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[aotearoa20]

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Dialogue transcripts:

Panel 1

Van Helsing: Perhaps this king, he has a master to command him and other un-dead, as Count Dracula once wielded poor Miss Lucy—such a fiend as could make for him preparations and plans.

Panel 2

Quincey:  Say…There ain’t a chance it coulda been Dracula, is there?

Panel 3

Mina: No. His death happened long before the King’s—the timelines don’t match up at all. He couldn’t have anything to do with it. ...Unless...

Panel 4

Jack: Unless...?

Panel 5

Mina: Unless Dracula turned someone else while he was in England.

Jonathan: Oh, God help us. If that is the case...

Panel 6

Jonathan: ...Then we have a much bigger problem on our hands.

[aotearoa20]

spooky season’s finally here so i made a quiz to celebrate: which female horror archetype are you?

please tag your results, i need to know which of you fellow freaks i’m compatible with.

#the survivor #Yay

[aotearoa20]

So we all know that Tumblr is US-centric. But to what degree? (and can we skew the results of this poll by posting it at a time where they should be asleep?)

Reblog to increase sample size!

[aotearoa20]

Tilion in his hunter days. Arien is next. And then… I think I’ll start with the first comic pages for a change.

[aotearoa20]

you know the umbrella academy car meme? well, uh,,

[aotearoa20]

Eowyn tells Faramir it isn't necessary to write all of Rohan's songs and legends in a book lest they be forgotten. The Rohirrim do not read and write: they are oral storytellers, and they have great respect for their minstrels and their history. They will not forget anything.

She says it to reassure him and save him the trouble, but it does not seem to soothe his mind.

He smiles quickly at her before turning to the window. He looks out at the hills of Emyn Arnen as though watching for a storm on the horizon, and then Eowyn understands.

She grasps his hand.

At his touch, an image rushes through her mind: a grey, mutinous sea; and among the froth and the fury – sodden books, orphaned heirlooms, and a tapestry that will never again be seen or re-made, with both story and skill lost to the devouring waters.

The water washes over them both before slowly receding, leaving only a mist that she blinks away, and the distant glint of the Anduin to the west as it flows down to the Sea.

'Have I ever told you of Eorl the Young?' she says. Her voice is rough; she clears her throat.

'We know much about Eorl in Gondor,' Faramir says softly. 'His friendship with Cirion and his aid in our time of need was great.'

'And what about after?' she asks. 'What does Gondor know about that?'

Faramir turns to her with a wry smile. 'Very little.'

'Would that you had someone to teach you a little history.'

The mirth in Faramir's eyes mirrors her own.

'Would that I did.'

[aotearoa20]

So, @skaelds threw this AU idea at me about Eol never having left Doriath, hence Maeglin growing up as a prince of the Sindar under Thingol. Which, YES, delicious implications for Noldor-Sindar politics and how subsequent events may have been affected and all that, but also --

please consider the fact that Maeglin and Dior are incredibly close in age (in comparison to everyone else around them, at least) and with some mild timeline tweaking could have conceivably attended lessons together and been fast friends. Both Skaelds and I think that Eol and Luthien would have Intensely Disliked each other, leading to awkward kindergarten pickups XD

ALSO, we both agree that Maeglin would most likely pick up a condescending Sindar attitude regarding the Noldor, since he doesn't really have a reason to seek out his mother's side of the family and power in Gondolin in such an AU, while Aredhel would be somewhat more in contact with her family... and what better way to try and improve relations between the kingdoms than having your child and your brother's child get along?? yes yes, Idril's age would have to be very adjusted for this, but it's a silly AU, just go with it XD

And then I got this idea in my head and couldn't get it out and had to draw it.

SO ......... what's the overlap between non-mainstream 90s animated movies and the Silmarillion? 👀 🤣

(Skaelds, I tried to go with your versions of Eol and Maeglin... hope they're somewhat accurate!)

[aotearoa20]

I've drawn Maedhros like a thousand times before but never posted anything ,,,

[aotearoa20]

[aotearoa20]

sophie is trying so desperately to view the moving castle and everything inside it as just a stop on her magical self-discovery journey. she tries to leave like four times because she thinks the narrative is ready for her to move on to a new adventure but she doesn't realize she's been rooted here. she thinks the fairy tale has to keep moving but what she doesn't realize is in real life there aren't perfect beat changes. sometimes you don't leave to represent a change in your perspective or goals. in real life you fall in love and get curious about new worlds and get attached to little brothers and fire demons. in real life you make a home.

[aotearoa20]

[aotearoa20]

💃

[aotearoa20]

fund my research Tolkien Society

[aotearoa20]

Finrod playing the lyre

[aotearoa20]

[aotearoa20]

fingon and his younger siblings because i feel Soft right now

re-up bc i forgot some things

[aotearoa20]

FireBird - March

Ah, my dear friend @cilil was so good to send in a couple of requests!

It's my joy and honour to present the first fic to you tonight :D

Prompts: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice” – “I don’t need a gentleman right now.” – Responsibility – Knight in shining armour

Pairing: Eönwë x Gothmog

Words: 1030

Warnings: Injury, blood, sadness, bad elves, good Eönwë

“Let him be, I’ll take care of it,” Eönwë called, feeling the back of his neck heat up as the despicable half-truth crossed his dry lips.

Nobody had expected the co-habitation of once inveterate foes to be easy, and Eönwë even secretly believed that Manwë could and should have been more discouraging when it came to the outright hostile behaviour towards the reformed former denizens of Angband.

Unfortunately, the reality turned out to be much worse than anything the kind-hearted herald had ever imagined.

“Milord,” the group of reembodied Elves muttered and withdrew reluctantly.

It was forbidden for the Balrogs to travel in groups, and much too often resentful, unforgiving members of the High Houses liked to corner Melkor’s fallen servants and harass them cruelly.

“Away with you,” Eönwë called sternly. “Leave it to me!”

Of course, Eönwë did not doubt that any of the fearsome Maiar could have defended themselves against a few puny incarnates, but he took his role as a keeper of the peace very seriously.

Moreover, he was eager for this one Balrog in particular to understand that he was on his side, as much as that was even possible anymore.

“Bird,” Gothmog purred, leaning heavily against a boulder, and trying to angle his body so as to dissimulate the minor wounds the group of pesky troublemakers had inflicted upon him. “Have you come to chide me? I swear upon my honour that I’ve not laid a single claw upon your precious Children.”

At that ludicrous declaration, Eönwë let his frown deepen disapprovingly.

He knew Manwë’s stipulations only too well—after all, he had been the one tasked to convey them to the unfortunate souls they concerned—but, in his heart of hearts, he nevertheless much regretted to see his friend and lover hurt because of a set of cold, unfeeling rules.

“You’re allowed to defend yourself against those who’d seek to harm you,” he murmured insistently.

“And risk your displeasure, beloved? From your sweet lips came the ordinance to renounce my evil ways, and I shall do so, no matter the cost to my health and heart,” Gothmog replied calmly.

Unfortunately, his efforts at clumsy gallantry were considerably hampered by the fact that he was by now slowly slumping under the strain of desperately pretending that he was perfectly hale and happy.

“You look particularly appetising today, bird,” Gothmog tried to assuage the worry in the bright, sky-blue eyes of his most cherished enemy. “I mean, you look handsome.”

Eru’s long-haired pet meat bags might never have understood it, but there were truths and affinities sung into creation that far transcended their very limited interpretation of beauty and affection.

Thus, it had come to pass that these fierce warriors—having fought ferociously on opposite fronts in a seemingly eternal war—had ultimately found well-deserved peace in one another.

As all star-crossed lovers were wont to asseverate, they naturally were willing to selflessly die for the other.

Living, they’d soon found out, was a much more arduous and treacherous challenge.

Ever diligent to the point of undeniable stubbornness, Gothmog had decided that he’d use his new-found freedom to give Eönwë what he clearly yearned for so desperately: a proper romantic courtship.

“Could I interest you in a leisurely stroll by the river then?” the Balrog asked in a forcibly level voice.

“Don’t be silly,” Eönwë exclaimed. “You are injured! This is hardly the moment for pleasant walks by the water. Let me see!”

Indeed, the herald’s heart ached as he glimpsed the superficial but undoubtedly painful gashes marring Gothmog’s precious, gleaming hide.

“I shall have words with them,” he grumbled, gnashing his flawless teeth.

“Do not trouble yourself on my account, my sweetling,” Gothmog assured him quickly as he tried to squirm away from the inquisitive fingers ghosting across his skin and threatening to undo his carefully constructed façade of good manners and gentle words.

“They are my responsibility,” Eönwë opined. “And so are you, you foolhardy creature! If you will not defend yourself, will you at least promise to call for me if this ever happens again?”

His stern gaze softened, and his pursed lips relaxed into a charming smile. “I quite like being your knight in shining armour.”

As if embarrassed by his own confession, he drew his wings up defensively.

“Keep talking,” Gothmog drawled. The cocky, teasing grin he flashed Eönwë now was genuine, despite his tangible discomfort.

“You’re not the only one who’s trying to impress by putting his best foot forward, and the worst thing is, you didn’t even notice…” Eönwë complained softly, rubbing a blood-stained hand along his chiselled jaw shamefacedly.

“What do you believe has escaped my notice? How competently you’ve handled this situation, getting rid of these unwelcome intruders with aplomb and grace? Or your indescribable beauty as you arrived on the scene like an avenging entity made of summer bliss and autumn storms? You underestimate me, my winged wonder, for I am humbled by every awe-inspiring detail of your appearance and demeanour!”

“Humbug,” Eönwë mumbled, flattered despite suspecting that he was being lovingly mocked. “I don’t need a gentleman right now, Gothmog. Tell me how bad it is…Should I bring you to Estë?”

“Pah! Estë!” Gothmog guffawed. “What for? To be fussed over endlessly? ‘tis but a scratch, I tell you.”

Lifting his arm slowly, he cupped Eönwë’s cheek tenderly. “Please, believe me when I say that neither your entirely unnecessary preoccupation nor your gentle care has gone unnoticed.”

Beneath the soothing, healing caress of the one he loved against all odds and despite the bitter feud engraved into their very souls, Gothmog finally relaxed.

“When you arrived, I couldn’t help thinking how marvellous it is to see you appear like a ray of sun cutting through the blinding, burning mist of battle and to know that you’ve not come to smite me.”

“I am on your side, you know?” Eönwë whispered, curling up against the living heat of the terrible fire demon.

“There are no sides anymore,” Gothmog reminded him, quoting the announcement that had allowed them to meet and reconnect once more.

“Nevertheless…”

“Yes,” Gothmog yawned, slinging his arm around his beloved hero. “Thank you!”

-> Masterlist

Lots of love from me! (I shall be busy this weekend, but I theoretically am still willing to write something for this <3)

@fellowshipofthefics You didn't think that I'd skip this one, did you? LOL