#let me know if I need to change it

[ofthevanyar]

{" the weather takes a tumultuous turn, meaning a late night hangout has to turn into a sleepover when a character gets stranded there for the night "}

Behind her, a warm fire crackled as Amarie watched the skies. There was a certain kind of beauty in the violence of it, the uncaring nature of the skies as it pelted the earth below, turning the plains into mud.

This was easy to say when one was sheltered by stone and warmed by fire, rather than out in the aforementioned beauty.

Earlier that morning, the Éored had stopped in a remote village on the outskirts of Rohan. It really was not a village of note, not famed for anything in particular. The Éored had stopped, intending only to stay for a few hours. The horses needed to be watered and resting, supplies needed to be restocked, and Éomer King had business of some sort with the Thane.

The afternoon brought rain showers. The Éored had been disinclined the travel in such weather. After all, surely the storm would pass. It did not. The evening brought a ferocious thunderstorm, turning the plains to mud. The Éored was especially disinclined to travel now.

The Thane, a gracious host, though not in possession of an especially large manor, welcomed the Éored in. Amarie and Eomer, and a few of the higher ranking members of the Éored were shown rooms in the manor, the rest being hosted in various homes of the village.

"Enter," Amarie called, hearing the knock on the door. Éomer had given her the room to prepare for bed, having gone elsewhere to change himself. She smiled over her shoulder at him as he entered, lightning illuminating her features.

In another time, in another life, he would not have left for her to change. Such a thought wouldn't have been considered. But, that was a different time, a different life for Éomer. This was now.

When Amarie had accepted the Thanes invitation (she suspected his invitation had more to do with the novelty of hosting an elf, than any status he assumed she held), she did not realize the manor was so small that it necessitated her and Éomer sharing a room.

"You can take the bed," She told him. She was an elf after all, she could manage without one night of rest.

@menelvagor

[rookanisstuff]

An illuminated manuscript from a gossip pamphlet found in the First Talon’s desk with the caption reads:

The Treviso Tourney - Knight Takes Rook

Despite the recently crowned King Viago’s presence at this weekend’s coronation tournament, the audience seemed more enamoured with the rare appearance of the newly wed Dellamorte’s. The Champion of Treviso’s magical talents may have left her out of the competition, but the First Talon’s blade received Rook’s favour - and this punter knows to never bet against the Rook!

[satinssheets]

Closed starter for @purehoneybees Insp.

Laying with her arms hanging off the arm of the leather couch in the sound booth, Sadie scrolled through the slew of pictures she'd taken on her phone while the musicians had rehearsed. She was no professional, as evidenced by the amount of times she had to use her iPhone to capture pictures after forgetting her Cannon at home or in hotel rooms, but taking photos was still becoming quite the hobby of hers. Though most of the shots featured Tyson, her favorite subject. "Maybe I should start a Tyson Marks fan page," she laughed, pausing on one of the photos to favorite it before flipping back to her camera app. "How about a smile, for the fans?"

[theastralexpresscrew]

@kanxing liked for a starter with Luocha!

"It seems your injury has yet to heal, though I suspect you may not be taking adequate care of it," the merchant observed, bright green eyes flicking up to look at the man's face. It was more than that though. The wound almost looked self inflicted as if he'd cut his arm with his own blade.

"I suppose it's not my place to pry, but whatever your reasoning, at least allow me to change the bandage. It won't do you any good if it were to become infected." Blade was such a strange fellow to Luocha. In all his travels, he never met a man quite like him. Immense healing an immortality and yet his left had always seemed to be injured.

[mouthwashinganya]

19 year olds clocking into work looking for their 35 year old besties like ❗️❗️yo where's Anya at❗️❗️

[moyazaika]

morning glory; tw yandere, gn reader, mdni 18+

the sun is shining, and the morning sky is a promising, pale blue; you are staring down at the stack of hot pancakes on your plate, to avoid looking at him.

completely unperturbed by your close proximity, he’s standing behind your seat at the table, leaning over; warm arms caging you in on either side as he drizzles sweet, chocolate syrup onto the golden face of the topmost pancake, so that it forms the shape of—

“a heart,” he smiles, “for the love of my life.”

“thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. “dig in, darling.”

this fork in your hands, you consider silently, turning it over; should you jab it into his neck?

after he’s made your plate, he sits down in front of his own, across from you. after all of his extensive doting and fussing over you, his own food’s gone cold, but he either doesn’t seem to notice, or he simply doesn’t mind.

you don’t care enough to ask.

he takes slow, thoughtful bites of his own breakfast. you observe, with a bemused sort of awe, the care with which he breaks off the pancake in measured portions, before ensuring each spoonful carries a blueberry, and is dipped in the chocolate syrup.

fork in his mouth, he meets your gaze; takes his sweet time savouring the taste of his food, swallows, smiles at you expectantly. “something on my face, love?”

you turn back to your own plate, completely untouched. “no.”

“alright.” the sound of his fingers, drumming against the dining table. “be a darling and fetch me the milk, will you?”

he’s never allowed you to leave the table until you’ve finished all your food. he’s never even allowed you into the kitchen before. you look up at him warily, voice hushed, “..why?”

“i’d like something to drink, is all.”

you stand very carefully, the grating sound of your chair scraping against the floor making you wince. he says nothing, and so you take that as your cue to take a few hesitant steps into the kitchen.

when you step over the boundary where the wooden floorboards give way to checkered tiles, you turn over your shoulder, suddenly very unsure of what to do next.

“the milk…?”

he’s watching you still, chin resting on interlaced fingers, elbows on the table; even though he was the one who first instructed you that doing so was bad manners.

“yes, love.” he smiles patiently. “should just be in the fridge.”

“okay.”

you’ve never been alone in the kitchen before. never really had any reason to when he insists on making all of your meals. you know you’re technically being supervised even now, but it still feels strange to reach for the fridge handles and just—

“open it.”

you oblige.

you’ve gotten used to it, perhaps.

the cold air hits you in the face as soon as the doors swing open. it takes a moment for your gaze to flitter over all of the different compartments and containers before you catch sight of the milk, and—

why…?

the hair on your skin stands on end.

you read the words once, in a quiet shock.

then another time, as if you simply must’ve read them wrong the first time. you’re in disbelief, going back to the first letter—

your heart drops.

this can’t be happening to you.

—again

—again.

this can’t be happening to you.

your legs give out beneath you.

—and the very moment they do, warm hands, smelling faintly of pancake batter, are there to collect you; keep holding you up, as strong arms wrap themselves right around your body. his kind voice cuts straight through your thoughts. “what’s wrong, my love?”

“that’s…” you raise a shaking finger, point into the fridge. it’s more of a question, the second time around. “that’s…?”

he follows the direction in which you’re pointing, and then he lets out a sigh you can only describe as polite; a dismissive acknowledgement of your distress with no attempt, nor interest, in providing an explanation.

both of you stare at the milk carton where it sits in the fridge, right next to the fruit juice you like so much—beneath the logo, which you’ve traced over a thousand times, bored out of your mind at the breakfast table—is a picture.

an old image of you. younger. smiling.

free.

one word printed beneath the picture, in blocky black letters that take up half of the carton’s packaging, completely impossible to miss—

MISSING

there’s fine print beneath that, even. a smaller string of letters you can’t even begin to read, seeing as it feels like your own world’s tilted sideways; knocked right out of balance. completely off-kilter.

he understands this.

that is why, then, he decides to do it for you.

“town left devastated,” he reads evenly, “over sudden, unexplained disappearance of beloved, active member of community, who vanished without a trace last fall. family members plead with those who may have any information to call the national missing person’s hotline for handsome reward.”

the silence stretches on for a moment, so that the soft, low hum of the refrigerator is the only sound in the house.

“how unfortunate,” he murmurs, tone an imitation of empathy. “the world is only growing unsafer by the day, my love, and this is why,” he brushes your hair out of your face. “i need to keep you so close.”

he closes the refrigerator doors, and carries you out of the kitchen. so completely absorbed in your own shock, you’d neglected to even realise that at some point, he must’ve picked you right up; swept you off your two, very own feet.

“i can’t imagine losing you like that,” he shudders. “i can’t imagine if something like that happened to you, my love.”

he sets you down, very gently, into your seat at the breakfast table. your arms hang limp by your sides, limbs having completely given up on you; so he carefully folds your hands in your lap. pulls out a chair right besides you, and reaches for your cutlery.

“don’t fret over it, darling. as long as you’re with me,” he smiles, cutting into your cold food. “i promise i’ll always keep you safe, and take very good care of you.”

you observe the deliberation with which he breaks off the pancake in measured portions, before ensuring each spoonful carries a soft blueberry, and is dipped in the runny chocolate syrup.

“now open wide, darling.”

you oblige.

what else is there to do?

“try not to think about it too much, my love,” he hums, watching the way your lips fall around the fork, “there is, after all, no use crying over spoilt milk.”

you chew very slowly, taking your time to break the pancake down into something smaller. his eyes, which had been trained on the movement of your throat, now rise to meet yours—

and even though across the table, his plate sits empty: there is, you note, a faint hunger in them.

“wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

the food in your mouth tastes rotten; you don’t answer.

he only smiles patiently in response, as if he has all the time in the world.

the worst part of it all is that outside, you know that the sun is still shining, and the morning sky remains, even now, the same shade of a promising, pale blue.

[mag-notta]

Trigger Warning- Implication of Suicidal thoughts/ideation.

I started this comic around two-ish months ago only to drop it. But I managed to finish! Brief explanation and inspiration below if you are interested.

This comic is inspired by the song "Easy-peasy Euthanasia" by Pepoyo. As I listened to it, I couldn't help but think that the lyrics at this particular part were incredibly fitting for what I believe to have been going through Stanley's head when he was "traveling the country". The meaning of the song is a little on the nose, but I still deeply enjoy it. I sadly cut out one of the panels/lyrics to make the comic transition a little more smoothly, but it's better this way.

[eliz0z]

Bakugo falling in love with you

At first? Total denial. Even if he liked you, he’d rather drop dead than admit it.

Every little interaction would end in some grumbled insult. “Stop staring at me, dumbass.” Meanwhile, he’d be the one staring, all annoyed for no reason.

Physical contact? Forget it. But if you were about to trip, he’d definitely catch you—then immediately act like it never happened.

He’d get irrationally jealous but wouldn’t talk about it. Just lots of crossed arms, glares, and acts all annoyed.

He’d act like he doesn’t care about you at all. But somehow, he’s always around. Sitting near you during class, making excuses to be in the same space as you, glaring at anyone who tries to talk to you.

--------------------------------------------------

This is my first post, please let me know if it's good and if you want more. ❤️

[linartblogs]

Carapace <33 this one is very close to the og design, I just decided he should have darker greens and a tougher look. Also be ridiculously tall

[pazui]

This is my first post on tumblr!! Tbh still don’t know how this works…

Been loving tintin ssoooo much after watching the 2011 movie and reading some of the comics, I actually love drawing him and foliage and everything in this!! Loosely based on the tintin and the picaros cover art! inked traditionally and colored digitally

If you zoom in and there’s a weird grainy texture over it no there isn’t…

[minart-was-taken]

I drew the main companions from Bg3 in my style and left some notes of my thoughts so far !! I'm at the start of Act 3.

[egophiliac]

Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !

Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)

I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!

someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. 😭 (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)

uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[pushspacetocontinue]

Twin Trouble (closed for theotherrookie)

@theotherrookie

It had actually meant to be a day off work. But unfortunately, something had come up with Paul, and James had asked Russell if he could come in to man the cafe. Overtime had been promised and Russell knew James would have felt bad if he didn't accept that part, so he had come in.

Things seemed to be looking up a little. Apparently Antonio had known of some abandoned sports club they could use as a makeshift base, Rook now knew for certain that attacking Bill hadn't been of her own volition, and of course, from what he heard, Antonio was having his fun tormenting the gadget user. The ride to work (he hadn't been about to walk at the moment, given what had been going on) and even his shift for most of the day had also gone on with relatively little fanfare.

That made his heart only sink that much further than usual when he saw two very familiar people entering the cafe.

Crap...

Those twin mercenaries; the two who had helped kidnap him and take him to that poison guy (Five; that was he called himself, he had to remember that). He had no idea if they specifically came to try and find out about the gadget user or if they were just through coincidence, but right now, he had to act normal.

"H-hey there, sirs. What, what can I, what can I get, get you today?"

[nimbusclan]

Moon 9 Part 1

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NimbusClan is back :)

--

“Fog?” Moonstar calls out from where she’s busy scratching shallow grooves into the earth under a large evergreen bush, the only plant in the area that has more than just a few stubborn leaves still clinging to its skeletal branches. There’s a haze of mist that hangs suspended in the clearing that hides her brother from view, but she knows he’s somewhere nearby, prodding around for moss that hasn’t been soaked through yet. 

In an effort to let Fogfreckle feel useful after his long few moons cooped up recovering from the eagle incident, she’d asked him to assign her a task, as deputy. It isn’t much – there’s not much for them to do that isn’t hunting and keeping an eye out for potential camp spots – but he’d beamed all importantly when he told Moonstar to find somewhere for them to sleep tonight while he gathered moss for their nests. 

A sense of pride had warmed Moonstar like a sunbeam. Eventually, when there’s an actual Clan for Fogfreckle to really boss around (and there will be, swear to StarClan), she knows he’s going to make a great deputy.

“Is that what this stuff is?” Fogfreckle calls back, his voice drifting from the fog somewhere to Moonstar’s left. With a snort, Moonstar backs out from under the bush and heads in his direction, peering through the thick haze until the shape of her brother is visible in the mist. He’s batting at the air like he’s trying to scoop the low-hanging clouds into his paws.

He looks almost like how Moonstar would imagine a StarClan cat outside of a dream to look. His pale pelt is ghostly with the heavy hang of clouds shrouding him, and his cobalt eyes glow with a dim blue halo.

She grins at his antics, suffused with an amusement that chases away the pervasive damp that’s trying to work its way into her fur. Flickering across her mind like a hummingbird’s wings, a sharp pang of nostalgia for their kithood washes through her, painful and heartfelt and gone in less than a heartbeat.

“Don’t be a smart-ears,” Moonstar chides her brother, flicking her tail against his flank. “I’m nearly finished with the dens; do you want me to help you gather moss?”

“That’d be great, actually,” Fogfreckle  mews. “I think I’ve found just about everything in this clearing that’s still dry. I got lucky with a hollowed out log, but we could use a bit more.”

Meowing an affirmative, Moonstar picks a direction at random and trots off into the cold, unfamiliar mist, mouth open to scent her way. The heady smells of damp earth and dripping branches fill up her senses. The blurry, unfocused leaves hanging still and silent in the trees press against her ears and muffle even her own pawsteps.

“I can hardly see past my own whiskers…” Moonstar muses quietly to herself. She squints into the fog. It’s thick like cobweb and sticks to her fur just the same.

Moonstar picks her way across the damp grass of the woods, heading for where the trees thin out on the cliffside. She’s hoping for a bit of wind that may whisk some of this fog away. It’ll be easier to find moss if she can actually see it. The ground starts to slope down towards the cliff, so Moonstar angles herself to slide carefully along the grass.

The silence is eerie. It makes Moonstar miss her Clan - the old NimbusClan - and the hustle and bustle of cats going about their daily schedules. She aches for the regular ho hum of days where she knew what happened next, where the hunting party would return with plump freshkill from the meadow and where she got to work on sparring with her brother and mentor in the shade of the mountain. The constant undercurrent of meows in the camp, days that were never spent in silence.

She puffs her fur against the chill and the memories.

Every day since she and Fogfreckle left the wreckage of the landside behind has been uncertain. Full cycles of the sun and moon filled with the unknown. StarClan decided that she deserved to be leader, but most days, Moonstar feels as incompetent as a bumbling kit. She could run a Clan that worked like a real Clan, she thinks. It would be easy, even, with a plan to follow.

Hissing, Moonstar remembers that she’s supposed to be hunting for moss. She doesn’t do well with this loneliness – she gets too lost in her thoughts. Some leader.

The ground slopes down sharper still, and she adjust the angle of her body and flicks her tail out behind her to adjust her balance. The wet grass beneath her paws isn’t much to hold onto.

A whisper reaches her ears then, a sigh of the wind, except none of the trees sway their leaves and the bushes don’t quiver. All is still when Moonstar jerks up her head, glancing around for the source of the noise.

“Hello?”

The murmur is there again, wet like water and blurry like fog, and Moonstar can feel the thick weight of eyes on her pelt, prickling there like ants. She whirls around, sure she’ll find somebody, some cat, maybe a predator, watching her through the fog, but the damp grass slips out from under her paws.

Flailing, Moonstar looks down in horror as the ground falls away underneath her, the mountain sloping steeply down at the edge of the treeline. Distracted, she hadn’t noticed how close she’d been to the edge.

She hits the scree slope hard, her teeth gnashing together and her paws skidding as she tries to find her footing. The mountain is steep and the gravel underpaw is loose and sprays out from under her as she tries to sink her claws into it.

Larger rocks dislodged from her descent tumble past her like clumsy kits, knocking into each other with bangs and cracks that quicken her pulse and claw at her lungs. The sound echoes across the slope, fenced in by the fog that surrounds her on all sides like a stranger’s breath too close to her face. Memories wreathed in scent and sound clamor for attention in her head, there and sudden and real and bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

She can smell it. The tang of blood, sharp, filling her nostrils, choking her with the thick scent of it. The wails of her Clanmates and the deafening, roaring crash of boulders falling into camp pound in her ears. Sharp stones dig into her paw pads as she races down the slope but she feels like she’s an entire mountain away, that night rushing back to her like she’s there all over again, living it for the second time.

“What’s happening?”

Moonstar lifts her head, blinking blearily as the earth under her rattles her awake.

“The ground is shaking!”

Her brother is pressed to her side, familiar and warm in the dark den.

“Rocks– it’s a landslide!”

Dark. It’s too dark.

“The apprentice den! It’s blocked!”

She can smell it, now. Blood. Her Clanmates are wailing in fear.

“Fogpaw!”

Moonstar leaps to her paws. The sound is so loud. She thinks her head is going to split open from the thunderous noise.

“Moonp-!” CRACK.

Moonstar’s heart races, thundering in her ribcage as loud as the rocks that tumble down alongside her. Desperately, Moonstar claws for purchase on the slope, but there’s nothing more she can do but open her mouth in a horrified wail as the cliff she’s sliding straight for rushes up to meet her.

She flies off the edge of the cliff, suspended in air for a long, horrible moment until her stomach reacts first, dropping before the rest of her body can follow. As she falls, she feels like she’s going to be sick. She flails her limbs for something, anything to grab onto as the edge of the cliff swallows up her vision.

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[ella-arch]

fallen angel anakin