#denethor cosplay

[foedhrass]

While the previous photos of my newest Tolkien cosplay (Ndani-tharo/Denethor of the Nandor) showcase the colors of the costume, this edit is closer to how it probably would have looked, since Ndanitharo lived and died before the Sun and the Moon first rose. I imagine the elves would have been able to see better than we do in a moonless night, so I didn’t edit everything just grey or excessively dark. ;)

Cosplay & edit: Foedhrass

Photo: little_solnyshka

[anghraine]

I've talked a lot about Númenórean aging throughout the Second and Third Ages having its own distinct process. But occasionally I have a fridge horror thought about it with regard to Pharazôn that I've talked about less.

First, the aging context (feel free to ignore if you already know!): according to LOTR, UT, and NOME, Númenórean aging is distinct from (but related to) both Elvish and normal human aging. Like other humans, Númenóreans physically age at a "standard" pace until reaching adulthood. After this, they age more like Elves—very slowly, only showing signs of old age/decay either at the very end of their lives or under enormous strain.

Denethor in LOTR is not an exception to this, but an example of what "something has gone wrong" looks like. Everyone in LOTR thinks it's weird that Denethor, who is clearly not dying (he can still wear armor 24/7 and wield a sword), looks like an old man at the spry age of 89 and started showing these signs in his 60s. It is broadly—and correctly—assumed in Minas Tirith that he's prematurely aged by mental combat with Sauron, although Sauron never does manage to dominate his mind.

Tangent: This is actually important because Tolkien explained (mainly in UT) Gandalf's urgency wrt Minas Tirith in direct relation to Númenórean aging and Denethor. By the time of LOTR, Gandalf knows 1) even contemporary Dúnedain do not ordinarily show signs of physical decay so early, 2) they especially don't in Denethor's family; Gandalf doesn't know the genealogical details but he can tell they're descendants of Elros, making this doubly weird, and 3) the Stewards very likely have the palantír of Minas Tirith in their possession. So Gandalf put the clues together and guessed that Denethor's premature decay was from using the Anor-stone and tangling with Sauron. Gandalf feared that Denethor had essentially pulled a Saruman and been dominated by Sauron, which is part of why he was so anxious on the ride to Minas Tirith. (Even more tangentially: Denethor read this fear in him and apparently found it both deeply offensive and very funny.)

ANYWAY, the point is that this extremely delayed aging process in which physical old age is a sign of impending death still characterizes Númenóreans that late, unless something very strange is going on. It would definitely be the normal process for Númenóreans throughout the entire Second Age, even given the contracting lifespans of the later years.

We also know that one of the factors that led to Pharazôn's disastrous assault on Aman was the onset of old age. This would not simply be a reminder of his mortality for a Númenórean, least of all one from the (honestly rather inbred) line of Elros. It meant he would soon die. If he'd followed the old royal custom of giving up his life when he felt death approach, he might well be dead already. Instead, he's in the "decay" stage and visibly aging.

The point is not that you should feel sorry for Pharazôn. It is very much not that.

No. The point is that Pharazôn was an old man by this time and likely would have looked it.

Meanwhile, here's the Akallabêth's final description of Tar-Míriel, the daughter of the last Faithful king of Númenor and Pharazôn's own first cousin, whom he stripped of hereditary power and forced into marriage:

And last of all the mounting wave, green and cold and plumed with foam, climbing over the land, took to its bosom Tar-Míriel the Queen, fairer than silver or ivory or pearls.

Of course, in Tolkien's treatment, age and beauty do not have to be mutually exclusive. But it really doesn't sound like Míriel was in the final state of decay (and lbr, she didn't have a lot of reason to cling to life beyond the natural end of her lifespan anyway).

Moreover, the shortening of Númenórean lifespans in the Second Age was directly linked to estrangement from Eru/the Valar/their friends among the Elves and hoarding resources and power while developing a paranoid obsession with death. Tolkien said this outright, but also the dates we do have for the Faithful Lords of Andúnië indicate significantly longer lifespans than the later kings of Númenor, their cousins. So if Míriel was privately Faithful, it would be entirely probable for her natural lifespan to far outstrip Pharazôn's.

I do know about the alternate draft Tolkien considered where Míriel was on Team Pharazôn and totally wanted to surrender her power and enter an illegal incestuous marriage, but I agree with Christopher Tolkien that this seems to have been discarded in favor of the purely tragic Míriel of the published Akallabêth. (I also think it's a terrible idea, honestly, that does not fit the overall narrative nearly as well as the Silm's Míriel, tragic as her story is.)

Sometimes I wonder about how the Pharazôn and Míriel of the Akallabêth perceived each other over the years, though. The entire marriage is a nightmare, but I've wondered if he saw her as initially a sort of prize, a possession of great value to adorn his reign—a jewel, even. I've wondered how much Míriel dared, how much she could dare, what the stakes for her really were. And I also wonder what the marriage looked like as Míriel remained delicate, beautiful, and apparently ageless while Pharazôn conspicuously decayed.

The disparity might not have seemed all that significant at first, since Númenórean women typically had longer lifespans than the men anyway (all else being equal). But as time went on and Pharazôn became an old man, obsessed with aging and death, while "fairer than silver" Tar-Míriel remained trapped at his side, I do wonder what the dynamics of that marriage really would have been.

And of course, there'd be Sauron at his other side, notoriously fair and even more truly ageless, willing to exploit any leverage available. I've never envisioned the situation as anything but dreadful, but now I'm like ... yikes.

That said, I'm still fond of the version of Míriel I wrote in 2013:

She firmly puts that and all else out of her mind when Sauron comes to speak with her, eyes frozen and piercing, words honeyed. But the sea is coming and she cannot see beyond it, and Pharazôn is gone with his armies, and that grants her a courage she had thought crushed out of her in all her years of suffering. "I am Tar-Míriel, Queen of Númenórë," she says defiantly, "and you are naught but master of lies and thralls. Step aside or the wrath of the Valar will fall on you once more, and they are in no mood to hear your pleas!" He’s so completely taken aback to be challenged by little Zimraphel that he does take a step back and she runs on ahead to the Meneltarma, laughing. "It shall fall on you still! May you enjoy the fruits of your labours, Tar-Gorthaur!"

[sillylotrpolls]

Pictured: a man who really needs to relax; maybe try meditating sometimes.

[marta-bee]

Rachel Maddow's recent piece on J.D. Vance reminded me of an intersting fact about him. I don't really buy her analysis for why Trump chose Vance for V.P., but I also don't want to do a deep dive into that. Rather, let's talk about the Tolkien element.

See, among other things Vance was a venture capitalist who was groomed by Peter Thiel, the ultra-rightwing even bigger venture capitalist investor who among other things provided some early funding for Facebook. His views on freedom and the common good aren't so far from Elon Musk's. He's also owned or invested in companies like Palantir, Anduril, and Mithril; Vance himself is part-owner in another investment firm, Narya.

Apparently the Tolkien schtick is a bit of a thing with the far right.

I'm not surprised; I've certainly heard of a certain kind of fan who ties Tolkien's good guys to a kind of northern-European heroic past. And I'm not blind to where that reading comes from, if you plot Middle-earth on a map you can draw some pretty racist one-to-one connections. Shire=Englad, Rohan=old Germanic highlands, Gondor=.... Italy I guess? or Greece? some sort of Mediterranean high-classic society? And the less said about Harad, Easterlings, Druedain and Orcs in this analogy, the better, obviously.

I do wish these tech-bros cosplaying as heroic white-saviors would read a bit of the Silmarillion. (When is that not the case?) Or even The Hobbit, because the idea that evil folk are centered in what we might think of as Arda-Africa and Arda-Near Asia just doesn't hold up. Smaug attacked Erebor from the North. Angmar, as in Witch King of? Also from the far North. Similarly for Angband, Morgoth's fortress in the First Age. And without looking it up, I'm pretty sure Ungoliant -- you know, the devourer of light, the giant spider allied with Morgoth when he destroyed the Two Trees -- was from the wastes to the far north of Valinor. So much for a fantasy of Nordic white power resisting the corruption of the hordes.

Which isn't to say Tolkien didn't have his problems with race, he clearly did. But this idea that the heroes of the Free Peoples of the West were all from fantasy-northern Europe is so very simplistic, it makes my teeth hurt. The closest I can get to this read of Tolkien is that all Middle-earth was meant to be northwest Europe, but that would include the free folk and the baddies alike. Minas Morgul is right there across the river from Minas Tirith. Ditto Dol Guldur and Thranduil's halls. Ditto again for Rohan and Isengard. The map just doesn't line up the way these idiots need it to, to make this fantasy work.

(Never mind anyone trying to put Tolkien on the side of historic-Nazism is just cuckoo bananas. Do I really need to dig out Jirt's admittedly hilarious response to his German publisher demanding he certify if he was of Aryan blood?)

But as fun as it is to bop the far right on the nose again and again, I think this focusing on literal racism misses the bigger point. I think a lot of the far-right drawn to Tolkien and other similar fantasy writers see the wolrd in rather apocalyptic terms: an existential threat to their civilization and everything they consider noble, a need for a hero to stand up against this age's Sauron. War must be, etc., etc.; and the stakes are so high, any niggling concerns we have about the proper way to obtain and exercise power must be overlooked. Our noble leader is the only one who can protect us against the encroaching darkness, and anyone who would stand against him might as well be an agent of Mordor.

The thing is, that doesn't sound like Gandalf, or Aragorn, or Frodo. If anything it reminds one of Denethor, who "saw in all the deeds of that time only a single combat between the lord of the White Tower and the Lord of Barad-dur; and mistrusted all others who resisted Sauron, unless they served himself alone."

Assume the Right is correct that we're facing an apocalyptic struggle against... entitled socialism-enabled laziness, or moral relativism, or multiculturalism, or wokeness, or whatever exactly it is. That people aren't doing noble and worthwhile things, they aren't working hard to build something that's worth preserving, that we are slipping into laziness and hedonism and whatever else and we're certainly not embracing virtue. If that was true, it's something I'd like to fight against. But the point of the far right, of Vance and Trump and all the rest, is it takes a singular hero to fight that fight for us. That we need to be marshalled and gathered under a single banner and commanded by a single voice.

There's no room for Smeagol to find the ring in the marshes of a certain riverbank, or for Bilbo's riddle-games, or for a decent Baggins of the Shire to stand up and say: I will take the Ring to Mordor, though I do not know the way. There's no room for chance meetings, or chance in any form; or for grace, or eucatastrophe, snatching joy from the jaws of despair.

And the thing is, Denethor was wrong. Not just because it wouldn't have worked, but his narrow vision came down to "mere politics," doing what must be done rather than what was truly right. That's kind of central to the narrative. It hurts me deeply to say that, because I'm usually so keen in my defense of him, and I truly do believe he's one of the most unfairly maligned characters in LOTR. But it's also true that the War and the necessity of Gondor's survival, the palantir and even his pride has really twisted his character, and he's just not capable of coming back from that. Gondor wouldn't have survived without him, I don't think, but precisely becuase of the way he had to shape himself to make that survival possible, there's very little place for him in the Gondor-to-Come. Moses didn't make it to the Promised Land, either.

J.D. Vance is no Moses, or even a Denethor. He's certainly not an Aragorn. And as for Frodo, if Vance would even deign to see himself as one of the Little Folk? Fuggedaboutit.

I'm rambling. This is my barely-edited, first-flush response to how wrong the idea that Tolkien's legendarium could be telling the same story as Vance & Co. I mean, I get it, I do, but also they're so very very wrong. The fact the wrongness is so blindingly obvious should probably tell us all something.

I would pay good money, though, to see him try to defend Elrond's letting Isildur walk away with the One Ring. Colbert should really get on that.

[lordsxfgondor]

//So I have been playing LOTR Heroes of Middle Earth and I just got to the part where I see the whole house of the Stewards that they have so far and I will share the pictures with y'all.

First we have Denethor who kind of makes me thing he was trying to cosplay as a wizard.

Next is Boromir who looks so young. He is now the family baby.

Lastly we have Faramir who looks like he wants someone to test their luck at 100 paces.

[offthefieldsmau]

⚽ 2.177

Interrupting the heartwarming conversation between Pippin and Faramir, the doorbell rang three chimes. Faramir’s lines carried from the living room to the door: “Proud. Stubborn, even.” Gizmo snaked between Stede’s legs as he turned and watched the TV before opening the front door, “But strong,” Faramir said definitively.

“I think you have strength of a different kind,” Pippin said, and suddenly, Stede felt tears well behind his eyes, “And one day your father will see it.” 

Oh fuck— Stede did not need this right now. Quickly, Stede cleared his throat and wiped at his face so he could face his surprise visitor without tears in his eyes.

Behind the bright yellow door stood a party.

Stede stilled; hand on the doorknob, he took in the group. They were dressed in the most…ridiculous cosplay Stede had ever laid his eyes on. Ridiculous in the sense that even from the dingy lighting of his front porch, Stede could see the craftsmanship:

Jim’s armor and the detailed Tree of Gondor inlaid on the breastplate, Lucius with Sting on his belt and the Lorien leaf with silver veins clasping a fine cape around his shoulders, and Oluwande in the most ridiculous Gandalf the White cloak with a staff and beard to match. Roach and Pete were behind them, also in Hobbit-esque attire; a colorful waistcoat like Merry on Roach and a Pippin-like scarf around Pete’s neck. They looked like a proper Comic Con cosplay troupe and it made Stede’s heart throb in over-full fondness for the lengths they went for him.

“Okay, so,” Lucuis started, his nervous hands fluttering from beneath the cloak, “we know you’re fucking pissed at us. And you have every right to be angry, of course; we fucked up. But it was never with the intent to hurt you or make you feel like we didn’t care, babe. We care so much and we thought, like a bunch of dickheads, that we were doing you a favor instead of, like, talking to you—”

“And we never meant to dishonest with you,” Olu spoke up and stepped closer, the staff tapping against the cement, “We just wanted to keep a good thing going for the kids, and we were worried that your…very special and intense brand of caring might interfere—”

“But we should have sat you down and talked to you about it,” Jim interjected, “like adults. And we definitely should not have used something like…” they gestured to the group’s ensemble, “this as a way of avoiding the topic. That’s really fucking unfair to you.”

“So we’re sorry,” Roach added, “and we love you.”

“Yeah!” Pete perked up, “You’re not just Team Dad, but you’re our Dad Friend. And we love all your, like, weird interests—”

“Pete—” Lucius sighed and when Olu griped, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

“What? It’s true—” 

“Listen,” Stede finally said, drawing their attention back to him, “this is all incredibly kind of you. And I really, truly appreciate the apology, but—”

Faramir’s words crept in from the living room, “If I should return, think better of me, Father.” Stede watched the scene as a tearful Faramir walked away from his father. Suddenly, as the King spoke his words, Stede was hit with it all at once:

“That will depend on the matter of your return.” Denethor said coldly. Stede had been so cold to them, his friends. He was hurt, but— god, this behavior wasn’t like him! He wasn’t some cruel prick like the King; pushing everyone away when all Stede wanted was them to be close.

Tolkien came in and grabbed Stede by the fucking throat once again; from beyond the grave and for the umpteenth time. Stede blinked, sighed, and blinked again— when did those tears start bubbling over?

“...But?” Olu asked. 

“But nothing,” Stede threw the door open, “get the hell in here, we’re having a movie night.” What proceeded was a bone crushing hug that completely encased Stede in all he ever wanted; love, friendship, community—

A fellowship. Stede got his fellowship back.

[ryttu3k]

Other excellent moments:

Cheering at burning Denethor yeeted himself into oblivion, and also Gandalf smacking him with the staff. What a delightfully bloodthirsty (affectionate) crowd

Cheering at the Frodo's, "?????? :D ?????" seeing Legolas meme. Seriously, DOEs he know his name?

Cheering at "...but I can carry you!", and Sam's appearance at Frodo's bedside. We <3 him, nothing but respect for Samwise Gamgee our beloved

Rapturous applause at the titles and end screens, mostly when 'Lord of the Rings' appeared for the first two, and straight out at the New Line Cinema logo for RotK

@robotslenderman and @nevertrustanoracle both independently patting me on the shoulders while I was blubbing inelegantly at the Grey Havens. I did tell you guys I'm a giant sook!

People ranging from appropriatly Tolkien-esque outfits like nevertrustancoracle's gorgeous outfit, to outright cosplay (someone had a full Gandalf fit), to SO MANY LotR tees, to some people who just went, fuck it, pyjamas, and they were SO valid

SO good. I've seen them all in the cinema multiple times, I've seen the extended editions multiple times, I've marathoned a few times, never marathoned the full extended editions in the cinema before!

Went to a LotR marathon with @ryttu3k and @robotslenderman yesterday.

I now know what happens when you put a few hundred passionate LotR geeks in a room together for twelve and a half hours.

Best moments included:

1. Cheering and clapping every time a meme moment happened.

2. A murmur went through the audience, followed by laughter, then cheering and clapping when Aragorn kicked the helmet.

3. Cheering after “And Rohan will answer.”

4. “I am no man!” *loudest cheering so far*

[tomthefanboy]

[donnydoescosplay-blog]

Faramir's Ranger Garb - The Patterns

So, bear with me as I have 0% clue what I am doing and sewing is weirdly complicated and, like? I��m a relatively intelligent adult but something about darts and seam allowances and fucking interfacing just does not connect to the parts of my brain that understand tensile strength and heat tolerance and burning points in worbla.

Sooooo, step one involves finding patterns. Hopefully patterns that are ~relatively close to the original costume and will need less alterations. Because, again. Hopeless. For references, alleycatscratch is invaluable. There are so many references for the movie costume from all sorts of angles, so I referred back to it almost constantly. What I ended up with was McCalls M2002 for the cuirass and Simplicity 1552 for the gambeson and jerkin.

(Aside: if you, like me, are not down with medieval style clothes names.

Cuirass - piece of armor consisting of breast plate and backplate fashioned together at the shoulders, aka that leather sleeveless top.

Gambeson - padded undershirt or jacket for added protection and comfort under armor. The white sleeves seen under the leather sleeveless tops.

Jerkin - sleeveless, close fitting jacket. The green underskirt thingy.)

I ended up using view A of the McCalls for the cuirass, and view B for the gambeson and jerkin. The sleeveless doublet will definitely require a little modification, but much less than any other patterns I looked at. I actually found patterns for cuirasses on google, and if you have more knowledge of sewing than I do they are worth a look; I decided I would much rather pay for a pattern with a step-by-step instruction for my own comfort level. You do you.

View B from the Hobbit based patterns looks pretty darn good tbh, using the part of the pattern called “coat B”. It has the same open front and side seams, as well as a good length. Obviously there are probably other patterns that will work, but these are the ones I will be working with and referencing throughout this build.

Next step will involved cutting patterns out, and making a mockup in cheap fabric to get an idea of the fit and any alterations that need to be done before the expensive fabrics get pulled out. I have never done this step before, but since I’m making a lot of changes I decided it was worth it, especially when I plan to make it with wool and canvas and other stupidly expensive fabrics.

[sigmaleph]

Gandalf isn't a wizard. Gandalf is a minor deity in a human suit cosplaying a wizard.

Denethor, however, is a wizard.

[foedhrass]

'Goodbye, friend. May you continue to grow after we are gone.'

Ndani-tharo (Denethor), Lord of the Nandor, before their departure to face Morgoth’s forces in the north.

Cosplay & edit: Foedhrass

Photo: Little_solnyshka

[fellandfaironline]

“The road may pass, but they shall not! Not while Faramir is Captain. He leads now in all perilous ventures.” ~ Tolkien — Something I love about the way Tolkien crafted Faramir as a character is he is the perfect example of why it is better to be a good man than a mighty one. Boromir was the more perilous of the two brothers. But he failed in strength to do what Faramir did from the nobility of his heart. It was that noble heart that made the younger son of Denethor a successful leader in battle, not his sword arm. Not all are born with the physique to be mighty warriors, but we can each cultivate our hearts and minds to lead with honor and kindness. — #medieval #knight #sword #swords #bladesmith #king #aragorn #tolkien #lotr #lordoftherings #viking #vikings #norse #armor #larp #cosplay #costumedesign #costumedesigner #crown #kingship #faramir #boromir #ithilien #longbow #archery #hope #cloak #cape (at Osgiliath) https://www.instagram.com/p/CKM2umUHHOJ/?igshid=1pwgmpdavs062

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[docmanda]

5, 7 and 8 please?

5. What race in the series would you most likely be? 

A dwarf, I´ve been cosplaying them for years and I like what we get to see of their culture in the movies^^

7. First character you fell in love with? 

Book-Gimli^^ 

8. Character you cannot stand?

Denethor. Boo. ...I am also kinda not that fond of Aragorn? I don´t even know why, he suspish^^ 

[noditchablepromdate]

Wales Comic-Con Dec 2017!

//So, as many of you will probably already be aware, I took off for the above-mentioned con on Friday with my partner in crime @respect-the-king. Actors were met. Photographs were taken. Cosplayers cosplayed. There was a minor case of stalking. It was an excellent time.

Extremely long and rambly story below the cut, complete with several photos!

Links to the cosplay photos I took here and here.

It did not start well. Friday was a very cold day.

Our first train was delayed by about 20 minutes, which led to us missing our connection and having to wait a good 45 minutes for the next train. And then we had to wait again at the second connection for a good 20 minutes. And all 3 trains were pretty much standing room only. And then when we got to Wrexham, where the con was being held, we had to wait AGAIN for a good 30 minutes or so for a taxi to get us to our hotel.

Which meant by the time we finally got to the hotel we were very, very tired and cold. XD We pretty much just had enough energy to thaw out, go get food and then fall into bed.

Saturday morning opened with Mark Pellegrino screeching “GOOOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAAAAAAAAM!” courtesy of @respect-the-king’s phone alarm. My extremely eloquent response of “What the fuck?” was accepted as perfectly reasonable.

After a short while of stumbling around getting ready, we went to breakfast, where @respect-the-king got a little too into character flirting with Bobby. The conversation when Crowley disappeared and came back with a banana went as follows:

Crowley (peeling the banana): Reminds me of you, Robert, darling. Bobby (after a moment of stunned silence): ...Bit on the inadequate side, ain’t it?

Hysterical OOC gigglefit over, we returned to our hotel room so Bobby could put his beard on, and then set out to the con’s first day. This is what we looked like.

We spotted several amazing cosplays while queuing up to go in, including a handful of Deadpools, Thors and Wonder Women, plus Festive Negan complete with tinsel-wrapped Lucille. The crew had got into the festive spirit too - one guy had decided the only appropriate thing to do was shove his head into a plushie turkey and wear it on his head all day. XD

Once we actually got inside, we went to get our weekend wristbands and immedately got very confused... as the woman handing them out took one look at me and went, "BALLS!" This earned her a bewildered stare because I wasn't sure I'd heard her properly, and she repeated it a couple of times before adding "Bobby, right?" at which point I realised she was actually just saying Bobby's catchphrase at me. XD I confirmed that yes, indeed, she had ID'ed my cosplay, and she sent us off with a huge grin.

We tried to sign up for the cosplay competition, but were told signups wouldn’t be until Sunday morning. Undaunted, we set off to explore the area so we knew where everything was, and to kill time until our photo ops.

First photo op was with Mitch Pileggi (Samuel Campbell, Supernatural). I wasn’t sure what to expect, having never had a photo op before, but it was absolutely lovely. Queueing was efficient and relatively painless, and the man himself was very kind and friendly. He asked if my beard was itchy, and when I said no, his response was “Really? Mine is!”

He also said my cosplay looked great, before we had to scoot out of the way for the next people in the queue. @respect-the-king​ and I tried very hard not to squeak over this for the next half-hour or so, before she took off to have her photo op with Andrew Scott (Jim Moriarty, Sherlock).

Once those were done with and the photos collected (which was pretty much instantaneous - the guys in charge of prints were amazing!), we headed into the signing hall to get the pictures autographed. Mitch was lovely and even got up to give me a hug when I approached him ^_^ He signed my photo and my hunter's journal!

I also collected a few autographs in my hunter's journal from other guests I recognised (pics here). Said guests were:

- John Noble (Denethor, Lord of the Rings) who was very friendly, and when I told him it was my first time at a big con, shook my hand and said he was delighted to have been there for my first experience

- Chris Rankin (Percy Weasley, Harry Potter) who was thrilled that I was collecting autographs in an old-fashioned autograph-book way, as he hadn't seen that sort of thing for years

-Jed Brophy (Nori, The Hobbit, + numerous other roles in Peter Jackson films) who was absolutely thrilled with the effort I'd gone to with my beard (I took this as a massive compliment - many of his roles have involved heavy prosthetics, so he knows what it takes to apply false beards etc.)

- Kevin McNally (Joshamee Gibbs, Pirates of the Caribbean) who also complimented me on my beard

- Stanislav Yanevski (Viktor Krum, Harry Potter) who looked pretty worn out by the time I reached him but still had a smile and a handshake at the ready

I also had time to play one of my favourite games at a con - Find the Fudge-Man! This is a stall run by a couple who make home-made fudge and brownies to sell at cons all over the country, and they've been at so many of the cons I've attended that they recognise me on sight no matter what cosplay I'm in XD I bought about a kilo of assorted flavours of fudge from them this time. It's always soft and squidgy and really delicious.

Then it was back off to our final photo ops of the day - Corin Nemec (Christian Campbell, Supernatural) for both of us and Kristine Sunderland (Joyce Summers, Buffy the Vampire Slayer) for @respect-the-king.

Corin was completely over the moon on seeing me! He absolutely had to have a little grope of the beard before the picture was taken, and told me I looked amazing :D He was so sweet and enthusiastic I just melted when he hugged me, before we had to move out of the way for the next people <3

We made some new friends in the queue for Kristine - a pair of ladies right in front of us who spotted me and were delighted to chat. One of them informed us that she had personally asked Jim Beaver if he'd be willing to come to next year's con, and got a reply from him saying he'd be more than happy to! We bonded immediately. XD

Once all our photos were done with, we headed back into the signing hall. Andrew Scott's queue was positively HUGE! So we circled the hall, poked around the stalls, and got a few other autographs. Corin got the biggest grin on his face when we showed up again and we spent a little while chatting to him while he signed my photo and journal... and then he insisted on giving us both a big hug before we left ^____^

@respect-the-king got a couple of autographs from actors I didn't recognise (she's seen a lot more than I have XD). But our best reaction of all came from Travis Aaron Wade (Cole Trenton, Supernatural). He practically bounced out of his seat on seeing the two of us show up at his signing desk, insisted on getting a selfie with us, and asked for a picture of me - and then promptly sent it to Jim Beaver, telling us "Jim's gonna love this!" while we tried not to giggle incoherently. XD

Once he hugged us and finally let us go, we went to get Andrew Scott's autograph and nearly got run over by an amazing Dean Winchester! Sadly we didn't get a pic as we were in the queue at the time, but we chatted for a while and agreed to meet up the next day.

We finally left the con about an hour before everything ended, worn out and delighted, and headed back to the hotel for an evening of eating fudge and watching Moana. I kind of accidentally got @respect-the-king hooked on the fudge I'd bought. XD

Sunday began with the terrifying strains of "HEEEEEEEEEEEEAT OF THE MOMENT" and only improved from there. XD

We went for breakfast at the hotel's restaurant again and just as we sat down to eat... who should walk past but Travis! He stopped short on spotting the pair of us and the first thing out of his mouth was "Hey! It's you guys! ...Where's your beard?!" at which I just kind of cracked up. @respect-the-king spent much of her time trying to process the situation (in fairness, she hadn't had her coffee yet XD) but we managed to talk for a couple of minutes all the same.

He was so lovely - it turned out he was there with a couple of fans who'd won a breakfast with him as a charity prize and he's been donating part of the money to a fund to help rescue dogs. He also informed us that he'd had a reply from Jim - who said he loved my cosplay! Officially endorsed by Jim Beaver, y'all! XD

We managed to get into the con without anyone yelling BALLS at us this time... but promptly got ambushed by an 11th Doctor/TARDIS duo for photos instead. XD We also spent some time chatting with a very festive Kaylee Frye!

We spent a while checking out the areas we hadn't managed to get to on Saturday, took more pictures of awesome cosplays, and then headed up for the only photo op we had on our schedule for the day - Sean Pertwee (Alfred Pennyworth, Gotham).

On the way there, we almost literally ran into Corin Nemec on his way back from his own photo ops... he stopped dead, gave us a huge grin, and the first words out of his mouth were "Did you SLEEP in that beard?!" (I think I may have accidentally discovered one sure-fire way to get the guests’ attention. They all went NUTS over my freaking beard. XD) He gave us both a huge hug before heading back to the signing area and left us both squeeing quietly in the middle of the road. I thought the day couldn't get any better!

Once we got back into the signing hall, we managed to find the demon!Dean we'd promised to meet, and she took us over to find the other two in her group, who had come as Sam and Mary. They did get a group shot, but alas - I didn't. XD

After that it was just a matter of idling away our time looking at stalls and cosplays, and rehearsing for the cosplay competition... and just as we'd taken a snap of a rather impressive Wolverine, we got literally ambushed by Travis yet again! He popped up behind us with a "Hi! Yeah, I'm stalking you guys! :D" and we both just about fell apart laughing XD He was incredibly sweet and happy to chat and seemed so pleased with himself for having run into us so many times.

When he finally had to disappear, one of the old-time crew members who was taking a coffee break wandered over and said he always enjoys working with the guests - he's worked so many cons he never really sees them as stars any more, just ordinary people. We mentioned Mark Sheppard and his reponse was "oh yeah, met him... he's a prick." He saw the looks on our faces and hastily qualified this comment with an explanation about Mark being incredibly sarcastic and prone to teasing fans, not actually a jerk. XD

And then we had to go for the cosplay competition.

It was a good time! There were some amazing cosplays, including an incredibly cute under-16 group Potter cosplay that included a Dobby who could just about toddle =3

I felt really confident when it came time for me and @respect-the-king to get up on stage and do our skit - but oh my gods! I goofed one word in my very first line and the rest of the skit was a thin veneer of calmly playing it out over sheer OH CRAP OH CRAP I MESSED UP... when I got back to my seat my hands were shaking from the rush of adrenaline and terror. XD

We didn't win, but it was fun to see the ones who did. A group Walking Dead entry, and a gorgeously crafted Edward Scissorhands ^_^ and we got complimented on the way out by a few people who really liked our skit!

Aaaaaaaaaand that pretty much brought Wales Comic-Con to a close... we did run into the cutest little Moana while waiting for a taxi, though.

All in all, it was an awesome weekend and I am really excited to go back in April for the 10th Anniversary!