#anduin you poor thing

[wolfoflyngvi]

all five stages of grief are condensed into this voice line

"There will be peace, one day. At least I think there will. How many WoW expansions are left again? Oh? Oh! Oh… Well… well, then."

[hottpinkpenguin]

Knees - Boromir X Fem!Reader

Oneshot, word count: 3,167 Summary: You've tried to keep your feelings for Gondor's favored captain a secret, and done a damn good job. Until now. Warnings: angst, fluff, heavy steam, implied oral sex A/n: the poem in this oneshot borrows heavily from the lyrics of 'Old Gods' by Emily Scott Robinson (highly recommend her music if you enjoy Nanci Griffith, James Taylor, or Joni Mitchell)

Boromir could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. The din of the crowd milling around the Tower Hall was grating on his last nerve. His father had insisted on an extravagant banquet to celebrate his recent successes as the High Warden of the White Tower, but Boromir would have preferred to rest and spend the evening strolling through the streets of Gondor unbothered. Eager to get away from the crowd, Boromir strode out of the busy throne room onto the south facing balcony.

The night air was warm and smelled of jasmine. Boromir took a deep inhale, leaning his hands on the rail of the balcony and gazing out over the Pelennor Fields, the expanse of grassland that stretched out from Minas Tirith’s feet towards the banks of the Anduin. Boromir strained his eyes against the dim twilight; he thought he could make out the parapets of Osgiliath, Gondor’s first capital, now little more than a ruined river crossing. Faramir was there, as commander of the city’s garrison. Boromir had ordered his brother to oversee repairs to the old city to prepare for the coming battle. Beyond the dark smudge of Osgiliath’s long-vacant towers, an ominous blackness loomed over the land of Mordor. His thoughts turned bleak as he wondered what was stirring behind the mountains in that black land. Scouts reports had confirmed that orcs were-

Boromir jumped at the tinny clang of something metal hitting the stone floor in a darkened corner of the balcony. Instinctually, Boromir’s right hand grasped at the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it in barely more than a breath. He crouched into a warrior’s pose, his sword held out in front of him and his features steely as he looked for the source of the noise.

The quickness of his movements startled you almost as much as your clumsiness had startled him. You were glad for the darkness as you felt your face flush with embarrassment at your discovery. You hadn’t expected the High Captain of Gondor to skip out on his own banquet; in fact, you’d been counting on having the balcony all to yourself, so you’d be able to write in peace. There certainly wouldn’t be anymore of that, now that the small candelabra you’d been using for light was in two pieces on the stone floor. 

You leapt to your feet, muttering apologies and trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. You’d never been so close to Boromir before, and certainly not alone in the dark. Your mouth went dry at the realization. 

As one of the Steward’s personal scribes, you’d spent most of your life in the Tower Hall of Minas Tirith. On occasion, your work brought you into close contact with both of Denethor’s sons. Faramir was something of a friend to you, despite the difference in your stations. You both shared a love of the written word and his quiet temperament mirrored yours, making you fast friends. But it was Faramir’s older brother, the handsome and lordly High Warden, that made you go weak in the knees. It had been that way since you’d been old enough to notice such things.

You’d always admired him from a distance and kept your desires to yourself, confiding your feelings only in the pages of your journals. Nothing would come of your infatuation, you knew; Boromir was next in line for the Steward’s role, which was the closest thing Gondor had to a king. His title required him to wed someone of noble birth, and you knew his father would have nothing but the best for his favorite son. While your family was not poor and your duties as a scribe were a great source of pride to them, you did not have the aristocratic heritage needed to be a worthy match for the High Warden. And even if you did, he’s never looked twice at you, a harsh inner voice reminded you, causing your fragile heart to crumple at the reminder.

“Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t wish to disturb you.” Your voice sounded small and pathetic, and you felt your cheeks blaze with renewed embarrassment. 

Boromir relaxed at the sound of your voice, dropping his sword and chuckling softly. 

“You shouldn’t make a habit of startling armed men, you know,” Boromir chided you gently as he bent to pick up the fragments of the broken candelabra at your feet. He was so close that you could see the seams on his blue brocade tunic. When he stood, the candelabra in his hands, he stood almost a half foot taller than you. If you’d been bold enough to hold his gaze, you would have been forced to incline your chin up at him. But you kept your eyes fixed intently on the gray stone floor, hoping he couldn’t hear the erratic thudding of your heart in your chest. He was so close you swore you could feel the faint tickle of his breath on your temple. Your skin erupted in flames where his breath danced over it.

“I’ll make a note of that, my Lord,” you stammered in reply, barely able to keep your voice from breaking. 

“Please, Y/N, how long have you known me? Dispense with the ‘my Lord’ nonsense, I beg you. I’ve heard enough of that tonight.” The sound of your name in his voice sent a thrill running up your spine. You hadn’t realized that Boromir knew you apart from the dozens of other faces he saw on a daily basis around the halls of the Steward’s quarters. That fact, coupled with the High Warden’s closeness, scattered your thoughts like marbles on a smooth floor until you didn’t trust yourself not to press yourself against him, twine your fingers in his hair, press your lips to his, run your hands along the planes of his stomach, pant his name until you were breathless, grab his-

You audibly let out a small, breathless gasp as you tore yourself away and bid your feet to run. You knew that if you stayed that close to him for one more second you would do something irreparable and shameful. All you heard as you left, practically sprinting away into the relative safety of the well-lit throne room, was the blood pounding in your head. It drowned out the sound of the night breeze, the sounds of the party, and the sound of Boromir calling after you…

**********

Boromir watched as y/n scurried away like a frightened animal into the banquet room once again. He must have misread the signals, must have misinterpreted the tension in the air between them. Boromir wasn’t used to being rebuffed in his advances; most people were swayed by his easy charm, his skill with a sword, and his title at the very least. But y/n seemed immune to him, always preferring the quiet company of Faramir. Feeling frustrated and embarrassed, he called out after y/n, but his voice was swallowed up by the sounds of merriment in the throne room. 

“You damn fool,” Boromir cursed to himself as he ran a regretful hand through his hair. He tossed away the broken pieces of y/n’s candelabra, anger at his misstep boiling in his chest as he made to stride off. It was then that he saw it, resting precariously on the balcony’s railing. A small, leather-bound journal. 

Boromir hadn’t noticed it earlier, although he recognized it instantly. Y/n always carried such a journal. Aside from Faramir, it was y/n’s most steadfast companion. 

Boromir froze, eyeing the diary, a conflict raging within him. He knew that whatever contents the journal held were private and to open it constituted a violation of honor. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. But, on the other hand, Boromir had always longed for a peak into y/n’s mind. For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Boromir knew that there was beauty there, if only he could access it. 

He hesitated for only a moment, casting a wary glance back towards the banquet hall. If y/n saw him, Boromir’s far-flung hopes would be dashed forever. No one was looking, and y/n had disappeared into the crowd. It was now or never.

Like a man dying of thirst, Boromir grabbed the journal greedily and cracked it open, his eyes roving the pages and drinking in the words. It was a journal, but so much more. There were smatterings of poetry: some of it original, Boromir deduced, but some of it copied down from y/n’s work in Minas Tirith’s library. Every so often, Boromir found a sketch. Most of it was of Minas Tirith, drawn from the vantage point of the mountains that rose up behind the city. A few horses, children, nondescript landscapes. They were beautiful renderings, detailed and delicate in the linework, incredibly lifelike. 

He continued to flip through the journal. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but in his eagerness to scour the entirety of the book he found he couldn’t focus on any one page for longer than a moment. 

Not until he found his own likeness staring out of the page up at him. 

Boromir recognized himself in y/n’s drawing immediately, although the pen-and-ink Boromir seemed finer somehow. Boromir’s heart pirouetted in his chest as he drank in the drawing, trying to decipher where it was that y/n’s drawing deviated from reality. Y/n had captured the line of his jaw perfectly, even the small scar above his right eyebrow. His hair was rough and unkempt looking, as if he’d just returned from a horseback ride, and he wore his simple fighting leathers. The eyes and lips were a perfect mirror to his own, but still there was something about the drawing… 

His eyes slid down the page to where, at the very bottom of the drawing, he saw a single line of small, impeccably neat handwriting:

A King in a long line of Stewards

Boromir felt the breath hitch in his throat. The sentiment was simple but beautiful, and it touched something very deep inside him. 

The feverish hunger to devour the journal’s contents in a single gulp from moments before slowed and dwindled to something much more tender. Boromir flipped the page slowly, the same neat handwriting covering the backside of the sheaf of paper where his portrait was drawn.

You must be a trick of the memory that the old gods are playing on me,

You travel with my love over plains, mountains and seas.

Your blue eyes are there when I close mine, 

Your voice chases me while I dream,

My heart cries out in the darkness for you,

The roots of the world shake with its scream. 

I’ll drown in this desire and choke on this need,

Say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees.

Boromir read the lines more times than he could count, luxuriating in the words until he could hardly breathe. He knew y/n’s words when he heard them, although he’d never heard anything close to this. Never dared to hope that anything approximating this was in y/n’s heart. His mind danced with a misty light, his heart suffused with warmth. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, using the fading light of the banquet inside to read the lines over and over again until he had them memorized. 

At some point he surfaced from his reverie, his heart beating erratically against his ribs. He stood up from where he’d sat against the railing, smoothing the front of his tunic and the sides of his hair. With a final inhale, he strode off purposefully, weaving through the thinning crowd of Gondor’s nobility, ignoring their greetings. He didn’t hesitate until he found himself standing in front of y/n’s door. Shakily, unsure of what he was about to say, he knocked twice. 

**********

You heard two soft knocks at your door. You glanced at the moon outside, surprised that anyone would pay you a visit this late. It was nearing midnight, you guessed. There was a fluttery feeling in your chest coupled with a pit in your stomach that you hadn’t been able to soothe with either tea or a warm bath. You felt as if you were losing your mind by inches. You’d spent your entire life, more or less, in Boromir’s home and you’d crossed his path hundreds of times before. Why now were you suddenly undone like a smitten child? Your feelings for him weren’t new, so why were you abruptly unable to control them?

You tried to push those thoughts from your mind as you crossed your chamber and unlatched your door. You suspected it would be Teithand, the master scribe. On rare occasions he gave you a special assignment and made a habit of visiting your private chambers to discuss the details of these duties at all hours of the day or night. 

But the figure darkening your doorway wasn’t dressed in the long, cream robes of a scribe, but instead in the formalwear of Gondorian nobility. 

Boromir smiled at you, and the sight of him, leaning casually against your door frame and close to you set your heart ablaze again. The thoughts you’d tenuously strung together shattered and your breath hitched in your throat. 

When you saw the small journal clutched in the High Warden’s hands, however, your stomach fell into your feet. Horror and something deeper than shame consumed you in an instant. 

You hardly had time to process what was happening before Boromir stepped into your chamber confidently. He tossed your journal onto the bed behind you, his now empty hands coming to the small of your back and the side of your face as he caught your lips with his.

You froze. You’d lost all semblance of coherent thought. The whiplash of emotions had left you feeling terrified. Thankfully, your body reacted faster than either your head or your heart. 

As if you’d done it a thousand times before, your lips moved in sync with Boromir’s and your hands tangled in the thick strands of his auburn hair. You gave yourself over to instinct as your mind dissolved under the pressure of his lips. His breath washed over you - warm and ragged - as the two of you pressed your bodies against each other, eager to melt together in the quiet dark of your chamber. His hands roamed over you, tentatively at first, but faster and firmer as you responded to his touch with neediness. You heard a small, desperate groan escape from the back of his throat; the sound of it almost sent you catapulting over the edge of the logic. 

You caught yourself in the instant before you lost all control of yourself, breaking the kiss and pulling back just enough to catch his eyes. 

“Boromir, what is thi-”

“I’m yours,” he whispered back, cutting you off with his words followed by another kiss. This time his lips refused to stay contained to yours. He tipped your head back, exposing your neck to him as his mouth moved along its length. The places where his lips connected with your skin burned like a brand. You felt a heat building deep inside your core. 

“I’m yours, Y/N” he said again. This time it was him who had the sense to pull away. You were panting, and you would have been self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that he too was on the verge of gasping. His hands came to either side of your face, framing them as his eyes bored into yours. 

“Aren’t you…” Boromir’s question died on his lips, replaced by an impish grin. He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes moving between your face and the ground beneath your feet. Between the confusion starting to coalesce in your head (what the hell is going on? the rational part of you screamed) and your body alight with desire, you didn’t have enough wherewithal to decipher his meaning. 

“Aren’t I what?” you asked dumbly. A sliver of anxiety spliced its way into your chest… maybe what you were seeing in Boromir’s eyes was just the neediness of a lord looking at someone he knew was game for a tumble in bed, and not the mirror image of your satisfaction at the fulfillment of a long-denied devotion. 

“Going to fall to your knees,” Boromir replied, placing a soft, gentle kiss on your lips. It was almost a question, as if he were asking you. The brazenness of his request startled you, but the heat in your core blazed in response. There was also something familiar about his words…

“In your journal… you wrote, ‘say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees’… I’ve said it twice now, and yet here you stand.” He chuckled softly, his lips dancing along your jaw and over your cheeks as you tried to catch up to his meaning. 

Then, like a clap of thunder, it clicked. The poem. You’d written it over a year ago, the night after Boromir had left Minas Tirith with a garrison of Gondor’s guards to ride to an outpost at the southern border. You’d almost forgotten your words - you’d written so many of them, all of them for him. 

You let you a small laugh in surprise and a hint of embarrassment.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it was rude to read another’s writings, my Lord?” You emphasized the last two words, shooting him a wicked smile as you made good on your written promise and sank to your knees in front of him. Your fingers went to work on the lacing of his trousers, the urgency of the moment rekindling between you. Boromir caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to catch his gaze. He looked breathtaking, standing over you. A King in a long line of Stewards, you thought as you drank in the sight of him. 

“Call me Boromir,” he said simply. “I won’t have you calling me ‘my Lord’ for the rest of our days together.” His tone was casual, but you could hear the intention of his words. You hesitated only momentarily before returning to the task at hand. You broke into a smile, wide and triumphant, and although your attention was focused elsewhere, Boromir’s expression matched yours exactly…

[thelordofgifs]

hmm ok it’s come to my attention that I should probably give you all a crash course in who Eldacar actually WAS. buckle up! this is my favourite story from the LoTR appendices.

So! The year is Third Age 1250. Rómendacil of Gondor is the regent for his uncle (and later also for his father) the king, who is an indolent and altogether useless guy. Rómendacil’s main concern is the land of Rhovanion, to the North of Gondor, where he has recently fought off an invasion of Easterlings with the help of this guy Vidugavia who now calls himself the King of Rhovanion and rules the people known as the Northmen. Cool cool cool, thinks Rómendacil, who obviously has a lot on his plate with his useless uncle whose country he’s running. So he sends his son Valacar north as an ambassador to Rhovanion, to serve in their army, learn their culture and all-around strengthen the alliance.

Valacar misunderstands the assignment and falls in love with Vidugavia’s daughter, Vidumavi.

Now the Northmen are all very good as allies, but this simply won’t do! After all, Valacar is a high-blooded Númenorean, with a long long lifespan and all the other gifts that come with being one of the Men of the West, and Vidumavi, although fair and noble, is just of lesser race. The people of Gondor are not impressed. (The people of Gondor are racist.) And Valacar has even had a son with Vidumavi! His name is Vinitharya in the language of the Northmen, but when Valacar brings his little family back to Osgiliath (then Gondor’s capital city) five years later, he gives his son the Quenya name Eldacar instead. If he was hoping that would quell the mutterings, it doesn’t. The racists of Gondor are not pleased that the heir to the throne is of “lesser race” and complain a lot that he won’t live as long as his father.

A lot of time passes. Rómendacil becomes King and dies, Vidumavi dies (at a very advanced age), Valacar becomes King and eventually dies. Eldacar becomes King aged 177 and the unrest almost immediately breaks out into full-scale rebellion and the civil war called the Kin-strife – especially in the coastal south of Gondor, and the harbour cities of Umbar and Pelargir.

Eventually Eldacar’s second cousin Castamir, who is the Captain of Ships of Gondor and also The Worst, decides to seize the throne from Eldacar, an event known as the Usurpation of Castamir. He besieges Eldacar in Osgiliath and sacks the city, leading to (among other things) the destruction of the great hall called the Dome of Stars and the loss in the River Anduin of the palantír of Osgiliath, which was the greatest of the seven seeing-stones brought by Elendil from Númenor. Thanks, Castamir! Anyway Eldacar fights valiantly (Eldacar is very valiant. the texts says so explicitly I’m not just saying this because he’s my blorbo) but Castamir manages to force him out of Osgiliath and claim the throne for himself. Eldacar flees north to Rhovanion, but Castamir has captured Eldacar’s eldest son Ornendil and cruelly puts him to death which is :( really sad :(

Anyway turns out that backfires on Castamir because the people of Gondor quickly realise what we already know, i.e. that Castamir is The Worst. They aren’t fans of the unnecessarily brutal sack of Osgiliath and the execution of poor Ornendil. Castamir is obsessed with ships and fleets and whatnot and does a generally poor job of ruling. Also he wants to move the seat of the King from Osgiliath to Pelargir, a proposal nobody in the north of Gondor likes.

Ten years later! Our bestest boy Eldacar has not been idle. He puts together an alliance with his mother’s kinsfolk in Rhovanion and also the people in the north of Gondor who hate Castamir, marches back to Gondor with a huge army, has a giant battle, and personally kills Castamir to avenge his son which is so fucking cool.

Anyway the tone of the narrative in the appendices then takes a slightly weird turn by noting that much of the “best blood” of Gondor was lost in that battle and had to be “replenished” with “lesser Men” from Rhovanion to which I say: good. They sound like they had their heads screwed on more tightly than the idiots always mooning over Númenor and Númenor’s gifts and Númenor’s glory like. your place DROWNED over a THOUSAND YEARS AGO. get over yourselves. Anyway.

The Kin-strife has huge consequences for the history of Gondor as a whole – Castamir’s sons survived and established a lordship of their own at Umbar, which remained at intermittent war with Gondor literally until the time of Aragorn 1500 years later. But Eldacar’s story has a happy-ish ending! He lived to be 235, proving that all the racists did not in fact have any idea what they were talking about. As you’d expect, for racists. Eventually he was succeeded as King by his younger son, Aldamir.

The end! Go and have a read of the LoTR appendices seriously. They’re imo a lot more accessible than the silm in writing style, and really really interesting! And for the love of everything holy vote Eldacar on June 1st please and thank you :)

[bobfloydsbabe]

Helena.......my lovely, dearest, darling Helena, I can't thank you enough for putting up with me in such a short amount of time. I know I send in an ask once a day, but as always, thank you for letting me do so, you, Becca and so many others are the absolute best!!!

I was still thinking about Teacher!Bob x Teacher!Reader doing that joint literary history class on the Vikings and about the poor cat at home having a few sticky notes stuck to her (lol). I'd imagine too that both you and Bob are really big on the immersive learning with your students so when you do read from the Sagas, Beowulf or even from the ones from Finland, Bob will set up one of those little electric campfires that has flickering lights, make the room dark enough for the campfire and absolutely loves it when the snow is falling outside.

Bob's also very big on the visual learning so with the chalkboard in the classroom, he'll do these really impressive chalkboard drawings alongside the notes of the day. He even brings in the old, battered books which your students love the smell of (he swore it got one of the students to quit sniffing Sharpies all day long, lol).

*BONUS*

I did put it in the reblog last night, but I imagine that when the school signs up for the trips abroad to Europe, you, Bob and the other teachers get to take the kids to Norway, Sweden and Denmark. One of Bob's bucket list places was in Norway and is known as "The Troll's Tongue". I'm not sure if you've ever been but it's near Odda and it's in the middle of this giant fjord (I swear to God this place was the inspiration for Anduin in Lord of the Rings) and it's a long, flat topped rock structure on the cliff that juts out over the river and is about 2,000 ft off the ground. Needless to say, you loved it because Bob was there with you, but damn if those heights didn't freak you out (lol).

Okay, I love this so much!!! My ability to string together a coherent sentence is questionable right now (it's after midnight lol), so forgive me if I don't make a lot of sense.

I believe in Bob is a cat person supremacy. It's a black cat that was the runt of the litter and she runs around the house with bright pink post-its attached to her fur. You and Bob set up camp in the library with hot coffee, blankets, the cat, books, the electric fire while wind rustles the windows of your old home and snow falls like blanket on the ground. He's so ridiculously in love with you, and every time he thinks he can't love you more, he looks at you and feels his heart swell. And yes, you do get down and dirty in that home library. I'm not saying your first kid was conceived there, but...

I have not actually heard of Trolltunga, but I looked it up and damn if it isn't the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen. It looks incredible. You and Bob encourage the kids to explore while staying safe, and he sees you with the students and knows he's found the one. He holds your hand, kisses your cheek and even sneaks one to your lips, but the kids catch you start singing the song about kissing in a tree. It's cute and you laugh. His cheeks go red from the cold and you make sure to pull his woolen hat down over his ears to protect them.

I just love this AU so much, and while it's not something I'll write, I do adore talking about it. I have my work cut out for me enough with librarian!Bob and eccentric professor!Bob.

[tornsurvivors]

"That's enough, Greymane."

The silence that followed was so deafening and Jaina did NOT flinch. Nor did she bat an eye as she watched Genn's face go through all different kinds of emotion within ten seconds. Shock, then disgust... anger and betrayal. Rage. Ah yes, good old Rage. An emotion Jaina is all too familiar with, unfortunately.

But that's what she is trying to change, precisely.

Rage has done no good for any of them. For both factions. Nor has it done any good for Azeroth in whole. She learned that the hard way.

And maybe it's because Jaina was tired of standing there at every meeting -- just to hear Genn eventually place the blame for EVERY disaster that happened on Sylvanas. She was just... exhausted.

Lifting her chin, she stared back at Genn defiantly. Her voice was cool, and biting all at once as she began to speak.

"I do not blame you for being angry over the loss of your son. You have every right to be angry over losing Liam... but you are losing sight of what is important here. What about your daughter, Tess? Is she no longer that important to you? Have you really allowed your rage to consume you this much to forget about her? If you choose to continue traveling down this warpath of vengeance, there would be a possibility that you lose Tess too... to someone who is just as angry as you are, Genn."

Right then, Jaina heaved a weary sigh.

"Sylvanas is not at fault for everything that's happened up to this point. While you blame her for every atrocious crime... you forget that you are no better than her, King of Gilneas. You have murdered your share of people just as well as everyone else in this war room has. You forget you are not the only one who suffers losses. I lost an entire port town of people I loved and cared for as if they were my own family. I lost my father and older brother to the Horde. Anduin lost his father to the Legion. I could name every single loss that every person in this room had and those on the Horde side had, but that would take all day. We all have taken somebody's son or daughter away from them. Do yourself a favor and get off the Tidesdamned high horse for once and let that sink in. Do you think Sylvanas had a choice when Arthas tore her soul out? When her last bastion of privacy, the mind, was violated by a monster no better than her?"

She felt a flash of rage and disgust all just by thinking about that last thing... about the horrible things Arthas had done to Sylvanas. Not only angry at Arthas for making the choices that led him there, but also angry at herself for not trying harder to stop him at Stratholme. If she had succeeded, all those poor souls that died by his cruel hand could be still here.

"You can make the choice of moving past your anger and hatred, to work towards a better solution. You do not have to speak to her or be around her. But you cannot keep blaming Sylvanas, not when she has redeemed herself and not when she proved to us that she wants to work towards the common cause we have. It's time to let go of the past, Genn. Stop letting your grudges and anger fester within you. Be grateful you still have your daughter, and that you're still breathing. Sylvanas has done questionable things, yes... but so have we, all for an empty victory. All for another unnecessary war to destroy all that remains. It doesn't have to be that way... it's what I've been fighting for. A peace between two factions, because there are greater forces of evil that wants to wipe ALL of us out, regardless of our petty bullshit. It's time to end the cycle of senseless hatred and violence against each other, and you could be the part of that cause."

It felt as if a whole weight had been lifted off her chest, and she could breathe again. Especially as she said nothing more and walked out, left the others to ponder upon their actions and choices.

[one-winged-dreams]

SEA WASP JELLYFISH and BLOODYBELLY COMB JELLYFISH for you and Varien!

@askthelovenest

WHOOP, didn't see this

Now I feel bad because I'm forsaking my loving husband for some insane dragon jerk ;A;

ANYWAY

If you’ve ever had moments where you felt invisible/insignificant, how has your F/O helped through them? How do you help your F/O through those moments?

The Stormwind House of Nobles did NOT take very kindly to the High King of the Alliance marrying a random orphan priest for starters. It is never not a thing that they hate me lmao. Poor Genn is caught in the middle of it, too. Anyway, Varian is EXTREMELY aggressive about anyone talking smack to my face. As far as he's concerned, it's his job to make sure I don't know what bullshit is being said about me. Thankfully not only is he the High King and everyone has to listen to him, but he's a very scary man :D So I guess preventative measures???

He... Is weird about that sort of thing. It's not that he feels insignificant so much as he feels TOO significant. It's a lot of weight to carry and he's been carrying it a LONG FUCKING TIME. I think he was barely an adult when he became king of Stormwind. And how he's in his late 40s, so that's a LOT of time being king. THIS IS TURNING INTO A DISSERTATION. Anyway, Anduin and I like to remind him at the end of the day how much he means to us not as a king, but as a husband and father. He seems to like that.

Are there any outfits of your F/O’s that you find… particularly strange?

His Lo'gosh attire. If by strange you mean OBSCENELY SEXY.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Just saw the post for the LOTR MMO, I remember watching a "Is It Still Worth Playing?" video a while back, and sadly it didn't got too much into the narratives. From your endorsement, it seems the writers had fun with making new lore. Any quests or moments that stuck out as particularly cool? I admit that bit about the Orc narrative sounded interesting.

Yes even though that video was pretty positive, it actually got a few things wrong and the fellow only played a little bit so he never grasped the massive scope of the game but OH LIKE... like there are so many, I'm going to summarise ones I remember just in a sentence to try and avoid spoilers but there are 1000 I have forgotten that were just as cool, this is in no particular order;

High elf intro; You experience the Last Alliance first hand, gain an emotional connection with a boss that is 100 levels in the future and take a nap.

Experience Arvedui's ghost and become involved in Lossoth politics.

Help the Chiefwatcher of Bree deal with those pesky Dunadain Rangers and realise why people don't trust them.

Literally every single aspect of Mordirith's plotline that I won't even spoil for you but that spans 130 levels and nearly your whole journey through Middle Earth and ends so fucking satisfyingly.

The instance where you play the breaking of the fellowship from both Boromir and Frodo's perspectives and how fucking heartbreaking it is.

Fight in the battle at the fords of the Isen and fucking cry when Theodred dies, truly an agonisingly heartbreaking one that one is too.

Literally just coming over the ridge and looking into Rivendell for the first time, the landscape is so beautifully crafted.

Experiencing the fall of Minas Tirith with Denethor, trust me okay it's so good.

THE BATTLE AT THE BLACK GATE HOOOLY SHIT

Being haunted by visions of Sauron as Annatar whilst you explore Eregion's ruins.

The way they make you fall in love with Forlong and his wife and the way he and Hirluin are old friends and just this achingly sweet moment before their deaths that again I won't spoil.

Walking into literally any of the meadhalls in Rohan they're all so unique and lovingly rendered.

Trying to break the blockade on Dol Amroth and advising Lothiriel in the defense of the city when her father and brothers are gone to war.

VIZNAK MY LITERAL GOBLIN CHILD he's literally- he's my friend it's- I can't talk about it I just love him.

Saruman at the auction and the whole plotline of trying to defend Dunlending communities from him and his servants.

The instance where an easterling 'enemy' challenges gondorian assumptions and defends his people with this chilling snapshot of what fighting Sauron had gotten them.

Finding the corpse of the fell beast in the brown lands!

Finding the corpse of the balrog on the slopes of Caradhras!

The little story about this poor hobbit fellow in yondershire who is trying to get over the death of his friend, it actually hit me so sweet and sad.

DIS aaa fuck I nearly forgot, just hearing Dis speak about her brother and the dwarven race's fate in general.

Just the entire Azanulbizar map and this sense that you're really helping in a proper war, watching the pyres of all the dwarves that died and Thrain's pain! The characterisation of every dwarf king!

The mysterious ghost town in the midst of southern mirkwood and trying to discover why they have been cursed.

Meeting an old dwarf named Atli Spiderbane when you're literally level 1 in Combe and meeting him again in Mordor and going with him to hunt shelob 115 levels later.

Travelling with a scholar throughout the vales of Anduin and learning all the created history for the northmen!

Meeting the lost community of hobbits in the Enedwaith!

OH Old Nar in the enedwaith, discovering his story and why he's up here.

The introduction to rohan where you know things will go badly but it still hurts anyway.

OH thE MYSTERY OF HYTBOLT, discovering who's behind it all and delving into how Theoden's illness and lack of leadership effected his people.

GOD GRIMBOLD and his marital issues... I can say no more.

Theodred sword!!! Eowyn and!!

Uniting the north downs and meeting Gildor Inglorion!

DISCOVERING WHAT THE WITCH KING'S THREAT OF 'THE HOUSES OF LAMENTATION' ACTUALLY MEANT.

Mordor Politics! All Sauron's servants are without a dad and it's absolute chaos, trying to coordinate with the Nurnoth and free them!

RECLAIMING GUNDABAD!!

Travelling with the rangers through Dunland to help them get to Aragorn in time and the absolutely brutal journey that is.

Falling for Denethor's sisters (me specific I just love them)

Eowyn's hilarious ability to camoflage herself so well even her fiance doesn't know it's her.

Exploring what elven friendship with mortals means and how they (don't) deal with it well in the Angle of Mitheithel.

Rangers and Dunlending racial tensions in Mithiethel too!

FIND OUT ALL ABOUT THE CURSE ISILDUR LAID UPON THE MOUNTAIN MEN, THAT SLAPPED FORREAL.

Entering the paths of the dead.

I have literally run out of time to keep typing there's so much more I just have DND but!!! aaahhh!! Cannot overemphasise the sheer size and scope of the game's narrative development for the books!

[jerek]

I have a personal theory about how part of why Wrathion is so "grown up" is bc of him being spliced with the titan thing and it also giving him way too much knowledge for a newborn to have. Like, I truly believe that dragon eggs aren't at all sentient before they hatch but Wrathion does think they are since he was, but it's all bc of all the knowledge in him and no one around to correct him about it. And since no other dragon took care of him properly as a child, all he has to go on is the adults around him and try to mimic them and guess the rest of how he works, and by extension all other dragons. This theory would also explain his "childish" outbursts, bc despite all his knowledge, he IS still a child that wasn't trained by a parental figure to properly convey his emotions in a healthy way. I honestly cant be annoyed by his behavior, i just feel extreme heartache for this poor soul. It's just such a fucked up existence and there's no one around to give him guidance. idk maybe its all in my head or maybe I'm not conveying my thoughts well but I can only see Wrathion as an insanely tragic character.

Love u for all these paragraphs ♥️♥️♥️

For real though! There's a stage in fetal development where like, you can roughly estimate when they start to feel pain as we know it. But then the baby comes out and it's still... a baby, you know? Basically a human-shaped caterpillar.

There's even a difference in dragons between whelplings and whelps: whelps like Lillistrasza can talk but still sound like grade schoolers, while whelplings (at least the battle pet whelplings) only squawk.

I've always thought of Wrathion's circumstances as not only a crisis bad enough to warrant CPS intervention (if CPS existed in his world, lmao) but also an indictment of Azeroth's (individualist) culture specifically.

It's sort of like how, on the internet, as soon as you graduate from sensory videos and Cocomelon you're expected to manage your own intake of content and keep your cool if you see something you didn't want to. There's tons of videos on YouTube making fun of 5 year olds' tantrums in games like Minecraft and Fortnite.

Wrathion happened to hear the red dragons plotting to kill him if he didn't obey. They might not have known he could hear them, but they knew he'd been reassembled by a titan artifact, belonging to the race that gave them greater intellect and completely changed their anatomy.

So he escaped: and then who does the red flight send but Mostrasz, with nothing but contempt for the mortal rogues who've been sheltering Wrathion all this time. Who eventually tries to kill Wrathion for being too difficult to control (or at least, Wrathion sees Mostrasz' violence as an attempt on his own life.) Just like Fahradion eventually does, too.

At least Fahrad has the excuse of being driven mad.

The question is: can anyone convince him to accept guidance, or even just care, before the end-point of his own individualist streak, where he looks back and realizes how deeply he was neglected? Is that something anyone but himself can solve at this point? Is anyone on Azeroth, raised with Azerothian values, capable of getting through to him without patronizing him?

We've seen a lot of people try, starting with Anduin but especially now in Dragonflight. I wouldn't be surprised if Ebyssian has the best shot out of all the canon characters... but that's what OCs are for too!! 🤪

[dazespritefairy]

(Shadowlands spoilers below)

The saddest part to me about Anduin not wanting to come back to Azeroth and wandering the Maw, is that he is doing it because he feels guilty of his actions when it was not his fault. He hates what he became and can't face himself. And the issue is, if he feels this guilty about how he behaved while under someone else's control - imagine how upset and torn inside he will be when he realizes, in the future, that by not coming back to his throne there are also negative consequences. And I'm just going to call it right now, because we all know that now he is not he returning, shit is going to go down in the alliance under the new ruler. No one is as passive as Anduin is with wanting to see things equally and being hesitant to kill when it isn't warranted, and we all should know by now that war and genocide is going to be construed one way or the other. If you look at it from any of the remaining alliance leader's point of view, each one of them has an issue with some race and I wouldn't put it past any of them to take advantage of a situation and go too far even in a time of peace. Plus you know it's world of warcraft, the war always starts again somehow. So um, that kinda sucks. Because whatever drama we about to face and that the alliance is way overdue for starting, you just know that when Anduin finds out, he gonna blame himself internally for that too. And by that time, it will actually be validated. All actions have consequences, and by thinking of himself and running off to leave the throne to others, Anduin doesn't realize he is taking a key peaceful figure away from a party of leaders that may otherwise go south. So yeah. I hear two sides of stories so far: people who hate Anduin's decision because it seems like a quitters way out, and then also people who are just glad that Anduin is going bc he was too peaceful in the throne. I'm sure that's exactly why Blizzard made him run off, (poor writing aside and how they portrayed that), because we all know that unless every leader in the alliance disrespects or overpowers Anduin, while he is on the throne there is always that voice of reason, and if we want the Alliance to do something horrible to match the Hordes former actions, it'll go way further if he is removed from the picture all together. But damn, I'm just so sad already thinking how he will blame himself for that too- leaving and then letting everything go downhill because he wasn't there to speak up. But maybe at least then if he does decide to return in the far future in the aftermath, he will have some sense of his role in things and confidence, that he is unique in the way that he is there for a purpose as the voice of reason.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling the Mystery

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Length: Short Story

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: I have been sitting on this idea, for a while. It's taken forever to get it just right, what can I say? I can't get away from these folks.

Henry Cavill Master List

Sitting in the backseat of the car, Ivan huffed. Arms across his chest, Kal laying quietly beside him, his head on the boy's lap. He was not amused by his parent's Saturday excursion. In the front seat, Nell checked her phone, looking at emails and appointments for the upcoming week. Henry had his eyes on the road, navigating through the small city with expert care and attention.

Saturdays spent as a family were supposed to be fun. Ivan wasn't exactly having fun. Grumpy all morning, he hadn't turned his scowl upside down once. Whatever. His parents didn't seem to notice or care that he was in a pissy mood. Why should they?

When they'd left home, Henry had mentioned going to the next town over, but didn't really say why. Nell had been too worried looking for paperwork. Ivan wasn't stupid, he'd heard them in the office last night. They thought he had gone to bed, which he had, but they didn't know their son had gone back down stairs for a drink. Walking by the door, he'd stopped, originally to say “good night”, again but decided to hold out.

Ivan laid his head back on the seat, Kal nestling in for the remainder of the ride. How could his parents do this to him? The bits of conversation had replayed in his mind all night.

"But if we adopt, then we know it's a girl." Sighing, Nell rubbed her eyes. "I am outnumbered."

"Yes, but what if we can't find the right girl?"

Ivan furrowed his brow, listening through the cracked door. His parents were clearly discussing something that would be a huge part of their family, yet chose to leave him out? 

Standing quietly for a few seconds, trying to peep around the office door, he saw Kal sprawled out on the floor. Sleeping soundly. At least his position wasn't going to be given away. 

"And we will need to take him. I don't want to bring him home a sister, to find out he's pissed off." Henry continued. 

Gee, thanks dad. Ivan rolled his eyes, tears stinging. 

Inside of the office his mother's chair scraped the floor. Time to move along. Quietly rushing to get upstairs, before he was caught. 

They were adopting and didn't even bother to ask how he felt? What if he didn't want a sibling? What if he was content being an only child? Nobody had bothered to ask him and it hurt.

“Almost there,” Henry announced. Ivan huffed, Nell hummed, and Kal sighed. “Not the response that I was expecting, but okay.”

“I'm excited, I'm busy is all.” Nell glanced at her husband with a warm smile. “Someone has to keep you in costume and Ivan on track.”

“Whatever.” Ivan muttered, rolling his eyes. So now they pretend to care.

“When we're finished, do you want to go for a walk and grab something to eat?”

Leaning around in her seat to see Ivan; Nell smiled. “What do you think wild boy? Should we grab something to eat after? I hear they have a great sushi place just around the corner.”

“Whatever.”

“Is that all you can say today?” Nell raised her brow.

Ivan shrugged.

“Well, then. I guess you don't have an opinion, then we will go wherever we see fit.”

“Why ask me where I want to eat, you didn't care to ask me if I even wanted to come.”

“We thought that you'd enjoy an afternoon out.” Henry answered, checking that he was clear to make the right hand turn. Pulling into an empty space, he killed the engine. “We're here.”

“I'm excited.”

“I'm not.” Grumbled Ivan in reply to his mother's enthusiasm.

Leaning over, Henry was the one turned to face his sullen son. “Okay, before we go in. Care to tell me what's going on?”

In the back seat, Ivan tried his best not to allow his tears to fall. If they began then they may never stop. Dramatic? A little. He couldn't hold it in any longer, his parents had truly hurt his feelings and trust. Why had they not trusted him to tell him the truth? If he hadn't heard them talking, would they have simply brought another child home and told him to deal with it?

Sniffling, he wiped his hand across his cheeks. How silly did he look?

“Ivan?” Henry prompted, gently reaching out to his son.

Shrinking away, Ivan continued to sniffle. Shaking his head, Ivan opened his mouth to answer, but only a sob came.

“Are you okay? Ivan, you can talk to us.” Encouraging her son, despite her heart clenching, Nell tried to smile.

He had been out of sorts all morning. Taking it as he was annoyed to be woken so early, Nell had ignored his bad mood. She'd figured it would change, when they arrived to meet the puppy. On the seat beside him, Kal laid with his head still on Ivan. Nudging him gently with his nose.

“You didn't even ask me, how-how I felt.” Ivan whispered.

“Felt? About what? Are you not feeling well?” Concern etched Henry's face.

Ivan shook his head. “About adopting. Why? Why would you do that and not talk to me? A sister is a pretty big thing and you didn't even ask, if I wanted one.”

In a second, Henry could nearly feel his heart breaking for his son. Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck. Nell sprang into mom mode. Taking over, giving Ivan a soft smile and passing back a tissue from her bag,

“Oh, wild boy.” Cooing, Nell shook her head. “No, I think you have it wrong.”

“Do I? Oh really?”

“Yeah, we're um...we wanted to keep it a secret, in case Kal didn't get along with her. But then we were so excited, we had to bring you. Ivan, we're here to see about adopting another dog.”

“A dog?” Ivan sat up his interest fully engaged. Henry laughed and nodded. His mood changing faster than a speeding bullet. “A dog? We're getting another dog?”

“Maybe.” It was only fair that Henry laid down the rules now. “If she and Kal get along, then we will take her home. For a week. If they manage well, then she is ours. If they don't, then we have to bring her back. We didn't want to tell you, because we wanted to surprise you.”

“You better like her.” Ivan gently booped Kal's nose. Kal snuffled and yawned.

“I wish you had told us, how you felt. Oh god, I'm sorry.”

Last night, while in the office, Nell had heard a creak outside the door. Assuming it was another feature of the older home, she had ignored it, continuing her conversation with Henry. Shit. Now she felt terrible. How Ivan must have felt, beyond her comprehension. No wonder the poor boy had been in a rotten mood. Assuming his parent were making life decisions and not bothering to inform him.

“It's okay mum.” Ivan shrugged, “I shouldn't have assumed.”

“Wild boy, we would never adopt another child, without talking to you. Honestly.” Nell informed her son, her caring smile growing.

“Unless something changes, drastically, we will never have that conversation. So I think you are safe.”

“But I thought you wanted more kids?” Eyeing his father cautiously, Ivan wiped his nose on the tissue and snuffled once more. His tears dried on his cheeks.

Henry shrugged, glancing at Nell and smiling. “Once upon a time, I would have loved to have a dozen kids. But, I think that time has gone. You're older now and I know that you enjoy being an only child. Besides, your mum and I don't have that energy anymore. Chasing small children, it's too much work.”

“Well, now that we have this cleared up. Shall we go meet the potential, puppy?”

“Yes, please.” Ivan sprung up, grabbing Kal's leash to get the big dog out of the car. Opening the car door, he shuffled out to join his parents, promptly handing Kal to Henry.

A shift in his mood, Ivan could barely contain his excitement, asking his parents all kinds of questions. The short distance from the car to the shelter didn't give them much time to answer, but Nell did her best to fill in any information that Ivan was requesting. They had found the puppy on the website, not really looking for another dog.

Her name was Tilly, she was almost a year old, an energetic doxie pinscher mix. Her mother rescued a few weeks before Tilly and her two brothers were born. Ivan didn't even have to see her, to know she would be the best dog – best small dog – ever. Clearly Kal was the best dog ever. Henry allowed Kal a few minutes outside, while Nell and Ivan went inside to inform the staff that they had arrived.

“Mum,” Ivan whispered standing beside her, in the lobby, waiting for the assistant to join them, “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, wild boy. You have nothing to be sorry for, but the next time come talk to me. I don't like it when you are upset.” Nell wrapped her arm around him, kissing the top of his head.

“Mrs. Cavill?” A tall woman asked walking into the room. Nell nodded and smiled. “Hi, I'm Aly. I'll be hanging out with you today.” She glanced at Ivan and smiled. Carefully looking passed Nell, she shifted. “You mentioned bringing your dog?”

“Yes, he's outside with my husband. It was a bit of a drive up. Can you go let your dad know that he needs to come in?” Nell ruffled Ivan's hair.

Nodding, Ivan did his best to control his excitement, reminding himself to walk towards the door. Calmly, he took a breath. Spotting Henry and Kal on the small patch of grass, he waved opening the door to call his dad. Excitement, contain. Breathe. Ivan straightened his posture before walking back across the office to his mother.

“He's coming.”

“Do you want to follow me in, when he comes in then I can have them sent back?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Following Aly behind a set of doors, Nell and Ivan walked hand in hand. It was not at all what Ivan imagined. There were no rows of barking dogs, instead it was a calm and quiet group of rooms. Each one with large windows and a door. Inside the floors had patches of fake grass, tile flooring, and a few toys.

“The last time that you were here, I know that you and your husband had met Tilly and Anduin.” Holding open a door to one of the rooms, Aly addressed Nell. Ivan raised his brow. So his parents had been here before? “Did you want to bring them both out?”

Slightly blushing, Nell gave the assistant a sheepish smile. “I'm not going to lie, I really adored Tilly. I agreed to bring Anduin out, to humour my husband.”

Ivan giggled. Of course his dad would have wanted to meet Anduin.

“Ah, I understand. Okay, well I am going to get Tilly. You can make yourselves comfortable.”

Ivan sat in one of the plastic office chairs, swinging his legs lightly, his feet not that far from the floor. Nell stood in the corner by the floor to ceiling window, watching for Henry and Kal. Humming contently, Ivan tried to picture what this new dog would look like. She would certainly be smaller than Kal, not even the size of Kal's leg. He giggled at the idea of the little dog bossing the old bear around.

Would Tilly like them?

“What's Anduin like?”

“Huh?” Nell turned her head to look at Ivan, she had been lost in her thoughts of upcoming projects and school sport schedules.

“Anduin, you said that you only saw him because Dad wanted to.”

“Oh, he's a nice dog. But he's big and bouncy, he's still young and they said he had a bit of an aggression problem to work through. I'm sure he'll make someone a great dog, but he's not what we need. Not right now.”

Ivan nodded in understanding. As much as they loved Kal, one big dog was enough. He sat looking around the room, when he and his mom spotted Aly at the same time. Taking a step back from her post, Nell held out an arm to Ivan, indicating she wanted him to join her.

Entering the room, Aly had a small dog in her arms. Licking her face furiously, the dog wagged her tail, excitedly enjoying the interaction.

“Here is Tilly,” bending to sit the puppy on the floor, Aly smiled at Ivan. “Why don't you take a seat and get to know her?”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan tugged on Nell's sleeve. “This is the best surprise.”

“I'm glad you're excited.” Nell kissed the top of his head. “Do you want to play with her? Get to know her a little, before Kal comes in?”

On the other side of the windows, Nell caught sight of Henry and Kal approaching. Kal looked around cautiously, following Henry into the small corridor. Nodding to his wife and giving a slight wave, Henry smiled. He would wait right where he was, until asked to bring Kal in. Kal sat at Henry's side, watching through the window, a slight whine when he saw little Henry playing with the ultra small dog.

Sitting down on the floor, allowing the small brown dog to climb on him, Ivan giggled. Her whole body shook with her tail wag, as she bounced on and off of the boy's lap. Aly smiled, watching the two interact.

“They certainly get on well.”

“Ivan loves dogs.”

When Henry and Nell had come to see the dogs, it had been Henry on the floor giggling like a child, while the puppy had climbed all over him. Nell had joined in, sitting and tossing the ball for both Tilly and Anduin. But Ivan was by far the one in his true element.

“Let's see how Kal does, shall we?”

“Of course.” Nell waved for Henry to bring Kal in.

Opening the door, Henry gave a gentle tug on Kal's leash. The big, black and white dog was hesitant to enter the room with the smaller creature. She was full of the zoomies and her bark was fierce.

“Kal.” Henry called to his companion. “Come on. It's fine.”

Reluctant, Kal shuffled into the room, snuffling and snorting. Making sure to keep Henry, Nell, Ivan, and the strange woman between him and the small fur missile. The small brown dog darted around Nell, between Henry's legs and right up to Kal. Pulling back on his leash, Kal was wide eyed. No! No way! She was growing closer.

Without warning Tilly stopped a few inches from Kal, reaching out she sniffed his foot and took off. Too concerned with her return, Kal was having a hard time relaxing. His fear was soon soothed, when Nell reached down to offer him a biscuit. Oh so now they were buying him off with food? Eh, fair enough.

“Why don't you pick her up, then she's not as bouncy.” Aly smiled at Ivan.

Scooping the puppy into his arms, Ivan smiled when she began to instantly lick his face. “Tilly.” He giggled, holding her out to his dad.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Henry accepted the puppy. She was tiny compared to Kal, even as a baby. Henry smiled holding the wiggly body, trying to control her enough to let Kal get a proper look. “Look Kal, see the baby.”

Kal huffed, sinking down to the floor. His head resting on his paws. How dare they.

“Have a look, bear.” Henry encouraged the older dog. Bending down with the puppy, he laughed when she licked his chin, giving playful bites. “She's okay. Easy fella.” He steadied Kal, who had lifted his head a little. Sniffing towards the puppy, he sat up. His head tilted slightly. Henry eased Tilly closer.

Reaching out, she yipped in Kal's face, but didn't shy when his big nose poked her in the belly. Licking at Kal, she wagged her tail fiercely.

“I know that you love being the only dog, but would a friend be terrible? She's a friend. Not a chew toy.” Nell eyed Kal.

Huffing, Kal sniffed the puppy once more, before scooting back as Henry let her go on the floor. Instantly zooming around the room, Tilly bumped into Kal. Reacting less dramatically, Kal groaned and flopped down onto the floor. His eyes following the puppy, his desire to chase the small creature almost void. He was too old for this shit.

“I think we should take her home, what do you think?” Henry glanced at Ivan.

“Yes, please.” Ivan nodded eagerly. “What about you, Kal? Do you want a sister?”

Kal huffed. He didn't care one way or another.

“I think we will definitely be taking her.” Nell smiled. Stooping to scoop up the puppy, she scratched Tilly's ears and smiled wide.

“Your mum has a new mate,” Henry nudged Ivan in he side, gesturing to Nell snuggling the puppy.

“Maybe this means she won't bother me so much to do things.” Ivan snickered.

“Don't bet on it,” Nell smirked, she'd heard their chat. When would they learn, she heard everything.

Settling the final paperwork, gathering instructions, and all the legal work that went with adopting dog had taken mere minutes. The shelter were efficient, set up, and knew their business. Henry admired that. Nell had been the one to find them, assuring him that they were reputable, reliable, and a decent place to work with. She wanted nothing but the best, when it came to their newest addition.

Thanking Aly, posing for a few photos – as was custom for the shelter, when an animal found a new place, and making sure they had all of their paperwork, instructions in case Tilly needed to come back. Ha! They were on the their way, the five of them.

Kal led the way to the car, he had snacks waiting and needed to finish that nap he'd been taking. Henry opened the door, allowing Kal to get situated, before Ivan and Tilly joined him. Giving the big dog word of encouragement, telling him how fantastic he'd been with the entire thing.

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan bounded towards the car, at his mother's side “I'm sorry for being upset this morning.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, wild boy.” Carrying Tilly; Nell wrapped her other arm around Ivan. “But do me a favour, the next time you want to eves drop, come to us before assuming things.”

Tag List Chat

[therisingphoenixden]

A selection of random things I've said to friends or thought to myself while playing Fire Emblem Three Houses blind:

Rhea sus. Rhea hella sus

Let's go Blue Lions first! They seem cool even if their leader reminds me of Anduin.

Seteth gives me major daddy vibes and I do not know why.

Magic sword go brrrrrrrrr!

Wait. FLAYN IS HIS DAUGHTER AND NOT HIS LITTLE SISTER?!

Why is all this talk from Jeralt making me think of the "one day before retirement" trope?

DAD! NOOOOOOOOO!

OH FUCK HOW ARE WE GETTING OUT OF THIS ONE, SOTHIS?!

Wait...what? SOTHIS NOOOOOOOOOO!

Okay, tearing a hole in the fabric of reality after merging with the goddess in my head is the most badass and anime way to foil a villain's trap!

This is for Jeralt and that one village, you pasty fuck!

EDELGARD?! WHAT THE SHIT?!

All I wanted was a nice teaching sim and fun bonding with the students. Now we're making my students child soldiers.

WHAT THE FUCK RHEA?! TEACH ME YOUR DRACONIC WAYS!

SHITSHITSHITSHIT NOOOOOOOO!!!!

Wait...WHAT DO YOU MEAN FIVE YEARS LATER?!

Poor Dimitri :-(

Everyone had a glow-up and I respect that!

But...where's Dedue?

Okay, Seteth. Your A-support is actually super-sweet and I have no regrets going this route.

(And some Ashen Wolves reactions because I didn't touch the dlc until after the timeskip and I had to restart my BL playthrough so I can get them)

Okay, y'all are a bunch of hot messes who like chains. I dig it.

Wait. Why are we fighting? I JUST WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND!

Balthas can one-hit-KO most bads on these maps and I love him.

This priest seems entirely too nice to be real.

Yup. Called it.

THE FUCK YOU DOING WITH MY MOM'S BODY, YOU CREEPY FUCK?!

SHIT FUCK SHIT! YOU FUSED WITH MY MOM'S CORPSE AND BECAME A HUGE SKULLFACE DRAGON MADE OF SINEW?!

This shit's too hard and I need sleep. At least I have my new friends for the Holy Tomb mission now.

[manic-pixie-dick-girl]

I've had this Sylvaina plot bunny bouncing around in my head for like 2 years and done nothing so I'm writing it down slash putting it up for adoption.

Set in BFA. Sylvanas and Jaina have been secretly in a loving relationship for years (unsure how long yet). They might be secretly married. Obviously the plotline of BFA has created some tension, and made it more difficult to steal moments with each other.

The Horde and Alliance clash for the whatever-hundredth time. Both Jaina and Sylvanas are on the front lines, as usual, protecting their people as best they can. Intentionally not firing directly at each other. Jaina leaves herself vulnerable for a moment and Nathanos, at Sylvanas' side, takes the shot. His poisoned arrow flies true and he takes out the most powerful mage in the Alliance. Who is unfortunately also his Queen's lover (maybe wife).

Sylvanas sees Jaina fall and proceeds to Lose. Her. Shit. Her terrified banshee scream knocks out half the soldiers fighting on the battlefield. She goes into her shadow form thingy and rushes across the battlefield to grab Jaina and brings her to a medic tent. Unsure if alliance or horde medic, I have this image of her screaming at a poor old Draenei priest in my head. Demands they heal her immediately. She refuses to leave the tent as they work and she demands Nathanos retrieve the antidote for his poison.

Once the rest of the battlefield recovers, this obviously causes a bit of a stir. Alliance think she's doing something to Jaina at first. Anduin tries to "protect" Jaina from her, and she seethes at him "she is my WIFE you stupid cub". The Alliance and Horde don't really know what to do with this information.

Anyway there is a lot of angsting and hurting and the comforting thereof as Jaina recovers. Sylvanas swears she's done fighting the Alliance if this is the end result. Anduin ends up convincing them to use their relationship to end the faction divide for good. Have a big public wedding, invite all the movers and shakers on both sides. Present a publically united front and say this is how we shall maintain peace.

There's also an angle where Anduin abdicates to Jaina, his idea being if the two factions' leaders are married, nobody is going to pick a fight because they won't have their faction's support.

Anyway yeah ramble over.

PS my headcanon for poisons is that anyone who fights with poisons always carries an antidote nearby just as a safety thing. Maybe some irresponsible rogues don't but the rangers DEFINITELY do. Like responsible gun ownership. Always lock your gun away and always carry an antidote to your poisons.

[friesian]

Warcraft for the blorbo fandom asks?

oh BOY here we go -- blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) my blorbo is probably kaelthas. i have a poster of him in behind my work set-up. he brought me out of the closet a lot and gave me something to sort of strive for when i was a teenager. i cried REAL FUCKING TEARS when the announced he'd be back in shadowlands. he's always been my blorbo and i would protect him with my life and tell you up and down that he's the best despite the fact in WoW he's been nothing but an aggressive wet cat. -- scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) talanji......... she is SO shaped. i named my pet rat (may her soul rest in peace) after her because they are both just so. them. i love her very much and i love her spiritedness. the way she takes charge in BFA from being sort of this timid daughter unsure of her place to then turn into a full fledged leader that takes no shits??? it's PRICELESS. i love her outfit, personality, and i'd protect her also tooth and nail. -- scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) XAVIUS MAN. XAVIUS!!!! like ok.... he got that whole thing in legion and i know that he's got a lot in the books but compared to the attention that he only briefly got in legion i REALLY REALLY wish he got more. there was so much potential to learn more about satyrs from him even if he just did evil monologing but this is coming from someone who REALLY loves satyrs and would probably sacrifice a vertebrae to see more of ANY of them. -- glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) rommath. i got so happy seeing him at the end of nighthold lol. i love seeing him any time i go by in silvermoon. if i am on a call playing with my friends i WILL make a big deal about seeing him and calling him a puppy with a cone of shame. i think he eats kibble from there he just saves it for later <3 -- poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) probably denathrius. he's pathetic. i know he's pathetic. i love that he is. this bitch DOES have insecurity issues. i KNOW he does. there is no other reason to throw such a tantrum like he did about "being revendreth". BITCH you WISH you had all the attention!!! sadly, i know i would give it to him. however it would be tormenting attention. he would love to hate me. -- horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) anduin probably. i don't hate him like at all but to say i wouldn't endless pick on him for being the blonde haired blue eyed baby boy prince would be an understatement. he looks tormentable. like i could steal the last slice of cake and all he could do is just look disgruntled at me. i know what i did. i know he hates it. i'll keep doing it tho, he won't say shit. -- eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) THIS ONE IS TOUGH. so. i think i would say arthas. i just don't like hearing about him. i hate what he did to jaina. i hate what he did to slyvanas. i just DO NOT like his fans because you know if some dude has a lich king tattoo you're in for a mouthful of how arthas is redeemable and he's not the lich king but yadda yadda so on and for forward. he's a compelling villain, but not so much a compelling character for me and i'd do anything to stop hearing people and blizzard try to highlight on him so much. i just want to move on from arthas please!!!!!

[ladywindrunner]

"I thought I was death... " Little Moon to Banshee Sylvanas (idk how but I just want them to be sisters again T_T )

meme i’ve lost rip :: messages :: always accepting //

She’d long wished Vereesa to know the hopelessness of dying.To be left alone, at the mercy of monstrous foes, praying to absent gods for aid, or if that proves impossible – justice. To say the Banshee Queen was bitter, was the greatest understatement ever thought or spoken. For what was worse than dying to a bastard, was the knowledge that her little sister, precious Little Moon, had abandoned her when Sylvanas had needed her most.

           And she’d not done it once, nor twice, but thrice.

           She’d abandoned Sylvanas at Silvermoon when Arthas turned the dead on Quel’thalas.

           She saw fit to make the Dark Lady the villain at the trial of Garrosh.

           Then Vereesa, who touted on about wishing for things to be different between them, hadn’t come to the gathering suggested by King Anduin.

           Sylvanas had gazed out at the families reuniting, and saw none of her own there.

           The final dagger driven into the Banshee Queen’s dead heart. This one hadn’t surprised her, but it’d stung none-the-less.

           And so fate saw fit to finally reward the wronged middle-sister. The treacherous warchief had happened across an ambush meant to end Vereesa’s life, and Sylvanas was graced with the opportunity to watch. She’d worn a wicked grin from the shadows, using her dark magics to hide even the glow of her crimson eyes lest she be detected.

           Yet as the battle went, and the assassins drew closer to ending her sister’s life – Sylvanas’ grin faded to a cruel smile.

           More and more strikes landed on Vereesa, each eliciting hisses of pain.

           The Dark Lady’s smile turned to an arrogant smirk.

           Then a sword struck true, and Little Moon released a pained shout.

           Suddenly her face was empty of any expression.

           That same sword, red with Vereesa’s blood, saw itself raised for an overhead cleave.

           The finishing blow—

           It never struck. Sylvanas had interceded with a horrendous wail, before draining the life out of all the assailants who dared to assault her sister. The air around the banshee twisted and warped as the light turned to an ethereal darkness. Ribbons of malice fluttered in the air about the tortured spirit, who’s eyes were nothing but a seething, terrible red.

           Sylvanas snarled at the woman on the ground, fangs bared as if she’d saved Vereesa only to claim the killing blow for herself. It was a thought that obviously crossed the ranger’s mind, as Vereesa flinched as she gazed up at the terrifying spectre.

           Yet the Banshee Queen simply lingered there.

           “I thought I was dead.”

           Sylvanas lips curled into a venomous smirk.

           “What a sad fate that would be,” the banshee jeered, “poor Vereesa, Ranger-General of the Silver Covenant… felled by undoubtedly a poor man’s assassins.”

           Vereesa winced as she slowly sat up, holding a hand to her side. She glanced at those that attacked her.

           They were withered corpses now, closer to the mummified dead found in wastelands or deserts.

           “Why did you save me?” Vereesa asked.

           For that, Sylvanas had no good answer. She shouldn’t have, she should have let these thugs end her sister’s pathetic life and then raised her to be by her side. Had she not plotted to kill her and Alleria? Had she not tried to lure them to their deaths, so she would no longer be alone?

           This would have been an opportune moment to capitalize on Vereesa’s vulnerability.

           “Not to have a discussion, I assure you,” Sylvanas replied with a cold gaze. “Perhaps it is a test to see just how much a liar you are, Little Moon.”

           Vereesa scowled in disapproval.

           “What do you—“

           “You know what I mean,” the banshee snarled, her voice making the air about them tremble. “Will you tell Alleria I saved you, or will you conveniently leave that out of the next tale you spin about me.”

           The youngest Windrunner could not hold Sylvanas’ gaze. She looked away in shame.

           “Oh, so are aware you lied.” The banshee smirked cruelly, “how reassuring. Some hint of decency resides in you.”

           Vereesa got to her feet, watching as Sylvanas’ wicked form became corporeal again. Before her stood the Warchief of the Horde.

           “You would judge me on decency?” Little Moon shot back.

           Her sister simply smiled.

           “I didn’t lie to Alleria about what I’ve done,” the Dark Lady responded. “We both know you cannot claim as such.”

           For that, a silence hung between them. Vereesa drew from her pocket a small red potion, and downed it quickly. Her wounds slowly began to heal a moment afterwards.

           Sylvanas turned, “do try to make it back to Stormwind without getting ambushed—“

           “I’m sorry.”

           The undead woman fell silent, her gaze hardened as she regarded her sister. She didn’t want to hear it.

           “I’m well aware you’re—“

           Vereesa reached out and touched Sylvanas’ wrist, almost grasping for it, but she didn’t dare. She could see that the Queen of the Forsaken had gone rigid. As hard as it was to read the body language of the dead, she could see the discomfort in Sylvanas’ stance.

           “Sylvanas, I am sorry.”

           The Dark Lady said nothing for a moment. It took all her discipline not to show her rage, pain, and misery. She wanted to rake claws across her sister’s face, tear flesh from bone.

           Vereesa caught the flicker of torment that for a moment, threatened to break Sylvanas’ steel resolve.

           Finally, she spoke.

           “If you expect forgiveness Little Moon,” Sylvanas spoke, words as hard as saronite. “You will be sorely disappointed.”

           Vereesa shook her head in response. “I don’t expect it.”

           No, of course she didn’t. Sylvanas could read Vereesa as easy as she could read the warchief. Vereesa did not expect forgiveness, but she did hope for it. There was that faint glimmer in her nervous eyes that somehow, Sylvanas would find it within herself to pardon all the lies and pain she’d cause.

           Sylvanas looked away in bitter thought.

Then with a wave of her hand, two skeletal horses tore up through the ground. They snorted and whinnied, eyes blazing an ugly yellow as they regarded the two Windrunners expectantly.

           “Come, I’ll ride with you to the border.”

[sigurdjarlson]

Honestly I was toying with a death knight lothar idea in my head the other day and I just see Gaillen being her grumpy self like “You want me to take you to see Khadgar? Of course you do. Ugh.” And Lothar is like ? But then another death knight chimes in like “she says she hates him but I once saw her gnaw a man’s face off for threatening him” and he’s just nodding like ahh I see..and honestly? Same.

[diaryofomellas]

Hey! I have been your fanfiction and I have a few things to say. Like I love how you implemented your own character with Sylvanas. It works amazingly well and I hope it continues like this! But I do have a slight problem with you your character is with Anduin. Knowing that she is a horde spy, He wouldn't be a open towards a blood elf he doesn't know. He wouldn't be this naive and let Omellas this close into his life. Anduin is very OoC which is very sad for me. (1/2)

First of all, thank you for reading and taking the time to comment!

Anduin doesn’t know she’s a Horde spy so he decided to trust her. Perhaps that was the wrong choice to make. But, in my defense, people who are in love are known to make very poor life choices, so if you think Anduin is OoC, I’m blaming it on that. (I mean, I can’t be the only one who makes bad choices when love is in the mix, right? Right?) And also there are certain spoilery plot points I can’t reveal yet that also contributed to the whole mess of feelings they now find themselves in... 

Sylvanas will be very pissed. I have a bunch of future scenes written already and that’s one of them. It hurt to write and it won’t be pretty.

Lastly, I don’t agree with your definition of Mary Sue but honestly, I think they deserve love too!

Anyway, I hope you keep reading! <3