( ARCHIVED )

RP account for WoW's Anduin Wyrnn | canon - divergent (?) | Rules in promo ! | Sideblog to Lichbride | As loved by Buggy !

[archived-altruisticlion]

Blog is now archived & muse has been moved to my multimuse account !

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM LOVE ACTUALLY *  assorted dialogue from the 2003 film, adjust as necessary

it’s the saddest part of my day, leaving you.

if you look for it, i’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.

i could just have him murdered.

thank you, i’ll think about it.

ruthless trained killers are just a phone call away.

to me, you are perfect.

can you give me any clues at all?

well the truth is… actually… i’m in love.

i really want to know.

there’s nothing i can do about it.

i thought it would be something worse.

tell her that you love her.

okay, that sounds fine. bit boring, but fine.

that sounds so bizarre.

that is genuinely bad timing.

american girls would seriously dig me with my cute british accent.

they've done it. it's official.

this is shit, isn't it?

i was hoping you'd win.

christmas is for people with someone they love in their lives.

so... what's this big news then?

it was always going to be a total shit time.

oh, don't be disgusting. get out of my house.

look at the sign on the door.

you’ll always regret it if you don’t.

well, this is a surprise.

has it been a good visit?

we got what we came for.

you never talk to me. you don’t like me.

you can just show yourself out, can’t you?

do you think everybody knows?

tell me, if you were in my position, what would you do?

would you wait around to find out?

oh god, i am so in the wrong.

you’ve also made a fool out of me.

ask me anything you like. i’ll tell you the truth.

god, i wish you hadn’t turned that down.

shit, i can’t believe i just said that.

basically, you’re fucked, aren’t you?

this is shit, isn’t it?

where the fuck is my fucking coat?

thank you very much, but no.

actually, i was being serious.

it would be great if we could be friends.

it’s a terrible, terrible mistake.

you’re not who i think you are, are you?

who do you have to screw around here to get a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit?

i will miss you. and your very slow typing. and your very bad driving.

i’ll give you anything you ask for, as long as it’s not something i don’t want to give.

i’m very busy and important. how can i help you?

oh, shut your face.

actually, i don’t have to go.

true love lasts a lifetime.

so what’s this big news, then?

life is full of interruptions and complications.

oh no. that is so inconvenient.

i very much like the look of you.

send an embarrassingly big car and i’ll be there!

i never asked you how your love life is going.

the thing about romance is… people only get together right at the very end.

look at the sign on the door!

loitering around the jewelry section, i see!

a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

i think you’re not surprised.

oh my god, i’ve got a terrible stomach ache.

how will you be celebrating?

all i want for christmas is you.

you would have broken my heart if you’d said yes.

the nurses are trying to kill me.

are you sure you don’t mind me going without you?

i love you even when you’re sick and look disgusting.

did i mention that i love you?

i look quite pretty.

no one’s ever going to shag you if you cry all the time.

hello. i heard you were gorgeous.

i’ll just be hanging around the mistletoe, hoping to be kissed.

[ellipuukangas]

LET THEM HUG

[archived-altruisticlion]

You know your little meow meow's traumatised when you can finally add mother mother and Florence + the machine to their playlist

[archived-altruisticlion]

@shathyar continued from [ X ]

"If you wouldn't mind..."

Back firmly pressed against the wall, Anduin softly replies back, voice shrunk; timid, wary of potential anger lingering beneath unchanging features. He never truly understood just how vast the Legion's influence had been, until now. Leather-clad hands tighten around Shalamayne's handle, whose light is absent. It's been absent since Darion first saw Anduin in the maw, and has yet to return.

He felt awful for this entire situation. Confidence— arrogance— surged, having only spent a few weeks within Acherus. Anduin wanted to prove he could help. He HAD to be useful, because if he didn't, he knows whispers would rise again. Dirt-slick boots edge closer to Darion, until natural warmth radiates. He's inches from the other, head fixed on their flank, unaware of how he's subconsciously drawn closer to the death knight. Something briefly saps Anduin's warmth, the brief lack of heat noticable to Darion undoubtly. Gloved hands faintly glow, distorted and darkened by invoked void.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you. I should've. I keep making more and more mistakes..."

[wedarkacademia]

[oncemade]

it is here in this embrace that he has felt more at home than ever. not on the dragon isles, not in ravenholdt, not in azeroth. but here, wrapped like a winters veil present within the estranged-kings arms. this place was where the voices had been strongest, it was where wrathion had set up his operates against n'zoth. silithus was familiar. part of him knew anduin would be here. searching for him? he only hopes.

it is a hope that he has not met with since pandaria, since the tavern in the mists. not since left and right had been at his side, not since tong was still serving drinks and the tavern saw its frequent customers. it was a hope he used to see in anduin. it was a hope that he wants to see in him, again. wrathion clutches the other tightly, not sure how much of an embrace could be felt through plate armour that the black prince thought (still) ill-fitting for the alliance's king. he had grown into it, at least, wrathion things fondly.

"you don't have to." he says, calmly. while the exact situation in stormwind was unknown to him, he knew turalyon wouldn't mind serving another few years if it was required of him. besides, genn greymane was there to humble the high exarch, if he needed to. wrathion buries his face into anduin's cloak, inhaling deeply once again his scent, afraid that he wouldn't see him for another three years if he dared to slip out of his grasp. instinctively, wrathion's clawed nails scrape gently on his tarnished armour, everything i have ever let go has had claw marks in it.

"we can go to the obsidian citadel." he states, firmly. it was not a request, not a suggestion. anduin was coming with him, whether he had to be carried there or went willingly. "my--" my love almost rolls off his tongue, as if singing a hymn, but wrathion clears his throat, and quickly corrects himself. "--anduin. let us quit this place, come back when you're ready. that sword is not going anywhere. you don't get to hide, but you should get some rest."

[archived-altruisticlion]

Wrathion's connection to Azeroth is irrefutable. Hope ebbs each day spent alone. It took all that remained, for him to come here, embers of devastated dreams warmed only by his light. His earth-warder, regardless of who now has the mantle. Wrathion. Shadowflame burns in his mind, veins, hearing and sight. N'zoth's corruption, and Anduin's more recent usage of shadowflame, couldn't hide from the black prince forever. Their reunion; both inevitable, unpredictable, akin to a soldier returning home.

Sinking further into the embrace, Anduin finds sanctuary in what he's able to feel. Barely recognizable armor complains, metal groaning in defiance. He's grown taller, frame now beginning to resemble his Father's stature. For all his growing, his armor felt heavier than before. Anduin swears he's still wearing that collar, chains binding his wrists, manipulating him as one would a marionette.

Uncomfortable memories stir in the absence of wanting murmurs, threatening to overwhelm him in their stead. Sharply inhaling, warm spice (not dank rot of the maw) muffles rising visions. Grounds him. His aching back slumps, shoulders slacken, and what weight he has, now rests solely on the dragon. Gentle reverberation of marked metal oddly brings comfort, leave your marks so that I know you'll always come back for me.

"I know." Anduin mumbles, jaw barely moving against where it rests. Had his Father faced battles like these; where Shalamayne and his strength couldn't reach? It's an idle thought, stirred by incomplete worship. Recited mantras, spoken always by an open loving heart, were broken too, just as he. Something tells him he's been told he can't hide, before, but where—? I now believe, as you do, that peace is the noblest aspiration; but to preserve it, you must be willing to fight.

"...Fine. I'll—... We'll go. So long as you don't leave me again. Swear it, Wrathion. Swear to me you won't abandon me like last time."

[oncemade]

it was a pleasant enough day, after all, to be wandering the fabulous lands of pandaria. wrathion drags his crimson sights to the only window in their vicinity, staring at the moving clouds as the other spoke, pointed ears twitching at the sound of anduin's voice, indicating that he was paying attention.

"oh, i'm sure. that's why they're doing it for me."

he couldn't have the notion of him putting himself in the way of danger when there were perfectly good and expendable champions at his beck and call, waiting to receive treasures from his great trove. already had he bestowed a pair of his sires fangs to one, what was four more cloaks? they may as well have doubled as his blankets or tablecloths. (he ought to gift something to anduin.)

wrathion pulls his hands up in a defensive manner when the boy snaps at him, and he knows it isn't directed at him specifically. it was a jesting gesture, not at all betrayed by the reflexive smile that tugs on the black princes features. at the mention of miriam jewel, wrathion lets out a heavy huff.

"when is she ever happy lately?"

[archived-altruisticlion]

Now sat upright, the next hurdle that Stormwind's prince had to overcome, would be getting out of the bed. A simple task. One he's done hundreds of times before. When his body was fine and never once had a bone been broken in his body. Anduin dares a glance at Wrathion, his breath catches at the sight before him.

Sunlight sprawls through the uncovered window, light spilling unceremoniously into the moderately sized room. Since his earliest memories, he's seen an assortment of gifts exchanged between nobility and royalty. Most of those 'gifts' were little more than tools to curry favour, flaunt statis and show wealth. He never cared for most things 'gifted' to him, having learnt that such things often had strings attached. Light reflects off of intricate golden trimmings, and reflects off of Wrathion's sole earring. Anduin's silently captivated by this gift, he didn't need anything else.

He swiftly busies himself with the task of removing his bed's covers, hoping to hide how hues of red dust pale features. "She's... Gone through a lot, since you last met. The-..." His voice shrinks momentarily. Wrathion hasn't been secretive about how he felt about his father, and everything done by him, but they've not broached more sensitive topics, like this. It makes him nervous. Reminds him of danger lurking.

"...There's a lot she's lost. Sylvanas' presense has cheered her greatly, but you've clearly said or done something that's upset her." Anduin carefully shimmies himself sideward, having to briefly hault his thoughts when sharp pain shoots up a thigh. All movement pauses abruptly, yet he says not a word about his pain. "If you won't tell me, I can always ask Tong if he overheard anything, or ask Lady Jewel herself, if you won't indulge in telling me."

[raeshalares-deactivated20240322]

every general has their monarch that they bow to. hers, at this point in time, was not her warchief. garrosh hellscream was hardly befitting the title, and vol'jin was someone newly-named that she has yet to gauge whether she could follow him without qualms or not. her blades remain ready at her hips as she shifts her weight from one leg to the other. she is sitting, like a viper in the grass, waiting to strike.

"it was unjust for him to drop the divine bell on you, anduin." his name feels foreign on her tongue, and yet she speaks it all the same. quickly, as if she has gotten ahead of herself, she shirks back, and glances to the floorboards. "--my king." she corrects herself, remembers herself, and she is just another arrow in his quiver. like a child being scolded, she shrinks her towering height over him to feel not-so-large.

"my people have been bearing the brunt of his discrimination for years!" her outburst is not entirely unexpected. the forsaken have been turned into the joke of the horde, along with the darkspear. that, at least, she had in common with the new warchief. "it would be a pleasure and an honour to this world to remove him from it."

[archived-altruisticlion]

Anduim would've thought that out of everyone, Sylvanas would've heeded his father, more than himself. It warms his heart, that the banshee queen believes he's a suitable king, but he's still a child. A smart child, who can debate morals stronger than many of Stormwind's nobility, who can wield the void to manipulate some of Mathias Shaw's best men, to continue a selfless (and selfish) campaign assisting those of Pandaria.

"Please, Syl', you know you can call me Anduin. You've known me for years." The words 'and I'm not anywhere near being king' almost spill from his lips, but he goes against speaking further. Sylvanas is more than a mere arrow to him. She is a sentinel, trusted, respected, an individual, not a tool. Patience and kindness remain on bandaged features, unbothered by being called his actual name for once.

The young boy manages to steel himself, and surpresses his flinching. The forsaken have, indeed, suffered immeasurably, as have the darkspear trolls. Anduin feels himself look towards one of the tavern's windows, frown tugging at his lips, and hands anxiously toying with clothing. "Garrosh has hurt many. Too many, but even so, I don't—... I don't want anyone to die. An eye for an eye, and the world will go blind. There must be some other way to resolve this! If I could just talk to him, make him see the error of his ways, then maybe..." Ever a paragon of hope, the little lion has a brilliant heart, and even after his injuries, he believes redemption can still be achieved for Hellscream. That anyone can be redeemed...

[archived-altruisticlion]

"It's okay to purge a city or two. Or three."

[archived-altruisticlion]

Nvm bbg said no :(

[archived-altruisticlion]

"It's okay to purge a city or two. Or three."

[oncewarden-deactivated20260405]

"it wasn't...?" it rings as a statement, but in actuality it poses a question. neltharion's posture straightens, moving to inspect the desk once again. she sweeps her hands across the table in one, foul movement and scatters the papers and books atop it like moths fighting over firelight. for all his efforts and mutilations, aberrus was still left vulnerable after all these years --- who knows how many of the djaradin have pillaged his laboratory in the years he had been gone? in the years accompanying his madness?

wrathion and sabellian were poorly postured for position of the earth-warder; after the tumultuous epoch she's spent spiraling downward into the void, it is not a mantle she so readily seeks back out. the oathstone, she's heard, is dormant. good. it should stay that way. no other of his flight, of her family need to succumb to such a tragedy of the cataclysm once again. already, wrathion has been... troublesome to keep up with. out of all her remaining children, wrathion was the most worrisome.

"iridikron has his own schemes --- schemes i can only predict. he is as much my kin as your hand is apart of your body." but still, that never answered the question. iridikron would be dealt with. whether by herself, or the same adventurers that attempted her life, it did not matter. but what did matter is that he would be dealt with. it was only a matter of when. her palms rest on the now-emptied desk, head slouching below her shoulders. "a behemoth of earth. yes, i know. only i can know."

but she does take pride in her things; indeed, it was her pride that had eventually been her undoing. her arrogance was immeasurable, which made her so susceptible to the old gods in the first place. she did not know how like her son she had been in those moments, how hungry for knowledge and furthering a discovery they both were. she was a scientist, first, before anything else. before being a father, before being an aspect. maybe that, too, played a part in her tragic fall from grace. but he hears them in the distance, like friends gathering down the long corridor. where good graces and cheer were shared over a mug of ale, she and her kin slaved over the concept of the dragon soul within the heart of wyrmrest temple.

it was her temple. it was within alexstrasza's temple that she had finally lost her mind. that the strain of the wood underfoot would finally crackle and shatter like flimsiest glass. no, it had to be the djaradin. they were troublesome creatures, unwilling to listen to reason or submit to the will of their greaters. neltharion knew how to handle the djaradin, she had the knowledge, but not the power. her weight shifts, staring at the scattered papers with an unmoving gaze.

this boy king was here, alone, facing the aspect of the earth. she could bury the two of them here, under piles of rubble so large that wrathion would not be able to claw his way to the princes body. this was aberrus. and aberrus was hers. her hands pull together at her centre, pulling and awkwardly fiddling with her own fingers as she is lost in the thought. it is a good thought, she thinks, with an uncharacteristic smile that creeps its way onto her face. the earth that wraps itself around them like a shell rumbles in response, and neltharion remembers herself. she is not the aspect, not in any way that matters to her.

"tell me then, boy. tell me what you perceive as the re-discovery of aberrus."

[archived-altruisticlion]

Hooded features cringe, upon the sharp impact of books and papers, not having expected the sudden action. Laced and intertwined by outrage that Anduin knew better than to pry into. Standing as close as he currently is to the former earth-warder, a gruesome revelation congregates, unleashed by trembling earth sheparded by Neltharian's grin. Anduin realises, that despite his unwavering stance, N'zoth— a piece of the old god's that affected an aspect— had left its mark upon him. This is when he hears something, like a breeze tentatively rustling leaves. His gaze flickers, head instinctively turning towards the noise, but his attention is brought back to the woman before him.

Neltharian isn't the only one who has toyed with power greater than herself.

"There were reports, regarding the Incarnates. They were seen on the Forbidden Reach, breaking into an abandoned place." Truthfully, were it not for gossiping adventures and being assigned to assist on the forbidden reach, he doubts he'd have any idea that the incarnates visited the small isle. His heart aches for reasons he doesn't understand. Guilt, perhaps? Or pity? Even now, Deathwing's reign continues, still tearing at his flight, at her family, at everything he once protected.

"A few days later, word reached the aspects from the Maruuk centaur, that a great hole had been forged into— through— the earth." Anxiety gnaws, thrashes and tears at all sides, the surge of emotion inspiring Anduin to step away from Neltharian, and redirect himself towards the nearest source of light. Acid burns the back of his throat, but is swiftly swallowed down. Were it not for Neltharian now looking at him, he's certain he'd start pacing. Can she not feel the eyes on them? The cold claws trying to reach out?

"You say you can predict Iridikron's plans, but you didn't even know that he found this place first, did you?" His voice wavers, fear settling in; not towards the earth - warder before him. No. The whispering grows every second he spends in Neltharian's presence. He can't stop looking at the twitching shadows. It's too much. N'zoth's voice haunts him still, taunting him as it made him watch Wrathion die, a thousand times over. "Fyrakk has infused himself with YOUR creation; with shadowflame. He's taken what you created, and now uses it to his own ends. He's become the incarnate of it.. He nearly killed Sabellian. How am I meant to protect Wrathion, from that...?"

[archived-altruisticlion]

the depression sillies

[nukednick]

idk i just thought anduin needs a hug

[oncemade]

wrathion did not like silithus one bit, not before the sword and definitely not now. there was sand everywhere, the wind seemed to howl constantly, and there were all sorts of atrocious bugs that were larger than even himself. but this was where anduin had been, so this was where he deemed to be. he would not leave him behind again, would not abandon him so carelessly.

"and they still yearn for him on the throne." he feels the grasping pull of hungry hands on the back of his coat, wraps his arms tighter around the other, squeezing tightly enough that were this any other situation, one of them would surely jest about killing the other. it was an arduous several years without him, even in the dragon isles, wrathion often found himself thinking of anduin in the hopes that he might appear if not for him.

but he is here now, and that's what matters. wrathion buries his face deeper into anduins shoulder, inhaling his scent as if it were the last time that the two of them would ever mingle again. sabellian, for all his stubbornness and apparent apathy, cared a great deal about the two of them it had seemed. "i won't."

and it is a promise that he makes, as he squeezes his arms tightly around anduin. tears that slip free are buried in the musk of anduin's cloak, and wrathion takes a long moment of silence for it to be just the two of them. "i won't, i can't. i need you, too, anduin."

[archived-altruisticlion]

As foul as Silithus is, Anduin brought himself to the shifting sands for a soul purpose. The whispers drew him here, to a place where history has never been kind, nor sweet. Not even the Titan's influence, could cleanse the depths of depravity that lingers in forgotten history.

Disdain lingers on his tongue, tasting only of bile and dust. He knew how Stormwind— his people—felt about him, honeyed words can't take that back. Lips part, preparing to speak further self - depreciation, but the words fade faster that tumbling sand.

Here, in this desolate, cruel place, a spark of hope flickers. Anduin breathes in through his nose; cinnamon, notes of black pepper (it smolders, making his nose twitch briefly), and floral undertones blend together. Three simple scents, that combined, shatter his resistance to accepting aid. Renew hope whilst offering respite. Cletching hands loosen, arms repositioning to properly reciprocate a long awaited embrace.

"I—... I'm not ready to go back. Not... Not yet." Fatigue hits, becoming overly noticable, by the time Anduin rests a gaunt cheek atop familar black locks. Reddened eyes slip close, and for the first time in recent years, his mind is quiet. The run - away king, near-on craddling Wrathion, sniffles softly, willing his sobs to pause. One last sob shudders. "I don't want to be a king! Not like Arthas. Not-." Fresh tears fall, droplets lovingly taken by the locks his head rests atop. "Take me to the Isles. To anywhere but Stormwind. I'm scared to death of what I'll do, if the whispering starts again. You've made them stop for now. I- I haven't slept in weeks, Wrath. 'M so tired of fighting them.."

[voidfractured]

WE ARE LIVING FOR ALL THAT WE HAVE LOST

-- A collection of muses from various franchises such as ; World of Warcraft, Dead by Daylight, Dishonored, Dragon Age, & Hades. More potentially to be added in the future.

-- as loved by buggy.

CARRD

[sleeprough]

i don't care.