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hedgiwithapen · 7 months

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zombies! That is all. Canon and character of your choice but … zombies. *chinhands*

(@isi7140 also requested Black Lanterns SO…. here.) It's so cold.

Artemis holds the bat tightly in her shaking hand, her fingers white from the grip. It dips slightly, tip pointing down. The other is curled, unwillingly, around the quarrel she pulled from her shoulder armor. It had been too blunt to pierce the leather. Her mother would have known that. Which means it was on purpose.

Her parents' faces and arms are white, too, from the frost that coats them around patches of flesh burned black by frostbite, a second skin of ice that catches the light all wrong, and reflects back the dark too deeply. There is nothing in their eyes.

"Arty," says her father's voice from her father's lips. "You know that's not how I taught you to hold a bat. Two hands, sweetie."

"That's better," her mother says, closing distance as Artemis instinctively shifts her stance, lifting the bat. Tears make the paint on her face smudge.

"Stay back," Barb says, but her hands can't hold the crossbow Paula had once given her. Not well enough.

"Barb," Artemis hears her mother say. "You know this never would have happened without you. Jordan didn't come after us because we were a threat."

Barb's eyes are streaming. "Paula--you're not Paula, you're--"

"Jordan took us out because of you. Because of your heart. You loved us, not him. You had to know he’d never stand for that."

The crossbow clatters on the pavement. Barb stares, and stares, like she's looking for something that isn't there. Like she's seeing something that is.

"That's not..." she says, and her voice is so quiet. Barb moves, one stumbling foot at a time, trying to get between the things that are Artemis's parents and are not, both at once. She can't finish the sentence. "I'm sorry."

"No!" Courtney fires a bolt of light, blazing red-gold through the stark streets. It's not enough. "Stay--Stay back. Mom, Artemis, it's not, it's not them," She's crying too. How can she not? Barbara falls, and Courtney screams, dropping the staff to try to stop the blood.

It's not that kind of wound. Artemis sees the moment Barbara's heart stops in her mother's hand. A ring flashes like the ice, like her eyes, like the dark after the staff falters.

"Arty," her father says, and she can't. She can't hear anything else, only see...

There had been nothing left, just a broken mask and pile of frost. The last image of them, burned into her mind, standing on the corner across from Ritchies, burns away to make this instead.

They'd wanted her to be proud of them. They'd stayed in Blue Valley for her. They'd died, down in the dark.

Pain tears at her chest, at her throat, and it takes a moment to realize that it's not just the grief. It would be easy, she has time to think, to just die here. Like Barb. Like Courtney will, and Jakeem. Just give in.

Like the pain, like the blast of fire that surges from the staff around them, the thought yanks her back. Crocks don't do easy.

She screams, wordless, and it claws her throat like her father's hand at her chest. She swings the bat and hears it connect. The staff shrieks defiance and protection over the sound of Courtney's sobs, and the light of it is so bright she can feel it on her exposed arms where her sleeves have ripped.

Blinded by tears, she swings again, again, again, with every bit of technique her father ever taught her. She yells, still unable to find words and not needing them, screaming until it feels like there's no more air in the world, much less her lungs. It's not enough. It will never be enough.

The pain doesn't stop, but the hands are still. When she blinks, swiping sweat and tears, paint and blood and melting frost from her face, the sight is no less horrible than the grim picture she mapped in her mind. Courtney's hair is stained red where she holds her mother. Her bat, her father's bat, is broken, one jagged end and pieces on the ground. Pieces of her parents. Seared by the light of the staff, battered. Artemis's fingers won't let go, she can't make them release. She crawls forward, heaving, and weeps.

#dammit hedgi day 2023 #Stargirl #Black Lanterns #they're basically zombies right?#Artemis Crock #this one killed me so I beg of you: kill me back

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sweetearthandnorthernsky · 6 months

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and you have your choices (choice, romenel)

Mild BBOM spoilers!

also dont @ me for using aristeia as a term here. i am certain the numenoreans had a word for it but i didn't feel like converting it from greek to quenya/sindarin lmao edit: actually 100% ignore that. @isi7140 is absolutely amazing and came up with a word in quenya to use instead, aryasta :D

Your heart stops beating for a moment – you are certain of it – when your name falls from Lendelen’s lips.

Alright, it is not your name exactly, but who else might ‘the guest of Isildur’s foster-son’ refer to?

The sons of Isildur instinctively step away from you – ripping away your hiding spot – and you feel like an island, in the midst of a storm.

And, for the second time in the last hour, every eye in the tent – from Kings Anarion and Isildur, to the King of the Eldar, to Círdan and Elrond Halfelven, and Durin and Huneric Hundred-handed – stare at you. High King Elendil is the only one who does not look too surprised, and you don’t know how you feel about that.

Sinking into the ground is becoming more appealing the longer the silence stretches on as Glorfindel studies you intently, as if he is trying to pull you apart to your deepest core.

You aren’t sure if he finds what he was looking for, but he turns away all the same to look at Lendelen. “Truly? If you wish it to be so, Lendelen.”

At once, Isildur’s sons break out into clamorous protests but their father silences them with a raised hand, and the Council of Kings comes to an end.

Veamacil is fuming so intensely you can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he rails against his father’s decision (though, wisely, not within earshot of his father.)

You do not know what to say, and you welcome the messenger that saves you the trouble and says that the High King wants to speak with you.

You nervously approach the High King’s tent, and the guards let you inside without a word. The tent seems even larger now that there are only two people inside – you, and the High King.

Your nerves cloy in your throat like seawater, and you default to propriety, bowing low and waiting until you are given leave to rise.

High King Elendil is tall – you knew that – but now, he utterly towers over you, and you feel very, very small.

(Not just in size.)

He studies you in silence before beckoning for you to sit at the chairs in front of his desk. “I see the weariness in you, though you seek to hide it.”

You approach the chairs and pray you do not trip on your way. You make it to your seat without incident, and wait for Elendil to sit before you do.

When he does, he steeples his fingers. “Let us speak about the task to come, and why you were selected to join with the Bright Company on this mission and my grandsons were not.”

You recall Veamacil’s fuming and wince.

Elendil does not give you time to think of your friend, because he continues.

“Our Alliance is composed of the mightiest heroes of the age, Captain,” and why do you feel like he is including you in this number? You are one among thousands. “Together we have achieved many victories. But here, after seven years of siege, our triumphs are mere memory. Sauron has..." His face turns to a scowl. "... Outmaneuvered us.”

The words are spoken unwillingly, as if he cannot stomach the idea – and if you are being honest, you think you would feel the same.

“If we cannot overcome his domination of the Ghâzab Bôron, it will not matter how many great heroes stand with us. Our defeat will be certain, and it will be forever.”

And this you cannot stomach.

Elendil continues: “If Lendelen is trustworthy, as I am told he is, there are few only who can break the spells enwreathing the Oath-stone. They must reach the chamber in which it lies, though it be kept within Barad-dur itself. Their purpose must be hidden from Sauron, for if he learns what they seek to do he will turn his every thought to preventing it.”

Then, he looks at you intently.

“If he sees a young Captain among the most powerful High Elves that walk in Middle-earth, he may hesitate. "What purpose do you serve?" he may wonder, and in that briefest of delays the mission of the Bright Company might be accomplished.”

Sorrow clouds his face.

“It is a hard thing to ask, Captain, but we must seek every advantage we can.”

He takes a breath.

“It is likely you will not return.”

The words rumble in your ears, and you realize that he is giving you a choice although it is not phrased as one.

Your mouth goes dry and you look down, studying your dusty boots.

The idea of going into the heart of Barad-dur itself terrifies you and you grip the arms of your chair tight enough to make your knuckles turn white. You have heard stories – about what Sauron does to his foes – and you are certain that Elendil is underestimating when he says that it is likely that you won’t return.

You are almost certain you won’t.

But…

You think you might be expendable.

In name, yes, you are a captain – but you hold no company of your own, you have no soldiers who would need to get used to another leader. Lendelen asked for you, specifically.

There must be a reason.

“Very well,” you say quietly.

You think you see a flicker of approval in Elendil’s eye, as he gives you tasks to do.

You have been presented with the fact you will likely not survive.

But it is your choice that says that this will be your great task, your aryasta.

#my fic #og post #oc-tober 2023 #literally isi tysmmmmm it sparks so much joy <3 <3 <3

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aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 5 months

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post a paragraph, snippet, screenshot, or drawing layer of your current project! (✿◕‿◕✿) tag 5 people to post teasers of their wips too

from @hallothere :D

Eirena is spreading her snow-damp clothes near the fireplace in her appointed room when it comes, pitching forward with the phantom force and pain that strikes her suddenly from behind. It’s surprise more than the pain itself that draws a shout from her- but there’s an answering cry and heavy thud on the stairs just down the hall and Unity is warm on her finger, and she tears from the room with her staff in her hand and only socks on her feet, and nearly slides straight into Kormac still picking himself up at the top of the stairs. “Eirena! Are you-” “It wasn’t me.” She pulls him to his feet and turns to check the nearest doors.

uhhh who else in the crew. @isi7140 @find-the-path @kemendin

#not lotr but! maybe i'll actually get thru it #...however. est on a boat.#there's not even anything *there* tho lmao it's just fun to rotate it #the distracting d3 one #idk who else to tag atm #[shrugs]#tag games

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tanoraqui · 7 months

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Elros&Elrond superhero anon here, I absolutely love those powers for them, they’re so cool. I mean, healing powers are fairly standard but you’ve got me entirely on board with healer!Elros (although I’m betting that Elros does NOT heal Maglor’s hand after the twins regain consciousness) and I just really love what you’ve done with Elrond’s powers!

(re: this post)

HEALER!ELROS SUPREMACY. And while I’m at it, Elros being the first to (conditionally) trust and even come to love their monstrous kidnapper-cousins, because quicker commitment and greater daring for the unknown makes sense in one who will one day choose to die as a Man; why is Elros always the stabby one and Elrond always the sweet one in kidnap-era fics! supremacy. Elrond is going to end up sweet, okay; he doesn’t need to start there. In the superhero au, when he masters his power of this aura of peace, he’s going to be able to do the “I am one with the force and the force is with me” walk from Rogue One through battlefields, but he has to learn how to maintain that true sense of calm and non-violence.

(Partial credit for the idea goes to @isi7140 btw, for suggesting the Elrond-appropriate twinly mirror to healing be making some sort of protected area a la Rivendell.)

Also ha, yeah, Elros definitely is NOT going to heal Maglor’s hand right there. Maybe, maybe, in several weeks when they’ve bonded a little he’ll heal whatever’s left of the wound as a show of the bond formed between them by then? …or in several months?

What happens in this weeks and/or months, of course, is Elrond and Elros making multiple attempts to escape supervillain captivity and find their mother while Maglor and Maedhros try to figure out who they are, where they came from, and can we ransom them to Doriath for Silmarils? Meanwhile Elwing doesn’t even know her sons followed her through the rip in spacetime; she and Eärendil are…idk if they both got to Earth at roughly this time, or if only one did and the other is off finding Valar in space somewhere, or if they’re BOTH off finding Valar and/or distant mermaid relatives (respectively) in space? NO WAIT, THE TELERI ARE ATLANTIS! PERFECT! That makes Eärwen and her kids’ genetics make so much more sense! So, Elwing ended up in the ocean somewhere, drowning, and is rescued to Atlantis, but she’s trying to find Eärendil who is in space somewhere, meeting gods…

Thingol is the former King of Atlantis who moved permanently to land to marry a minor forest goddess, who shaped herself a permanent material form in order to marry him…the romance… (Sometimes he makes noise about bossing around Atlanteans again and Olwë is like, “um, you LEFT, actually.”)

Yes of course this means that all of Eärwen’s kids, grandkids, etc. can shed their human legs & grow gills in water and turn into mermaids!! Though it gets harder the more they interbreed with humans. Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor & Galadriel can all do it easily. Orodreth, Celebrian and Finrod&Amarië’s Golden Horde have to make an effort and it hurts a little. Finduilas and Rodnor require Musical assistance, though much less than an ordinary human would. (Aegnor marries an alien of some sort so idk what’s up with their kids—probably standard quarter-Atlantean, really, because it’s about magic Music more than genetics. Amarië is also an alien but the Vanyar are only as alien as, like, Vulcans; Andreth is something much stranger.)

#silm super au #spitballing AUs is fun!! keep talking to me pls

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astriiformes · 1 year

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I was tagged by @marypsue! (Thank you!)

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

Caspar found himself hoping the miller’s son, Paul, was alright – he’d liked talking to him about art and how great it was to study with Master Andreas, and thought he had seemed very nice, if also sort of sad.

That is also Too Many Words, so I'm just going to tag various writerly folks, who are welcome to participate if they want: @shadowen @isi7140 @sol1loqu1st @nihilisticlinguistics @eighthdoctor @villainihavedonethymotheronao3

#yes i'm writing pentiment fic what of it #some people have two different fics in progress for a game with four total works on ao3 to cope #my writing

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swtorpadawan · 1 year

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For NPC asks.... You might have answered for him before, but Praven? Or Watcher Three?

Ask Me About SWTOR NPCs Thanks for the ask, @voidendron !

I have, indeed, spoken about Praven before! @isi7140 asked about him once, and I referred them to this little gem. Needless to say, he's doing alright.

He's definitely one of my favorites from the Jedi Knight story!

Regarding Watcher Three… I have more bad news.

So after the dissolution of Imperial Intelligence, the former Minister setup (the former) Watcher Three with a new identity, and he takes a nice little data analyst job, making decent money and otherwise keeping a low profile. Generally not harming anyone.

And nobody bothered him because no one knew who he was! The Minister had done a good job helping him hide.

Then, years later, some months after KOTET, several former members of Imperial Intelligence are suddenly murdered in the space of a week.

Watcher Three is one of them.

True story - I have a WIP that opens with Gahraath (Cipher Nine) and Kaliyo standing over Watcher Three's corpse, trying to find out what happened on behalf of the Alliance.

They know the Minister and others have been killed. They know they are almost certainly on the 'kill list' themselves.

Who could be responsible? Who could have been clever enough to find the former Intelligence personnel?

(Dun-dun-DUUUUUN!)

Thanks for the asks!

#swtorpadawan asks #Ask Me About SWTOR NPCs #voidendron #praven #lord praven #watcher three #clearing the board #imperial intelligence #oc: gahraath vaiken

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hallothere · 2 years

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@aurore-parle-de-ses-idees @isi7140

to answer your burning questions (xoxo) I did toss around a few options (Galthoniel, Ningeryn) and kind of settled for ‘familiar Bree/Esteldin Babyranger’ that may or may not have had her weekend when Candaith was visiting 😢

as for what I was going to do with Radanir and Amarion... well, you can see why it got cut

(picking up after Saeradan)

You aren’t sure, but you think you are being watched. Of course, Candaith is watching. Candaith is doing a lot of that tonight. As you’ve walked the sands, the shores of Nenuial, he’s watched. You don’t know why you’re in an audience with him here, he who must be closer to Evendim than you by now but not in it. But he has walked with you and walks with you still. Candaith, at least, has not departed. But nor has he dreamed. And that troubles you.

Calenglad had looked upon the lake and seen something. You do not know if it was what he wished to see, thought he might see, or what should have been. There are other things lurking around on this beach that you did not like at all. And you fear this next vision shall be worse than the last.

It is almost imperceptible, but Candaith hears it too. You can see the moment he stiffens, wills himself not to turn and look. You are curious, and whatever it is you would face it now rather than later.

“No… Saeradan…”

You had not expected it to speak. The voice is small, but not far away. You turn now, expecting the specter to reveal itself. Instead you meet silence. And then rustling bushes.

“He’s getting away!”

Candaith has acted as your companion thus far, you see no reason not to give chase with him now. Your quarry is fast, but given away by the sound of rustling leaves. This is not the flight of a skilled hunter, but a desperate one.

Off to your left, you think you see a Falcon archer nocking an arrow. She is gone as soon as you blink. A scream breaks the night further into the brush. It sounds like Golodir, and you will your legs to move faster.

There is a terror up ahead but you can’t stop yourself in time. You barrel through the shade of Britou and arrive in the island’s ruins.

There are no brigands here, like there were in the waking world. There is overgrowth, broken pottery. There is Candaith. He stares at a small boy, huddled in the center of the ruin. It is plain as anything the child is scared. But Candaith makes no move, in fact, he seems apprehensive. This is not the troubled kinsman he expected.

The boy looks up at the pair of you with wild eyes. You turn, expecting to see the shade of Britou come to form another wretched tableau, but no oathbreakers appear. None of the Falcons from the woods descend upon you. Golodir is nowhere to be seen.

You wonder what place he is from. Bree? Surely not. Candaith is not so near to there, and else only Galadriel has been in your dreams from such a distance. That is a sobering thought, Galadriel’s dreams, but you have only seen those near to you, or near to you recently. This is no Dunlending boy either. You wonder more than before how he came here.

“They’re all gone!” The boy wails and sinks to his knees, and you see this dreamer’s torments step from hiding at last. There is Britou like you expected, but also one of the Falcon archers and a jailor, a great uruk, and last of all—

Candaith gasps as his mirror image, his near twin, materializes from the rubble. Only, this Candaith is still soaked in blood and wearing the uniform he took to the forsaken road. Your Candaith gasps, for this newcomer has his sword drawn.

“Worm” Britou speaks first, “You will not escape me a second time. And you will not be the last I bring death upon”

The archer raises his bow and his companion holds up a hand. “Make this one quick.” he says, “The more time we waste on him, the less there is for the valuable prisoners.”

The uruk merely smiles and crosses his arms. His work, apparently, has already been done.

“Let me.” The second Candaith says. “After all, my blood is on his hands.” He steps forward with his sword, and suddenly you can see.

There is no longer a young boy in the middle of the ruin, but Radanir, curled in on himself and pleading with the grass for some way- any way- out of this place.

Your Candaith has seen enough. He draws his own sword and steps to the center of the crowd. With one motion, he slices his dark counterpart in two. The bloodied Candaith dissolves into the night, and vanishes as if blown away by the wind.

“Who else would like to taste my steel? You Falcons? I have not crossed blades with you yet. Britou? I would think another bout might go in my favor.” Candaith turns to the uruk next, putting himself between Radanir and the brute. “And what of you? You have no allies here.”

At this the uruk only grunts. Candaith stares him down hard and slowly, the uruk fades. He turns. The Falcons fade under Candaith’s glare, and Britou returns the look before he too vanishes.

You go to Radanir.

He does not notice you at first. He mumbles into the sand still, not seeming to know anything except that the axe is due to fall. You hear names you know and ones you don’t. You hear the pleading of a man scared deeply.

“Brother…”

Candaith has joined you. He reaches out slowly at first, and when Radanir doesn’t jerk away he scoots closer. Together, you have come on either side of your friend, and you form a tight barrier between him and this nightmare.

“Radanir, you are well. You are safe and among friends.” Candaith is good with words. You let him speak, allowing your presence to talk for you.

He shakes even now, and all you can think of is how you have never seen him like this. This is the Radanir who has run out of jokes and brave words. This Radanir looks to the past and hurts deeply.

“They will not harm you.” Candaith tries again, but this time he’s interrupted by a hand on his arm.

“And why not?” Radanir’s question sounds more like an accusation. “Why not me when they have harmed all the others?”

You lean in then, and for the first time Radanir notices your presence. He reaches out a hand as if he expects you to be less than solid. Once more the Dream holds you still, but Radanir’s hand does not pass through your arm as he thought it might.

“I had hoped to see you again one day.” He says, mustering a watery grin just for you. “If this is-”

“Wake, brother.” Candaith orders gently, cutting him off before he can speak the words none of you want to hear, the farewells. “I will be there, and you will see your way.”

He does fall silent, but something in his shoulders untenses. In a moment Radanir is gone.

For reasons you don’t understand, you are all connected here. You are closest to Golodir, Lothrandir, and Calenglad geographically. Halbarad- you know- is troubled by this journey, yet he is not here. The path winds back to Saeradan, and to Candaith. You shudder to think you might watch Braigiar writhe under Lheu Brenin’s knife before the night is through. There are other things lurking around on this beach that you did not like at all. And you fear this next vision shall be worse than the last.

Candaith stares at the spot his kinsman had just been. He looks lost in thought for a while. Waves lap the shore, but there is a hush over the lake that is never there in the waking world.

It is a long time before Candaith finds himself looking back at you. “I suppose I will be woken shortly. It did me good to see you, even in a dream and if only for such a short time. I... did not like my dream, I will admit.” He is silent a moment before continuing. “I can tell Saeradan I dreamed of you, and that you are well…”

You tense and can see Candaith is not relaxed either. He has not faced his own fears, unless… Could they be the same ones as yours? They might well be. You have seen things together, suffered along this southern road together…

Before anything else happens, Candaith speaks. “Are you? Well?” He pauses to give you a sad smile, “Even after this?”

You go to speak or to nod, but then Candaith is gone too.

You kneel on the beach alone.

You do not know how much more of this you can take. Why must you walk this road alone?

A lonely moon hangs over the lake. You are too far from any of them to help now. Halbarad set you on your own path, but perhaps it was yours all along. There was good done amongst the Rohirrim, and more good waiting ahead of you. But there is exhaustion, there is grief. Your path is ahead, you need not doubt this.

You were not called out here to turn back.

It is behind you when you hear it. Running footsteps in the ruins. A figure passes your inland side, hurtling through rubble then grass then brush to a rock outcropping further in. You follow. The Dream is foreign to you, though the scene before you strikes something in your memory. A ruddy cliffside, a home, a cavern. It arose while you were lost in thought, half-hidden by shrubs not native to Evendim. Bits of red and gold and rich green glisten as the cloaked figure tears them away from the rock face.

“Please-” It starts as a cracked whisper, but grows in volume, “Please, let me in! I wanted to fulfill my oath but I was lost! I know I need to be more watchful, more mindful, but I was–”

You recognize the voice as it abruptly stops. The bushes are clear. Worn fingers drag along a bare, seamless rock face. There is no entrance, no shelter to be found.

Amarion turns sharply. Between the two of you are dozens of wolves large and dark as night. You can barely see him as he presses his back against the rock face. His pursuers stare down at him in silent anticipation.

“Someone- Orthonn, Mincham! Help me!”

They lunge.

But You are held in the grip of a strange dream.

#:')#this is definitely a crumpled up piece of paper in the trash bin but i wrote it!#garbage can not garbage cannot!

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