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materassassino · 7 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🤍

Acid on the Horizon [Voltron, Keith/Lance & Shiro/Allura, 2017, 29,975 words, rated M]

With Shiro gone and only Keith left, the Jaeger Gridelin Leo needs a new co-pilot. Enter Lance, a cadet Marshal Allura has seen potential in. And far away, on the horizon, something stirs.

The first multichapter fanfic I finished. Pacific Rim Au. I was super proud of myself for finishing this one, and I still think it's pretty good even if it's, you know.. fucking Voltron.

2. Kick the Beam [Dragon Age, Fenris/Garrett Hawke, 2013, 7,823 words, rated M]

Leandra wants Hawke to get married. Hawke, however, is head over heels for a belligerent, broody elf. You can see where this is going.

I remember this being super fun to write, especially Hawke's pov, he's just such a fun character. It's a little old but still a very fun little read.

3. Stitch by Stitch [DC Comics, Jason Todd/Roy Harper, 2019, 17,843 words, rated E]

Jason is injured and finds a safe harbour in Roy Harper. An old teenage crush comes bubbling to the surface, even through Jason's innumerable personal demons. There is also the complication of Roy's daughter Lian.

Still very happy with this one, getting to explore Jason before a tentative rapprochement with the Batfam was great. Fitting pre-52 Roy with Jason was a fascinating puzzle to figure out, and I adored writing Lian.

4. The Baffled King Composing [The Silmarillion, Maedhros/Fingon, 2021, 13,007 words, rated E]

Great deeds have rekindled the dormant flame of hope within Maedhros. With one Silmaril taken back, he is now certain that the Enemy is not invincible. His plan now is to unite all the peoples of Beleriand under a single banner, and together they will all be victorious against Morgoth. The Shadow will be lifted, and the Oath will be fulfilled. And then, finally, he and Fingon can rest easy again.

I am so grateful to the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang for giving me the opportunity to partner up with the wonderful @nikosheba and make something amazing I'm still so proud of. It launched me back into writing properly.

5. Ever Decreasing Circles [Star Wars, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, 2022, 112,190 words, rated: E]

His newest (small, green) student has been completely inconsolable, and so Luke Skywalker decides to track down the Mandalorian Grogu calls father, however long it takes. Meanwhile, Din Djarin is coming to terms with the new, painful absence of the most important being in his life, and this damn Darksaber.

This one kept getting bigger and bigger as I was writing it. It's the longest fic I've ever written and I proved to myself I could do it. The urge to go back and edit some bits and pieces is strong (I'll get round to that when I print myself a physical copy) and the way I view Luke changed like halfway through, stupidly, but I'm still like... proud of myself for writing the Romantic Sewer fic and also starting a series which now sits at 176k+ words.

#self shilling #reccing my own fics #hmmmm #pixie writes #pixie answers #I could have put my Hetalia fic here but i didn't #it's a runner up I guess #toccata was wild

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cycas · 9 months

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Random meme thingy

Tagged by @verecunda, thank you!

Last song: Mike Oldfield - Moonlight Shadow (1983)

Currently watching: an episode of the UK ITV police drama 'The Bill' from, I'm guessing, 1984. because the jukebox in the pub just played Moonlight Shadow.

It's full of iffy/sometimes downright corrupt/sometimes wankerish /sometimes doing-their-best-and-screwing-up cops, a sharp eye on the background impacts of sexism, racism and (a bit later) homophobia. Surprisingly good understated acting, tons of drinking and smoking at work, and generally 80's London's grimy underbelly in the days before phones and CCTV. A half-forgotten gem.

Currently reading: On Angel Mountain by Brian John, which is a novel about a Pembrokeshire squire's wife around the time of the Battle of Fishguard in 1797. Good local colour, but so far probably not on the re-read list.

Current obsession: stalled on this one. Obsession is such a strong word! But maybe sea swimming, right at the moment? Water temperature is around 18 degrees C, so pleasantly chill.

Tagging nine people (no pressure!) : @starspray , @curumeaningwitch, @goldenshadowofthesun, @erdariel, @gemeingeist @caenith @nikosheba @what-would-elrond-say, @starlight-pineapple

#random meme #the bill

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 1 year

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I posted 5,504 times in 2022

440 posts created (8%)

5,064 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@itsallwearecalledtodo

@marzipanandminutiae

@carys-the-ninth

@lilaccatholic

@nikosheba

I tagged 5,503 of my posts in 2022

#the locked tomb - 487 posts

#give me love give me memes - 364 posts

#fanart - 340 posts

#art - 259 posts

#dracula - 202 posts

#clothing - 195 posts

#gif - 184 posts

#animorphs - 176 posts

#reblog bait - 169 posts

#umineko no naku koro ni - 167 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#my roommate on the rosa canina arc: c'mon shimako! you have to run! you embody the body politic; you're the leviathan! this isn't up to you!

My Top Posts in 2022:

Between the text of the first three Locked Tomb books themselves, the back matter in Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth, and a few interviews, I think that Tamsyn Muir has provided us with enough information to semi-confidently predict at least one major plot element in Alecto the Ninth. It has to do with Harrow, the Resurrection, and what’s beyond or underneath the stoma.

In the Gideon the Ninth back matter Tamsyn says that Harrow is “named very specifically for the harrowing of Hell” (GtN p. 468 in the paperback). The harrowing of Hell is an event in the traditional Christian theology of Jesus’ death and resurrection where He descends into hell and brings salvation to righteous people who died before His time. As Kate Mary Warren’s “Harrowing of Hell” article in the Catholic Encyclopedia of 1907-1912 puts it:

This is the Old English and Middle English term for the triumphant descent of Christ into hell (or Hades) between the time of His Crucifixion and His Resurrection, when, according to Christian belief, He brought salvation to the souls held captive there since the beginning of the world. According to the "New English Dictionary" the word Harrowing in the above connection first occurs in Ælfric's homilies, about A.D. 1000; but, long before this, the descent into hell had been related in the Old English poems connected with the names of Cædmon and Cynewulf. Writers of Old English prose homilies and lives of saints continually employ the subject, but it is in medieval English literature that it is most fully found, both in prose and verse, and particularly in the drama.

The Biblical citation for this is I Peter 4:6, which describes Christ preaching “even to the dead.” Historically the way this was understood was that people before Christ who had died without “deserving” hell but for whom Jesus Himself hadn’t died yet went to a morally and hedonically neutral underworld space like we see in Ancient Greek religion. It was this particular space in hell that was harrowed. More recently the view has been advanced that He just emptied the place and gave out salvation like Oprah giving out cars, and there is some early evidence for this understanding too (Paschal Homily of St. John Chrysostom; I Corinthians 15). In the interview that Tamsyn did on the Nona the Ninth release day, she tells us bluntly that “Harrowhark is in Hell”.

So that establishes--in my opinion--that Harrow is, is or is going to go, beyond the stoma and release someone, or something, trapped there. One might think based on what we’ve seen of the stoma so far that this would be a very bad thing. “[W[here the things are that eat us,” as Ianthe puts it (GtN p. 382), seems like an awful place filled with awful people, or beings--the thing that possesses Colum in the climax of Gideon the Ninth, the horrifying-looking stoma itself, and of course the devils that the Empire is fighting on Antioch and that have made it to the Ninth House by the end of Nona the Ninth.

But hell is by definition a weird and horrible place with weird and horrible things in it. What if, in the case of at least some of the “things that eat us,” that isn’t their fault, and isn’t how it’s meant to be?

I’m indebted to my IRL best friend and Locked Tomb pusher @mayasaura for pulling these quotes and page numbers for me, as well as realizing a certain numerical discrepancy in the first place:

Twice in the first two books, “ten billion” is given as a figure of people being “avenged” by Blood of Eden (and a certain evil cougar well-known to us all). Cytherea declares herself the “vengeance of the ten billion” on GtN p. 405. Wake gives the same figure on HtN p. 465. Yet suddenly in Nona we get a figure of eleven billion as the capacity for Jod and the OG Lyctors’ cryo ships (p. 13), and ten billion as the figure that The Trillionaires “le[ft]....behind to die, having stolen financing and support and materials” (p. 395). There are a few possibilities here: either The Trillionaires took a billion people with them in their own fleet, Jod is very bad at math for a scientific and medical genius, or the eleven billion capacity for the cryo fleet was supposed to give extra room just to be safe (this is what I think is likeliest). Either way there’s a slight ambiguity about the pre-Resurrection population of the Solar System in general, which, when I noticed it, got me thinking about the other big ambiguity with population figures in these books: the fact that the Nine Houses ten thousand years in the future do not have a population in the high ten digits or even close to it; even the mid-sized individual Houses only have a few million people each (NtN p. 30; the Seventh and Eighth Houses sum to nine million), and the total population is maybe a hundred million at the very most.

So where is everybody?

Jod did not resurrect everybody who lived in the Solar System when he and Alecto “went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar” (NtN p. 409). We know this for a fact; this is where the neo-Niners came from when he fulfilled his promise to Harrow to repopulate her House (HtN p. 35-36). As Jod puts it, “I set many aside, for safety.” Whose safety from whom?

Here’s Jod describing what’s beyond the River in Harrow the Ninth (p. 340-341):

"A genuinely chaotic space--chaos in the meaning of the abyss as well as unfathomable...located at the bottom of the River. The Riverbed is studded with mouths that open at proximity of Resurrection Beasts, and no ghosts venture deeper than the bathyrhoic layer. Anyone who has entered a stoma has never returned. It is a portal to the place I cannot touch--somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless. You'll find very few ghosts sink as far as the barathron. If I believed in sin, I would say they died weighted down with sin, placing them nearer the trash space. That's what we've been using it for, in any case. That's where we put the Resurrection Beasts. The rubbish bin...with all the other dross."

Note the deeply dehumanizing and condemnatory language. Rubbish, dross, trash. “Very few ghosts” are down there, supposedly--but do we really think John Gaius would do that? Just pontificate to his Lyctors and tell lies? Lies about the number of pre-Resurrection people whom he’s hated and dehumanized for ten thousand years, the proportion of the human race that for whatever reason he thought couldn't or shouldn't hack it in his brave new thanergy-powered world?

I do. And I came away from Nona the Ninth with a more sympathetic view of his original intentions than did most of the fandom!

I think that at least some of what's on the other side of the stoma is, or are, the souls of the people Jod in his infinite wisdom decided not to resurrect. The world below the bed of the River is directly associated with hell both in the text of the series and in interviews with Tamsyn, and furthermore I think that Harrowhark is going to replicate her namesake's "triumphant descent” and free at least some of these souls, who are in turn at least as likely--probably likelier--to wreck up Jod and impose real consequences on him as Alecto is. I think that this fits the plot, the themes, and The Locked Tomb's overall structure as a story from its cosmology and theology right down to the names of its main characters.

In ten months we’ll see if I’m right!

290 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

I should read those low fantasy Byzantine girlboss books. Half a dozen zillennial Catholic feminist mutuals of mine can't all be wrong.

352 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

Reblog this and tag it with whether you say “aunt” to rhyme with “haunt” or with “cant”.

636 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

People who haven't read Dracula before and aren't familiar with its reception history should be aware that Jonathan crowing about how "up-to-date" shorthand is starts a theme that will continue for the rest of the book. Stoker is very interested in pitting then-cutting-edge technologies--the train schedules, the shorthand, and later on things like recorded sound, blood transfusions, and electric lights--against his folkloric vampires. The book is such a great encapsulation of its period today because Stoker set out to make it an encapsulation of his own time when he wrote it.

742 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The P in Quincey P. Morris stands for Pardner.

813 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#gotta track down that one untagged post...this is going to drive me nuts #personal #blue hell #gif

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lorenfangor · 3 years

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Elfangor/Loren fic prompt (no need to go Full Universe, a snippet is fine!): Tobias & the kids are sent back to 1983 via Sario Rip just long enough for him to meet his parents.

you asked for a snippet, a snippet is what you're getting, lol

"This mall is totally screwy," Rachel said, sitting back down beside Tobias and glancing around the food court. "There's a Chess King, and a Contempo Casuals?"

"Yeah, so what?" Marco asked, putting both his elbows on the table. "What does that tell us?"

"It tells us that we're back in time," Rachel said. "Seriously back in time, you know?"

"I mean, I think the Cretaceous, or the Battle of Agincourt, probably counts as 'seriously' back in time," Jake said. "What's the big deal about the stores, anyway?"

"It means it's the 80s," Cassie said unexpectedly, and everyone looked at her, surprised. "What?"

"How do you know what year it is?" Jake asked at the same time that Rachel said "Obviously it's the 80s."

"There's a Software Etc.?" Cassie said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "They got rid of those in '94, didn't they?"

"And there's an Orange Julius," Tobias said. "I thought those were only through Dairy Queen."

"What is an Orange Julius?" Ax asked. "Is it edible?"

"Yeah, if you really like OJ," Marco told him. "Okay, so it's the 80s. What does that mean for us?"

"It means we've gotta be careful," Jake said, bringing his voice down. "Really careful. Like, is this still our mall, the one in town?"

"Yeah," Rachel said. "The layout is the same even though the stores are different, and the food court tables are the same too, look."

"I don't know what that says about our food court," Marco cut in, eyeing the formica dubiously, "but I don't like it."

"Oh, come on, it's obviously been cleaned," Rachel said. "I mean. I think it has."

All eyes turned to the tabletop. Silence reigned, all six of them staring at the table, until finally Cassie shook her head with a sound of disgust.

"This is disgusting," she said. "You're all being disgusting. I'm gonna be thinking about this forever, thank you Marco."

"A pleasure to be of service to you," he quipped, grinning. "I think we should - !"

"Shut up," Jake said, waving his hand suddenly, cutting off the chatter. "Everybody, shut up, and listen."

"What?" Marco asked. "Somebody asking why there's a bunch of barefoot kids running around in bike shorts?"

The glare Jake sent him made him shut up, and the six of them clustered together, glancing over their shoulders.

"Okay, so what's so special about color graphics?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "It's not like you need color to do things like code, or type, or even play games."

Tobias turned around in his seat, zeroing in on the source of the sound. A woman, maybe twenty years old, was sitting a few tables over from them. She had long blonde hair that waved in the way he knew meant hours of careful hairspray and curling iron offensive maneuvers, and she was wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt tucked into peg-rolled jeans that were a shade of blue he knew Rachel was going to hate. It was her voice they'd heard.

Across from her, shoving mozzarella sticks into his mouth as fast as Ax would usually eat a cinnamon bun, was a tall, sandy-haired man who even Tobias had to admit was almost too handsome, rugged and chiseled in that underwear-model way that kind of crossed the line back into beautiful. He swallowed at least two of them at once and answered her.

"What's special is that colorized computer displays are over a thousand years old," he said, leaning forward and taking her hands. "And I'm tired of dealing with obsolete equipment. I already have to pretend like I care about the latest updates from IBM at work, why should I have an Apple II that runs slower than molasses?"

"I don't know," the woman answered, leaning forward to match him, grinning at him. "Maybe I like it when you curse at circuit boards." She slid one of her hands out of his, reached up, and dabbed at something on his chin. "You had marinara sauce on your face."

Something sparked between them when they smiled at each other, something electric that ran through the air. It half-escaped Tobias, but somehow what little he did catch pushed him to put his arm around Rachel while he watched.

"Color graphics are over a thousand years old?" Marco stage-whispered, looking from Ax to Jake to Ax again. "What the hell?"

The man dipped his head down, quicker than lighting, and licked up the sauce from the woman's finger. She burst into a shriek of laughter, almost pulling away from him, but he grabbed her wrist with his other hand and levered his weight onto his elbows, leaning in to kiss her.

<Stop teasing me,> he said, without using words, and Tobias thought his heart was going to hammer itself out of his ribcage. Everyone else was flinching, staring at each other across the table, open-mouthed and wide-eyed; he slumped down out of his chair onto the floor, cracking his head against the linoleum.

He knew that voice.

"Tobias?" Rachel cried as the chair slid back with a screech. "Are you okay?"

He ignored her and rolled onto his stomach, crawling out between the metal legs of the chair, staggering up to his feet and lurching across the food court to the pair of seemingly-human lovers.

"You..." he began, staring at the woman and the man as they jerked apart and looked up at him, fully aware of the fact that he sounded like a crazy person. "You're - you're Alan Fangor, aren't you?"

"... yeah...?" the man said, sounding guarded. There was something in his eyes that spoke of sharp edges.

"I - fuck, shit, fucking hell - I know you," Tobias said. He was hanging on to the edge of the table like his life depended on it, and his eyes were so full of tears already that everything was a brightly colored blur.

"Alan," the woman - mother, he realized, my fucking mother - said carefully, "we should go."

"No!" Tobias answered, shaking his head. "No, please, I just - !" He sucked in air, sinking to his knees, half-certain this was some kind of trap and he was seconds away from death, or else that he'd never left that damnable room with Taylor and her torture device. He shook his head, trying to look up at what he thought was probably his father. Whatever happens, if we snap back, if this is some Time Matrix bullshit, if this is the Ellimist - just let me say this, just let me hear them -

"Elfangor," he said, dropping his voice to a near-whisper. "Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul." His voice lilted as he spoke; Aximili had taught him the counterintuitive pronuciation as it was said aloud. "I know you." He blinked, and for a moment the tears were clear, and he was staring at his father's human face.

"I'm your son," he said. "From - from the future. 1998. I'm your fucking kid."

#replies #nikosheba #animorphs fanfiction #elfangor/loren

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arofili · 3 years

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edit requests ☆ beleg cúthalion ☆ for @nikosheba

He was great of growth and goodly-limbed, but lithe of girth, and lightly on the ground his footsteps fell as he fared towards them, all garbed in grey and green and brown— a son of the wilderness who wist no sire.

―The Lay of the Children of Húrin

#tolkienedit #oneringnet #silm #silmarillion #silmedit #the silmarillion #nikosheba #editreq #my edit #tefain nin #beleg #beleg cuthalion #beleg strongbow

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andalitean · 1 year

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🚀🏀

Elfangor: this is difficult because i feel like i have enjoyed the life journey ive been on but if i had to change anything it would to be more intentional with keeping up with my friendships from high school (and now college). i really do value having people in my corner that i know deeply and i wish i had put in time to flesh out some of those friendships earlier because it gets hard when you dont see them very often anymore :(

Michael jordan: not gonna lie i was not alive in the 90s and i was a child in the early 00s but i had to put this question on there because i in fact did go to the same uni as michael jordan (dont doxx me!!!!😩) and we were actually good at basketball this year so i felt like i was really connecting to jake being a michael jordan stan. i also love the star wars references and wonder what marco thought of the prequels (he probably liked seeing natalie portman in them)

#asks #nikosheba #thanks!

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absynthe--minded · 3 years

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Could I beg something about your “Aragorn’s Upsetting Haircut” headcanon? No pressure of course!!

(this is going to be presented in more than one installment, but I couldn’t resist sharing! a few things: this fic is consistent with the rest of my personal canon, and it draws upon the headcanon that Aragorn and Arwen married by elvish standards upon Cerin Amroth but still consider themselves betrothed by Mannish standards.)

When Arwen came down into the Valley again, the Sun was low in the sky, hovering just above the tops of the Chithaeglir and casting long shadows across the trees and the river below. She could tell, immediately, when she crossed their borders, passing through the wards easily. There was Song here, bound into the rock and the roots of the mountains, curling about her and pulling the weariness from her body. Celeg seemed easier too, slowing from a trot to a walk; she knew he could feel the change just as surely as she did. Come home, the Song whispered, threads of melody pulling her along the path toward the gleaming lights of her home. Come home, and be healed of your pains.

It would be easy - too easy - to slip the bounds of her body and bone, to cast herself upon the shadows and ride the winds down to her own bedroom window. The thought was tempting, and even more tempting when she considered the ache in her hip that hadn’t ceased since the skirmishes three weeks past had left her with a deep and ugly wound.

Her lord father had sent her out in search of four hobbits and - perhaps - her betrothed, her secret husband, all wandering in the wilds while ulaer pursued them. She was not alone, though she had departed first, weeks before the others. It was foresight that had driven her father to speak with her, and foresight that pushed her to saddle Celeg and leave Imladris under cover of darkness. Glorfindel had been the next to leave, far later, keeping close to the Road, traveling westward and anticipating that the servants of Sauron would not have left it far behind. Last were her brothers, abandoning their errantry, making for what Men called the Angle where Mitheithel and Bruinen met and merged. It had been her lot to travel north, and north she had gone, albeit in a disjointed, somewhat defiant fashion, moving from the Ettenmoors to the North Downs and then at last down to Sarn Ford and the Dúnedain she knew would be there.

Her guess had been that her betrothed, if he was with the hobbits, had met them at that border of the Shire, and had accompanied them up the Greenway to Bree before striking out into the wilderness. None of her travels had given any sign of him, and so it was in frustration and defeat that she had come to the encampment, seeking some tidings that might guide her, and found it in disarray.

Aragorn had been there - days past, departing after a disastrous attack by the ulaer that had left three men dead and four wounded, with Halbarad trying valiantly to maintain order and hold the border. He had left in a great haste, as if fleeing from their enemies, saying only that he was making for Bree. He was followed shortly after by Mithrandir, who had come and gone from the Shire like a grey cloud blown back and forth by a storm. It had been her aim to seek them out, and offer her strength in song and sword against the darkness.

Fate had not been so kind.

Sarn Ford had been attacked a second time while she was there, the enemies assailing it now flesh and blood. There were still evil Men who dwelt in the North and recalled the name of Angmar, and their blades were as formidable now as they had been in centuries past. Her voice had been needed, the night and the river turning upon the would-be intruders and her ancestress’s blood sparking in her veins to claim the borders, but she was no true soldier for all her skill with a blade, and her body was ruled by the limits of the Incarnates. The fighting had reached her, while she stood thigh-deep in rushing water and twined her words through its echoes of long-ago music, and someone now-dead had plunged a dagger into her hip. The wound would have been fatal if not for Halbarad, who had pulled her back from the thick of the battle and seared it closed with the flat of a pan from the smoldering cooking-fire before she could bleed out. She had not ceased her singing, and her assailant found himself dragged beneath the surface of the Baranduin and drowned.

Two days were all she could spare, one to recover what strength she might and another to force her legs to obey her will. Halbarad had begged her to stay - what wrath their Chieftain might bring down upon them, he’d said, if his Lady died in the wilds when they might have saved her! But she was Lúthien’s heir, and would not be kept from his side, and no words would hold her in obligation. Celeg, for his part, was uninjured, having been kept from the fighting by his own good sense, and he gladly bore her northward a second time.

That had been twenty-one days ago, and each day had been fruitless and empty. She searched through the North Downs again, and the Weather Hills, and the Coldfells, growing more and more desperate with each setting Sun. She could feel the ulaer on the move, dreaming of their horses’ hooves thundering over the hard-packed ground of the Road even as she slept, and she could not ignore the fear rising in her like a spike that sought to pierce her heart. Her betrothed was a valiant man, and canny, and careful, but there were terrors that sought him out unlike any he had faced before, and the hobbits were almost certainly inexperienced travelers.

At last, she had been forced to admit defeat. The year was truly turning cold, and her food had been exhausted, and it had been nigh on two mortal months since her departure. She had hoped that whatever tenuous thread bound her to Aragorn would have led her to him, but the world was dark now, shielded by evil mists that clouded her thought and her heart, and the closed wound on her hip had begun to fester beneath its scar. So it was to home she had turned, leaving the fells behind her, coming back down into Imladris from the north. She had not slept in three days, blind almost to all beyond her body.

A fine daughter I am, she thought as Celeg made his way down the ridge, careful and steady. A fine wife, for that matter. But daughters of Lúthien did not pout, and they certainly did not cry from exhaustion.

The Valley was unusually quiet this afternoon. As always, the Bruinen sang, and the birds welcomed her, but her own folk were strangely absent on the pathways and in the trees. The wards still stood, so she knew there had not been some calamity, and there was no whisper of a siege on the air - it felt almost as if Tarnin Austa had arrived a second time in the same year, and all who dwelt within their borders had come into the house proper to celebrate.

Or to mourn, she thought, and made a face and refused to dwell on that fear.

The stables were just as quiet as the rest of Imladris, and she was able to dismount and lead Celeg back to his stall in peace. The great black gelding had borne her without complaint through the long weeks, and yet she could see in his ears and the swish of his tail that he was glad to be home.

“I know,” she murmured, opening the door and stepping inside, watching him look at her expectantly. “You’ll get a full grooming, I promise.” And then it’s a long bath for me, and a visit to my father regarding my hip.

“Allow me, my lady,” a second voice said, cutting through the silence. She flinched, shrinking back against her horse for half a heartbeat - it had been days on end since she’d heard another’s voice, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how detached from herself she had become. But she knew that voice, and shock and surprise were quick to take the place of fear.

“Glorfindel?” she asked, peering over the door to see her father’s captain leaning against a post. He was standing in another stall directly across from her, alongside Asfaloth, who was contentedly making short work of some hay. “You - !” Dismay stopped her, silencing her joy. There was only one reason he would have returned after so short a time away - he, too, had failed.

“I?” the ellon asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“You didn’t find them,” she said. “You’ve the same tale to tell as I.”

His face grew serious and yet lost none of its joy, and he opened the door to Asfaloth’s stall and stepped out of it, closing the latch behind him.

“No, my lady,” he told her, eyes shining as he spoke. “I’ve a different tale.”

“What?” she asked, motionless, unable to look away from him. She could see now that he was dressed for merrymaking and revelry, clad in bright scarlet and deep blue, his tunic gleaming with passing thread and his hair braided through with well-placed gems. “But - I found nothing, and surely I would have known if - !” If he were slain, if he lay dead, if the ulaer claimed him for their number…

“My lady,” Glorfindel said, one hand reaching out and taking her gloved one carefully. “I found him in the hills, and I have brought him home.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she sat down hard, sinking to the floor of the stable as her hip protested and relief flooded every inch of her body.

#absynthe's fanfiction #lord of the rings #tolkien #aragorn #arwen #nikosheba

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stormxpadme · 2 years

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For the weird writer asks: 4, 17, 28?

Weird Questions for Writers

1 - What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Serenity. It’s just beautiful. And it gets me into geek mood immediately.

17 - Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

You sure you want to open that can of worms? :P Oh God, don’t make Stormy talk about Weathered. It’s. It’s in the damn username, for Eru’s sake :D.

Weathered I and II are basically fix-its in the dimension of probably a million words each. They were born after barely-legal-Stormy saw X-Men and X2 and loved it and then was let down by a franchise in the shape of X3 for the first time so badly that I simply couldn’t go on without making this right. So what I did was establishing my favorite ship from that movie, giving my other fav character an OC girlfriend, shutting out everything happening in canon from X3 on and then pour Marvel comic and cartoon lore over the whole thing. As a child, long before these movies came out, I was already a big fan of series like Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends and Defenders of the Earth, so those characters had to go in that project, plus a few more characters I knew and liked from occasionally browsing a comic or a Marvel wiki. Mix all that together with the X-Men cartoon Dark Phoenix saga and you get what is being translated from German and uploaded on AO3 weekly at this point, because those movie characters from the first two flicks really, really finally deserve a proper Phoenix saga made by someone who actually cares about the lore and isn’t a coward.

There’s probably a lot from the 17 year timegap between Weathered I and Weathered II that won’t make it in the text, naturally. I might write one or the other oneshot though. And I’m alway hesitate to say “I won’t write this explicitely” in general, because I know myself. Like, I was also determined to not bring up in more than innuendos that one of the current team members used to work as a high end callboy, but that was before Dark Phoenix decided to out him to the others just for funsies. Look, I don't control my characters. So never say never.

Anyway, also thinking about a small oneshot series for a couple of the characters from the comics and cartoons to shine a light on their past in this world of mine since there’s many people like Shadowcat, Colossus, the Defenders, Siryn, Marrow and others that really only get a passing mention and only have a couple of lines, so Imma work out more about them in my head. And who knows, maybe there’ll be another whumptober oneshot collection this year that broadcasts those thoughts eventually. With dozens of characters from Marvelverse involved, there’s always someone around who just begs to be tortured.

28 - Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Going through my projects and realizing with a snort that Imma have to go with Thranduil here. He’s just the perfect combination of competence kink, Waldorf & Statler, drunk wine aunt, cooler than you, needs to be protected, and badass.

#stormys fanfics #nikosheba #love yaaaaa #sometimes stormy gets asked things

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fluffermckitty · 2 years

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Your Marco art you just posted is SO GOOD I FEEL LIKE I'M GOING FERAL, I love his expressions and his !!! I don't know!!! the look you gave him and the colors you chose and his style and his shape and I'm just going to lie down now, you are a gift to this fandom

thank you so so much, i'm so glad you like him! <3

#asks #nikosheba

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

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im pretending @dm3rv tagged me bcs i wanna see what i did and if theres a pattern :D

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3. (Sort by date posted.) If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have.

Carlos walked into the room decisively, a heavy feeling in his gut not abating. [x]

Lewis knows he shouldn't. [x]

It took Charles a long while to agree to be in a proper relationship with Carlos. [x]

It’s different now, when Sebastian isn’t on the grid. [x]

“What kind of fucking do you like the most?” [x]

Christian Horner knows who he is. [x]

Nico sometimes thinks it would be easier if this soulmate thing was something different, like the first words your soulmate says to you. [x]

Pierre tugs on maman’s hand timidly, and she looks at him, then leans down. [x]

Pierre knows who he is. [x]

"Which driver would make the best Team Principal?" [x]

there is quite obviously a pattern, and every time i say someone knows who they are, i am most probably lying. gonna tag @blorbocedes @stormxpadme @fingons-rad-harp @absynthe--minded @admirablemonster @nikosheba @milflewis @lewishamil10n @unabashedlycasualangel @saecookie @c2-eh if yall wanna do it <3

#effervescentdragonwrites #there is quite obviously a pattern here #oh well. i am nothing if not predictable

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findrahil · 3 years

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Findrahil, 21? :EYES:

21. A chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company.

'Councils,' mutters Edrahil by Finrod's ear, in the eastern language of which Finrod has mastered but little, and only enough to understand soft exasperation like this. His hands rest on the back of Finrod's chair, and Finrod wishes that they would slide down to touch him. 'Lords who have more words than they have wisdom.'

'Agreed, in private,' Finrod answers with a half-chuckle, the rising and falling rhythm of Edrahil's language strange and beautiful and accented in his mouth. The council's work is done, the members filing out slowly in pairs or alone, but if politics has taught Finrod nothing else, it has taught him to guard his words.

And rightly so, for Curufin's eyes narrow, flickering from Finrod to Edrahil and back, and he asks, 'What did he say?'

It irks Finrod, how Curufin addresses the question to him instead of Edrahil; it makes him glare, momentarily, when Curufin's only acknowledgement of Edrahil's existence is a look of cold disdain. He has a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue—my captain has earned his place through long and faithful service, something more than you could say for yourself, cousin, and you will treat him with respect—but Edrahil's hand brushes his shoulder, and he remembers that restraint is the better part of valour.

'That your suggestion to guard the Guarded Plain is welcomed,' says Finrod smoothly, feeling a spark of concealed laughter from Edrahil's side of their bond.

Curufin glowers for a moment and scowls, but then he too seems to remember restraint, and walks away.

'I commend you,' murmurs Edrahil, and when Finrod looks up, he sees the sparkle in his own eyes mirrored above. And then, too quickly for him to realize and too briefly for him to react, Edrahil leans down to peck him on the cheek, wearing a silly little grin as he retreats out of Finrod's reach.

Here they are king and captain, commander and soldier; but Finrod's skin tingles where Edrahil's lips touched him, and he longs for a real kiss, a testament to real love in this hall of masks and games. For Edrahil makes him feel as if the stars shine still upon them through the stone, and the sun smiles still upon them with warmth; and it is hardest of all for Finrod to remember his duty.

'I fear my love is stronger than my wisdom,' he says absently, still in Edrahil's language. The words translate well.

'Then we are the same, but I do not fear it.'

#finrod #finrod felagund #edrahil #findrahil #curufin #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm #my writing #prompt fic #nikosheba #answered asks

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