Definitely A Movie I’d Be Interested In…. Anyone Know What Platforms It’s On?

I never thought of this but I love it

When the school calls you and tells you your adoptive son overthrew the principal.

Day1 of trying to get back into writing

“Death is Beautiful isn’t it”

He stared at me, the calm in his eyes of ocean blue almost put me at ease… Almost. It was hard to believe that I once held such malice towards this boy- no, man in front of me. As the snow softly fell into his fluffy hair I began to ponder when this all started. Was it when I noticed him all grumpy in the hall on a sunny Monday morning or was it when I stood up for him when he wasn’t there to do so for himself? I snap out of my thoughts when I hear a sentence roll off of his tongue in a raspy voice “Death is beautiful isn’t it?” My mouth goes dry, I can’t respond seeing as I always thought of death as a cruel and despicable being who takes what you love. Hesitant to respond I slowly pull his head into my lap, trying to cause him as little pain as possible, he seems to understand this and shuffles his body to be as comfortable as possible. He does his best to nod, but instead, a painful cough racks his body, I wince as blood spills on the fresh snow turning it crimson. His eyes gloss over as the two of us peer down at the bustling and glowing town below us. As his breathing becomes more shallow the night seems to understand and quiets, all the while fear creeps into my bones. Almost in slow motion, I begin to cry, I don’t want him to leave. His hand reached up to cup my face, and he wiped my tears away. When I opened my eyes he was smiling. His smile was brighter than all the stars in the sky at that moment. Then it dawned on me he is waiting for me, despite his pain he wanted me to accept it, to accept his death before he passes. This time unlike many other moments between us no words were needed, looking into his glazed eyes, I smiled. His eyes fluttered shut and his hand went limp in mine, at the realization that he was finally gone my heart felt as if it was bursting from my chest. As much as I hated death at that moment, sitting in the red snow, cold, and crying in sorrow for the person I knew I also realized he was right Death is beautiful.

I LIVE FOR THIS MOVIE

i'll eventually make a whole post showing my HMS Terror Build but i really wanted to show yall this room...third lieutenant John Irving's cabin,, Theres a little minecraft bible on his little bookshelf

Y’all are too good at writing! Stop I might start simping for another fictional man!

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: my apologies for taking so much time to update: graduate school is a tornado, plus getting sick and the craziness of holidays season didn’t help. Anyways, thank you for your patience and your continuous support! I literally read all your comment in order to inspire me to write again!

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 5.7k — listen, yes, I STILL have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The following day, (Y/N) waited in the depths of the Anduin River by the entrance of the Minas Tirith castle. Sure enough, the captain, decorated in silver, came out upon his steed. Though he did not have the cheer he normally held—despite his recent struggles—he seemed….different. (Y/N) had hoped that he didn't remember what he saw under the lake. Maybe he figured he was too drunk and his mind was playing tricks on him? Maybe he would forget it all together? However, that fearful look in his eyes when he glanced at the river told her otherwise. It appeared Faramir failed to convince his brother that the mer-folk were just a myth.

Boromir deviated from his routine as well. He did not go to the market for the breakfast that he seemed to love. No, no. Instead he went out towards the edge of the city–towards the docks. And (Y/N) went with him. He passed his horse off to another and walked upon the wood, passing ship and boat, until he came upon a small fishing vessel. (Y/N) swam around it and took to the surface upon its side, far enough to not be spotted, but close enough to see and hear.

“Iwar,” Boromir called out. “You there?”

“Oi!” the old man replied, emerging from the sails. “What can I do for yer?”

“You have a moment?”

“For ye? Of course I do, lad. What is this about?” Iwar stated, squinting in the sun.

Boromir huffed, and pulled something from his pocket. He lightly tossed it to the older fellow. “What do you make of this?”

Iwar frowned, holding the whale up before his face by the string Boromir had used to make it into a necklace. “Where’d ye get it?”

“In a pond. One that connects to the Anduin River.”

Iwar sent him a strange look. “Do ye know what this is made out of?”

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s bone, Boromir,” he replied tentatively.

At this, the captain’s lips parted. “Bone?”

Iwar tossed the whale carving back to him. “Aye, couldn't tell ye what it came from. Whittled too much away for that. Ye said yer got it from a pond?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Could’ve washed up from the currents.” Iwar stated, nonchalantly, returning to the tasks of his sail. “Some trinket someone lost to the sea.”

Boromir dipped his head, his anxiety present as he fiddled with the whale.

Iwar glanced at him. “Something else, boy?”

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Iwar, do you–do you really believe those tales of the sea-folk?”

The old man sent a weary look at the captain as he tied off one of the ropes upon the fabric. “Aye. Saw one of em’ when I was just a lad. Nearly lost my life.”

Boromir focused his gaze upon Iwar. “I think–I think I saw one last night.”

At this, the older man froze. Slowly, he turned his full attention to the captain, dread slipping from his face.

Still, Boromir continued, trying to justify his sighting. ‘Though, I don't know. I was very drunk. Had a couple ales too many. My mind could’ve—”

“You were out on the sea last night?” Iwar interrupted, confused.

Boromir shook his head.

“The shore then? Never heard of em’ venturing so close.”

Boromir released a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was in the pond by the Minas Tirith castle.”

Iwar’s form stiffened as he walked toward the captain. He nodded at the bone carving in Boromir’s hand as he spoke in a tone that held so much anxiety that it radiated through the air around him. “The same pond where ye found that?”

“Yes.”

Iwar’s eyes widened wildly. “I’d tell ye what, lad. Ye have been marked by em.’ And that—” he dipped his head at the whale once more. “—I reckon that's human bone.”

Blood drained from Boromir’s face, replaced with sheer panic. His fingers clumsily grappled with the carving, uncertain of how to handle it. Reluctant to make direct contact, he hesitated before settling on gripping the string, allowing the whale to dangle. Disgust etched across his brow.

“I’d get out while ye can. Stay away from the sea waters, boy.” Iwar warned.

….

That night, Boromir didn't go to the pool of water by the white walls—nor the following night. He, quite frankly, didn't go near the water at all. He stayed far from the beaches and from the Anduin River. He took longer paths to where he needed to go in order to avoid such circumstances that put him near what Iwar had described to live in the sea.

And this—all this broke (Y/N)’s heart. It stirred up a tumult of emotions—sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. Therefore, on the third day, she sought solace in a secluded nook along the Bay of Belfas. Hoisting herself onto a warm rock, she sat, enveloped in her misery. Her once-vivid fantasies of the land-people and Boromir now dissolved into sorrow and regret. What lingered was the haunting image of Boromir's disdainful expression when Iwar speculated that her gift was crafted from human bone. Any mer-folk would be delighted to receive such a heartfelt gesture! But Boromir wasn't of the sea, now was he.

(Y/N) stayed upon the rock for hours, hoping the sun would soak up her melancholy mood. However, that is not what the golden beams absorbed. Her skin dried, her hair lightened and billowed freely, and the scales on her tail lacked the moisture they once held. It was at that moment discomfort struck. Excruciating, searing pain surged through her tail, a relentless agony that prompted a deep cry from her lips. Every nerve seemed to flare with an intense, burning sensation, rendering her nearly paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the pain. She couldn't move, only shake and claw at the rock she perched upon. It felt like hours as she laid there, praying to the gods to make it end. And when it did, she instinctively reached for her scales. However, to her surprise, her hand met no such thing; instead, flesh had replaced the once-familiar tail.

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

Emotions swirled around her naked form as she stared at the strange extension that replaced her glimmering scales—legs. Anger, irritation, sadness, regret, frustration, excitement all ran through her blood.

Slowly, she stood. As she took a wobbly step upon the rock, a loud, breathy giggle escaped her lips.

Was this a dream?

(Y/N) took another uncertain step, and another, and another—until she stumbled, her hand reaching out to break her fall. However, a splash came from that, for her palm struck where water had gathered in a dip upon the rock.

Immediately, she felt it.

Her skin tingled, then burned and stung, stretching and pulling in a painful dance. (Y/N) cried out as the pain intensified. With scales attempting to form on her dry legs, the tugging became excruciating once more—tears streamed from her eyes as she desperately scrambled towards the water.

Her form slipped and rolled, right off the rock and into the ocean.

Immediate relief enveloped her. Scales continued to knit together without a hint of pain. The water soothed her. It coated the soreness into nonexistence.

(Y/N) allowed her form to sink, adjusting.

There she floated, letting her body and mind adjust to what had just happened.

It was then when one of the turmoiling emotions overtook the rest of them. It coursed through her gills and surged through her veins.

How dare he…

With a decisive flick of her tail, she propelled herself toward her father's palace.

The anger granted her remarkable speed, causing other merfolk to whip their heads around in confusion as she barreled past them.

She swam directly to the grand chamber, where she anticipated her father perched upon his throne, and busted the door open with her tail.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

Heads turned instantly—her father’s, her sisters’, the guards’.

“HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME, FATHER. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME I HAD THE GIFT?!”

Her father rose, signaling the guards to leave. They swam away quickly, avoiding the impending wrath of the sea's king and his children.

“You lied straight to my face,” (Y/N) stated.

“(Y/N), what are you talking about?” Anahita interjected, appalled by her sister’s tone.

Mareena added to her statement. “That is no way to speak to our father!”

(Y/N)'s tail flicked with irritation as she focused her gaze on the man before her. “I have the gift to walk among the land-folk.”

Una gasped. Seria’s mouth dropped open. Rana’s eyes widened. Nerida’s brows shot upwards.

Their father swam towards (Y/N). “You went to the land?!” he growled. “It is forbidden.”

“I DID NOT GO ONTO THE LAND!” She snapped back. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “I was letting the sun warm me upon a rock when it happened—the tingling, the splitting, the pain.”

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

“I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE OF THIS!” He yelled. “Because I knew the minute you would figure it out, you would want to test out your new form. You would put us all in danger.”

“YOU HAVE PUT ME IN DANGER. YOU HAVE MASKED YOUR PROTECTION IN LIES THAT HAVE ONLY CAUSED ME PAIN. HOW DARE YOU!” (Y/N) retorted.

With that, (Y/N) swam away. She twisted through the reefs and the grass. She slipped through the schools of fish and their bubbles. She slithered through the rocks and caves. She did so until she was back in the Anduin River, where the lively markets and the hustle of people's households awaited. Breaking through the water's surface, she emerged with a cautious awareness, ensuring she remained unseen.

She swam along the edge until she came upon a line of clothing strung between two buildings. On it hung sheets as bright as a lemonpeel angelfish, a skirt holding the vibrance of an orange clownfish, a flowing wrap the hue of a blue tang fish, a pair of trousers the color of a brown leafy sea dragon, a top shaded like that of a pink fairy wrasse, and a flowing dress the cream color of a stingray’s belly.

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

The people were on the other side of the clothing line—all mucking about in the market. None even bothered to shed a glance behind the fabric. All were too busy going about their day.

Therefore, with little regard for the forbidden nature of her actions—because, really, fuck the forbidden—(Y/N) decided to defy the rules that had once controlled her life.

Originally, she hadn't intended to act in such defiance, but the anger coursing through her veins urged her forward into impulsive urges.

Hauling her form out of the water, (Y/N) manipulated the water clinging to her, using her fingers in twisting and rippling motions. She gathered the liquid into a cohesive ball and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the sphere dancing through the air before it plopped back into the river.

The tingling sensation began, followed by the excruciating pain, and soon enough, the transformation into legs commenced.

Anxiously, (Y/N) stood. Her shaky legs wobbled as she adjusted to their unfamiliar form. Her trembling fingers swiftly seized the cream colored dress—she didn't want to stand out, she needed to blend in—and she clumsily slipped it on. Her gaze then fixated on a brilliant blue wrap. The color resonated with the deep seas she hailed from, and she couldn't resist. The mermaid grasped the silk and yanked, winding it around her hair in a manner she had observed from land women when peeking from the river. Letting some of her locks cascade out of the twisted band, the blue fabric draped over her shoulders. She smiled.

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, where her necklace adorned with shells, sea glass, and bones encircled her skin. A frown crossed her face. She couldn't part with it—this cherished gift from her since passed mother. Therefore, she let it remain, finding that it didn't look too out of place.

(Y/N) ventured into the market, nervously navigating the bustling city of Minas Tirith with her new, wobbly legs. The vibrant atmosphere teemed with life and excitement as diverse groups came together to weave the people into the human race. So many men, women, and children—all different sizes, all different shapes, all different skin tones—bustled through the streets.

Young children ran through the tents playing games and tricks on one another. Often enough, a woman was pursuing the chase while yelling for their halt of mischief. Men were not involved in this matter. Instead, they loudly called out the names of what they sold, along with prices, at the busy passerbyers in hopes of getting a customer. Never had (Y/N) seen something so brilliantly enthralling and engaging—not in her time under the sea with the mer-folk.

As she moved through the people, she discreetly snagged what she needed. A pair of sandals disappeared from a rack, and she swiftly turned away before anyone noticed. Vibrantly colored bracelets caught her eye at a vendor's stall, and she couldn't resist snagging a few. Additionally, she plucked food from bins and baskets. She didn't know what it was—but oh how delicious it tasted when it was not dunked in the salt of the sea.

Here, (Y/N) stayed, exploring the thrill of humanity and letting their culture enrapture her senses. So much so, that she failed to notice a soldier adorned in silver until she collided with his metal-plated chest.

Her form tumbled backwards, taking an extra moment to steady.

“Are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice inquired.

(Y/N) slowly raised her head to meet a familiar face: Faramir.

Unable to find her voice, she could only nod in reply. Shyness and anxiety filled her as she backed away from the unexpected encounter.

He acknowledged her reply with a dip of his own head before turning to another soldier a little ways away. He made way towards him and gently touched his arm. “Boromir, we should get going. Father is expecting us.”

(Y/N) went still. Her inquisitive gaze shifted towards him, and indeed, there stood Boromir. His dark, sandy hair brushed upon his forehead, tousled slightly from the refreshing breeze. Vibrant blue eyes held a sternness, concealing the sadness she knew resided in his heart. His pink lips pressed into a firm line, refraining from the warmth of a smile. Boromir was clad in the silver armor and the metal weapons that she had seen him in nearly every day. He looked fit for his position as captain, his authority nearly radiating from him. Now that she was upon the land, he seemed so much bigger—so much stronger. So much more important.

(Y/N)’s cheeks began to heat, prompting her to quickly ducked behind the fabric of a tent. After giving herself a moment, she peaked out.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself following them. At a safe distance, she mimicked every turn, accentuated every step, and utilized every path they took. And when the Steward's sons crossed the threshold of Minas Tirith Castle, so did she.

Instantly, she was met with just as much business as the market. Servants flooded the halls, carrying trays of fruit and platters of meat. Maids held onto neatly folded laundry and finely pressed sheets. Guards bustled about, their steel clanking as they moved through the halls, to get to their next shift, meal, or rest.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed that she failed to notice a group of soldiers rounding the corner. As they pushed past her, a heavy shoulder slammed into her, the edge of the metal plate catching her forehead. The impact sliced the skin open, causing her to tumble backward against the wall.

Surprising her, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, holding her steady. A soft voice that she knew all too well, that spoke words all too similar to his brother’s, filled her ears. “Are you alright, miss?”

In a daze, (Y/N) looked up at the dark sandy hair, vibrant blue eyes, and perfect pink lips of Boromir. Too stunned to speak, she merely stared at him, every thought that had occupied her mind vanishing in the moment.

Boromir turned towards the group of soldiers who had caused the commotion and knocked her down. With a tone infused with authority and anger, he snapped at them, “Watch where you are going!”

They turned, initially confused and uncertain of Boromir's reprimand until they spotted the frightened and injured girl beside him.

“What kind of soldiers are you that you let your steel hit a woman!” Boromir added, his irritation even more obvious. “Keep better track of your things—and your forms!”

The soldiers nodded, though their indifference was evident, and they shuffled away without much concern.

Boromir turned back to (Y/N), repeating his prior question, his tone gentle once more. “I apologize for the actions of my men. I will reprimand them later, but right now you are more important, yes? Miss?”

She looked up at him, blinking. He didn’t recognize her, did he?

“You’re bleeding,” he stated softly, his finger pressed gently upon her forehead.

A quiet gasp of pain escaped (Y/N)’s lips and her expressions distorted slightly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to make your pain worse. May I take you to the infirmary? We can get that treated.”

Unsure what to say—and what an infirmary was—she nervously dipped her head.

“Alright,” he began. “Let’s get you moving.”

Gently, he helped her move away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her waist. However, with a couple steps, her vision swirled and she stumbled.

Boromir caught her quickly. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Just a step at a time.” His brows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Are you dizzy? Is the room spinning?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. “Y-yes, uh, sir.”

He released a heated breath from his nose, the anger at the men who had harmed her simmering within him. However, he pushed it away, ensuring his attention remained on her. "How about you sit back down? Lean against the wall to keep you upright, yes?"

(Y/N) nodded, allowing him to help lower her to the stone floor. As the coldness rushed through her bones and the stillness began to steady, she looked up at him. “T-thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, sir.”

The captain smiled softly. “You may call me Boromir.”

She nodded slightly.

Boromir looked up and stopped a passing servant. “Could you please fetch me a medical kit from the infirmary? Just basic supplies.”

The man nodded, accepting the order, and rushed off. Moments later, he returned with various materials in a small box.

Boromir expressed his gratitude as he opened the kit. Without hesitation, he took hold of a soft cloth and gently swiped it upwards, collecting the blood that was now trickling down (Y/N)’s forehead. He then pressed it against the cut that was bleeding rather heavily. "Hold this there," he commanded gently.

The woman reached up to follow his instructions, and Boromir proceeded to lay out an array of little bottles and scraps of cloth. "What is your name?" he inquired as he doused a cloth in the liquids of one of the containers.

Her eyes followed his motions nervously. “(Y/N),” she replied timidly.

The Captain smiled, attempting to provide some comfort. “Are you from around here, (Y/N)?”

She shook her head.

“No? What are you doing in these parts then?” He asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Boromir frowned, looking up at her from the medical supplies. She appeared more disoriented than he had initially expected. Perhaps the blow to the head was more substantial than he had thought?

“You don’t know?” He questioned, no alarm in his tone. Meanwhile, he began threading a needle, preparing it for the task of stitching her forehead. “Have you come with anyone? A husband? A father?”

She frowned, a blush creeping into her face at the implications of his words. “N-no. Alone.”

Boromir pressed his lips together, a sudden loneliness hitting him—one that he knew all too well—as he placed the threaded needle upon a clean cloth.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can worry about that.”

Boromir took the cloth from her forehead, his hand brushing upon hers as he did so. He then began bringing a damp cloth towards her face.

Instantly, her eyes went wide and she ducked away from the material. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s just alcohol.” He replied, lowering the cloth.

“N-not water?” She whispered, almost fearful.

He shook his head. “Nay. Water would not clean it properly. This will prevent any infection, though I’m afraid it will sting a bit. Is that alright?”

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

Boromir pressed the cloth to the cut and, instantly, she hissed.

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

Gently, he cleaned the wound, being careful to not make any sudden movements that may startle her. When he was certain it was clean, he moved to pick up the needle.

“I will have to stitch it back together so it heals properly.” He looked into her worried gaze and he instantly felt guilt tugging at his heart. It appeared she had never experienced such an injury, or perhaps she had but never received proper treatment for one.

Cautiously, he used his other hand to pick up her own. Her soft palms brushed upon his hardened calloused, gentleness upon her touch. Placing her hand upon his knee, he spoke softly, “If it hurts too much just squeeze really really hard, and I will pause, alright? It is important that you keep your head still, yes?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip upon his knee, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes.

Slowly, Boromir began the delicate task of stitching her skin back together. Her grip tightened upon him, only slightly, as she adjusted to the strange sensation of tugging on her skin.

"You are doing beautifully, (Y/N). We are almost done. I promise," the Captain reassured her. As he finished the last stitch and skillfully moved the thread to knot itself, he breathed out, "There we go," placing the needle back upon the cloth. He smiled gently, a reassuring warmth in his eyes, as he carefully cleaned the area around the stitches. "All finished," Boromir stated before leaning back, (Y/N)’s hand slipping from his knee.

“It will be sore for a bit,” he said. “But it should heal in a week. The stitching will fall out on its own, so if it starts to come out, do not worry. Though, I would advise you not to get it wet.”

At that last sentence, (Y/N) smiled softly. She wasn’t planning on getting wet—not anytime soon.

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

The woman nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking Boromir’s hand when he offered it.

“Let’s find you a place to rest while you heal. And I would like to apologize for my soldiers’ actions once more. You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith as long as you would like. I will make sure you get everything you need.”

(Y/N) looked up at his kind expression and spoke with that same nervous hesitancy. “Thank you.…Boromir.”

The captain guided her through the castle, arriving at a room. He opened the door and gestured inside with a soft smile. "It is yours to stay in. I will ensure the maids are alerted to provide you with adequate care. If you need anything else, my chambers are just down the hallway to the right, the second door."

She nodded in reply.

He bowed his head. “I will leave you then, miss.”

With that, he was gone.

(Y/N) moved to the center of the room and slowly spun around taking it all in. It was massive and airy. The windows were wind open, the sea breeze rushing in and caring hints of the city. The white curtains blew with that gentle wind, dancing in its whispers. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting only what she could assume to be the legendary tales of the city. They were woven with beautiful silver and turquoise thread, catching the light so delicately. A bed sat in the middle of the room, soft white blankets and comforters piled on it. (Y/N) walked towards it and gently sat upon the fabric. It was….strange. Very different from the large shells she was used to curling up in.

Feeling a sudden tiredness take over her form, she laid down with ease. Resting her head upon the pillow, she allowed sleep to consume her.

…….

When she finally woke, the sun had set, and the stars took their place among the blanket of the sky. Cautiously, she pulled her legs from the cage of blankets and let them dangle off the side of the bed. They looked so….strange upon her form. She was used to her glimmering tail that collected light to share among the waters. Not—not this. She lowered her feet upon the stone floor, almost startled by the coldness that greeted them.

Hunger settled into her stomach as she moved towards the door. However, she found herself at a loss, unsure where to find a meal at this time. The markets were long since closed and she knew not where the kitchen in the Minas Tirith castle was. Of course, she could wander down to the tavern that Boromir frequented regularly—she knew the way well enough, but she didn't have any means to pay.

(Y/N) shifted on her feet. Boromir did say she could come to him if she needed anything….

Almost as if it were an excuse to see him again, she slipped through the door and began following his directions to his chambers. With every step, her heart pounded harder. She would get to see him again—and it wouldn't be through layers of water.

Upon arrival, the door stood ajar, allowing a whisper of cold air to drift from his open windows. Cautiously, she peered into the room. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon reflecting upon the vast room—oh, and what a beautiful room it was. The room eluded a captivating chaos, in the most exciting way. Tablets and shelves were filled with various items—maps, books, stones, germs, inventions, and trinkets. The room held a multitude of objects, each beckoning to be looked at, studied, and pondered—igniting a sense of wonder and an urge to guess the intention. Oh, it was a captivating sight.

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

Slowly, (Y/N) stepped in. She let her feet carry her throughout the room, her hand brushing upon every object that her eyes could consume. She picked things up, examined them, then put them down for another. She did so continuously, urgently, the thirst for knowledge of the humans’ customs eager in her blood. She did so, until she came across something familiar—something she was surprised to see.

(Y/N) picked up the bone carved whale from the shelf that it rested on.

He had kept it.

A little grin formed on her face, for after his conversation with Iwar she didn’t think he would.

“Does that one interest you?” A soft tone asked.

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

Boromir chuckled lightly, stepping into the room. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She glanced down at the whale carving before looking back to him.

“I am not quite sure how that one came into my possession,” he continued as he moved to stand beside her.

She frowned, looking up. Her eyes were now direct at him, focused and stern—for the first time since he had met her. He would be lying if he said it didn't startle him a bit.

“You don't remember?” she asked, her tone strong.

“Well, no it’s not that. Of course, I remember how I got it. It just was a bit peculiar.”

(Y/N) tilted her head, not understanding.

Boromir sighed, his tone was distant as he spoke, his blue gaze not wavering from her curious eyes that suddenly seemed so bold. “A friend of mine says it's a dark omen, ment to mark me for death.” His vision trailed across her face. “He says it is made of the bone of my fallen brothers, urging me to follow them to their deaths.”

“Do you believe that?”

He blinked, his gaze lingering upon the whale. “I do not know what to believe.” Boromir looked at her expression. “What are your thoughts on such a statement?”

(Y/N) shrugged, placing the whale in its spot upon the shelf. “I believe people don’t understand other cultures and customs. I believe they make their own assumptions out of ignorance and fear.”

The captain raised a brow at her intelligence. “You are feeling better then?”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) hummed in question as she moved to another object.

“Well, that is the most I have heard you speak since I met you. You are wiser than you appear to be.”

She only shrugged in response, picking up a telescope and looking through its glass—by the wrong end.

“Though,” Boromir continued in a teasing manner as he plucked the object from her grasp, turned it the correct way, and placed it back in her palms. “That wisdom seems not to extend to everything.”

She frowned, looking through the glass once before placing it down. She then went for a music box, her confused expression deepening. “We do not have all these….these things where I am from.”

Boromir reached across her and twisted the little lever, releasing the gentle music from its hold. “And where is that, may I ask?”

At the twinkling sound, her smile, born of pure delight, extended from her expression. Her response to his question, however, was only that of a simple word, “Far.”

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

(Y/N) shot him a strange look, placing the music box down and picking up a crystal sphere instead. “You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He grinned playfully. “You do not seem to give many answers, Miss (Y/N).”

She glared at him.

With that playful smile, he spoke again. “Would it help if you got to ask a question?”

(Y/N)‘s eyes crinkled with thought as she placed the object down and turned towards him. She saw how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, how the circles under his eyes appeared so dark, how his expression was so hollow. Softly, she spoke again. “Why are you so sad, Boromir?”

Taken aback by this, his lips parted. “I—I do not know what you mean.”

She took a step closer to him, a step that nearly eliminated the space between them, and her piercing gaze burned up at him for the truth.

Hesitantly, he whispered that truth, as if she compelled it right out of him. “I—I recently was in a shipwreck. I thought, well, I thought I was dead—left for the watery graves below.” He paused, just for a moment. “But yet I am here and I do not know why. And, I am beginning to question things that I know, well, thought I knew, for the world appears different now.”

Silence.

Boromir's soft voice then picked up again, his breath warm upon the woman’s face. “Why are you so sad, (Y/N)?”

At this, her shy nature returned. (Y/N) turned her head away, not wanting to look at the source of her sadness.

Gently, Boromir tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You implored me to tell you such a truth,” he whispered. “May I not ask the same of you?”

(Y/N)’s tone was soft. “My truth is complicated.”

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

With that, she withdrew from his grasp—a hold she desperately craved—and created enough distance between them, leaving him to wonder if such closeness had occurred at all.

A loud grumble then echoed through the dark room—splitting the darkness with something else, something much for lighthearted.

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

He chuckled, offering her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you some food. I can take you to my favorite place.”

“But I—I have no coin,” she whispered shyly.

“You are a guest of Gondor, Gondor will see you fed.”

(Y/N) smiled, that innocent gaze returning. She hesitantly took his hand and he led her through the castle and towards the tavern.

The two arrived at the tavern rather quickly. Urine, stale ale, and sweat flooded (Y/N)’s nostrils—familiar aromas reminiscent of her vigilant watch over Boromir along the Anduin River. The lively atmosphere enveloped the pair. In the corner, a bard sang to the patrons, his melodic voice resonating throughout, enticing some to join in. Drunk men, tapping their feet along to the beat of the tune, howled in laughter and glee as they clinked their ales together and shoveled food into their mouths. Requests for additional drinks prompted maidens, adorned in long skirts and aprons, to gracefully deliver brimming glasses, the foaming liquid sloshing about.

(Y/N) smiled, taking in the environment.

Boromir cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a tavern.”

She turned to him, her grin unwavering. “We don’t have taverns where I am from.”

He raised a brow. “And where is that? You never said.”

She shrugged. “Far.”

(Y/N) moved deeper into the tavern, with Boromir following suit. He motioned towards an available table, and they both took a seat. Before long, a serving maiden approached. Boromir signaled for two meals and two ales, and they promptly arrived.

The woman wasted no time and eagerly indulged in her food, swiftly emptying the plate.

Boromir tried to suppress a smile as he saw this, for he was glad she was getting proper nutrition after her likely long and hard journey. He, of course, wished to know more of her origins; though, he could see she wasn't quite ready to discuss such things. Instead, he opted to answer any and all questions she had which began with her curious tone.

“Boromir, would you be willing to tell me of your city? How you live in these parts? I wish to know.”

His soft gaze made contact with hers and he nodded, chewing his food and swallowing before he spoke. “What would you wish to know?”

“Everything—its structures, its people, its culture, its history.”

Therefore, Boromir spoke of such things. He described the White City's towering architecture, the valor of its people, and the complexities of the various beliefs held. He relayed its history and tales, showcasing the values of the Gondorian people.

His narratives ignited a spark in her eyes, drew laughter from her lips, and filled her heart with joy.

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

As the hours stretched on, Boromir’s friends joined them. (Y/N) could see the gleam in their eyes and catch the less-than-subtle teasing tones as they whispered about Boromir bringing a lady to their tavern. Faramir, arriving shortly after, seemed prepared for a night of dealing with his drunken brother, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by his brother's apparent sobriety and the joy the unknown woman seemed to bring to his melancholy soul.

Yet, amid the cheerful atmosphere, a pair of shifting gray eyes belonging to an old man that (Y/N) recognized as Iwar, kept her uneasy heart alert.

…..

Everything Tag: @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust @elvish-sky @red-riding @hey-its-nonny @mirclealignr @laneynoir @straysugzhpe @runningfeather @finallyforgotten @kaiawrites @commanderawkward @xxbluestrifexx @slytherinambitious @desert-fern @skairipakomtrikru @genderfluid-anime-goth @sotwk @sirenofavalon @hobbitsesoftheshire @asianbutnotjapanese @mgchaser @heavenshumour @heavenshumour @clairealeehelsing @starenemy @ceruleanrainblues @casuallyeating-blog @cheari @aheadfullofsteverogers @imthebadguyyy @beehivehappy @queenmariex @newjsns01

Everything But Spice Tag: @goldfearless @cauliflowertree @heranintomyknife23times @mxmia @unethicallypleistocene @amessofmultifandom

Boromir Tag: @scyllas-revenge @lord-westley @callistobalisto

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Alright so I can’t leave @yns-world to keep carrying the terror x readers so here I am! While I write this I would also like to mention that it’s important to separate the real people from the characters in the show. When I write I am writing for the show not the real people. Without a further ado-

How the Terror characters would show their affection

Francis Crozier, James Fitzjames, Harry Goodsir, Thomas Blanky, Thomas Jopson

Francis Crozier

- Francis has been rejected and hurt so many times, sometimes he wonders if you are a figment of his imagination.

- But when he feels your hand grasping his when parties get to be too much or your head resting on his shoulder on the carriage ride home he remembers you did choose him.

- Francis in turn showers you with affectionate words and shows you his love through acts of service.

- When alone he serenades you with Irish poetry and showers you with compliments

- You could be doing something as simple as reading in front of the fireplace and his voice will break the quiet with something like “Sometimes I wonder if you are a siren of the land, calling me back to home when I need it most.”

- To him you are his home, in fact you have become his everything, he makes sure you know this by writing letters as frequently as possible when out sailing.

- He says how he misses your reassuring smile and the long nights you both had simply conversing on new topics while basking in the light of the fireplace.

- Now when this captain is home he practically brushes away the title completely. He is your husband at home nothing more.

- So there are times you come home from long ‘polite’ tea parties that were ‘mandatory’ to attend. Finally you can drop the facade and simply relax, except you have to make dinner and do the dishes-

- But as you walk into the kitchen Francis can be seen chopping onions in a few-sizes-too-small apron.

- The sight was enough to make you burst into tears, although you heavily appreciated it nonetheless.

- Knowing this Francis simply smiles, one of those smiles where you can see all his teeth and says “I was hopin’ to have it done before you got home.”

- As his words settle over you, you smile and offer to help.

- He shoos you away and says if you truly wanted to help you would pull up a chair and give him something to listen to (by this he means your voice)

- These events happen interchangeably with Francis sometimes coming home from another meeting where he was scorned and laughed at.

- Yet when he comes home there you are a clean house and cooking dinner.

- The Irishman couldn’t be any happier nor would he want anything else in life, title and legacy be damned.

James Fitzjames

- James Fitzjames is a man imprisoned by every word that falls from his mouth and every move he makes.

- His words have always just been a way to appeal to his superiors and to craft a mask to hide his heritage.

- When you came along and that mask finally slipped you became his lifeline and pillar.

- Words never meant much to him, they were cheap and unreliable.

- So he shows his love through physical affection and gifts.

- James likes physical affection because unlike words it solidifies that you are there and do care.

- While he has to reserve more intimate touching at home because of what is seen as ‘proper’ for high society he doesn’t mind it too much.

- At parties or generally in public James brushes against you as much as possible. Sometimes even keeping his hand barely touching the small of your back. Because good lord the scandal he would cause if he held your hand the whole night.

- As soon as the two of you are alone (such as the carriage ride home) his fingers are entwined with yours and he is pressed up against you.

- Please rest your head against his shoulder that man would physically melt.

- When you two have free time at home he will lounge against you and surprise you with kisses at random.

- After a long day he just wants you to hold him, hold your hand to his cheek and rest your forehead against his. All day he heard about new taxing expeditions and about how great it must be to be in his position. However he’s equally as willing to just hold you instead, huddled into a too-small couch.

- You are his peace of mind and his anchor just be there, that is all he needs.

- Speaking of expeditions, when this man is away from you he becomes lost.

- He’ll write to you when he can, and I know I said words aren’t his go to when it comes to you, but what choice does he have while at sea?

- You get letters from James in which he laments about the “absence of your warmth hardens his heart”.

- Other examples include him writing “my title is the albatross around my neck for my only title should be as your husband.”

- When he does get back from sea expect him to be really clingy. Like “oh you’re going to the markets? I’ll escort you there.” Or even just being more affectionate in public, which gets both of you some side eyes and disturbed looks. Despite the two of you simply just leaning into each other.

- He is also big on gifts, anything that he can afford that you so much as look at longer than normal he will get for you.

- ”Love close your eyes” and when you do you feel something cold but soft around your neck. When you open your eyes pearls lay against your chest. The very same pearls you were eyeing last weekend.

- His smile when you gasp and say something along the lines of “James you shouldn’t have!” Is unmatched. He definitely puffs out his chest in pride for being able to get you something so nice.

- To be honest the biggest reason he spoils you with gifts is so that you have something of him when he is away on expeditions.

- Which he also loves to bring you back things from different trips.

- When he stationed at tropical islands he brought back a few shells he thought were pretty

- Those shells are displayed on your dresser, a reminder that no matter how far he goes he still thinks of you.

Harry Goodsir

- The good ‘doctor’ Goodsir is always worried about doing too much or seeming too clingy, but he also wants you to know he does care. He just doesn’t wanna be too much.

- Because of this he shows his affection through Quality time and Acts of Service.

- Don’t get me wrong, he still gives you gifts here and there not to mention being outwardly affectionate, but it’s few and far between.

- Lots of times quality time consists of reading a book together or even just going in depth about both of your days.

- The later option often turns into Harry going off on a tangent about his recent studies with a wide smile and a gleam in his eye.

- Until over half an hour in he realizes how long he’s been talking so he becomes bashful, repeatedly stuttering and apologizing that he didn’t mean to make the conversation all about him.

- Watch him turn vermillion when you tell him he looks cute when he rambles.

- He does love listening to you talk and infodump as well. Especially if it’s an interest you both have in common.

- While you do talk he looks at you as if you are the only thing that exists, and in those intimate moments you are. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than with you.

- When it falls to acts of service he is king and strangely always knows when you need it most?

- You could be coming home from work with an aching back dreading doing anything else, but like magic Harry already got all the food for dinner, cleaned most of the house and finished organizing the kitchen.

- Those days he appears as an angel and you can’t help but hug the man and rest your head against his chest. While he may be surprised at first he slowly melts into the hug. Yeah this is nice, he doesn’t mind it.

- Both of you see the other as some sort of saint and while it might not be the ‘normal’ way of showing affection it works quite well for both of you.

Thomas Blanky

- This man is a wildcard, he enjoys showering you with whatever affection he can give in the moment. However, his favorites are quality time and verbal affection.

- Yeah he could buy you gifts and be at the pub all the time or he could spend his evenings will you playing chess in the dying light while discussing your days. He clearly goes with the later.

- The most prominent reason as to why quality time is so important to him is because he’s at sea for years at a time, so he feels it would be foolish to waste what little time he has with you.

- Reading, simple conversation, games, he’ll do it all as long as he gets to spend time with you.

- One of his favorite pastimes to do is read Shakespeare (as much as Francis makes fun of him for it)

- He’ll simply read aloud with you either sitting next to him or a chair across from him.

- Thomas claims he doesn’t have a favorite play, but you know it’s hamlet because of the slight different tone he uses when reading it compared to all the other plays.

- The Icemaster loves verbal affection because he can reach you from anywhere so long as there is a postal office.

- While he’s at sea expect long letters detailing his journey and how beautiful everything is, but that beauty pales in comparison to you.

- ”Her Oceans majesty is great, her arms are open, and her body sparkles yet I cannot help but wish to swim back to you, for you outshine her tenfold.”

- However he always finds a way to playfully jab at you in his letters, wether it be over the spilled ink in your last letter or mispelled words.

- Sometimes when he goes to the arctic he’ll write multiple letters before the last stop and then have those letters mailed at different dates.That way you almost always have a letter to open.

- Although he doesn’t know it, you save each and every letter to look back at when you feel lonely.

- When he’s gone and the loneliness gets to you more than usual you sleep with a few, clutching them to your chest with hopes that you’ll receive another letter from him soon and not the admiralty.

- When Thomas does return he answers your worries with a laugh and “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easy right?”

Thomas Jopson

- Thomas Jopson is ever the observant man and he adores you.

- So he tries to make your life as easy as possible by using his time as a steward to help.

- In this way he shows affection through acts of service and and physical affection.

- The two types of affection are quite different, and while some may believe he doesn’t show physical affection at all they just haven’t seen him behind closed doors.

- As soon as the two of you aren’t in public he clings to you like a sloth.

- While it did take a while for him to show physical affection in your relationship, you’re too deep now and can’t escape.

- Lots of times while he’s cleaning and you are taking care of things like cooking or bills he’ll do drive by kisses, although you have no issue returning them.

- The both of you almost make it a game to see how many kisses the other can sneak into their routine.

- Damn his sparkling eyes as he looks at you with so much adoration and love.

- “Thomas! You’ll ruin my makeup!” You proclaim while trying to hold him back and continue cooking.

- The love struck Stewart with obvious lipstick stains all over his face: “Why Ma’am I would never consider doing such a thing!”

- He definitely ‘let’s you win’ just so he gets more kisses.

- One time before he left for an expedition you snuck a kiss onto his cheek. He forgot about the lipstick you were wearing so he was very confused as to why he kept getting strange looks on the first day on the ship, or why some men laughed and whistled his way? When he realizes why he doesn’t wipe the lipstick or the smile off his face for the rest of the day. (That is until the captain orders him to and he mopes like a kicked puppy.)

- When it comes to acts of service this man works like an ant, it’s almost like he can’t separate his job and his time at home. So sometimes you have to just hold him for a while to get him to slow down.

- ”Thomas you’re working too hard again.”

- ”Only for you Love.”

- This response earns him a playful smack on the arm and a bear hug that he’s not released from until he agrees to sit down with you.

- You truly appreciate him cleaning and doing chores but don’t want him to wear himself out :(

- On that note once when you practically demanded him to rest he accidentally responded with “In a minute Captain.” He turned bright red and once you got over the initial shock you respond “As your Captain I order you to take a break now.”

- Cue Thomas sitting down on the nearest chair immediately.

- You ended up pestering him for the rest of the night and occasionally when he’s working you’ll say something with a shit eating grin like “I think the Captain wants you to take a break.”

- Hold this man close because it doesn’t get much better than this.

_________

Y/n: You know sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky-

Blanky*drinking out of a peg leg*: I think the question you should be asking is how do you put up with me love, but ok.

_________

Fitzjames*lamenting about ho much he misses his partner*

Crozier: For gods sake Fitzjames! Just go back to the damn sniper story already!

Fitzjames: You’re just sour because I’m not alone and you are-

*Cue a punch thrown over the table*

_________

Y/n: Make sure you tell that Captain of yours that you need to make it back in one piece.

Jopson*with a grin aimed at you*: Captain I need to make it back in one piece or else Mrs/Mr/Ms. Jopson might come after you.

Y/n*blushing furiously*: I- OK

_________

Y/n: I went in for a kiss- EUGH- and now he won’t let go and I’m stuck.

Jopson: Mine

_________

Y/n: He asked for no pickles!

Goodsir: It’s okay really-

—————

Sidenote: Some of these will make more sense if you read the attached headcanons.

Awesome! I love your art!

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Sabini: "Imagine if your wife cheated on you, what would… AAAAH !" Thomas: "Alfie." Alfie: "Yes ?" Thomas: "Did you just shoot Sabini in the leg ?" Alfie: "Yes." Thomas: "Okay." Alfie: "I'm hesitant to shoot you too, I must say. Between the fact that you're not defending the honor of your wife, one of my sisters-in-law, but especially that you're not defending the honor of my wife, your sister, my sweet treacle, who will never cheat on me." Thomas: "Y/N wouldn't be happy." Alfie: "I told you, I'm hesitant."

Yeah I forgot how attractive he was…

‘I’m quite good in a suit. And nobody seems to know that yet.’  (x)

Costumes | Christopher Plummer as Georg von Trapp in The Sound of Music (1965)

Hello, could you write something about Thranduil if you would like? About how I take care of an elf who was cut short as a punishment and her hair was cut very short, even though she was innocent. This is a trauma for her, because for elves, and especially for elven women, hair is something very important. Of course, if you feel like it.

So I’m a bit confused are you talking about writing a one shot where Thranduil helps an elf recover from emotional abuse? And help her gain back confidence despite some important aspects suck as hair that she is lacking? If so it sounds interesting and I will consider it since I’ve been thinking about doing a one shot like that lately. Although I do have exams coming up so it might take me a bit.