#Andros A. Horne

[atimeodyssey]

[3/6]

[lets-chandrix]

@atimeodyssey

[lets-chandrix]

precioso, precioso, precioso, precioso <3

Pacers [1/...]

Se viene spam de mi unidad favorita en la vida, sorry not sorry.

@atimeodyssey

[sydsixxftm]

I sold my soul for testosterone

[moonylunasstuff]

9 de junio de 478 A.C. Cartago.

Al gruñido lo acompaña el agua de mar que se le ha metido en la boca. El agua sale y el aire entra como una bocanada necesaria después de ser sumergido por sorpresa.

— Andros A. Horne, Laurel Cinnamon y Reed Book en No me digas que la violencia no resuelve nada — @atimeodyssey

[lets-chandrix]

Y ahí cantan, cada uno su canción sin saber que juntos hacen más música que estando separados <3.

¡Felicidades atrasadas @lets-chandrix! <3

@atimeodyssey

[dreorcaul]

Check it out! for more Muah stuff!

[atimeodyssey]

The Tiny Awards

pt.1

[lets-chandrix]

Sala de Control, 07-01-2099 a las 14:01. Definimos al RIP como un Reloj Intertemporal de Posicionamiento que interactúa con el tiempo y espacio con el fin de abrir una puerta o agujero interdimensional que traslade al portador y a un grupo reducido con un máximo de cuatro personas —siempre que cada una de ellas lleve en la muñeca el brazalete de viaje. De lo contrario no habrá sincronización que valga para que todos los viajeros vayan al mismo punto fijado a la vez—. Estos relojes tienen tendencia a recibir daños durante las misiones y, si bien algunos son encasillados en puros raspones que levantan la pintura cuyo arreglo no supera los quince minutos de trabajo, otros suponen un trabajo de horas o días que, en el peor de los casos, son enviados a reutilización para que hagan uno de nuevo a partir del cúmulo de piezas aprovechables.

El último RIP a arreglar ha sido revisado y vuelto a revisar minuciosamente antes de probarlo en un ambiente controlado. La programación del viaje es de treinta minutos atrás, la duración estimada no llega al minuto, el viajero está capacitado para colgar una pegatina de color verde en el pizarrón colocado a nuestra derecha para determinar el éxito en la misión antes de volver al mismo punto, después del salto.

Iniciando traslado en tres, dos, uno…

Oficinas Administrativas, 12-12-2098 a las 13:01. Detectado cúmulo de luces brillantes que giran y giran sin cesar. Borrón de azules, negros y blancos a la vista. El estado del agente se encuentra en entredicho. Mareos y confusión confluyen sobre el mismo cuerpo. Gravedad deformada, movimiento de pies descontrolado, resbalón inminente.

—Auch. —La espalda encuentra el suelo después de que el pie patinase hacia atrás, elevándose de manera que se quede estirado en perpendicular. Movimiento de objeto no identificado a las nueve, ordenador. La silla corrediza se tira hacia atrás, se aleja de la mesa y cae con estrépito. Tintineo a nuestras tres. Aviso del RIP rodando, escapándose de la mano. Aviso del RIP rodando. Petición de que el mundo se detenga y deje de rodar, ordenador. Petición denegada. Ubicación, ordenador.

—Andros A. Horne

[lets-chandrix]

Aún nos quedan muchas y muchas aventuras por rolear entre estos dos <3​

Tarde pero aquí, deseando un bonito cumpleaños @lets-chandrix <3

@atimeodyssey

[faegoddessog]

19: Kindred spirit

Ok loves, I've decided to try something to stretch myself creatively with this challenge. I'm gonna dribble my drabble and see if I can tie each theme into an actual story that I'll write day by day! We'll see how it goes! Wish me luck!

Here is my ongoing masterlist of this project.

My other works are here if you are interested!

Check out the fun challenge here by @slowsweetlove . Feel free to jump in too!

19: Kindred spirit 

“I’m sorry Cal, I’m shit with my phone, you know that,” Austin is turning a little red. “It doesn’t mean I don’t think or care about you. I’m just…”

“I know man, I just miss you is all,” Callum’s voice softens and he squeezes Austin’s hand. 

You can’t help but like Callum, you like the way he doesn't let Austin get away with anything just because he’s gorgeous. Callum is pretty too, taller than Austin, dark hair and wide shoulders. 

As you witness their conversation, it doesn’t take you long to realize that Callum is flirting with Austin, though you aren’t sure that Austin realizes it. It’s the tone of voice, the sparkle in his eye  and the way he manages to touch him so frequently.

Midway through the meal, Austin excuses himself to use the bathroom. 

“So, what is going on between you and Austin?” Callum good-naturedly cuts to the chase. 

“So far mind-altering sex,” you figure you might as well be honest, considering what you hope to cook up. “It may be more. It’s too soon to tell. Though I might ask the same about you two,” you point at him with a little smirk.

“Yeah well….” he doesn’t deny it. 

“Have you guys?” you ask pointedly, there isn’t time to beat around the bush. 

“Oh, he and I? Nah, not yet anyway. I’m not usually into guys, but he hits different. I don’t want to date him or anything… I just want to…” Callum raises an eyebrow suggestively, “see.” 

It is this moment that you realize that Callum is a kindred spirit, at least where Austin is concerned. 

“Austin isn’t just any guy, and something tells me he might just be ready to, uh, ‘see’ as well.  Wanna come to my place tonight? Find out just how into it he could be?” you ask boldly. 

“Yes,” he says immediately, “I assume you’ll be involved as well?” 

“I’d like to be,” it’s your place after all, “if you are willing.”

“Done,” he says with a smile. “Wow, did we just set up a threesome like that?” he snaps his fingers. 

“I hope so, let’s surprise Austin with it tonight,” you say conspiratorially. 

“Yeah,” he eyes flick up behind you and his chin flicks up. 

Seconds later Austin’s warm hand is on your back. 

“You two getting along?” Austin asks, sitting next to you.

“I’ll say,” says Cal, winking. Damn he was a flirt.

“Yeah, I’d keep him if I were you, Austin,” you say, rubbing his knee as he sits down next to you.

“I see why you like her, Aus,” Cal’s eyes sparkle.

“Yeah, she’s special,” he looks sidelong at you, his little dimple appearing as he smiles. 

Little did you know that Austin had talked to Callum that morning. He had absolutely picked up on your innuendo, he’d seen the look in your eye when you had seen Callum on the screen. He wasn’t sure how he’d pull it off,  but he figured he’d leave you two together and see if you at least got along. 

He didn’t realize you would take the bull by the horns. 

credit to @saradika for the graphic!

Always tag me: @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight

"I've been tagged by you before Lumiere!": @thisworldisntrealhoney,  @1nho,  @megangovier, @briaandthephantoms, @andro-inherdreamworld @callumsgirl @blombardo  @fefeisastar @hacunamy @nestito702 @denised916 @jayydep @r0m4nitcl0v3r @heyidc03, @secondchild-2, @flander42 @natural-born-rebel-spirit @lecosymood @kathrynzaragoza @bsunshinexo @jayydep @ifyouloveweedletsgosmoke

[efpizza]

No one asked or wanted this, but I made it anyway

Flement Brax is the 3rd son of Andros Brax and current heir to Hornvale. When Tyrion meets him his armor is described as;

"Silver armor inlaid with amethysts and a striped purple-and-silver cloak. His horsehead helmet has a spiral horn two feet long, and his shield displays the unicorn of House Brax"

The mental image of the frankly ridiculous horsehead helmet with a unicorn-horn meant i HAD to draw it

[hoodiehydra]

*checks tumblr*

*throws a brick with a note on it*

READ:

new fnf andros concept readitreaditreadit-

(unedited)

tw death mention

Context: the andros are more solemn than usual, wonder why... (also let's pretend Ayana is from a different city or country and she's back in a week)

"Guys!" The loud yelling and the small tapping of shoe soles hitting the floor could be heard.

Oh, right- Ayana was back in town.

Temporarily, of course, but enough to annoy the Andromedas in the best ways possible.

Though... speaking of the Andromedas...

"Hey." Aldryx greeted, halfway through with his assigned chores in the kitchen, which may or may not have been Agoti's job. The younger brother was in his room, deep set in his video game to even acknowledge anybody's presence, frustrated screaming at a screen would be the only thing that could fill the hallways at 9 in the morning on a random Sunday.

"Agoti's in his room, I assume you're here to find him?" Aldryx stood up straight now, wringing the handkerchief over the kitchen sink.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Speaking of which— where's Tabi? I don't hear his screams anywhere," the girl glanced around the room curiously, and indeed, the goat man wasn't anywhere to be found.

"Tabi? Ayana, you haven't heard-"

"Tabi?!" Agoti peeked out from his room, video controller in his hand.

Confusion was etched on Ayana's face, shocked by how Agoti could have had such a sudden reaction to his best friend's name. She assumed it was a prank at first, but registering the genuine glint of sadness and guilt in Agoti's eyes did indicate that this was not a prank in the slightest.

"Yeah, Tabi. You know, goat guy with horns, blue hoodie, your best friend?" Shooting Agoti a targeted glare, clearly irritated by how he had seemed to forgotten about his dear friend.

Something was wrong, clearly.

“I saw him. This morning. He asked me where you were and the usual things. What’s the matter?”

The question made the siblings freeze, seemingly unable to register the pure shock and horror from that. She didn’t know, did she?

“Ayana… that’s impossible.” Aldryx frowned, his mind whizzing with questions of pure disbelief.

“What? What’s impossible?”

Now everyone’s confused. Worried. Hell, terrified.

“Meeting Tabi. Ayana, um, there’s no exact way to say the news easily—”

“He went against the blue midget, the building he was in? Exploded.” Agoti cut his brother off, clearly ready to share a little more than his sibling, but not enough to clear Ayana’s confusion and doubts.

“Exploded? How? Wait, but he seemed fine when I saw him,” the questions only got worse. How recent was the event, even? Why and how, and where… what?

“It happened just a few weeks ago. There’s no way it’s him if he’s uninjured.”

Great. Now a new emotion added to the mix just from what Agoti just said. Fear.

“You’re forgetting something. Even if he was injured, there’s still no way that the Tabi you saw was the Tabi we know.”

And now suspense. Lovely. Frustration boiled in Ayana’s blood, horror supporting her bones and clearly her patience was being pulled to just a mere thread. She wanted to scream at them for being so mysterious, so cryptic, so… not them.

“Just say it already! What the hell even happened? See, this is why I never should’ve—”

“Tabi’s dead.”

[lets-chandrix]

No sé como explicar que si pudiera darle me gusta cientos de veces o incluso miles lo haría. Tan maravilloso que me deja sin palabras.

@atimeodyssey

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls - Part 6

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2400

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

6. Defense

You twirled a smooth horn between your hands. Boromir had made it from a curved ram’s horn, drilling a hole in it and turning it into a sort of trumpet. Should the enemy approach you would blow it and alert everybody. 

You were on the lookout that evening; Boromir had divided the nights into watches and now it was your turn. You sat on a rooftop and observed the deserted plains in the growing darkness.

A few days had passed since the village prepared for war, and the dreary darkness from Mordor had finally disappeared, blown away by a fresh south-west breeze. Nothing had happened yet, and you were hoping it never would. Without the strange darkness to hide them, the orcs probably wouldn’t dare venture this far.

Even if Boromir had a plan, no plan was foolproof.

You wished you knew how the war went, but no news had reached you since you learned about the attack of Cair Andros. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something – be it good or bad. 

It made you restless and nervous.

You heard steps from below and turned to see Maja approaching you. “My mama needs you. It is time!”

You were about to climb down and fetch a replacement lookout when something else caught your attention: a group of people coming running across the southwestern plains. They were far away still, but heading to the village. 

No… not people. Orcs! You noticed their crooked swords and axes now.

The sight filled you with cool tendrils of fear. This was it. War. War was upon you!

You remembered the horn and blew it, producing a dull hoot. As you climbed down from your post, you blew and blew and blew, and from all doors around you people came out.

Boromir was among the first to reach you. He looked alert and strangely excited.

“The enemy army is here,” you told him. It came out like a terrified squeak. 

He observed the orcs briefly. “No, just a minor band, thirty or so at the most. Raiders perhaps, or deserters. With our precautions we should take them easily.” He turned to Vidar. “Take a lantern and wait for my signal over by the trench. Be sure not to drop it until every orc has crossed.”

You tried to swallow but your throat felt too narrow and too dry. Was this the last time you saw these men? Vidar… and Boromir.

You wanted to tell him to be careful but no longer trusted your voice.

“What about Mama?” Maja asked, pulling at your sleeve. “The child is coming.”

Boromir looked at her, then you. A fierce, crooked grin broke out in his face and he pressed your trembling shoulder encouragingly. “Then you deliver the child and I deal with the orcs. I will be seeing you!” 

You nodded. Deliver the baby. That you could do.

As soon as you entered Sigrid’s house you became completely calm. There was a patient needing your help and until she and the baby were safe you had no time to worry about orc attacks.

※

You could not say how much time had passed when you finally laid the wailing infant on her mother’s chest. It had not been an easy birth.

“Thank you,” Sigrid said tiredly. “Damn Torsten for putting this little monster in me and then riding off to war.” She stroked the baby’s damp head. “He thought it was a boy but I knew it would be a girl. When he returns I shall gloat at him that I won.”

Something about the way she said ‘when he returns’ made you want to cry. She did not think he would. 

But then you remembered about the orcs and your heartbeat increased. Had Boromir made it? 

You ran out. Guttural yells and clangs of steel reached you from beyond the palisade and you ran to the gate, expecting the worst. 

You were met by a spectacular sight. A burning ring surrounded the village, sending sparks and bright tongues of fire high into the air. Within the ring lay a litter of dark corpses in the grass, and others hung skewered on the sharp lances along the palisade. Some were still writhing in death throes; Vidar walked among them, grimly beheading anyone moving.

Boromir was chasing two last orcs on Svarten. He sat tall and formidable, driving them before him like Béma the Hunter himself. His face was streaked with soot and his hands covered in black blood.

This was his right element, here in the midst of battle, bravely protecting people.

You had never admired him more.

Desperate to evade the menacing pursuer, the orcs leaped through the fire, but the burning tar stuck on their boots and turned them into living torches.

Svarten easily jumped over the trench and followed them. Two neat sword slashes later and the orcs fell to the ground in reeking piles.

It was over.

※

Other villagers had joined you at the gate, now a loud cheer broke out. He had made it! The village had withstood the attack!

Boromir dismounted. Standing there tall, proud, victorious. Beautiful.

“After tonight, I will no longer call you ‘Främling’,” said Vidar. “You are no stranger to us anymore. Hence, since you still do not remember your name, I say we name you ‘Hjälte’! For, you are a true hero, and we are blessed to have you among us.”

His words were met by an even louder cheer and Boromir graciously bowed. “It was the least I could do after you took me in so generously.”

Everyone then helped put out the fire with buckets of sand and refill the trench with tar in case of new attacks. Like Boromir had said, this had only been a small band. They could be forerunners or scouts from a larger army.

Afterwards, you walked home beside Boromir almost shyly. For the first time, you had seen warrior-him in action. You wanted to hug him and tell him how glad you were that he had survived, but felt too intimidated.

“Thank you for saving us,” you said instead. “The ring of flames was fantastic.”

“It worked better than I had dared hope,” he said proudly. “I got the idea from a place called Moria where I once saw orcs hesitate before a burning chasm. Not one of my best memories, but this time it was helpful.” 

Back in the house, you noticed red blood in the water when he cleaned his hands. 

“You are hurt,” you said worriedly.

“A mere nick.”

“Let me treat it. There could be poison on their weapons this time also.”

Like the other day, your concern seemed to amuse him, but he obediently sat at the table and held out his hand.

You sat next to him, putting a generous amount of ointment on the cut and binding it neatly.

Still with his hand in yours, you looked at his beautiful face. You could not express your gratitude with words. He saved you; all of you. Maja and her mother, the newborn baby, Vidar, little Kalle, everyone had him to thank for their life.

This handsome, kind, generous man was truly a gift to your people. To you. You had never met anyone like him.

You admired him so much. Held him in such high regard… no. More than that.

You loved him.

Part of what you felt must have shown in your eyes, for Boromir gently eased his hand from yours and rose. “We must get some rest.” But instead of stretching out on the bed, he leaned back in your comfortable chair. 

At your surprised look, he explained: “Long have I been imposing on your hospitality. You should have your bed to yourself.“

“I do not mind sharing,” you said earnestly, feeling a lump in your throat. He was pushing you away. Creating a distance.

“You already did so much for me,” he said seriously. “I never even thanked you for saving my life. Twice. First you healed me, and then your faith in me and stubbornness hindered me from taking the cowardly way out. This way is better; I can do some good now. And for that, you shall always have my heartfelt gratitude.”

His words shook you to the core. This way is better. 

Did he mean to die in battle?

Now you saw the scene earlier in a new light. Boromir’s excitement before the fight; his heroic charge against over thirty orcs. It was not courage. It was the fearlessness of one who had nothing to lose. 

Was he still choosing the cowardly way out, but disguising it as bravery?

You did not say anything of what you were thinking. Instead you tried to hide your dismay and make your voice steady. “I am a healer; it is what I do. Think nothing of it.” 

You went to bed, ignoring how large and empty it felt, and exhausted after the long night’s events you fell asleep almost immediately.

※

The next morning, Boromir, Vidar and you went out to gather the orc carcasses, piling them up and setting them on fire. While you were working, a group of riders approached from the same direction the orcs had come. They were Rohirrim!

As they came closer, you felt your heart soar with relief. It was people from your village, as well as the neighboring ones. Jan, Ragnar, Karl, Torsten, all the rest of them. They had survived! Did that mean the war was over?

“Welcome back!” Vidar waved excitedly. 

The men looked weary, but relieved when they saw your pyre. “Béma be blessed. We were worried we would find naught but smoking embers like in so many other villages. We have been tracking these orcs for days and found only ruins and homeless refugees in their wake – until now. How did you defeat them?”

You proudly indicated Boromir. “We had help.”

Torsten cut in: “Why, if it is not Lord Främling! You look well. I am glad you made it.”

“He is Lord Hjälte now,” said Vidar.

"Congratulations on becoming a father again, Torsten,” you said.

“The child is born? And everything went well?” He leaped off the horse in a smooth jump. “I have to go see them at once. Was it a son? No, say nothing, I know it was. I have a talent for guessing these things.”

You smiled smugly as he hurried off.

Meanwhile the other riders filled you in with news from the war, at long last. A lot had happened. Théoden King and his riders found their way to Gondor blocked by the orcs at Cair Andros just as Boromir had feared, but got unexpected aid by a people who dwelled in the mountains and took them on a shortcut to Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor, just in time to save the day and help defeating Sauron’s enormous host. 

They then described the battle in detail, encouraged by a barrage of questions from Boromir. 

There had been many losses and injuries. Théoden King was dead, and his niece Éowyn, who unexpectedly joined the army, was badly hurt. Her brother Éomer would become the new King of Rohan. 

Another man who died was Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. Boromir’s father. 

“Poor old fellow; they say he lost his mind and burned himself alive, broken with grief after what happened to his sons,” said Ragnar, unaware that one of them was standing right in front of him. “The eldest was killed in battle in the north prior to the war, you see.”

Boromir did not betray any emotions at the news, but you saw his fists clench and his whole stance become rigid. 

You wished you could hug him. What a gruesome way for a man to die!

“And the youngest?” His gaze was intent.

“Hurt in battle, but Lord Aragorn healed him. He is greatly improved; they say he will survive.”

Boromir grew visibly less tense. “And what now? You said this mysterious heir to the throne has appeared, this Lord Aragorn. What are his plans? The Dark Lord lives, and although he lost a battle, he will return with renewed force soon enough.”

Ragnar shifted uneasily. “Lord Aragorn is on his way to Mordor. It is a ruse, and he does not expect to survive, but…” He lowered his voice. “There is a secret, powerful item, you see… a ring, they say, a ring of power. It was forged by Sauron a long time ago and if he can get it back he will use it to usurp the entire world. But a brave young halfling is on a secret mission to cast the ring into the fires where it was once wrought. A halfling is–”

“I know what a halfling is.” Boromir had grown very pale.

“Oh. Well, so Lord Aragorn has decided to make this decoy attack to distract the enemy, hence increasing the chances for the halfling to succeed. I know, it sounds impossible, but Aragorn believes it might work, and nearly everyone is following him there.”

“But not you?”

He blushed hotly. “He sent us to free Cair Andros. Us and some others…”

“We were afraid and did not want to die,” Karl cut in. “We have families waiting for us. He saw that and released us. A good man, he is. And a great king, if he survives.”

“We bested the army at Cair Andros,” said Ragnar. “This group we were tracing were the last survivors.”

After exchanging a few more words the men left you, eager to go see their families now that their task was finally over. 

Boromir left too, with a curt “I shall take a walk” that made it clear he did not want company.

You looked long after him.

※

That night Boromir moved out of your house. He said he was no longer a patient, and did not want to impose on your hospitality. Therefore he had arranged with Vidar to sleep in his spare room.

Your stomach grew tight; you knew what this was about. He wanted to keep a distance from you, and you were fairly sure it was because he suspected you had feelings for him.

“I am happy for Vidar’s sake,” you said, smiling forcedly. “He has been lonely since his wife passed away.”

“Goodnight then.” He bowed and left.

”Goodnight.”

You went to lie in your empty bed. And then you cried.

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

I think Imrahil and Denethor's relationship is fascinatingly terrible. Genuine hatred from Imrahil met with just utter contempt from Denethor. Denethor mistrusts Faramir, but allocates him significant military forces and does not feel the need to tell him how to do his job. Faramir is given his objectives, and expected to figure out for himself how to achieve them. Denethor does not micromanage him.

Imrahil on the other hand gets no rope at all. A blast of the horn to charge, another blast to retreat, no room for interpretation. It's almost insulting, Imrahil is a great lord in his own right and a well-respected commander, yet Denethor treats him like a foolish subordinate. Previously at council Imrahil's concerns over holding Cair Andros are just swept aside by Denethor. Faramir also ignores him and makes his own entirely separate complaint. The utter disrespect!

Imrahil immediately jumps on Aragorn's bandwagon, and is only more firm with this once he finds Denethor is dead. I don't think he likes Faramir either. Pushing Aragorn to proclaim himself king without consulting Faramir first doesn’t suggest much love between them to me.

Obviously the ghost of Finduilas is haunting all of this, even if it wasn't Denethor's fault, she left Dol Amroth for his sake and that killed her, but I don't think Denethor and Imrahil were ever friends even before that.