#it’s a bad one i hear he dies at the end :(

[teaweltzer]

Sending Stone Messages

A list for me that I want to update as new ones come in! Which w/ Dorian back, hopefully not so much (But i think I found all of them so far)

Bonus Ep 6 - Orym gripping the sending stone while Dorian was away

Ep 16 Fearne - right after Dorian leaves 

Ep 22 Orym — “We’re leaving Jrusar, heading southeast. Following the Treshi thread further. You’ve been missed. Hope you’re well.

Dorian — “Hey, sorry. Was sleeping. Thanks. Miss you guys too. Shit got crazy here too. Floating bar, I’ll tell you later. 

Ep 31  Orym — “Hey friend. Missing you here. Could really use your special brand of optimism right now. Don’t know where you are. Hope you’re happy. Bye now.”

Dorian — “Hey! Floating bar got a little weird. Took awhile to land it. This side of the fam is keeping me busy. Miss you all too- Don’t die!”

Bonus Ep 33 - Sending stone falling from Orym's hand as he dies from Otohan

Ep 40  Orym — “Hey. Yios bound. Found them- their killers. Bigger than we thought. Read rough, Dorian. Eshteross is dead. Glad you’re not here, wish you were anyway.”

Ep 41  Dorian (via Robbie)— “Oh Orym~ My heart aches I cannot be there to help you. Find strength, stay steadfast. Sending you fairer winds. …. Is this thing on or-“

Ep 49 Orym — “Dorian. Update. People we’re chasing unleashing hell in a week. We’re headed there now. Odds not good. More tomorrow. Where are you?

Dorian — “Orym! With the rest of the Crown Keepers in Tal’Dorei. Opal’s getting a little dark. Little busy at the moment.. I don’t even know how to get to you.”

Ep 49 Orym — “Listen, what’s going on over here is really bad. Get the group, get underground. Stay there until you hear from me again… Miss you”

Dorian — “I'll see what I can do. There’s plenty of places underground, I’m sure. It's a little hairy on this end too. You take care of yourself. Be careful”

Ep 59  Orym — “Dorian?? Can you hear me? what’s the sky look like where you are? Tell me you’re okay-“

Ep. 63 Orym — “Dorian. still alive, by the skin of our teeth. want to talk more. you know where Dariax is?’

Bonus I miss you - Ep. 79  "I really miss Dorian and sometimes I think that's okay and sometimes it isn't."

Ep 86 Orym — “Dorian, we’re alive. Been to the moon, going back. Find the tempest. If I don’t get the chance again, I’ve really missed you.”

Ep 92 Orym — "We're home. Can you hear me? I'm northeast of Bassuras. Can you get there? I'm... struggling. Sorry. Can you get here? Fuck, I miss you."

#critical role #dorian storm #sending stone #bells hells #orym of the air ashari

[sunnystrollblog]

Ablaze: Trickee gave me a get better soon card.

Boom: That's sweet!

Ablaze: I wasn't sick, they just think I can do better.

Ablaze: The universe is cold and unfeeling. The only constant is chaos.

Hype : Was the canteen out of chocolate-chip pancakes again?

Trickee: I'm not mean. Name one mean thing I’ve ever done.

Boom: When we were younger, you convinced me eggs weren't real.

Trickee: They're not.

Boom: Haha, very funny.

Trickee: I'm serious. Didn't you hear?

Boom: No... what happened?

Trickee: ...Why would you fall for this again-

Branch: “Struggle with depression” would seem to imply that I am bad at being depressed when I am, in fact, very proficient at being depressed.

Creek: I feel like I have died and gone to heaven.

Branch: I have that dream, too, but you go in the other direction.

Poppy : I am in charge of this disaster!

Branch: I have a name, you know.

Branch: Anyone down to take couples counseling and see at what point the therapist realizes we barely know each other?

Poppy : Idiots to lovers, 20k words, angst with a happy ending.

Poppy : Five little monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and…

Branch: Was diagnosed with mesothelioma.

Poppy : Mamma called the doctor and the doctor said…

Creek: You might be entitled to financial compensation if he or a loved one dies.

Creek: Hey besties-

Branch: Die.

Creek: What did I do to you-

Branch: Poppy is restricted to decaf for the rest of this adventure.

Poppy : You were stabbed. Do you remember anything?

Boom : Only the ambulance ride to the hospital.

Poppy : That wasn't an ambulance, I drove you.

Boom : But I heard a siren.

Trickee: That was Hype .

Hype : Sorry, I got nervous.

Branch: Why is Ablaze crying on the floor?

Hype : he’s drunk.

Branch: And?

Hype : he saw a picture of Trickee's spouse.

Branch: But he’s Trickee's spouse.

Hype : I know.

Ablaze : I wasn’t that drunk.

Branch: You colored my face with a highlighter because you said I was important.

Ablaze : BECAUSE YOU ARE!

Trickee: I’ve only had Branch for a day and a half but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

Trickee: I don’t know how you have your foot in your mouth, your head up your ass, and your nose in my business. But here we are, you fucking wizard.

Branch: I WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD FOR YOU!

Boom : Okay, can you do the dishes?

Branch: No!

#inncorrect quotes #dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls fandom #trolls band together #trolls branch #branch trolls #dreamwork trolls #trolls kismet #trolls ablaze #trolls trickee #trolls hype #trolls boom #poppy trolls

[oxbellows]

Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

 It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost. 

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory. 

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it? 

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king. 

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope. 

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it. 

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him. 

Perhaps. 

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised. 

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition. 

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

 Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

 "Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap. 

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. 

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

 Your father thought you dead.

 Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward. 

 He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him. 

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered. 

 Faramir would never plan a suicide mission. 

 Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones. 

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

 Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

 He reached the top of the stairs. 

 A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.” 

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

 Boromir ran like he had never done in his life. 

 For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

 He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

 In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

  “Faramir?” Boromir called warily. 

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!” 

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot. 

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand. 

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir. 

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying. 

Boromir dropped to his knees. 

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell. 

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill. 

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart. 

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it. 

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs. 

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

 “No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

 The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

 Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief. 

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply ­covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

 Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

#@emilybeemartin #lotr fic #Boromir Lives AU

[yesihaveaobsession]

Looped In Time

Alastor x female reader

Summary: Like Groundhog Day the reader (you) are experiencing a endless time loop, she asks The Radio Demon to get her out but that involves a deal.

Y/N- Y'all might argue and say, " Groundhog Day." but the real ones know it's actually "Mystery Spot."

You woke up again. Again? Yes. You found yourself trapped in an endless time loop, with no idea why. Each time, you died in the most outlandish ways: Frank, Sir Pentious's Egg Boi, shot a lasher, it hit you, and then you woke up in your bed. Another time, Cherri Bomb threw a grenade in the hotel lobby, and there you were again... waking up in your bed. Normally, you'd have no idea what day it was in Hell... but you sure as hell knew it was Wednesday.

You wanted to pull your hair out at this point; you needed out. So, you went to look for the man you knew who could help you: the Radio Demon himself. Said demon was returning from his radio tower. He was much taller than you, so you practically had to jog to catch up with him. You didn't want him to disappear, so you shouted.

"Alastor! Just the guy I wanted to see." Alastor stopped and turned to face you with his smile. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Not wanting anyone else to hear what charade was tormenting you, you grabbed his claw and dragged him into your bedroom, shutting the door and locking it.

Alastor let out a chuckle. "That is one way to get your point across." Was he mocking you? You finally turned to face him. "I'm stuck, you baboon."

"Stuck?" He smiled, but his eyes showed confusion. "I'm stuck in an endless time loop that never ends, and I can't do anything about it!" You ran your hands through your hair, trying to catch your breath.

"That does not sound very pleasant at all." Maybe this was a bad idea. He seemed to enjoy watching you struggle. And God, did you hate it.

"No shit! I somehow die in the dumbest ways and wake up, and it's Wednesday. In fact, this is the hundredth Wednesday I've lived through!" Alastor sat on your bed with his legs crossed over each other. "Sounds... frustrating."

You finally looked over at the deer demon, who clearly was enjoying it by his grin. But he did want to help; he saw the desperate glint in your eyes. "You do realize that you are essentially in Hell currently, yes?"

Seriously? "Yes," You replied flatly. "And you know the only way to break the cycle, yes?" He stood from the bed and made his way over to you, clutching his cane, bending down and sliding a finger down your chest, then pausing and looking up at you.

"No, tell me." You gripped onto the flaps of his suit jacket desperately. Just where he wanted you. "Perhaps I can offer you a way out of this tiresome cycle. But, of course, everything comes at a price." Your giddiness came to an end when he said this. "I'm way smarter than making a deal with you." You replied, letting go of his suit and crossing your arms. To think this was the game that Alastor played. He also knew that getting through to someone looking for help like you was a lot easier.

"I assure you... the price is very reasonable..." He said with animated hand gestures. You were now glaring at him. Was this sensibly a price to pay? Although you weren't sure if he believed you or not. You didn't know how to get out. A part of you felt like Alastor put you in this to get something out of you.

"You're not getting my soul." You spoke. He smiled more. His arms were behind his back, and he started to circle around you, slowly, like you were his prey.

"Oh, you will not have to sell me your soul. Just your services, if you agree to my terms." Terms? What terms? You thought to yourself. You felt your heart start to pound in your chest. The tension between you and the seven-foot man was weighing down on you.

"Why do I feel like you're mocking me?" You pushed, knowing he was hiding something behind those yellow teeth. Alastor chuckled. "No mocking here." He let out a sigh before continuing. "Only a simple contract, and you'll be free of the time loop for good... at least, that is my offer." Alastor held out his hand, with his antlers growing from his head. You took a step back. "Do you have some demands that, if met, would break you out of the loop?"

"I was hoping you'd help me without a deal."

"That technically is not an option, my dear." His hand remained stretched out in front of him. You weighed your options. "Why?"

"Think of this situation as a business transaction, my dear. There are no freebies in this plane of existence. There is a price to pay for everything. And I am only being so generous to you because I want something in return, from you."

Either way, you needed out. "Deal." you replied and shook his hand, you woke up in your bed and looked at the clock it said Thursday, you let out a sigh of relief only to realize you don't know what you agreed to.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #i have an obsession

[kitchenisking]

Day 4

Seires Fic Rec part 14

Queer Your Coffee by alisvolatpropiis - (Queer Your Coffee) - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 3,084, sterek)

Derek's just over the city line when he sees a sign for an independent drive-thru place, Full Spectrum Brew. There are three cars in line when he turns in, which annoys him but gives him hope. Not that he really trusts the people of Beacon Hills to have much taste when it comes to coffee (god, he is a snob), but the shop’s popularity does seem to bode well. The line of cars moves way more slowly than he’d like, each customer in front of him seeming to take way too long to order, and then lingering when they get their coffee. He’s irritable from lack of sleep and an even more detrimental lack of caffeine, anxious to get out of the car. Finally it’s his turn and he slowly rolls up to the window, turning the radio down.

For a second, he thinks he must have fallen asleep while he was waiting, because what he sees when he looks in the window surely must be a dream.

Stunning brown eyes like glowing honey and sweet little nose, slightly upturned; a shapely pink mouth, bottom-lip pierced by a thin black hoop that he's worrying with the tip of his tongue as he smiles a gorgeous hello.

He's the most beautiful man Derek's ever seen.

And he’s shirtless.

It's a Beautiful Night by khasael - (Hale and Hearty) - (Rating: T, Words: 2,887, sterek)

Just because they're all almost used to fighting against the Creature of the Week and assorted other Bad Guys, doesn't mean it doesn't get Stiles's heart rate going.

Dream a Little Dream by Yoiko - (A Little Dream of Me ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,101, sterek)

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. And since this is my dream you’re going to let me do it.”

All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man. by devilscut - (There are nights when the wolves are silent and the moon howls.) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 11,687, sterek)

A shell-shocked Stiles regroups with the pack to find his father who has been kidnapped by the Darach. Their search leads them to the Nematon, where their confrontation with the Darach reveals her plans and that there is more to being a True Alpha than they know. Derek and his family's legacy is at the heart of her schemes and when the Darach has him under her control Stiles begins to realise the extent of how much he really cares for the sourwolf. In true Scooby-doo fashion, the villain has told them of her plans but more shockingly to Stiles she also reveals a very important aspect of his and Derek's relationship.

The virtue of patience by nofeartina - (Patience) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,827, sterek)

Stiles isn't afraid of admitting his feelings to Derek, but that doesn't mean that Derek wants to hear it. 

Or the one where Stiles knows that all good things come to those who wait.

I Feel Like You Can't Feel the Way I Feel by i_might_be_in_over_my_head - ( Einherjar MC ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 14,087, sterek)

“Fuckin A, dude! The last time you gave me that look I ended up in the woods in the middle of the night, lost my inhaler, and almost died. Please tell me why you’re always trying to get me killed?” Scott shook his head resigned. He knew Stiles was going in and nothing he could say would change that. “If we wake up dead tomorrow just remember this was your idea.”

Stiles threw his fist in the air enthusiastically, almost punching Scott in the face, and turned to the door. He knew if he didn’t go quick Scott would probably change his mind and he’d have to start all over. “Dude that was sophomore year of high school, let it go! Plus dead body! We had to go. We’ll just have a drink and check it out. It’ll be fun!”

fingertips have memories by thatworldinverted - (let's talk about sex ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,800, sterek)

Pochemuchka (Russian), noun: a person who asks a lot of questions. 

"I saw the way you watched me, when I was home last month. How long have you been dreaming about getting me on my knees?"

seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin - (covalent bonds) - (Rating: T, Words: 4,153, sterek)

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

These next two fics go hand in hand. 😇

The One with All the Kids by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 6,527, sterek)

Derek didn't know what he did to deserve to have this again. A house full of people, of family. He's going to be forever grateful to that rouge witch for what she did for him and Stiles, because after all the hurt they went through together, many years later, they're standing in the Pack house, in their house, surrounded by their family.

A New Hale by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 4,543, sterek)

The Pack meets the werewolf cub that Stiles and Derek gets placed with them on Christmas.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #kitcheniskingficrecs #seriesficrec

[fictionalcharactergraveyard]

The gang + Shepards x traditional goth reader whom everyone thinks is a witch, and there are rumors about her

Ponyboy 

low-key thinks about you a lot

at first it’s pure curiosity 

then it turns into daydreaming 

and when he hears you’re a witch 

he’s like “…that’s hot.”

“what?”

“NOTHING.” 

ofc you 2 get paired up for a project 

You guys like some of the same books 

And stargazing 

And Pepsi 

After Darry and Sodapop find out about his crush they tease him and low key set you two up for a date 

it’s so fun 

You guys see a horror movie 

And when you get jumpy you cling to him 

And he does the same to you

And then you two share kisses 

All is fine until he gets home and finds out he has black lipstick marks all over his face

And gets “use protection” talk from Sodapop while Darry tries not to laugh (Soda doesn’t wanna become an uncle yet guys)

Johnny 

he’s in the lot and sees you walking 

He low key panic until you say hi

And he’s obsessed with your voice

You 2 end up talking a bit and you joke about how people think you’re a witch 

He says “I believe it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I mean, how else can someone be so beautiful?” 

You fs paint his nails 

And play with his hair 

You each end up scaring each others bullies off 

You love kissing his scars

Dally 

Hits on you 

And when you get mad he just laughs 

“Whatcha gonna do? Curse me?”

“I might.” 

Then you walk away

He plays it cool

But he’s low-key like

“Wtf did they do-“

You two run into each other again at a party 

Buck threw and and your friends with his cousin 

He sees you and starts to flirt 

You flirt back bc why not

“Damn Dally, you going for the wicked witch now huh?” One of the guys there says 

Man almost got punched 

You found it hot 

Darry 

You found him very hot 

Daddy issues/j

Yet you didn’t want to flirt 

He fs has a partner 

Or so you thought

Man is STARING 

Loves how you look 

You catch him staring and he tries to recover 

Tries 

You “accidentally” bump into him 

And nearly fall in the process 

He grabs your waist and holds you

Omg he’s stronggg

You act start stammer and are like: “jfc he thinks I’m so stupid-“

And then he just asks you out 

Right then and there 

And you say yes 

🤭

Sodapop 

You go to the DX

And get some snacks 

Sodapop is like “huh, there’s that witch chick” 

And then when you check out and smile

It’s over 

He needs you NOW 

He needed you yesterday 

He gives you free things 

“I can pay-“

“No need. I don’t need to be jinxed now, do I?” 

You giggle 

Man has a goofy smile 

Yaps abt you sm oml 

Y’all are cute FR 

Two-Bit 

Says sm jokes 

Like omg

“Hey! Heading back to the cemetery?” 

“You got any voodoo dolls on ya?” 

“Did you drug me with a love potion, or am I just falling too fast?” 

You try not the laugh but you do

When you 2 kiss man is COVERED in black kiss marks

And doesn’t wash it 

“TwoBit clean it -“ 

“But how am I supposed to show Im under your spell?” 

You make a joke or two and he DIES 

Y’all are so sweet oml 

Steve 

You 2 meet in October 

“Ain’t it a little early for Halloween costumes?”

“Ain’t it a little early to wear Frankenstein masks?”

After a brief starting contest you 2 laugh and you get your slushie in peace

You go to a Halloween party and see him 

He’s not really dressed up

Youre a sexy vampire COUGH

You decide to join in ‘spin the bottle” 

And you land on Steve 

You guys kiss

And again 

And again 

Then you decide “fuck it” and head to his car to make out 

Tim

Man’s cat calling 

It’s an art to him at this point (thanks to dally)

You tell him to shove it

And he starts walking beside you 

“Ain’t your eyes supposed to glow when you’re mad?”

You just stare at him

Then you kick him in the nuts and run 

He gets mad respect for you after that 

Turns out you guys like the same songs 

You guys do (very bad) karaoke 

It’s fun 

Curly 

Met in detention 

You punched a chick 

He jumped a soc 

You guys started talking

And got on like a house on FIRE

It’s scary oml 

You two make out a lot

Pony wants to die 

Y’all PDA 

When he’s in reform you visit and send letters 

He tries to write letters back 

And make them as nice as yours 

He can’t tho 

Angela 

puppy crush FR 

She thinks your so cool

And pretty 

And when you ask her out she’s like

“I’m in heaven” 

After a threatening “conversation “ with Curly and Tim they’re fine with you hanging out 

You 2 do each others make up 

And go shopping together 

And scream to music 

<3 

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #johnny cade #two bit mathews #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #tim shepard #curly shepard #angela shepard #fictionalcharactergraveyard.writing.answers

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Call that a Cave Story.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wen chao #wang lingjiao #mianmian #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #I had to cut the comic with JC 'holding WWX back from fighting the Wen Assholes' but it is with me in spirit. #It reads (to me) a little bit like JC is scared of Core Melting Hand and wants to have an excuse to hold on to WWX for comfort. #As far as I can recall they are around 15-17 in this arc. #And a guy who can rip out your golden core? The thing we know JC truly puts so much weight upon that he feels meaningless without it? #Yeah that's pretty terrifying. I hope WWX hugs back (he will not) #I have a lot more thoughts on Wang Lingjiao and Mianmian but I will keep them for later. #WLJ is a character I feel got done a little dirty because she has a ton of interesting potential that gets pushed aside for Mean Villainess #Let's be fully honest. Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao are *THE* characters the Protag of one of those 'Reincarnated as the villain!' stories #Set up to be assholes to the main character and meeting a horrible end in retribution. #Do you think MXTX thought about that? How Wen Chao is basically the original Shen QiugQiu? #Who's going to be the brave soul who writes A transmigrator in wen chao's body (accidently makes wwx fall in love with him) story? #Though If we are going with “any mxtx character sho dies transmigrates to another book” WHO is the transmigrator? #Hear me out. I think it should be Original Liu Qingge. I think he and wwx would make a funny duo and I want to see it so bad. #AND the contrast of womanizer Wen Chao VS 'What is a woman' LQG.

[zu-is-here]

Let's end Mermay on a more positive note (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♪ With someone playing the mating game exceeding his authority (ﾟωﾟ)

Leviathantale by @skumhuu

Cross by jakei95

Dream by jokublog

Killer by rahafwabas / rahaf-wabas / rahofy-sketch

#zu art #comic #mermay #leviathantale #xunshine #cross!sans #dream!sans #killer!sans #undertale #undertale au #utmv #seems like Killer won't support these two in the fight against Nightmare; boss' right hand isn't gonna part with his advantages =) #I want to see him furious like 'The smartest one huh? I didn't serve him for years just for a newcomer to leave me with zero' #bet Dust & Horror refused to join Cross & Dream cause they didn't believe in the victory but in the battle (HP is low) they DO join to help #Night is so mad at the traitors and mb Horror dies :'( but when they win; Night (weak & in his passive form) /is/ scared. #he doesn't show it tho & says 'If you was gonna kill me... be done with it. It's hard for Dream to hear it even after abuse & he spares him #they leave him alone and this sea as well... (to confront other leviathans in the future >:D) #but is Night really bad? he rallied his gang and saved some of them from death. He provided them with food; shelter; protection. #he still loves Dream just like when they were kids; when he promised to protect him from pirates. When did the things go so wrong? #LET'S END POSITIVELY Zu said >:// #idea #I have so many ideas for the story and no idea when to draw it so take it here and now >:D #Summer Is Tomorrow \(//∇//)\☆

[designernishiki]

just a thought but like. if akiyama, who’s established as being a bizarrely talented investigator in y5, suspected kiryu’s death to have been faked (or at least “fishy” in his own words) basically on the fucking Spot, i feel like it just makes sense that majima would’ve been just as quick, if not quicker to see where shit wasn’t adding up and become skeptical that the whole thing was a coverup. reason being, in y5 he put shit together and figured out the grand scheme going on so damn early most people didn’t even suspect yet that there was any scheme going on. he then faked his own death well enough to get it in the papers and had masterminded himself all the way to the final boss (with some help of course) before things backfired on him. so he’s got some crazy good skills when it comes to reading people, figuring out their intentions, putting puzzle pieces together, etc– way better than he wants people knowing, generally– and he knows the hallmark signs of a faked death because he’s literally done it before. all that on top of knowing kiryu like the back of his hand and knowing damn well how hard this man is to kill, and how prone to running away from shit for the sake of the safety of people he cares about (for better or for worse) he is. he could absolutely put together that, if given the opportunity by some faction or powerful individual, kiryu would sacrifice his identity and status as a legit living person for the assured safety of others, or for yakuza tensions to diminish, or maybe even as an act of self-flagellation.

tldr: I think the reasons majima didn’t go rogue/apeshit after kiryu’s alleged death are that A) for once he has saejima around to reign him in and make it feel less like Everything has been lost, B) I think he’s legitimately known pretty much all along that kiryu didn’t die that day; nor would he believe it unless he saw it with his own eye.

#however. I also think it would clash with his tendency to be way more cynical and nihilistic than his persona makes him seem #like I do think he’d be pretty fucking sure in his gut And with his logic that kiryu wasn’t dead #but there’d be a pesky depressive part of him that’d scold him for being too idealistic or hopeful in a world that’s so fond of #torturing him. he doesn’t think himself Lucky to say the least. but if he held out hope for saejima while he was on death row for literally #years and saejima did make it back to him in one piece eventually– he’d have some ammo to reason with himself if that makes sense #that + I feel like saejima upon hearing him spiral into supposedly ‘realistic’ nihilism would Strongly reassure him #via reminding him that HE made it back to majima in the end. and that saejima himself knows from experience what a faked death feels like #and how holding onto hope Can in fact be fruitful in the end. overall a bad time for majima after kiryu’s fake death obviously but #he’d be surprisingly stable with all that going for him. makes me think he and saejima would really be the ones keeping daigo from falling #apart. considering he doesn’t have basis for the kind of hope they’re capable of having. almost everyone important to daigo dies eventually #his dad. mine right in front of him. now kiryu. boy must have abandonment issues off the damn charts. #I also like to think he hung around shinada a bit after that incident to just have Something good and pure in his life occasionally. but #he’d be cautious and occasional about it out of fear that he’d ruin shinada’s life or cause him trouble #anyway. many thoughts about all this. they didn’t dive nearly enough into the old guard characters’ reactions to kiryu’s ‘death’ so. yeah #rambling #y6 #majima #kazumaji

[dent-de-leon]

every day I am in Agony over the fact that widomauk is the first kiss of the campaign, Caleb kissed Molly back in the very end, the literal last scene between King and Caleb is them flirting and King is still so utterly enamored with his Magician, and I just wish...there was any mention of those feelings in the wrap up or a q and a or anything. Absolutely begging Taliesin to tell us what Molly/King feels for Caleb--why he chose to make King's last moments on screen him being explicitly attracted to Caleb, and whether we will ever get to see him revisit those feelings one day...

#widomauk #it just. makes me so sad #i want to hear taliesin talk about king's feelings so bad. what caleb meant to him. why he went with That as his final scene in the campaig #and i feel like we've gotten to hear liam talk so much about caleb's unrequited feelings for jes and things like that and I just...wish #we got some sort of conversation like that from tal or liam #also the 'CALEB. SOFTNESS AND LIGHT' COMMENT THAT MOLLY HAS ABOUT HIM IN THE NOVEL. OR THE FACT LUCIEN #AND KING AND MOLLY HAVE ALL FLIRTED WITH CALEB AT SOME POINT-- #caleb being the person who fought the hardest to get molly back in that final fight. how he kept reaching for him and breaking through #lucien's control #and what that means-- #i dont know if i should feel silly or ridiculous for hoping we get to see taliesin address those feelings one day #but like...maybe this ship just hits different from someone who watched early c2 live and the way this ship was treated then #the episode right before molly died being so full of little adorable moments between the two. all the potential #seeing them get the first kiss of the campaign #matt even making their little minis kiss-- #all the missed potential and loose ends and the feelings they never got to share #would give anything to hear taliesin talk about everything king still feels for the nein #but especially his magic man ;; —

[hauntingblue]

LUFFY!!!!!!!!! I HAVE BEEN CONVERTED!!!! LUFFY BELIEVER FULL TIME!!!!! LET US WORSHIP THE SUN!!!!

#luffy deflating like a balloon..... be serious 😭😭 #MOMO NOT BEING ABLE TO HEAR LUFFY!!! oh kaido going for the others now..... law could hear his voice too??? #NAMI BEING THE FIRST TO STEP UP!!! CHILLS!!! THIS TIME STEPPING UP TO WITNESS THE HORRORS!!! YEAH!!! #yamato really does carry the spirit of oden straight up.... motivating his son and everything... #i feel like i am going insane... I CAN HEAR THE DRUMS!!! nami telling luffy to not die and fulfill his promise WHO ELSE HAD A PROMISE???? #is this why his fruit awakened.... because nami reminded him of the promise... omg..... THE DRUMS!!! CHILLS!!!! THE SMILE!!!!! IM SO HYPE!! #talking tag #watching one piece #episode 1070 #i am smiling so hard rn. contagious #also the cp0 that died for this ajdja.... suffering from success.... #THE BOUNCING SOUNDS!!!! THE DRUMS!!!! THE SMILE!!! SANJI JUST VOLTING AWAKE??? see the clouds over his shoulders remain.... as i was saying #you know this has me realising maybe shanks isn't all that bad and stole the fruit from the gov so they couldnt get hold of it #hiyori saying how oden kept hia promise but also how he wanted to keep the promise of opening wano for joyboy #THE KANJURO THING!!! HIYORI WATCH OUT!!! oh its gonna burn orichi by accident YEAAHHH!!!!!!! FUCK YEAHH!!!! #the animation is so fun.. luffy just junping around and shit while hia destruction power is MASSIVE #this is so!!!! kaido complaining about being bored and having fun thru fighting AND HERE COMES LUFFY WITH HIS LOONEY TOONS GOOFY FIGHT!!!! #they knocked this shit out of the park!!! also END CREDITS????! #episode 1071 #momo saying kaido got fat 😭 actually kaido got pregnant <3 yamato you're going to be a big brother congrats!!! #the eyes 😭😭 damn luffy flew away and exploded... 😞😞 skipping rope with kaido omg.... everyone should go outside and see this... #we are welcoming here in the luffy believers... barto is gonna enlist hundreds of new members #law is luffy believer number 1 damn the speech he is giving kid... omg kaido bonked him ajshaksjak that was so good he needed witnesses.. #nami worried abojt luffy being dead and when he appears she is just like WTF IS THAT!!!!!! HUH???!! #wait a second ooohhhh kaido is goong down too fuck yes akdjaksj momo and yamato peeking over the island jahdksk #THE DRUMS BEING HIS HEART I CANNOT GET OVER IT!!! Kaido shoukd be puking up his insides by now but alas this is so fun BOIOIOIOIOING #FIRST TIME SOMEONE ASKS LUFFY WHO HE IS AND HE DOESN'T SAY MONKEY D LUFFY FUTURE KING OF THE PIRATES. HE SAYS ITS HIM. STRAIGHT UP!!!! #NVM HE SAID IT!!!!! GOD IS THAT YOU????!!!! #episode 1072

[talentforlying]

So gemma using magic in general is one thing, how would john feel about gemma getting deeper into magic? Like, going from occasionally casting Basic Shield Spell but otherwise living a normal life, to being some sort of wizard full time

ARE YOU THE SAME ANON FROM THE LAST GEMMA QUESTION!! regardless i love you for this.

ultimately, i think he'd see gemma getting full-blown into magic as a failure on his part, and as a betrayal of his sister's wishes for her. (a betrayal by him, not by gemma.) and john reacts to his own failures by trying to correct them at any cost, regardless of who else's decisions were involved. so he'd be upset, definitely guilty, definitely exasperated and shit-scared for her, maybe a little angry. he's never going to want her to see all the awful, awful shit that he's had to, that he knows she will see if she continues, and he might even sabotage her at points to try and drive her out of the life; just social, high-school-clique stuff, getting important connections like clarice to refuse dealings with her, scaring off artifact brokers, things like that.

but i do think eventually john would come to realize that if gemma's determined to be an occultist, and a serious one at that — which, even john doesn't think of his magic as a full-time gig — then it'd be better for her to want to come to him for advice or assistance, knowing he'd always be willing to help, than for her to want to keep him in the dark as much as possible, knowing there's a non-zero chance of him being a pain in the ass to her about her future plans. he knows that gemma's smart, and savvy, and as well aware as he is by now that people will lie, cheat, steal, and kill to get what they want in this world; despite his inclination towards overprotectiveness, i think he'd come to trust that she can keep herself alive. bottom line, he'd end up working to establish himself in her orbit as a conflicted but stalwart source of backup, information, and offered comfort, so that she never has to go it alone the way he often has.

(i also think he might be secretly relieved that there's another constantine on the scene to take on the hard jobs, the endless violence, the ceaseless horrors. he'd be guilty as hell about feeling that way, because that's his niece and he doesn't want her seeing any of it, but it'd mean he could maybe retire from the constant vigil knowing there's someone he trusts handling things. and maybe become gemma's link back to normalcy in the same way cheryl was for him, if the retirement lasts.)

and, again, he'd come to be so proud of her. sometimes you just can't walk away from knowing something bad is happening, he knows that better than anyone, and to see that quality in gemma would lighten his heart tremendously.

(assuming that's why she continues in magic, of course; if she's just seeking fame and power, he'd do everything he could to shut her out of that world in a heartbeat, and take her hatred for it all the way to the grave.)

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS. #THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION I STARTED VIBRATING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT #john and gemma's relationship is something so personal to me #she's the one area of his life where he tries to actually have his shit together at all times because he truly cares what she thinks of him #and because what happens to her is more important to him than his own life. always will be #he thinks that she finally got to see him as the mess he is when the beast of eden struck. when cheryl died. when the empathy virus hit #and i feel that he has been clawing his way back up from that ever since to try and be her uncle john again the way he used to be #and he is Terrified that he can never succeed because she's in the life with him now #so she will always hear and see and know when he fucks up through the grapevine. that scares him SO bad #and then the idea of her going full-blown wizard and ending up at some of the dark haunted places he's been? maybe having her own newcastle #Horrifying. absolutely Fucked. no thank you #but if she CHOOSES to risk that then.....fuck man. at least he can be there for her should her newcastle arise #( gemma masters. ) THAT'S MY NIECE YOU PIECE OF SHIT! #( headcanons. ) I'M JUST LIKE THE BASTARDS I'VE HATED ALL ME LIFE. #( answered. ) THIS IS JOHN CONSTANTINE. FUCK OFF.

[wildflowercryptid]

kinda want to play with the idea of drayton being more conniving in mjverse... 🤔

#honestly i kinda enjoy the fact that he's already a chronic shit stirrer i wanna push that aspect more #the trope of the lazy guy who's a lot more capable and sly than they let on is always a fun one #he really sees the messy shit going on between kieflo and goes '' oh i'm gonna make this worse '' #and then he runs off when florian almost punches him his job there is done #i do feel like he'd kinda regret his actions a lil when he hears about what happened in the underdepths #like they both could've died and here he was just fucking around with them for funsies #so he ends up feeling bad & gives them both pretty genuine apologies ( but neither of them really accept them at first ) #my brains kinda frying now idk where these tags are going #anyways his design is a pain in the ass to draw i'm gonna have to practice that #mj.txt

[orcelito]

And here I am awake again

Life goes on

#speculation nation #you can have one of the most painful and miserable nights of your life. & then you wake up and it's a new day. #and your head hurts and your bed is one cat less full #it's less miserable than after sammy. at least marginally. because i do still have tally. #but i keep expecting to hear my garble boy meowing for breakfast upon hearing me awake #he was so much more aware than sammy was right before putting him down. which kinda makes it feel worse. #he didnt have hope for a happy life. it would've been expensive and miserable. and he was Already miserable. #but that was my boy. he was awake and purring as i showered him with as much love as physically possible #so it feels like i killed him. i know there wasnt any other choice but i killed him. and he had no way to know what was happening. #he was feeling shitty. then out of nowhere i grabbed him and put him in a box where he was poked and prodded at by strangers #and then hours later i came back. he was still in a strange place but i was there. so he was purring. #and then another strange person came in. started touching him. and then that was it. #i have a reinforcement of the bad association for cat tongue sticking out. both sammy and cassy ended up with theirs out. #a cat blep is much less cute if it makes you think about how your boys looked when they died. #suffice to say. i started crying while typing these tags. thats cry number 15 i guess. #it just sucks. it really really sucks. #animal death ment/ #negative/

[evanbibuckley]

...

#my 6x18 thoughts are that i am SO NERVOUS #cus on one hand i think i /could/ enjoy it if they killed someone off #it'd be ballsy for og and that could be interesting #but also? i love the 118 and the family dynamic they have #and regardless who dies it'll forever change that dynamic. like regardless what happens going forward ill always consider a main dying #the beginning of the end. #not necessarily bad. but may make it to where im not as obsessed with the show as i currently am #okay so that being said? my theory for who could die? i think chimney's fine. story wise he has a lot going for him and in the stills- #-my bet is he gets roughed up in the ambulance and buck manages to save him. ill be gejuinely surprised if chim dies and NO HATE to the #actor but assume kenneth choi wanted to move on and go out with a bang. like i don't think chimney dying is a natural progression of the #plot (regardless of pics we've seen) bobby however? like im sorry but glancing through bts we dont see a lot of him and wat we do see is #before the worst of it. all weve really seen (to my memory) is a video taken from A FAN. of him falling. and my BIGGEST THEORY is that if #they were gonna kill a main (hell even a recurring side) permanently they would keep it close to chest. like we would NOT hear about it or #even be teased. that's just my thots tho and i won't be mad if im proven wrong. or even right! im just super excited about the finale tbh #txt #911 spoilers #kinda? all of this is based on bts (or my imagination)

[lacomandante]

I know there’s much higher quality clips from the Sharpe series on youtube now, but back in 2017 this was the very first clip I had ever seen with Teresa, as there weren’t many in general. (Though this one cuts off the first part of the scene). I had only ever seen pictures at that point. I’m very fond of this video and this moment in Eagle and I remember being so surprised to hear her voice for the first time!!  I loved her accent and the way she spoke and the tenderness in the scene HOOKED me. So yeah have a little snippet of Sharpe’s Eagle <3

#sharpe's eagle #sharpe #richard sharpe #teresa moreno #(right after this sam ended up finding eagle online and we ended up watching it- that was my very first sharpe film) #(which makes me laugh LMAO not rifles but eagle) #(which!! is not a bad place to start tbh!) #(this scene is SOOO IMPORTANT to me...this is when they decide what they want is each other ;w;) #(they dont want to be alone) #(i would write an essay in the tags but i might break tumblr if i do dsfghfdgh) #(ngl every scene of theirs is so romantic but THIS one? PEAK romance) #(sorry not sorry to the other sharpe ladies but theyll NEVER have what they had) #(anyways i know some of you havent seen it so: brief context) #(teresa earlier in the film came to see him the night before a big battle and reprimands him ) #(bc she hears a rumor about him wanting to capture an eagle- its basically a suicide mission. she thought he knew better) #(and while she is angry about that the eagle isnt the real issue but she wont voice it bc but sharpe wants to hear it- he asks if she'd care #( if he died. and she desperately blurts out yes!!!! and its SUCH a tender and charged scene and they soften) #(and he tells her that he'll take care not to) #(so this is them meeting after that- he survived and got what he wanted) #(but here again he's pushing her a bit to admit what she wants. to tell him; to be honest despite it being scary!1)