#absynthe's fanfiction
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The Night Our Ship Will Drown
T.A. 3019, the Dawnless Day, the Ethir Anduin between Pelargir and the Sea
“Bring her about!”
He could barely be heard over the roar of the storm, the rain pouring down in thick, impenetrable sheets as the lightning and thunder crash overhead. Somewhere, above the thick clouds and the screaming of the wind, he guessed at the presence of the Sun, and wondered what it was she saw from her high and lofty place among the stars; in her place, he only had a lantern, suspended from the masts by finely made chain and hanging high above the deck. The air had turned cold, too cold even for early spring, cold enough to steal the life from unwary fingers; he could see his breath in great gasps of steam as he tried and failed to shout orders into the gloom. Rain was expected, especially in the dawning of the year as the sea warmed and the winds shifted with it, but this was unnatural, and he could taste the tang of magic in the frigid breeze.
The deck was slick and grimy beneath his boots, and he nearly lost his footing as they caught a wave that sent the whole ship soaring upward and then down into a deep valley; his hands closed over a length of rope someone had fixed the posts of this door. It stretched toward the stern and the helm, though he could not see anyone save himself in the gloom, and he wondered if he was alone in the downpour. Above, the lantern dipped, and swayed, almost seeming to flicker in the dark - impossible, it ought to be impossible, and yet the light falters - and as it sputtered his heart skipped one beat, two, three, then too many to count. He could hear the song now, curling about each drop of rain, seeping into his skin and matching the beat of his pulse. Six voices singing in tandem, complicated melodies interweaving and harmonizing. The rain was summoned, and by their enemy, whose black-sailed ships lay somewhere in the water beyond.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness at last, too used to the soft candlelight in his quarters to give its memory up easily, and he could see that he was surrounded by men on all sides, fighting with sheets and sails and the heavy catapults that lined the decks and marked this as a warship and not merely a merchant vessel. He risked a glance at the helm and saw it held fast, and knew he was not heard. He tried again, his fingers digging into the soaking, slippery rope as he clawed his way along its length toward the stairs he must somehow climb.
“Anborn!”
This time the man at the helm flinched and looked down, somehow spotting him in the soaking-wet gloom; when he answered, his voice was a welcome anchor.
“Prince Amrothos!”
“What - what devilry is this?” he asked, reaching the steps and clinging to them like a half-drowned rat. The helm itself was somehow drier, shielded perhaps by the shipwrights’ own songs, and he managed again to stand, taking his place beside the older man.
“Storm-song,” Anborn answered, grimacing out into the darkness. “The bastards are trying to drown us before a proper fight.”
“And our own Chorus?”
“Below, and already singing, your highness, but they’ll have a fight on their hands, surely.”
“Why?” he asked, nearly slipping again as another wave slammed head-on into the bow.
Anborn sighed, as if to ask don’t you know anything at all? before answering. “Their song’s meant to catch ours, can’t you hear it? Just as ours is for them. We’ve been doing this too long for it to be any other way. And we’ll still have to fight them ship-to-ship.”
He swallowed hard. They had known, upon sailing south from Belfalas, that this would be a miserable fight. It was a proper war-fleet coming up from Umbar, replenished after years of long effort, and they’d had only days of real warning. His father had already departed north for the Capital with his own knights, leaving his oldest brother to rule and his next-oldest to command their armies; it had been they he pleaded with for leave to go and aid Lebennin and Lamedon. They sent him, and the fleet behind him; if Dol Amroth would not be assailed, there was no use barricading the harbor with every ship they could summon. And now, it seemed, he was too late, trapped in the dawnless dark with the enemy between him and the Anduin.
Suddenly, lightning cracked above him, splitting the sky with blinding white as the thunder rolled in after. For an instant, he could see the whole of the Ethir Anduin, filled with black-sailed masts that rose and fell with the waves -
- and he could see the nearest ship, broadside to him, so close he could have thrown the knife at his belt across the gap between them. The rain fell more lightly there, though he doubted the air was any warmer. On the deck were a dozen sailors, swords in their hands and open-mouthed as they sang.
“Bring us about,” he said again, and this time Anborn heard him.
“Aye, Captain!” the man answered, and when he loosed his grip on the helm the whole ship groaned but held together, aided no doubt by the Chorus below decks calling on the spells laid into the wood as it was cut. One elf might have done what all six of them did in harmony, and yet the elves were never so crafty nor cunning as the Dúnedain on both sides of the battle who now called on the Music that lay in the water.
We’re children, he thought, daring to look over his own shoulder at his white-sailed fleet, children fighting over the scraps left by our drowned mother.
And yet I cannot let them win.
“Give them a volley!” he cried, forcing his voice to last past the steps. “We’re nearly broadside to them, don’t let them be the ones to catch us when we have the advantage!”
He couldn’t hear any one answer, but the men below called back their agreement; by the time Anborn had brought them to bear, the catapults were launching. Their loads - heavy wooden balls, filled with blasting-powder and set to catch and spark to flame when met with any friction - arced through the air, tearing through the sails of the ship and bursting into red fire that cast the whole river into eerie half-darkness. Instantly, the song on the wind turned discordant and shrill, keening in his ears; he sank to his knees, his hands trying and failing to stop the sound.
“Don’t fall for it!” Anborn shouted, kicking his shin sharply and not bothering to apologize. “They’re after the lantern! They can see in the damn dark, it’s their storm in the first place!”
Sure enough, the light above was dimmer than ever, and he wondered if the other ships were positioned just as perilously on the brink of utter disaster. But he was a Prince of Dol Amroth, and song and seawater were in his soul; he knew how to answer this.
He bit down hard on his tongue until his mouth filled with blood, the salt and heat distracting him from the half-sung screaming on the air. When he found his voice, it was solid, and strong, cutting easily through the rain, lashing out at the other ship like the fire-coiled whip of a Balrog. It was joined by Anborn, and then by another, finding the eight-note motif of the lantern and echoing it again and again until the light shone like a star and the storm was weakened. He could see better now, watching the ships as they sought to shield their injured sister so easily torn asunder by the weapons of Belfalas; their flagship loomed large in the distance, and he could see a lone figure in the rigging, staring out at him.
He knew her, instantly. Inzaphôr. Her father Zimrûn’s eldest daughter, the heir of Umbar, and the most feared of all his captains. This was her war-fleet, and her mission of destruction.
It would be a long and dreadful night.
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9, 11, 16 and 55 for the fic writer asks! <3 -@thelordofgifs
9. Do you comment on stories you read?
Not as often as I ought, unfortunately; I've fallen out of the habit. I am much better about leaving kudos, at least.
11. Link your three favorite fics right now.
Self-Insert Fanfiction by @absynthe--minded;
Lingering in the Hither Lands and the sequel The Lands of Weeping and of War by bunn;
we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin
16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?
Not including any I've actually started writing, only about three. If you include ones I've already started chipping at, easily two dozen.
At the moment I'm nurturing an Elrond and Gil-galad idea that would probably be a 5+1 fic, something like five things Gil-galad learned about Elrond and one thing Elrond learned about Gil-galad. (featuring: Elrond and Elros sparring, Elrond waterbending calling the river, Elrond being friends with dwarves, Elrond talking to birds, and then either Elrond talking to Eärendil or Elrond post-Númenor sinking or something, haven't decided just yet.)
55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?
I don't think my favorites have been swayed so much by my followers' reactions, mostly because I've barely posted anything other than little scraps. My favorite…while I do Rotate Maedhros a lot and he is fun to hurt write, I think my favorite might be Finwë.
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Now that you know something abou Nessy, it is time to tell you how she got to Eldarya, what happened before and after she got in H.Q.
Nessy was on a little hike, because her mother told her to go outside and do something else than being on her computer. She lived near a forest where she also went on the hike and found a circle of mushrooms. After looking at the circle she decided to ignore it but of course fate had other ideas and a random wild animal started running in her way. She had no choice but to run and that´s how she stepped into the circle.
She found herself in a small village where a Satyr and Elf were the first creatures that she met. The Satyr´s name is Tomuno (he is similar to Tumnus from Narnia) and the Elf´s name is Eliamna. They took Nessy in and wanted to be her family, but Nessy didn´t want to see them as her new parents. She sees them as her mentors and respects them a lot. The Elf taught Nessy a lot about alchemy and the natur of Eldarya. Tomuno showed her some basics about how to survive in Eldarya. Some villagers showed her how to fight and that´s how she knew the basics of a lot of different things.
Nessy stayed in that village for 5 months and then she decided to travel somewhere else. Tomuno and Eliamna wanted to stay with Nessy, so they went with her. Together they decided to go to H.Q. to help others in need.
They traveled for 4 days and the moment they got there EVERYONE was interested in Nessy. Why? Because she was the first human after the sacrifice that Leiftan and Gardienne made (so you know, Nessy got into Eldarya 2 years before Mathieu and 3 years before Gardienne awakened). Chrome was actually the first person the 3 of them met.
Nessy and Tomuno got into the Obsidian Guard and Eliamna into the Absynthe Guard. Still on the very first day Nessy met Lance and he fell for her head over heels (the thought he went crazy and didn´t acept those feelings as real). Lance and Nessy didn´t really had the time to talk, because Purriry saw what Nessy was wearing and almost fainted. That was the outfit Nessy was wearing (don´t mind the face, hust look at the outfit):
Yes, that´s a lot of black but there are small blue details. Purriry sold Nessy so many things that she was almost broke.
So that´s it for the first 5 months in Eldarya, but there is a lot more. I will slowly add more info about everything and everyone. Maybe I will write some fanfiction chapters or something, but I´m scared that my english will be to bad.
Still I hope you like this post and want to know more about Nessy! Thanks for reading!
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You've single-handedly convinced me with that "Worst parts of Facebook/Reddit Tolkien fandom" post to never set foot outside of Tumblr ever. I know Twitter is The Real Blue Hell but damn I never guessed it would be that bad.
Part of the problem with Facebook is its older demographic. People are a lot more conservative than on Tumblr and ready to dismiss fanfiction because they conflate it with “gay smut” and convince themselves that “Tolkien wouldn’t have wanted that” is a valid reason to think something shouldn’t exist. Basically you get boomer culture mixed into fandom culture.
Reddit has an overabundance of edgy teenage boys, the very demographic a lot of fantasy and sci-fi already caters to. They’re the people who’ll throw a hissy fit over a video game having a female or black protagonist or an lgbt side character - why would they care about fanfiction, a genre mostly written by women and marginalised groups?
Tumblr, for all its weird discourse and bots, is a place that values and encourages storytelling and creativity, partly because of its format where the reblog system makes it easy to share art and writing one likes without it losing the connection to the original author/artist, but partly because such a large part of the demographic consists of people who are used to the fact that if they want representation in media, they’ll have to make it themselves. And when I talk about representation here, it’s not just about “character with my gender/skin colour/sexual orientation/disability is present in the story”, it’s also about the kind of story being told and the way the story is told. People on Facebook and Reddit will ask “Who would win if Fëanor and Sauron fought?” and people on Tumblr will ask “Did Fëanor care more about his father or the silmarils?” The former is about numbers, battle stats, a glorified game of pokemon. The latter is about emotion, fatal flaws, greed, ambition and love - all the ingredients necessary to make a great story.
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I Would Have You Kneel
(a Russingon poem, inspired by In a Jeweled Crown and written for @absynthe--minded , who got me into this ship and made me feel things. AO3 link here! )
***
he takes your hair in his hand and pulls
- gold shatters upon ebony.
he looks at you,
his eyes are the stars ever-shining;
you would give him everything.
he is the beat of your heart,
he is the bone of your body,
he is the air in your lungs.
you would give him everything,
but he asks for nothing.
his fire devours; inferno of thoughts.
he is fire; he is kindled,
he will melt your flesh,
he will melt the expression of your face
into a puddle of nothing but satisfaction,
leave you charred and unrecognisable
and you will thank him for it
because he is the only one
that pulls at the raven strings of
your hair
and ends up playing the melody
of the golden strings
of your heart
and of your whole being.
you know he is no God
- none of the Pantheons would have him,
broken and in pieces as he is.
still, you are devoted to him.
the power you wield by daylight
you yield to him at first darkening of night.
he takes you in his arms
and you give him your heart
- you know no other way
than to give yourself over fully;
he takes you over completely.
burning glaciers capture you;
his eyes never stray.
you give him your all
and he needn't even ask;
he needn't ever ask.
he is no God
- he asks for nothing
(he expects everything)
and yet you kneel before him
(how can you not?)
because you've always known -
beauty like that is made to be worshiped.
he is no God
- yet his benevolence is for you only.
he cups your jaw in hand of iron,
he bites your lip in euphoria;
- you spill your blood on the altar of him;
you need nothing in return
because you've always known:
- this cannot last;
- he is not whole;
- you are not broken;
- one does not ask favours of Gods.
***
Any feedback is appreciated! :)
#poetry#tolkien inspired poetry#my poetry#russingon#effervescentdragonwrites#for absynthe#fanfiction#fanfiction poetry#can also be read as gen#but its important to say where the inspiration came from#the silmarillion#love poem#but make it silmarillion#maedhros#maitimo#findekano#fingon#finweans#effervescentdragonrants
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... autocorrect hits again! It was BOROMIR, not brownie. I was referring to the discussion about his character you had with absyhte.
Hello again!! Is it Boromir-loving hours? Yes, it’s Boromir-loving hours.
I have. A LOT of thoughts about him. I’m writing a Boromir/Théodred fic now, because when I have thoughts I express them through smutty fanfiction, which I think is very cool of me.
After uh, several hours of conversation with @absynthe--minded, I’ve come to some conclusions that I cannot shake, and don’t want to, because they really inform my perception of him as a character. This is probably going to be out of order, but, uh, well, this isn’t school and you’re not getting a formal essay out of me.
Boromir in Fellowship has been watching his father fall--but not in the way he thinks. He’s 41 years old; he’s watched his father govern his entire life. But only recently does he see the way his father governs change. He has no way of knowing that his father has a Palantir, or that he could be corrupted through it, even if only corrupted to a lack of hope. (By the way, that’s the corruption of Denethor I see most plainly--not an erosion of his morals, but an erosion of his hope. Lack of Estel, I’ve seen some people say, though not expressly about him.) So Boromir has been fighting on the front lines of Gondor since he was a teen, and has recently, without much external change that he can see, watched his father go from being Morgoth’s Mightiest Foe, seeing his father basically as a Fingolfin-sort of figure, waging a constant, unending stalemate with Mordor, to his father suddenly acting as if they’re post-Bragollach. I can’t imagine the terror, the anxiety, the despair that would inspire, to see someone you’ve looked up to as a rock against The Enemy your whole life, your leader, your inspiration, suddenly start behaving as if it’s only a matter of time until you all lose everything you’ve fought tooth and nail for.
Boromir thinks his father is essentially always right--and chooses to follow Aragorn anyway. This is a bit more headcanon, but has to do with Boromir’s acceptance of Aragorn. So, I think deep down, Boromir knows that Denethor II isn’t going to want to give up Stewardship. Also on the surface. Because of all the times he’s basically said, you know, the Dunedain have left us to defend alone, no one helps us, we’re the Only Thing standing between Mordor and Total Devastation of the world. That’s very much Denethor II’s identity, at this point. If Boromir had showed up with the Rohirrim at his back ready to assist as allies, Denethor II would probably have been weird about it, because in his mind, he’s the only thing keeping Sauron at bay. And Boromir still swears to Aragorn with his last breath. Even in the books, where he tells Aragorn, “Save my people,” he’s commending the soul of Gondor--its people--to Aragorn, rather than saying something like “Help my Father,” or even “Destroy Sauron,” etc. With his final breath, he chooses to trust, which is huge, given that in my perception...
Denethor II doesn’t want Boromir to be a big thinker. Again, this is headcanon, but I think it’s borne out. Boromir is noted as being unfond of learning, romance, etc, preferring “arms and warfare” to all of this. While I think a good portion of that is natural inclination, I also think Denethor II sees him that way, and encourages it. He doesn’t want another son to question what he does, he wants his son to be a faithful lieutenant and follow orders without wondering whether they’re right or wrong. Boromir isn’t known for creativity and decision-making, he’s known for being told what the simplest situation is and achieving it at whatever the cost. I’m not calling him stupid here, but he’s not clever, either. He’s not crafty or innovative. He’s a weapon in his father’s hands, and his father likes that, because deep down, Denethor II knows Faramir is a lot more like him, and that’s why they butt heads. He treats Faramir more like an heir--constantly evaluated, challenged, found wanting, because he’s supposed to replace him someday, whereas he treats Boromir as an extension of himself, his Longer Arm.
“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
Faramir loves not the sword for its sharpness, the arrow for its swiftness, the warrior for his glory. Denethor II does love the sword for its sharpness, loves the arrow for its swiftness, the warrior for his glory. Boromir is the sword loved for its sharpness, the arrow loved for its swiftness, the warrior loved for his glory.
#Boromir#replies#also it would be good if Boromir and Théodred kissed#that's the final conclusion#lotr
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L,M and R for the author ask?
L. favourite fic of yours?
I think probably my Russingon Fake Dating AU <3 I just had so much fun writing it - and I’m writing Finno’s POV currently which is a joy to return to ^-^
M. least favourite fic of yours?
oh man that’s tough...probably some of my older stuff, I know have some #Cringe warrior cats fanfiction that is still up on FFN...
R. link your favourite fic of all-time.
I’m assuming this is a favorite fic by someone else? that’s a practically impossible question, tbh, but I can give a few I come back to again and again (it’s lots of Russingon lmao):
Passion and Anxious Care by LiveOakWithMoss (modern AU Russingon)
Your colors by @elesianne (Russingon fluff)
cliffs of fall by @arrivisting (Russingon/Maedhros angst)
commit (to the bit) by elftrash (Russingon fake dating AU)
In a Jeweled Crown by @absynthe--minded (Russingon fealty kink)
Shameless by @quinngreyy (Turgoldo first time)
there’s more, probably - check out my bookmarks on AO3 for more of my favorites!
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Thanks to dear @inwiste for the tag! Here’s my fanfiction preferences. Create your own here!
Tagging @absynthe--minded (I know yours is ready :D), @arofili, @estelanel and @spectralarchers!
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posted on archive of our own, revised 13 June 2022
When Findekáno Astaldo Ñolofinwion discovers that his husband Nelyafinwë Russandol Maitimo Fëanárion has been taken captive by Moringotto, he is faced with two choices: abandon hope and accept the death of his love, or strike out in the face of political infighting to bring him home.
(more details below the cut)
If you’ve read this story before, you’re not going to find anything too new here. I’ve finally come down on the K side of C/K, so ‘Macalaurë’ is now ‘Makalaurë,’ as it always should have been. Some grammatical errors, formatting strangeness, and word choice have been corrected, and I made some minor changes to phrasing to better reflect my updated style. This is the first of several updates I’ll be doing, chapter by chapter, before resuming regular writing.
fancast: Freema Agyeman as Findekáno, Zazie Beetz as Írissë, Haatepah Clearbear as Ñolofinwë, Chiara Scelsi as Lalwendë, Michael Hudson as Turukáno, Elle Fanning as Itarillë
#tolkien#silmarillion#silmarillion fanfiction#russingon#russingon fanfiction#blessed hands#absynthe's fanfiction#absynthe's graphics
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1, 9, 20
1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?
I have three current projects, one of which I’m near the end of, the other two of which are long-term.
The one I’m near the end of is “Dog Star”, a historical-xenofiction novella about Laika, the first and most famous of the Soviet space dogs. The POV switches back and forth between her and a composite character of the various scientists and veterinarians who worked with her, in the lead-up to her launch on Sputnik II in November 1957. It’s also an allegory for clerical abuse, with a lot of attention paid to the ways the humans around Laika attempt to situate and justify their treatment of her politically and ideologically.
The long-term projects are the two that you can read about here! The second is one you’ve probably heard about at some point from Absynthe as well.
9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?
For some reason I find short concepts easier for fanfiction and long concepts easier for original fiction. “WIP #1″ from the post I linked above (the actual title is Portal of the Sky) broke the million-word mark years ago, wheareas only one of my fics on AO3 is longer than four chapters. I’m capable of either pantsing or plotting depending on the story and I’m genuinely not sure which I prefer in the abstract; what I can tell you is that Absynthe, who I’m pretty sure is a plotter, made sure that “WIP #2″ (the actual title is Silhouettes) was very well sketched out before we put pen to paper.
20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)
Already answered!
Fun meta asks for writers
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Those are some of the looks I assembled for my OC, Alinta. I disregarded big items as those looks are if she really existed in the game. So ‘t’hat’s not how I usually dress her as my game avatar :3
This is for my fanfiction (if I ever start writing because lazyness is my middle name).
She is from the Shadow guard, but spend her time mostly with Absynthe guard members, because she is a doctor (was studying to be one before she came to eldarya). So she works mostly with Ewelein. Looks are by order:
-Working on the infirmary/alchemy lab
-Casual
-Formal
-Casual
-Formal
-Casual
-Shadow guard mission
-Semi formal/ Formal
-Shadow guard mission
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Guess it’s about time to introduce my second Guardian before my follower meter hits 300.
Everyone, meet Najat: my Guardian from the French server who’ll also debut in the fanfiction I’ve been dropping not-too-subtle hints about.
Here’s a sneak preview of her story.
Name: Najat Maazouzi
Age (at the beginning of the story): 28
Birthday: January 28
Height: 1.65 m (5′ 5′’)
Guard: Absynthe (former)
Lineage: Full human
Occupation: Veterinary surgeon. Her main job is to perform both general and emergency surgery on familiars. (But given the anatomical overlap, she’s sometimes called to treat faery personnel as well in a pinch.) Most of Najat’s patients are tamed familiars injured in the line of duty, so she also provides follow-up treatments—such as specialized diets, herbal medicine, and physical therapy-- to speed their recovery. A small fraction of her patients though are feral familiars who’ve run afoul of traps and hunters, treated in a second compound before being released or rehabilitated and placed for adoption. Najat is a busy vet who rarely enters the field herself, but when she does, she prefers to act as the transport tech to ferry injured familiars, personnel, and refugees out of the skirmish.
Skills: Surgery, physical therapy, and traditional medicine for familiars (quasi Absynthe training) || Familiar rehabilitation (quasi-Absynthe training) || Driving large vehicles (quasi Absynthe training) || Archery (Absynthe training) || Meditation and yoga || Amateur sewing
(To read more, hit the blue ‘Photo’ button on the side of this post!)
Weaknesses: Hydrophobia || Untrained in hand-to-hand combat || Strictly pacifist || Finds it difficult to say ‘no’ if faced with someone or some creature in need of help || Rarely understood by others because of her idiosyncratic spiritual philosophies || Reflexively honest || Prone to questioning her capacity as a leader
Weapons of Choice: Specially-trained and outfitted familiars || Bow and arrow (used mostly for warning shots or non-lethal pinning) || Fast-acting sedatives || Non-lethal deterrent sprays and high-frequency whistles || Diplomacy || Discreet gifts/bribes and service networks || Metaphors and (corny) wordplays, which help cover her slips into honesty
Familiars: Jerome (male Becola) || Jamila (female Beriflore)
(Former) Crush: Ezarel, though she was also among the top three most regular targets for his jokes on a daily basis. But leave it to someone like Najat to let localized chaos roll off her back with a shrug and a little smile.
Background Story:
A young French-Moroccan veterinary surgeon, who emigrated to Paris with her mother and rambunctious siblings when she was eight. Their family was far from well-off during those early years, with her mother returning to school for a law degree under a foreign student visa while working to support three kids. Najat, as the second-oldest child (and the most temperamentally-stable), was obliged to bring in extra cash however she can from an early age. She also learnt-- at a early age-- the benefits of a grin-and-bear-it approach to stress, as expected from the child who was broadly considered ‘the responsible one’ and her mother’s de facto deputy.
Like most kids, she started off with cleaning apartment units, and looking after the retirees, young children, and pets scattered throughout their building. The last one was a job that she never quite dropped even after their family’s fortunes changed with her mother finally winning French citizenship, and then scoring a barrister’s position in a public law firm. Applying for veterinary school, instead of a more prestigious medical school, marked her first break from her family’s wishes.
Though she didn’t quite lose the guilt at ‘aiming lower than she should have’, Najat took to the veterinary field like a fish to water, thanks to a lifelong fascination with animals and early experience as an on-call pet-sitter. She was in process of opening a private clinic-- moving on from the under-equipped animal hospital she worked at, and hoping to finally disprove her family’s notion that pet-care was a lesser medical field-- when her mother and older sister perished in a plane crash while holidaying in the Mediterranean. This was followed in the same year by her rebellious younger brother marrying an even younger woman he met over the internet and moving to distant Mauritius.
With her immediate family whittled down and scattered, her impetus to open a private practice faded, and Najat retreated to her work at the (lackluster) animal hospital she was a resident in, taking on more midnight shifts there to fill her hours. Which was when she came across an extremely-suspicious animal that looked like it was born from the pages of a cryptozoologist’s notebook… from the 17th century. Brought in, with its hind legs crushed, by an equally-suspicious looking owner who refused to doff his hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses as he begged for her help, and her silence.
Najat was never all that good at saying ‘no’ to people who would stress the word ‘please’. Even when the owner of her ‘private patient’ asked for one last favor before they left Paris for good, which involved her minivan, a trail map of the mountains, and a cloudy night.
Search and rescue teams found only the minivan three weeks later.
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Self-rec meme
@harkerling tagged me in this a long time ago, and I’ve been dithering over it instead of actually posting anything. But I dither no longer! Here are some of my personal favorites of my own fanfiction.
He Sold His Soul for Rock and Roll: (Sk8er B0i) The request was for a Ska8er B0i fanfic where the titular Skater Boy was a villain and the Ballet Girl was right to not date him, but at some point in the writing it took a weird turn. “He’s a rock star, right?” I thought. “What’s the best way for a rock star to be a villain?” So now Skater Boy is basically pop punk Phantom of the Opera plus Faust, because that is how my mind works. (Ironically, I’m not sure I fulfilled the villain request very well- my Skater Boy isn’t malicious, just a dumb kid who got in over his head.)
The thing I really wanted to do with this story, though, was preserve what I liked about the song when I was a teenager- the snarky, high-school-hating voice of the narrator- while making her perhaps a bit less petty about who her man crushed on ten years ago.
The Dream Journal of Lucy Westenra: (Dracula) This was sort of a response fic to all the scholarly claims that Lucy Westenra is clearly enjoying Dracula’s nightly visits. I don’t know about you, but when I read the book I saw a girl who was growing sicker and more frightened by the night. This is a story about that.
Opera Fantastique: (Robert Englund Phantom of the Opera) I wrote this for a morbid fanfic contest which seems to have fizzled out before it finished. I’m glad I had a reason to write this, though! Running with the idea that Christine is flashing back to a past life, here are some more storylets for her to relive in which she crossed paths with a dark musical demon.
The World’s Greatest Anarchist Mind: (A Study in Emerald/The Great Mouse Detective) The premise may be silly, but I did my best to play it as straight as possible. How, I wondered, would Basil and Ratigan’s roles be reversed in a world ruled by the Old Ones? What happened to Olivia? What is Irene Adler (and by extension, her mouse counterpart) up to? And could the fact of sentient rodents be somehow tied to a world of dark magic?
From the Notes of Doctor Usanagi: (Fallout: New Vegas) Everyone talks about how odd and callous the Karma Meter is in these games. Maybe it feels like that for the characters, too.
The Yellow Song: (Phantom of the Opera/The King in Yellow) I like doing Lovecraft pastiches (though TKiY predates Lovecraft.) So sue me. The important thing is that I couldn’t believe this idea hadn’t been used before.
I’m not sure anymore which of my followers writes fanfiction, so I’m tagging a few I either know or think do: @absynthe--minded, @ladybedivere, @gothiccharmschool
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Prince of Gold, Prince of Stone: A Boromir/Théodred fanfiction
Rating: E
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Boromir/Théodred
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4697
This is entirely @absynthe--minded‘s fault.
Moodboard by @admirablemonster
#Boromir#Théodred#Boromir/Théodred#Borodred#is that what we're calling this?#my fanfiction#Lord of the Rings#This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction after 20 years in the fandom#amazing
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Blessed Hands Will Break Me cast 1/?: House Ñolofinwë
#tolkien#silmarillion#silmarillion fanfiction#nolofinwëans#blessed hands#silm fancast#poor Itarillë elf genetics are weird as shit#absynthe's fanfiction#absynthe's graphics
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