#boromir fan fiction

[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Prologue

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Boromir 

Warnings: Some angst… 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

“You can swing at me, you know. You are not about to hit me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gabriella grunted as she sat up. Her sword lay on the ground beside her, her arms ached from the effort of wielding it, despite the fact that it was made especially for her. Not only that, but it was commissioned by the man now standing over her, looking more than a little smug as he folded his arms over a broad chest. 

“So, why don’t you?” Those thick arms unfolded and he held out a large hand with deceptively elegant fingers. 

She lay her hand in his and let him draw her up. “I don't know. I suppose I fear hurting you.”

He chuckled. “I think it would take more than what you could deliver to hurt me, Gabby. Come, let’s try again.”

“No. I’m sore and tired and my arms might very well fall off if I so much as think about swinging that blasted blade even one more time.”

He moved to pick up the blade in question, then handed it to her. “I don’t know when the next time I’ll be able to spar with you will come, you know.”

“Don’t remind me, please.” She took the sword from him, carefully slipped it back into its scabbard, then looked up at him, squinting as the sun sinking into the horizon behind him temporarily blinded her. She blinked the spots from her eyes and looked instead at him. Boromir, oldest son of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and her closest friend in all of Middle Earth. They’d grown up together, and in recent times he was away from Minas Tirith more often than he was there. But when he did come home, he made certain to come by the tavern and see her. And if he planned to be around for more than several days, he found the time to work in a sparring session with her. 

Come the sunrise, he’d be leaving. Rivendell was his destination and he would not say why he’d been summoned there, which meant it couldn't possibly be good. War was coming. She knew it. They all knew it. For the last several weeks, men had been working almost round the clock to attempt to fortify the city, to evacuate as many of the women and children as they could. 

“You’re staring,” he broke into her reverie, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“At you? Hardly,” she snorted. “Why would I stare at you?”

A lie. Of course she stared at him. How could she not, when he was, quite simply, the handsomest man in all of Gondor? He was tall and broad of shoulder and chest, with hair the color of fresh honey and eyes the same green as a lush meadow after a spring rain. He was noble and proud and kind and strong.

And he saw her as nothing more than a friend. The sister he’d never had. 

One dark gold brow rose ever so slightly. “Why, indeed.” He glanced up at the thickening clouds. “Let me see you home before the rains come.”

She nodded and they set off back toward the tavern not far from the inn. Her family ran said tavern, and lived above it and while her best friend Dora liked to tease her about someday marrying Boromir, Gabriella knew such a match was unlikely to happen. He showed little interest in any woman, and even less in the notion of marrying any time soon. Of course, the time would come when his father would decide it was absolutely time, and so would choose a suitable bride for his son.

And that bride would not be the daughter of the tavern keeper. 

They made an odd pair as it was, but no one seemed troubled by it, and she valued his friendship above all else, so if friends was all they were to be, she would treasure it still.

“Do you truly have to go? It’s grown so dangerous to travel beyond the city walls.”

“We’ve talked about this, Gabby. And yes, I truly do have to go.”

She peered up at him as they walked. He was almost a head and a half taller than her, and always gave off that feeling of security. No matter what, she was safe with him and she knew it. He made certain she did. 

“The side of my face grows hot.” He stopped and turned toward her. “Going to tell me you aren’t staring again?”

“Not this time, no.” She shook her head. “I am instead trying to find a reason to convince you to stay.”

“Gabby,” a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, “please stop. Staying is not an option. You know this, so please stop asking me to.”

“I know, I sound like a child and I pout like one, but I’m terrified something will happen to you. Something terrible.”

He caught her hands in his and her heart gave a mighty leap at the way the air seemed to crackle around them. His hands were rough from riding, and large enough that they swallowed hers. “I will be fine and when I return, you will laugh at yourself for being so worried.”

“And if you aren’t? If you don’t?” She looked up at him. “I know that sounds so ominous and dramatic, but—”

“Gabby,” he broke in gently, his normally guarded eyes softening as they met hers, “I will.”

Thunder rolled low in the distance as he held her gaze and her heart sped up as she whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you. And perhaps by then you will have finally worked up both the nerve and the strength to knock me down.”

“I most definitely will.”

He winked then. “Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

“Good.” He bobbed his head slightly. “Because I will be back. I have a very good reason to be, you know.”

“Well, yes, you have to take your place eventually as steward.”

“Yes, but that’s not quite what I mean.”

Her heart sped up again as his eyes grew softer still and the crackle in the air seemed louder now. Loud enough that she almost expected to see very real sparks shoot between them. The fine hairs along her arms stood and a slight, teasing chill ran along her spine. 

He leaned over and their lips met in a gentle kiss that had her curling her toes in her boots and her fingers about his. His lips were so incredibly soft, much more so than she’d ever imagined, and she had to fight back the rising sigh as they moved against hers. The neatly trimmed hair of his mustache and beard tickled, but only for a moment as he tilted his head slightly, parted those soft lips, and the tip of his tongue eased between her lips to caress hers. 

His one hand fell from hers to come to rest on her hip, then he eased that arm about her waist to tug her flush against him and her heart soared as his kiss deepened, as he bent her body back just enough. It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the sweetest she’d ever received and he drew back to press his forehead to hers, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time now.”

“I’ve wanted you to for some time,” she replied softly.

“So then you are not about to slap me?”

“Not this time, no.”

He chuckled softly. “Good.”

This time when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, and she melted against him as he wrapped her in his arms as if he’d never let her go.

The next morning, she slipped away from the tavern to head to the stables, where Boromir was readying his horse. She came around the corner, not wanting to startle him, and called, “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He peered over one shoulder at her. “Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

“What do you think?”

He turned away from his horse. “I thought you’d be with the others to see me off, actually.”

“I will. But, I wanted a moment alone to give you something.”

“What’s that?”

“This.” She closed the gap between them and held out her hand. Coiled in her palm, on a delicate silver chain, lay a silver medallion with a bear etched into it. 

He lifted puzzled green eyes to her. “Gabby?”

She smiled despite her heavy heart. “My father gave it to me when I was a child because I was afraid of the dark. The first night I slept in the dark alone, I was so scared, it took me forever to actually fall asleep. But, I remained in my own bed and left him and Mama alone and so he had this made for me. He told me it was a symbol of my courage and that the bear would watch over me on the nights when I was still scared.”

“I cannot take this.”

“You can,” she caught him by the wrist to turn his hand palm up, let the silver chain spill into the middle of said palm, then closed his fingers over it, “and you will. But, just so you know, I expect it back some day.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well. If you’re certain.” His eyes softened once more. “Would you put it on me? I’d rather not mangle the clasp.”

“Of course.” She took it and, despite her heavy heart, smiled as he turned away from her. “You’ll have to crouch a bit, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, sorry.” He did as she said and bent his knees to bring him low enough for her to fasten the delicate chain about his neck.

He straightened up then and turned back to her, tucking the medallion beneath the neck of his tunic. “You are certain about this?”

“I am, yes. As I said, I expect it back, so now you have a reason to return.”

“I have more than one reason, Gabby. And I will return.”

Her eyes stung as she nodded slowly and whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you.” He bent to her, his kiss light and gentle and when he drew back, his eyes were soft. “I will be back.”

“You had better, Boromir.”

“I just promised you, didn't I?” He stepped back and caught the reins in one hand. “And I will be.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung. “Be careful, won’t you? It’s so very dangerous beyond these walls.”

“I will be fine.”

“I know. But I’ll still worry just the same.” She closed the space between them once more, easing her arms about his waist, and let her head come to rest against his chest. Beneath his tunic, his heart beat softly, and she desperately wished they had more time. She should have spoken up long before now, but she was so terrified of ruining their friendship that she kept her budding feelings for him carefully tucked away. But if she’d been brave enough to risk it, they would have had time to share more than a couple of tender kisses.

He folded her into his embrace and she bit down on her bottom lip at the gentle pressure of him kissing the top of her head. “I will be fine,” he whispered once more. 

She nodded, although she wasn't nearly as confident and he held her for another moment or two, then, with a deep breath, pulled away. “I really must go now, Gabby. I’ve a long ride ahead of me.”

“I know.” She swiped at her cheeks, at the stupid, stubborn tears that refused to remain at bay. 

“Don't cry,” he told her, reaching out to brush his thumb along her left cheek. 

“I can’t help it. My stupid eyes will not listen to reason.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and stepped out of his reach. “You should go. Everyone else is waiting to see you off.”

He bobbed his head and then swung up into the saddle. “I will see you soon, Gabriella.”

She managed a smile. “Promise me.”

He winked. “I promise you.”

“I’m holding you to it, you know.”

“I fully intend to keep it.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and his horse ambled down the path from the stable to the road.

She had planned to follow, to join the others in seeing him off, but as he grew smaller, she couldn’t bring herself to move. His scent hung in the air—leather and hints of horse and cloves—and as the silence settled about her, she finally gave up trying to hold back the flood of tears burning the backs of her eyeballs. 

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Sean Bean

[allexthakatt]

Helloooo! My name is Allex, I'm 24, and I still love fan fiction. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕒 𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕖.

THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG! MINORS ARE REALLY NOT WELCOME!

Wanna read what I got? Heres my MASTERLIST!

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!! Even if you don't really request, I love talking to people! Please feel free to ask or even just send a message <3

Heres who I'll write for::

STRANGER THINGS ⬇️

Eddie Munson 🦇

Steve Harrington 💅

CRIMINAL MINDS ⬇️

Dr. Spencer Reid

Luke Alvez

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

LORD OF THE RINGS ⬇️

Legolas Greenleaf 🏹

Eomer

Aragorn 👑

Boromir

Faramir

Merry

Pippin

Frodo

Sam

THE HOBBIT ⬇️

Thranduil

Fili

Kili

Thorin

Bofur

Beorn

BALDURS GATE ⬇️

Astarion

Halsin

Gale

Dammon

STARDEW VALLEY ⬇️

Sam

Shane

Elliot

Sebastian

Harvey

Alex

. The things I write::

SMUT! oo la la ~ 🥵

ANGST! ouch... ❤️‍🔥

HURT/COMFORT! cuddles.. ❤️‍🩹

FLUFF! kisses? 💗

I do mostly f!reader BUT if you'd like I can do gender neutral! Reader too!

Have fun reading ✨

#eddie munson x reader #spencer reid x reader #luke alvez x reader #derek Morgan x reader #steve Harrington x reader #aaron hotch x reader #bo burnham x reader #bofur x reader #kili x reader #fili x reader #thorin x reader #thranduil x reader #dan avidan x reader #astarion x reader #halsin x reader #beorn x reader #legolas greenleaf x reader #eomer x reader #sdv elliot x reader #sdv shane x reader #sdv harvey x reader #sdv alex x reader #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sam x reader

[tolkien-feels]

This is very random but let me ramble about Tolkien and love. Under a cut because when I say ramble I do mean this is long and confusing and goes nowhere

This all started I was thinking about the age-old debate between "In the absence of obviously canonical same-gender romances in Tolkien, of course people will look at other types of close same-gender relationships in a romantic light" and "In an amatonormative society such as ours, of course people will feel strongly about keeping platonic relationships in Tolkien platonic as a reaction against 'true love = romantic love' trope"

And I was thinking about both these things strike me as true. By which I don't mean "This is how every fan should feel" but rather "I do indeed identify with both positions." Which, long story short, led me to thinking about love in Tolkien's works, like I said.

The thing is that Tolkien pretty much unfailingly portrays love as a good thing. When Melkor becomes evil beyond any redemption, Tolkien describes it as "all love had departed from him for ever."

Love (not to be confused with obsession, which is Always Bad) is, I would say, the virtue held up by Tolkien as the single most important. It might beat even other strong contenders such as wisdom or hope. (Could I defend this position in a paper? Probably not, but this is a tumblr post, go easy on me)

"Love conquers all" is hardly an unexplored theme in fiction, but what strikes me about Tolkien - and what made me write this post - is what an all-encompassing view of love he has.

It's not just that platonic, romantic or familial love seem to all be held up as being equally important - it's that other kinds of love aren't considered superficial next to these.

Love of one's lord, like Edrahil and Finrod. Love of one's subjects, like Aragorn and Faramir. Love of one's homeland, like Frodo and the Shire. Love of the land one chose to call home, like Tuor and Gondolin. Love of what one doesn't yet know, like Sam and the elves. Love of what one misses, like Bilbo and home. Love of improving the world around us, like Gimli and his Glittering Caves. Love of the world as it is, like Legolas and, uh, every part of Middle-earth he sees. Love of expressing oneself through subcreation, like Nerdanel. Love of learning about others through lore, like Elrond. Love of what's been lost, like Elendil. Love of what is at risk, like Boromir. Love of the unknown ahead, like Elros. I could go on forever.

And I don't know, it's just really super refreshing to see that. So very often the definition of love is not only extremely narrow, but also rigidly ranked, and it's so nice to think of how that's not really a thing in Tolkien's world. When Tolkien talks about fantasy he often points out how fantasy helps us see our world more clearly, and one thing I unironically think Arda makes me see more clearly is how much love enriches life.

The sheer scope of things that can be loved is something I don't think I would've realized without reading Tolkien. Tea and cake, or a Cool Rock on the sidewalk, or images from NASA, or having the Mom Friend Social Anxiety Override, are all things I don't think I would particularly love if not for hobbits, dwarves, elves, and men, if that makes sense.

It's just. I really love how stories impact me long before I've actually consciously noticed themes. It's amazing and makes me think of that one quote, "Small wonder that spell means both a story told, and a formula of power over living men."

[ladyinbooks]

Hey Lady, just curious. If you don't mind sharing, what are some of your favorite books?

Also, I love, love your stories. Thanks for sharing them.

Aw, thank you! ❤️🤗

Favourite books. Hmm, this is a tough one! I think it depends what mood I'm in, but I'll give it a go:

Swordspoint (Ellen Kushner) - I mentioned this book in the previous ask I responded to, but it's just a gorgeous book about love, politics, and devotion vs honour. Couple it with a main m/m romance and it's honestly a book I've never got tired of.

The Song of Achilles (Madeleine Miller) - I'm... probably going to be hunted down by fans of TSoA, so I'm going to preface this by saying: I love this book. I adore the prose; I love the romance. My academic background is Classics, and this is the first book I can remember that properly and explicitly deals with the Achilles/Patroclus romance. All that said, I do have quite a few nitpicks about her Patroclus portrayal, so although I absolutely recommend this, it's a book I have to put aside some of my own Patroclus preferences to enjoy.

Fire from Heaven (Mary Renault) - While I'm on a Classics kick: this book. It's an old-y, but a good-y. Non-explicit queer romance, but it's all about the early life of Alexander the Great. Hephaistion my beloved. You have to take it for what it is, but there's a reason Renault is still referred to as the queen of Alexander fiction. Is her depiction of him romanticised and often misty-eyed? Yes. Is it still eminently readable? Also yes. No, seriously, Hephaistion my beloved.

Rivers of London (Ben Aaronovitch) - Wonderful, wonderful set of books about a PC in the Met who ends up in the secretive (and tiny) magical investigative branch. Fantastic characters, fun murder mysteries and magic. Some of the later books in the series began to feel a little slow and same-y for me, but the first three are absolute wonders. Peter Grant is a phenomenal main character.

Lord of the Rings (JRR Tolkien) - I know, I know, this is predictable, but... I love it. I love it so much. I love the theme of kindness outlasting evil; of good triumphing not because of the strongest person, but because of the idea that anyone can stand up and make a difference. Also I love Boromir. I said what I said. 🤣

That's all I've got for now - I read a lot, but tend to be really, really picky, so something has to have a huge impact to stay on my 'absolute must-reads' list forever. However, I'm curious if anyone has any recs they'd like to send - I'm always up for hoarding more books!

#lady replies

[hussyknee]

Does reading a lot of books "count" if they're all only popular light-read novels? As opposed to classics and literary fiction and whatever 600-page in-betweens are called. I can tear through all of Cat Sebastian (who's either hit or very, very miss for me) before I can pick up, like, Sharon Kay Penman, even though they're both popular historical novellists, because SKP's are about real historical figures and wars where a lot of horrible things happen to people. So of course my brain is convinced that SKP's novels "count" more than CS's, because it only counts if you have to struggle through an emotional morrass that makes you feel glad to live in climate collapse because at least nobody is sticking people's heads on spikes anymore.

This is also why I can only stand well back from literary fiction and poke it with a stick like I'm waiting for rats and snakes to jump out because, afaik, most of them are about people being sad and ruminating on the Human Condition. I don't get why I have to read about that, given I'm a sad person who's trapped in the Human Condition.

(I sometimes think the people that write these things are either so removed from the unwashed masses that they can look at them like a science experiment or five inches from offing themselves at all times. Presumably some of them are those mythical Normal People who have somehow emerged from the existential soup without any mental illnesses. Idk. How tf do you write fiction about real human pain that isn't even self-indulgent whump fic? I'm still trying to recover from having read Ninety-One Whiskey four years ago.)

You'd think the solution would be to just read some escapist fantasy, except the serious non-YA adjacent stuff that get submitted for Hugo awards (or Netflix and HBO adapations that shit all over the source material) are also about Bad Things Happening To People. I suppose this is better than white Christian manifest destiny bullshit like Lord of the Rings* where Bad Things Only Happened to Boromir, whose fans are the kind of people who think Gone With The Wind is a literary classic instead of Ku Klux Klan propaganda or people like me who are pathologically obsessed with conservative white bullshit**. And yet have I ever picked up NK Jemisin, who seems to be for all intents and purposes the queen of decolonial high fantasy? Of course not. Better to bear that media where Bad Things Only Happen To Imbibers Of This Racist Bullshit, than fly to others Where Bad Things Happen To The Characters that we know not of***.

It's really fucking hard to be extremely mentally ill and have OCD that won't let you DNF stuff that bores and distresses you and makes you think anything that lets you have safe, happy fun is just easy mode riffraff of no nutritional value.

***Still trying to figure out where Guy Gavriel Kay fits in. Without, you know, just reading the damn books.

**Tbh the reason conservative white bs is so appealing is because conservatives genuinely believe in the Just World theory. They rationalize the chaos of reality by assuming that the world used to make sense and work the way it should until Bad People happened to it, and it can be restored to its rightful glory if we can just root out all the shit that upended the old order. That's fascism in a nutshell and why its so deeply seductive even to people suffering under it.

*No, I'm not going to explain why LoTR is smuggling white supremacy. Y'all care more about defending the intentions of white men living in the fading era of the British empire than understanding how they could possibly have internalised white Christian supremacy that informs their writings about Fair, Enlightened Folk of the West yearning for a mythical past where they reigned supreme. Figure it out.

#actually ocd #hyperempathy #reading #books #high fantasy #fantasy #historical fiction #decolonization #knee of huss

[feytouched]

random OC ask: if your OC inexplicably had access to real-world media, what character would be their favorite? what character would they unreasoningly despise? why?

in a modern AU, lyra would inherit her father's love of fantasy fiction, esp. lord of the rings. she would be a boromir defender i think, and a faramir fan too, but her favourites would be merry & pippin! in this AU, her father named her after lyra belacqua from his dark materials, but i don't think lyra would actually like her fictional namesake very much; she's a strong proponent of being honest & genuine whenever possible, and lyra belacqua is, well, a liar. i think she'd be frustrated with her often while reading that series.

#answered #oc: lyra

[scyllas-revenge]

For the Writer Ask: 🛳 🥸 💥 ?

I am a fan of your writing <3

Thanks so much!!! I'm a fan of YOUR writing!

🛳 Are there any new ships you want to write for? (Platonic, romantic, or anything in between.)

I've answered this one already, but I'll add that I'm definitely hoping to write more platonic stuff next year too. I've been feeling the Found Family Feels lately XD

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

Noooooooooo no no no no noooooo not a soul haha, I don't think most people in my real life would take it very well (or worse, they'd ask to read what I've written *shudder*). I could see myself mentioning it to some unfortunate stranger if I get drunk at a bar or something, but I'm definitely not planning to tell anyone I know!

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

I'm starting to think y'all just want Burn Like Cold Iron snippets lol (that's fine with me, it'll motivate me to write faster)

“Too long have you traversed Middle Earth without setting eyes on its most precious gem.” Boromir turned to me, his eyes alight in the first rays of the morning sun. “Welcome, Beatrice, to the City of Kings!” I lifted my phone with numb hands and snapped a picture of the gate.

#answered! #burn like cold iron

[darstellunge]

@kraftpunk2763 replied to your post “I remember seeing a post that had something like...”:

do u think that there's a narrative reason that people die in real life?

​Real life and fiction are different things, though. Characters in fiction are just narrative tools. And important characters are usually not killed off for nothing.

Sure, some authors may not think things through as much, but death is usually used for at least some purpose in fiction - to say something about the dying character and their circumstances (usually when they cause their own death in one way or another - good examples of that would be Boromir, Denethor and Gollum from Lord of The Rings) or about the people who have to deal with their death (Nanbu from NOMAD is a great example of such case), or to give the motivation to another character or otherwise move the plot in the needed direction (the usual "someone killed my wife and now I have to avenge her" trope, for example), or even if to just get rid of the character whose presence may make the later choices that the author wants to make in the story make less sense (which is why I tried to figure out if it could be the case with Grimmer in my post), or they just don't want to have that character in the story anymore for some other reason. Or sometimes it may be done purely for the sake of drama and/or raising the stakes, but I doubt that someone with such thought-out and detailed writing as Urasawa would do something like that to such an important character, especially at that point in the story - it was already pretty intense at that point, there hardly was a need for further escalation, especially considering the upcoming showdown with Johan. And, yes, sometimes the point itself can be "sometimes death just happens, because that's how life is", but that would make absolutely no sense in this case. That kind of stuff is usually reserved for the cases where what's explored in the story is the reactions of the other characters to something like that happening.

Like I said in the tags to my post, I have absolutely no problems with characters dying in fiction. In fact, one of my all-time-favourite stories is in big part about a character trying to deal with the death of another character who was important to them, and in the end dying themselves. But both of those deaths made sense in-universe AND narratively, as they were the logical end points of their respective character arcs and their choices and circumstances.

So, being familiar with Urasawa's writing in general (and even just looking at all other deaths in Monster), I do believe that he must have had at least some reason to kill Grimmer off. I just struggle to see that reason myself, but that may be just because I missed something, which is why I made the post basically asking for help from the fellow fans - because at least someone claimed that they understood the meaning behind that decision, and I want to understand it too. Because not understanding the meaning behind something like that means that I don't understand something about the story and/or the character, and I don't want to just leave it like that if there's a possibility to figure it out.

#c #replies

[jvten]

blog intro wahoo

CARRD LINK

MASTERLIST / CREATION LINK PAGE

i'm jay, sometimes JV. they/them pronouns only. i'm a minor for like another month so please caution or ill drop kick you

im neurospicy, bisexual, genderfluid, nonbinary and aroace if you have a problem with that it's treason then (/ref)

im legally married to boromir son of denethor captain of the white tower who is definitely not dead nope not at all 👍

my side blogs are @rexxmako @echosodapop and @studiodojo

here's an ask/question list i made, and my answers for that lol-

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

✿ what to expect on my blog, you may ask?

all of the everything most of the time /ref /j

when I don't reblog other people's cool stuff, i often post my own art (of my own OCs), and some general shitposts. keep in mind i can be extremely erratic and weird and i dont mean like in a "ehe im quirky uwu" way. i mean like in a "i desire this man carnally, it's a problem that i do not intend to solve, nobody fucking stop me" way.

✦ stuff i like / am currently into

liminal horror / liminal spaces / dreamcore / weirdcore

dark fantasy / sci-fi fantasy / basically anything in the fantasy genre tbh

art / digital art / aesthetic art / character design

writing (but do i do it? not really no)

acting / theatre

alt rock / rock / metal music

dilfs

men

boromir

fuck man. just sean bean

❥ fandoms I'm currently in and/or media I currently enjoy

i should probably note that i'm more of a passive enjoyer of some medias, and i don't interact with other fans nor do i make a fuck ton of fanart/content

Studio Ghibli

Lord of the Rings / The Hobbit

Star Wars (The Bad Batch, The Clone Wars, etc)

My Friendly Neighborhood

The Amazing Digital Circus (not as much tho)

♫ my current projects (as in, writing)

Beast (first volume in Tenverse Saga) (fantasy steampunk)

Love, Decay and Mayhem (ninth volume in Tenverse Saga) (apocalyptic fantasy)

ReAnimate (cyberpunk/science-fiction dystopian)

Star Guardians (alien/space science-fiction)

Project LIMINAL (thriller/horror dreamcore)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

DO NOT INTERACT

If you are homophobic

If you are transphobic

If you are queerphobic

If you are ableist

If you are racist / sexist

If you have any intentions to harass / assault / bully / discriminate me for any of my beliefs, my gender and/or sexuality, the things I like, the things i create or make, etc

If you are someone who ships problematic ships

If you are an NSFW blog

If you are an empty blog (because I'll mistake you for a porn bot lol)

if you support isra3l, gen0cide, etc

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

if you made it to the end you're gay

#intro post #blog intro #pinned intro

[wonttakeahint]

ramblings on japanese fandom

i normally don’t post stuff like this in public, but this account has basically zero followers i feel like it’s okay, maybe. i’ll put it under a cut though so the post won’t be preserved in reblogs (should there be any).

i've been collecting bond dojinshi for a while now. in case anyone is unaware: broadly speaking "dojinshi" is the japanese word for self-published magazines and books, and narrowly speaking it's the word for fanzines, i.e. self-published magazines and books of fanfic and fan comics. this format of fan works is largely obsolete in english-speaking fandom, but dojinshi still thrive in japanese fandom even in this digital day and age.

anyway i've been collecting bond (and adjacent fandom) dojinshi for a few years now. the vast majority of bond dojinshi feature top craig bond x bottom whishaw q, which honestly holds zero interest for me (sorry), but i've browsed through hundreds upon hundreds of books and found some gen comics, a few mallory books, bottom bond books, and such.

i knew, by word of mouth, that dojinshi more focused on goldeneye existed. nothing really popped up in my searches though, and i'd figured they'd be so rare i'd never find them on the second-hand market; selling dojinshi second hand is considered somewhat of a faux pas in japanese fandom to begin with, especially so in fandoms for movies and tv shows, so i knew from the get-go that i'd never find everything published in the bond fandom.

BUT THEN i found it. the holy grail. the dojinshi ALL ABOUT 006 and featuring both beautifully drawn comics and fic by a writer i love (= the alec/craig bond fic i mentioned in an earlier post). honestly it was a stroke of luck; the book wasn't listed under goldeneye or even james bond, it wasn't in stock, it didn't have a cover on the site, and i only found it because i was looking through a listing of a specific artist's dojinshi and my spidy alec-detecting senses tingled. you see, this artist had previously published a dojinshi featuring various bean characters (like boromir and sharpe and a bit of alec) with a title taken from an oasis song... and this mysterious book ALSO had a title taken from an oasis song... so i was literally like

and clicked the "notify me when this is back in stock" button on the site. i didn't expect much to come off it, because i'd have to be pretty darn lucky for a fan to sell THIS particular book from 2005 to a used online bookstore so i could get my hands on it. but then, back in august, i received a notification e-mail. and when i clicked the listing and saw the cover i absolutely LOST. IT.

because um that couldn't be anyone but manga-style alec?!?!?!?! honestly half the reason i'm writing this post is to brag about my acute alec-detecting senses. are you impressed with me? i'm impressed with me. so with shaking hands i ordered it, received it, read it, and now this books sits on my shelves as probably the most priced dojinshi in my collection. (it was like 400 yen)

but that's only half the story. the real reason i decided to write this post is, a while back when i was home sick and bored, i decided to look through this dojinshi artist's professionally published manga. i knew she was a pro, and i knew she'd published mainstream bl (boys love, japanese genre of m/m fiction for a mainly female audience), and although i normally don't read bl i liked this artist's style, so why not. i went to chillchill (a bl release info and review aggregator site) and clicked through her pro works, reading the summaries and reviews... and um.

basically the plot of this particular manga from 2016 is that a green-eyed (!) blond (!!) special agent (!!!) of an unspecified european (!!!!) spy organization (!!!!!) goes undercover in an exclusive sex club for the world's elite and has, uh, stuff done to him. like. it cannot be anything but alec trevelyan woobie fanfic of the sort you'd find on ao3 (or won’t find, because this fandom is weird like that). and i'm not saying that in a "how dare this artist file off the serial numbers and make money off fanfic!!" way, i'm honestly so pleased she published this for me to read and treasure for the ridiculously cheap price of 697 jpy (= five bucks!!!!!!) for the ebook edition?!?!

also at the end of the book she had written a note about this manga having a sequel she’d published years ago in an extra issue of gush (a bl magazine that’s on the sleazy side), so of course like the alec stalker i am i went to mandarake (japanese second-hand otaku goods seller) and tracked it down and ordered it, and i am now in possession of this ridiculous anthology of dozens of bl one-shots i’m never going to read:

lol this cover is the diametrical opposite of anything i’d ever buy out of my own free will and i honestly feel a bit embarrassed having this book on my shelves. the things i do for alec, man. (the artist’s one shot in this book is interesting but all over the place plot-wise, you can really tell she has a sprawling alec trevelyan au epic in her brain that she really wants to express but would need 1000 pages to flesh out properly)

honestly this type of thing isn't that rare, if you follow bl publishing a large chunk of it will be thinly-veiled kakashi/sasuke au fanfic or whatever*, and i've heard about stuff like numbers-filed-off mcu and sherlock popping up in pro bl because those were huge fandoms in japan too, but it's WILD that a movie from 1995 with a pretty small fandom should inspire a pretty well-regarded original bl publication in 2016. the artist isn't all that prolific, but i'll cross my fingers that we might get a sequel or prequel one day.

* loveless

and in case you’re wondering if any of the other bond dojinshi i picked up were any good, this artist’s q x bond stuff is right up my ally and i want to collect it all:

(she’s also published a hannibal x craig bond book i’m eyeing although i intensely dislike both hannibal and mads mikkelsen. what can i say i will do a lot for bottom craig bond content)

#text post #alec trevelyan #tagging for my own reference and i guess if someone wants to go back years into the alec tag to dig this out

[middleearthpixie]

Living Proof

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen.  She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia 

Warnings: Description of wounds, but nothing too graphic

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @sotwk @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Kaia crept along the edge of the pathway, ready to dive into the foliage to her left if the need arose and with the way orcs seemed to have taken over practically all of the woodland areas of Middle Earth, the need was most likely going to arise and soon. The scratches on her arms and legs and cheeks from her last encounter with them were only partially healed. Damn orcs caused more trouble than a thousand field mice on a rampage in her larder. More trouble, more damage, and far more aggravation, that was for certain.  

The thunder of pounding feet shattered the silence and the deer she’d been stalking leapt off into the brush like quicksilver. She stood there for a moment, scowling at the skittish deer, then she sank into the brush as well. And not a moment too soon, for she had no sooner moved off the path when the army of orcs came thundering around a bend from the north.

She sank back as deeply into the trees and underbrush as she could and willed herself into absolute silence. From where she stood, it seemed the orcs were endless, pressing on without stopping, without slowing down, and as she moved throughout a good portion of Middle Earth, she was all too familiar with orcs and could say with certainty she’d never seen so many on the move at one time. This was no pack, but an army, and one, it seemed, with a sole purpose.

They stalked something.

Well, it wouldn’t be her, that was for sure.  

The thunder dulled to a low rumble, but as she was about to step out onto the path once more, the thunder returned. Only this time, no orcs came around the bend, nor did the thunder come from the north. Instead, it rolled up from the south as the forest came alive with not only that thunder, but with the clang of steel and the whistling thwock of arrows. 

A battle? Orcs battled with one another on a regular basis, but never on this great a scale. Somewhere just south of where she stood it seemed they were suddenly waging war. Perhaps they’d found their quarry?

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Kaia crept toward the sounds. Foolish, no doubt, but she needed to know whether or not the time had come to move on, as she did more often than she cared to think about. Not that she wished to move. She’d been in this part of Middle Earth for some time now—although she could not say for certain just how long that time actually was, as the days had a way of blending together. Even so, it was long enough that the cabin that had been abandoned when she found it was now actually something of a cozy little home. 

But at the same time, she needed to know if she was in for much in the way of trouble, and so there she was, sneaking through the underbrush with a care she reserved usually for tracking swift-footed animals. She crept over fallen logs and around decayed stumps, picked her way carefully through pricker bushes and all the while, her heart beat fast enough that she could hear it as her pulse pounded through her temples. Still, she’d learned in at the time she’d been on her own, how to move without a sound, and so she reached the top of a clearing surrounded by mossed-over stone ruins that had once probably been white and immense but were now little more than stained and discolored stone scraps. 

She crept closer to the stone, using it for cover as she peered around at the scene before her. The halflings caught her attention, for while she had heard of them, she’d never seen any. Compared to the orcs surrounding them, they were indeed small. And terrified, from the looks of it, even as they shouted to catch the orcs’ attention to lure them away from the wide river she knew flowed along the western shore. 

Without hesitation, she reached for her bow and slipped an arrow from the quiver on her back. She lay the arrow on the rest, but did not draw back the string. Not yet. There were far too many orcs for her to intervene on behalf of the halflings and while she felt pang of sympathy and the annoying sting of helplessness, there was truly nothing she could do for them. She certainly was not about to sacrifice herself for anyone she did not know. 

But then, hurtling over the ridge across from her, came a man and in his grasp, a sword of gleaming steel. Without hesitation, he threw himself into the fray, swinging that blade with an expert precision that was almost fluid in its grace. A large ivory horn banged against his hip and as he swung about to his right, he grabbed it with his left hand to jerk to his lips. The bleats rang out with such power, the sound actually knocked her back a step and she stumbled over a downed branch. She lost her footing, toppling end over end back down into the gully behind her. Her bow went in one direction, the arrow in another, and she landed hard enough that she knocked the wind from herself. Stunned, she lay staring up at the leaf-spattered sky, the sounds of battle sounding so far away and hollow as she struggled to draw breath. The sounds of the battle drowned out the sounds of her fall, thankfully, and when her lungs finally chose to re-inflate, she gasped to fill them. 

With a soft groan, she managed to roll onto her hands and knees, and slowly got to her feet again. Steel meeting steel reverberated at a normal volume once more as she shook off the last of the cobwebs, retrieved her bow and the arrow, and climbed back to her perch.

She reached the top in time to see two orcs snatch up the halflings, just scooped each up and lumbered out of the clearing, still moving south while the rest of them continued the battle. The fighting raged, but like the two orcs and their halflings, it moved south as well. 

As quickly as they erupted, the sounds of battle ceased and silence slammed down all around her as the last of the orcs followed their brethren south and as the path wound out of sight, so did the army. Kaia waited wit heated breath, to see if any would return. When she was satisfied that they would not, she slipped the bow back where it belonged, the arrow back into the quiver, and instead eased her broadsword from the sheath at her right hip, and crested the hill to descend into the clearing. She looked about for the man with the horn, as she’d not seen what his fate had been, only to find he was nowhere about. 

But, as the battle sounds rang into memory, she realized that she still heard something. Wounded orcs perhaps, so she crossed the clearing to the opposite slope, and crept as noiselessly as she could, over the ridge and climbed down into the clearing.

At first, she thought perhaps the sounds actually did come from the battle still being fought further upriver and that the woods for some reason bastardized them. But as she moved about the  broken, decimated orc bodies, leaves, tree branches, arrows and other abandoned weapons, toward a large oak slightly to the northeast, Kaia realized that noise was not that of a battle at all. And as she climbed up the opposite slope toward that big tree, her fingers tightened of their own about her sword’s somewhat worn grips, her heart hammering louder still against her ribs, leaving her as breathless as she had been when she’d slammed down into the hard-packed earth only minutes before.

A man lay there, somewhat propped up by the tree’s gnarled trunk. But that wasn’t what made her hand tighten about her sword until her fingers went numb. Nor was it the sight of the the arrows that riddled him which rendered her dumb for a long moment, her grip loosening, the sword clattering into the broken leaves and debris at her feet. 

No, what made her stare was that he still lived. 

His breathing came rapid and shallow, each breath punctured by a moan of pain that grew softer with each one drawn. Sweat soaked him, plastering his dark hair to his head, the arrows quivering as he fought for air, which in turn led to more moaning. 

She dropped to her knees alongside him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There, there,” she whispered when he moaned again, “I’ll not hurt you.”

His eyes had been closed, but as she spoke, the lids lifted slowly. His eyes were pale, blue or perhaps gray, she couldn't tell. She could tell they focused on nothing, however, but darted about as he gasped, “They took the little ones…”

His eyes slid shut once more, and he went still. Kaia stared, her mouth going oddly dry as she whispered, “Please… breathe, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. “I am so sorry…”

“Easy now,” she patted his shoulder again. “The orcs are gone, but they might come back.” 

She peered over her shoulder, at where her sword lay. It was just beyond reach. Turning back to the man, she murmured, “I’ll be but a moment.”

A low moan, even softer still, answered her. She patted his shoulder a third time then scooted back to snatch up her sword. Footsteps grew louder and the urge to bolt surged through her. Self-preservation screamed at her to simply run, to blend into the woods and disappear before the orc army returned. 

But she couldn't leave him. She might not be able to do much, but if she left him there, he’d be condemned to death. She counted no less than five arrows protruding from his large body. His surcoat and tunic were dark—royal blue and scarlet respectively, so it was impossible to tell how much blood he’d lost. But, a childhood spent on a farm taught her all she need know about bleeding and injuries and how to treat them and her mother’s voice sounded in her head. 

With that, she slid her blade back into its scabbard and returned to the man’s side. “Come. We need to leave. Now.”

“No…” he almost whimpered, his head lolling from side to side, “leave me…”

“I’ll do no such thing.” She crouched, grabbed his arm and, whispering, “Forgive me,” hefted him to his feet.

His cry rang out, raw and anguished and she winced as it echoed throughout the clearing. “Hush… lest you wish them to return.”

“I cannot…”

“You can and you will.” She gritted, ignoring the dull ache in her back as it felt like every bone in her spine compacted from the weight of him pulling down on her. He towered over her, far broader than she would ever be, and could barely stand on his own. Two arrows protruded from his left thigh, and with each step, he whimpered as his weight shifted from his uninjured leg to his injured one. 

“It’s all right,” she whispered, ignoring the trickle of sweat rolled down along her spine, and down between her breasts. It had been a cool day, almost crisp, but as she all but dragged him from the clearing of Amon Hen, it might as well have been the dead of summer. Sweat soaked her tunic and dampened her hair, leaving it to hang in wet strings about her face, which she was certain was most likely bright red by now from the exertion of dragging a full grown man through the woods. If that wasn’t bad enough, he could barely walk, which mean the toes of his boots caught on every single bit of debris in their path. Never mind the arrows still protruding from his body. Her initial reaction had been to yank them out, but then wisdom prevailed and she left them in place, although she wished she had something to wrap about each one to keep them as steady as possible until it was safe for her to remove them. 

“Please…” His voice was fainter still. “Leave me to die and go on… if they come back…”

“Oh, hush and just try to help me, if you can.”

“I beg… your pardon…”

He grew heavier still, but as the thunder grew louder once more, she ignored the pain in her back, the burn of the muscles pulling along her neck and shoulder, ignored everything but the need to get him—and herself—out of danger as quickly as she could. 

Black dots danced before her eyes and her blood roared in her ears as the thunder grew louder and the man grew heavier still. Her right shoulder felt almost in danger of separating completely from her body as she stumbled over an exposed root and he let out a howl. 

They slid most of the way down the last slope and across a wide path, and it wasn't until she spotted the familiar towering oak tree that marked the beginning of the narrow path deeper into the thickest part of the forest that she allowed herself to think they might actually be safe.

But then he slipped from her to land on his knees and the howl that rang out was primal in its agony, reverberating through the woods with enough force that birds took flight. 

Kaia froze. There was no way possible the orcs did not hear that. They had to.

“Please,” she moved around to grab the man’s hands, her right arm only barely obeying her by now, it hurt so badly, “we need to get off this road now. Those orcs are on their way and I cannot fend off that entire horde alone.”

“Leave me,” he whispered.

“I’ll not and I swear, if you say it again, I’ll drag you back by your hair.” She crouched to grab his arm and drape it about her neck once more. “Now, on your feet!”

With that, she yanked and stood, a hot sting racing along the side of her neck as she did. He weighted down her shoulder, but at least managed to stand and there must have been a bit of divine intervention at work for they made it into the darkness, off the path and out of sight of any orcs. 

The cabin was foreboding from a distance and no warmer up close, and Kaia kept it that way, as it looked as if it had been unoccupied for ages, which meant no one would stop there if they didn't absolutely have to. From time to time, vagrants thought to pass a night there, only to find themselves firmly evicted at the point of her sword.

Although it looked run down and dilapidated, she’d made certain to reinforce it in any way she could, and so as she shoved open the door, then shoved the man into the great room, she was finally able to breathe easily as she pushed the door shut behind them and locked it firmly. 

The great room was sparsely furnished, but thankfully she did have a sofa and that was where she not so elegantly deposited her large parcel, who whimpered as he sank into the cushions.

“I know, it isn’t the most comfortable place, but I’m fairly certain my arm is about to fall off, so you will simply have to make do. Give me a moment to wash my hands and I’ll tend to your wounds.”

“Hopeless…”

“Nothing is hopeless as long as you draw breath.” Rubbing her sore shoulder, she moved to the kitchen, where the ewer she’d filled that morning held enough water for her to wash her hands and still have some left over to wash his wounds. 

She kept her meager supplies in the kitchen cupboard, and brought over what she had. Needle and thread, should she have to stitch his wounds, and worn, discolored strips of linen she’d used in the past as bandages. They looked sketchy, but were in fact clean. 

“I’ll be back in but a moment,” she told him, setting the things on the stone table before the sofa. “I’ll need to get something I can tear for dressings.”

“Please don't trouble…”

“Stop it. I am not going to keep telling you that.” She turned to go into her bedroom, which was a small room off the kitchen and toward the rear of the cabin. As she rarely wore gowns any longer, she had several chemises she kept folded in the low chest for just such an occasion, although it was usually herself she was patching back together and never another body.

The linen was old, but also clean, and tore easily into strips that would be folded as necessary and when she brought them back out, she said, “I am sorry, but I’ve nothing to give you for pain. A bit of wine, perhaps, but it is more vinegar than anything now.”

He didn't reply, but just let his head loll from left to right. He was frightfully pale, the darkness of his hair emphasizing it, and sweat beaded his high forehead while a scruffy beard shadowed his cheeks and jaw. He looked as if he’d been lost in these woods for months. As carefully as she could manage, she unfastened the elegant jade and silver clasp that held his fine grayish-brownish-green cloak at his throat, pulled off his gloves, then worked the fine leather surcoat from him without causing him too much pain. His tunic and trousers would have to be cut from him, if she was to be able to reach his wounds, but there was no other options. Hopefully she would find something to give him to wear. She picked up many odds and ends in her travels, and could probably come up with a shirt large enough from him to wear. Trousers would be a different story, but she would worry about that when—and honestly, if—the time came. 

Along with the two arrows embedded in his left thigh, three more protruded from his torso—one just below his left collarbone, one only slightly lower, and one down just above his left hip. He’d been incredibly lucky, although she doubted he would agree with her. As far as she could tell, she could remove them, but there was no promising he would survive it, or the coming days. 

Still, she had to try, and so as carefully as she could, she removed the one at his collarbone, her stomach clenching at the soft grind of the arrowhead against his bone. He stiffened, a hiss of breath leaking through his clenched teeth as she worked it free and blood spilled from the wound.

“I know it hurts,” she murmured, “and for that I am sorry, but there is no avoiding it.”

She dropped the arrow onto the floor and pressed a folded square of linen against his chest at the blood bubbling up. Within minutes, she had the bleeding slowed, her hands reddened from it as she first probed the wound, then flushed it, and when she was certain she had the bleeding under control, she then threaded her needle to stitch the wound closed. 

He stiffened with each step, but remained surprisingly stoic, but finally sank into unconsciousness as she went about moving to the next wound. And the next. With endless patience, she removed the arrows, cleaned the wounds, sewed them up, and bandaged them, not stopping to rest or do much more than wash her hands when they grew too bloodied, or to light the lamp when it grew too dark for her to see what she was doing. 

Finally, she finished and sat back with a soft groan, bowing her back, and sighed with relief as her spine popped and cracked and the pressure eased. Then, she stood, moving to the far end of the sofa, taking care not to fall over the man’s boots, which she’d simply tossed aside after tugging them off. 

The pump for the water was behind the cabin and she filled the ewer once more, then brought it inside, where she’d let it warm over the fire, which was little more than embers, but wouldn’t take much to stoke back to life. 

It had to be near midnight by the time she sank back onto the edge of the stone table and as gently as she could manage, set about bathing the man’s face, his neck, down into the broad plane of his chest, along his arms, his midsection—being careful not to jostle him or get the bandages wet. They were bloodstained, but it had begun to take on the rusty hue of old blood, so she breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to staunch the bleeding and she didn't kill him, so perhaps he would survive the night after all. 

She sat there for a while, just watching his chest rise and fall, shallow still, but not nearly as shallow as it had been earlier. His jaw clenched and he whimpered every now and again, but otherwise, he seemed as at peace as one could be in that situation. 

Her stomach growled to remind her of why she’d been in the forest to begin with, and so with a sigh, she rose and moved to the cupboard to see what she might have to feed her guest come morning. Not much, unfortunately. She’d have to check the larder, and so out into the darkness she stepped.

All was quiet. Even the nocturnal animals seemed to sense the disruption to their habitat and so remained wherever they spent their days. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees, cooler than it had been of late, which meant summer had actually finally ended and the cold weather was on its way.

The larder was a bit more promising, a few eggs, thanks to the market that popped up every now and then on the western side of the forest. Black market, no doubt, but she didn't care. Eggs were eggs and she was happy to have them, even if they cost nearly as much as gold now. A slab of bacon procured with the eggs. A joint of beef. But not much else.

Still, it would be enough, or so she hoped. 

Wood cracked in the distance. Most likely a raccoon or some other creature just going about their business, but just in case… Kaia slunk back into the house and dropped the heavy wood bar into the rests. 

A bowl of apples, picked not to far from where she’d found the man, stood on the battered kitchen table. It was better than nothing, so she grabbed one and made her way back into the great room, where she’d planned to sit up and watch over her patient. However, her body thought differently and as she sank into the lone chair, across from the sofa, and leaned her head back for a moment—only a moment, mind you—the apple rolled from her grasp as sleep snuck up on her and clubbed her over the head. 

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Sean Bean #Everybody Lives #Sons of Gondor

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Boromir's Journey

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/QBmXusk

by Hwestalas

One of the first Lord of the Rings fan fiction stories I ever wrote, in which Boromir meets several Elves, Half-elves, and Hobbits for the first time. He also meets Faramir for about the thousandth time, but that was one of their more fateful meetings. ;)

Words: 6920, Chapters: 4/4, Language: English

Series: Part 17 of The Tragicomedy of the Children of the Other Húrin

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Legolas Greenleaf, Elrond Peredhel, Elladan (Tolkien), Elrohir (Tolkien), Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, Aragorn | Estel

Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Legolas Greenleaf, Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Merry Brandybuck & Pippin Took

Additional Tags: Elves, Rivendell | Imladris, POV First Person, Boromir's POV

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/QBmXusk

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

[blueberryrock]

Promise Me. (Inktober Day 24 Boromir x Reader)

A/N i'm finishing and posting this after the stupid Gandalf post i reblogged, ugh, well I hope y'all enjoy this, I'm not the best with angst, so uh be warned I guess....based on this song! Enjoy!

(Rules, Requests, and More)

The loud cry of a horn rang through the trees. Y/N's heart dropped in her chest as she tried making her way towards the noise, but Orcs keep blocking her path. With her trusty daggers, Y/N carved through Orcs as she moved through the forest, jumping over stumps and unearthed roots to try and reach her destination.

Turning around a tree, Y/N audibly gasps at the sight she sees. Aragorn angrily fighting a large Orc, and...no...

Throwing the daggers to the ground, Y/N slides on the fallen leaves to quickly check over her fallen friend. Tears blurring her vision, she drifts her hand around the large black arrows sticking out of his chest, her hands slowly moving to his face.

"Boromir?" She cries, cupping his sweat and dirt-covered face gently. Y/N watches as his eyes slowly flutter open, his chest shallowly rising beside her.

"Y/N?" He groans, his hand moving to grasp hers weakly, tears slowly building in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he gasps. "I am deeply sorry."

Brushing some of his matted hair out of his face, Y/N slowly rubs her thumb against his cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong," she whispers, watching him process her soft words, Boromir shifts to try and sit up straight.

"You need no kindness with me," he says. "I know what I did, what I caused to happen." Tears rolled freely down his cheeks.

"No Boromir," Y/N weeps, gently wiping after the tears. "None of this is or was your fault. I refuse to believe it, and you should too."

The world fades away from Y/N, focusing on his slow breathing she watches him shake his head before coughing harshly. "Aragon," she yells, her head turning to find her other friend shuffling towards them, landing on his knees on the other side of Boromir.

"No!" Aragorn cries, his bloodied hands grasping at the black arrows in Boromir's chest. "I can-we...we can get him up."

"Leave them!" Boromir hisses, tightly grasping Aragorn's arm. "Y/N, I must," he starts, shallowly swallowing down a lump in his throat. "I need to give you this," he shakily reaches into his tunic, pulling out a small crumpled velvet bag.

A small noise escapes from Y/N as she takes the small bag, tears flowing harshly down her face. Sobs ache through her body as she tightly holds the small bag, afraid to look at what is in it. Her ears perk up at the sound of approaching footsteps, but she doesn't care. She doesn't care about anything right now.

Not the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. Not the feel of her own wounds demanding her attention. Not the taste of blood in her mouth. The scent of Orc blood does make her feel nauseous, but she weakly swallows the bile rising in her throat. Y/N's eyes stare blankly at the tightly held pouch in her hand, the feel of a hand on her shoulder makes her flinch.

"Y/N," Aragorn says softly, dragging her wet gaze to his face.

"Do not say it," she hisses, her gaze turning deadly. "I will, I-I cannot."

"We can't stay here," Aragorn says quietly. "More Orcs may come."

"W-we can take him with us?" Y/N says quickly, holding the small bag to her chest. "Heal his wounds?"

"Y/N."

"I'm not leaving, I won't, I can't." Her breath hitches when she feels a hand placed gingerly on her thigh, looking down at the bloodied glove, more tears manage to spill down her face. Not noticing Aragon's small nod, Y/N feels large hands move under her arms, working to lift and pull her away.

A scream builds in her throat as both Gimli and Legolas move to pull her away. Fighting their firm hold, Y/N yells before Legolas releases his hold to face her. "Y/N," he says, gently cupping her face, his cool hands sending a shiver down her spine. "You need to calm down. You are causing yourself more distress."

Glancing over the elven prince's shoulders, Y/N sees Aragon hovering over Boromir, silently whispering something to him but the sound of her heartbeat and Legolas' useless words drown out their conversation.

"NO!" Y/N cries, fighting the hands firmly placed on her shoulders. "I want to say goodbye, please, please Mellon, that is all I shall ask!"

Legolas' features soften, relinquishing his hold on her shoulders, he tells Gimli to do the same. As soon as the dwarf's arms loosened around her waist, Y/N dashed to Boromir once more with great speed, her knees sliding against the crunchy leaves beneath her.

"Legolas!" Aragorn whips his head around to face the tall elf. "I told you to take her!"

Boromir's weak gaze glistens when he sees Y/N, his hand reaching to cup her face. "I-I wanted to say goodbye," Y/N croaks. "T-to see you off, to tell you." Her voice dies as she sees a smile growing on Boromir's lips.

"To show you," she whispers, leaning down to kiss him. The taste of blood on her lips nearly makes Y/N weep more tears, but she instead enjoys her last moment with him. The sound of the wind rustling through the leaves forces her to take a breath of the forest air, sunlight dancing across his clammy skin as she pulls back from the small kiss.

"Promise me I will see you again."

"Y/N," Boromir coughs, his hand falling from her face, but she manages to catch it before it hits his chest.

"Promise that we will meet again? Under the starlight? Under this tree? On the white shores with my people?"

Boromir slowly blinks a response before Aragorn once more places his hand on her shoulder, but this time she leans into the warm touch, letting herself gently be wrapped into a crushing hug, squeezing out the breath she's been holding.

Burying her face into Aragon's chest, Y/N sobs silently, clenching the velvet pouch harshly that whatever lays inside cuts into her skin. Y/N doesn't recall much after being moved away to the river's shore. Much of her friends gathering what light supplies they can carry with them fades from her memory.

She doesn't watch the white boat being carried away by the river, her eyes just focused on the pouch in her hands and the faint feel of his cold lips against hers. Numbness washes over her, drowning out everything around her, a fleeting breath fills her as Y/N pockets the small priceless gift in her pocket, deciding to herself to save it for her greeting at the white shores.

Sliding her two daggers onto her back, Y/N rubs her face harshly, willing herself not to shed any tears, the gravel crunches under her bloodied boots as she silently follows after her friends.

No more tears Y/N, she sighs, seeing familiar golden hair in the distance. Save them for his return.

#inktober 2021 #inktober day 24 #inktober #fics #fan fic #fan fiction #fic writing #fic #ficlet #lotr #boromir #boromir x you #boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings

[danihow]

i. The time that 3 and some half men invaded your home

Fellowship x Fem!Reader, Modern AU

Lord of the rings

Word count: 4.45k

Warnings: Language, confused everyone, boromir is indeed alive.

A/N: This is my very first LotR fan fiction and my very first series too. Saw something similar but was like abandoned so I’m kinda just doing my own, hope you like it. It is set in the modern world (a.k.a 2021 New York without corona) and at the end of the Fellowship of the Ring movie, yet, Boromir is alive. **please denote how old this shit is**

Masterlist | Next

The clock hands sat past 11 in the morning yet the sun was not shining high up in the pastel blue sky like the past days, instead, the sky was colored in tints of grey as clouds were all the eye could see and the signs of soon rain were very noticeable.

Anyways, that did not affect your mood at all, it was your free week at work and it has been a while since the last one and you were determined to make the most out of it, first, by cleaning your apartment. You had already reorganized the closet by color, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, organized the bookshelves, and had just finished to pick up all the non-useful stuff in the house, right now, you were kicking the back door of the building open just so you could let the boxes of useless items in the garbage bin located right at the back of the building in a lonely and surprisingly secure alley, out of the main street view.

The stack of heavy boxes made an almost dead sound as they hit the floor beside the bin, you stretch, trying to avoid your back to sore later on, and just before you turn to leave, you hear a weird noise, making you to snap your head up in alert.

You gave from three to five little cautious steps while focusing your eyes, trying to see what the origin of the sound was and to have judgement enough whether to run or approach.

Out of the sudden, you see a more than incandescent light at the end of it causing you to squint your eyes at it, and then, much to your surprise, a bunch of men appeared after the light died, all seemingly unconscious in the cold, wet and dirty concrete floor, some of them in little funny piles. Catching your attention.

You grab a metal tube that was laying around and decided to approach carefully, once you were near enough you spotted how only three of the whole bunch of around 10 people were like... normal; out of the others, there were four far too small so they were probably 8-year-old kids since you could not identify their faces properly, still, they were wearing funny clothing and were pretty much barefoot for the cold of the city; then, another... man? Seemed a bit taller than the kids; before you could think he was another kid you spotted the big prominent braided beard in his face which made you confusedly discard the idea. And to add, one of the three normal dudes had this silky blonde almost white long hair, you thought you could easily mistake him for a tall woman if you could not see his unconscious face.

Who were this funny dressed people and how the hell they appeared here?

You were far passed confusion, you did not even know if there was a word to describe the levels of bewilderment you felt while looking at this people because, as far as your knowledge went, you did not recall a comic con or something like that for them to be dressed like... that. Still, you could not judge. And even if they were to go to such convention, what the fuck was the light?

You look at them for a bit longer with concern, saying they looked terrible is a bit too nice to state, the little ones were skinny, too skinny for anyone’s liking, most of them were dirty and looked tired while their costumes were stained in some black thing, pretty much could be grease, some even were bruised and was that blood on the ginger normal man’s face?

There were two options, or these guys were really good at cosplaying with their children or you were going absolutely insane. Still, you poked the one with brown hair with the stick and nope, they were definitely real human beings.

Oh god, and if they were dead? If someone found you with these men in the alley and spotting you they would think you had killed them? How could you explain to the police they appeared after a light? These are not just some sort of Avengers movie were things like that happened, no, this is real life.

And just as you were lost in your trail of mind, the blonde-kind-of-normal guy woke up in a startle, startling yourself in the motion for you to let out a little scream that woke the other two normal sized man. “Oh my god, you are not dead.” You mutter while placing your free hand on your chest to calm yourself after such a scare.

The three men start to mutter while moving around, waking up. You hear some of the words they say, such as “Frodo”, “Valar” and some other unrecognizable words, coming mostly of the blond haired man.

“Who are you?” You ask while getting a better hold of the tube, ready in case anyone tried to do something bad against you. The attention of the men is dragged to you after your words, staring at you with confusion after spotting the improvised weapon on your hands.

“Where are we?” The ginger man mutters while the three of them stand up, showing how tall they all are in comparison to you but still not losing the eye contact with your person.

“I asked you something first.” The deadpan makes the solemnity in their gaze to flicker for a second. “What was all that light shit?” You must know about it, that is just not natural in any way for them just to travel in light sparkles.

Yet, none of the three actually answered you, they only shared a look and you spot how the tallest one, the one with the brown locks, looks at you with concern and distrust while the one with ginger hair looks really concerned about your clothing and the last one awake reaches for something in his side for a... is that a fucking mini sword?

Before the tall man got to talk the suspicious little redhead man with the beard wakes up violently and gets up in the most ungraceful way ever. “Where- What- Who- What?” Was all he could mutter while he caught your attention and the other three men looked at him with absolute no surprise. The little bearded man looked at his surroundings, staring at the men with absolute no clue on what’s going on and then he spots you, getting even more confused. “Who is the lass?” He asks in a whisper-like tone to one of the others, getting a shrug in response from one of them.

What the fuck was going on? Who were these men and why they looked like shit?

And just in time, the other four kids woke up, startled. They tripped over one another, falling to the floor once again after taking count of their surroundings, this was not the forest. They suddenly get up, confused and a bit scared of what may be happening, the buildings in their surroundings were huge, and everywhere. “Strider, what is going?” Ask one of the kids with a way deeper voice than you expected and then it hit you, they are notkids, the appear to be like some kind of full ass grown man but fun-sized.

This, Strider guy, after giving him a look protectively put his arm in front of the fun-sized men, dragging them to stay behind the four of them. What a scenario to behold.

“Which realm is this?” The same guy asks, finally making eye contact with you, eyes where you found absolutely nothing more than mistrust towards you and everything that were not his little and tall friends. Yet, you had no idea what he was asking you.

“Re- Realm?” You had to ask, did he meant like those in the video games your little brother plays or what kind of realm did he meant? “This... This is New York City, there is not stuff like realms in here.”

“I have not heard of such place in Middle Earth, she must be tricking us.” One of them mutters, while all of them stare at you expectantly, your robes were by far weird to them, what kind of trousers where those so tight? And what kind of shirt is that with thin straps holding it in your shoulders? Who dressed like that?

“Middle Earth? Are you guys like... okay?” Your words were careful, really not wanting to offend anyone of who they were.

“Are youokay?” One of the littlest man with blond hair asks in an attempt of bravery, provoking his pals to look down to him, shaking their head.

“Um, yes, I was not the one unconscious in the middle of the alley covered in dirt and grease.” You mutter, still not putting the tube down, they looked strange enough by themselves and you did not know what they were up to. “Who are you and... why are you guys dressed like comic con just passed?”

“What do you mean with that? You are the one funny dressed in here!” The same little man exclaims, signaling your wardrobe. Gaining a huge amount of exhausted “Pippin” in his way.

The big man that seemed to be the one leading them was about to talk when a big thud echoed in the alley and in a matter of seconds they all fully armed with swords or arrows or daggers while searching the sound and circling around the tallest of the little ones in some sort of human shield. Then, much to your amusement, a cat jumped down from an emergency exit and all of them suddenly did not knew what to do, was that animal dangerous? It did not seem dangerous... And so on until the poor cat left.

“What the fuck was that?” You asked, suddenly grabbing the poor tube like your life depended on it, these men were armed and those weapon looked by far too real to be a cosplay. “You go around with those things?” The bewilderment was far too much to eat it all alone, you felt like you must ask. “Are you all sane?”

“Excuse us, we thought that could be an orc.” The bearded little fella was the first one to talk once the cat was out of sight.

“A what?” You swore that with every second that passed you lost hope in understanding their words.

“An orc; you do not know what an orc is either, do you?” This half-man words were almost in disbelief, did you lived under a rock? “An orc, horrendous thing, black blood, smell like rotten, likes to kill...” By the look on your face they all could tell you were not familiar with those beings, that was some sort of relief that light up the fire of their curiosity even more.

"Who the hell are you?” You ask once everyone got their weapons away.

“Tell us who you are first.” The ginger man intervened.

“That doesn’t seems fair, you are the one who appeared in my building’s alley and are also the ones who seem to be out of age. I have more reasons to not trust you than you do with me” You reason, frowning your brows. “And by the way, you are the ones who are armed to the tooth, so I think I got the right to know first since I’m the most unarmed between all of us”

They looked between each other, asking silently whether you should know and as the large seconds pass all the gazes ended up in the little man with big blue eyes and dark hair, asking for his opinion. “I think the lady got a right point.” He mumbles with a small shrug as all the rest nods.

“My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” The tallest one of them all starts, looking concerned at you.

“I am Gimli, son of Gloin.” The half-man with the beard follows while proudly smiles at you.

“Boromir, son of Demethor.” The ginger man talks while signaling the smallest ones to present themselves.

“I am Frodo Baggins and these are my friends.” The blue eyed mini man smiled at his others mini men just after saying his own name.

“Merry Brandybuck.”

“Samwise Gamgee.”

“And Pippin Took.”

You nod as each one of them talk in order, all smiley in comparison of their company.

“And I am Legolas.” The blonde guy is the last of them all to present himself with a nod.

“Now, it is your turn ma’am, just so we will make sure to know your name in case you hit us with that thing in your hand.” The one named Bor-something answered.

“I’m Y/N, um... daughter of my dad.” You say, smiling shyly while the other one, Ara-something-else slowly approached, near enough so he could grab the tube out of your hands and place it apart, just, not aiming at them. “It is a pleasure to meet you, I think I am going to... um, get back to my apartment and continue with my day.” You nod with an awkward smile on your face just as you signaled with your fingers behind you. “Have a great day, you... people.” You finally mutter to all the confused men in front of you, staring weirdly at either your clothing, hair, or your attitude.

With slow steps you finally got to leave the weird encounter, opened the building’s door and got to the elevator, pressed the button to the fifth floor and waited.

Who were those men? What the hell was that light? Are you going insane? Was your breakfast in a good state or were you hallucinating now? No, you did not had so much imagination to imagine such a scenario.

Once you arrived to your apartment you opened the door, the creaking noise of it echoing down the hall as your brain was still spiraling around the encounter-

A thunder ringed through your ears and the large windows of your living room shivered a little bit, small drops of water starting to fall from the grey clouds that covered the sky like a giant cape, blending well with the grey colors of the buildings at the other side of the street.

“Those poor men were not wearing enough coats for the cold night” You brain started to think as your front door closed behind you. “Nor they seemed to have somewhere to go... They didn’t even know what New York City was, apparently.” Guilt starting to settle in your gut while your brain replayed the men confused and lost faces in your heads. “And they looked injured, and in hunger.”

“Shit, why am I such a nice person.” You muttered to yourself as you huffed the air out of your lungs. “I mean, I can help ‘em, and give them somewhere to stay in... No, what if they are bad and kidnap me? No, stop judging everyone.” Your debate was now outside your brain, talking to yourself as you walked in circles around the room like it was a runway. “I could at least give them some food and meds.” You sentenced, walking to your cabinet to grab a bag and place in it some fruits and bandages, alongside some aspirins.

Once your feet placed you facing your door, you overthinked everything again. What if they were actually cosplayers, or if they were pulling up a prank in you, but what if they are not and they need help. What if they were gone? Well, they really seemed to have nowhere else to go.

In a wave of courage your hand grabbed the umbrella and decidedly walked to the stairs to later conduce you to the alley the light incident happened a while ago, the sky now seemed to be breaking loose as heavy rain poured down.

“Hello?” You asked in a mutter while opening your umbrella, walking down the alley to the place you found them. “Is anyone there?” Your voice was low in case someone else was actually there but then a sneeze caught your attention, besides the garbage bin were the four fun-sized men all kind of cuddling in search for heat against each other with their knees against their chests and their curly heads peaking over their wet cloaks. “Oh, hi.”

“Mister Frodo look, is the lady from before.” The blonde muttered to the brunette, four pairs of eyes settled with curiosity on you and your umbrella.

“Your name is Y/N, right miss?” He said, his voice shaky from the cold as his chin couldn’t help but tremble after a freezing breeze crossed near.

“You are right, littl- you.” You couldn’t help but be in embarrassed, he knew your name but you could not remember his. “Where are the other men?” You couldn’t help your curiosity, they weren’t near for you to see and they seemed pretty overprotective over these little men.

“They went over to find shelter Miss. Why did you come back to us?” He asked, confusion painted all over his rain-soaked face.

“Oh, I- Uhm... Oh, right. I brought some food and aspirins for you, you guys looked really hurt.” She said, handing over the bag to the blonde one.

“What is she doing here Frodo?” A voice asked intrigued from behind you, turning around you found the four missing men standing there, even more soaked from the rain and visibly disappointed.

“Aragorn, did you found somewhere?” And out of the sudden you were being ignored, the four little guys concentrated on the blue-eyed normal man.

“Sadly, we did not, everything is weird, not even the elves could have been able to create such many high constructions like the one surrounding us.”

“Oh, here are some apples, great.” Muttered the little man who you gave the bag to.

You were, and I quote literally, in the middle of the 8 weirdest people you have ever met and only to add, they were ignoring you? Yes, they were.

“What do you have over there Sam?” The tall ginger man asked, walking over to look at the white bag in his hands.

“Miss gave us some fruits and something she called ‘aspirins’, must be these little round things in this weird container.”

“Are they edible? They look like they are, pass me some?” The one little man with the slim face asked, his hand extending over to his friend for him to put like 3 pills in his hand.

Your eyes went wide, was he actually daring to do that? And out of impulse your hand flew, stopping his from throwing the pills in his mouth. “No! Don’t do that, they are not edible, not- not like that, you... you are supposed to swallow one to help with pain, you are- you don’t know what aspirins are?” You quickly said, explaining to all eight of them before they tried to attack you with their “swords.”

Your eyes scanned the group who seemed really out of place by your words and some of them denied with their heads, signaling no.

“You guys are really lost huh...” You muttered, putting the pills back to its container. “If you guys keep here you will catch a cold, you don’t have somewhere to be?”

“We don’t even know where we are, ma’am, I highly doubt we have anywhere else to be besides this weird place behind that thing that smells awful.” The must educated one said, passing an apple to each of the other little men before handing the bag to Strider Ara-something.

“And, uh, what are you going to do then? We are in the middle of winter, there will probably snow horribly at night, the news said so.”

“In the middle of winter? No lass, you must be a bit lost, we were in the middle of summer.”

“I wouldn’t deny the woman’s word, Gimli, she seems to know about this place far more than us, and this rain is certainly not one for winter.” The red haired- man said to the shorter one that spoke before, Gimli. “What would you suggest us to do, Miss Y/N?”

“Do you guys have money?” You asked, checking the primary thing you are supposed to have to sub exist today. Seeing their poker faces and how each of them raise a small pouch you grow suspicious. “Can I see the type of money you have?” And to that, the Gily guy takes some apparent gold coins out, making you get deeply confused as, well, it seemed to be real gold coins. “You can’t use that here...” You mutter, signaling with your hand for him and all of them to put the pouches back in place.

“What do you mean we cannot? Is gold!” The little ones exclaim, causing Strider guy to glare at them and at the same time shush them, the blond one urging you to continue.” We use a different type of money here, yours is kind of functional but doesn’t have an exact value, if you had dollars or something you could maybe... rent a hotel or something.” You keep on talking, looking at the way their soaked clothing dripped to their feet, the plop noises being noticeable.

“But it has a value, we just don’t know how much, right?” The blonde asks, caution in his tone.

“Yeah, you could say so.”

“Can we rent from you a shelter?” The Frodo one talks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Uh? No, I mean- I-, I don’t have a place for you to rent, I work as an accountant in a pharmacy compa- yeah, I don’t rent places, I only own my apartment...” You try to explain in a way they seem to understand. “My home, my little house up this building.”

“There is a house up there?”

“No, not like a hous- just... I don’t know if I can rent something to you as I have no other place to offer you.” Your tone began to speed, confusion taking the must upon you.

“But that means we can rent some space in your 'apartment-house', right?" Other suggest, causing the three tallest of them to look shocked to the words they were hearing.

"Merry..." One of them warned, your gaze over the one Merry guy that suggested renting rooms in your home.

Is not like you have none, you had one extra room for visits, but it’s still a lot to think of so suddenly. At the end, they all were 8 apparently grown men that you would be inviting to your home to stay temporally until they manage to go somewhere else, you didn't know them, you didn't know if they had bad intentions, how their attitudes were, anything at all, you didn't even know their names correctly! Or what specie were some of them... Still, the lost look on their faces was telling you to accept, and the rational wanting-to-survive part of your brain yelled at you concerned in case you were insane. Who in their goddamn five senses and with rational thought would let 8 stranger in their home? Apparently you.

After going out of your trance and taking a look at all of them you could tell by their expressions they knew you would deny because, again, who would let them in their house? "If I- If I were to accept, what would I gain by my part?" You questioned, your voice and words gaining all of their attention back to you, concern in the elders faces.

"We... we can pay you with our gold, offer protection and... and... maybe help?" The little blonder one muttered insecure, his gaze falling upon his friend to see if they agree, not getting any denial back, just a glare from the dark haired man.

"I... I... have to think about it a bit." You said before slowly getting in your building, closing the door behind you until you were not visible anymore to the guys.

Were you actually going to do it? What if you woke up in the morning and all your stuff is gone? If they stab you in the middle of the night with those mini swords they carry on them? Or if they try and take advantage of you? And if they are just homeless?

Or, maybe they actually need your help...

"God, why is it so hard to decide." You muttered, your stomach clenching in uneasiness at all the options crossing your mind. And suddenly, your heart supporting half of your brain the idea of them actually being nice human beings settled in your stomach, what if they actually need help and you are just here judging them?

A sudden wave of courage took over you, opening the door again to find them all settled again in the corner trying to warm themselves, all 16 pair of eyes looking back to you, again, expecting you to talk.

"Fine, I'll rent you part of my place for the minimum time possible until you find somewhere else." You state, the four littler pair of eyes lighting up. "But-" you started again, causing all of them to pay even more attention "firstly we have to go upstairs, I get to know why the fuck you are... stranded, here in the middle of the city looking like cosplayers, what are you, and settle some limits so then, we can talk about the staying bit." Words rapidly falling out of your lips, once you finished all of them looking at each other and making a small flash reunion to discuss it.

"How do we know you are not a threat?" The long-haired blonde one asked.

"Of anything that'd be my question, I ain't the one with swords and all that stuff." You answered, showing your bare hands. "But if its matters, I assure I don’t threat any harm to you guys, at all, I just want to help." And with that they all went back to shushing to each other.

"We accept too." They concluded to you, now everyone expecting to your say.

"O- okay, let's get in then." You said, realizing slowly what you were doing as you opened the door and signaled with your head for them to follow. Eight men walking behind you through the hallways of the building, headed by the tall brown haired man and finished with the red-head, all earning weird glances from those on their ways to their own apartments.

Dear god, what were you getting into.

Masterlist | Next

©danihow. 2022. All rights reserved. Re-uploading, translating or any sort of modifying any work piece is not allowed.

The rights of the characters that conform the fellowship go to J.R.R Tolkien and his masterpieces “The Lord of the rings” and “The Hobbit”. The plot is pure fiction for what is understood that most of the events do not happen in the books/movies.

Some themes are not factually acurate, any problem detected on the information given may be comunicated to me via DM.

#the fellowship x reader #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lotr x reader #aragorn #legolas #boromir #frodo #merry #pippin #sam #gimli #lotr modern au #lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings fanfic #the fellowship #modern au #danihow.series #intertwined epochs

[doycetopia]

Mass Effect, Tolkien, and Your Bullshit Artistic Process

It may seem a bit odd that I’m posting this here rather than on my gaming-related blog, since it is about the Mass Effect game series and other related geekery. I debated where I should post it, but ultimately this is about writing as much or more than it’s about gaming, so here it is. Everything that follows is my opinion and, further, is infested with spoilers for both the Mass Effect series and, I suppose, The Lord of the Rings. Reader beware.

In late February, I said (on twitter) that I thought the Mass Effect universe was probably the most important science fiction of a generation.

Since then, the executive producer for Mass Effect 3 has been working tirelessly to get me to retract that statement.

If you follow gaming news at all, you’ll already know that there have been great clouds of dust kicked over this particular story — the gist of it is that Mass Effect was brought to a conclusion with the release of Mass Effect 3 (note: not brought to its conclusion, just brought to a conclusion — more on that later), and while 99% of the game was the same top-notch, engaging, tear-inducing stuff that we’ve come to expect, the last five minutes or so is a steaming, Hersey’s Kiss-sized dollop of dog shit that you are forced to ingest at the conclusion of the meal, like a mint, before they let you out the door.

It’s fair to say that it’s soured many players’ impression of the experience as a whole.

Now, I realize that many of the folks reading this may not have played through the Mass Effect series. First of all, that’s really too bad, because it is very, very good both in terms of play (which steadily improves from game to game) and story (barring one steaming exception) and (I think) completely worth the time.

But secondly, I’d like to keep you non-ME people involved in the conversation, so I’m going to draw a comparison that I think most anyone likely to visit here will understand, so that we can all proceed with reasonable understanding of the issues.

Let’s pretend for a moment that The Lord of the Rings was released not as a series of books, but a series of games. More importantly, the company behind the series decided to do something really hard but rewarding with the game — they were going to let you make decisions during play that substantively altered the elements of the story. That means that some of people playing through this Lord of the Rings story would end up with a personal game experience that was pretty much exactly like the one you and I all remember from reading the books, but that story is just sort of the default. Whole forums were filled up by fans of the series comparing notes on their versions of the game, with guides on how to get into a romantic relationship with Arwen (the obvious one), Eowyn (more difficult, as you have to go without any kind of romance option through the whole first game, but considered by many to be far more rewarding), or even Legolas (finally released as DLC for the third game).

And that’s certainly not all of possible permutations. Some players actually managed to save Boromir (though he leaves the party regardless, but gets you a whole extra army in the third game if he’s alive, and makes Denethor much less of a pain in the ass to deal with). Some folks don’t split up the party, and spend most of the game recruiting supporters through the South and North, from Aughaire down to Dol Imren. For some, Gimli dies at Helms Deep; for others only Merry escapes into Fangorn (which makes recruiting the Ents all but impossible). Hell, there are even a few weirdos who chose NOT to recruit Samwise back at the beginning of the story, and actually play through the whole first game without him (though the writers reintroduce him as a non-optional party member once you get ready to leave Lothlorien).

And what about the players who rolled the main character as a female? That changes a LOT of stuff, as you might well imagine. (Though, thankfully, all the dialogue options with Legolas are the same.)

Are you with me so far?

Okay, so you’re playing through this game — you’ve played through parts 1 and 2 several times, in fact, sometimes as a goody-two-shoes, and sometimes as a total bad-ass. You’ve got a version of the game where you’re with Arwen, one with Eowyn, one with Legolas, and one where you focus on Frodo and his subtle hand-holding bromance with Sam. You’re ready for Part Three, is what I’m saying, and out it comes.

And it’s awesome. You finally bring lasting alliance between Rohan and Gondor, you form a fragile-yet-believable peace between elves and dwarves, and even manage to recruit a significant strike-force of old Moria orcs who don’t so much like you as much as they just hate the johnny-come-lately Uruk-hai.

The final chapters open. You face down Saruman (who pretended to fund all your efforts through the second book, but then turned on you at the end of the Two Towers), which was really satisfying. You crawl up to the top of Mount Doom, collapse against a rock, and have a really touching heart to heart with Sam. It’s over. You know you have all your scores high enough to destroy the One Ring with no crisis of conscious and no lame “Gollum bit off my finger and then falls in the lava” ending, like the one you saw on the fanfic forums last year.

And then out comes this glowing figure from behind a rock, and it’s… Tom Bombadil.

And Tom explains your options.

Oh, and you're totally going to die too. And all the roads and horses throughout all of middle earth vanish. And by the way did you know that Sauron and the Nazgul all actually just work for Bombadil? True story.

Now, let’s just ignore the fact that the company behind this game has been quoted many times as saying that the game will end with no less than sixteen different endings, to honor all the various ways the story could go, and focus on these three options.

None of them have anything to do with destroying the ring, do they?

Has ‘destroying the ring’ (alternately, destroying Sauron) been pretty much THE THING you’ve been working toward the whole game? Yeah, it has. In fact, it mentions “Rings” right there in the title of the series, doesn’t it? Rather seems to make The Ring a bit of a banner item, doesn’t it?

But no, none of these options are about the Ring; they’re about one of the b-plots in the series, and one which you pretty much already laid to rest a few chapters ago.

So… okay, maybe this isn’t the END ending, you think, and you pick one of the options…

And that’s it. A bunch of cut-scenes play, Mount Doom explodes with fiery red light, you die, and the credits roll. The end.

Ohhh-kay. Maybe that was the bad ending. Let’s reload a save and pick option 2…

Same. Exact. Cut scenes. Except Mount Doom’s explosion is green. What?

Alright… umm… let’s check #3…

Nope. Mount Doom’s explosion is Blue. That’s it.

And, absolutely inexplicably, every single one of these cut scenes shows Gandalf, Aragorn, and SAMWISE escaping the explosion on one of the eagles and crash-landing somewhere in Lorien where they all pat themselves on the back and watch the sun set together.

What? But… Sam was with you. Aragorn and Gandalf… did they start running away halfway through the last fight at the Black Gate? Your boys abandoned you?

So, given this example, it’s possible — even for someone who didn’t play Mass Effect — to understand the fan’s reaction. The ending has no real connection to the rest of the story; barring the last scene and one conversation with an unnamed Nazgul in Book 3, it would lift right out with no one even noticing. It completely takes away your choices at the end of a game about making world-altering choices. It effectively destroys the Middle Earth that you were fighting for 100 hours of gameplay to preserve — no magic? Maybe a completely wiped out dwarven race? No one can travel anywhere without painstakingly rebuilding roads for a couple hundred years and replacing horses with something else? Also, no matter what, no matter how much ass you kick, you’re dead? Yeah. No thanks, man.

And that’s not even paying attention to stuff like how (and why) Sam and Gandalf and Strider ran away at the end. I mean… even if you’re going to do a shitty twist ending, don’t be so goddamn lazy about it. Don’t sit there and claim that criticism of the ending is an attack on your artistic product, because frankly that ending is full of holes and needs a rewrite and probably two more chapters to flesh out. (More on that in a bit.)

So… that’s where the Mass Effect franchise was after ME3 came out. A lot of confusion. A lot of rage. Some protests of a very interesting sort, where the gamers against the terrible ending decided to draw attention to the issue by raising something like seventy-thousand bucks for geek-related charities.

Now, let’s go a bit deeper.

Let’s continue with this Lord of the Rings video game analogy. Let’s say that after a bit of digging, people realized that Tolkien actually left the company to work on other projects before the game was complete. He wrote up a detailed outline, though; something that clearly spelled out exactly how the main arc of the story was supposed to play out, in broad strokes, basically laying out what we would expect the ending to be, pretty much.

But Tolkien left. So they get another guy in. Someone else who’s written stuff about some kind of powerful ring…

They get Steven R. Donaldson.

(Those of you who know me and my history with the Thomas Covenant books can guess that this analogy is not going to be a positive one, because seriously: fuck Thomas Covenant.)

So they get this Donaldson guy in to helm the end of the series, and it turns out he’s the guy who comes up with the Tom Bombadil, fuck-the-continuity-of-the-series ending.

Why? Maybe he’s pissed about being the second choice. Maybe he’s not getting paid enough to give a fuck. Maybe he just really wants to do this kind of story, but can’t be arsed to write a series of his own for which it makes sense. Maybe the original ending outlined by Tolkien got leaked on a forum the year before the last game came out, so people decided it had to be changed, even if the alternative makes no sense. I don’t know.

What I do know is the there was a different ending written out for the Mass Effect series, the short version of which is that the Big Reveal in ME3 is that the Mass Effect itself — the magical black-box technology that allows interstellar travel and powers a ton of other things from weapons to expensive toothbrushes — is causing a constant increase in dark energy in the galaxy, and that’s causing all kinds of bad things (like the accelerated death of stars).

The Mass Effect — you know, the thing from which the name of the series is derived — is the secret behind the Big Reveal. Who would have thought?

So, in the end of the game-as-envisioned, you’re given a choice of saving the galaxy by sacrificing the human race (making humanity into a biomechanical, synthetic-life, communal-intelligence “Reaper” that can stop the Dark Energy decay), or telling the Reapers to screw themselves and trying to fix the problem on your own (with a handful of centuries left before the Dark Energy thing snowballs and grows out of control on its own).

Which, in a word, would have been better. Certainly FAR better than some kind of stupid Tom Bombadil/Star Child explanation where we are told that the (synthetic AI) Reapers destroy advanced organic civilizations every 50 thousand years to prevent organic civilizations from… being destroyed by synthetic AIs.

Now we don’t just have some gamer complaints about the terrible ending, we have a demonstrably better ending that was actually supposed to be the one implemented. Complicates things, doesn’t it?

But Why All the Hate?

The simple fact of the matter is that Mass Effect is a story, and it’s a very good story — in my opinion, it’s one of the best stories I’ve ever experienced. People can hem and haw about what constitutes a story — about whether a game can really be a story if people can play it — as though a story is only a story if it’s spoken or written or projected up on a movie screen. That’s like saying a person is only a person if they walk or ride a horse or drive a car… because we all know the vehicle in which the subject is conveyed changes that subject’s inherent nature.

Some people say it’s not a real story because the player’s choices can alter it. I think they’re full of crap, and I say the proof of its power as a story is right there in the story-pudding — it affects me as a story does — and that’s all the criteria met. Walks like duck, quacks like duck, therefore duck.

But the problem (if you’re BioWare) is that human beings understand stories; we know how they’re supposed to work, thanks to thousands of years of cultural training. Mass Effect (until that conclusion) is a nigh-perfect example of how a story is done correctly, thanks in part to the medium, which allows (if you’ll permit me the slaughter of a few sacred cows) a level of of immersion and connection beyond what a book or movie or any other storytelling medium up to this point in our cultural history can match, because of the fact that you can actively take part in that story from the inside. Heresy? Fine, brand me a heretic; that’s how I see it.

And since it’s such a good story, people know how the thing is supposed to proceed, and they know how it should end.

You start out in ME1 trying to stop a bad guy, Saren. He’s the guy who gets us moving (because he’s a bad guy, and that’s what they do — bad guys act, and heroes react to that and move the story along). As we try to stop him, we find out there’s something bigger going on than just a rogue cop on a rampage. The picture keeps getting bigger, the stakes keep getting higher, and we keep getting our motivation and our level of commitment tested. Are we willing to sacrifice our personal life? Yes? Okay, will we sacrifice one of our friends? Yes? Okay, how about the leaders of the current galactic government? Yes? Okay…

It goes on like that. You fucking invest, is what I’m saying, and that’s just in the first game.

In the second game, the fight continues, as we have merely blunted the point of the spear, not stopped the attack. Our choices in ME1 had consequences, and we start to see them play out, for better or worse. Meanwhile, we’re trying to stop Evil Plan #2, in a suicide mission that could literally cost us nearly every single friend we’ve made. In the end, we get the joy of victory mixed with the sadness of the loss of those who didn’t make it, and it’s all good, because it’s a strong, healthy, enjoyable emotional release.

And now it’s ME3, and the stakes are even higher. We’re not recruiting more individual allies — we’re recruiting whole peoples — whole civilizations. Planets are falling. Worlds are being erased.

In the words of Harbinger, this hurts you.

Why? Because you know these people who are dying. You’ve spent over a hundred hours traveling this setting, meeting people, helping them, learning about each of their little stories; building relationships with, literally, hundreds of individuals. Every one of these planets going up in flames has a face (even if it’s a face behind a breathmask), and no one falls in this final story that wasn’t important in some way to you or someone you know.

(By contrast, the enemy is faceless and (since the reapers harvest your former allies and force them into monstrous templates) largely indistinguishable from one another — as it should be in this kind of story. You do not care about a Husk, though you might mourn the person killed to create the thing.)

In short, you aren’t just playing this game to get the high score. You’re fighting for this galaxy of individuals you’ve grown very, very attached to; to protect it and, as much as you can, preserve it. You’ve spent several hours every day on this, for months. It matters.

"Hard to imagine galaxy. Too many People. Faceless. Statistics. Easy to depersonalize. Good when doing unpleasant work. For this fight, want personal connection. Can't anthropomorphize galaxy. But can think of favorite nephew. Fighting for him."

(Best of all, you get to shoot bad guys in the face while you’re doing it, which takes this heavy topic and makes it engaging at that level as well. It’s like soaking up all the gravitas of Schindler’s List while enjoying the BFG-toting action of Castle Wolfenstein at the same time.)

The end comes. We talk to all our friends. Everyone’s wearing their brave face, talking about what they’re going to do afterwards, which beach they’re going to retire on. You start to think that maybe the end is in sight and maybe, just maybe, you might even be able to see some of that ending.

The last big conflict starts. You fight some unkillable things and kill them. You face off against an old nemesis and finally end him.

And then…

And then you’re given three choices, none of which result in anything any different from the others, and none of which have consequences that have any connection to the goals we’ve been working on for the last hundred hours or so.

Those people you were just talking to? They’re gone. Or stranded on an alien world. Or dead. All those planets you helped? They’re gone too — cut off, or starving, or maybe just destroyed in manufactured super-novas. Nothing you did or accomplished in the last three games actually matters — it’s all been wiped out by one of three (red, green, or blue) RESET buttons you pushed, because pushing one of those buttons was the only ‘choice’ given to you at the end.

As a species, trained for thousands of years in the way stories work, we know this is a bad ending. Not “tragic”. Just bad. Poor.

This isn’t about a bunch of priviledged gamers complaining about a sad ending, because there are well-done sad endings that make contextual sense.

This is about a mechanical ending to the game that doesn’t end the story — that provides no emotional release — one so disassociated from the previous 99% of the story that the fans of the series collectively hope it will later be revealed to be a dream (or, in the context of the setting, a final Reaper Indoctrination attempt).

Dear writers: If you create something, and your readers hope that what you just gave them was, in reality, an “it was a dream all along” ending, because that would be better than what you wrote, you seriously. fucked. up.

Is the ending, as an ending (taken out of context with the game we’ve been playing), a bad one? No. It’s an interesting theme that was explored extensively in a B-plot within the series and which could certainly be the central thread of a series of its own.

But it’s not the ending of this story. Our goals — the one we’ve been fighting for — are never addressed. There is no closure, either happy or sad — we want our emotional release as it relates to the game we actually played. Maybe that means tragedy at our own stupid hands — maybe victory wrested from the biomechanical jaws of defeat (and at the cost of a greater looming danger ahead).

The ending we got? It didn’t make me angry or sad or happy. It left me unfulfilled, because it ended the game talking about something I didn’t actually care about, and left me waiting for that emotional release that ME1 or ME2 pulled off so well.

The idea that the player’s should just deal with the ending, because it’s Bioware’s ending and not theirs is one of the interesting points in this debate, simply because it rides this weird line where we don’t really have a cultural context for what the Mass Effect series is: Is it a game? Is it a story? If if it’s a game, then who cares about the story, and if it’s a story, then treat it like a book and stop pretending you get to influence it, stupid consumer.

The answer is more complicated: Is it a game or story? Yes. Moreover, it’s a game that’s welcomed player input into the narrative from the first moment, and as such, should be committed to honoring that input throughout. It’s a story, but it belongs to everyone telling it.

But It’s Art! There’s a recurring tune being played by Bioware in response to this outcry, and it goes something like this: “We might respond to these complaints, and we might flesh out the ending we presented, but we’re not going to change anything, because this is art — this is the product of artists — and as such it is inviolate and immutable in the face of outside forces.”

Which is, speaking as a working artist, complete and utter horseshit.

If you make a movie, and you put in front of focus groups, and they categorically hate the ending, you change it. If you’re writing a book and your first readers tell you the ending is terrible, you fix it. (Ditto your second readers, your second-draft readers, your agent, your editor, your copy editor.)

Or maybe you don’t — maybe you say “this is art, and it is inviolate and immutable in the face of outside forces”, which is certainly your choice — but don’t expect anyone to help you bring that piece of crap to print.

Anyone can tell a story. You can sit in your special writing nook and turn out page after page of perfectly unaltered, immutable art and be quite happy — you’re welcome to, in fact.

But when you decide you want to make a living off it? Even if you want to just make a little spending money?

Then the rules change. Then it’s work. Then it’s a job. More importantly, then it’s part of a business model, and those golden days of your art being inviolate and immutable blah blah blah are well and truly behind you. Name me a story that saw print, or a movie that saw the Big Screen, and I’ll show you art that changed because of input from someone other than the the original creator — from someone looking at it from the point of view of the consumer.

Bioware is a company. Making their stories into games is their business model. Hiding behind some kind of “but it’s art, so we’re not changing it” defense is insulting, disingenuous, and flat-out stupid. Worse, it perpetuates the idea that the creator’s output is in some stupid way sancrosant and, as art, cannot be “wrong” or “bad”. If you as a creator imagine that to be the case — if you think that kind of argument is going to defend your right to never do a rewrite or a revision or line edits or to ever alter, in any way, your precious Artistic Process — discard that notion.

Or become accustomed to a long life as an “undiscovered talent”.

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#crosspost #mass effect #randomaverage

[seanastinhopeunquenchable]

https://www.syfy.com/syfywire/lord-rings-sam-frodo-ship-lgbt-queer-reading-history

“It’s that willingness to showcase gentle intimacy between men that made The Lord of the Rings the queer mecca that it is for fans today — even with more traditionally masculine characters like Gimli, Aragorn, or Boromir, there’s never a hesitation to express affection or care for their fellow brothers in arms. For LGBTQ+ audiences that are practically devoid of representation in mainstream action, this softness and gentle care is the closest to queer representation that they could get — especially in the case of Sam and Frodo, it’s a relationship so sweet and affectionate that a queer reading is hardly a reach."

#sean astin #elijah wood #samwise gamgee #frodo baggins #lotr #slash #sam/frodo #pride month #gay pride