#Tearjerkers

[melomaniac93-blog]

Sadness In Melody: Sad Songs for Broken Hearts Playlist

Sometimes you just need some sad songs to help you get through a bad breakup or a lonely night. This melancholy mix is filled with tragic torch songs and bluesy ballads about love gone wrong that will speak to your broken heart. So dim the lights, pour a glass of wine, and let these mournful melodies about unrequited love and romantic regret provide the perfect soundtrack as you cry your eyes out.

[kingsbridgelibraryteens]

Reluctant Reader Wednesday: 83 Days in Mariupol: A War Diary by Don Brown 

Let me start by saying that Don Brown hits it out of the park again. Let me also say that many of Don Brown's books can be tough to read because they’re about painful subjects that are also true. He’s written graphic-format nonfiction about tough subjects like the Dust Bowl, Hurricane Katrina, the killer flu of 1918, and the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center. All of those topics, while fascinating, aren’t in the recent memory of most teenagers. But 83 Days in Mariupol is about the war in Ukraine, which is still happening right now.

This is an amazing but tough read, by which I mean that it’s hard to read because the subject matter is upsetting, but readers will also be turning the pages because they’ll want to understand details of this real-life event that were hidden beneath the headlines. Reading this book really makes you feel like you understand what it was like to be in Ukraine at the start of the Russian invasion.

Give this book to teens or even adults who want to take a deeper dive into this tragic story, and readers looking for stories of survival in the face of impossible odds.

[ryzanecrow]

i HAD to sketch something after watching the wild robot :)

[ghostofnuggetspast]

noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"It is indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself is a immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and clamor."

THE FINAL PROBLEM - part 7 of many - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6. Another scene I've had written in some form for months. Getting close now...

This is in the Watson's Sketchbook series!

[hazelira]

butterfly blue

The last thing you remembered about loving Jake was not the way he smiled, the warm press of his lips on your forehead, or even how he used to say your name like it was a prayer.

It was silence.

The kind that spread like spilled ink in your chest. The type that crept into the corners of your mind and made a home there. It was the kind of silence that didn't scream or cry. It just was.

When he told you he didn’t love you anymore, his voice didn’t crack. He didn’t hesitate. He said it like he was ordering simple, transactional, clean coffee.

But it wasn’t clean. God, it wasn’t clean.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t beg. You just ended the call, then stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed you. You folded the pieces of yourself you’d chipped, cracked, and sharpened to fit into his love—the way you’d bent around his moods, quieted your joy, dimmed your laugh, and learned to love his storms while hiding your sun.

And then you cried.

Six hours straight. A wet, ugly grief that left your throat raw and your eyes hollow.

And then you were okay.

Not healed. Not whole.

Just… okay.

Butterfly blue.

It had been your favourite colour as a child. You didn’t even remember why anymore. But after Jake, the shade took on a different weight. It was the colour of bruises, of the sky the morning after he left. The colour of endings and beginnings, all wrapped in one impossible hue.

He said you looked happy.

Weeks later. On a street that smelled like old cigarettes and blooming jasmine. You ran into him like a scene out of a cruel movie—his hands in his pockets, that same crooked smile, the one you used to mistake for warmth.

"You look happy," he said, his voice soft and slow, like he couldn’t believe it.

"I have to be," you replied. Not because it was brave. Not because you wanted to hurt him.

Because it was true.

He didn't say he missed you. He didn’t say he still dreamed about you when the nights ran long and cold. He didn’t tell you that every girl he tried to love after you felt like a hollow replica of something he’d already lost.

And you didn’t say that you stopped loving the version of yourself you became for him. That girl—the quiet and the shrinking one—was dead.

You said goodbye with a nod and walked away, your boots crunching over gravel, the sun catching the glint of your butterfly necklace.

People talk about heartbreak like it’s one sharp moment. But no one talks about the after. About the quiet unpacking. The ghost of a toothbrush. The songs you can’t listen to anymore. The books you never finished because he never liked them.

Healing wasn’t linear. Some days, you forget him. Others, he felt like a shadow pressed against your skin.

And still, you never called.

You didn’t go back, even when the nights got heavy, even when the loneliness whispered his name.

Because sometimes loving someone means walking away from them.

Sometimes, loving yourself means never going back.

It was three months later when you saw the butterflies.

Monarchs, painted in brilliant orange and black, against the sky's soft blue. When one landed on your shoulder, you were standing in a field, breathing in air that didn’t ache anymore.

You thought of him.

Of butterfly blue.

Of all the versions of yourself you’d abandoned to make him stay. You thought of the girl who once believed love meant shrinking, softening, breaking.

And then you thought of now.

Of this moment.

Of your laugh, loud and reckless. Of the way you dance again, barefoot in your kitchen. You’ve grown into a woman who chooses herself every single time.

He used to say that your laugh was too loud and that it made people stare.

So you stopped laughing.

Now, you do it to spite the silence.

One night, you dreamed of him.

He sat next to you, older. Softer. His eyes were tired but still beautiful. He told you he never stopped loving you.

And you whispered, “Maybe in another life.”

In the dream, you didn’t cry. You didn’t reach for him. You just watched him fade like a morning fog.

Because this wasn’t another life.

This was the one where you let him go.

Where you walked through fire and came out burned, yes—but free.

And when you woke, the sun was rising. Soft butterfly blue through your curtains. And for the first time in a long time, you felt something almost like peace.

Not because he was gone.

But because you were finally back.

To yourself.

To your voice.

To a love that didn’t ask you to be small.

You stood in the window, watching the sky bleed blue.

And you whispered to the wind:

“Maybe in another life, I didn’t need to lose pieces of myself just to be loved by you. But this is the one where I found those pieces again.”

And maybe… that was enough.

© hazelira | tumblr 2025

part 2

[frozenbluecookies]

I've rewatched Rumi's confrontation with Celine something like a dozen times now, and god, the raw agony in that "Why couldn't you love me?!" is devastating every time. Arden Cho went all in on that line delivery and we kneel before her

[bixels]

Some scene ideas I sketched a while back while working on the wedding arc character designs.

The story's a tribue to Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella and would focus on Celestia and Cadance's mother/adopted-daughter relationship. I imagined the ending to be an homage to Cinderella's finale, with Shining Armor and Cadance running down the steps to their wedding carriage. The bottom thumbs were an idea I had where Cadance gives one last look back at Celestia at the top of the steps, who's crying happy tears, watching her newlywed daughter leave to take her next step in adulthood. I had it in my head that the moment would sync up to the lyrics, "No matter how your heart is grieving; if you keep on believing..."

[clonerightsagenda]

I'm loathe to make this comparison because people throw out Discworld as a comp title way more often than warranted (and don't get me started on how every SF debut claims Murderbot as a readalike when it's not deserved) but if I could make the comparison once, I think Greater Boston is the closest I've seen to Discworld. It skins over the real world with a made up* metropolis and then uses that setting and its cast of interconnected characters to make a lot of observations about people and society that range from hilarious to profound and, frequently, both at the same time. One of the show's theses is first presented in a monologue about two Bigfoot hunters seeking the sublime and finding each other.

It posits ridiculous scenarios and then takes them seriously in the worldbuilding. It dredges up bizarre real world facts and spins them into something else until you're constantly looking up which bits of trivia are true. It's relentlessly optimistic about humanity and our capacity to care for each other while also being cleareyed about all the ways we as individuals and a society are currently failing. It's got a guy named Dipshit Poletti. I don't know what Terry Pratchett would have written about Brexit, but Greater Boston's take on the 2016 US election is the best I've seen. America's truest answer to Ankh Morpork right now is a city made out of trains.

I came to this realization while on my commute this afternoon but I now desperately want to see CMOT Dibbler in Red Line.

[petrichal]

I cried so hard at this part specifically

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

A/N: I found a Benny Watts one-shot hidden in my drafts, I had forgotten about. Here it is, please enjoy!

Most likely has grammar errors-

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

——————♟️——————

Benny huffs standing up and goes to retrieve his wallet from his coat pocket, before handing me my money. I smiled, cheekily, before plucking the cash out of his hand.

“Thank you, baby.” I stand and peck his lips, but he pulls away abruptly. “Yeah, yeah.”

“All’s fair in love and war, or love and chess. More like..” He rolls his eyes, going over to set the chess pieces back to its original state. And I look at the cash in my hand.

“Hold up, Benny.” I hold the cash up to him. “I won thirty, you gave me twenty.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s wasn’t in the rules.”

“There were no rules to begin with.” I roll my eyes and huff. “Yeah, you won those games fair and square, Congrats.” He congratulated me and placed a kiss to my forehead. “But since you are living under my roof-”

“It’s not a roof, it’s a floor, but continue.”

“I decided to take ten from it, as compensation, if you will.” He explained and I nod my head understandingly. “Right, so if I was to leave, would I be able to have my ten back? Considering I’m not living under your roof at that point.”

He thought about it before grabbing his wallet again, and just my eyes follow him, as he digs out another ten, handing it to me. “Is this your way of telling me, you don’t want me to leave, Benny-boo?” I said, as we both cringed at the nickname.

He sighed, looking at my eyes, before nodding his head slightly. I place and hand on his chest, as I stepped closer, feeling that his heart had picked up speed.

I don’t know, if it was from me, pretending to leave or me putting a hand on his chest. But it genuinely broke my heart seeing a man, who lets nothing get to him. Gets extremely nervous around me, and the fact that I might leave him.

But I must be stupid, drunk or both to leave him. Cause I would never make decision like that sane nor sober.

“Benny?” He refused meet my eye. “You didn’t actually think, I was going to leave you, did you?” I try look into his eyes, but he stared off into a corner of the room.

“Benny..” I started, absolutely devastated and saddened, that he truly thought I would. “Benny, look at me..” It took him some time before he made eye contact with me. By the time he did, you could tell his unshakable and tough demeanor had been torn.

“Benny, I would never, in a million years, leave you.” I said, holding his face in my hands. “You’re just the most amazing and remarkable person, I’ve ever met. You’re sweet, funny, talented..”

He looks away quickly, wiping a tear that had managed to fall. I redirect his face to look at me again. “And incredibly incredibly, handsome. You hearing me?”

“Why would I want to leave and find someone else, when I have the only one I want, right in front of me?”

“You might not see it, but take my word for it, I’m staying here, cause it’s were I belong.” I pat his cheek and leans him down to kiss his forehead, we stand there for a bit, before he collected his barrings, and wiped away any fallen tears.

“Wanna play another round?” He asked, sitting at the table. “Definitely. But before I forget,” I hand him the ten dollar bill, and he looks at me confused.

“It’s for compensation, remember? I wouldn’t want to get kicked out of your house.” I said, as I sat and he rolled his eyes, putting the bill underneath his thigh. “So, what are we playing for now?”

He thinks, before leaning forward with a mischievous grin on his face. “How bout, whomever losses, has to take off an article of clothing. Winners choice.”

“Are you just trying to get me naked, Benny?” He leans back in his chair, hair falling over his right eye. “Only if you agree to the terms and conditions.”

“You’re on, and there’s no way in hell, I’m losing to Benny Watts..”

[melomaniac93-blog]

Echoes of Heartache 🎧📃🎵🎶

[tonydaddingham]

the bright, blessed day // the dark, sacred night

yt link✨

[joogios]

These parallel shots of Ymir giving the Devil the apple and Ymir giving Eren ZEKE are actually INSAAANE like his own father gave him to the Marleyean military and now GOD HERSELF is giving zeke over to be used. No fucking wonder he went into an apathetic spiral. Where do you go from that, where can you get refuge when your direct ancestor and the literal goddess of your universe does that to you????

[annoyingthemesong]

SUBLIME CINEMA #689 - AFTERSUN

One of the best of the last few years, and a movie that has played a big part of Paul Mescal's rise. He's soon to be seen leading Ridley Scott's sequel to Gladiator.

Charlotte Wells made a film of purpose and quiet power, using few resources and two great actors, Mescal and Frankie Corio, who are two of the most engaging young presences I've seen on the screen since Babyteeth.

Very moving pic.

[jubileemon]

The Tragedy of Tessa Elliot

The fact that Tessa was not fully human, but a corpse possessed by Cyn was actually foreshadowed in the previous episodes before "Mass Destruction".

"Heartbeat" has the Absolute Solver call the drones their "cute little puppets". Tessa referred to the drones as such a few times.

"Home" has J close and block the ballroom door, meaning that Tessa couldn't have gotten out. In the end, Tessa constantly messes with Doll, who can supposedly crush her like a tin can. That's because she knows she is immune to the Absolute Solver.

"Dead End" shows that the Sentinels can be controlled by humans. Her access was denied because she isn't a real human. The Sentinels are also confused by her disguise, not knowing if she is a human or a robot. When she is bitten, she shrugs off the pain rather quickly and isn't worried about the damage to the suit that is supposed to protect her from the environment. Her photo is also censored due to digital manipulation. She even bleeds a lot more than a human should be able to handle. She also positions her arms like Cyn multiple times.

[aventurineswife]

anon who requested the IPC worker x Aventurine where reader faked their death :D

a part 2 would be cool, how you go abt it id up 2 u but if u would like any ideas…it could maybe have a flashback of their fakeout death and Aven’s reaction, and then flash to the present where he tries to leave IPC to live domestically w Reader, but they get killed for real in the process (i’m angst #1s lover) and now Aven is stuck in the IPC 😭

“At the end of the world, or the last thing I see, you are never coming home” | Part 2

Summary: Memories of your past with Aventurine resurface, unraveling the intense moments that led to your faked death. A flashback reveals the night you made the harrowing decision to disappear, showing how it shattered Aventurine’s world. Torn between loyalty to IPC and his love for you, Aventurine is ultimately willing to risk everything for a future together. However, when he attempts to leave the IPC, tragedy strikes, claiming your life in reality this time. Now, Aventurine must face an eternity of regret and entrapment within the very organization you both sought to escape. Bound to the IPC, haunted by memories of you, he is left yearning for a life he can never have.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, angst, fake death reveal, intense emotions, love and loss, tragedy, betrayal, hurt/comfort, forbidden love, character death, emotional breakdown, regret, forced separation, internal conflict, bittersweet romance.

Warnings: Intense emotional themes, character death, grief, betrayal, mentions of violence, flashbacks, guilt and regret, dark themes, potential tearjerker, unresolved trauma.

A/N: AHHHH!!! 😭 THAT'S SO MEAN BUT SO GOOD TOO?! MY BABY!!! 🥺💔

(Part 1)

The memory clung to Aventurine like a shadow—one he could never shake. He could still recall every detail from that day years ago, the day he’d thought he’d lost you forever. In his mind, it was as if he were back there now, reliving the dreadful series of events that tore you from his life.

It had started with an anonymous tip. He’d been in the heart of IPC headquarters, surrounded by the opulent furnishings and hushed power plays that were his world, when he received the message. The vague words scrawled across the screen still felt burned into his mind: An unexpected death in IPC’s ranks. Don’t ask too many questions.

At first, he’d dismissed it as some cruel joke or an attempt to provoke him. But as whispers circulated, he’d felt an ache that reached far deeper than any professional ambition or loyalty to the IPC. His instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. His fingers shook when he finally demanded details from an IPC informant. They had tried to placate him with silence, then with excuses, before finally leading him to a private room where they produced a list of names lost in action. His eyes landed on yours.

His heart had shattered. And in that moment, the world he’d so carefully built around him crumbled. The IPC, his title, every ounce of the strategic power he wielded felt like a joke, a hollow nothing in the face of your loss. Days bled into weeks, then months as he clawed through records, files, and whispers, desperate to uncover anything that could prove this had been a mistake. Eventually, after countless sleepless nights and fading hope, he resigned himself to a cruel reality: you were gone.

In the present, Aventurine had all but lost himself in your kiss, his hands cradling your face as if afraid you might disappear again. But now that he’d found you, he couldn’t imagine letting you slip away. You’d barely finished promising him you weren’t going anywhere when he whispered urgently, “Come with me. I'll leave the IPC. We can start over, together.”

The idea hung in the air, and the look on your face said you wanted it as much as he did. The life you’d built in hiding had given you some solace, but nothing compared to the warmth that had returned the moment you’d locked eyes with him again.

“I want to, Aventurine,” you murmured, your voice soft with hope but tinged with caution. “But you know, you leaving IPC isn’t going to be that simple.”

He gave a wry smile, the familiar gleam of his gambler’s spirit returning to his gaze. “Since when have I ever played it safe?”

It was settled. Together, you and Aventurine began planning a final escape from IPC, the promise of a quiet, shared life filling every unspoken moment between you.

Weeks later, the two of you were ready. Aventurine had secured falsified documents, disguises, and even an old shuttle that he’d salvaged and reprogrammed to slip through IPC scanners. His heart thrummed with excitement as he held your hand, the two of you ducking into back alleys and secret passages within IPC’s labyrinthine halls, moving closer to the shuttle bay with each step.

But just as freedom felt within reach, a familiar voice stopped him cold.

“Aventurine,” called a smooth, calculating voice—a voice he knew well, belonging to his superior within IPC, one of the few who could see through his every bluff. “Going somewhere?”

A team of armed operatives closed in, blocking your escape route, and Aventurine felt his stomach sink as he saw the trap closing around you both.

“What’s this?” he asked smoothly, masking his fear with a cocky grin as he positioned himself protectively in front of you. “A farewell party?”

His superior raised a brow, her gaze shifting to you before returning to him. “Leaving isn’t an option for a Stoneheart. Surely you know that.”

He cast a glance over his shoulder, meeting your eyes, silently urging you to stay close, to trust him just one last time. “Then let me make it clear,” he replied, stepping forward, his voice steady. “I’m done with IPC. And if you want me, you’ll have to get through us both.”

In the ensuing chaos, you and Aventurine fought with everything you had, desperate for one last chance at freedom. But just as you were about to reach the shuttle, a shot rang out.

You stumbled, a look of shock crossing your face as blood bloomed from your side. Aventurine’s heart seized. “No,” he whispered, catching you as you collapsed into his arms. “No, no, please… we were almost there.”

Your eyes met his, filled with a quiet acceptance he couldn’t bear. “It’s okay, Aventurine,” you murmured, your hand weakly reaching to touch his face. “I’m just sorry… I couldn’t give you the life we dreamed of.”

Tears he’d fought so long to hide spilled over as he held you, pressing his forehead to yours. “No, no, please don’t… I can’t do this without you.” But even as he clung to you, your grip grew weaker, your breaths fainter.

When your hand slipped from his cheek, Aventurine was left cradling your lifeless form, his vision blurring as grief consumed him. He’d lost you once before, but nothing had prepared him for the agony of losing you again—for real this time.

In the end, IPC dragged him back, broken and hollow, the final remnant of his old life slipping through his fingers. He returned to the office and his title as a Stoneheart, each day haunted by the love he’d sacrificed to leave the IPC, each night dreaming of a life he’d never know.

And so Aventurine remained, a prisoner of the world he’d once called his own, but now bound by grief—a gambler who’d lost his most precious wager.