wind-in-the-sky

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Wild how some blokes think women only go for the most boring, generic, triangular trust fund men when meanwhile, over in the Dragon Age fandom, we are absolutely feral for this parade of glorious mess

(I did Origins but am limited to ten images…but I see you, Alistair “Swooping is Bad” Theirin and Zevran, defo assassin defo farthest thing from a virgin Antivan Crow disaster bisexual. We also go feral for them.)

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i think what some of yall don't understand is that lucanis loves like a cat.

like is he gonna bound over to the door and tell you how much he missed you every time you come back in? no. he's gonna sit casually on the sofa and pretend he hasn't even noticed and then as soon as you're comfortable he's going to curl up in your lap and fall asleep.

yall are just used to fictional men who chase the protagonist, i fear. lucanis loves in a way that's much quieter.

he's still just as loyal, he still loves just as hard.

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Sorry, excuse me, just imaging Spite taking over a romanced Lucanis' body when Rook is pulled into the regret prison, kicking Ghilan'nain's dead body over and over again, screaming to give Rook back until Davrin and Bellara have to drag him away as he slowly fades back into a sobbing Lucanis...

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Alucard has a specific type.

heeeey~ old thing because I was gone for a long time.

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A while ago I decided there weren’t enough aroace boromir fics so i decided to write one.

But then I decided there weren’t enough Boromir lives fanfics so I threw that in there.

And my original vision involved his mother as a ghost so that went in as well.

And I like backstory that puts a characters motivation in a new light so now he’s got that aroace panic in the face of impending marriage expectations adding fuel to his breakdown.

And for catharsis reasons I had to have someone give him the “it wasn’t your fault” speech…

And I added some funny bits because it was the only way to motivate myself

Anyway this baby is almost 5k and frankly if I get any more inspo, I’m committing a felony. I was made for 1.5k one shots and nothing else.

But she’s beautiful and she’s drafted so Im excited!!!

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I will always come to this Ted talk .

ARAGORN AND BOROMIR FOREHEAD KISS

thank you for coming to my ted talk

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I saw a post saying that Boromir looked too scruffy in FotR for a Captain of Gondor, and I tried to move on, but I’m hyperfixating. Has anyone ever solo backpacked? I have. By the end, not only did I look like shit, but by day two I was talking to myself. On another occasion I did fourteen days’ backcountry as the lone woman in a group of twelve men, no showers, no deodorant, and brother, by the end of that we were all EXTREMELY feral. You think we looked like heirs to the throne of anywhere? We were thirteen wolverines in ripstop.

My boy Boromir? Spent FOUR MONTHS in the wilderness! Alone! No roads! High floods! His horse died! I’m amazed he showed up to Imladris wearing clothes, let alone with a decent haircut. I’m fully convinced that he left Gondor looking like Richard Sharpe being presented to the Prince Regent in 1813

*electric guitar riff*

And then rocked up to Imladris a hundred ten days later like

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Day 2 and 3 I guess! Better late than never

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Looking for a fic i forgot the name of again!

It's a Boromir lives au on AO3 (pretty sure, either that or ffn.net) where he gets injured in Moria, then falls down with Gandalf when he gets hit by the balrog. He then somehow floats down the entwash into Fangorn forest and is rescued, though I forget where it goes from there. Really wanted to read it again, but realised I hadn't bookmarked it.

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Whole fic for 'We do not love the sword for its sharpness

Warning: major character death because it's my take on Amon Hen and Boromirs death

(Not hugely original, I know, but eh, it fit the race against the clock prompt for day 1 of whumptober)

Just as he manages to fell the last of the orcs that had gathered at the top of the hill near the bleak remains of the seat of seeing, Aragorn heard a great ringing cry come from further down – HasteUrgencyAidByTheValarHelpHelpHelp – the horn of Vorondil had sounded, just as it had been at the beginning of this quest, and with its urgent song it compelled all those who could to aid the fair son of Gondor.

The horn sounds again, another desperate call, the orcs faltering against the brightness of the sound, and Aragorn moves; springing into action, he belts down the hill to where that desperate sound had come from, followed closely by Legolas and Gimli both – the tree branches grasping and snagging at their legs, hindering them in their race against time. Soon enough, they break into an area of flatter ground to the sound of pitched fighting and the unmistakable whistle-thud of arrows meeting flesh – No, it couldn’t be! – but there is scant time to pause, as the fresh set of orcs set upon them. Aragorn is a near blur in his action; his sword biting deep into orcish flesh and his dagger backing it up. He dimly registers a low whistle from Gimli about the numbers of dead already lying around them; Boromir was a man who took after the warrior legends of old, and his skill with a blade was formidable.

A sudden icy dread seized his spine as he broke through the enemy ranks and races ever closer – Merry and Pippin were with him, and if that were the case then Boromir would willingly sacrifice his body to see his “little ones” safe. Aragorn finally burst into the clearing, and laid eyes on that which he had dreaded most – Boromir is slumped over his knees, several black arrows piercing his chest, blood leaking from the wounds crimson-bright as it dripped onto the forest floor. A great, hulking orc looms over him, drawing a twisted black bow to deliver the final shot. 

 

NO!

 

With a great cry Aragorn brings his sword arcing down on the misshapen bow, breaking it clean in twain. A grunt, and the uruk hai he'd just tackled pushes him back - the both of them thudding into a tree - and the uruk's curved shield comes arcing up and the points of it thud into the bark either side of his neck, trapping him there until he ducks out from underneath, just in time to avoid the swing of an equally wicked sword. From then on, the duel is a blur of fierce motion, of swords dropped and near misses up to the point Aragorn manages to skewer it on the point of his sword, then swiftly behead it.

He sprints over to Boromir and skids to his knees by his side.

"They took the little ones!" Boromir manages to grit out.

"Stay still." Aragorn replies, almost a command, as his hands clamp desperately around one of the arrow wounds, trying to stem the slow bubble of blood.

"Frodo. Where is Frodo?" it is nearer a whisper now, and Aragorn can hear the hitch in his breathing as Boromir struggles against the pain.

"I let Frodo go," he whispers back.

"Then you did what I could not, I tried to take the ring from him." his breathing stutters again, turning into near frantic gasping for air.

"The ring is beyond our reach now," is Aragorn's reply, a reassurance

"Forgive me, I did not see ... I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor."

Aragorn reaches for one of the arrows - to stem the flow further, or to remove it, he doesn't know - but Boromir weakly bats his hand away.

"Leave it! It is over ... the world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness and my city to ruin ... Aragorn." Desperation laces his tone as blood spills from his lips, his hand shooting upwards to clasp Aragorn's shoulder.

Laying one hand of his own over it, Aragorn reassures him "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail." 

"Our people...our people..." 

He can see Boromir's hand grasping for his sword, laying on the leaf litter just out of his reach, so Aragorn places it in his hand and with the last of his strength Boromir brings it thudding to his chest in a pale imitation of a soldier's salute.

"I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my King." Boromir grits out between bloodied lips, his face pale, throat working against the blood choking it.

Those words are final, and the life in his eyes fades out, and the agony slips from his face with it.

"Be at peace, son of Gondor." he says, and Aragorn bends down to place a kiss on his forehead - a benediction and a farewell in one to one of the greatest Men he had known in his long years of life.

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Hello, I finally posted the fic on AO3! Please read and enjoy 😁.

Sorry for the angst

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Whumptober day one

Just a sneakpeak for day one's prompt which should be out tomorrow afternoon!

(It's late, so not off to a great start, lol)

Just as he manages to fell the last of the orcs that had gathered at the top of the hill near the bleak remains of the seat of seeing, Aragorn heard a great ringing cry come from further down – HasteUrgencyAidByTheValarHelpHelpHelp – the horn of Vorondil had sounded, just as it had been at the beginning of this quest, and with its urgent song it compelled all those who could to aid the fair son of Gondor.

Springing into action, Aragorn belts down the hill to where that desperate sound had come from, followed closely by Legolas and Gimli both – the tree branches grasping and snagging at their legs, hindering them in their race against time. Soon enough, they break into an area of flatter ground to the sound of pitched fighting and the unmistakable whistle-thud of arrows meeting flesh – No, it couldn’t be! – but there is scant time to pause, as the fresh set of orcs set upon them. Aragorn is a near blur in his action; his sword biting deep into orcish flesh and his dagger backing it up. He dimly registers a low whistle from Gimli about the numbers of dead already lying around them; Boromir was a man who took after the warrior legends of old, and his skill with a blade was formidable.

A sudden icy dread seized his spine as he broke through the enemy ranks and races ever closer – Merry and Pippin were with him, and if that were the case then Boromir would willingly sacrifice his body to see his “little ones” safe. Aragorn finally burst into the clearing, and laid eyes on that which he had dreaded most – Boromir is slumped over his knees, several black arrows piercing his chest, blood leaking from the wounds crimson-bright as it dripped onto the forest floor. A great, hulking orc looms over him, drawing a twisted black bow to deliver the final shot. 

NO!

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Trying my hand at goretober this year! Maybe some of whumptober too 🤔

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Pt 2!

Grumpy Logan inspired by all the disgruntled looks from the movie. Hope you like 👍.

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Grumpy Logan inspired by all the disgruntled looks from the movie. Hope you like 👍.

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I am finally attempting to colour this old wip of Anderson being ensnared by the nail of Helena. What do you think?

I like to imagine that this takes place in an Au where the nail of Helena is used on an unwilling Anderson, which means even more potential for sad Alucard!

[wind-in-the-sky]

I am finally attempting to colour this old wip of Anderson being ensnared by the nail of Helena. What do you think?

I like to imagine that this takes place in an Au where the nail of Helena is used on an unwilling Anderson, which means even more potential for sad Alucard!