#kept thinking about the last few chapters of lotr the return of the king while writing this

[storm-called]

I've been wanting to write something for days and finally decided to just go for it. This ended up much longer than I initially expected.

Mild spoilers for SotO

A moment of introspection from Glaw at the end of the journey.

--------

It was a strange thing, to miss the stars.

That was the first thing that crossed Glaw's mind as they stepped free of the portal. They turned, just in time to see the shimmering of purple-blue magic snap closed behind them. So much for a big send-off.

The stars twinkled overhead, the night air sharp with a hint of northerly chill. There were no stars in Nayos.

For months, Glaw had been — they didn't want to call it trapped, that was too strong a word. There had always been that unspoken option: the chance to dip out and leave the Realm of Dreams to rot. Sequestered away, perhaps, entangled in the politics of an unknown land so much so that they were were kept away from their own. There had been no time for even simple excursions back to the Wizard Tower for supplies; a war, a coup, a rebellion — whatever you wanted to call it — didn't have time for getaway weekends.

And sure, this was not their first breath of non-kryptis air in months. They had gotten their fill of that back at the Tower. The sun had shone too brightly there, though, dusk too far off to show the stars. The air had felt stifled, too sheltered in its magical protection to allow even the stiff breeze in.

That, too, Glaw had missed — something they never thought they would admit. They had missed the chill, and not the bone-aching dampness that seemed to permeate all of Nayos. They had missed the scent of snow on the wind and the caressing of the biting gale across their face.

And the stars, most of all.

It took them a moment to fully absorb their surroundings. To their surprise, it was familiar. The copse of dark trees in the distance with snow-capped mountains behind that. The wizards, it seemed, had been kind enough to drop Glaw off right outside Hoelbrak, in the foothills just a meandering walk away from the nearest hold.

With a sigh, Glaw shook the weariness off their shoulders and plodded into motion. After a few minutes of walking and much conflicted deliberation, they pulled their comm from their belt. The little block of technology was small in their palm, and they turned it over once. Twice.

It had been months since their last point of contact, barely long enough to count as anything more than a 'hey-I'm-not-dead' check in to Taimi. Since then, the wizards — particularly Helter — had strongly suggested Glaw to keep their communications with the outside world to a minimum. For Tyria's sake.

Had anyone even noticed they were gone?

Glaw couldn't decide if they even wanted anyone to have noticed their absence. If someone had, that meant discussing where they had been, what they had been doing. Skirting the dangerous edge of admitting there was a whole sect of wizards lingering at the edges of Tyria's reality.

If someone hadn't noticed, then, well...

Swallowing thickly, Glaw pocketed the comm device again. They continued on their trek, boots falling onto a worn dirt path that winded its way towards Hoelbrak's southern gate. Unsurprisingly, the settlements on the city's outskirts were dark and quiet. Glaw wasn't sure the time difference between here and the Wizard's Tower, much less Nayos, but they would hazard it was early morning now. Any reasonable person would be asleep.

Inside Hoelbrak was much like the settlement, but a few sounds could be heard, distant and muffled. For a moment, Glaw paused. Tired, pale eyes searched over the city as if drinking in the sheer sight of it alone. It was as unchanged as ever save for a few fresh paper decorations propped up as Hoelbrak prepared for the yearly Dragon Bash celebrations.

Home.

Right?

This did not feel much like a homecoming, though. Not like the previous times Glaw had returned to Hoelbrak. Not stumbling in on unsteady feet after Jormag's death — when they truly had been lost and then found. Dearly missed. Not coming back heralded as a hero and slayer of dragons, finally fitting into their title of Commander, after the Dragon Cycle had finally been ended in the far reaches of Cantha.

The city slumbered on, unaware of all that had transpired on Tyria's doorstep. Glaw would be lying if they didn't admit the idea didn't make them ache, just a little.

Spurred back into motion by the reminder of the cold, Glaw turned onto the side path that led to a cluster of lodges. Their family home, where their mother slept and the forge burned on as faithfully as always. They wondered if their sister, Bryn, was visiting from the Priory. She had made a habit of coming home every few weeks to help their mother around the house. A habit of filling in for Glaw where they had been made absent by their duties.

A thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney, and a dull glow emanated from their mother's forge behind the lodge. There, at the threshold of the house, Glaw found their feet faltering. It was not trepidation nor excitement that gave them pause. It was a deep-seated sensation of wrongness, like everything had been shifted two inches to the left and then made to masquerade as if that was how it had always been.

With a steeling breath, Glaw gently eased the door open. Familiar smells accosted them: the cinnamon-pepper scent of their mother's cooking; the taste of wood ash in the smoky air; and the lingering tinge of wet dog that permeated the households of all who followed the Spirit of Wolf.

Glaw shrugged off their heavy cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, as they always did. Their mask went beside it, along with their gloves. Beside their muck-dirtied boots, they rested their hammer.

Everything was the same. Nothing had changed.

Except for them.

[elliemarchetti]

The Most Macabre of Scenes, The Most Terrible of Nightmares

As I hope the few souls reading this have already guessed, requests are open for anything on LOTR and The Hobbit. However, in this chapter the journey of the Fellowship continues, but various shadows loom over their safety and the hearts of its members.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Words: 2643

The attack was short and violent, but fortunately no one was injured. It was about midnight on their eighth day of travel when the Orcs stroke, a raid planned down to the last detail, one might say, as they had took advantage of the current, the crescent moon that lit up the sky and the abundance of strangely bright stars, reflecting like torches on the River’s surface. Their black-feathered arrows had fallen like lethal rain upon the Fellowship, but except for a few torn cloaks, there had been no damage. Hidden among the ferns of the western shore, as awake as they could be, everyone thought about what they saw in the sky after their enemies had unexpectedly retreated, trying to give a name to the great winged creature, blacker than the pits of the night, which had emerged from the south. Fierce voices rose up to greet it from across the water, and Elva could still feel the chills running through her and clutching at her heart, deadly cold like the memory of an old wound. She had killed it, with a single shot from the bow she had received as a gift in Lorien, but she was sure there were others, and she wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from that irreparably corrupted land. After that vision, Haldir had no longer spoken, but he was frowning and his mind was probably in Lothlorien, lost in calculating how long such a beast would take to reach the ends of the mallorn’s forest. Lying next to him, Elva wished she was able to say out loud that he could return, if he wished, that no one would’ve wanted him any harm for placing his homeland before a mission that didn’t even belonged to him, and that Galadriel herself would’ve probably been grateful for the warning, but selfishly, she couldn’t, so she hugged tighter her knees under the cloak, a reassurance and a way to fight the changing of the weather. When the day came, the mood of the world about them had become soft and sad. Slowly the dawn grew to a pale light, diffused and shadowless. There was mist on the River, and white fog swathed the shore, making the far bank impossible to see.

“I can’t abide fog,” said Sam, “but this seems to be a lucky one: now perhaps we can get away without those cursed goblins seeing us.”

“Perhaps so,” said Aragorn. “But it will be hard to find the path unless the fog lifts a little later on, and we must, if we are to pass Sarn Gebir and come to the Emyn Muil.”

“I don’t see why we should pass the Rapids or follow the River any further,” said Boromir. “If the Emyn Muil lie before us, then we can abandon these cockle-boats and strike westward and southward, until we come to the Entwash and cross into my own land.”

“We can, if we are making for Minas Tirith,” said Aragorn, “but that’s not yet agreed, and such a course may be more perilous than it sounds: the Entwash’s vale is flat and fenny, fog a deadly peril for those on foot and laden. I wouldn’t abandon our boats until we must, for the River is at least a path that cannot be missed.”

“But the Enemy holds the eastern bank,” objected Boromir, “and even if you pass the Gates of Argonath, coming unmolested to the Tindrock, what will you do then? Leap down the Falls and land in the marshes?”

The tones were heating up, and Elva thought it was time to intervene: “It’s not the way of the Men of Minas Tirith to desert their friends at need, and we’ll need your strength, if ever we are to reach the Tindrock.”

The mortal seemed satisfied with those words, and decided he would go as far as the tall isle, but no further.

“There I shall turn to my home,” he announced, “alone if my help hasn’t earned the reward of any companionship.”

Elva prayed that someone had decided to pursue that mission, but in order to keep an army as powerful as that of Boromir's father, if everyone chose to follow Aragorn, she would be the one to separate from the rest of the companions, this decided a long time ago, perhaps at the very moment Gandalf had chosen her for the Quest. That gloomy possibility, which was so far from her ideals, prompted her to wait for the mist to rise in silence, even as she and Haldir went exploring forward along the shore, while the others remained by the boats. She hoped to find some way by which they could carry everything to the smoother water beyond the Rapids, but even if the elven boats wouldn’t sink, that didn’t ensure they could come through Sarn Gebir alive, for none ever done so yet, and no road was made by the Men of Gondor in this region, for even in their great days their realm didn’t reach up Anduin beyond the Emyn Muil.

“There is a portage-way somewhere on the western shore, if I can find it,” revealed Haldir, so softly that for a moment Elva hardly noticed.

"I didn't tell the others," the elf went on, "because I was afraid they wouldn't believe me, after my miscalculations pushed us towards the Orcs attack; besides, I fought those creatures for a good part of my own adult life, and I could’ve imagined their simple but ingenious plan."

"No one was injured, that's the important thing," Elva replied, thinking that if anyone had risked being hit, it would’ve been him, as an arrow had ripped off both the cloak and the skin of the jacket from his shoulders.

"But if that had happened, the fault would’ve been mine alone, and whoever had accused me, even if only in grief, would’ve been right: you have already lost the Istar, and before I should’ve warned Aragorn it wasn’t wise to continue at night as he suggested, but I didn't, and now I don't want to deceive anyone until I’m sure that my memory doesn’t deceive me," he replied, resolute in the bitterness of someone who can't forgive himself.

"Why are you telling me, then?" Elva asked, unable to stop.

"Because I'm sure I can trust you, and I know you’ve faced the guilt, same or not, even if I still don’t know what you’re carrying it for,” he replied, with a naked and vulnerable honesty, which hit right to the point. She didn't like talking about her past, much less what she felt about it, yet he must’ve seen a difficult life in her eyes, a life that perhaps could’ve been more like his, if only she had been born in another realm. Like Lorien, Mirkwood was a wonderful but tricky place, where growing up as a half-breed wasn't easy at all, especially when you needed to do it by yourself. Getting to know Legolas, and later becoming his confidant and friend, had been a blessing, and she kept telling herself that her true life had begun the day a young prince was bewitched by the ability of a simple recruit with a bow and with words. She hadn't treated him well, weary as every orphan is, and perhaps that was precisely what had intrigued him, since at court no one spoke to him as an equal, much less had the courage to say what they really though, too busy trying to win the future king’s favours, since with the one in charge was so hard. Speaking of Thranduil, he had welcomed her as if she were his own daughter, instructing and having her instructed in the best possible way; but the king was a cold and distant father, rigid in his manner and limited in his displays of affection, not exactly what a girl without parents desires most. If loving Legolas as a brother had been simple, as natural as breathing and almost a matter of survival, the same couldn't be said of the oldest of the Greenleafs, but she had learned that too, and with it the art of concealing her heart, although with Haldir it was so difficult.

"And how can I know I should have the same trust in you?" she asked, her heart heavy. She needed to believe that he wouldn’t leave the Fellowship, even if she followed Boromir and everyone else went by water, and she needed to know if he would understand her decision, or if he would end up misinterpreting it.

"You can't, but to convince you otherwise, I'll tell you something that I'm sure should’ve remained a secret: Galadriel's Mirror showed me three visions, three possible futures, I find myself believing. I still don't want to talk about two, because it doesn't seem wise, but the most macabre of scenes, the most terrible of nightmares that I thought I could have, I feel like sharing: I don't know if the Fellowship had failed in its intent, or if it's the fate that awaits my homeland anyway, if events should take that turn, but darkness had fallen over the forest of golden trees when a flock of huge winged creatures, like the one you killed last night, swept over Calas Galadhon. The Lord and the Lady fought side by side with every common citizen, and a shower of arrows capable of obscuring the stars was sent from each talan towards the sky. I don't know how the battle could end, as my vision was limited to that, but I have seen you fight with us, and defend our young and old as if they were your own. I don't pretend to understand what those images meant, and why the Mirror decided to show them to me, but I believe it was the beginning of Lorien's Winter, the first day of a downhill road to inevitable ruin, yet you were there by our side, and I don't think you'd fight for the land of someone you don’t trust,” he concluded, just as enigmatic as his ruler. Did he meant he understood her malfidence towards the Galadhrim, or was it really just his way of assuming that she would always trust him, to the point of risking death for a place that did not belong to her? There was no way of knowing but asking, and it didn't seem appropriate, fearing that he too might ask her what the Mirror had shown her. Death, she might’ve replied, no matter it was the mallorn’s, his people’s or Haldir’s himself, but she didn't want to talk about it anymore, she just wanted to forget his pale skin in the moonlight, the dust, sweat and blood surrounding her like a sea that smelled of the Enemy's wickedness instead of salt, so she fell silent.

“It cannot yet have perished,” muttered Haldir under his breath, after a while. “Light boats used to journey out of Wilderland down to Osgiliath, and still did so until a few years ago, when the Orcs of Mordor began to multiply.”

“Even if we find the path, peril will grow with every mile we go forward, for it lies ahead on every southward road,” replied Elva

They found what they were looking for just before noon, with the head of the Rapids half a mile below them: a track leading to a good landing, a little more than a mile long, was still serviceable, not far beyond the stream clear and smooth again, though running swiftly. The hardest task was to get the boats and baggage to the old portage-way, lying well back from the water-side near which they were camped, and running under the lee of a rock-wall, a furlong or more from the shore. “I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here,” said Haldir, once back.

“That wouldn’t be easy, even if we were all Men,” said Boromir.

“Yet such as we are we will try it,” Aragorn replied peremptorily.

“We will!” confirmed Gimli, and although the task was difficult, it was nevertheless completed, the goods taken out of the boats and brought to the top of the bank, where there was a level space, and the boats themselves drawn out of the water and carried up, proving to be far less heavy than any had expected; at last, all was removed to be laid on the portage-way and with little further hindrance, save from sprawling briars and many fallen stones, they moved forward all together. Fog still hung in veils upon the crumbling rock-wall, and to their left mist shrouded the River: they could hear it rushing and foaming over the sharp shelves and stony teeth of Sarn Gebir, but they couldn't see it. There the portage-way, turning back to the water-side, ran gently down to the shallow edge of a little pool scooped in the river-side, not by hand, but by the water swirling down from Sarn Gebir against a low pier of rock that jutted out some way into the stream. Beyond it the shore rose sheer into a grey cliff, and there was no further passage for those on foot. Already the short afternoon was past, and a dim cloudy dusk was closing in. Sitting beside the water, they listened to the confused rush and roar of the Rapids hidden in the mist; they were tired and sleepy, and their hearts were as gloomy as the dying day at the thought of spending there another night, even if it seemed inevitable, given the general fatigue. Luckily, nothing worse than a brief drizzle of rain an hour before dawn happened, and as soon as it was fully light and the fog was thinning, they started. Keeping as close as they could to the western side, they saw the dim shapes of the low cliffs rising ever higher, shadowy walls with their feet in the hurrying river. In the mid-morning the clouds drew down lower, and it began to rain heavily, forcing them to drew the skin-covers over their boats to prevent them from being flooded and drifted on; little could be seen before or about them through the grey falling curtains but it didn’t last long, the sky above growing lighter and suddenly opening, dismissing fogs and mists too. Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few trees; as they sped along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever might meet ahead, Elva peered forward, seeing in the distance two great rocks approaching. Like pinnacles or pillars of stone they stood, tall, sheer and ominous, creating a narrow gap among which the boats could only pass one by one. They were the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings, vast grey figures silent but threatening, shaped and fashioned as two great kings of stone with blurred eyes and crannied brows frowning upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning, while in each right hand there was an axe and upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished Kingdom, instilling awe and fear in the Fellowship travelling in boats frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of Numenor. Passing into the dark chasm of the Gates, sheer rose the dreadful cliffs on either side, while the black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. What a horrible place it was, but it must’ve been even worse for Aragorn, a king in exile who was finally returning to his land only to see it filled with the noise of wind, rushing water and echoing stone.

[dalleyan]

Shattered (1st chapter of new LoTR story posted, 1-20-21)

Eomer thought that his life would be less complicated after the War, but loving a woman he could never have made that unlikely.  Then unexpected circumstances altered everything. Complete in 5 chapters.

 Chapter 1

(Cormallen, late April, 3019 III)

Hearty laughter rent the night.  “Oh, Eomer, I can scarce wait to have you meet the rest of my family.  I am sure they will love you as I do. Already you are like a son to me,” Imrahil warmly told the king of Rohan.

“I am honored!” Eomer responded, humbled by the man’s approbation.

“You know, my friend, now you are king, you will need to think about beginning a family of your own.  I doubt a queen and a few heirs would go amiss in Rohan’s eyes!” Imrahil urged.

Eomer chuckled.  His friends had already been goading him in the direction of matrimony.  It seemed marriage and children were on everyone’s mind in the wake of their victory, and he could not truly deny that the thought had occurred to him how pleasing a family would be.  He would gladly see the hall of Meduseld filled with laughing children, driving back the long shadows of the past.

With a glint in his eyes, he teased, “How may I even consider marriage when you have told me that your only daughter is already betrothed?  Shall I seek solace in some lesser maiden?”

Imrahil laughed appreciatively.  “Had I known I would meet you, I might have required Lothiriel to wait instead of approving her betrothal.”  He sighed, and shook his head before shrugging.  “We live in a new world, one that none of us thought would ever exist.  There are many worthy ladies who will eagerly seek your suit, Eomer.  Choose wisely.  The right woman beside a man, especially a ruler, makes all the difference. Do not let your advisers press you to marry someone in whose company you cannot be perfectly at ease.  Many noble marriages in Gondor are made for alliance rather than love.  I know it is so, but I was fortunate enough to achieve both, and I believe I would not have done half so well with anyone else united to me.  She has given me four beautiful children and a lifetime of joy.”

Eomer nodded silently at the counsel, taking another swallow of ale. Wise counsel, indeed, he was sure, but privately he knew that a wife would likely have to wait a while.  First the Mark needed his full attention in being rebuilt.

xx

Over the next few days, Eomer gave little further thought to his conversation with Imrahil their last night at Cormallen.  The company traveled to Osgiliath and then on to Minas Tirith, where Aragorn was crowned king on May first.  Consequently, he had not given much thought to Imrahil’s daughter, Lothiriel, or that they would soon meet.  Had he done so, he supposed he would have expected her to be tall and dark like the other members of her family. 

The reality, when they came face to face, was far more than that. All of the men in the Prince’s family would be considered handsome, and Eomer had noted appreciative looks cast at them from the ladies.  Not only did the family have Numenorean blood, but it was also rumored that they had Elvish ancestry.  In Lothiriel of Dol Amroth there was every reason to believe the rumors.  Eomer had come to admire the dark looks of Gondorian women, but he thought Imrahil’s youngest child might well be the handsomest woman he had ever seen.  He noted that he was not the only man, upon first meeting her, who took a moment to recover his composure in the presence of such beauty.

More than her looks, though, he found her a pleasant and charming woman, as he would have expected.  While yet young, at only twenty years, she carried herself with grace and dignity that reflected well upon her father and his house.  Eomer was not at all surprised to note her parents beaming proudly as they watched their daughter move about in noble society.

During the sennight Eomer tarried at Minas Tirith before returning home, he came to realize that he could very much regret that he had not met the lady sooner, before she was betrothed.  There had been little time in his life for the pursuit of ladies and romance; now that he had time, even needed to make time, the one that most caught his eye was unavailable to him.

Despite that, Eomer formed as warm a friendship with the lady as he had with the others in her family.  With the defeat of Sauron, Imrahil’s wife and daughter, heir and his family, and Lothiriel’s betrothed had all journeyed to Minas Tirith for the celebrations and the coronation of their new king.

Imrahil’s wife, Sirrin, was a gracious woman, tall and regal, with little gray dusting her hair despite her many years.  Apparently, in her eyes, friends of her husband’s were friends of hers, and she welcomed Eomer cordially into their home.  With the affection that had developed between Eomer’s sister and Imrahil’s nephew adding an extra tie uniting their families, the king found himself a frequent guest there.

Elphir and his family were equally appealing, and the toddler heir was an active boy that kept amused smiles on many faces as they surveyed his antics.

The last member of the party, Lord Gaerost of Edhellond, was a bit of a mystery, not so easily assessed as the others.  Well-spoken and tactful, Eomer watched him socialize with practiced ease.  Amrothos had told him that the man held shipping interests along the coast at the various ports, and was quite wealthy.  His fleet of ships had been employed in protecting the coastline, and thus he had remained in the south during the war.  He and Elphir had long been acquainted, and it was through that connection that he had met and offered suit to Lothiriel.

Perhaps it was just Eomer’s predisposition to dislike the man, but he found something pompous and pretentious about him.  Indeed he was a handsome man, but bordered on being ��pretty’, and seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to his appearance. Eomer had never seen any male preen so much as this man, but at the same time, in comparison, the king felt almost unkempt and rough-hewn.  It was unlikely Eomer’s manners would ever be that refined or particular.

Though Eomer met Imrahil’s family during the course of the day when they first arrived, he spent the majority of his time with Eowyn and had little interaction with them.  Not until the feast that night, did he have an opportunity to speak with them more and get a better sense of them than what casual observation allowed.

The first thing to catch his eye was that Lothiriel was now moving with the aid of a cane.  As she had been perfectly healthy when they met earlier, he could only presume something had happened in the interim.  His eyes narrowed with consternation at how little attention her betrothed seemed to be displaying toward her, particularly given her ailment, but as Lothiriel did not appear bothered by it, he supposed it was none of his business.

 continue reading on AO3:

           https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886217/chapters/70864245

[a-scribbling-intruder]

Fanfic Recs pt.1

Soo this was long overdue. I don’t really read fanfic that often, and when I do it is mostly things other people have reccomended to me. So i’ve always wanted to create my own rec list to return the favour, but somehow never got around to it. So yay years later, here’s at least a start. Will probably sort it better if i update it. Anyways if fanfic and any of these fandoms are your cup of tea, enjoy. Mostly gen and either humour or horror, it think. Fandoms included: Harry Potter, Death Note, MCU, LOTR, Sherlock Holmes, Original Fiction and weirdly, Samurai Champloo

Harry Potter (and Crossovers with Harry Potter)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9238861/1/Applied-Cultural-Anthropology-or Applied Cultural Anthropology (Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Cruciatus)  (Hermione/Tom Riddle) Really well done, pairing is not the main focus (they’re not even together yet), instead hermione being her usual brilliant self but being sorted into slytherin. She isn’t just suddenly evil, she’s still righteous and wants to better the world. But exactly this (with a little help of a unassuming black diary) leads her down a slippery slope. (Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11160991/1/0800-Rent-A-Hero 0800-Rent-A-Hero. Harry has finally gotten rid of snake-face and settled down with Teddy and Andromeda. Cue inter-dimensional space vortex opening in his living room. Summoned from his finally peaceful life by Dumbledore and the Order to solve their voldemort problem, Harry is less than pleased. But can he truly just ignore them? Grudgingly „Harry White“  accepts the free post as divination teacher at hogwarts and starts befriending his female interdimensional counterpart, Iris Potter, all while wanting to get revenge on Dumbledore and trying not to get too involved with Tonks… The beginning is a bit grizzly but overall it is definitely  more on the humorous side, and also poking fun at so many fandom chliches! (Last updated 6 months ago, so there is still hope…)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10954546/1/Framed-Fractured Framed and fractured. During the fiendfyre-incident in the Room of Requirement Harry barely escapes through some kind of black hole. Now he’s stuck as a painting in the RoR, with a surprisingly sane, young and healthy looking Tom Riddle as the only visitor. The painting only decipts a bleak room, the door is shut and strange shadows lurk in the 4th wall whenever the RoR is not used. There is also an old diary there, speaking of monsters just outside of the room… – very interesting start, tom and harry haven’t really interacted yet but the descriptions of the timelessness in the painting and the “unexplained horror” vibe are fab. (Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10136762/21/ The Case of the Man who was wanted. (Harry Potter x Sherlock crossover) Harry Potter lives as a fugitive after being accused and imprisoned of a string of murders after the defeat of voldemort. Sherlock gets called to solve the case of the mysterious death of the Dursley couple in Surrey and finds known terrorist and fugitive Harry Potter inside, who, unexpectedly, claims to be innocent. Sherlock gets involved in not only the world of witchcraft and wizardry, but also in a strange man who seems kind of hollow and has many well-kept secrets… (Again, the kind of lovecraftian creepy horror vibe i love. Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11115934/1/The-Shadow-of-Angmar The Shadow of Angmar. (HP x LOTR crossover) Harry gets summoned by the witch king as „the master of Death“. Broken and battered, he starts searching for a way home in an unknown world where his magic doesn’t work. Has FANTASTIC world building and a very bitter and world-weary Harry. (Ongoing)

Marvel Cinematic Universe

http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/425428 The Calculator by katsu. THIS IS MY FAVORITE FANFIC IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. Just imagine Good Omens but more superheroes-and-supervillain themed. Loki is not going full villain like in the thor movie, but instead is more of a chaotic-neutral kind of guy more keeping the supervillainery for appearance’s sake and the occasional meddling to aleviate the boredom. But then he takes the meddling a bit too far, and karme comes to bite him in the butt. Big time. I really don’t want to say more about the plot bc it is so brilliant and original. Just read it. Also, have a quote (this is only a footnote, actually, so imagine what the real fic mus be like): “yes, he had filled several little leather-bound diaries with childish scrawls of red ink that read things like, “Die Thor” and “You never really accepted me!” And then he’d attended a few sessions of primal scream therapy and taken a modern dance course at the local community college. Between finding a constructive way to express his anger and making some lovely friends that he still had tea with every Wednesday afternoon while they chatted manicures, fashion, and lap dogs, he felt much more comfortable in his own skin these days. All it had really taken was escaping the poisonously macho atmosphere of Asgard, which according to Kevin was something like living in Omaha and not being interested in Football.“

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5460221 Genesis by teaberryblue. Reluctant to make the truth about their secret weapon known, the American Government tells the world that Captain America is a man named Steve Rogers.  According to public record, he died, tragically, in 1945, and he became legend.In 1998, the Avengers find a body trapped in ice. She’s alive. Her name is Eve. She has Captain America’s shield. Featuring a slightly different cast as the Avengers and brilliant discussion of gender issues, kinda whimsical-poetical writing style. (Oneshot, completed.)

Death Note

http://archiveofourown.org/works/461685 Murmur in the Shell. Light Yagami’s dead, L is dead. Yet the idea of them stays in the world, embodied by black notebooks that always will fall. History repeats, even if nobody wants to be a part of it. After all, there will always be new players. (Near, new!Kira. Really nice, jus a short ficlet about the roles we sometimes must play and the ideas of dead men  we pick up along the way.) (Oneshot, completed).

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9380249/2/ Rationalising Death. Light Yagami finds the Death Note, we know the rest. But in this story, light talks all his steps through with his inner voices (like „Test It“ aka „Death“, Moral which everyone kinda ignores and also could be called Caution, or Practice). Its less cracky than it sounds now, i promise. Rather, it’s a very interesting character study bc it doesn’t just paint Kira as a sociopath with a god-complex (well, that too -) but explains his actions as being very, very human (while not excusing them). Seems to be dead at 10 chapters but i still would recommend reading it bc its brilliant, the style is a bit like hpmor’s. It explains the thought processes of everyone (L, Light, Misa, Ryuk, all that jazz)) very thoroughly and is also quite amusing (light comparing hinself to batman consantly, e.g.). But the best part is probably Misa’s characterisation (i’m not gonna spoil it for you but omg) –> https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10580913/1/Rationalising-Fiction Rationalising Fiction also check out this nice lil’  timestamp (recursive ff?) of another author wherein Misa realises she is a fictional character. Very meta, very lovely.

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/8415898/1/God-of-the-Machine God of the Machine by The Carnivourous Muffin. The OC/SI Anna Jones suddenly appears in Light Yagami’s bedroom. When you read about fictional characters they can fall kind of flat, not that they’re not interesting but you always know they’re not really like you. Light seems less scary, L less creepy and Misa… well Misa always seems insane, even in the Manga. So Anna Jones is fucking terrified, curses herself for not paying better attention to the details in the manga and has to consider her survival and the prices she’s willing to pay. (Yes, this is the Self-Insert Trope but played so well. Also very philosophical. Ongoing. Also, go read everything by this author while you’re at it.)

Other

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9915682/5/ The Last Christmas. A industrial engineer takes up the mantle of santa claus and gets some dangerous ideas about the true meaning of Christmas… (No fandom, or is that like the mythology fandom?, anyways, it’s creepy and give’s you some food for thought, although the story itself isn’t that polished. Very interesting and original take on santa claus!) (Completed.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2865379/1/Nenju Nenju. Samurai Champloo. Because no anime has ever kindled a bigger need for a love triangle. This one’s fairly good and really long, with a nice dose of angst but a happy ending. (Mugen/Fuu, Jin/Fuu, Mugen/Yanusha)

[dalleyan]

Diplomacy (5th chapter of new LoTR story posted, 12-12-20)

While in Rohan for Theoden’s funeral, Imrahil makes an unusual request of Eomer that has far-reaching consequences.

 Complete in 14 chapters.

 Chapter 5    (early Oct)

Lothiriel paused outside the king’s door, listening for the sounds of disurbance she had heard a moment ago.  They came again, and she recognized the jumbled sound of someone dreaming. Reluctantly she lifted the latch on the door and entered the room.  A full moon streamed through the window, easily lighting the chamber, and she turned toward the bed where Eomer was thrashing and moaning, calling out periodically.  Most of the words were mumbled and incomprehensible, but a few slipped through and it was enough for her to know the dream involved battle...and Eowyn.

She moved to the foot of the bed, safely out of his reach, knowing how dangerous it could be to approach a sleeping soldier.  She firmly called his name a few times and, when that got no results, she reached forward and caught his foot, shaking it hard.  Abruptly he launched up in the bed, and she hastily released him and sidestepped, still calling his name.  She could tell by the confused, rapid blinking he was doing that he was not yet full awake and cognizant of her presence, but at length his face cleared and he noticed her standing before him.

“Lothiriel?”  He rubbed his face with both hands.  “Is something the matter?  Why are you here?”

She moved slowly around to the side of the bed.  “You were dreaming, Eomer, and in distress.  I came to wake you.”  She sat down, turned to face him, and he was a bit disconcerted by her actions.  Some part of his mind kept insisting it was inappropriate for her to be here, but he was too disoriented to fully comprehend the situation.

“I am sorry if I disturbed you.  Please, go back to bed.  I will be fine now.  If you like, tomorrow we can move you to a room farther away so it will not happen again.” The words tumbled out rotely, and he was almost unaware of what he was saying, but she took no notice.

“I did not come to complain of the disturbance, Eomer.  I came to help ease your torment.”  He turned to look at her curiously in the moonlight, and she continued, “What were you dreaming?  I heard you mention Eowyn and it obviously dealt with battle.”

Eomer was not sure he wanted to talk about this, but perhaps it would help him get back to sleep, and it didn’t appear she intended to leave until he did.  Slowly, he told her, “It is the same dream all the time.  I dream of the Pelennor fields.  Of finding Theoden and being named his heir before he died.  Of finding Eowyn, seemingly dead.  I thought I had lost everything...everyone.  I went mad with grief and hopelessness.  I went on a rampage of killing, hacking and slashing at every orc and uruk and other enemy I could get my sword into.  I felt nothing but anger and despair, and was convinced I was to die.  I fought so blindly that I got myself and my men into a situation where we were outnumbered.  Imrahil and Gondor’s army came to our aid, but if Aragorn had not arrived to help, I might have caused many needless deaths.”  His voice trailed off into silence, as he leaned forward onto his raised knees with tears flowing down his face.

“Lie down,” Lothiriel instructed softly.

He looked at her, cautiously and surprised.  “Lie down,” she repeated, “on your side.”

With a sigh, he did as she told him and looked up at her questioningly.  Her hand reached over and began to stroke his head, and it struck him that it reminded him strongly of the way his mother used to soothe him when he had a bad dream as a boy.  She began humming a low tune, but interspersed with it, she began speaking in a gentle voice.  The effect was almost as if she was singing to him, and to his amazement, he felt his muscles starting to unbunch and relax.  “Many men, most men, would have despaired in such a situation, and likely done something just as reckless in their anguish.  You believed you were to die and you determined to take as many of them with you as possible before that happened.  You did not know if it would make a difference to the outcome of the battle, but with your last breath you fought to defend friend and family and home. There is no dishonor in that.”

She fell quiet a few moments, still stroking his head and humming, then directed, “Think of one of your happiest memories, Eomer.”

He was becoming so relaxed, he felt almost on the edge of sleep again, but after a moment he responded, “My happiest memories are when I was a child, before my parents died. Once, at harvest season, many workers had gone to pick the apples from the trees.  The children who were old enough either helped, or watched the younger children in the orchard.  I was eight and Eowyn was four.  I remember we played hide and seek for a while and then, even at that young age, she wanted me to teach her to use a sword.”  His mouth curled up at the memory.

“Describe it to me. Was it a warm day or cool?  Was the sun shining?  Birds singing?  What did you hear, smell?” Lothiriel questioned softly.

Sleepily Eomer murmured, “It was a cool day, but the sun was bright.  The darkness of Mordor had not yet overshadowed us.  I remember the sound of childish laughter, mingling with twittering birds.  I remember scolding mothers when a child did something foolish or dangerous.  I remember...Eowyn.  With her braids and her freckles and her...smile.  After our parents died, I did not see that smile very often ever again.”

Drawing him back to the happy memory, Lothiriel asked, “Did you sneak any apples to eat?”

He chuckled, “We snuck so many we did not want to eat the meal our mothers brought for us.  And when we were finished, the baskets were loaded into wagons and the children got to ride on the back end, with our legs dangling out.  Father came and met us on our way back home, and I got to ride behind him while Eowyn rode in front of him on his horse.”  Eomer’s voice had drifted so far into sleep that his words were almost unintelligble now. 

And still Lothiriel hummed and stroked his head, until the deepness of his breathing told her he was finally asleep.  Stiffly, she rose and moved slowly to the door, glancing back once before she stepped into the hall, and closed it behind her.  She pinched the bridge of her nose with weariness and sorrow.  The war might be over and Sauron’s evil defeated, but its effects would linger for a very long time – in the fatherless homes, in the maimed bodies of men, and in the tortured memories of the soldiers who fought. She had sat up nights like this with her brothers, since the fall of Sauron, and always it tore at her heart to see those dear to her so wounded.  She knew they were not alone in it.  How many other wives and sisters and mothers spent long hours consoling and comforting the men in their lives?

Wearily she returned to her room and fell into a tearful slumber.

 continue reading on AO3:

              https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848730/chapters/68671785