting places he’d ever known, thanks most in part to his tiny female partner, and it was a daily struggle to convince himself to depart from it. He and Pidge had owned their cozy apartment nearing a year now, and the slab of mattress and tangled sheets that they rested on had become the most intoxicating setting in his home. There were days were they opted to stay in place for hours, only leaving to make food or bathroom runs and returning to collapse in the other’s arms and the sea of blankets. It was hard to leave because she was there, because they had comforted each other from the memories of the war there, because every good day, shit day, and night of love always ended in each other’s arms, on the bed.

But some days were harder than the rest.

The setting was always the same, posing the exact challenge it had for a while now; dark grey sheets that lay crinkled up between them, olive comforter sprawled around the two in uneven heaps of worn fabric. Her sleeping form was bundled up next to him, clinging at the arms that encircled her torso, head turned to the one that used it as a pillow. The rest of the bed seemed freezing in comparison to her, though with the pair’s legs tangled together and huddled figures smashed together, her presence chased off any remaining cold of the perimeter around him. Blinding sunlight poured from the gaps in the blinds, sloshing golden light inside the room in bouncing parallel strips.

Blinking into the realm of reality, Shiro instinctively tightened his grip on the woman in his arms, burying his nose in her curled, unruly hair with slow, fatigued movements. The sleeping Pidge made not a move besides the rising and falling of her sides, comfortably conforming to the ‘big spoon’ behind her. His senses were then filled with bright brown hair, blinding sunlight, and the scent of vanilla and burnt carbon as he was once again tempted by the thought of staying where he was for the remainder of the day.

Sighing, he blew her caramel curls away from his mouth, fingers knotting at his t-shirt that draped over her lithe frame. ‘Is showing up at a Garrison meeting really worth getting up from this? What day even is it?’

After a minute or two of contemplation, Shiro groaned and shifted away from the woman he loved, lifting the covers and throwing his legs over the bedframe, running a hand through his white-stained forelock. His muscles stung, the ache the familiar, momentary one that only existed because he had moved. Though the apartment’s heater tried its best, he shivered-everything was like ice compared to her. With a final shake, he made a move to heave himself up-

-until dull nails tickled one of the scars on his back.

As soon as his head spun, he met the soft, squinted gaze of Pidge’s honey eyes. Her arm extended out to him, hand blindly groping at any clutchable surface that he retained, eventually finding his prosthetic and then latching onto the metallic limb. She peeled her lips apart, blinking tiredly; her dreams must’ve been somewhat peaceful, then, as she wasn’t automatically running at full speed.

“..ome back to bed,” She offered, eyebrows kneading together and gentle smile painting itself on her soft, freckled features. She squeezed the bridge between his neck and shoulder, her other hand finding the parallel spot within a matter of seconds. The plea scratched at his resolve, itching and tugging at his head because damn just staying home today sounded really good.

He exhaled a quiet, desperate laugh and leaned over, pecking her nose. “I have to go.”

“..iot.”

“Hmm?”

Her freckled arms flung out and grabbed his shoulders, yanking him down over her lanky form and forcing him to catch himself out of instinct, the pair close enough to where their noses brushed together. Tangled hair guarded the tops of her half-lidded eyes, bottom lip jutting out and completing her pouty appearance. Pidge maneuvered her hands to press against the sides of his face, shaking it gently with every word.

“It. Is. Saturday.”

“Oh.”

Shiro’s elbows gave way, the fatigued super-soldier of a man succumbing to her earlier plea and falling onto the lanky, warm form of his partner, forcing his arms around her through the mass of sheets and digging his nose against her neck. She laughed softly, the sound tickling his chest as the past Green Paladin roamed Shiro's shoulders, the two now glued together by method of awkward cuddling. The cold was now longer felt, and the soft heartbeat in the chest under his own was loud enough to become a lullaby and lure him back to the realm of sleep, clinging onto the woman beneath him all the while.