#the end kind of got away from me

[laenaism]

Something that really bothered me about Corlys and Baela’s scene was the fact that Corlys ‘wanted’ to make Baela heir in the first place. Corlys has made it clear he does not value women, in the book and in the show. He was angry Rhaenys was passed over because he himself was also snubbed from that position of power. Corlys has shown no care for either of his children, he married both Laenor and Laena off with no care for their safety (you cannot tell me he didn’t have some hand in Laena marrying Daemon, at least in the show). All he truly cared about was his ambition which unfortunately is something that can be said for a lot of men in this universe. He loved Rhaenys, but Corlys definitely valued himself and his needs over everyone else in his life, all that matter was what he wanted. He only told Baela that he wanted to make her heir because that’s what Rhaenys asked of him the night of Laena’s funeral. And you know what happened? Corlys had the audacity to get mad at her for that! He felt guilty, so he decided he would honor Rhaenys and offer Baela the role of being heir. He didn’t actually want her to be so, he didn’t do it as an acknowledgement of her strength or leadership, he did it to honor Rhaenys because she died. He may not outright say it but he values men in a position of power way more than he ever would a woman. If Baela were to have accepted (which I believe she should have considering she has a better claim than Addam or Alyn) no doubt Corlys would have tried to worm his way out of it down the line. He was not a good grandfather to his granddaughters, he didn’t even know them, look at the way he spoke of Rhaena! She was Laena’s daughter and you don’t think she knew about ships or dragons? Okay deadbeat… I think Baela turning it down made sense, but I hate the reasoning she gave “I am made of blood and fire, Driftmark must pass to salt and sea,” like she is also made of ‘salt and sea’ 🥴 granted, she’s only a quarter Velaryon, but her mother was literally the only true parent she had before she died, why would she not care about carrying on that legacy? It doesn’t make sense considering Baela is all about family and loyalty. This isn’t hate on her, I love her, but I have to be honest, that line made me cringe lmao. That’s not Baela’s fault though, that’s Ryan Condal and Sara Hess’, fvck those writers! Regardless, Corlys should have offered it to Rhaena first in my opinion, she was going to be Lady of Driftmark with Lucerys, why shouldn’t she still be? Baela was going to be queen, the Lady of Driftmark would have been perfect for Rhaena if Corlys was just going to skip over Joffrey.

(Just a PSA) I’m not denying Baela and Rhaena are Targaryen, I know they are, but there’s no harm in acknowledging their Velaryon side as well. I’ve seen way too many people act like being a Velaryon is an insult and it’s very sus. As long as people aren’t being fvcking racist about it, I love when their mother’s Velaryon side is appreciated (though Laena was Targaryen as well which a lot of people somehow seem to forget considering the fact that Laena was prideful in being a Targaryen). The only reason I’d ever acknowledge them as Velaryon’s is because their mother was their main parental figure before Rhaenys, it was never about their skin color. The people who call them Velaryon’s because of their skin color, that’s when it’s racist and stupid, and unfortunately those people do exist.

[b4kuch1n]

sunstroll

[topaziraphale]

"Stop saying Crowley won't help Aziraphale in S3 he'd go back to him in a HEARTBEAT and nothing would stop him" I get it no one likes the idea of Crowley being bitter after what happened for a long period of time but like can we at least acknowledge that he's currently going through probably the most emotional pain in his life since falling? Can we agree that he's opened his heart entirely - something you couldn't pay him to do unless the world is literally ending and he's desperate - to Aziraphale, and got shot down? Can we understand that he did it AGAIN only to lose Aziraphale again? Not that what Aziraphale did isn't without Crowley's own shortcomings (hiding the truth of Heaven's cruelty from him) but like,,,,

The appeal here isn't Scorned Crowley Doesn't Love Aziraphale Anymore, or Never Wants To Help Him Again, the appeal here is Crowley learning enough self respect to not just walk back right to Aziraphale like nothing happened after Aziraphale has had a pattern of consistently refusing him. Going years ping-ponging between "We're not friends I don't even know him" to "That's what friends are for right?" and "We're friends, why would you even say anything?" and "Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon!"

Like I get it, Crowley is a heartbreakingly forgiving person. Of course he's gonna forgive Aziraphale, I'll be surprised if he didn't forgive him by the time he walked out the bookshop door, but gdi he could at least grant himself the luxury of being at least a little irritated for longer than however long it takes to make a globe and some books float and angrily cry out to God in his flat. But due to the change of pace and dynamic that is establishing part of the conflict for Season 3, I just really like the idea of him for ONCE prioritizing himself and being like "Okay, fine. We'll get back at it when you're ready, then," instead of just taking Aziraphale back like his words and actions meant nothing to him, when clearly they have an effect on him.

What is Aziraphale going to learn if Crowley just accepts what he did so quickly, like he always has the entire time they've been friends? Idk maybe I'm just projecting too much darkness on their dynamic but I mean, if the pattern of Aziraphale pushing Crowley away/disrespecting him one day and then being fine with his friendship the next + Crowley never stopping to be like "Hey, that's not cool, at least give me a little credit" or smth was fine all along and will continue to be fine in the future, then why, after 6,000 years of being friends and loving this demon, can Aziraphale still not accept that Crowley is just fine the way he is, and instead got excited to promote him to an angel in a heartbeat once the opportunity presented itself? You can't blame all of it on Heaven when Aziraphale has demonstrated his free will/defiance to Heaven so many times. Or, I don't know, I guess maybe we can? Maybe I'm just craving too much angst to the point where I'm letting it cloud my analysis of canon. Idk.

[feroluce]

So I went to the wiki page for the henghill Bullet & Brain mission of 2.2 looking for some dialogue I had missed and

a) I found something incredibly tasty that slotted into some other thoughts I'd been having, more on that on another day, and

b) I saw this super fun little trivia at the bottom, which!

I knew Penacony characters like Boothill took a lot of inspirations from old movies, but I didn't realize it was even in his and Dan Heng's relationship, that's so cool!!

It fits them very well, it's such a fun reference. "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" was an old buddy Western film (from 1969- nice) about a pair of outlaws. Butch Cassidy was the leader of a gang, and described as clever, affable, and talkative. Meanwhile, his closest companion, the Sundance Kid, was known as a man of few words.

Cassidy's original birth name was much more plain, but similar to Boothill, he took on a new moniker when he became an outlaw. "Cassidy" had been the last name of his beloved mentor, who taught him how to shoot and ride. And Sundance Kid was known as he was because Sundance was the name of his hometown, and it was the only place that had ever managed to catch and jail him, back when he'd been younger (also similar to Dan Heng, but ouch).

These two stick together like glue throughout the length of the film- through Cassidy's leadership of the gang being challenged, through a train robbery gone wrong, through being pursued by mercenaries, and even through fleeing to Bolivia and trying to start over together.

I don't want to say too much more, since the mission title is referencing one specific movie that I've never seen. I kinda wanna watch it now, though, just to see the inspiration that went into Boothill and Dan Heng and how they get along. I just think it's really sweet that these two were literally made to be the best of bros, how lovely is that. 💕

[lesbianshadowheart]

the lack of fandom insanity about aloy hzd is crazy to me.....she was literally born of immaculate conception to be the saviour of a world that doesnt want her. she was the loneliest girl in the world the first and last of her kind. while gay

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock

[goldkirk]

.

[dontmindme2600]

Things that have happened to me in fallout 3 so far: (I’m going in completely blind, like I genuinely don’t know shit about this game AT ALL)

-Drank one bottle of vodka because I was injured and panicked because it gave me a pop up saying I was now literally addicted to it, didn’t matter because I died soon after anyways

-Spent like 20 minutes on the screen where you hack into the overseer’s computer because it was complicated as hell, then found out with google that the password was literally just in a locker to the right

-Got stuck (like literally unable to move) in a pit near vault 101 because I was in between a car and a wall. I had to reload my save, I screamed out “BETHESSSDAAAA” dramatically

-Went near a large ant expecting to just walk past it and it fucking breathed fire all over me, also made me scream

-Walked over a frag mine, was very happy I didn’t die, immediately walked over another one in the next room and died

-Got a new gun and was so excited to use it on a super mutant but instead I instantly died because in my own excitement I forgot that I didn’t even have the right ammo for it, all that happened was a sad clicking noise

-Got very excited to see what I now know are raiders because holy shit actual other human beings, ran up to them and got shot and died

-Almost put literally every important item I had in some random mailbox I’d never be able to find again because for a second I misunderstood how they worked

-Got completely lost for like an hour trying to find Megaton, accidentally started a bunch of random side quests in other towns that I ultimately was too weak/under leveled to complete, then when I finally just quick traveled back to vault 101 to start over and walked for a little bit, I realized that I missed the literal huge sign labeled “Megaton” with an arrow pointing in the town’s direction. Twice. It’s like the first goddamn thing you see after walking in a straight line

Side note but I’ve noticed everything I consume adds to like the amount of radiation I have, I don’t know what happens when you have too much radiation but something tells me I’m gonna find out at some point

[casiavium]

I really need to be cleaning my room but. fanfiction I'd write if I had time but I Do Not

There are several ghiralink fic storylines that are along the lines of "Link gets exactly what he thinks he wants and turns out it isn't really what he needs" (whether real or a dream-state) that have him taking Ghirahim's sword and gaining complete control over him and the themes are of personhood and power and complacency. be careful what you wish for type things. A few that are Ghirahim killing Link/Link losing and realizing he would rather have him alive and fighting instead of dead/given up because it was more fun than way, but usually end up being sad. oh well I guess for the former and teaming up with Link to defeat Demise for the latter.

What I want to write is the themes of scenario 1 but role reversed so it's like scenario 2 with Ghirahim having the "this isn't what I wanted" moment. Ghiralink adds, usually as a joke, a level of "if I can't kill you, maybe you could join me ;)" and I want to write more or less Link doing that, Link being a perfect subservient extension that does everything he wants him to and he doesn't regret it (he can't), but Ghirahim having the realization that he doesn't want someone who is nothing more than an object for him to use. A doll. A sword.

And then, how Link has guilt over Fi and the Master Sword and his role as hero and how Hylia controls him but he's no better than her, Ghirahim realizing Link is now what he is to Demise and rethinking his own position. Is this what Demise thinks of me. Is that why he treats me the way he does. And he takes his anger out on Link but Link can't fight back anymore. Link doesn't want to fight back anymore, and not in a depressed it's hopeless kind of way, but in the same way Ghirahim accepted Demise pulling the sword out of his chest.

When Ghirahim is empty and goes isn't this what you wanted, Link can genuinely say no because he has a hero's heart and conscience and never meant for anyone to get hurt. When Link goes I am what you made me, Ghirahim has to face that fact that yes, he is, and he is made in my image, and I do not want this anymore.

[redbean-nom]

watched the first 2 episodes of acolyte and so far i like every character except for the main one lol. (also is her name osha as in occupational safety and health administration??)

[onlygenxhere]

Morning Revelations

From @innytoes prompt list

Julie threw open the studio doors and froze.

Luke was sprawled across the mattress of the pull out sofa apparently sound asleep and completely naked. The blankets were still wrapped around his lower legs but everything above that was pale and smooth. He was hugging one of the pillows and his slightly overgrown mop of hair was covering his face.

She’d expected him to be here. They were supposed to meet to write today but she hadn’t expected him to still be sleeping… and naked.

A towel appeared in front of her face and she jumped.

“Got a little something on your chin Jules.”

She turned to scowl at Reggie who was snickering at her.

“Shut up,” she grabbed the towel from him and then threw it back in his face making him giggle and jump away. “What is he doing sleeping in there?” she hissed.

Reggie shrugged. “He told me he didn’t want to piss you off for being late.”

She growled. “Why is he naked?!”

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Because he’s a walking furnace and always sleeps naked unless we’re sharing a bed.”

“Oh.” Julie frowned. “Where did you and Alex sleep?”

Reggie pointed back to the house. “I slept in the guest room and Alex stayed at Willie’s place. He’ll be here shortly.”

Julie bit her lip as her eyes were drawn back to the sleeping form of her crush.

Nope, nope she did not have a crush on Luke. They were friends and writing partners and band mates and that was all.

“What time did you all get in last night anyway?” The guys had gone out with a band they’d all met last week at their gig. Julie totally wasn’t bitter that she wasn’t twenty one yet and couldn’t go out with them last night or any night they went to a bar or a club unless it was eighteen and up which was rare.

“Luke and I got back around two.”

She’d stayed home, not that she’d had much of a choice and worked on some of her school work for her psychology class so she’d have today free to write and practice with the guys… with Luke.

Julie couldn’t stop staring at him.

The sun was streaming in the bay window making all that pale smooth skin practically glow.

“I kinda wanna touch it.”

“What?”

Julie whipped her head back at Reggie, “Did I say that out loud?” she hissed.

Reggie shook with suppressed laughter. “Yeah, but...seriously” He took a calming breath. “What if he woke up and saw you?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Are you ready to tell him you like him?”

She wanted to argue, or deny it but he knew, Alex knew, hell everyone knew except for Luke. She thought she’d been painfully obvious for years. Either Luke was really that oblivious or more likely he wasn’t interested in her like that and was just trying to spare her feelings.

She sighed, “No.”

He rolled his eyes, “You two really need to get your crap together.”

“I…” she started to say when there was movement on the bed and Luke started to shift. Julie squeaked and skittered away from the open door. She was not ready to see more than she already had. She’d already seen more than she should have.

Reggie pushed the open door partway closed and turned to frown at her crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Why won’t you just tell him and put all of us out of our misery?”

She rolled her eyes, “Because he obviously doesn’t think of me like that.”

Reggie scoffed. “You’re as blind as he is.”

“You know he,” she pointed toward the sleeping man on the other side of the door. “…could say something to me!” she pointed at herself.

Reggie sighed. “You’re both impossible.”

“I just think you’re wrong Reg.” Julie crossed her arms and huffed. “I know Crystal was with you all last night and she’s been painfully obvious with how much she likes Luke.” Crystal was the bass player for the band the guys went out with last night and she’d been less than subtle with all her arm touching and inane giggling at everything Luke said when they’d all met last week.

“Julie,” Reggie rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t like her. He doesn’t like any of them. He’s in love with you!”

She shook her head and turned away from Reggie’s earnest face. She just couldn’t hear it any more, it hurt too much. Luke was considerate enough not to parade all the girls who flirted with him in front of her but she was sure he must be getting together with them when he and the guys were out partying without her.  

Julie could feel the tears trying to well up in her eyes as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It was fine, he deserved to have fun.

She just didn’t understand how Reggie could stand there and say Luke was in love with her when he’d never said anything. They’d been friends for years now. She’d thought when she was younger it was because he was a couple years older than her but she was nineteen now and far from a kid.

Reggie had to be wrong.

A warm hand tugged on her shoulder, turning her back around.

“Reggie…”

It was Luke.

“What are you…?”

He was looking at her so intently she barely registered his hands on her shoulders. “I promise I don’t like Crystal.”

“You don’t?” she breathed out laying her hand on his chest to steady herself. Thank goodness he’d put some clothes on.

He shook his head and leaned a little closer. “How could I possibly want to be with anyone when you’re all I think about.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “I’m not wrong here am I?” he said as he leaned his forehead against hers. “You want…”

She licked her lips and tilted her head up in invitation. “Yes.”

He smiled before closing the distance between them and pressing their lips together in a soft kiss.

It only lasted for a moment, both of them unable to stop smiling, before there was clapping and hollering behind them.

They broke apart, laughing, to see not only Reggie but Alex and Willie high fiving each other.

“It’s about time you two!” Alex laughed.

“Ok, ok, shows over.” Luke grinned as he slid his arm around her waist. “Jules and I have songs to write.”

“Right,” Alex rolled his eyes and glanced at Willie and Reggie. “We’ll go see if Ray needs any help with anything for a couple hours so you two can go write.” Alex said making exaggerated quotation marks.

She couldn’t stop grinning at him as they walked with their arms around each other toward the studio.

“Just think how much misery we could have spared everyone if we’d just shown Julie Luke’s naked ass ages ago.” Reggie said gleefully as he, Alex and Willie trooped up the stairs.

Julie squeaked and pulled away from Luke completely mortified.

She sprinted the last few feet into the studio as Luke burst out laughing at Reggie’s words.

Check out @1mnobodywhoareyou version of this prompt here. We stan a flustered Luke.

[vaugarde]

pokeani moments that exist purely to make Me miserable:

the line where they call ash's oshawott a throwaway pokemon in the unova league so they're just flat out saying they think it's a worthless pokemon

to thine own pokemon be true (extra angst points for me bc ambipom was my second favorite on the team at the time)

the granddaughter of the guy who trains gliscor calling gliscor pathetic and weak to her face despite gliscor being an extremely sensitive pokemon

pretty much everything about that gible

blue episode (favorite color but they made it a fetish somehow and also dewott and brionne and meowstic are all there and its so bad)

boxing heracross immediately. also that battle frontier episode where it's literally the only returning ash mon (barring torkoal i think but i dont count it bc its native to AG) to get humiliated onscreen

pidgeot returning but gliscor didn't even show up in the miniseries despite being an Actual Character

[tathrin]

6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time （＾ω＾）

Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]

“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.

Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.

The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.

They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.

The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.

He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I—I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”

“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.

“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”

Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.

He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...

Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.

The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.

“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.

But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.

“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”

Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”

Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.

Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!

“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.

The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.

It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”

His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.

This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.

Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.

Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.

Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?

He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?

When he could have been kissing him?

Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.

“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.

But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.

More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—

And then Legolas laughed.

There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.

Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.

And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.

The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.

Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.

They lived.

Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.

He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.

“Legolas—” Gimli began.

“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”

Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.

“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.

[yuridovewing]

As a fellow Dovewing lover, it's frustrating how the fandom watered her down into a whiny brat who never cared about Ivypool. I mean, seriously? Not only did Dovewing care about her sister (reacting in horror when Lionblaze, her own mentor and Jayfeather are willing to potentially sacrifice Ivypool's safety by employing her as her spy instead of trying to get her out of the Dark Forest's clutches, hiding a thorn in her nest to cover for her scarring from her training).

Heck, even the scene where she tries to feed Ivypool her catch during a hunting patrol was demonized because 'she was trying to make Ivypool break the code like SHE does, as if it doesn't matter' and because she got upset when Ivypool started arguing with her! But you guys said she didn't care, right? Plus, people act like being forced into a prophecy is something you should be grateful for, as if it didn't irreparably change her close relationship with her sister? As if Lionblaze and Jayfeather didn't still keep her out of the loop (and for all the fussing they made about keeping it a secret, Lionblaze confesses his power to Cinderheart and Jayfeather doesn't even care).

Meanwhile Nightheart is angry he isn't orange and hates his mom for being exiled and the whole world has to stop for him. 🤪 And Bramblestar is simply so tortured by having an evil father, the only choice is to train with him and his evil half-brother and hide this from his wife! (But remember, it's bad when that witch Squirrelflight hides the parentage of the three from him, even when Blackstar and Leopardstar were still around after being complicit in the torture and killing of halfclan cats.) Why are these male characters sympathized with, even when they actively harm people (Nightheart forcing himself into Sunbeam's life by lying to everyone about being her mate without even asking her if she would be fine with that beforehand), Bramblestar (we all know what he does), but when Dovewing or any other female character is upset, people freak out and call them whiny brats or abusive for (checks notes) asking her partner if he loves her anymore after they argued multiple times in a book. Really makes you think! (Sorry this is so long, you just have based opinions!)

dovewing being characterized as this flighty airheaded vain popular girl stereotype in fanon is like. one of those biggest "we didnt actually read the books" things in the fandom. like theres so much fanart where shes grinning and giggling over the prophecy and shes besties with the trio and shes got preferential treatment, and then in the actual books shes basically the autistic kid no one actually likes. people really, REALLY overexaggerate that one scene where she snaps at ivypaw and brags. (and i dont wanna shit on amvs but i am forever side eying how the animation community handled dove back in the day. more than one person animated her getting murdered. normal.)

i do think its gotten better recently at least. but wow does it feel like at least one person on the writing team has a bone to pick

(also awww thank you <3 no need to be sorry i love getting stuff in my inbox)

[sysig]

I am not immune to any cutes - including Rick and Morty cutes, unfortunately (Patreon)