#asks meme

[tathrin]

6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time （＾ω＾）

Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]

“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.

Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.

The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.

They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.

The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.

He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I—I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”

“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.

“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”

Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.

He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...

Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.

The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.

“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.

But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.

“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”

Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”

Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.

Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!

“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.

The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.

It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”

His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.

This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.

Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.

Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.

Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?

He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?

When he could have been kissing him?

Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.

“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.

But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.

More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—

And then Legolas laughed.

There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.

Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.

And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.

The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.

Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.

They lived.

Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.

He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.

“Legolas—” Gimli began.

“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”

Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.

“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.

#well that one uh...that one kind of got away from me didn't it? #yeah this was kind of supposed to end by paragraph nineteen #and then it...didn't #so have uhhh have the whole final battle of the war of the ring i guess??? #sorry not sorry??? idk #thank you so much for picking this one to send; writing it sure sent me! jeeze! #these two i swear #even knowing that they win in the end my brain still wouldn't let me end their story on anything but an upbeat note i guess #i will never ever be over them #battle of the morannon #gimleaf #gigolas #legolas #gimli #lotr #lotr fanfiction #my stuff #my writing #asks meme #send a kiss meme #this ship sails itself all the way to valinor

[secretlystephaniebrown]

👀

When Talia, daughter of the demon, sometimes called Talia al Ghul, sometimes called Talia Head, is twenty-eight years old, she gives up her son.  It is not an easy thing to do, leaving him on the doorstep of the orphanage, with only the necklace that Bruce gave her as a memory, a clue. The necklace she deems to be safe enough. It is not a Wayne Family heirloom, which might raise eyebrows or be engraved with anything. He’d purchased it quietly, as a gift for her and her alone. Perhaps, when he is older, if he inherits his father’s keen mind and their joint tenacity, he will be able to track it down to the store where Bruce purchased it from, perhaps get a description of his father, eventually track him down to Gotham City. It’s a nice little fantasy, as she wraps him in white cloth and leaves him on the doorstep. It’s also what destroys her.

Macushla Redux

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

#Steph Replies #utanozomi #Macushla #asks #asks meme

[domoz]

For the ask game!!

"You didn't think this through, did you?"

"You didn't think this through, did you?"

Tobirama doesn't intend to answer, but when it becomes clear that the mokuton vines he's struggling against have no intention of letting him go, he scowls.

"I thought this through extensively." He bites out, "If I didn't end up where I intended to go, it's because there's some variable I couldn't account for."

"Uh-huh." Hashirama's lips are still twitching where he's trying not to burst into laughter again. "I dunno, maybe this was fate saying we should spend some time together. It's been a long time since you've visited my garden -- Let me show you some of what I've been growing!"

"Anija-"

"Or, you can apologize to the seedlings you crushed." His brother carries on, smiling. Tobirama pointedly does not look at the furrows he's left in the dirt. Probably, Hashirama intends to make him apologize to all thirty of the uprooted plants individually, no matter that he can replant them with a flick of his wrist.

Tobirama does not sigh as his brother lets him up and starts tugging him along to see the new buds on his favorite rhododendron. There are worse consequences to having an experiment fail.

Ask Meme

#asks meme #oops! no writing tag #naruto blog for naruto things #scenes that take place when tobirama was working on hirashin. or something

[silurisanguine]

Ask meme

Tagged by @vorchagirl for this and looks fun!

I tag The Coemancer Crew as always, @despicablediet @poetic-poltergeist @sentryskyhawk @lakritzwolf @code1r15 @bloodofthepen and anyone else who sees this and likes the look of it!

---->

Three Ships: Seren JonesxSam Coe (Starfield), Seren RyderxReyes Vidal aka FRedyer (ME: Andromeda), Zofie OrelxAdam Jensen(Deus ex/Assassins Creed)

Last Song: Kerli - Witching Hour

Last Film: finally watched Morbius and um....yeah.....what was that

Currently Reading: Fanfic! So many fanfics.

Currently Craving: A cup of earl grey tea.

#random asks #asks meme #Youtube

[vvalengogh]

5, 16, 23, 58, 66 for Quinn!

Sorry this took me a bit!! But thank you for the ask yippeee!! 🥺🥺

5. What is their highest skill? Their lowest?

Quinn is very intelligent despite how he portrays himself, as well as super charismatic, so his highest skills lie within medicine, repair, energy weapons and speech and barter! his lowest skills? explosives and guns. he definitely just never bothered to learn his way with explosives, but with guns he’s just like “well it’s not making everyone within reaching distance explode into ashes. don’t want it.” ( he still carries Lucky for emergencies tho. it’s a pretty gun )

16. What is their biggest regret?

Oddly enough Quinn doesn’t have any big regret, nothing that keeps him up awake at night. The closest he has to a form of regret that he thinks about often is that he try to stand up sooner to what he himself perceives as a “pity party” on Boone’s end when he progressively tells him what happened with his wife and the eventual murder of innocent / harmless civilians, which was information rewarded to him by being nice to the same soldiers he’d killed for supplies.

23. How do they feel about physical touch / affection ?

It’s kinda 50/50 with him. Of course, general touch wise, Quinn is fine with it, but will more often than not push people’s hands off of him since he has some self perseverance skill and would like to not be sucker punched ( not that he suspects everyone wants to punch him, he’s just very enemy-making-prone ). If he knows the person well enough, he doesn’t care otherwise. Affection wise, he wasn’t the most physically affectionate to the men he bed when he was frivolous prior meeting his eventual husband. No reason he wasn’t, he just didn’t care to be given he was there for one thing. The one person he found himself actively seeking touch and affection from, as well as returning the favor to, is his eventual husband.

58. Do they believe in luck? Do they have a good luck charm?

Given he is simultaneously lucky enough to evade death but unlucky enough to sustain at least four different instances of head injuries ( and has a whopping in-game state of 2 luck ), Quinn thinks luck is bogus. Which might be hypocritical of him, given his necklace with nightstalker teeth and sunset sarsaparilla bottle cap is sorta a “lucky charm” for him.

66. Describe their eyes

They’re warm like olive oil and sweet like honey, but still they are sharp however not piercing, inviting onlookers forth like the illusion of an oasis is to a man shriveling of thirst. There is a certain unknown wildness to them.

#answered asks #anon ask #asks meme #quinn higuchi verger (oc) #courier six #he’s just a weird lil guy

[redjaybathood]

7 & 10 for the non-US ask meme!

Thank you for the questions, I never gave it a thought before, so it was fun to think about it!

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

Воля/Volya - it has several meanings, the main ones, and the ones important to me, are "freedom" and "will". Воля або смерть.

Not a word, but a phrase: непозбувна бентега/nepozbuvna benteha. It's a meme, it's a cultural phenomenon, it's proof of how alive and flexible the Ukrainian language is. The approximate translation I could come up with is "imperishable anxiety" which, also - mood.

Далебі/Dalebi (accent on the A) - it's an old word and rarely is used in modern spoken language. It means: really, indeed, verily, I swear, and so on. I just like how it sounds!

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

Вкурвити/vkurvyty, мене вкурвило/mene vkurvylo, as in ти мене вкурвлюєш/ty mene vkurvliuiesh - means to drive someone mad, or I have become mad, enraged, or upset, saddened, as in, "you drive me to the end of my rope, here". I have a lot of things lately that вкурвлюють/vkurvliuiut' me. So it's probably the most enjoyable swear word for me now!

#asks meme #ukraine #ukrainian language #non-us ask meme

[happy-lemon]

Get to Know Me

I was tagged by @papermint-airplane @twitchesandtics @bastardtrait and @nocturnalazure, but couldn't get to it until today because of WiFi issues. I'm back baby, and I love you all for including me!

Rules: Tag (10) people who you want to get to know better.

Relationship status: Married for a good long time.

Favourite colour: Generally, blue and yellow, but I especially like this Navy Blue and this Gold.

Three favourite foods: sushi, al pastor tacos, good mac 'n cheese

Song stuck in my head: Nothing at the moment, thank God.

Last thing I Googled: What to do about a dog who is terrified of the vet. My girl is due for her yearly vaccinations and heartworm test, but when she knows what's coming, she wrenches herself out of the vet's grasp. The last two times she's accidentally scratched him to bleeding, and even with the vet assistant trying to hold her, it took all their strength to keep her still. It's traumatic for everyone, and I'm thinking about a new vet.

Last song I listened to: Big Sur - Jack Johnson (It's on a playlist for a novel about Keahi Solomon. Seriously.)

Dream trip: I'm going to Iceland next month, which is a dream come true, but I'm also dreaming of going to Tierra del Fuego someday.

Time: 10:03 am

Anything I really want right now: World peace, and maybe a Coke.

Ugh. I feel super lazy about tagging people because I don't know who has done this and who hasn't, so I'm going to throw some names out and if you've already done this, please just ignore me. @wrixie @rebouks @akitasimblr @camisulsul @erasabledinosaur @faeriefrolic @gaiahypothesims @llamaheart @muckleberri @nectar-cellar

Anyone who would like to do this, please do! Tag me so I can see!

#non sims #asks meme #get to know me

[darksideofthemamon]

1, 13, 65, 66 for fic writer asks!

1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

While I've done multi-chaptered fics way back then, I think I do better with one-shots! Or if they're multi-chaptered, they can't be too long.

I think one-shots suit my life more now, I find I prioritize getting my ideas out as quick as I can without having to think too hard or commit long-term.

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Write your first draft as if you know what you're doing, then go back and edit once you're done!

Also to just put placeholders instead of getting stuck, for example: "[scientific explanation]," he said

Also, not deleting things! Some things can be used later.

65. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

Right now, most of my writing is going to my Tolkien OC's, I think I'm excited about writing things that... make sense. Like expound on the characters more, explain plot details, make things that are more plot relevant.

As for my non-creative writing stuff, as in "writing" but not through written medium (storytelling through illustration or comics), it's the same, I think. I just want the actual plot to come out more cus I know I tend to be more art or character-focused.

Like for Janus of Guardia, I made a lot of art and infodumps, but no actual storytelling? I've made prologues and oneshots, but never actually showed the relevant events in the story, and that's something I wanna be able to work on.

66. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

I've never received a negative comment, but if someone was being a hater, I imagine I'd be very liberal with the block button XD I avoid deadlines because I want to be able to work at my own pace, which is why I avoid events and such ^^"

No one's pressuring me to make anything, so if I feel pressured, I'm doing that to myself. In which case, and this goes for illustration too, I step back and remind myself I don't get paid for this. Which doesn't diminish it's value, btw... It's just that, and this is what I learned after a year of wrist injury, it's sometimes not worth it when pushing yourself past the limits might do actual harm that does in fact get in the way of your daily life. I pick my battles, in other words!

Thanks for the ask!!

Send asks from here

#asks meme #radellama

[tathrin]

🖤 a dark ship?

[from this ask meme]

I think I have to answer Silvergifting for this one. (And let me also throw you a rec for my brand new Celebrimbor joins the Fellowship AU, with lots of post-Silvergifting trauma baked-in.)

For starters I'm completely obsessed with the very idea of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and desperately need some kind of hardcore world building 75-chapter story set in Ost-in-Edhil about these crazy smiths and the culture of their city. And of course you cannot talk about Ost-in-Edhil without talking about Sauron, and how he wormed his way into their lives and forges and was probably happier there than he'd ever been in his life before he destroyed it.

But it's about how much they had in common, and how great things could have been if only Annatar had meant any of his pretty lies (and maybe he did, just a little; maybe he wished he did, just a little; a Sauron who is at least tempted to Be Someone Other Than Sauron is my favorite flavor of this; a Sauron who destroys his own happiness, too in his pursuit of his dreams of power and does it anyway...) and how impossibly terrible everything was instead.

Doomed less by the narrative than by yourself: by looking at the blood that stains your own lineage and being forgiving of a maia who has blood and shadows in his own past as a result of wishing that you could ever forgive your family and yourself for their sins (because Celebrimbor might not have known that Annatar was Sauron, but he had to have figured out that something was wrong eventually; had to have made a conscious choice to ignore the warnings of Galadriel and Elrond, even if he didn't want to admit to himself quite how conscious; had to have sensed something off eventually, after so many years of working so closely together, and either decided to ignore it or to accept it because maybe everyone deserves a second chance, right? And what else is Ost-in-Edhil for...?).

Doomed by the knowledge of the horrors that resulted from your family's smith-craft in previous years, and your fear of what your own hands could make as a result; and being coaxed to step beyond the self-imposed limits that you set upon yourself because of that fear. By the fact that you finally, finally feel comfortable and safe enough here working with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain to take a risk in the forge and try something great...and the damnable results of that risk being taken alongside the worst person you could have possibly chosen to craft with, and knowing that you've doomed not just yourself but the world, too...

Knowing that in the end, you've done exactly the sort of damage that you once swore you would never do; that the only good thing left for you to do is to die without giving every last scrap of yourself away again; of having the precious knowledge of the Seven and the Nine dragged from your bleeding lips by the one who'd helped you walk the beautiful paths of their forging in the first place; to have spent so long waiting to show Annatar the glories you achieved with the Three while he was gone, and then realizing too late that their glory was just another form of doom and you could never, ever let him see.

To die at the hands of the lover who taught you to trust yourself again but who was himself lying all along... (But was he lying to you, or to himself?)

There's nothing good about silvergifting, but there could have been. In a kinder world, there would have been; should have been. And that's the appeal, I think: it's the tragedy that was always going to happen, but shouldn't have had to. They should have been able to heal one another from the scars of the First Age and the Years of the Tree; to use the combination of their great skills to heal the world from the damage that Sauron and his Master and the Oath of Fëanor did to Middle-earth; to make things better...

But they didn't. They didn't.

Instead all breaks to ruin and Celebrimbor dies broken in the dark, and love isn't enough to save him; love is only enough to damn him. To lift his shattered dreams like a banner before the Enemy and see his home and all his hopes burn to bitter ashes.

The Lord of Gifts and the Silver-handed Smith should have been able to create beautiful things between them; the most beautiful things seen since the Silmarils. But instead, all they wrought was destruction. Which is another, terrible form of beauty, in its own wretched way.

*Also see this previous post where I ramble deliriously about the joys and horrors of Celebrimbor/Annatar/Narvi.

#emoji shipping asks #asks meme #silvergifting #celebrimbor #sauron #annatar #gwaith i mirdain #shipping

[secretlystephaniebrown]

made up fic title ask game: Cold Read

Cassandra Cain is the daughter of David Cain, infamous fake psychic and scam-artist. Cass has, much to her chagrin, inherited his ability to "cold read" people, and was a child psychic star for years before running away. She's sworn to avoid "psychics" and the "supernatural" ever since.

But one day, she stumbles across Stephanie Brown, a girl who receives real visions of the future, but can't convince anyone. But everyone knows Cassandra Cain, The One Who Is All, is a psychic.

To help prevent their joint-shitty fathers from doing evil, Cass and Steph join forces to out-scam the bad guys and save the day.

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

#Steph Replies #ragecndybars #asks #asks meme #Cassandra Cain #Stephanie Brown #yes this is psych but if Gus was actually psychic no I never finished that show

[domoz]

First sentence: "It wasn't the first time that was the problem."

It wasn't the first time that was the problem. That could be excused as a once off coincidence. If they met a second time, well, it wasn't as though they planned to do it. And if Hikaku slips off after Madara as he goes to the river, and a gangly white-haired Senju boy finds him for a third-- fourth -- fifth time, it's not his fault. Hikaku doesn't know how he finds him, and like so many things between them, he doesn't asking. If they ever get caught, knowing is more dangerous.

Ask Meme

#oops! no writing tag #naruto blog for naruto things #asks meme #i feel like i should tag this with some au name bc i would really like to write the full thing somday but i got no ideas

[aurumacadicus]

for the fic title thing, can i ask for "The Moon and the Sun" for stevetony, please?

Such a beautiful title! This is gonna hurt :)

The Moon and the Sun

For years, Tony had been told he was only beautiful because of Steve. It made sense, he supposed. He didn't have his own light--he was just reflecting Steve's back at him. Steve scolded him whenever he mentioned it, so Tony tried not to think about it too much. Steve loved him. Steve's glow warmed him to the core. Steve's opinion was the only one that mattered.

Still. He wished he could offer Steve something more than just his reflection. He made iron trinkets, little clockwork toys, and Steve loved them, he thought. Steve always looked a little amused when he gave them to him. His smiles were small, and Tony liked to think they were his private smiles, soft around the edges, just for him.

Then he saw how Steve was with his friends when he'd gone to meet them, smile wide and laugh raucous. He looked bright. Resplendent.

Beautiful.

Tony was only beautiful because of him. No matter what Steve said, Tony simply reflected his light. He didn't make any of his own. One day, Steve would realize that, just like everyone else had. He didn't think it was a failing, mostly. Just a fact. He loved Steve, and Steve loved him, and he was beautiful because of Steve, and that was fine.

It was time for a new moon. Steve had regretfully placed a kiss on his head, said he had to leave for a mission, and Tony had basked in the remaining glow as long as he could before he got up and went about his day. Steve would be back soon, and he could bask in his glow again.

Tony felt a sharp pain in his neck. He slapped his hand against it, for some reason immediately assuming it was a bug. He felt something hard, metallic. Pulled it away from his neck. Stared at the metal dart in his palm.

"Oh no," he said quietly, vision going fuzzy around the edges.

.-.

Steve knew something was wrong on the third night away. Usually there was at least a sliver of the moon visible, but the night was still dark. He always missed Tony's unwavering glow on new moons, but something about this time... he just felt dread. Tony, despite his eccentricities, was predictable. For all that he willingly eschewed them when he wanted, he liked having routines. The wax. The wane. Like the tides, he could be depended on to continue to do things that pleased him, and the phases pleased him.

Where was the moon?

"You should go home," Natasha said, voice low. Concerned. Scared, maybe. She saw him open his mouth and cut in, sharp, jagged. "This mission doesn't need you as much as Tony does, Steve."

Steve shut his mouth, nodded. He wouldn't have been any good to the mission anyway. Not worried as he was. What was the sun without the moon? Tony would have had a pithy answer for him, and Steve could never seem to make him understand that he felt bereft when he was gone.

.-.

Tony was gone for three months, and the night sky stayed empty. Steve screamed to the heavens when Bucky finally, regretfully, made the decision to make moon begin to wax. He refused to believe that Tony was dead. How was Tony supposed to go on without the pull of the moon now? How was Steve meant to find him? He wouldn't expect Steve to come, was the worst part. No one said it, but they all knew--Tony didn't believe he was important enough. "What purpose does a moon even have but to reflect the light of others?" he'd attempted to joke once, and had looked honestly surprised when no one had laughed with him.

Steve had learned long ago that the first person who told him he was only good at reflecting the sun was his father. He'd once thought he could love the shame out of Tony. He'd been disillusioned of that pretty quickly, though, with Tony's guileless laughs at his own expense. Tony was out there. Alone. Cut off from not only his friends, his family, but now the moon itself.

Bucky came up beside him where he was standing on the roof, feeling useless and angry and planning revenge on Hydra. "What will you do if he's gone?" he asked softly, staring up at the moon. Almost new, again. The rest of the team was keeping a careful eye on him. Hydra's plan was to weaken Steve by stealing his moon. They worried what would happen if Bucky was taken again.

"Wait to die, I guess," Steve muttered. "Take as much of Hydra down with me as I can."

Bucky had expected that. He'd never seen Steve as in love with someone as he was with Tony. "I see," he said simply. It would be useless to argue. Steve made decisions and stuck to them. Just like he had stepped in with the moon, there would always be someone to step in for an abandoned sun. He saw movement in the sky and lifted his head. "Meteor," he murmured to himself. There had been a lot of shooting stars lately. It wasn't uncommon, after a changing of hands. He nudged Steve in the side. "Make a wish."

"I only ever wish for Tony to come back," Steve muttered back, not looking up at it.

Bucky's mouth dropped open as the meteor suddenly sort of... swiveled. Literally changed directions until it was coming toward them. That wasn't right. That wasn't a--

"That's no meteor," he realized as it sped up, glowing so bright the light turned blue as it approached. He lunged to the side, trying to get out of the... thing's radius.

It hit Steve full in the chest, and Steve managed a short, punched-out noise of surprise before they went sliding across the roof, cement shattering under the force to leave a trail of broken concrete in their wake. He crashed into the back wall and only didn't go flying off the building because he'd dug his heels in to try and slow their trajectory.

Bucky ran over to help him, wondering if it had been a missile or something that Hydra had designed to take out Steve specifically.

Then Steve let out a sob, choked out a broken, "Tony," and clutched the not-meteor tight to his chest.

Bucky realized it was Tony laying on Steve's chest, basking in his glow just like he always had.

But this time, instead of reflecting Steve's glow... he was glowing back.

#aurmacadicus answers #asks meme #fic title meme #stony #welcome to the suffer club i guess #don't ask how this universe works! #i do not know and will not think on it #long post

[jadequarze]

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

Cheating wise, sleeveless turtle neck because it's gender and really easy to draw. Serious note, that will be suits/capes.

#asks #sarenraegalpaladin #asks meme #sleveless turtle neck is my go-to when it comes just doodling and having no idea

[vvalengogh]

Fallout OC questions! Go!

Basics question 7, How does Quinn fight?

Life question 5, Has Quinn made any enemies?

Wasteland question 4, What creature(s) scare him most in the Mojave?

Factions question 1, How does he feel about the Brotherhood of Steel?

thank you for the ask!! <3

basic q7:

quinn is a squishy person, with a whopping strength of four, he’s very prone to a menagerie of injuries both minuscule and borderline fatal, so he prefers to keep a good distance away from enemies in order to cripple their limbs and pick them off. he’s super efficient at it and has strong confidence in his capabilities, given his preferred choice of weapons are energy weapons and knows how to use them to their fullest. sometimes, though, his confidence can be detrimental in the way that enemies outsmart him and close the distance. quinn will most likely come out of a physical struggle with many a injuries, but he *does* have close combat knowledge— enough to keep him alive and shoot whatever is threatening him. it’s a sort of swift fighting style, probably falls under “gun fu.”

life q5:

oh, has quinn made enemies ! there’s not a single faction in the mojave that wouldn’t have his pretty little head in a silver platter. after being shot by benny, quinn made it his goal that everyone was gonna know his name for better or for worse. with the initial (albeit accidental, but he wasn’t complaining) murder of vulpes inculta, he slowly spiraled into suffering a severe case of having a loose mouth that got him into a LOT of trouble and sabotaging and infiltrating the legion and the new california republic. his enemies lie within the political side of things, mostly!

wasteland q4:

deathclaws! the mojave deathclaws are especially the creepiest for him, with how well they camouflage into the desert plains and how near sighted he is; he’s especially prone to stumbling into one of them. they’re fascinating, but not fascinating enough to get him near one unless it’s absolutely necessary. funnily enough, his fear mirrors the fact his ancestor was a deathclaw caretaker in virginia. sucks to be quinn 😭

factions q1:

quinn absolutely DESPISES the brotherhood of steel, going as far as to be actively hostile to any brotherhood of steel members. he has nothing but contempt for the faction due to being forced into a bomb collar not once, but twice, and do things for them otherwise he’d be killed. mojave’s brotherhood of steel soured his opinion on them, but elijah was the final nail in the coffin. he simply thinks of them as a useless organization that can’t do anything without needing someone’s help all the time, and in his mind, that makes them a bunch of good for nothing people.

#quinn is such a feral creature…. #additionally: quinn almost killed danse when he travelled to the commonwealth #(he’s in good standing with him now dw!) #he’s only good friends w veronica bc he met her Before the brotherhood of steel incident #fallout games #fnv #fallout new vegas #quinn higuchi verger (oc) #answered asks #asks meme

[redjaybathood]

1, 5, 7, 8, 4, 11 and 15 for the problematique ships??

oh wow, that's a lot! thank you!

1) what is your favorite “problematic” ship?

Brujay. It is very interesting to get their canon mutual weirdness - their relationship is a mess, it's not healthy - and bring it up to 11. Both because it's like magnifying what's already there, to make it easier to drive things home: none of them is okay and they should, in fact, stay away from each other despite the fact it wouldn't be that hard not just to reconcile but also to respect each other and be deserving of said respect.

It's also curious to me that a lot of Bruce's fan ships are actually... have similar vibes to brujay, minus the "I was his father for 3 years or so" factor. BatCat - I can write an essay about similarities between Jason and Catwoman, and Jason actually feels jealous and replaced by her, at some point in his Robin era. BruTalia, BruHarvey, GhostBat. Especially the GhostBat. It's literally brujay without the incest. Whereas Jason's ships are the opposite. Like, Sladejay comes close but no cigar.

5) a ship you like but can’t find content for because it’s a fanpol fave?

I am like Jaytemis but not enough to go looking. I actually blocked a lot of jaytemis fans because they were dicks in tag. and on some discord server, don't remember details.

7) what kind of “problematic” tropes you like to put your ships through?

Sex while willingly or unwillingly mentally impaired, such as by alcohol (taken willingly), drugs (taken unwillingly), interdimensional demon possession, and having heat while also having a traumatic brain injury. There's also having sex not because you want but for reasons. Proving a point. Trying to manipulate. Things like that.

I think I have about... two fics where a character has sex because they want to have sex, and it ends badly in the second one.

Basically the moral of my stories:

In one of them, it was quite literal.

8) a character you think did nothing wrong but fandom demonizes?

Damian, easy. I find it irritating especially when he's used as Tim's foil. The little guy was brainwashed, and he still is dealing with the consequences of this trauma and his upbringing overall. It takes years to unpack it.

Talia - just leave her alone. "She traumatized Damian" - the authors did that. She was just a tool, and she was character-assassinated in the process. I mean, it is a bit wrong of her to be, like, in charge of an international murder organization but, we all know what the grip fandom has with her is not about that.

4) a ship you think is fairly healthy and unproblematic but the fandom has decided to hate?

JayRoy and joyfire holy shit. I know it stems, in part, from the hatred to New52 overall and Lobdell's RHatO in particular, and I hear them even if I don't care that much (I see jayroy potential even before New52, and after). But "stealing friends from Dick", "age difference", what the fuck else there was - just no. As long as Jason deals with his commitment issues and self-hatred, this is the healthiest relationship he has ever had with the exception of Artemis and Bizarro.

11) is there a fandom that ever made you think “how are there antis in this fandom, why are they even into this”?

Hannibal, Good Omens, and Sandman, to name a few. Curious that they think that if the creator has public acknowledgment it means that suddenly he's not proship anymore. Or if he is, that's okay, we won't be principled and leave/not join the fandom but rather go bully the proshippers who do not have money and fame.

Oh, and Game of Thrones/House of Dragons - while I don't know if Martin is proship, the subject matter he deals with is no more taboo than what fandom does. "I watch dragon incest show for the dragons, y'all weird" no it's you who's weird, you literally watching a show about incest and complaining about incest. "it's not glorified in canon" That's cute, you sure it is in fics? you read them? you read incest fics? Like, come on.

15) something cool about the last thing you watched/read/listened to!

Last thing I listened to was this youtube comics podcast: Grandpas reading comics (eng subs are only auto-translated so bear with it)

It's about Ukrainian comics, The Will, and as a person who has two issues of this comic book and no idea of what's going on, I was glad to find out this video exist. I did not finish watching it yet tho - so I still have no idea what's going on - I will keep you guys posted. After I buy the issue 3, maybe.

#proship ask meme #asks meme