#reblogs and feedback are helpful

[maidenborn]

Detective Love-struck!

Shoto x reader in which Reader discovers a love letter in her locker, and recruits deku to help her. fem reader, maybe oc deku and shoto idk, reader has an older brother, first little fanfic thingy, I haven't written in god knows how long don't burn me at the stake plz

Word count: 1,707

When you were younger, stupider and shameless, you and your only friend Shoto, would play detective during your free time together. At the age of five, you and your comrade had already solved ONE case, the infamous 'who stole older brother's motorbike?!' case, which you and shoto apparently 'took credit for' or whatever that means. Despite how much you swore to your brother how you and Shoto knew where it was before the police. And how you tipped the cops off with your super secret telepathy quirk that no one but shoto knew about.

He responded with a, "well if you're so smart why don't you figure out where my old 3DS is?? by the way, you don't have telepathic powers, forehead." You'd clench your fist every time that cursed nickname left his lips, but anyways, you accepted his challenge, walking away cursing him with the most vulgar name you could think up, telepathically of course. you swear you heard his breath stifle in shock as you stomped off, coincidence? I think not.

Your winning streak of problem solving ended with anger at your rivals, the police down the road, when they refused to let you into the station after you relentlessly demanded that they let you see the files of fifty year-old unsolved homicide case. The next day you sulked to Shoto during lunch, who stared at you with that blank stare he always does."you tried to break in again?" An accusation?!?!?!? The tipping point.

You fake-angry threw your paper cut-out detective badge, that you and your best-friend made during arts and crafts, with all your strength, only for it to slowly flutter to the ground awkwardly. That day you announced your retirement from the force. Claiming all the hard thinking was giving you wrinkles, that only caused shoto to look more confused, tilting his head to the side. "Wrinkles?"

"On my forehead." You huffed.

Your interest for the antics of detectives on tv and corny live-action crime thrillers died off as your ambition and hope to become a real life pro hero ignited, as did your connection with Shoto, even if you started to see him less frequently as the years of your childhood passed by. It was a blessing that you managed to land a place in class 1-A alongside your companion. Your bond reinvigorated, grew stronger as you were reunited with the boy, the lingering figure of his father, Endeavour had dissipated, granting the boy a newfound freedom. You found yourself spending almost all your free time with him now, way more than you ever did when you were kids. And you were grateful for it. So very grateful.

Now, both you and him had matured, albeit not a lot since you were both fifteen, but in a fifteen year olds eyes, it was a lot. The boy's once chubby cheeks now had a more slim-chiseled appearence. His head of hair was the same length, perfectly split down the middle, not one stray hair misplaced on either side. His eyes were more narrowed and stern, still fronting that blank look that his eyes always held. However hard his stare was when he looked at others, he'd never dare look at you with that coldness, whenever he caught himself glancing at you his creased brow would almost immediately flatten. His gaze defrosted into liquid, a softness so delicate and reminiscent of the early days of your relationship. The days where he'd follow you around, craving the warmth of your presence, your smile, you, and everything a five year old brat could offer. In your case, it was friendship.

You and him were two peas in a pod, Detective Shoto and his partner, Sometimes in class you'd daydream about playing detective with him, like how you used to, but you guess you both were a little too old for that now. Besides it's not like there was any mysteries to be solved in the halls of Yuuei.

Not until today.

"a love letter!?!? oh wow!" Deku shrieked a bit too loud for your liking. His whole body shook as he held onto the straps of his backpack. A few students lingering around the halls looked towards the commotion.

"Yeah but shhh!" You leaned closer to the boy pressing your finger to your lips harder and harder. " I don't want anyone to know, it's embarrassinggg! What if they're messing with me? I don't even know who wrote it! I don't wanna get my hopes up you know..." You mumbled that last part, your finger silencing yourself made it hard to talk. You've never been popular with the male species, only ever receiving confessions as jokes from more popular, less disliked, boys. Not that you minded all that, you had a best friend after all, and he was a boy! You were considered popular and you were liked by him!

You tossed your head about to shake the thought of Shoto to no avail. You felt you cheeks heat up. "Can you read it out to me? Maybe they gave a clue as to who they are!" Deku ignored the redness in your face, chalking it up to nervousness. Yeah, you were nervous alright, nervous about what Shoto would think. He's always been relentless in the pursuit of your attention, you couldn't help but wonder how he would react to all this. Would he be mad? No why would he. He has no reason for all that.

You take your time reading out the letter you found in your locker, looking up to meet Izuku's eyes after every sentence, waiting to see if he caught on to any hidden meanings written in-between the lines of the confession. You'd read the letter countless times, scanning over every word to no avail. Only deciding to drag Deku into your conundrum as he was walking past. Whoever had written the letter gave no clue towards their identity. It was just a confession. No 'can you meet me behind the school later today?' or ' will you go out with me? Just an ordinary love letter. Apart from the last section. At the bottom of the paper read a slightly threatening, ominous quote:

"I'll set your heart alight. "

The words made your chest tighten, but not in a good way. It gave you a funny feeling in your stomach, such a normal letter ending so strongly, you were kind of unsettled. "Don't you think that last parts s'a little odd?" You mentioned after finishing up reading. "Kinda sounds like a threat to me." You suddenly gasp, "What if our undercover lover is a villain! They could be plotting to kidnap me ..or worse!" Due to recent events, everyone had the possibility of kidnapping looming over them.

" Umm.. I doubt that a villain could sneak into Yuuei, especially now. I think it was maybe just an attempt romance." Deku chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

"No I seriously thi-

"Yn. Midoriya." Shoto Todoroki stood behind you. You hadn't even noticed him sneaking up on you, whether it was his intention or not, he scared you straight.

"Oh! Hi Shoto!" You calmed yourself, turning your head to make eye contact with him. He only grew closer to you, taking the eye contact as permission to get closer. You could feel the air get hotter as he lingered next to you, reaching his head forward so he could peek at what you were holding so tightly in your hands. His eyes offering no insight to his current emotion whatsoever.

"What is that?" Tilting his head. Suddenly embarrassed you smushed the paper into your chest, crinkling it. "Uhhh.. I got a letter! I don't know who it's from though. Not that it matters." You shrugged. Nice, the nonchalant approach.

"What kind of letter?" He strained his neck for a moment longer before backing up. Face still, ice cold. You sighed at his retreat. Anxiety welling up in your stomach, 'why the hell am I so paranoid for?' You thought.

You were about to dodge the question when Deku asnwered for you, "Its a love letter! From someone unknown, we're actually trying to figure out who it could be from!" At that you crumpled in defeat. Thanks a lot Izuku. Why the hell are you trying to cover it up so much anyways? Huh?!? Your inner monologue accused you.

"Oh." He stepped back even more, No longer feeling his warmth, the hall seemed a whole lot colder without him so close, you urged to scuttle up to him, Only to turn to see Shoto preparing to leave.

"Would you like to help us Sho?" You offered, not wanting him to go so soon. Leaning at the hip towards him, head tilted down, eyes looking up at him.

"No thank you. I have to go, Goodbye Yn, Midoriya, good luck." And at that he started to walk away. You rushed to find something to say, deciding to just let him go, offering a small, "Bye Sho." Along with Izuku's cheery goodbye. 'Was something wrong? Did I do something wrong?' Your spiralling thoughts were soon interrupted by Deku," I wonder what that was all about." The look on Izuku's face mirrored yours, laced with confusion, only less angsty than yours.

"he's probably just busy with assignments or something, wants to get ahead." You chirped, lightening the tension.

"weird of him to turn down an opportunity like this though, he's usually all over this kinda stuff, he's a real hardcore theorist sometimes!... don't tell him I said that."

"oh really?" you jest. Tension dissolved, nice. As if you and him weren't attempting to solve murder mysteries during break time a couple years ago. The memory returning to you, you can't help but feel a little sad.

A couple moments of silence and then, "Ive got it! we could track them down through their handwriting!"

"yeaahhh... but the letters printed!" you retired the letter from your iron grip with an obnoxious groan, provoking a handful of glances from students passing by. "good idea though." You shrink into yourself a little, eye twitchy as you try to disappear through sheer willpower.

"the culprit has thought this out really well.."

"Yeah.. no clues or anything. Apart from the curse at the end."

"Yeah."

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH PLZ LET ME KNOW IF YOU ENJOYED THIS IM WORKINT ON A PART TWO!!!

I don't rlly know how to write stories like this, perchance ill turn it into a mini series or something

part 2

[thunderstomm]

Some hairstyle exploration for a young adult Hazel design… which one do you like the most? ✨

[cowgirlp1xie]

WHEN IS TUMBLR GONNA MAKE A FEATURE WHERE I CAN SAVE POSTS INTO DIFFERENT FOLDERS⁉️⁉️⁉️

[theshadowrealmitself]

Can we get more Spider-Man content? I’ve already read through all of the current ones, and I crave more. All of your posts are great and I’d love to see more of them.

I’d love to make more fun posts but I’m still recovering from being sick rn and classes just started back so I’ve been mostly suffering these past few days so my brain just hasn’t really been working 😭

But! I can leave this one thought for you:

Peter Parker working for Norman Osborn while he’s still an undergraduate and getting into a whispered heated argument with him when Norman a) takes one of Peter’s designs and unveils it without crediting him and also b) removes safety features from it to make it cheaper to manufacture it

Peter quits on the spot when he realizes Norman isn’t sorry for what he’s done and isn’t gonna make things right, and Norman threatens him with never getting to “work in this town again” and good luck proving those were his designs and Oscorp’s also keeping all of Peter’s other stuff that they’ve stolen from him

(This is about the time that Norman’s started taking the goblin serum so he’s just at absolute peak asshole™️ mode)

Within seconds of Norman telling Peter he won’t stand a chance against Oscorp’s legal team, especially as a broke college student, Matt Murdock shows up after sprinting towards them (his super hearing letting him hear the entire argument) to hand Peter his business card and let him know he’ll take his case pro-bono

[itslilacmoon]

now that I’ve got your attention, do you want to click some more buttons? I’m trying to collect data on TOH fandom/shipping culture, and it would really help me out if you completed my survey!

If you’ve ever wanted to share your experiences of what it’s like being in the TOH fandom, now’s your chance! It’s a bit long, but you’re helping me document important parts of fandom culture!

[lovelyllamasblog]

So, I've been think about creating a blog for my aesthetics. What do you think?

The reason being I'm halfway through the boards next year and it's Lalaloopsy. And they have a doll for everyday.

This new blog would be purely be for aesthetic/moodboards and I would like to have a clean blog for my own sanity, but I can't decide if it's a good idea or not.

I have a name already picked: Lovely Aesthetics. What do you think? So...

[lilacs-world]

I feel like I’m chronically not okay but idk if I’m valid enough to label myself as chronically ill. I am able to work 40h a week but with the cost of laying in bed the rest of the day when I’m back home. In the weekends I sleep mostly. My room is a disaster because I never have the energy to tackle the chaos. I wished I was able to walk to work and back but standing for more than 15 min is already exhausting me and I get dizzy and lightheaded. I am constantly in pain, my normal pain level is on good days at a 2 on bad days it’s at a 4 or 5 but maybe I’m too modest about my pain due to fear of admitting I’m not okay. I am always tired even if I sleep usually enough. At times I feel more refreshed with only 4 hours of sleep hell knows why. I am waking up daily at 5:45am to get myself ready for 8am work. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be a functioning adult. I am scared of the moment I will unmask bcs im masking daily due to Audhd. Plus daily I’m confused because we are often switching and my quality at work at times fluctuating and my TLs wondering wtf bcs we know u know all the processes so wtf. Daily I feel like I know only a specific part of the processes and I have days where I ask so many questions that one of the TLs told me they are growing gray hairs bcs of me asking so much. The doctors in my country are shit when I mentioned suspecting we are a system they said nah it’s just ur anxiety. When I questioned if I have adhd my former psych said nah only kids can have it. My former therapist said yeah after unofficially diagnosing me with it. Autism I suspect that too and I got my confirmation more or less from my bf who’s on the spectrum as well. He got his confirmation he has adhd as well by me noticing lots of adhd things in him and he has now meds whilst me is in this godforsaken country that isn’t taking me seriously. I got my confirmation I have adhd when I took speed and realised for the first time "so this is how neurotypicals experience their life?" I for once had a train of thoughts in order and not a carambolage of luggage’s getting stuck in the baggage claim belt. I sobbed so hard. On good days I am able to remember and memorise lots of shit. But on bad days I barely anything. My body is out of control. I have pcos and it’s ravaging my body. I grow hair on my chin and arms and it’s making me uncomfortable and I developed anxiety about having hair in my face to the point over pluck and over shave it. My period is out of control. I either bleed for 2 months consecutive or I don’t have my period for 6 months. I am anemic due to it. I am such a pale human that I’m constantly being asked if I am okay. Oh yeah not to forget having an autoimmune disease since I am 2 years old. Having to deal with psoriasis break outs each winter where I end up being covered on my legs, arms , ass with skin patches of psoriasis. At times it’s even in my eyebrows and on my scalp. Each winter is a torture for me. I am battling with depression as well. Luckily this last year it wasn’t so overbearing and I felt more human than I used to in the past. Nonetheless my anxiety is ravaging and leaving me crippled daily. I sound ridiculous talking about myself rn bcs in my brain I feel like you aren’t this sick or unwell you are faking this you are a horrible human for saying all this things but I know it’s probably my internal ableism and the internal critical subconsciously developed voices of my surroundings telling me I’m not actually sick and I need to go to work even if sick etc. Sigh. Idk where I wanted to go with this whole post. I know you guys don’t see often a personal post from me or posts from me and more reblogs of stuff I enjoy seeing and stuff I wanna boost and stuff I find important or relatable or stuff that I think might make someone feel better and less anxious or feel seen. I hope this is fine. I hope being more real is helpful. Maybe I should do this rambling on my other blog @unfilteredrealities where I tried to talk about life in a real way , unfiltered. You can even send in your own submissions if u want to.

Anyway thanks for reading my ted talk.

TLDR: I don’t know if I’m actually chronically ill and if I’m valid enough to label myself as that and then I rambled about my life experiences with audhd, did, anxiety, depression, pcos, psoriasis and there are more but I’m exhausted.

[telekitnetic-art]

I’m really glad to find your blog, your formline art reminds me of my home area when I can’t get out of the house that much, and for lack of better words makes me feel cozier when I’m scrolling through my dash, to see a bit of home (not native but PNW-er) 💜💜💜💜

Misiyh/thank you so much!! I’m glad my art brings you comfort, it’s nice to hear <3

[willowworkswithwords]

Eddie and Wayne have a heart-to-heart. Part 4 of “Eddie hates his hair but he won’t always”! 

part 1, part 2, and part 3

tw: brief allusion to past child abuse

---

Three days pass. They drive up to Indianapolis for the funeral. It’s just him, Wayne, the priest, and two friends of his mom’s that Eddie had never met. The priest says the usual, looking at Eddie with a soft sort of pity throughout the graveside service. Wayne whispers something to the coffin as he throws a handful of dirt down, but Eddie can’t make himself say anything. They drive back to Hawkins in pouring rain, and Eddie stays in his room until the next day.

Wayne is at work. It’s still raining outside. Eddie feels empty and tired and tries not to just stare at the rain all day, but the day drags. Mostly, Eddie putters around the trailer, looking at the odd assortment of knick-knacks that Wayne has all around. There’s a wall with about thirty different hats, and in one of the cupboards there’s a bunch of mugs and a single glass. The mugs all look like Wayne bought them at a gas station or those funky roadside stores Eddie would sometimes see when they had moved around.

After he digs up stuff for a sandwich, Eddie goes into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s tired, it’s plain as day all over his face. The little bit of his hair that Annie had been able to detangle is starting to get knotted, and as he runs his fingers through it, they catch. Eddie yanks and cries out when it pulls at his scalp. It’s tender and Eddie—

Eddie wishes Annie were here so bad, it hurts worse than his throbbing head.

That’s where Wayne finds him hours later, shut up in the bathroom crying. He knocks on the door and Eddie jolts against the wall where he had slid down.

“Eddie?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

“Kid—Ed, I’m gonna come in, ok?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

Wayne slowly creaks open the door, peering around the corner before he opens it all the way. He sighs, that look from Sherry’s car back again, and squats down with a groan in front of Eddie.

“It sure is a lot, ain’t it?”

Against all of Eddie’s years of learning, against every fiber of himself that’s screaming at him to stop, to get a hold of himself, to stay where he is, Eddie finds himself rocking up onto his knees and right into Wayne’s chest.

Wayne sighs again, but both of his arms wrap around Eddie and Eddie can’t keep it in anymore.

Words and screams and the worst of him come spilling out, saturating Wayne’s flannel with his tears. Wayne takes it all in, squeezing Eddie against his chest and whispering quiet, quiet encouragements to keep crying, if that’s what he needs—and Eddie does, until Wayne’s hand lands in his hair.

“Don’t.”

Eddie catches his breath just long enough to spit the word out, jerking in Wayne’s strong grip, sounding broken.

Wayne’s hand is off him immediately.

Eddie smashes his face back into Wayne’s shoulder, suddenly drained. Wayne’s hand slowly comes back to Eddie’s back, rubbing circles in time with his own breath.

“Head off limit, Ed?”

“Just…” Eddie doesn’t want to say it, but Wayne is asking, really wants to know, and that’s more than Eddie’s ever let himself expect. “Not my hair. ‘s gross—I’m disgusting.”

Wayne goes perfectly, dangerously, still.

“Disgusting?”

His voice is clear and strong, and Eddie tenses without meaning to. The circles start back up.

“Disgusting, Eddie?” Wayne is quiet again, soft now.

“My fu—my stupid hair. It’s all a mess and Annie only fixed it a little before…”

“Ah.”

Eddie’s all run out of tears, and he feels himself sinking further into Wayne. Wayne seems to feel it too, because he shifts suddenly, pulling Eddie into his arms as he levels himself and stands. It says a lot that Eddie just shuffles a little in his hold, doesn’t say he’s too old—he’s just so tired.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Eddie, you listening?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re gonna go get some water, and some dinner?”

He waits until Eddie hums in agreement again before he goes on.

“And then, we’re gonna have a little talk, and then I think it’s best to head to bed,” Wayne says, walking slowly into the kitchen. “I just wanna ask you a couple questions, and nothin’ you say is gonna be wrong, ok?”

Eddie takes a minute to answer this time.

“Okay.”

Dinner isn’t silent. Wayne sets a record on the player that’s just loud enough to let Eddie focus on the music instead of the throbbing in his head and Wayne sets about scrambling some eggs. Eddie isn’t paying attention to how he’d doing the, just looks up after a while from where Wayne had set him down on the couch to a plate of fresh scrambled eggs and a slice of toast with grape jelly. Eddie sniffs but doesn’t start crying this time, and Wayne sits down beside him, his own scrambled eggs with cheese and his toast with peanut butter. They each have a mug of water.

It takes all of side one of the record for them to both get done. Wayne flips it over and grabs their dishes. He settles back down against the cushions, enough space between them for Eddie to turn and face him if he wants to.

He faces front, just like Wayne.

Now that he’s had all of dinner to calm down, embarrassment and dread start to seep back in, but Eddie pushes them back back back. He wants to stop feeling like he has to run, to fight, to think and feel everything all at once just in case. So he pushes it back for now and glances at Wayne before looking back down at his hands.

“What are your questions?”

“Who’s Annie?”

“My friend from school. We ate lunch together.”

“And she helped you with your hair?”

Eddie takes a deep breath.  

“Yeah. She knows how to do hair and uh, we didn’t have money or, or really know what to do with it. So, she helped me.”

“That was real nice of her.”

Eddie sighs shakily but smiles, small but true.

“Yeah, it was. She gets it.”

Wayne hums. He understands what Eddie means, and ain’t that something. Eddie doesn’t have to say what it is, just has to say it, and Wayne believes him.

It gives him just enough courage.

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

The record plays on. The crunch of gravel and baying of dogs peters in the through the window from all across the trailer park night.

“Well,” Wayne says. “The best way to do something you don’t know is with someone else. Makes you both feel better for not knowing.”

Eddie sniffs and leans against Wayne.

“There’s a woman cross the park, Jenny. She does a lot of the kids hair ‘round here. What d’ya think?”

Eddie sniffs again.

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll call her in the morning before I head off to work. I’ll be home round five again. If you get bored, just go outside. Plenty of kids and dogs you can be with.”

Eddie isn’t sure how he feels about that, but he nods anyways.

“Did your daddy ever hit you?”

Eddie nods. Wayne blows a long breath out, brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

“Your momma?”

“She never hit me.” Eddie surprises himself with how vehemently he says it.

“I didn’t mean that,” Wayne squeezes Eddie’s hand once. “I was askin’ if you daddy ever hit her.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Ok. What’s your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?”

Eddie looks at him in confusion, the shift in tone making him blink.

“Um, I’ll eat anything?”

“Wasn’t what I asked, kiddo.”

And it goes on like that, back and forth until Eddie’s head starts to bob against the back of the couch and Wayne stops.The silence is the good kind again, and Eddie drifts to sleep. He wakes up the next morning with his bedside lamp on, and he rolls out of bed with a quiet anticipation growing.

Five o’clock just can’t come fast enough.

---

@manda-panda-monium

[gg-selvish]

im writing a sfw series thats slow burn romantic dreamnap thats gonna turn into aroace george joining as a queerplatonic partner and the dreamnap alternating pov is almost done and then we're gonna get to all the fun introspection and exploring non-traditional relationship dynamics in george pov ooooo u wanna read it so bad

[sharkneto]

oof yeah this update is Not Good. i miss seeing all y'all faces

[that-angry-noldo]

"Why did you choose them?"

There is a cold, almost dark curiosity in Eärwen's voice; she tilts her head, glaring at her husband in the light of a poorly lit room.

It is an unfair question, Eärwen knows. Whatever answer Arafinwë gives, she won't be satisfied with it. She watches him struggle, watches words flying through his mind, thoughts racing eachother.

She waits.

What will you say, she thinks, how will you answer? Will you make excuses, will you deny it all?

Arafinwë looks to the window. It's pitch black outside - not even stars shine through the heavy fog of clouds. Eärwen can notice him biting the inside of his lip - a gesture she's all too familiar with; it is ironic, something so well known feeling so distant. (She feels satisfaction. Dark, vengentful satisfaction - true, he hides his nervousness well, but Eärwen still picks up at his signs: how his fingers tug at his sleeves, how his head is just a tad bit tilted, how his lips are slightly pursed. Good, she thinks. You should be nervous.)

"What do you want to hear?" he asks quietly, and looks at her.

Eärwen wants to laugh, or maybe to strangle him. She can't quite decide.

"The truth," she finally says, and smiles sharply. She's hurt, and the wound she was healing all these years is opening again; she's desperate, desperate for her husband to break, to admit he was wrong, to beg for her forgiveness on his knees.

Arafinwë's eyes look straight through her. Eärwen hates it, how he can read her so well after all this time of estrangement. He lowers his head.

"I can give it all to you," he says. "I can tell you I was going for our children, because that would be true - I couldn't stand the thought of leaving them alone, I couldn't stand a thought of abandoning them, not after I abandoned you already. I can tell you I was afraid, and it would be true, too - because I am a coward, and I was a coward, and a coward I will forever remain. I can say it was my egoism, and you will laugh, because you surely called me so countless times already; because in my heart, I was as swayed by the promises of new undiscovered lands as my people were. So tell me, Eärwen Olwiel, what do you want to hear?"

"I," Eärwen Olwiel growls, "want to hear the truth."

Arafinwë jerks his head, and there is challenge in his eyes.

Eärwen feels grim satisfaction.

"I will tell you, then," he says, and his words are bitter. "When I arrived, all I saw were flames. I saw my brother stained with blood, horror on his face. And then, in one moment, I felt pain. Strangling, stiffling pain - I'm sure you felt it, too."

Eärwen grits her teeth. (Her heart stings. Elulindo's death was a weeping wound on their house. It still is, though her brother is between the living again - but he's not the same, he'll never be the same, things will never be the same as they were.)

"And it was confusing," Arafinwë continues, dark and bitter. "Because there I was, standing on the white sand, though it was red, and there was fire all around me - yet all I felt was that strange, new absence; what could it possibly be? And I heard my brothers talking and shouting, and I saw my children around me - they were horrified, Eärwen, Artanis was shaking, and Artaresto-"

Arafinwë takes a sharp breath, and shuts his eyes; he sways a slightest bit before speaking again.

"Findaràto was by my side all that time," he says. "He asked if we should keep moving. I didn't answer, because all I saw were flames, and sand, and pain. Everybody went, so I went with them, and I know- I know, I should've stopped, I should've screamed, but- but I didn't. It hurt. I felt like something was torn away from my very core, and it stung. Every step, it stung. I saw ships passing us, and they felt like a dream. It wasn't real - it felt like a vision, a very detailed, a very horrifying vision; but it hurt, and I couldn't understand why. And - I know it's not an excuse, I know I should've known better - but Findaràto was right there, and I thought, if he's going, it surely must be alright. So I went, and it kept getting colder, and colder."

Eärwen is silent. (The wound, she thinks, never even started to heal, and every Arafinwë's word feels like a new one opening.)

Arafinwë takes a breath.

"Then," he says, "came Mandos, and all the pieces fell together - the blood, the fire, horror on Nolofinwë's face; and all of it came crashing back. Every step, every tear, every word. I howled. I howled, no - I went mad. I reached for Elulindo, and I-" he stops again, and his face is pained, eyes glistening with tears - "I couldn't find him. I felt nothing but void."

The room is silent. Eärwen thinks back to her brother, her brave, her brilliant, her reckless brother, and her heart wants to weep.

"I stormed to Feanàro. I saw nothing but him, with that proud, insufferable scowl on his face. I though of a sword on my hip. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to tear him apart, I wanted to drown him, to burn him, to- he laughed me in the face. You came this far, he said, and it's only now you realize our path is marked with blood? And - I looked at Nolo. I always looked at Nolo, you know? Lalwen was right by his side. They didn't move. They looked right at me, yet they didn't move. I turned around, and I saw my children, and they didn't move."

Arafinwe closes his eyes, and Eärwen feels chills running down her spine when he laughs, swaying, high and weak and hysterical. Tears run down his face, and he presses a hand to his mouth, trying to stiffle his reaction, to even his breath; it lasts for long minutes, and Eärwen wants to leave. The wind howls outside, and Arafinwë's eyes focus on unsteady light of the candle. Finally, he turns to her.

"Here," he says weakly, "you know the truth now. I was weak, and I was a coward, and - and I- and you- this explains nothing, that excuses nothing, but-"

There's no hope in his eyes, she notes, detached. He looks frail in candle's light, weary and afraid; Eärwen purses her lips, and hopes he doesn't notice them trembling.

"I don't forgive you," she says, quiet. "I'm hurt. By you, and by your kin, and that wound is too fresh to be healed by one confession."

What was left of light in his eyes fades; he looks away.

"I understand," he whispers. "I thought so. I'm sorry."

Eärwen wants to say something else - that her heart bleeds not only for her people and family, but for him too; that her empty bed is unbearable some nights, that she misses his touch, that she craves his presence oh so badly some days; but she purses her lips and orders herself to be silent, to be proud, to be cold.

She turnes away and leaves the room.

They part ways, covered by night.

Eärwen sits in her bed. She wants to shut her marriage bond completely.

She sits, and sits, an she never does.

[alixlives]

breaking my silence:

i dont like when my fics get more likes than reblogs with interaction / feedback and comments.

[akemi-snow]

Chapters: 1/? Relationships: Hagane Kotetsu/Kamizuki Izumo  Summary:

At age 25, Kotetsu throws out a question: "Where would I be without you?" Casual, distracted, a rethorical question. However, it leads Izumo into a deep thinking to imagine really where Kotetsu would be without him.

Because it's an interesting question, when asked by Kotetsu. Because while most people could track meeting their best friend in school, at the candy shop, in the park, or somewhere uninteresting where they could have met anyone else and where their lives wouldn't change a whole lot if they had never met, Kotetsu was the only one who could say that if he hadn't met Izumo, he would probably, quite literally, be dead, gone rogue, or still be missing since age three, living alone in the woods, barely verbal, and more an animal than a person.

The story of how Kotetsu at age 7 had been missing and isolated from civilization for so long, he refused to let anyone near him; except the one kid who, after a bad first meeting, started giving him what no one else had offered him before, and what would, in their adult years, transform into something even greater: genuine care, patience, and love.

------

*slaps the roof of this fic*

I started a new baby.

[lord-squiggletits]

The thing about writing advice is that generally the people who insist the hardest that "you HAVE to listen to writing advice or else you're just some stupid kid/loser who will never get better and thinks they're better than everyone else" are the ones that are mainly into writing critique to huff their own farts and feel as if they're intellectually superior, or think that babbling out some sort of half-assed vaguely analytical critique actually counts as critique.

In fact, I might even venture to say that writers (particularly ones who are young and/or only doing it for fun) shouldn't worry about asking for criticism at all should simply write as much and as often as possible, because when you're young and passionate and inexperienced the best way to learn is to just keep practicing again and again, not to get your hopes squashed by a bunch of pretentious strangers online giving you "critique" that may or may not be actually good.

And if/when you do decide to take criticism on your writing, please for the love of all that's holy take criticism from people that you know, and those people should be generally intelligent, insightful, creative, and kind. Can't stress enough that getting bad critique from a bunch of strangers who barely know you or your work <<<<<<<<<<< getting critique from one or three trusted people (friends, beta readers, teachers, professors, etc) who actually have your interests at heart and know what kind of writer you want to be.

[t-lostinworlds]

~