#i really don't know what i'm doing

[thewisaaaaad]

in honor of my depression:

my favorite

Shes sad cus GF isn't here

[scxmsc]

art dump cos I recently finished the Magnus Archives and then it all went downhill

more doodley doodles under the cut!!

can u guess my favourite i bet not

[ffaleruv]

🏹: The Blooming of Two Hearts // O Florescer de Dois Corações

💜: Éowyn + Faramir

📖: Lord of The Rings // O Senhor dos Anéis

📜: English and Português

The Blooming of Two Hearts

In the hanging gardens of Minas Tirith, where the dawn of spring whispered promises among the budding branches, Éowyn walked in silence. The breeze weaved through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and newly awakened flowers. Her dress, a deep amber, seemed to belong to the twilight itself, flowing like a river of liquid gold with each step. The setting sun, filtering through the treetops, tangled in her hair, weaving reflections of ancient fire within it. In her delicate hand, a small bundle of wild herbs rested, as if it were a fragile reliquary, an echo of the shadows that still lingered over her spirit.

Behind her, approaching unhurriedly, Faramir watched her. Not with the tense gaze of a captain on guard, but with the reverence of one who beholds something rare and luminous. There was in her figure a disquieting stillness, like a sheathed blade that still bore the weight of battles fought. But there was also something else — something new, an elusive glimmer in her eyes that, perhaps, was not yet hope, but might one day become so.

He stepped closer, hesitant, pausing just a few steps away. Not like a soldier about to cross a minefield, but like a pilgrim before an altar.

— You walk as one who carries an invisible sword, my lady. — His voice was low, almost a whisper, lost among the branches bending to the wind.

Éowyn turned to him, and on the delicate contours of her lips appeared something that was not quite a smile, but carried its intention.

— Perhaps because war never truly leaves those who have lived it.

Faramir took her hand with the same reverence one might touch an ancient parchment, fearing it might crumble at the slightest misstep. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the small bundle, and for an instant, he felt Éowyn’s pulse beneath his skin — a steady, restrained beat, but alive.

— But the day will come — he murmured, his gaze immersed in the unfathomable depths of hers — when swords will rest, and hearts will learn to beat without the weight of vigilance.

She did not answer. The wind blew between them, lifting loose strands of her hair, and for a moment, Éowyn felt that she could simply close her eyes and let herself be carried away. She looked at Faramir — that man who asked nothing of her, imposed nothing upon her. He only offered.

— Perhaps that day has already come for me — she whispered.

Something softened in his expression. He inclined slightly, and with the gentleness of one who knows pain and does not wish to awaken it, he pressed her hand against his chest.

— Then, my lady — he said, almost in prayer — allow me to walk beside you in this new time.

Éowyn’s response did not come in words, but in the way her shoulders relaxed, in the way her hand lingered in his a moment longer than necessary. Night poured over Gondor, painting the sky with timid stars. Together, they walked forward through the gardens, the sound of their steps mingling with the song of crickets and the distant murmur of fountains.

Éowyn, who had so often worn the armor of solitude, now felt a different warmth beside Faramir. It was not the fever of battle, nor the weight of duty, but something calmer, deeper — like the stillness after a storm, like the breeze that blows through lands newly freed from shadow.

— They say these gardens bloom in a special way during spring. — Her voice came softly, as if breaking a very old silence.

Faramir inclined his head, watching her with the serene gaze of one who does not need to rush time.

— They bloom best when there is someone to behold them. Before, they seemed beautiful, but incomplete.

She stopped, turning to him. There was something in his smile that disarmed her, a light in his brown eyes that was neither ecstasy nor longing — only a peace that invited her to share it.

— And now? — she asked.

Faramir raised the bundle he had taken from her hands, offering it back.

— Now, my lady, I believe they have found their purpose.

Éowyn looked at the bundle and then at him. Between her fingers, the leaves exuded an earthy, fresh aroma, as if still holding the breath of the land itself. Something tightened within her, an indistinct feeling — a premonition that, there, in that moment, something was being sealed. Not in oaths or vows, but in the simple and ineffable understanding between two hearts that, without realizing it, had recognized each other.

— I never thought I would find peace like this — she confessed, looking beyond the walls, to the hills fading into the horizon.

— Peace is not always something we find — Faramir said gently. — Sometimes, it is something we learn to accept.

She took a deep breath. Allowed herself to believe, just a little more.

Then, with a gesture that felt both natural and immense, she leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder. Faramir did not move, only closed his eyes for a moment, like one who feels the touch of the sun after a long winter.

And so, beneath the vastness of Gondor’s starlit sky, without solemn promises or grand words, Éowyn and Faramir found refuge — not in a castle of stone, not in sigils or crowns, but in each other.

O Florescer de Dois Corações

Nos jardins suspensos de Minas Tirith, onde a alvorada da primavera sussurrava promessas entre os galhos novos, Éowyn caminhava em silêncio. A brisa serpenteava por entre as folhas, espalhando o perfume da terra úmida e das flores recém-despertas. Seu vestido, de um âmbar profundo, parecia pertencer ao próprio crepúsculo, ondulando como um rio de ouro líquido a cada passo. O sol poente, filtrado pelas copas das árvores, enredava-se em seus cabelos, tecendo neles reflexos de fogo antigo. Na mão delicada, um ramo de ervas silvestres repousava, como se fosse um relicário frágil, um eco das sombras que ainda pairavam sobre seu espírito.

Atrás dela, vindo sem pressa, Faramir a observava. Não com o olhar tenso de um capitão em vigília, mas com a reverência de quem contempla algo raro e luminoso. Havia na figura dela uma quietude inquietante, como uma lâmina embainhada que ainda guardava o peso das batalhas travadas. Mas havia também outra coisa — algo novo, um brilho esquivo nos olhos que, talvez, ainda não fosse esperança, mas que poderia vir a ser.

Ele se aproximou, hesitante, detendo-se a poucos passos. Não como um soldado prestes a atravessar um campo minado, mas como um peregrino diante de um altar.

— Você caminha como quem carrega uma espada invisível, minha senhora. — Sua voz era baixa, quase um sopro, perdida entre os ramos que se curvavam ao vento.

Éowyn voltou-se para ele, e nos contornos delicados de sua boca surgiu algo que não era exatamente um sorriso, mas que carregava sua intenção.

— Talvez porque a guerra nunca abandone aqueles que a viveram.

Faramir tomou sua mão com a mesma deferência com que se toca um pergaminho antigo, temendo que se desfaça ao menor descuido. Seus dedos roçaram os dela ao tomarem o pequeno ramo, e por um instante ele sentiu o pulso de Éowyn sob sua pele — uma batida firme, contida, mas viva.

— Mas há de chegar o dia — murmurou ele, os olhos imersos na profundidade insondável dos dela — em que as espadas repousarão e os corações aprenderão a bater sem o peso da vigília.

Ela nada respondeu. O vento soprou entre os dois, levantando mechas soltas de seus cabelos, e, por um momento, Éowyn sentiu que poderia simplesmente fechar os olhos e se deixar levar. Olhou para Faramir — aquele homem que não lhe pedia nada, não lhe impunha nada. Apenas oferecia.

— Talvez esse dia já tenha chegado para mim — sussurrou.

Algo se suavizou na expressão dele. Inclinou-se ligeiramente, e com a delicadeza de quem conhece a dor e não deseja avivá-la, tocou a mão dela contra seu peito.

— Então, minha senhora — disse, quase em prece —, permita-me caminhar ao vosso lado nesse novo tempo.

A resposta de Éowyn não veio em palavras, mas no modo como seus ombros relaxaram, como sua mão permaneceu na dele um instante além do necessário. A noite se derramava sobre Gondor, pincelando o céu com estrelas tímidas. Juntos, seguiram adiante pelos jardins, o som de seus passos mesclando-se ao canto dos grilos e ao rumor distante das fontes.

Éowyn, que tantas vezes vestira a armadura da solidão, sentia agora um calor diferente ao lado de Faramir. Não era a febre da batalha, nem o peso do dever, mas algo mais sereno, mais fundo — como a quietude depois da tempestade, como a brisa que sopra nas terras recém-libertas da sombra.

— Dizem que estes jardins florescem de um modo especial na primavera. — Sua voz veio baixa, como se quebrasse um silêncio muito antigo.

Faramir inclinou a cabeça, observando-a com o olhar tranquilo de quem não precisa apressar o tempo.

— Eles florescem melhor quando há alguém para contemplá-los. Antes, pareciam belos, mas incompletos.

Ela parou, voltando-se para ele. Havia algo no sorriso dele que a desarmava, um brilho nos olhos castanhos que não era êxtase, nem anseio—apenas uma paz que a convidava a compartilhar.

— E agora? — perguntou.

Faramir ergueu o ramo que tomara de suas mãos, oferecendo-o de volta.

— Agora, minha senhora, creio que eles tenham encontrado seu propósito.

Éowyn olhou para o ramo e, então, para ele. Entre seus dedos, as folhas exalavam um aroma terroso, fresco, como se ainda guardassem o hálito da própria terra. Algo se apertou dentro dela, uma sensação indistinta— um pressentimento de que, ali, naquele instante, algo estava sendo selado, não em juramentos ou votos, mas no simples e indizível entendimento entre dois corações que, sem perceber, haviam se reconhecido.

— Eu nunca pensei que encontraria paz assim — confessou, olhando para além das muralhas, para as colinas que se perdiam no horizonte.

— A paz nem sempre é algo que encontramos — disse Faramir, com suavidade. — Às vezes, é algo que aprendemos a aceitar.

Ela inspirou fundo. Permitiu-se acreditar, apenas um pouco mais.

Então, com um gesto que parecia ao mesmo tempo natural e imenso, inclinou-se e descansou a cabeça contra o ombro dele. Faramir não se moveu, apenas fechou os olhos por um instante, como quem sente o toque do sol após um longo inverno.

E assim, sob a vastidão do céu estrelado de Gondor, sem promessas solenes ou palavras grandiosas, Éowyn e Faramir encontraram refúgio — não num castelo de pedra, não em brasões ou coroas, mas um no outro.

[randomdude102394]

hi

okay so i guess i should do a introduction thingy ok HI My name is: [CLASSIFIED] (sorry not today) Fandoms I'm In: A lot. Like, too many to name. But, the fandom you'll see me residing in the most, and interacting in the most, is the Undertale community. Hobby's: Drawing, Gaming, Making silly sprites, and more! okay that's it uhh silly rules time: NNNOOOOO NSFW. Be respectful! Follow Tumblr TOS No Racism >:( Use Common Sense. okay BAI ---------------------------------------- tags for stuff: #reblog #my art #spriteart #undertale #deltarune #shitpost #ask answered

[chococo23]

It's a good time to remind you that this is what Tom Holland looked like when he was 14 years old

[marunene]

“Are you scared?”

He says with a wide smile on his face, his eyes completely dark as he steps out from behind that wall.

“My panties are actually kinda soaked right now.”

I mention nonchalantly, his smile fades and he returns to his normal form, but I can see his expression turning into one of disgust. The one smiling now is me as I run after him, tearing off my clothes.

[wandixx]

It's first time ever I post something on Tumblr and I probably won't do it ever again, but this idea kinda stuck with me, so here you go, dp x dc prompt.

Danny is on a family trip in some hero adjacent city (preferably not Gotham, as much as I love Batpham fics, let's give others time to shine). It would be a great chance to rest if ghosts knew and respected words "free time." They don't, so he has to constantly fly back and forth between Amity and wherever he is. He doesn't know how to make portals yet, so he spends quite a lot of time on transportation alone, and then he fights and goes back ASAP, because as much as he can always count on Jazz to cover for him and the fact that Fentons aren't most observant, at some point they have to realise if he didn't pop up from time to time.

So now, he is running like a third day without so much as five minutes to sleep, purely on caffeine and spite, just got this okay looking sandwich from petrol station and strongest coffee he could buy and eat/drink in some secluded place (rooftop, abounded building, some really quiet alley, you know), right before he has to return to his family and act like he had nice night sleep and isn't "the Phantom menace" his parents are always threatening to post mortem murder AND THIS RANDOM PIGEON DARES TO TRY TO STEAL HIS FOOD!!!

Yes, he proceeds to yell at the pigeon because ✨️misplaced aggression✨️

He rants about his life right when local hero is near enough to hear him and just is like "You ok kid?"

They're not even too surprised hearing news about ghost (I mean, there is Deadman and also they probably had seen weirder), but still this boy shouldn't be the only one handling it (how old is he anyway, thirteen?). Oh, he isn't alone in it, ok, that's good. He has two friends (without powers or training) and two years older sister and not even his parents are in the know about his hero gig, well that's bad, gotta help him somehow.

From here, there are two ways it can go (at least I thought about these two)

1. Danny let's out one (1) scream of absolute terror and vanishes from the sight (especially if hero is in costume)

2. He proceeds to yell at the hero, because there is so much steam he has to let out and you know ✨️misplaced aggression✨️ once again (probably would work best if chosen hero was in civies, on their way grocery shopping or something)("There is no way this random civilan will belive me I may as well just continue" Danny Fenton, probably)

This is how Justice Legue lears about Amity (maybe because no one in Amity ever called because "Phantom can handle it" and Danny really didn't want to handle possessed heroes, I like this headcannon)

It can also start when Danny screams at someone's pet, but I don't know enough about dc to tell who would fit (I literally know it only from fanfics. This tag fanfics). Like, I know Damian Wayne is supposed to have a thing for animals, there are Klarion with Teekl (though they may not be the ones Danny would like to meet at the moment) and I think Captain Marvel/ Shazam had some connections with a tiger? But like, I don't think Danny would scream at tiger. I don't know, though. I've seen only a few episodes of the show, but he as well could just do it.

Idk, I just really want to see Danny full on screaming at the pigeon. And a hero. Take it from here, I'm really curious how someone who knows more about these fandoms (and English, it's not my mother tongue, I hope my brain hadn't gone "ah yes, it sounds similar, 'day' is how 'they' is supposed to be written" or something like that anywhere in this post) handles it. Who would even fit?

How do I even end post?

Have a great day/night, fellow Tumblr user

[looselipssinkships-x]

two of my friends are working towards getting top surgery and I desperately need a hobby to have something in my life outside of work and I think the solution is to make arts and crafts to sell for top surgery

do you see the vision? am I just manic?

[venomous-lore]

Mano, eu tenho uns 4 Harry Potter Au's e estou indeciso qual vou publicar

- Mysterium (Caçadores do sobrenatural)

- Tribais

- Reinos (?) (Deveria ser um Au comum talvez, mas a ideia ainda me atrai)

- Animalístico (Um Au (?) comum também, mas a ideia também me agrada)

___________________________________________

Bro, I have like 4 Harry Potter Au's and I'm undecided which one I'm going to publish

- Mysterium (Hunters of the supernatural)

- Tribal

- Kingdoms (?) (It should be a common Au perhaps, but the idea still attracts me)

- Animalistic (A common Au (?) too, but the idea also appeals to me)

[acewithwords]

Vannessa: Guys, where's Why?

Konami: I thought Why was with Lilith?

Lilith: I was with the rest of the guide committee!

Vannessa:

Konami:

Lilith:

Vannessa: HOW DID WE LOSE AN ENTIRE PERSON?!

--

*All MCs respectively belong to:

@bluem00n007 @tophatmaker @sleepytwilight

[thewisaaaaad]

Guys gals and nonbinary pals, are we deadnaming The One Who Waits? Like I know that’s a bit of a mouthful but…

the only person who calls him by “Narinder” in the game is a old spider with memory loss and dementia. The same person who betrayed him the most. The one who led him down a path with trust, then stabbed him in the back for following.

Not even his other siblings refer to him by that name anymore.

Everyone who still respects him calls him by the name he gives or an appropriate title instead.

EVEN THE GAME ITSELF calls him “The One Who Waits”.

Doesn’t anyone else think that that name might carry a whole lot of trauma?

let the boy work through it first jeez

[astronomical-bagel]

it seems that in the absence of my eldest sibling, the family dynamic has shifted to place the weight of the Eldest Daughter Syndrome™ (gender neutral) on my shoulders :D :D :D

[ffaleruv]

🏹: Beyond the sea and time // Além do mar e do tempo

💙: Celebrían + Elrond

📖: The Lord of The Rings // O Senhor dos Anéis

📜: English and Português!

Beyond the sea and time

The wind whistled through the sails, a cold and relentless whisper that carried the scent of the ocean and the weight of all farewells. The salt clung to the air, like a trace of ancient tears, and Elrond remained at the prow, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the line where the sky dissolved into the endless waters.

Aman. The West. The call had always been within him, a soft and persistent voice that whispered through his sleepless nights. But it was not only the immortal land that awaited him. It was her.

Celebrían.

His wife. His home. Her absence was an impossible void to fill, a silence that seeped into every corner of his soul. He had watched her leave so long ago, wounded not only in body but in spirit. The pain she carried was too deep, too cruel, and the only promise left to her was healing on the Other Side. He understood her choice. But understanding had never meant relief. With every rising dawn, with every twilight painting the world in golden shadows, her name hung in the air like a lament on the wind.

And then… Arwen.

His daughter's name cut through his thoughts like a sharp blade, a precise strike on a wound that would never heal. His girl, his light, his star. She had chosen a mortal fate, a human love, a farewell with no return. He had seen her alive for the last time, but now no longer. Now, she was only memory and dust of time, a lost echo in the great course of the years.

He did not weep. There were no tears left to shed. Only silence, only the chasm within him, black and deep as the ocean beneath the ship’s hull.

The waves murmured around him, soft, indifferent. The ship glided over the waters, and soon the golden shore of Aman rose before him. He could not tell how long he stood there, still, his heart pounding heavy in his chest. Then, with an unbearable weight upon his shoulders, he took the first step.

Each footstep upon the immortal land was a shock — a clash between the promise of eternity and the grief of what had been left behind. But then, atop the hill, bathed in the last light of the setting sun, he saw her.

Celebrían.

Her hair, an ethereal silver, danced in the wind like strands of moonlight. Her eyes, once shadowed by pain, now held something he had not seen in centuries. Hope. She parted her lips, and his name escaped as a breath.

— Elrond.

He did not know the exact moment his feet left the ground. In one instant, he was standing still; in the next, he was before her. But then, he hesitated. Fear. A deep, cutting fear. Fear that she would vanish, that all of it was nothing more than a dream woven by his desperate longing.

And then, she touched him.

Celebrían’s fingers brushed his face with an almost unrecognizable delicacy, like one touching something broken, fragile. She traced the lines of time upon his skin, as if trying to decipher the centuries that had separated them. Her gaze moved over each invisible scar that time had left on him.

— You came back to me. — Her voice was a thread of silk woven with love and uncertainty. But then, her eyes darkened. — And Arwen?

Elrond felt the pain tear through his chest, but he did not look away.

— She chose her path. — His voice did not waver, but it carried an impossible weight. — And I loved her until her last breath.

The silence that followed was as heavy as eternity itself. A solitary tear slid down Celebrían’s face.

— I felt it. — Her whisper was swallowed by the wind. — In the echoes of time, in the tides of the world… Was she happy?

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment before nodding.

— Yes.

The answer was lost in the murmuring waves.

Celebrían stepped closer, her movements slow, almost uncertain. And then, so gently it felt like a sigh, she rested her forehead against his, her arms wrapping around him with a tenderness that carried centuries of longing.

— Then she is at peace.

The world around them dissolved. Nothing else existed but her. Her touch. Her breath. Her heart, beating against his. Her fingers still traced his face, as if trying to reclaim all that had been lost. Elrond took her hands in his, intertwining them with his own. As if, by letting go, she would vanish once more.

— Did you wait for me? — His voice was a hoarse whisper, laden with fear. And with love. Celebrían’s eyes shone with understanding at his unspoken fear.

— I never stopped waiting. — She said, looking into his eyes.

And then, something within him broke. The guilt, the grief, the loneliness. Everything he had carried for so long crumbled, leaving only a deep exhaustion, a relief as sharp as a blade. He pulled her into his arms, hesitant, almost fearful. But Celebrían did not hesitate. She nestled against him, her arms around him as if trying to stitch together every broken piece of his soul.

— I felt you in every breeze, in every whisper of the sea. — Her voice was a silver thread in the twilight. — But I knew I could not call you back. You still had promises to keep.

Elrond closed his eyes, breathing in her scent, feeling her warmth against him. For so many years, he had dreamed of this moment. But he had never imagined what it would truly be like to hold her again.

— And now? — His voice was barely audible.

Celebrían pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. A soft smile graced her lips—a smile laden with centuries of longing.

— Now, we are where we were always meant to be. — She assured him.

She lifted her hand, her fingers brushing against the silver ring he still wore. A reminder of what was never lost, of what not even time dared to erase.

Elrond said nothing. There was nothing left to say. He simply leaned in and kissed her. It was a kiss without haste, without urgency. A kiss that was not a reunion, but a promise.

The sun drowned beyond the horizon, and the night slowly awakened, scattering its stars across the sky. The ocean shimmered like a mirror, and for the first time in millennia, both could breathe without pain.

Além do mar e do tempo

O vento sibilava entre as velas, um sussurro frio e incansável que arrastava consigo o cheiro do oceano e o peso de todas as despedidas. O sal impregnava o ar, como um vestígio de lágrimas antigas, e Elrond permaneceu à proa, imóvel, os olhos fixos na linha onde o céu se dissolvia nas águas sem fim.

Aman. O Oeste. O chamado sempre estivera dentro dele, uma voz suave e insistente que sussurrava em suas noites insones. Mas não era apenas a terra imortal que o aguardava. Era ela.

Celebrían.

Sua esposa. Seu lar. Sua ausência era um vazio impossível de preencher, um silêncio que se infiltrava em cada canto de sua alma. Ele a vira partir há tanto tempo, ferida não apenas no corpo, mas no espírito. A dor que ela carregava era funda demais, cruel demais, e a única promessa que restava a ela era a cura do Outro Lado. Ele compreendeu sua escolha. Mas compreensão nunca significou alívio. A cada aurora que se erguia, a cada crepúsculo que tingia o mundo de sombras douradas, o nome dela pairava como um lamento no vento.

E então... Arwen.

O nome da filha cortou seus pensamentos como uma lâmina afiada, um golpe preciso em uma ferida que nunca cicatrizaria. Sua menina, sua luz, sua estrela. Ela escolhera um destino finito, um amor humano, um adeus sem retorno. Ele a vira viva pela última vez, mas agora não mais. Agora, ela era apenas memória e poeira de tempo, um eco perdido no grande curso dos anos.

Ele não chorou. Não havia lágrimas para chorar. Apenas o silêncio, apenas o buraco dentro dele, negro e fundo como o oceano sob o casco do navio.

As ondas murmuraram ao redor, suaves, indiferentes. O navio deslizava sobre as águas, e logo a costa dourada de Aman se ergueu à sua frente. Ele não soube dizer por quanto tempo ficou ali, parado, com o coração batendo pesado no peito. Então, com um peso insuportável sobre os ombros, deu o primeiro passo.

Cada passada sobre a terra imortal era um choque – entre a promessa de eternidade e o luto do que ficou para trás. Mas então, no alto da colina, banhada pela última luz do sol poente, ele a viu.

Celebrían.

Os cabelos dela, de um prateado etéreo, dançavam ao vento como fios de luar. Os olhos, antes sombreados pela dor, agora carregavam algo que ele não via há séculos. Esperança. Ela abriu os lábios, e o nome dele escapou como um sopro.

— Elrond.

Ele não soube o momento exato em que seus pés deixaram de tocar a terra. Num instante, estava parado; no seguinte, estava diante dela. Mas então, hesitou. Medo. Um medo profundo, cortante. Medo de que ela desaparecesse, de que tudo não passasse de um sonho construído por sua saudade desesperada.

E então, ela o tocou.

Os dedos de Celebrían roçaram seu rosto com uma delicadeza quase irreconhecível, como quem toca algo quebrado, frágil. Ela traçou as linhas do tempo em sua pele, como se quisesse decifrar os séculos que os separaram. O olhar dela escorregou por cada cicatriz invisível que o tempo havia deixado nele.

— Você voltou para mim. — A voz dela era um fio de seda trançado com amor e incerteza. Mas então, seus olhos se nublaram. — E Arwen?

Elrond sentiu a dor rasgar seu peito, mas não desviou o olhar.

— Ela escolheu seu caminho. — Sua voz não vacilou, mas trazia um peso impossível. — E eu a amei até o último suspiro.

O silêncio que se seguiu foi pesado como a própria eternidade. Uma lágrima solitária deslizou pelo rosto de Celebrían.

— Eu senti. — O sussurro dela foi tragado pelo vento. — Nos ecos do tempo, nas marés do mundo… Ela foi feliz?

Elrond fechou os olhos por um instante, antes de assentir.

— Sim.

A resposta se perdeu no murmúrio das ondas.

Celebrían se aproximou, os movimentos lentos, quase inseguros. E então, tão suavemente que parecia um suspiro, encostou a testa na dele, os braços envolvendo-o com uma ternura que carregava séculos de saudade.

— Então ela está em paz.

O mundo ao redor se dissolveu. Nada mais existia além dela. O toque dela. A respiração dela. O coração dela, batendo junto ao seu. Os dedos dela ainda percorriam seu rosto, como se tentassem recuperar tudo o que foi perdido. Elrond segurou-lhe as mãos, enlaçando-as entre as suas. Como se, ao soltá-las, ela desaparecesse novamente.

— Você esperou por mim? — Sua voz era um sussurro rouco, carregado de medo. E de amor. Os olhos de Celebrían brilharam em compreensão ao seu receio.

— Eu nunca parei de esperar. — Ela disse o olhando nos olhos.

E então, algo dentro dele se quebrou. A culpa, o luto, a solidão. Tudo o que carregara por tanto tempo desmoronou, deixando apenas um cansaço profundo, um alívio cortante como uma lâmina. Ele a puxou para si, num gesto hesitante, quase temeroso. Mas Celebrían não hesitou. Ela se aninhou contra ele, os braços envolvendo-o como se quisesse costurar cada pedaço quebrado de sua alma.

— Eu te senti em cada brisa, em cada sussurro do mar. — A voz dela era um fio de prata no crepúsculo. — Mas eu sabia que não poderia chamá-lo de volta. Você ainda tinha promessas a cumprir.

Elrond fechou os olhos, inspirando o perfume dela, sentindo o calor dela contra si. Por tantos anos, ele sonhou com aquele momento. Mas nunca imaginou como seria realmente segurá-la de novo.

— E agora? — Sua voz era quase inaudível.

Celebrían afastou-se apenas o suficiente para olhá-lo nos olhos. Um sorriso suave se desenhou em seus lábios – um sorriso carregado de séculos de saudade.

— Agora, estamos onde deveríamos estar. — Ela assegurou.

Ela ergueu a mão, os dedos tocando a aliança prateada que ele ainda usava. Um lembrete do que nunca se perdeu, do que nem o tempo ousou apagar.

Elrond nada disse. Não havia mais nada a ser dito. Apenas inclinou-se e a beijou. Foi um beijo sem pressa, sem urgência. Um beijo que não era um reencontro, mas uma promessa.

O sol se afogava no horizonte, e a noite despertava devagar, espalhando suas estrelas pelo céu. O oceano brilhava como um espelho, e pela primeira vez depois de milênios, ambos puderam respirar sem dor.

[littlepup93]

For the sake of putting something on this darn site, a quick lil self portrait and a bit of introductions.

Hi, I'm Pup (27, They/Them).

I'm a writer and digital artist. Grew up on the fanfiction.net and deviantart scene, so that's where a lot of my experience comes from. I've kinda always been creating things, be they fanfics or original stories. Amazingly, I never used Tumblr until recently.

My current WIP is a fantasy adventure romance called A Rogue's Fairytale. I plan to share more about it and ironing it out on this blog.

My ask box is open and I'm always up for Tag Games, although I need to grow my pool of people to tag. Please, by all means, my DMs are open to anybody above the age of 18. Feel free to introduce yourself. I also love seeing people get excited about their stories and OCs. Heck, I used to be in a creative writing group, so if you have a piece of writing that you need a stranger to look at, I'm happy to be that stranger. I can and will give you constructive feedback if you want any. :)

Some other stuff about me:

I've gone by a few different pseudonyms online since the ye olden days of 2010s dA, but Pup is the one that's stuck. I enjoy TTRPGs and video games in my free time.

What else...? I'm a big fan of fantasy, true crime, and science fiction. I'm always willing to dip my toes into other media as things catch my attention. I also take great pleasure in nitpicking media to understand the mechanics of how tropes work. You'll probably be seeing a lot of that because I have a lot to say and nowhere to go with it.

[confoundedpangolin]

Are your safe foods primarily warm or cool (temperature not spice), and do you run cold or hot?

[rapt0rkit-studios]

drawings by someone who can't draw humans very well (I'm learning)