All I need is for someone to gently cup my face and tell me I'm not as doomed as I feel.
reblog to gently cup your mutual’s face and tell them they’re not as doomed as they feel

izzy's playlists!
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Cosimo Galluzzi

tannertan36
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
d e v o n

★
Stranger Things

No title available

ellievsbear

shark vs the universe

Origami Around
tumblr dot com
ojovivo

blake kathryn
Show & Tell

oozey mess
we're not kids anymore.

No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from India

seen from Canada

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Romania

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Italy

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Ukraine

seen from United States
@writefortherain-blog
All I need is for someone to gently cup my face and tell me I'm not as doomed as I feel.
reblog to gently cup your mutual’s face and tell them they’re not as doomed as they feel
Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.
Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.
pairing - bucky barnes x female reader
warnings - none!! just tooth rottingly sweet fluff <3
word count - i'll check tomorrow, but i'd say 1/1.5k if I had to guess?
author's note - based on these two requests!! i'm also trying a new post format... what do we think?? I promised you i'd get a couple of xmas fics out before the 25th... I lied. apologies!! forgive me. title taken from the poem The Owl by Edward Thomas.
as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics. thanks, angels <3
masterlist. inbox.
He whispers the words, timid and reserved, directly into your ear as if he's worried someone else will hear. It's only the two of you sat on the couch in your shared apartment, but Bucky's nervous.
Your head whips around in shock, trying to play it cool. Failed.
"Are you... are you sure?"
SOBBING SCREAMING THROWING UP THIS IS EVERYTHING
love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.
love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.
love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.
love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.
maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.
recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.
impatiently waiting for Autumn 🍂
comments from tiktok about siblings
Crying right now imagining Astarion running into his still-living parents and/or siblings and while he doesn't recognize them at most beyond some weird sense of familiarity, they insist that he just looks so much like the son/brother they lost at far too young an age ;w;
Reblog if reading someone else’s fanfiction has helped you get through a hard day
@sotwk 🤍
back from the dead
apologies to the people in my inbox who were waiting on their fic requests! i had a major work accident and was a bit incapacitated for some time. I'll be churning out new work soon!
Taken (Eomer x femReader )
Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig
Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk
Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Aragorn's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.
Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"
Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!
Word count: 2.4k
Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK
Rating: T (Teens and up)
Warnings: Some sensuality
To Read on AO3: Link
Taken
Third Age 3019 May 1
Minas Tirith
PART ONE
Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end.
You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame.
"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped.
It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.
you knocked this out of the park oh my gosh i was squealing!! fantastic job as always 🤍
being an older sister is: i bought you a sweater i wanted but liked better for you. i miss the nights i’d sing you to sleep. you don’t smile much anymore. i know you think i’m losing my mind. you tell mom my secrets and i’d still trust you with my last breath. i cry myself to sleep missing you. you’re the worst. please don’t stop judging me. i taught you how to do your eyeliner and now it’s better than mine ever will be. you have skincare and i have scars, such a different 15 that we had. our parents learned to be kind with your sadness. i will always be angry at the way they left me behind. i am happy they love you like i wanted to be loved. i know when you’re hurting. you look just like me. do you want to come on a walk with me? i don’t care that you have homework. come drive with me, one last time. you may never have me again. your hair looks stupid, go brush it. the only reason i’m alive today is you. i know my room is messy. you’re the only one who’s noticed i’m not ok. dad said we’re leaving in five minutes.
What Do You Know of Love? (Part 2)
A/N: I’ve decided to do a part 3 as well from Tauriel’s pov. Coming soon. Enjoy!
Tags: @sotwk, @coopsgirl
The cause of the maryment resounding through the normally somber halls of the Mirkwood king was Yenearsira, the Winter Solstice. Marking the elvish new year.
Thranduil spent the rest of the morning seeing to his appearance, taking more care than usual to soothe every wrinkle from his robe and comb every freshly washed strand of his hair into place. He looked at his reflection approvingly in the mirror as he slowly adorned his legendary headpiece. The branches framing his cheekbones were now barren save for patches of tiny blue and white blossoms sprouting spontaneously throughout them. It was why his people treasured the crown so much, as it allowed them a small glimpse of the former beauty of their homeland.
Now, the trees were too sick to change in the seasons, and the forest had become too hostile for the migrating birds and elk to make it their haven in the Spring. The only creatures who dared take up residence in his dying land were the black ravens that cawed from the tree tops and the foul, massive spiders who made their webs in the dark caves. Even so, the snow still fell in thick sheets upon the ground.
After taking a moment to gather himself, the Elvenking deposited the necklace into the deep front pocket of his robe and strode out of his chamber to bless the festivities, signifying their beginning. Feren met him at the closed double doors that were the entrance to his throne room. For holidays, the space was cleared out to make way for the long banquet tables filled with food and a small stage that held the minstrels. At the end of the meal, the tables would be pushed back and the floor would be given to the eager dancers. At exactly midnight, the elves of Mirkwood would all gather out in the gardens and release fireworks high into the dark Winter sky.
Thranduil fixed his guard with a disapproving stare as he noticed Feren’s hands shaking as he passed Thranduil his ceremonial staff. “nervousness is not a good look on a soldier who bears the crest of the Woodland Realm.”
“Your grace…” Feren tried, but Thranduil pushed the door open before he could finish. All chatter in the room stilled, and heads bowed respectfully to their monarch. But Thranduil was not looking at them. His eyes were narrowed at the steps leading up to his throne in the distance… and at the smaller seat just to the left of it. Gifts and flowers had been left upon it by the festival goers. It was a tradition, he knew, to honor late members of the royal house at holiday gatherings, especially those following wartime such as this. It helped keep their spirit alive in the hearts of their subjects, and the gifts acted as a sort of offering to the deceased royal so they may aid the spirits of the recently fallen soldiers on their journey to the Halls of Mandos. The same tribute had been paid to his father long ago, during the dinner of Thranduil’s coronation. He recalled his wife herself had even placed a pearl necklace atop the former king’s throne for the safe passage of her older brother Ailwe, who perished on the fields of Mordor in Thranduil’s arms. Though he was a dear friend and loyal soldier, Thranduil did not cry. Nor did he shed a tear for his father. Thranduil never cried.
However, seeing that seat, void of the smiling elleth who had held his hand to calm him in fits of rage and sent amusing images through ósanwe to help break up the dullness of back to back council meetings made an insurmountable lump appear in his throat. He loved their bond. How, even when it seemed to outsiders like the two hardly spoke to each other in public, they’d take every opportunity to find rest in their private mental sanctuary where the troubles of the world could not get to them. Without her warm presence running over his fae, it felt cold and hollow like the hole left in the ground by a tree that had been pulled out by its roots. Continuing his slow strides up to his throne, eyes purposefully avoiding the seat to his left, the Elvenking gave the ancient prayer of goodwill and took the first sip from the first glass of wine poured that night, signaling the official start to the Elvish New Year celebration.
Only staying as long as was customary, Thranduil slipped out of the secret back exit of his throne room to be met by an apologetic Feren.
Eyes blazing, the king tried to keep his voice neutral. “I thought I ordered that throne destroyed years ago.”
“My lord, we tried, but the council insisted we keep it on hand for these occasions. It’s tradition…”
“Last I checked, it is I who gives the final say. Now get rid of it!” Came Thranduil’s retort.
“You’re not the only one who lost her, sire…”
The words escaped his lips before his mind could think better of it, and the next thing Feren knew his back was roughly pinned against the stone wall. Thranduil’s hand encircled his throat and pressed down with just enough force to let this insubordinate know that his words would not be tolerated. For a moment, Feren feared the king might actually strike him, but instead Thranduil shattered his empty wine glass on the wall right above his head. Without another word, he strode away, leaving a wide eyed Feren to stare at his retreating back.
Perhaps the biting cold should have bothered Thranduil more than it did, but his thick robes and knee-high boots proved capable of warding it off. That and the blazing anger he felt running through his veins. How dare he? How dare that lowly foot soldier tell him how to deal with his wife’s passing? He did not know her even a fraction as well as Thranduil did! If he had, he would understand how impossible it is to let such a light go. Thranduil loathed the idea of sharing her memories with his people. They were all he had left of her.
Without giving his direction much conscious thought, Thranduil looked up to find himself standing at the entrance to his realm.
“Your majesty, I did not think to see you here.” Came the voice of Cardon, one of Mirkwood’s border guards, as he leapt soundlessly from a tree and bowed low to his ruler.
Thranduil granted the young elf a polite nod and motioned him to return to his feet. “Take leave of your post for about an hour. You are dismissed.”
Cardon was no doubt curious as to why Thranduil would request such a thing, but knew enough about his king’s ill temper not to argue. Giving a shallow bow, he took his leave.
Once he was sure he was alone, Thranduil began searching for the object of his Winter escapade. It took him a while to find the statue, it having been covered up by decades of overgrown vines and now the falling snow. He hurriedly removed his sword from his belt and began cutting away the obstructions to reveal a beautiful face of marble. Tears froze on his lashes at the sight of his wife’s memorial being utterly forgotten in such a way. He gently caressed the statue’s cheek with his fingertips.
“I am so sorry, my love. I did not intend for it to be so long between visits…” He gave pause. It truly had been a long time since he had ventured this far away from his palace, and even longer since he had dared to gaze upon the statue. Thranduil had it built shortly after his queen's death. It was not a true grave, but a symbol of all she was to him and their people. Guardian of the realm and his heart.
Reaching into his pocket, Thranduil slowly, reverently, clasped the white diamonds around the statue’s neck. Standing back, he smiled.
It was a poor compensation for the moment that was stolen from him… but it was enough.
He still recalled the night, not at all unlike this one, when having the necklace created for her first graced his mind. She had dragged him away from the warmth of the palace into the cold forest, an action he found rather treasonous at the time.
“Where are we going that’s so important? We’ll miss the fireworks.” The young Prince grumbled, pulling his thick cloak tighter around his frame.
“To the stars!” The elleth walking in front of him turned her head to give a playful wink. Thranduil tried to be annoyed, but he secretly loved her ability to make life an adventure. Her smile disarmed him and he couldn’t help pulling her to him and kissing her firmly.
“How much further? I fear if we’re gone any longer your brother will think I’ve thrown you in prison.”
She giggled. “What reason would you have for doing that, my Prince?”
“Exposing me to the elements for one. And for two, making me leave my wine glass behind. It is a very expensive vintage and I doubt there’ll be any left upon my return.”
“I promise it’s worth it.” She clasped his hand, still somehow warm, and her voice was sure.
He followed her to a snow covered field that was empty save for the trees with blue blossoms on them. There was a look of wonder in her eyes as she caught tiny snowflakes in her palm, only maintaining their shape for a moment before melting away on the heat of her skin. Thranduil hummed in slight amusement, stepping forward and gently brushing the frost from her lashes with the pad of his thumb.
“You are like the changing of the seasons; vexing and untamable. But each aspect of you lovely in its own way.” He looked down at the moisture spreading on the sleeve of his cloak from the snow. “What is your fascination with the cold, dear one?”
“Mm…” She thought for a moment before meeting his eyes. “The earth hibernates under her armor of snow every Winter. The death in Autumn, when the trees give their final show of gracefully letting go of that which no longer serves them, is concealed from view to be reborn in the Spring. A new beginning. That is why we celebrate the turning of the new year.”
She turned and smiled off into the distance. “Until then, we get to live in a world covered in white light as bright as the eternal stars themselves.”
“Where are you going?” Thranduil called after her as she began climbing a nearby tree.
The elleth smiled down at him as she grabbed hold of a vine and swung over his head, reaching her hand out to him. “On our wedding day, I said I’d give you the stars if I could, and the falling snowflakes are the closest thing we’re going to get on earth. Come!”
Thranduil, amazed, took hold of the vine and they swung amid the falling stars there in the calmness of the seemingly mundane forest clearing. Laughing, Thranduil pulled them up into a tree and they caught snowflakes on their tongues.
“Look!” He pointed out the fireworks visible from the palace, their vantage point granting them an excellent view. They entwined their fingers and Thranduil pulled her under his cloak to keep her warm.
“You’ll own the very stars. I’ll see to that meleth nin.”
He was pulled from his reverie as he sensed a presence behind him. It was Tauriel. King and subject briefly locked eyes, if only long enough for some unspoken understanding to pass between them, before walking silently back to the palace side by side. Thranduil chanced one last look at the statue, the gems now glowing as they caught the moonlight. Indeed, it was beautiful… but lifeless. Her true memory was living. Living in the hearts of their subjects, in the falling snow that came every year, forever in his soul, and in the eyes of their son…
Methrandir’s words came crashing back to him, “Those gems were not all your wife left you, my friend. She left you a son. Tell me, which would she have you value more?”
After all this time, Thranduil finally knew he’d figured out the right answer.
The person I reblogged this from is someone I enjoy seeing on my dashboard.
never not thinking about the end of poetry by ada limón
like….. yeah……
last day to reblog
you now you want to.
Gonna have to wait a whole year if you miss this.
YOU ONLY HAVE 4 DAYS TO REBLOG THIS! DON’T PROCRASTINATE!
Obligatory.
Been waiting 12 months for this ….
Bringing this back because in one week …….
2 days….
Mutuals who I have hardly spoken with but we instead communicate through silently liking and reblogging each other's posts... I hope you're all having a lovely day ✨
Please Reblog is Your Blog is Safe for Non-Binary People.
If my mutuals can’t rb this then we can’t be mutuals