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Imagine how fucked up Sanji identity and self worth would be after transferring into an android. His so forth would probably be even worse than it is in canon!! Imagine him thinking something like.

' I'm not even human, so it doesn't matter if I die.'

😭😭

yeah but have you consider how funny Android Sanji is beside Franky the two of them are basically just like

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Hi, I love your art! Among the many things to ponder over in Star Wars, do you ever get sad thinking about all the crimes adventures that Padmé and R2 got up to while she was a senator pre aotc?

LOL omg yes, though maybe not all of artoo's crime/adventure ideas were to Padmé's liking...

(commission info // tip jar!)

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The Fires of War Chapter 2: Grey Monotony

Your response to this story has been incredible! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy what's in store!

Check out the latest chapter here!

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Boromir Week, Day 4: Teenage years, Friend of Rohan

I think it's likely that Boromir and Theodred were good friends, in which case he'd have met the prince's younger cousins. Today's headcanon, as we've explored in length before, is that Boromir is lowkey terrified of Eomer.

@boromir-week

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Boromir Week - Day 2 - Into Eternity

Prompts: Son of Finduilas, Maternal Family, Grief and Loss

Summary: Boromir awakes to find a face he has not seen in many years.

Word count: 1,040

Everything is pitch black.

Below Boromir’s feet is an endless body of water, flowing around his ankles yet unfelt. Nothing but a phantom sensation. Its gurgling sound resounds around him, enveloping him in its calming mantle. It expands far into the horizon, as though solid ground was but an abstract notion. Above his head is a canopy of darkness, where not a single star or pinprick of light can be seen. The stream’s ripples reflect no light, comforting him in the idea that he has not been locked into a closed space.

But what is it then? Where is it? How long has it been?

As he throws glances around to survey his surroundings, his clothes emit a low rustle. His chainmail sleeve brushes against his belt’s buckle. The tinkle reverberates throughout the space like a fallen coin upon marble.

‘Is there anybody in here?’ his voice rises in a cry of raw fear. It is met by nothing but an eerie silence, heavier than anything he has ever experienced. Yet he continues to call out, his gloved hand seeking the curve of the horn at his hip.

‘Aragorn?’

Nothing but the broken chord of his own cry.

‘Merry? Pippin!’

The water laps at his ankles, splattering about as he frantically spins in desperation. His eyes are wide, searching — for light, for escape, for anything other than this pressing dark.

‘F… Frodo…’

His lower lip quivers, his vision clouds as tears brim his eyes. Hot tears trickle along his stubbled cheeks, carving a path down his worn-out traits. With a soft, broken whimper, he buries his face in the large palm of his hand. He hiccups, the sound ragged and muffled, then curls inward, folding into himself as the ache in his chest twists down into his stomach. It is a sorrow he can neither name nor escape — one for which he knows he bears full responsibility, with no one else to help him shoulder its hefty weight.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

He crouches just above the water, tucking his forehead between his knees. His knuckles close onto a fistful of his hair, more than willing to yank it in self-pity.

And Boromir weeps without restraint.

A hand grazes his shoulder, light as a whisper and as a summer breeze, and he startles at the touch, as though pulled from the depths of some distant, drowning spiral. His head snaps around so sharply it throws him off-kilter. For a moment, he teeters, as if the submerged ground beneath him might give way.

‘My child,’ came the gentle voice, laced with affection and surprise, ‘what brings you here so early? What ails your heart?’

Before him stands a lean woman, her raven-dark hair cascading in silken waves down to her waist, cloaking her figure like a midnight veil. Its tresses contrast strikingly with the pale blue of her gown, floating on the water’s surface. Two glistening grey eyes fix him with unguarded concern. Boromir freezes at her sight, persuaded that his own pupils are deceiving him.

It cannot be.

As a cool breeze wafts through the silk of her garment, an unforgettable fragrance reaches him. And there is no shadow of a doubt.

‘Mother?’

He hauls himself up on his feet, staring at the apparition before him. Finduilas’ face, etched in memory but unseen for some thirty-two odd years, awakens a wound he long thought healed. He reaches out to cradle her cheek, his mouth parting and closing in silent wonder. Without another thought, he draws her close, folding her into his arms and pressing her against his sore heart.

‘Oh, my boy,’ she whispers, returning his embrace and weaving her fingers through his hair. ‘You are not supposed to be here — at least not for many more years.’

‘How can you be here? I… Where is this place?’

She pulls away, just enough to comb stray locks away from his tear-drenched face.

‘Though your body has fallen still, your conscience lingers still — for now. It too shall be snuffed soon.’

Boromir unconsciously brings his hand to the base of his neck, as though expecting to feel a pulse. There is nothing.

‘But the fellowship, they…’

His throat tightens, and a fresh wave of tears overwhelms him, stealing his breath in its merciless current.

‘I betrayed them. I breached their trust. Mother, I endangered them.’

‘They all live, Boromir. The others will be seeking the little ones. They will never be abandoned to their fate.’

‘Still, I…’

‘Hush, my baby, hush. They are alive for now, thanks to you.’

A brush of her thumb dries his tears away.

‘You did what you could,’ Finduilas murmurs. ‘Let go.’

A slow exhale rolls off his lip as he relaxes his shoulders. If he is dead, there is nothing he can do anymore. He must accept it.

Finduilas smiles from ear to ear as she admires him, her own eyes watering.

‘How you have grown! How deeply I regret having missed the years that shaped you, the events that made your character.’

‘Nonsense, Mother, you were ill, you…’

‘My hand was not that which wove my fate, I know this well — but a mother’s heart dares to dream.’

She lays her hand upon his then nods towards a path that, to the untrained eye, blends indistinguishably with the rest.

‘We must leave, Boromir. It is time.’

‘Will I see any of them again?’

‘When the time comes, yes. But do not wish it so soon. Let their destinies follow their course.’

His fingers curl around his mother’s hand as she takes a first step away from where they are standing. Boromir follows without question, the anguish in his heart ebbing away with each stride. Whispers and chants rise behind him, tugging at his attention. He glances over his shoulder, pupils searching for the source of the chorus. Nobody else comes within his sight.

O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar, But you came not from the empty lands where no men are…

A peaceful smile unfurls at the corners of his lips, softening the lines of his face. He gives a single resolute nod, then turns his gaze toward the path ahead. Within a heartbeat, Finduilas and Boromir disappear into eternity.

Taglist: @emmathefanficgal @boromir-week

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Eating ice cream with the cousins 🍦

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Boromir Week Day 2: Son of Finduilas, Maternal Family, Grief and Loss

Today's headcanon: When the Steward's family appears at functions, Finduilas always held her sons' hands, first to guide them as they toddled beside her, and later to encourage her eldest in his burgeoning leadership role. In the final days before her death, however, Boromir can't help noticing the gesture no longer seems to be a motherly habit, but a physical support she actually needs. He gets the sudden impression that the hot, bright sunlight in the Citadel plaza doesn't seem to touch her anymore, like she's already halfway out of the mortal world.

But! I hate leaving Finduilas suffering, so here she is wearing a concept of Boromir's recognizable travel outfit. I've always wanted to make a ren faire gown version of his movie costume like this. See his shield, horn, and cloak clasps?

@boromir-week

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eh, screw it *releases my fucked up vampire au from the confines of my mind*

anyway I decided my blog is for me and I can draw and post all the weird silly concepts of my dreams and nobody can stop me. I actually have a lot of potential comic ideas ping-ponging in my head for this AU — not a linear story or anything (beyond what's on this post), just some good fun and shenanigans.

bonus:

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Boromir Week, Day 1: Brother of Faramir, Childhood, Protector

It's gonna be a week of headcanons! Starting with this one: Faramir's love of books was stoked by Finduilas reading to him all the time---Boromir was a more rough-and-tumble child with a shorter attention span. After Finduilas dies, Boromir takes it upon himself to keep reading to his younger brother. But reading doesn't come easily to him, riffing off one of the first headcanons I ever posted. Faramir is too little to understand how to tell his older brother that it's okay, he can just read the books himself---and something tells him Boromir needs to struggle through this act of protective normalcy as much for himself as for Faramir.

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I don't know why, but I think murderbot would really enjoy psych.

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Murderbot: I have successfully removed a threat against my humans! I'm going to get a good grade in secuniting! Why are they screaming

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FIRES OF WAR is here!

I am so excited for the sequel of "Dangerous Secrets!" I hope you are too!

And now I present to you:

The Prologue

City On Fire

Enjoy~

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Ereloy Week 2025

June 7 - 13

It's that time of year again! Use the prompts below as inspiration for new Ereloy art, fic, VP, etc.!

6/7: Sharpening Skills - Erend or Aloy teaching the other some new combat tactics or survival skills.

6/8: Delightful Diversions - Aloy and Erend take a break to enjoy a moment of fun and maybe get into some mischief

6/9: Watchful Warriors - Explore Erend or Aloy’s protective nature when the other is in danger.

6/10: Perfectly Paired - Aloy and Erend take down a dangerous machine together, or have them take on a challenging mission that requires both of their skill sets

6/11: Ancient Adventures - Explore a moment where Aloy and Erend discover an artifact or delve into a location from the old world

6/12: Peaceful Pause - After a battle with a major machine or enemy, our duo take a moment to catch their breath and share some thoughts.

6/13: Trekking Together – Create a scenario where Aloy and Erend travel together and embark on a new journey through the wilderness

When you post your work, please make sure to tag it with #ereloyweek2025 so we can reblog/repost it. Also, there will be a collection on AO3 for any writing that's published!

Thank you to @emtazer for coming up with these INCREDIBLE prompts for the week (and the beautiful picture above)!

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Scrolling through the uss callister tag is pissing me off rn. Why are so many of you glazing Daly 💀

The first part of uss callister is incredibly unsubtle about the fact that he is not a good person. He gets pleasure and satisfaction out of hurting the ship’s crew in violent and terrifying ways.

Then, into infinity shows how he was, in fact, not a “good guy” no matter how much he says that he is even in the past. We literally watch him turn into the Daly we see in the first part. I cannot imagine how anybody could come away from either episode liking him. It’s ridiculous.

I’ve seen more vitriol for Ashley O, Brandy Friday, Kelly, etc. and it’s honestly like kinda pathetic? Y’all love yourselves a mediocre white man. Genuinely crazy.

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Before slavery / After slavery

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IM STILL HERE

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Technoblade

We miss you. I miss you. I think about you and your legacy. I will not let it die.

The Blade will never die