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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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The Dragon | part 3 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} read on AO3

Summary: An eventual unexpected encounter goes a long way to changing Thranduil’s thoughts towards the dragon.

Content etc: Angst. Threat of violence. Mutual pining/assumed unrequited feelings etc.

tags: @firelightinferno, @achromaticerebus, @coopsgirl, @birbixo0912, @desert-fern, @ancient-rime, @faefairi3

True to his word, Thranduil called you to his chambers again the next day to pick discussions of the dragon back up. The two of you sat at a table just inside the door while Aegnor played out in the garden. There was a little tension in Thranduil’s shoulders as you watched him poring over the maps on the table in front of you both. Apart from that, you thought he looked a considerable amount better than he had yesterday. His scars were concealed once more and he seemed in better control.

You did not miss the mildly sour glances he still cast out of the door into the garden, directed at Aegnor. You did not miss the way he would tense if the dragon made a sound from outside. You would have reassured him that it was only playing noises but you could tell that Thranduil did not wish attention to be drawn to it... so you didn’t.

“What about the mountains?” You asked after your eyes roved across the map, pointing out the Mirkwood Mountains with your finger.

Thranduil eyed the Mountains of Mirkwood on the map for a long moment, seemingly considering, before he shook his head. “Too close.”

“Thranduil.”

“What?”

You sighed and shrugged. “Nothing...”

He kept his gaze on you for a long moment, studying your expression, before he relented and shook his head. “No.” He said finally, lowering his gaze to the table as he felt mild shame. “Speak. It’s alright.”

You were still feeling tense and on edge from his previous moodswings the last couple of weeks and so you had defaulted to not pushing the issue for the simple fact of keeping the peace and not inciting the king’s wrath.

He sounded, right now, more like the Thranduil that you knew and, as you looked up, the remorse in his eyes was easy to see before he quickly banished it and glanced back up again, his face now blank though not unkind.

You bit your lip just slightly and shrugged. “I just do not think there will be anywhere else in Middle Earth that is suitable.” You said. “It is close enough that you may keep an eye on him if you wish. It is far enough away that he will not be a threat-”

“You cannot give me that guarantee.” Thranduil interrupted sharply, looking back up from where his gaze had dropped to the map.

You fell silent again, though your mind was still loud as ever as it chewed over Thranduil’s words. Was he right? Could you really not guarantee it? You truly believed that Aegnor was good.

“I will.” You said after a long silence, looking back up at him.

He was still looking at you and you saw no malice in his eyes, just... a sort of hopelessness. He thought that there was no way to come to an agreeable conclusion. He thought that he was going to have to use his position as King to get his way, slay the dragon, and he would lose you anyway. Whether it would be by you sacrificing yourself for the dragon, by his being forced to banish you, or you leaving by choice so you never again had to look upon him, he did not know. But he was certain it would happen one way or the other.

“What?” He asked, confused by what you meant by the remark.

“I will guarantee it, Thranduil. I will show you that he will not be a threat. Not to you. Not to any of us.”

Thranduil blinked, staring back at you for a few moments. His sharp gaze softened a little as he took in the hopeful light in your eyes. “Your optimism is commendable, mellon.” He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “However, I see no way for-”

“Please, Thranduil.” You reached across the map without thinking and took hold of his hand with your own. Whether it was the fact that he had called you friend or something else, you did not know, but as hard as this was for him you knew that he was trying... and despite what you had done, and the fact you probably did not deserve it, it was everything to you.

The king had fallen silent again, his eyes fixed upon your hand atop his. He was reminded of the previous night. Of you coming to his chamber, of soothing his hurts, and not just the physical ones.

The apology you had finally, finally, given him had rid him of a little piece of the wall that had gone up around his shattered heart. A lot of the hurt he had felt had been due to his wrangling with the belief that you did not care whether or not you had pained him and betrayed him. That the friendship he had so dearly coveted had meant nothing to you. He could see now - well, he always had he supposed, but now with more clarity - that you simply had such a good heart that you had found yourself in an impossible position. He had seen you show unease at killing a juvenile spider while it was literally hunting you, let alone a baby dragon just born looking at you with wide eyes as if you were its mother.

There was still a long road for him to travel, he was not so foolish that he did not think his temper might still flare. Elrond Peredhel may have healed his physical wounds after that dreadful day he faced the fire, but he had not been so well-versed in the healing of the mind... and Thranduil’s was far from stable over this particular event. He knew that well enough but controlling it, even for him, was another matter entirely.

Still. This was you. He would try to continue reminding himself of that fact.

“What, exactly, do you mean?” He prompted, slowly pulling his hand from your own. He missed the contact immediately but his mind flickered back to the kiss he’d embarrassed himself with and he did not wish for you to get the wrong idea should he linger. You clearly did not return his feelings and he would have you forget it or chalk it up to a moment of madness.

You watched him pull his hand away, doing your best to keep your expression neutral. You turned to look over your shoulder and out of the door that led to the garden. Aegnor was climbing up one of the pillars, standing at the top, and gliding across to a nearby flower bed. He did this over and over, seemingly pleased with himself each time. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, the sight of which made Thranduil turn to follow your gaze to the animal.

“I mean.” You finally said, turning your attention back to the king, who was still looking outside. “That if you will let me, if you will open yourself up to the possibility, I will help you see past the imagined evil you have decided lives in him, and show you the goodness of his heart.” You watched Thranduil blink and turn his attention away from the dragon, back to you. “I will prove to you he is not a threat, Thranduil... but you have to do more than linger on the sidelines thinking black thoughts or you will never see. You have to meet me halfway.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed slightly but there was no danger written in them. He was merely thinking. Turning your words over and over in his mind. Anybody else who challenged him that way might have found themselves thrown out of the room and not entertained for a few months. Not many took it upon themselves to tell the king how he must behave or that he was looking through the narrow lens of prejudice.

Frowning, he looked from your face back out into the garden. A shiver ran through him as his mind conjured up the image of an adult Aegnor, all teeth and flame, dangerous and ready to tear this realm apart piece by piece. The image faded away and he was left looking at the juvenile dragon waddling his way out of the flower bed and then looking around for somewhere else to play, seemingly tired from all the gliding.

Thranduil nodded. “Very well.” He turned from Aegnor and looked back at you, his gaze flicking to the map for just a moment before landing back on your face. “I will give you three weeks.”

You broke out into a bright smile that almost melted the very heart of him and you nodded your agreement as you stood up to go and play with Aegnor in the garden. Before you went, you paused by Thranduil’s shoulder and then dared to lean in and kiss his cheek. The action surprised him but you had darted away too quickly for him to speak of it and, anyway, what would he say?

Still, he found himself smiling as he sat there a moment longer, before rising to follow you into the garden.

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A week passed where Thranduil finally joined you in the garden, though he did not play with Aegnor as you often tried to get him to do. He stayed close but he still had a guard up, you could tell. You didn’t blame him but with only two weeks left, you were a little concerned that you had not been granted enough time.

It was at the end of this same week that Aegnor finally found his fire.

The three of you had been in the garden as usual. Thranduil had been sitting on the edge of the fountain, watching as the dragon chase a little ball that you had made him, back and forth. You would purposely throw it towards Thranduil and he would kick it away, Aegnor following gleefully.

It was after the game, when Aegnor was sitting comfortably on a little chair, that he first breathed fire. It seemed to come out of nowhere, just a flicker, but it was the very thing you had been dreading.

The sight caused Thranduil to turn completely pale and then lock himself in his chamber for three whole days. Nobody saw him and he would answer to no one. A couple of his people feared he had actually somehow died and it was simply being kept a secret.

You were wracked with a guilt that you did not know how to assuage, unable to gain entry to his chambers as this time he had made certain to lock the door. Not even Galion, his butler, saw him for those days and you despaired as even more of your three weeks slipped beyond your reach.

“You do pick your moments, don’t you, little one?” You sighed as you looked at Aegnor from your place on the bed, unable to concentrate on the book in your lap at all.

Aegnor had simply tilted his head, giving you a curious look before walking in a little circle and flopping down onto his bed, closing his eyes.

When Thranduil finally reappeared, the king looked tired.

He knocked at your door and instructed you to conceal Aegnor inside your cloak as usual, though unlike before he did not lead you up to his gardens but out into the forest itself. You hesitated, holding the dragon inside your cloak with a soft frown as you stared at the back of Thranduil’s head. He’d brought no guards but you knew that he didn’t need to if he wanted to rid himself of the dragon - and you, perhaps - altogether.

When he became aware you were not following, Thranduil turned with a frown. He was slower than he would have previously been, to catch on to why you were hesitating, but he soon understood and he moved back, stepping towards you with a gentle shake of his head.

“I am not going to hurt either of you.” He said, feeling a deep sorrow in his heart he could not put a name to. “I simply do not feel comfortable any longer permitting him into my garden.”

When you nodded, he turned again and moved off through the trees. You followed him, still a little unsure, but you hadn’t seen anything in his eyes other than exhaustion and, perhaps, that familiar hopelessness.

You had this horrible, sinking feeling that he was not going to keep up his end of the bargain now that he had seen the flames coming from Aegnor.

The forest was quiet, dark as usual but Thranduil knew the safer parts by heart and he led you and Aegnor to a little glade, where the forest river ran through, and he seated himself upon a rock by the stream, staring into the water. You crouched down and let Aegnor hop out of your cloak and then turned to move over to Thranduil, sitting down beside him.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, both of your eyes on the dragon as he walked around acquainting himself with his new surroundings. He seemed to like what he saw as he happily started to play in the ferns, the trees, and the river.

Turning your head to the king, you watched him watch the dragon for a moment before you finally spoke. “Thranduil...”

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes sad, but you couldn’t figure out what it was that he was sad about exactly. Not until he spoke and, even then, it surprised you.

“Forgive me.” He breathed, shaking his head as he fixed his sorrowful expression upon you. “I can only see what he will become.”

In the back of his mind, Thranduil knew that this was just a juvenile. A child. It was growing with the world it lived in, with the people it was around - namely, you. However, he could not shake the worry that dragons were innately evil, that nature would win out over nurture.

You found yourself shaking your head. “There is nothing to forgive, not really.” You sighed all the same. “I understand it. I do.” How could you not? He had suffered something traumatic, physically and mentally. “But he was not the one that hurt you...” You ventured, feeling braver with his many uncontrollable anxiety and anger attacks seemingly behind him.

Thranduil blinked at you, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe what you had said, but also because he realised that you were right. This was not the dragon that had attacked him.

“That does not...” He began, gritting his teeth when you cut him off.

“You promised that you would meet me halfway. You gave me your word. I know that it’s hard but you... you know dragons fly and you know they breathe fire. It was inevitable.” You went quiet, not wishing to reprimand him or cause him pain over his already painful feelings, but you did not know what to do. “Thranduil, I do not know what to do! I am at a loss here!” You reached out for his hand, not bothering to hide your anguish. “I am all alone!”

Thranduil frowned, clutching your hand without realising he was doing it. “You are not alone!” He said firmly, shaking his head. “I am-”

The king got no further because, suddenly, Aegnor let out a shrill cry and leapt into the air. Thranduil’s head moved so fast that you almost thought it might snap off. You felt his grip on your hand tighten as he stared at the dragon, and then you turned too.

Aegnor was not simply gliding anymore. He was flying. However, it was not that that had the Elvenking trembling beside you.

It was the dragon’s open mouth and the orange-red colour of flames travelling up his throat as he flew directly towards the both of you, launching an attack...

...upon the spider that had descended from behind the both of you, readying an attack of its own.

The fear in Thranduil’s eyes melted into surprise as the flames did not touch him, but were instead aimed up and over his head. He jumped off the rock and spun around, immediately pulling you away behind him, to safety. His steel gaze was now on the spider, which Aegnor was flaming again and again and again, the foul creature screeching in agony until it was writhing upon the forest floor, and then lay still.

Silence fell in the glade once again. You were breathing heavy as you contemplated how close you had just come to being a spiders dinner. It took you a long few moments, Thranduil’s protective arm now wrapped around you, to realise that he was staring at Aegnor again.

This time, however, he simply looked astonished.

“Thank you... young one.” He said after a very long moment, causing you to look at him in complete surprise.

Aegnor stamped his little foot and made a huffing sound from his nose, shaking his head as he hopped away from the ghastly spider and climbed up your leg, seeking warmth and rest.

Thranduil stared for a moment longer before he turned and led you back through the forest towards the safety of the halls.

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The next week passed more smoothly. Thranduil allowed Aegnor into his gardens again, though the dragon was growing at such a fast pace that you could no longer conceal him in your cloak.

One more week and he would be the size of a young wolf, Thranduil said. This worried you, because how would you continue to hide his presence from the rest of the realm? Thranduil had said he did not wish for anybody to know the dragon was here and as far as you knew, nothing had changed.

You were sitting on a blanket out on the grass in the garden, watching Aegnor as he roamed around, looking for something to chase. He seemed restless and you felt quite bad for him, but you couldn’t entirely figure out what was wrong.

“He feels hemmed in.” Thranduil said, seeming to read your mind as he appeared at your side with two glasses of wine. He handed you one and sat down beside you.

Aegnor came running over and sniffed at Thranduil’s chalice. The king chuckled and gently pushed the dragon’s nose away with his arm. “Go away.” He shook his head.

“What do you mean?” You asked, ignoring the fact that you were still so very surprised whenever Thranduil showed any sort of positive emotion in the company of Aegnor. It had been a week and yet, every single time, it was still as jarring to you as the last. It seemed that saving you both from one of the evil creatures of the forest went a long way to earning the Elvenking’s favour.

For Thranduil’s part, he was furious with himself for being so bogged down by his fear, letting it control him and his every action and thought, that he had not noticed the danger coming upon you both in that glade. He would never have forgiven himself if something had happened. If the dragon had not been there... he dreaded to think.

It was the wake up call he had needed and he had been doing what he could to keep himself together, to find his way back to the king he was meant to be. He had been acting like he was freshly burned and though he would never admit it out loud... he felt ashamed.

He felt, too, a newfound sort of respect for the dragon. It had not ignored the danger, left you and he to fend for yourselves. Nor had it been taken by the evil of the forest. It had not seemed drawn to the spider in any sense, or to the darker powers that Thranduil knew invaded his beloved wood. Indeed, it had defended not only you... but him. After all he had done. That was certainly something and Thranduil had found, this last week, that another piece of that wall around his heart had been broken through.

Aegnor rushed off again, spotting a bird he could chase.

Thranduil turned back to you, lifting his wine to his lips before he gave you the answer you were waiting for. “He does not have enough space.” He explained, watching as you simply blinked back at him. He sighed. “He is getting bigger by the day and he only ever sees your room or these gardens. He is getting frustrated.”

You frowned, turning away from him to look over at Aegnor.

“He cannot stay much longer.” Thranduil echoed one of his earlier statements, though this time you could not hear any animosity in it. He was merely stating a fact, for Aegnor’s own good.

“But we have not yet decided where he could go.” You frowned, looking back up at Thranduil, suddenly worried.

He was still looking at you and his gaze softened at your worried expression. A small smile played on his lips. “Yes, we have.”

You had found yourself thinking that the smile, the lightness that had started to come back to him, suited him very much. You responded too slowly, tilting your head as confusion soon took over your thoughts.

“No... we didn’t.” You said as you cast your mind back over the last weeks, to the day you both spent poring over those maps. You were quite sure you had come to no conclusions at all.

Thranduil’s smile only widened at your confusion. “You were right.” He said then. “The Mountains of Mirkwood will be a fine place for him.”

“Oh!” You tore your gaze from his face, looking over to Aegnor, and then turned back to Thranduil. He could have drowned in the light that shone in your eyes then. “Oh, thank you!” Before you could stop yourself, you had thrown your arms around him. Thranduil quickly held his wine out to the side, surprised by the sudden gesture, but he chuckled all the same.

You did not pull back right away, finding that you had missed the closeness you used to share with him quite dreadfully. You missed his touch and his attention and you missed the sound of his laughter and the easy-going way with which he would speak to you, which had been brought home once again by this last week.

The relaxed air that had hung over the moment slowly drifted away and a sort of tension soon replaced it, though not one of the same sort that had plagued you both since he found out about the dragon. You could not see his face but you could tell that he was not upset.

Thranduil had slung his other arm around you in return, the one that held the wine still out to the side. He had not expected the hug to last quite this long and he shifted a little, doing his best not to be overcome by your close proximity. He missed you, he did, and he regretted the way he had treated you. His fingers briefly brushed through your hair before he closed his eyes and then he forced himself to pull away from you, gently easing you backwards. He smiled, hoping it was not too strained.

It was.

You bit your lip, feeling as if you might have done something wrong or made him uncomfortable, and you moved to sit back again, reaching for your own cup of wine.

Thranduil watched you down the contents of the glass with a frown. You seemed to mirror on the outside what was happening to him on the inside. For the very first time, he wondered if perhaps you could possibly be feeling as he was.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a loud chirp came from the other side of the garden. He was on his feet before you were, hurrying away in search of the dragon that had strayed beyond your line of sight.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you stood and hurried after him, thinking that before the spider Thranduil would never have rushed off like that, not for Aegnor. He would have tensed and his guard would have gone up. It made you feel warm. Happy.

You soon found them both and couldn’t help but laugh at the sight you stumbled upon.

Thranduil was kneeling in the dirt by a large patch of ferns, which had somehow gotten all tangled up around Aegnor’s legs, effectively tying him up.

“Oh, poor thing!” You cried, moving closer, though Thranduil was already freeing the dragon from its leafy bonds.

“Poor thing?!” He shook his head. “Poor me, more like!” He scoffed, freeing Aegnor finally, who jumped high into the air and landed on the king’s broad shoulder. Thranduil rolled his eyes, looking up at you as he gestured to his robe, which was now covered in dirt and grass stains. “This fabric is expensive!”

He was rewarded to another loud string of laughter falling from your lips, to which he responded by rising from the ground and giving you a look which sent you careening over the grass to find safety, the Elvenking racing after you.

Aegnor jumped off the king’s shoulder and started to fly in a circle, making a noise that - if you hadn’t known better - sounded suspiciously close to a laugh.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #lotr x reader

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malvolios-yellow-stockings · 7 months

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I'm getting DA:O brainworms again, but there's something so delicious about unhardened Warden Alistair growing into an unrequited (but actually kind of requited) love for (Mage) Warden who romances Morrigan and leaves him behind. Like, there's this one person who's been trying to convince you of good in this world, telling you not to grow cold, this person who was your right hand man, or, moreso you were his. This boy basically, you stumbled upon, who experienced the real world for the first time with you by his side. A man you walked Ferelden up and down with. Someone you've entrusted your life to and spilt blood for and who has done the same for you. A friend who has indulged your fancies, who reluctantly did things for you, who helped you bury a king who hadn't treated him kindly. And you've never really had feelings for anyone before him, at least like this, and you don't know what they are. And then you see him mingle with the Witch of the Wilds. See how he looks at her, trying to be cocky to impress her. See her twist this man into making decisions you're sure he'd never agree to were she not there to whisper it to him. And when you turn to the rest of your companions, they mock you and warp your concern. You are ready to give your life for this man, if it means slaying the Archdemon and ending the Blight but he speaks of some Dark Ritual. And it makes your soul grow weary and scared. And then Morrigan disappears and you finally think to yourself - this was for the best. But your friend is inconsolable. He talks of her with a fog over his eyes and a wistfulness that tugs at your chest. You try to keep him close to you but can feel him slipping away as you lose most of your contact. Maybe it's for the best. You hear of his exploits while on your missions with the Wardens. You try to keep away from him because seeing him once again makes you remember how it once was. It makes you flinch to remember his attempt at making you a king to rule beside Anora. The cold calculation of it all, his action unrecognisable to you. How much even the thought of it hurt. Maybe he hadn't been your friend? Maybe he hadn't understood you after all. But you joke about it, try to make it funny in your head. He's surely like a brother to you. Who couldn't forgive their brethren? And then you hear of his disappearance. The worst thoughts present themselves to your Taint-bitten imagination. And then you realize what he was doing. Some or other mention it, a mirror of some kind, something elven, you think, (maybe he was finding his heritage?) And then you hear it whispered. Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter. Yes, that Flemeth, they say. And you've never felt more betrayed in your life. You never got to say goodbye to him. To throw a jab one last time. And you grow bitter, because isn't it grand to finally understand that everyone leaves you in the end. You were born a royal bastard but you were an expendable means to an end and you will always be. And you abort this love and twist yourself into a leader because you know how much Thedas needs you, people like you, even though the place itself and the people around you might not. You still think of him from time to time. What became of Morrigan and him, but you forget the sound of his voice and the way he brightened your days and made you believe in something better. What remains is a dull sense of betrayal and bitterness with the man who turned on his principles and left you behind. And, Maker, it makes you twist with guilt. Get over it, you think, he has chosen a dark path.

(Mind y'all -

- I refuse to believe that the whole of Ferelden doesn't know why the HoF disappeared (when he goes with Morrigan). I just refuse to buy into it.

- I'm writing this at 2 fucking am and so working at 5% brain battery and 2% coherence and I'm not caught up on DA lore - I'm currently playing Inquisition, about 50 hours in, and have just met with Alistair again, which is what pushed me to write this drabble anyways.

- His painful and palpably disappointed dialogue about the Warden walking a dark path and the way the party reacts to his concern over the Warden being with Morrigan in Origins always kind of make me feel a pinch of what if? Alistair repressed bisexual

- Surana is my fave Warden as is apparent

- I am fully aware I am UPPING THE ANGST and I say - I want more!)

#dragon age #dao #alistair theirin #alistair dragon age #warden #warden surana #warden amell #alistair x warden #“I AM SO SORRY FOR SUBJECTING YOU PEOPLE TO THIS”#dragon age origins

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gwaedhannen · 3 months

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WIP (very much no longer) Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @melestasflight! Not tagging anyone else because it's very much no longer Wednesday (my dudes).

Here's some bits from A Million Dead and I?, wherein Finarfin sits in a garden for a few thousand years.

High King Arafinwë of the Noldor returned in triumph to Valinor, with his enemy humbled and cast into nonexistence, with scattered handfuls of the haggard and homeless elves of Beleriand-that-was looking for new homes in the West, with none of the family he thought to save. For many days he mourned with High Admiral Eärwen his wife, together remembering the sunken lands their sons had died for. At last he arose, and went to his councilors, and together finalized the plans he had proposed half a century prior, upon the eve of the long-awaited War. And when all the pronouncements had been published and the criers left their squares, Arafinwë laid the sceptre of his father upon the High Council’s table, placed the crowned helm Celebrimbor had forged for him upon his father’s throne, and departed from Tirion alone.

Arafinwë learns several things in the first few decades of vigil outside the Doors of Mandos. First: one cannot properly cry as a houseless spirit. “Oh Pianyellë, Pianyellë! I’m so sorry, I was so tired, I thought I could just lie down for a moment…” Second: robes which dry quickly are a necessity. “They never came back from a hunt, and I…I just didn’t see a reason to keep walking without them.” Third: the Grinding Ice was not only worse than he imagined, it was worse than he can imagine. “It…there were no Powers. There was no light. No judgement. He was dead, we’d already handed out his furs. I thought, I thought. He wasn’t using the rest anymore either, was he?” Fourth: his would not always be a welcome face. “You LEFT us, uncle. Left us to die, left us to ruin! It should’ve been you, down there, f-forced to watch as we fell. It sh–it shou…I should’ve been there! Atya, atya! If–if I was there, would…?”

I died at Alqualondë. Was trying to herd some Teler children away from the docks, get them somewhere safe. A sailor saw us, thought I was trying to kidnap them, ran me through. Can’t really blame him. I never had the chance to slay anyone, but…I knew I was going back to the docks as soon as the kids were out of the way. It…it took me a long while to grapple with that. I met the sailor, you know, back in there. Cleared the air between us. We looked for the kids, in the Halls and the tapestries. None of ‘em were there; they all lived! That…that felt pretty good, you know? I still did something, still had my little phrase in the Song.

I tried taking on a bear larger than I should have, and that was that. But the other hunters finished it off, and my furs weren’t too rent to still be useful. Sure, my once-betrothed’s been married to another man for two centuries now, but with the way we separated, he probably wouldn’t’ve had me back anyways. So no, I don’t regret it.

#my wips #finarfin #featuring some of my mandos and re-embodiment headcanons #turns out Galadriel's survivor guilt is hereditary #he's gonna be there a long long time #yes that's Argon #everyone else is an OC #stormwritten

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mochiwrites · 1 year

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last life au

in light of third life turning two years old today, I offer a wip I've had sitting in my google drive since february! if any of you remember this post I made a while back, all you need to know is that third life!grian has swapped places with last life!grian somehow. without further ado, here's my very unfinished and very rough last life au wip (pls don't judge it too harshly LOL)

happy two years to the series that changed me as a person! :D (edit: now posted on ao3! read here)

if you enjoyed, please reblog! reblogs do more than likes <3

To Grian, the desert was once a home.

It wasn’t perfect, not really. Perfection is nearly impossible in a game of death, but what he and Scar had came close. The desert was the farthest thing from a good location, all things considered. The days were hot, far too hot, and the nights were so cold that it left Scar and Grian curling up close for warmth. There was nothing but sand for miles, which made gathering materials a constant challenge.

But they had their home. Their tower, their place of respite. Dogwarts was a constant threat barreling down their door, but together they made it work. Their home was far from perfect, but it was theirs and that’s what Grian came to love about it.

Except now, as he stands in a ring of cacti, he has destroyed his home.

His home is filled with lava and craters, a reminder of what they did to survive. Their desert was ruined days ago in what they had hoped to be the final showdown with Dogwarts and The Red King. They blew up their desert for a win they never achieved.

Maybe that was the first sign that things were going wrong. Their desert, their home, their small temporary sanctuary in this hellish game was blown apart.

Ends justifies the means, no?

After all, to Grian, their home was more than just the desert. Their home was with each other. The desert never mattered much to him, not when he had Scar, and vice versa. The desert was a symbol, more than anything. Of Grian’s debt, his guilt. He’ll never admit it, but it felt a bit liberating to destroy it.

And maybe that’s why things went oh so horribly wrong.

Maybe that is why his fists are shaking, knuckles raw and covered in blood. Maybe that is why he stares down at the bloodied corpse of what was once his partner, his other half. His insides twist and turn, creating a mangled mess of emotions within him. The sun beats down on him, sweat and blood mixing together as one. His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care much. His tank top feels like too much but also too little all at once.

His knuckles ache, his body is sore. He’s hardly covered in bruises and scratches, and yet he still feels like he’s just been beaten half to death anyways.

He can’t bear to look at Scar, to meet his gaze and see his own brightly shining eyes reflected in lifeless, empty ones.

“For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.”

Scar’s words ring in his head, accompanied by his laughter. Grian puts a bloodied hand up to his mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over him. He doesn’t pay any mind to the copper twinge that fills his mouth. He tears his gaze away from anywhere remotely near Scar, instead turning and looking over the mountain.

Their home is in ruins. Their home is gone. The last of their home has been destroyed by his own two hands, killed for the sake of winning some pointless game.

His victory feels hollow. Empty.

He had wanted to win together. Winning without Scar felt… wrong. It feels wrong. After all they’ve been through, after establishing something between them, winning alone just… didn’t look as appealing anymore.

“I’m getting you! I’m getting you good!” “I don’t think you are!”

His hands ache. His chest feels tight, as if his ribs have been coiled tightly around his lungs to constrict his air flow. He takes a slow step back, as if trying to escape the scene of the crime. His legs shake from the weight of both his body and his actions. Grian takes a shaky breath.

“Can we win together?”

He stumbles as he walks backwards, his world dipping and tilting.

Grian won alone.

He doesn’t feel like a winner.

He doesn’t even want that title.

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him!

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.)

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him.

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly.

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him.

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert.

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar.

He walks toward the cliff.

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was.

He stands on the ledge.

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know.

He shuts his eyes and jumps.

-----------------

Muffled noises surround him.

He can’t quite make out what the noises are, not when it feels like his head has been submerged under water. One by one, his senses return to him and huh, that’s weird. He’s dead, yet he can feel his body? That… shouldn’t be normal. Granted, Grian has never been permanently dead before. Do most dead people still feel their body? Is that even possible?

The next thing he feels is something soft underneath him. Now Grian knows that isn’t right. The last thing he remembers feeling is his body slamming into the hard ground below, shattering his bones. The pain had only lasted a few seconds before Grian fell unconscious, but it had been excruciating while he could still feel. Darkness had come to claim him quite swiftly.

But whatever he’s laying on… it feels nothing like the harsh sand. It’s softer, almost silky. Plush. It only serves to confuse Grian more, seeing as once more, he isn’t sure if feeling things still is normal for a dead person.

Ever so slowly, Grian slowly opens his eyes. His eyes are met with a stone ceiling, which… is that supposed to be there?

Grian had a few ideas of what the afterlife would be like – if he even has one. An empty void, or maybe the End. Perhaps he’d return to the wasteland that was once his home and haunt it as a ghost. (A kinder part of him had hoped that he’d reunite with his friends, and they could all cry and hug one another. And maybe he could see Scar again, and shake him around for making Grian kill him, and then hold onto the man so that he’d never lose him again.)

Experimentally, he wiggles a finger or two. Yup, there’s still a body attached to him. Alright. Though to his surprise, he isn’t in any sort of pain. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, all things considered.

Something wet touches his hand then, and Grian leaps up with a shriek. He pulls his hand back and looks at whatever touched him, finding a dog sitting on the ground. “Huh?” He looks at the dog, seeing a red collar around its neck. “Why is there a dog here?” The animal simply tilts its head to the side in response.

It’s then that Grian actually takes the time to look around at where he is, and he pauses. The first thing he notices is that he’s laying in a white bed. There’s a chest and a crafting table in front of the bed, and there are dogs just about everywhere. Ah, so that’s what all the noise was. A furnace is set on the floor against the wall, and Grian finds himself feeling very confused.

This is… definitely not the afterlife, that’s for sure.

Did someone rescue him? How? Grian was the only one left on Third Life, everyone else was…

Lips curling in a frown, he moves to slide off of the bed. Just as his foot touches the ground, he pauses, recognizing the extra weight on his body. Looking down at himself, Grian finds iron armor on him, which only worsens his confusion. Why is he in armor?

Standing from the bed, he looks around at the room. He’s certain that he’s underground, if the walls of stone and dirt are anything to go by. He watches as one of the dogs (a pup) clambers onto the bed and circles the pillow before curling up and laying down.

It leaves him feeling very confused.

He casts a glance around at the stone box he’s in, looking at each of the dogs. Some of them don’t pay him any mind, and others are staring right at him. Who’s dogs are these? And why are they here, wherever here is. They seem friendly with him at least, but Grian doesn’t know if that makes him relaxed or more nervous. He remembers Joel’s pack of wolves.

While looking around, he spots a ladder tucked against the wall leading down. He doesn’t go toward it, in case it’s trapped. Instead, he looks at the pickaxe he has on him and uses that to cautiously dig a little staircase up.

It takes him a few minutes to get to the surface, considering he’s trying to dig out and also listen to his surroundings. When he finally pops his head out from the dirt, he does so carefully, peeking out to look around him. There’s no one around him besides trees and mountains. He sighs softly in relief. Though he still has to remain vigilant.

Climbing out of the hole, he covers it back up with dirt (just in case if he was saved by someone, they won’t immediately notice he’s gone). Standing at full height, Grian takes a look around. The first thing he notices is how the landscape is completely different to Third Life. What is this place, he wonders. The terrain all looks different.

Lips dipping in a frown, he sets his hands on his hips, “Definitely not in Kansas anymore…” he mumbles to himself. If this is the afterlife, it’s quite odd, that’s for sure.

While looking around, he catches sight of something in the distance. It looks like some kind of cobblestone building with roofs of dark oak. From where he is, he can spot four of them. One is at the very top of a mountain, being the most visible.

The idea of approaching it leaves Grian hesitant, but maybe a little investigation wouldn’t hurt. He’s going to have to check it out if he wants any answers as to what this place is. So he makes a journey toward the direction of the towers. Trekking through the trees, he uses the branches for coverage.

And when he gets to the big entrance of the four towers, he pauses.

Grian stares at the front entrance, watching as pistons move up and down in front of him. Watching it, his eyes follow the movements curiously. Surrounding the entrance are walls of dark oak and cobble, wrapping around the base completely. He considers walking inside, maybe exploring whatever this new structure is. There was nothing inside the chest within the bunker for him.

His inventory is an assortment of different items, none of which Grian knows what’s important and what isn’t. By now he’s ascertained that he’s in fact not dead. Which is… confusing. How is he alive? And where is he?

“Oh, Grian!” Someone’s calling his name, and the sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. He looks up, seeing a familiar blue and red jump suit and dirty blond hair.

Grian’s eyes widen, “Tim..?” The name escapes him with a sharp breath. No longer does his skin look sickly and gray, instead healthy and free of blood. His hair is vibrant, as are his brown eyes. A diamond chest plate sits over his upper body, iron leggings and boots. Grian almost feels like he’s seeing a ghost. The last time he saw Jimmy, it had been in the desert. Right before he died.

It feels weird to see him again, considering he wasn’t meant to die in that fight. He was meant to stay safe. With Scar.

Grief and regret crashes into him at once, nearly knocking him over. Images of that battle flicker in his mind, as well as the aftermath. They hadn’t spent long at Jimmy’s grave.

(Grian paid Jimmy’s grave a visit late that night. He had been fully aware of the risks, knowing that anyone from Dogwarts could attack him. But Grian could bet with certainty they were too busy enjoying a perceived victory against the Desert.

Jimmy’s grave was nothing fancy. Extravagance was a privilege they didn’t have there. Simple cobblestone walls and a poppy planted in the ground was all Scott could give him.

Grian sat down, and apologized. He hadn’t even been there for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. And Grian hadn’t even been there to help him. He apologized for that. He promised revenge. His death would not be in vain.

At some point, someone had joined him. A warmth slotted against his side, and the smell of sweat, burnt sand, and summer heat filled his senses. He relaxed.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Grian leaned against Scar, letting his thoughts wander.

“I’m sorry the trap got messed up.” Scar apologized with a low mutter.

Grian huffed quietly, gently knocking his head against his arm,“I don’t care about that. I mean, I do since the only one it got was me, but — I’m more thankful you survived.”

“…I’m sorry you died,” was Scar’s response, “But on the bright side, your debt’s been repaid! You’re a free man!” Grian knew Scar well enough by then to know when he was forcing himself to act cheerful. He could hear the underlying sadness in his voice, the way he was holding something back. But most of all he could hear the fear.

To that, Grian only pressed himself more firmly against him. “Then my first act as a free man is to see this through with you until the end.”

He heard Scar take a breath; shaky and rough. An arm wrapped around him, and he heard a murmured, “Thank you.”)

Jimmy looks a little nervous as he stands on the other side of the pistons, “What’re you doing all the way over there for? Get in ‘ere already!” he exclaims, gesturing for him to come in. “Mumbo disabled the trap!”

His body moves as if it’s on autopilot, legs carrying him toward the gate. He clumsily hops over the pistons and line of stone bricks, landing on the other side. His footing is a bit clumsy as he hits the ground, wobbling slightly. Jimmy laughs at him, and Grian tries to process the sound.

Jimmy isn’t dead. He’s alive.

What in the world is going on?

Grian goes over to him, staring at him with something akin to marvel. Jimmy turns to him, still looking nervous. “So uh… I’m not going to be kicked out, right? I know we had the vote and all yesterday but just wanted to triple check you didn’t change your mind overnight,” he rambles to Grian, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“What?” Blinking in confusion, Grian looks at him. “Why would I be—”

“Oi, Tim! Give the man some space to breathe, would ya?” Another voice joins them, and Grian tenses at the familiarity. “He only just got back last night. At least wait an extra five minutes before you start pestering ‘im.”

Glancing to his side, he spots The Red King’s right hand man approaching them. He’s dressed in iron, a shield attached to his arm. The familiar black bandana peeks out from underneath his hair and his blue eyes are creased with amusement as he looks at the pair. “Martyn?!” The exclamation escapes him before he can stop it. He takes a small step in front of Jimmy, knowing that Scott would be crushed if he lost him a second time (The memory of Scott in his mind would be, anyways). He keeps himself on guard.

Martyn smiles at the pair, “Good morning to you too, fellow Southlander!” He grins. “How’s it feel to be yellow again, eh Grian?” he questions, which makes Grian bristle slightly. He remembers Martyn taking his first life very clearly.

“I’m–”

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, followed by the sounds of feet hitting the ground. Grian jumps as someone barrels past himself and Martyn, cutting right through them in a blur of black. “Hot lava bucket in my hands!”

“I told you to wear gloves!” A second voice follows, and Grian catches a glimpse of yellow and black. He turns his head in the direction the two voices went, seeing them both by the entrance of the fort. Almost instantly, Grian recognizes Impulse from behind. But the one next to him…

Grian feels his entire body freeze. His breath is punched out of him, eyes widening.

The man next to Impulse is setting the bucket of lava down with a large sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. He straightens up, taking a moment to glance around. His eyes lock with Grian’s, and Grian feels rooted to his spot. His throat feels dry, as if he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. He swallows, but it does little to rid the feeling.

Oblivious to Grian’s freezing, the man smiles wide at him, hurrying over. “Grian!” he exclaims, “Glad you got here before I reset the trap, mate, “ he greets cheerfully, but Grian feels too stunned to speak.

Why is Mumbo here? Why?

A multitude of emotions crash into Grian’s chest at the sight of his best friend. Relief, horror, guilt. They each roll over him, loud and vicious as they threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t look away from the man, the feeling of confusion holding his head above water.

(“Do you think Mumbo would be proud?” The question had been half nonchalant as the pair ran through the desert, digging deep underground. The true meaning of the question was a secret, one between only himself and Scar.

Scar paused to consider it. He had lifted a finger to his chin as he thought, “Oh! Mumbo would be crying from happiness!”

“Be honest with me.” Grian had said.

Scar hadn’t been.)

Standing in front of the man, Grian does not share the thought. Not after the blood staining his hands. And isn’t that ironic? In a game where your aim is to kill and survive, he feels guilty over killing. But maybe that’s because of who his final kill was. Because of how it all ended. Grian had hoped he’d never have to face Mumbo after that, but apparently fate had other plans.

“Speaking of getting here early,” Martyn’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion settling over Grian’s mind, causing him to look over at the other. Grian forces his gaze away from Mumbo with a painful pang, meeting Martyn’s eyes, “I see you’ve gone and scored another life on your way back from Scar’s.” He wiggles his brows.

Just hearing Scar’s name causes Grian’s stomach to curl with grief, “W-What?” he asks, the shock of Martyn’s statement sending him back a small step.

“Don’t you try and fool me, G, the last time we saw you you were on yellow life. And now you’re green!” Martyn points at his wrist, and naturally, Grian’s gaze follows.

His heart squeezes uncomfortably tight as he sees the familiar line of hearts down his wrist. There’s three hearts on his wrist, green, yellow, and red. Nausea rolls over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and tightening around his neck. He feels sick. Why? Why?! He thought he was done with all of this! Was killing Scar not enough? Was winning an empty, meaningless victory not enough?!

Is this his punishment? Or some sick kind of joke?!

He clenches his fists, watching the way they shake from how tightly he clenches them. Burning hot anger runs through him like lava, melting his insides. The warmth goes from top to bottom, engulfing him in an angry, vicious flame. He feels too much, yet too little all at once. He wants to scream. To cry. Maybe break something, or blow something up. Blood is pumping in his ears; his heart feels like it’s going to burst.

This isn’t the afterlife. This is hell.

“Grian?” Mumbo’s gentle, concerned voice breaks through the anger threatening to overtake him like a light. The sound of his voice snaps him from his spiraling thoughts, and he notices how his fingers dig uncomfortably into his skin. As if his nails can break the hearts on his wrist, shatter them. He lets go instantly, seeing angry red lines left behind.

Lifting his gaze, Grian sees four pairs of eyes watching him. Yet the only eyes he focuses on are Mumbo’s, it’s been so long since he’s seen the man. His presence is normally a comfort for Grian, something grounding. But right now, all Grian feels is conflict. His grief and guilt is suffocating, and Mumbo’s presence does little to help that feeling. Mumbo looks at him with nothing but concern and kindness, with the way his eyebrows dip and lower, a worried frown marring his face.

Mumbo takes a step closer, hand reaching out to him, “You alright, mate?” Looking down, Grian sees the man’s wrist. Four hearts go down his wrist in a line. Two of them are already gone, looking faded and cracked. The sight of the hearts on his wrist sends his stomach dropping, heart lodging in his throat.

Grian recoils from his outstretched hand as if it were a weapon, and Mumbo freezes in place. He pulls his hand back. His face falls, and Grian pretends he doesn’t see.

“I’m fine.” Grian hastily replies, ignoring the burst of pain in his chest. He scans the people around him. Mumbo, Impulse, Jimmy, and… Martyn. He takes a breath. So he’s stuck in another life game. Great. And it looks like these four are his… alliance.

A sudden thought strikes him. If those four are here then… who else is here?

His communicator pings, and he pulls it up, heart still firmly lodged in his throat.

<GoodTimeWithScar> oh team BEST~

<GoodTimeWithScar> A wizard *never* forgets his promise.

If seeing Mumbo made him sick, then seeing Scar’s message in chat plunges him into freezing cold water. Scar’s name is red (of course it is), and it sends nostalgia and grief tearing through him all at once. Everything suddenly feels like it’s too much, his head swimming. He stumbles slightly, nearly falling if it hadn’t been for Jimmy taking hold of him. “Seriously, you alright?” Jimmy questions, and Grian… Grian doesn’t know.

All he can think about is his final moments with Scar leading up to that stupid duel. The splashing of water below him as he jumped down to meet him in that shallow pond.

“Betrayer!” he had screamed.

Well look who’s laughing now.

Grian had thought about it very briefly, in his final moments, what it’d be like if he ever met Scar again. He had wondered if Scar would scorn him, or if Scar would pull him into his arms and congratulate him on a battle well fought. He had also considered keeping his distance, as far away as possible, as to never hurt Scar again.

And yet, just as usual, his heart never listens to his brain.

Because as he looks at his communicator, watching the others reply in chat, his eyes only focus on Scar’s name. There’s a part of him, a very deep part within, that cries out for him. It sees Scar’s name, and it reaches. It reaches far and wide, and it doesn’t concern itself with the logical side of Grian’s brain. No, it simply sees the fact that Scar is clearly alive and well and it wants to run right toward him.

Seeing Scar’s name makes Grian’s chest ache with a deep yearning that he knows can never be satisfied. There is an ache in him that he knows will only continue to eat away at himself, until he is rotting and reaching. His soul is crying, begging for Scar at his side, and though Grian knows that he will only be the catalyst to Scar’s ultimate demise, he is weak to the pull of his emotions.

Grian’s other half is alive! He is alive and that part of Grian feels incomplete without him. Empty. His heart aches at the thought of being with Scar again, of being able to give him the apology he deserves. Just the thought of being able to apologize to him is enough to break Grian down.

“S-Scar,” he stammers, completely forgetting that Jimmy even asked him a question. “He’s – I have to get to him,” he says, turning to the others.

He’s met with varying expressions of confusion, though it’s Impulse who says something, “Didn’t you already bring him his stuff after he died?” he questions, and Grian quickly shakes his head.

“No I just – where is he? I-I need to see him, I–” he stammers, thoughts running far too quickly for him to actually think coherently.

“Up north dude, where he always is.” Martyn replies, though he’s looking at Grian with… something. If he weren’t so distracted by the thought of Scar, he’d probably look closer into that. However, distraction is the card he’s been dealt, and he lets it play. He spins on his heel for the exit, walking briskly with purpose. “Make sure he doesn’t kill you!” Martyn calls after him, “Remember the guy’s on red!"

Grian knows he won’t.

-----------------

If Grian is being honest with himself, he probably should have put more thought into this. He didn’t even come here with a plan! He had just heard that Scar was north, so north is where he went. He was moving too fast for his brain to actually catch up.

It was a bit of a journey, getting from the cobbled towers (the Southlanders, his mind supplies) to the big mountain in the north. But the second he saw the hut on top of the mountain, he knew exactly who lived there.

Maybe what made the journey so difficult was the thoughts that accompanied him.

Grian won’t say that he ran to Scar’s — because he didn’t. Not really. He had walked. And his thoughts consumed him with every step.

He’s stuck in another life game. Scar is here. Mumbo is here. He doesn’t know what it means. This game isn’t Third Life, he knows that much. His mind is scrambling, trying to come up with some kind of plan. A strategy. He’s trying to lay out a safety net for himself but he should’ve known from the start it’d be pointless.

There are no safety nets in a game of death. There are no “plans”, despite how badly Grian may want to use one. He learned in Third Life that plans don’t work, even the most carefully planned strategy blows up in his face. It won’t stop him though. A plan gives him something to fall back on, a faux comfort.

A plan keeps him from running headfirst into danger, a plan keeps him alive.

Which is why he probably should’ve come up with a plan before going to Scar. He doesn’t know what kind of state the man will be in. He isn’t sure how to even approach a reunion with him. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of… who even knows where. Obviously his friends all know him here, but he isn’t sure if they remember him. Who he is. What he’s done. What they’ve all done.

It doesn’t help that he’s apparently been dropped right in the middle of this new game.

He doesn’t know how to handle an approach to Scar. Hug him? Smack him? Ask him if he knows who he is? A no on that last one, Jimmy and the others have already answered that. Besides, Grian isn’t sure if he could handle Scar looking at him like Grian was a stranger in every sense of the word except the literal one.

He settles on just seeing what happens. Sometimes no plan is the best plan!

But just — not in a death game.

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the bottom of the mountain, and he looks up. He grimaces as he gets a clearer view of the hut up top, sighing. “Of course Scar had to put his base in the most precarious spot ever,” he grumbles before beginning to make his way up the mountain. He makes sure to be careful with each step, keeping himself aware of where he’s stepping.

When he makes it to the top of the mountain, he’s rather out of breath, chest heaving from exertion. This mountain is a lot bigger than the one back in the desert. But he reaches the top, and is face to face with a hut made of wood and dark stone. The roof on top looks like a wizard’s hat, and Grian can’t help his fond huff.

He focuses his gaze on the entryway, finding it wide open. This is it. Scar is beyond that doorway. Grian’s hands shake just at the thought of seeing him again. Anxiety runs through his blood like water, filling him completely. His heart picks up, beating against his ribcage. He swallows thickly.

A small part of him wants to run away. A small part of him wants to turn around and head right back down the mountain and forget that he even came here. A small part of him is afraid to look Scar in the eyes. It makes him feel like a coward.

And yet despite that small part of him, Grian walks forward.

He walks right into the hut, and promptly stops. Right in front of him is none other than Scar. He’s digging around in a barrel, humming to himself. Grian isn’t sure what the tune is, or where it’s from, but the scene feels familiar. His chest aches.

“Scar?” he says, causing the man to yell out.

He jumps up in surprise, letting out the typical fearful scream he does whenever he’s snuck up on. It makes Grian smile softly, and god he misses this man. Scar spins around on his heels, turning to look at Grian. Grian gets a good look at his eyes, and he sees a dark red haze swirling in them. There is not a hint of warmth in his eyes, no kind of recollection or even joy at seeing him. Grian isn’t sure what he sees in Scar’s eyes, but he knows that there is anger in them. Bloodlust.

(He thinks he might see hatred. And that is a thought that shakes him right to his core. He does not want to live in a world where Scar hates him, even if it is justified. Does that make him selfish?)

“Oh, Grian,” Scar eventually says, and his voice is cold. Empty. He takes a step forward, something whimsical about his footing. Scar is dressed in dark robes, stark white hair peeking out from underneath. “If you’re here to nab another life from me, Grian, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. There is a promise of a threat in his voice.

Grian frowns at that, chest panging. “I’m not interested in your life, Scar,” he says matter of factly. He’s already taken one (two, if his guilt counts the creeper), he doesn’t want another one.

A laugh spills from Scar, something lacking any real humor. “Oh, don’t you play with me!” he exclaims, voice sharp and angular. The sound of it causes Grian to jolt in surprise. “You can fool me once or twice! Or…” he trails off, thinking. “Three times, whatever, it doesn’t matter!”

“Scar…” Grian says, and he quickly realizes that he probably should’ve prepared himself a bit more. He lets the other approach him. There’s something different about him compared to Third Life. Something bitter, cynical. Grian isn’t sure if it’s because of the nature of this new game, or if it’s simply because Scar is on red.

“No, Grian!” Scar exclaims, reaching for his diamond sword. “You know, I was planning on hitting Team BEST first, give ‘em a real good thrashing. Send a message and all that! Can’t mess with ol’ Scar! Not anymore, no sir!” He takes another step toward Grian.

It’s the instinct of green life, Grian knows, that has him backing away slowly. He takes a few tiny steps backwards.

Scar looks at him, something angry and hurt in his gaze, “But I think you’ll make a good first message to the masses. You were the first to take advantage of me, after all.”

Grian’s back slams into the wall behind him, crushing his wings. He cringes at the feeling, but he doesn’t move. Scar is cornering him, holding the blade to his throat. He easily towers over Grian, putting just enough pressure on his sword to spill a bit of blood.

Looking at him, Grian doesn’t see a hint of the Scar he once knew. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on here, what the Grian of this game has done to wrong Scar, but what he does know is this.

He killed Scar.

And the hatred in Scar’s eyes isn’t misplaced or even misdirected.

He doesn’t fight back against the blade on his throat, the blade that is spilling his blood. He simply stands there and meets Scar’s hazy red eyes. To Grian, he thinks this is good retribution for the cactus ring. He sees no point in fighting against Scar when this is something he believes he deserves.

Yet Scar thinks otherwise.

See, he had expected a lot out of today. He’s on red now, and he had a goal in mind. He was going to make everyone on this forsaken server regret thinking they could just use Scar as they please. He was going to start with BEST, and then work his way to the others. But then Grian just came waltzing in like they were old buddies and Scar wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip past him.

He has a whole separate issue with Grian, after all.

But as he stares into Grian’s eyes, he sees something odd. Firstly he stares up at Scar with blatant confusion and hurt. It makes him want to laugh. What does Grian possibly have to be hurt over?

Though that isn’t what makes him pause. No, what makes him truly falter is the guilt he sees in Grian’s eyes.

He observes the green life in front of him (Wasn’t Grian yellow? Did he swindle someone else out of a life?) and notices that there’s no fight. Grian isn’t pushing back against him. He’s not arguing or drawing his own weapon. Not even as Scar draws blood and pushes the blade harder.

Suddenly the appeal of killing Grian leaves him. What fun is a kill that rolls over and exposes their weak point?

Scar scoffs at him before making up his mind and taking a step back. So much for that perfect message in chat. Looks like Team BEST is back as his number one target. He lowers his sword completely.

Grian watches him with confusion, “Scar?”

The red life meets his gaze, a deep frown settling on his lips. “Who are you?”

#scarian #trafficshipping #third life smp #last life smp #last life au #mochi writes #I really want to get back to writing this one omg #once I'm on summer break.....#anyways! third life my beloved #cannot believe it's two years old #I wasn't around at the start but I'm here now and AUGH

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nuttersincorporated · 5 months

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The Narrator wanted to found Omelas and the Contrarian would choose to walk away

There is a short story by Ursula K. Le Guin called ‘The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas’. You can read it here or listen to it here.

The basic summery is that Omelas is a wonderful city. People are happy, kind and intelligent. The arts and science are celebrated and people can pursue their passions. There are no kings, police or army because they aren’t needed.

However, for all this to work, one child is locked in a basement. They are frightened, abused and underfed. Everyone knows that the child is there and they all accept it. The child must suffer so that everyone else can be happy.

If the child leaves the basement or is ever shown any kindness at all, then the good fortune and happiness of everyone in Omelas ends. Omelas would become like any other city. Instead of one child suffering and everyone else being happy, most of the population would suffer so that – like in the real world – 1% of people could have their every whim satisfied.

Everyone in Omelas knows that the child is there. A lot of them go to see the child but even those that don’t know the child suffers for them to be happy.

Sometimes, someone in Omelas will go quiet for a few days before they leave Omelas forever. Where they go to no one knows, it is a place even less imaginable than Omelas.

Anyway, the point of all this is that the Narrator is trying to turn the universe into Omelas. One person has to suffer so that everyone else can be happy. Unlike the child in the original story, the Princess wouldn’t even have to suffer for very long. She would die and then everyone else would be saved.

I think the Contrarian would be one of the people that walk away from Omelas. He thinks everything is all fun and games and enjoys annoy people. However, the moment he realises that his actions have actual consequences and that the Princess is being hurt by them, he stops and wants to help.

I think, if he was in Omelas, since he couldn’t save the child, he would choose to leave rather than be part of the reason the child has to suffer. For the same reason, if he had to slay the Princess to ensure everyone else’s happiness or save her a damn everyone else, I think he’d choose to leave. Even if he can’t save her, he wouldn’t want to be one of the people she had to suffer for.

#slay the princess #slay the princess spoilers #spoilers #stp contrarian #stp narrator #The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas #Ursula K. Le Guin #It's a very good short story about the problems of Utilataranisum #The greatest good for the greatest number #Would you walk away?#We live in a world where almost all of us ARE the child suffering so that a few can benefit #But if things were reversed would you opt out and walk away so that you weren’t part of the reason someone had to suffer?#YOU can’t save the child but if everyone walks away then the child doesn’t have to suffer #Obviously that wouldn’t work in the world of Slat the Princess because only the Long Quiet gets to make the choice #But still #Unrelated but I always wondered if the child in the original story was real #The story repeatedly asks you to believe in Omelas #Before mentioning the child #Then asks if NOW you believe #Can outsiders only believe in Omelas if they think someone is suffering?

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thesteriuswife · 8 days

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this has nothing to do with my selfship but i want it on my blog so im posting it anyways... a situation where pat and achilles are forced to interact with theseus 🙏🏽 from a scrapped fic where he would've shown them around elysium's library.

Being that his contract previously kept him bound to the dank House of Hades, Achilles never saw much of King Theseus. Despite this, he was aware of a great many rumors surrounding the man. Some say to ensure Asterius' safe passage into Elysium, Theseus spent several days or nights at the lord's desk, ranting and raving, telling irrelevant stories, until an irritated Hades caved in and gave him all he demanded.

Other rumors stated that the King was a son of Poseidon (or something close to that), and he acquired the Minotaur through that godly connection, though this action supposedly caused him to fall out of the Earthshaker’ favour. “There’s another rumor being spread. Claiming that the Lord Hades lost a bet to King Theseus, and won the Minotaur as a prize.” Achilles had his head rested on his beloved’s lap, while Patroclus wove slender fingers through his blonde hair. “That’s a new one,” replied Patroclus, “I’ve heard something similar. But it claimed that it was the Minotaur who bested Hades, and he asked to be placed within Elysium to humiliate his rival for all eternity.” Achilles snorted at that. The King was… well. He was rather odd. He was not like most heroes, who would gladly slay a beast then never speak of it again (unless, of course, it was to brag of their greatest achievements). It was obvious from what few interactions Achilles had with Theseus how deeply he cared for the bull. He bought his rival passage into the blessed realms, crafted an arena in both of their honours, and now fights by his side for all eternity.

All this would imply that there is something deeper to King Theseus- something hidden beneath his golden bluster. Most of the time, however, it seemed as if the man really laid it all out on the surface. Either way, no one really understood why the Minotaur stayed with the king. Zagreus himself even concluded that Asterius did not owe anything to Theseus at this point. Achilles had his own suspicions about the true source of that dedication, but no real leads on the matter just yet… “You’re curious about them, aren’t you, Achilles?” Pat gave Achilles a small smile. While he held no love for the king, he did enjoy indulging Achilles’ interest to an extent. “Why don’t you ask King Theseus himself, then…?” “Ahaha, yes! You’re welcome to ask me anything, Great Achilles!”

Achilles startled off of Patroclus' lap, and Pat, in turn, fell over onto his side. Before them stood King Theseus, his stance wide in the same way he presented himself within the arena. Despite his larger than life personality, Theseus seemed quite small away from the splendor of the arena. He truly was no taller than Prince Zagreus- a fact Achilles always seemed to forget.

As usual, he'd barged into Pat's glade unannounced. Most of the time when he did this he was quick to run off towards wherever he needed to be, but the perfectly timed mention of his name captured his attention. (Patroclus scowled: it was one thing to be interrupted by Zagreus, who was only ever polite and had even helped to reunite him with his Achilles… but Theseus was nothing but a nuisance.) “King Theseus,” Achilles hummed while readjusting himself, “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” “Aha, well!” Theseus cleared his throat, “I am on my way to visit Asterius! He is currently at the library, no doubt reading up on the great works of writers and scholars from across the land! …Or he is reading a fantasy novel. Regardless, the bull's taste in literature is always impeccable!!"

"If that's the case, King Theseus, I kindly ask that you be on your way,"sighed Patroclus, "My Achilles and I still have much catching up to do, and I'm certain any questions he has can wait. Can't they, Achilles?"

"Ah, yes. I agree that another time would be preferable. Would you mind dismissing yourself, King?"

King Theseus appeared thoughtful for a moment, taking their place request into deep consideration. Then, he spoke: "Yes, actually, I would mind!!"

Theseus sat on his knees before the two Myrmidons, his blue eyes glittering. "Achilles! I, Theseus, Greatest King of Athens, humbly request a sparring match against Asterius and myself!"

“Well, erm…”, Achilles smiled his usual tense smile at Theseus; he didn’t have any real dislike for the champion (unlike his beloved), but that didn’t change the fact that he was truly too much for one person to deal with (unless that one person was the Bull of Minos, who dealt with the king “loudly and often,” according to Pat), “I’m not sure if I have much interest in sparring with you, King Theseus.”

At that, the king’s eyes widened, quickly becoming tear-filled and cloudy. “Why?! Do you think I’m too weak to be of any use to you? I am undefeated in the arena! That daemon and his foul, cheating ways don’t-”

“Peace, King Theseus. It is no comment on your martial skills. I simply do not have the interest in battle I once did." while Achilles tried his best to sound comforting, his voice teetered right on the edge of sounding baffled instead. Patroclus had mentioned that Theseus cried easily, but Achilles had unestimated the king’s crying skills all the same.

“Ah, well…” the king wiped away his tears, “Yes, that is… hmph! I won’t say I understand, but I do respect such a thing! Somewhat.”

He beamed a bright smile at Achilles, already recovered from the sobbing he was surely about to do. “I propose unto you a new offer; a tour of Elysium’s premises! You should know, Great Achilles, that one of my many duties as champion is to act as a guide for shades who have only recently entered the blessed fields! I doubt you’ve seen much of the realm just yet, especially as you spend most of your time with your brother-in-arms, who seems to prefer wallowing within this glade!"

“I do not wallow.” Pat rolled his eyes. “I merely have little interest in this land of empty-headed fools.”

“Hmph. Well then! Achilles!!” Theseus reached forward to grab the warrior’s hand within his own . “Shall we leave now? Other than the library, there’s a lovely little garden area that I think you will find enchanting! And many other lovely little shops and eateries and the likes! It could be just us two and Asterius, yes? I must say, I am afraid your companion here will turn our journey sour.”

Patroclus grabbed Achilles’ other hand, holding it firmly as he glared at the much shorter man. “My Achilles would not agree to such a thing. You’re being presumptuous, as always.”

"You are the one who's being presumptuous, Patchouli!!"

"Patchouli?"

"Patroclus," Achilles firmly corrected, "I wouldn't be opposed to your suggestion, King Theseus. But-" Achilles gave Theseus a stern look before he could gloat, "You have to be polite towards my beloved. And… " Achilles gently held Pat's hand, rubbing it with his thumb, "that also means you can't purposely provoke him, love.”

"My one source of entertainment in this cold, hard world, and you're taking it away from me. Fine."

"Ahaha, splendid! I must go to Asterius, but I shall return momentarily for our tour! I shan’t keep you waiting long- this, I promise!!" Theseus gave a half-crazed laugh before bouncing back up and onto his feet, then running out the opposite door of the glade before either Myrmidon had a chance to speak.

"Achilles… why did you say yes to him?" Patroclus pinched his temple; just the idea of spending more time with Theseus of all people was giving him a headache.

"It has a chance to be enjoyable experience, yes?” Achilles’ clasped his hands together. “And besides, I am curious about his relationship with the bull. It will be a good learning opportunity, if nothing else.” "I suppose we'll see once he returns."

With a sigh, Patroclus laid on Elysium’s soft moss. With luck, Theseus would soon forget all about his whole tour plans… somehow, however, he had a sense that for once the king’s memory would hold firm, and in some days or nights he and Achilles would find themselves being dragged halfway across Elysium.

#📚 codex #with the premise i could make a part 2 to this involving dia... idk if i will (that would be 5(!) characters all interacting) but i could

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just-sp-in-inginthevoid · 15 days

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Hello hey hey. How was your day? Btw can you do a character ask for Shinichiro Sano. Since, he is my favourite character due to his complexity

Hi, my day has been fine for now (it's still early here) although my body hurts (for normal anatomical reasons dw) but it is what it is. Hope yours is going better than mine

Gosh, what a mood anon. What an absolute mood.

My first impression

Good model/mentor figure that positively influenced everyone he was around of. Here to fit his archetype more than to be an actual character - he's dead anyway - but he's the type of character I really love to know more about and grow to be more complex even if it really happens because creators love to keep mentors mysterious—

My impression now

*inhale* BOI.

I love Wakui's capacity to write realistic characters SO MUCH.

Original timeline was such a gift, I hold it very dearly in my heart. My favorite timeline potential-speaking; there's so many things we don't know about and can speculate on! Marvelous.

Anyway, back to Shinichiro. He is so real. I was so happy when he turned out to be explored like the other characters and to be actually flawed (not excusable lovable flaws like being bad with girls and in fight). He's one of the most interesting character and should be put under several microscopes and observed by several scientists.

He's, he's just... AAAAAHH. He's so good, his character is so good. I need him to get darker but at the same time I just want him happy.

His childhood was taken away from him and the fact that he turned to delinquency to cope (later on, encouraging at least a dozen of kids to do the same) should be talk about more.

He - unconsciously, unintentionally - gave the responsibility of his mental well-being to Mikey. I know they didn't help in the original timeline, but I hope he did to therapies in the final one

Favorite thing about that character

Same thing as you anon; the complexityyyyy

I love subversion of expectation. I love when seemingly perfect characters who are idolized by everyone turn out not to be that perfect. How I accurately came up with the hypotheses he was the other Time Leaper. How the story wouldn't exist if it wasn't for him not being able to grieve Mikey - not being able to withstand losing his entire family.

He lost his dad, he was the one taking care of his mom until she passed too, had had to raise his siblings when he wasn't yet an adult, he couldn't handle losing his brother he raised as a son, he didn't know how to handle the Izana-situation, he didn't have a proper reaction to Sanzu's scars. The way he first learnt to deal with grief was to become a delinquent and form a gang. Don't get me started on what Black Dragon is IRL.

He tried. He'd tried everything for his loved-ones but he was also a teen, then a young adult, and you can't expect him to be able to handle it.

Also, the fact that no character will tell you about that or talk about Shinichiro without being biased because they all respect and idolize him I- The narrative doesn't want you to know about how he really was, because the characters that talk about him didn't know about it. The only way to catch a glimpse of it, to know more about it is Original timeline. And I think that's very neat tbh

+GNC king, slays in heels

Least favorite thing

Objectively, I love it, but subjectively the way he dealt with some situations... argh. He's not that good at knowing and understanding social clues. Could've handle the whole situation with Sanzu better, out of everything else.

Favorite line/scene

*proceeds to stuff all of the Original Timeline* There 👍.

Favorite interaction that character has with another

That. That right here. (for Mikey those two scenes are about only two months apart. But *we* know, why Shinichiro changed his mind)

A character that I wish that character would interact with more

Actually, I'm rather pleased with his interactions with other characters.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character

For some reasons, Maria from Maria no Danzai. I think. I think they'd get along. I think Shinichiro would've done the same - or similar stuffs - if he had lost Mikey in a similar way Maria lost her son. I think we should be very glad Shinichiro didn't actually have a villain arc (not one we saw at least) because he would've gone very far into the darkness me think. Me think the curse is just Mikey turning how Shinichiro would've turned had Mikey not been around so me think Shinichiro has problems

A headcanon about that character

If he ever has a gun in his hands, he'd be way too good at firing it.

Actually struggles with empathy and figuring out other ppl's emotions & feelings. But he has sympathy and compassion so he balances it out. A friend introduced me to autistic Mikey HC, so naturally, my mind went to autistic Shinichiro. Ranting about it will probably take too long here tho

His nickname for Takeomi is 'Omin' (Takeomi doesn't really like it bc it sounds more and more childish with the 'n' as they grow up. Excepted for final timeline where Takeomi has learnt not to care about other people's opinions)

A song that reminds of that character

I've got a 52 (for now) songs-playlist (found in my pinned post) but have Bury Me Low by 8 Graves

An unpopular opinion about that character

Mikey isn't the reason he turned dark; Mikey is the reason he didn't turn dark

Favorite picture

LIL BEETLE SHINICHIRO.

!!!

#me everytime i have the occasion to talk about shinichiro: did you notice how he was actually messed up from the *start*?#ask game #answering asks

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ladystoneboobs · 8 months

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He[Ned] had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell. -Bran I, aGoT Bran's bastard brother Jon Snow moved closer. "Keep the pony well in hand," he whispered. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do." -Bran I, aGoT Lord Eddard had tried to play the father from time to time, but to Theon he had always remained the man who'd brought blood and fire to Pyke and taken him from his home. As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. -Theon I, aCoK The Lannister lord was strong-looking for an old man, with stiff golden whiskers and a bald head. There was something in his face that reminded Arya of her own father, even though they looked nothing alike. He has a lord's face, that's all, she told herself. She remembered hearing her lady mother tell Father to put on his lord's face and go deal with some matter. Father had laughed at that. She could not imagine Lord Tywin ever laughing at anything. -Arya VII, aCoK Theon told himself he must be as cold and deliberate as Lord Eddard. -Theon IV, aCoK [...] "My father never used a headsman. He said he owed it to men he killed to look into their eyes and hear their last words. And when I looked into Ygritte's eyes, I . . ." Jon stared down at his hands helplessly. "I know she was an enemy, but there was no evil in her." -Jon VII, aCoK As he knelt to the block, the kennelmaster said, "M'lord Eddard always did his own killings." Theon had to take the axe himself or look a weakling. -Theon V, aCoK He is an old man, Jon told himself. Fifty, maybe even sixty. He lived a longer life than most. The Thenns will kill him anyway, nothing I can say or do will save him. Longclaw seemed heavier than lead in his hand, too heavy to lift. The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown. The Magnar was looking at him too, and he could almost taste the mistrust. The man is dead. What matter if it is my hand that slays him? One cut would do it, quick and clean. Longclaw was forged of Valyrian steel. Like Ice. Jon remembered another killing; the deserter on his knees, his head rolling, the brightness of blood on snow . . . his father's sword, his father's words, his father's face . . . -Jon V, aSoS "My blood price, he[Tormund] called it," said Jon Snow, "but he will pay." "Aye, and why not?" Old Flint stomped his cane against the ice. "Wards, we always called them, when Winterfell demanded boys of us, but they were hostages, and none the worse for it." "None but them whose sires displeased the Kings o' Winter," said The Norrey. "Those came home shorter by a head. So you tell me, boy … if these wildling friends o' yours prove false, do you have the belly to do what needs be done?" Ask Janos Slynt. "Tormund Giantsbane knows better than to try me. I may seem a green boy in your eyes, Lord Norrey, but I am still a son of Eddard Stark." -Jon XI, aDwD

aw, gotta love that dichotomy of even ned's own adoring children, not just theon, knowing he had a cold and stern side as a lord, grim and frightening to enemies, always alongside the warm, laughing dad who told them bedtime stories, that nice side of ned which is the only part most of fandom wants to acknowledge. arya even reminded of him by the face of tywin frickin' lannister! this same dad who laughed off bran's disobedience climbing all over the castle like a monkey, who couldn't punish arya for using a secret sword behind his back, who didn't even want sansa to be a witness to his passing sentence on gregor clegane with mere words for his crimes, that same soft-hearted guy would have admonished 7yo bran for looking away from his first beheading, to toughen him up and make him into a man already. just imagine, for jon to be so certain of that, either he and/or robb must have looked away from their first beheading at bran's age and been sternly told off for it. (amab) children can't be allowed to have a natural human reaction to sudden blood and gore watching dad kill someone. gotta stamp that shit out right away!

striking the way jon always uses memories of ned to choose not to kill innocent people who had yet to do him harm, first with ygritte and then the old man ygritte urged him to kill, but also uses his noble father's example to prove his willingness to kill children with zero sense of contradiction. that has to be a reference to theon, right? ned's own experience (implicitly) threatening a child ward/hostage, which all his bannermen would be well aware of. sure, jon's right about the unnamed older man. ned wouldn't murder one of his own subjects like that, he owed no duty to the magnar of thenn and would likely find undercover work even more distasteful than jon did. but, ygritte, really? a wildling of the enemy people all northerners were taught to kill? i have to wonder. did ned really find more evil in the deserter's eyes than jon did in ygritte's, making him deserving of beheading? or is it just that ned could feel he deserved to dutifully kill every time he passed that eye contact test? his reasoning was that deserters were dangerous because they already had a death sentence for oathbreaking, therefore had no reason not to commit any other crime. doesn't that same self-fulfilling violent prophecy apply to all people born on the wrong side of the wall? when you've got nothing left in life, you have nothing to lose by attacking people on the other side. is theon being "cold and deliberate" at winterfell, even killing a man with his own hand for someone else's crimes, is that really so unlike a true son of eddard stark? how different is it from what ned could have done to theon himself to punish him for his father's crimes? (surviving) child-ward-hostages always "none the worse for it" indeed.

(also interesting how jon thinks of janos slynt when asked if he could behead a wildling child. janos slynt who had sinned against jon and ned, wanting jon dead since the day they met, exactly the same as anyone to be beheaded, no matter how young or innocent. can't question jon's willingness to behead anyone else once he's executed one awful guy. it's even funnier when we the readers know janos slynt's worst sin is baby-killing as part of his old job. killing royal bastard kids like jon, no less. jon gets to (unknowingly) kill a baby-killer and threaten children in the same book, using the baby-killer's death as precedent for killing someone else's children. guess that's all part of killing the boy to let the man be born, gotta be willing to kill any man or boy. neither prince theon nor lord commander snow could afford to look a weakling to their own men or enemies. uncle maester aemon helped finish all the work ned started turning jon into a hard, strong man.)

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #ned stark #bran stark #theon greyjoy #arya stark #jonathan snowflake starkgaryen #wolf pack #he was his father's son. wasn't he? wasn't he?#two reasons i can't be a northern nationalist stark stan: 1. having never been up north in winter i am a weenie when it comes to cold #2. idt a clean behading works as a morality test #should we really compare stark beheading to bolton flaying and see it as a pure and sacred tradition just for being cleaner?#do y'all just not realize how hard is it is to behead someone w a giant sword? that you can ignore the sexism and ableisn and just think #theon (and robb w karstark) mustve done it freakishly wrong?#arya couldn't behead someone either. not just sansa (or bran).#her thing is stabbing and slitting throats not literally swinging a big blade like ned. and that's ok!#a humane execution method is kinda an oxymoron but idt any beheadee would be grateful for a personal messy killing by a kid as long as they #didn't enjoy it and felt kinda sad like ned afterward #even theon could pass that part of the test #do we not think roose bolton and rickard karstark could follow the old way too?#(c)lsb

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qrevo · 10 months

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Milgram Prisioner Covers Prediction List

So. I've been listening to some of DECO's older songs these past few days, some of which I hadn't heard before, and I wanted to try and take a shot on future Milgram Covers! (this list will be so wrong i'll be ashamed of this 2 yrs from now) (Also like. Don't think this had a 10 month research period. I'm not a professional lyricist or literary analyst guy or anything. I literally did this during the weekend while procrastinating for uni assignments.) There is a TLDR at the end for the lazy kings (you guys are so real for that tbh)

01 - Undead Alice

I don't really have a reason for it, I really just feel like it makes a good fit. Yeah, the lyrics are about a toxic relationship, but the way the song is written reminds me a lot about Haruka and his negative view about himself (which may become worse after a Guilty vote).

02 - Rabbit Hole

This song is fits so well with Yuno. It really feels like it's mocking love and romance, especially the superficial ones where it's all just "corny" and "cliché", which is really in-line with Yuno's character. Also it would be so good. Just imagine Rabbit Hole with the Vampire cover's yoinky sploinky cartoony sounds.

03 - 118

This one I'm not that certain of, I guess it fits with Futa becoming more aware and remorseful of what he did and ending up spiting who he associated with. Also, I really think it would fit his songs' style of a more rock-punk vibe. Futa's covers are actually kind of hard to predict to be honest, even today I woudn't think about him covering Mozaik Role, but here we are.

04 - Ghost Rule

I'm pretty sure Ghost Rule will be covered by one of the prisioners, since it's kind of a Vocaloid classic (and also really good it will be such a win for Muu-stans if this becomes real). I felt like it goes well with Muu's character, with her acting superior and snobby in school and later becoming a bullying victim, a "ghost", as a consequence. If she covers this, then maybe in T3 she regrets what she did and how she acted?

05 - Cosmic Rendesvouz

Yeah this one came out a few days ago, and is what inspired me to make this list. It's just. Made for Shidou. The mourning? The wanting to reunite with his wife on the after-life? THE HOLOGRAPHIC GHOST-MEMORY-THINGS? So Shidou-core. I know a lot of people pointed this out, but some scenes felt so much like Triage. Anyways, this song screams "I'm Shidou and I'm very sad" in the best way possible. Next.

06 - Zombies

This one is less like a guess and more like a PLEASE I NEED THIS SO BAD. This fits SO WELL with the toxic girlfriend and abusive relationship. Her wanting to be with the lover forever, leading to him passing away, fits so well. Also, Okasaki Miho would simply SLAY SO MUCH.

07 - We The Hostages

Kazui is difficult. A lot of DECO's songs are about bad/distasteful relationships, so I felt like there were a lot of options. I chose this one mostly because the lyrics can be interpreted as a person who doesn't love their partner anymore, and wants to let it all go, as the relationship was bad for both. Also the wife is gone apparently.

08 - Winter Cleaning(????)

Amane is actually the main boss of this prediction list because like. She will cover ANIMAL. I still think it'll be good, actually so happy for the Amane-stans out there, but it was just. One of the most jaw-dropping cover choices from the entire project for me. ANYTHING is possible from now on. I guess Winter Cleaning makes sense if she goes to therapy and recovers from Her Current Behaviour™, as in like, cleaning her mindspace and taking out the bad memories and such, but this is really a shot in the dark.

09 - (Not) A Devil

Another one that's more of a wish than a prediction (and also kind of fanservice-y?). The lyrics are like an angel and a devil on an argument, so it would be cool if we had both Ore-Mikoto and Boku-Mikoto singing as the angel and the devil. Also the song kind of fits his heavy-metal song style.

09 - Theory of Negativity

Aha, two songs for Mikoto! That's because his T2 cover was not revealed yet! Anyway, it's a song about breakups I think (as are a lot of them actually), but the lyrics talk about hating the partner, wanting to change one's self, a lot of self-doubt, and it kind of fits with Mikoto's struggles on having DID.

10 - Reversible Campaing

This is one I'm really hoping for. The style of the song fits her themes and styles so much. I don't think the lyrics fit 100% for her, as they are about (guess it) a toxic relationship (!?!), but so was Anti-Beat and that cover was great so who cares.

10 - Dilemma

Kotoko will also have two predictions! This one is more on the aesthetics of the song and the MV, and also because it can kind of being interpreted as her saying how much justice she did ("Don't play arround, how much I've done for you, you probably don't even want to know").

HONORABLE MENTIONS

-I could very easily switch Reversible Campaign and 118, these songs are good for both Futa and Kotoko -I also thought about Cinderella for Muu, but it came as a song about being insecure, while currently Muu is like. The opposite. -Love Doll would also fit with Mahiru, and her wanting to spend every second with her partner -I was so close to chosing A Bird's Song for Kazui, but We The Hostages made more sense. -Addiction can fit with Mikoto because of the beat, but the lyrics didn't make that much sense in character. -Also I can kind of see Pseudo-Hope Syndrome fitting well for Mikoto

TLDR

I like Milgram a normal amount thank you. Etc etc. Here's the list: 01 - Undead Alice 02 - Rabbit Hole 03 - 118 04 - Ghost Rule 05 - Cosmic Rendezvous 06 - Zombie 07 - We The Hostages 08 - Winter Cleaning 09 - (Not) A Devil / Theory of Negativity 10 - Reversible Campaign / Dilemma

#milgram #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #shidou kirisaki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #amane momose #mikoto kayano #kotoko yuzuhira #milgram cover #milgram prediction #i have never used this many tags i'm sorry if this is rude i've been using this website for like a week?#also this wasn't made to be “the right prediction” i just chose what my brain thought was yummy #qrevo.txt

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rageagainsttheapathy · 1 year

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MERLIN STRANGER THINGS STEDDIE AU

Prince Steve who starts off arrogant and prattish because of his strict father and asshole noble friends, but cares deeply for his people and wants more than anything to be a good ruler, who makes constant fun of Eddie as his new manservant but it gets fonder and fonder as time goes on and in the end can’t imagine living without him.

Newly arrived warlock Eddie who was born with magic and gets sent to live with his Uncle Wayne in Camelot in the hopes that he can learn to control his gifts and find his place away from the small village he grew up in, only to end up in the service of the Worst Man Ever ™️ who is loud and demanding and privileged and… strong, and kind of caring, he guesses, and also protected him that one time and tries to cheer him up in this really emotionally stunted but genuine kind of way and - no he does not like him!

Lady Nancy, the King’s ward who is furious at the injustice she sees throughout the kingdom, who champions druids and magic users and isn’t afraid to confront Steve about his worst tendencies. (No Evil! Nancy in this au - she has an arc that involves her stepping close to vengeance, because she’s tired of being nice and wants so badly to go apeshit, but in the end is saved from that path by the power of friendship and this Big Sword she found) she ends up advisor to the throne once King Jackass finally dies, and forces Steve to promote Robin to the same position, even though Steve planned to do exactly that anyway, that’s his Best Friend, Nancy, what do you take him for?

Maidservant Robin who becomes fast friends with Eddie when he first arrives, who is fiercely loyal to Lady Nancy and constantly annoyed with Steve - right up until they start spending time together and save each other’s lives and there’s a brief moment when Steve thinks that he’s in love with her because she’s pretty and clever and isn’t afraid to yell at him but they very quickly realise that they’re better as friends, not least because Robin is totally in love with Nancy.

Jonathan as a knight, who appears and saves the day and also kicks Steve’s ass on the training field, who protects Eddie when he finds out his secret and then goes off to do his ‘lone wolf’ thing à là Lancelot

Argyle as a Druid who hangs around outside Camelot and gives cryptic but helpful advice and also takes in wounded travellers and nurses them back to health (cough, Jonathan, cough) who later helps Eddie to accept the hard parts of being destined for something.

All the kids are there too, of course, but I haven’t decided what I want them to be and Hopper should be a Leon-Esque figure who starts of a distant and stoic knight of the Old Guard but slowly becomes closer to the main group, acting as a father figure and also occasionally going Beserker mode in battle because why not

Joyce gets to be a whole new character! Because there is a tragic lack of women in Merlin canon who show up for more than one episode. Something something convoluted side plot in which she shows up in Camelot looking for her missing eldest son who ran away to be a knight, cue Steve sending Hopper, his most mature and loyal knight to accompany her on her quest, during which they encounter multiple obstacles, engage in Shenanigans, and fall in love, much to the horror of Jonathan who has to watch them kissing after they slay the Generic Magical Beast of the week

#stranger things #bbc merlin #stranger things au #merlin au #steddie #ronance #jargyle #jopper #tomfoolery #random ideas that pop into your head and refuse to leave

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bawnjourno · 10 months

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without further ado... Sparks Austin recap

I won’t elaborate but the two days of travel to get here were very exhausting and trying. I rolled up to the venue, prepared to maybe sit during some songs and nurse a Diet Coke.

I had never been to Austin before and boy, is it a music oriented city. Not just the venues but the people, the culture. There were multiple fans in Hippo tour shirts, a fully cosplayed Cate Blanchett, and lots of women in beautiful dresses. The Moody Center’s hallway had snapshots of all the cool people that had played there. I love venues with history!

I was worried that the venue set up would be annoying or awkward but I got to my front row seat and I was 4 feet from the stage, just off to the left of Ron’s piano - the perfect view.

The show started... a lot of U.S. venues had audiences who mostly sat and then got up during MTCYDT but the two thirty something hipster dudes behind me stood the whole time so I got to stand and dance :) And a good chunk of the crowd on the left stayed standing too! I was drenched with sweat maybe 4 songs in and it was amazing. All my tiredness and stress melted away as I was loudly singing and dancing.

This crowd was electric, so loud and responsive and to the Latte cuts too! Not just the hits! People were going crazy for TGICIHL in a way that Milwaukee was more subdued about. Russell smiled at me really big early in the show, probably because I knew the words and was loud and enthusiastic. I got a cute SMWS Russell tummy jump video which I will post later.

During Nothing Is As Good As They Say It Is, I obviously knew the way Russell sashayed and waved his arm back and forth during the chorus from other shows and was mimicking him. He locked eyes with me and we did the hand punctuating thing at each other during that TWICE.

I am a “woo”er I will freely admit that and so I am constantly obnoxiously screaming and clapping and just being super loud. So I obviously was screaming my head off when Ron got up for Shopping Mall Of Love. During the second chorus he looked DIRECTLY at me and went “yeah ✊” I will post video later but I was shakinggggggg.

There were lots of loud applause breaks and late-ish in the show (can’t remember when), Ron looked directly at me again and mouthed “thank you”. Like no thank YOUUUUUUUU KING!

I know Russell bounces around a lot on stage, HOWEVER, the way this stage was set up, it was probably a bit harder to get to our side of the stage, but he came over a lot anyway and I have to think it was partially because of me because he seemed to almost be finding excuses to come dance with us even when he was about to have to start singing again 🤗

Eli dancing and feeling the music was so slay I love that short king jfdgkjrfkjg

I’m not sure how or why Russell would ever EVER feel self conscious about his tummy.... I was lucky to get it captured during SMWS... during MTYCTD though he danced over and it was too fast for me to get filmed but I basically was 4 feet from the man and watched his tummy bounce out from under his t-shirt for a good 5-7 seconds... mesmerized is the most polite way to put how I felt in that moment but oh my fucking god 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 [redacted] [censored] [an oncoming train whistle obscures what i’m about to say] but suffice it to say [meme voice] I think I hauve covid...

And the open collar and sweat obviously..... yeah.

As I divulged to a few of you and was encouraged by @jefffreybeaumont, the plan was to make a sign that says “YOU’RE MUCH HOTTER THAN THE GALLAGHER BROTHERS” because in interviews they’re always being asked how they don’t fight like the Gallaghers or the Davies. The secret spice was typing it out in Barbie font. I somehow managed to not get it wrinkled in my over 1000 mile 2 day voyage and held it up during the shuffle. I don’t think Russell could read it because he was farther away but during the shuffle I held it up. It was hard to tell Ron’s reaction because I was multitasking but I watched later and sent it to @rhythmthlef and she says his face showed “bemused self effacement” fdkjgkldjsfkg.

Something I’d stupidly personally worried about for ages was that Ron and Russell didn’t care about the U.S. as much - the U.K. has always embraced them and I’d worried that they didn’t think of these shows as special or meaningful because radio stations here don’t give them the time of day and they don’t always sell out. Since Chicago, I don’t worry about that anymore. Their faces shine with excitement, pride, and pure joy at EVERY SHOW. They’ve gotten more fans since TSB and opportunities that they wouldn’t have gotten ten years ago, even in the U.S. I mean, NPR Tiny Desk! Wow. Russell was emphasizing that the feelings of the shows “don’t go away when we go to the next city” and I could tell that he really meant it.

Eli came out for the encore in the bucket hat and a red Southern style bandana - very cute. The man who took the photo handed Russell his cowboy hat beforehand and Russell says, “Oh yeah, my hat.” He then proceeds to put it on, smirk confidently at the audience, and say, “What’s up, yall? You from these parts?”WHAT IS WRONG W HIMMMMMMMM GFHJDKJGFKLDSJFKDS CALIFORNIA DOOFUS!!! And I fought for my life squeezing into the pic but I’m in there! Right behind the keyboard!

The pic is taken and I know my chance is now. I start screaming for Ron (who was a bit closer to me) but he doesn’t hear me. I then start screaming at the top of my lungs “RUSSELL!!! I HAVE A LETTER!! RUSSELL!!” and after about 7 times he hears and sees me and meanders over and takes the letter and 2 rainbow Sparks logo acrylic pins (the ones I sold to some of yall a couple months ago)! I’m not sure if they’ll wear the pins but I had to try. I do hope they read the letter - they really do mean everything to me. I was unsure that I’d get their attention at all, so I didn’t get the moment I handed it on film, but I do have a video of Russell holding and then glancing down at the letter. They were leaving the stage and Russell stopped to hold hands with multiple people on his way offstage.

I stood there for a minute, very emotional, then made my way out. As I left, a security guard off to the side went “Hey, you sang all night man, that was great.” and I just replied “They’re my favorite band, you’ve gotta be passionate, y’know, thanks!” Even non fans know I’m a real one kgcjkgjfdkjgfd.

My Lyft driver was super sweet and chatty and I rode back to my hotel feeling like I was floating on a cloud.

Random sidenotes: A) They cut “Toughest Girl In Town” which I didn’t realize til later - I’m sure they’re getting tired near the end of the tour B) Eli is truly such a talented guitarist? He slayed the Bon Voyage solo. He was right in front of me so I really got to see him shine (in my brief moments not zeroed in on Ron and Russell) but obviously the whole band is amazing C) I sent Alissa snaps of me during Beaver O’Lindy and they said “You’re almost singing louder than Russell is” kdgfjkdjkg D) This was the one time I didn’t cry during It Doesn’t Have To Be That Way because I was sweating so much that [Lucille Bluth voice] I couldn’t spare the moisture E) I will share a few videos but I swear my singing is horrendous and embarrassing so just the key moments jfdgjfi F) I used almost 10GB of memory on photos and videos...

The plan is to get a Sparks tattoo within the year. I’ve gotta do it. They are so special to me. I’ve been into bands before and I don’t regret any of it but this feels different and special. This truly feels like where I belong as a fan and a person and as someone who has always felt strange and awkward and out of place. But there’s one place and one song and that’s Sparks.

SparksTour forever ✨

#sparks tour 2023 #my posts

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satninbarbie · 8 months

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my mama and i do this thing every sunday that we call 'sundays with elvis' where we watch one elvis movie (maybe two) and then put on elvis music, we talk about our week and sometimes they are elvis related things and sometimes they aren't but we try to include elvis as much as we can. (would you guys like to do a Sundays with Elvis maybe with me on here to just decompress after a long week? I would love it ♡)

this weekends thing that came up was the Priscilla movie (there is no direct hate to Priscilla in this so if you're looking for that you might wanna move on !!)

and none of y'all asked for this but this is just my take on it. this shit might be a little long so get ready.

nate fucking jacobs is that you?? i know it is, i feel bad stereotyping him because he's trying to branch out and go you, king, slay but stay away from my king. the vibes are just not right, not even a chance in hell for 60's Elvis. how can people think this even looks right. now, i know a lot of people felt that way about austin when he got the role of Elvis, nobody could ever be Elvis Presley, there is only one. austin at least gave off the vibes, the energy, dug deep into the soul and i don't know Jacob's process or whatever but something tells me with how fast this movie got rolling he didn't study our beloved. i know this move isn't about Elvis, he already has one and this one is about Priscilla.

also i find it to be funny that EPE wouldn't let them use Elvis' actual music in the movie and the little review they left saying "looks like a college movie, the set designs are horrific that's not what Graceland looks like." and while i agree with them, i think sofia has a certain style she does and that's respectable but however, i expected more for a movie like this.

not to mention Priscilla herself has said that she wished she wouldn't of told some of the stories the way she did and I respect her for saying she made mistakes but then again my question is, did she have any rights to the movie and did she talk to sofia about some of the exaggerations she admitted to? or did she just leave sofia to take those and run with them?

overall, I don't see Priscilla as a villain, satan or the wicked witch (or whatever anyone calls her) in any story but there are some things she has done that I don't agree with.

however, I will not see this movie because part of me has this gut feeling even though people have spoken out and said that it doesn't make Elvis look bad and part of me wants to believe that Priscilla loves him like she says she does and if this made Elvis look bad or tarnished him in anyway that she wouldn't be okay with it being released.

again, that's part of me hoping.

i'm not excited for this movie, i'm not too keen on sofia i've never liked her movies, i don't know how much to trust priscilla on this, she loves Elvis to this day and proves that but another part of me is very protective of Elvis like i think and hope priscilla would be (probably even more so because she was actually married to the man and knew him on a personal level whereas i didn't). i just adore Elvis but i will not see this movie or support it in anyway. i'm nervous if anything about this movie and part of me thinks i am for sure overreacting but i am certainly a drama queen.

i'd love to hear what you guys have to say, it doesn't even have to be about this, it can be about anything Elvis related. I'd love to chat. ♡

#elvis presley #elvis #priscilla presley #priscilla movie #priscilla 2023

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swervinonalatenight · 4 months

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Satan: My vision on the King of Wrath.

I've been intrigued in what Satan, The King of Wrath, might look like in the future when he is eventually revealed. Wrath has always been my favorite sin, and seeing what kind of take the Spindle Horse team might have on it is something I've been waiting for.

But I've been coming up with ideas of my own regarding how Wrath might work, and why Satan became the king of it

In most Christian texts, Satan, often referred to as the dragon, is slain by the Archangel Michael during the final battle of Armageddon, and is defeated quite handedly by some accounts. Satan is also a name for Lucifer, often interchangeably, as Satan is the name Lucifer took after his fall from Heaven, while other texts have them be two different beings all together. I imagined that, like Hazbin's Lucifer, Satan was also an angel, and to put a gnostic spin his original name was Satanael. He was brothers with Michael during his time in Heaven, and were as close as brothers could be, playing, training and growing up together, at least as much as two immortal guardians of virtue could be. The two swore never to harm one another in anyway, under pain of death by the other. Then, one day, they both receive a revelation. At some point in the future, Michael will kill Satan. They don't know why, they don't know when, just that Michael will slay his own brother. Both are obviously disturbed, but there for Michael, someone so deadset and sure about his own self and his future, dismisses it, believing that fate is not set in stone as it is. Satan, meanwhile, is terrified of this revelation, and sets out to try and stop this form occurring at all costs.

This, is when Lucifer shows up, and offers Satan a deal. Join him and his rebellion against God and he can stop his death from occurring. Satan, believing that Lucifer actually would be able to save his life and stop Michael from suffering that fate, joins him readily.

When the Rebellion come about, Michael immediately takes the field and beelines for Lucifer, wanting to cut the head off the snake, but is stopped by Satan from doing so. Satan pleads with Michael that, if they worked together, then they could stop the fate to which they were assigned, believing that his brother was also trying to stop the fate from occurring.

Michael, however, doesn't even stop to listen, stabbing Satan in the chest the moment he sees him defend Lucifer. Michael would have killed him there, mercilessly, but Lucifer fell, and took Satan with him, who went willingly. After the Fall, Michael would declare that, due to his betrayal of Heaven and the Father, they were no longer brothers, and he vowed that should Satan ever step foot in Heaven again, he would kill him on sight.

When Satan reached Hell, he burned in Gehenna, the lake of fire. Here, all the holy power and grace of Satanael was burned away, leaving him with nothing but his wrath, hatred, and fear. Wrath at himself for believing Lucifer, hatred for Michael for, in his mind, betraying him while he tried to stop his fate, fear for his own mortality, knowing that only his life was considered mortal, as he was fated to die one day. Wrath for the world, wanting to burn everything to dust before he dies, hatred for Lucifer, for deceiving him, and fear of Michael, for being his doom.

Eventually, his wrath turned all of Gehenna into the Circle of Wrath, which gave birth to the Imps. Beelzebub mentioned that Satan was like a brother and that's due to her being the only one who knows why Satan is the way he is. Her empathic abilities allow her to feel why he's so angry, and is the only one who can approach him, or at least is willing.

The other Sins wrote him off as a nutcase rage monster who terrorizes his circle, leaving it the barren desert it is, but Beelzebub sees past it, and knows just how scared Satan is, scared that he's going to die one day and there isn't anything he can do to stop it. She tries to help him, and in his lowest moments, she practically drops everything to go make sure he doesn't hurt himself, and is able to take care of himself.

There is a fitness app that is linked to Satan, but he didn't create it. Mammon did after seeing how often Satan trains and works out. Not for self improvement or even just a routine, but as a coping mechanic. Maybe, just maybe if he trains hard and long enough, he'll be strong enough to survive. But no matter what, his fate never changes. Bee often has to get him to stop training or risk hurting himself from over exertion, only being successful enough to get him to sleep for long enough to rest before going right back at it.

This is the case for the times he's not having a wrath filled episode, and is practically incoherent and inconsolable, like when Lucifer visits his ring, or he has a traumatic episode reliving the revelation, the Rebellion, or both.

Satan is someone who was burned by the world, those he loved and those he trusted, he honestly has every right to be angry, and may just be the most tragic sin of all.

#helluva boss #hazbin hotel #satan

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 4 months

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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 165- The Ghost of Christmas Past

Summary: While out cold on the Dorwinion castle floor, Josie dreams or "hallucinates" of last Christmas Eve when she was being held captive by her ex-boyfriend Peter in his remote cabin, deep in the woodlands just North of the Grey Mountains. A strange object is believed to hold magic. Clues blatantly dance like sugar plums through Josie's head but will she remember the trauma blocked memories when she awakens from her nightmare? Legolas and Lola throw words over Josie. Josie asks something critical of the Prince. Lola searches for someone unexpected.

*Warnings* NSFW-DARK.... with mentions of drugs, emotional abuse, angst, violence, strong language, sexual language and abuse, alcohol use

Chapter characters: Josie, Peter, Thranduil, Legolas, Lola

Chapter word count: 5,593

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through house, not a creature was stirring....except you as you paced about the living room of the secluded cabin, nestled in the middle of a desolate never ending forest. The cabin that your abusive, narcissistic and sadistic ex-boyfriend Peter was keeping you prisoner in and torturing you daily while doing so. You had been inside the wooden box for so long that you stopped counting the days and no one had come for you. How could anyone find you when you didn't even know where you were? One moment, you had been in a northern New Zealand bar and the next, you awoke in the back seat of Peter's car, bound, gagged and disoriented from being drugged.

You momentarily paused your tears and erratic steps to gaze out the window at the winter wonderland. The same window you've stared out of a gazillion times, imagining a beautiful blonde King on a great white horse riding down to free you from the evil clutches of the dragon you called Peter and slaying him with his mighty sword, then whisking you away to his castle in the heavens to live happily ever after...but he never came. It was just a dumb song anyways, that you listened to as a kid when you believed in magic.

Your tears softly free fell like the sparkling snow before you as you fogged up the glass with your hot breath, then drew a heart and whispered into it, the words you had pointlessly recited every single night.

"My King, take me away from this awful place."

The slamming of the backdoor put a startling stop to your silly pleas and in stomped Peter, ridding the wet snow from his coat and muddied boots all over the floor that he would soon make you clean up.

"Baby it's cold outside!" the tall, dark and handsome monster bellowed with a grin that you wanted to smack right off of his prickly bearded face, the beard that tore your neck up every time he ravaged you.

"I never would have guessed." you quietly riposted and went to get a mop before he ordered you to do it.

"Bitchy again. That time of the month eh? Well, I've got a box full of old treasures here that I snagged at a thrift shop. I thought since it's Christmas Eve, I'd get you something since you like that kind of crap, so a little thanks would be nice because you certainly don't deserve any of it with that mouth of yours. Women should be seen and not heard, except for the moaning of being fucked good and hard."

With your back turned to him, you rolled your tear ridden eyes. Good and hard. The only correct part about that was hard. The narcissistic creep didn't know how to be gentle in any way.

"What was that Josephine?? I can't hear you!" he snarled as he dropped the box on the coffee table in front of you, making you jump.

"Th..thanks." you swiftly mumbled as you flinched in fear of getting smacked.

"Thata girl. You wouldn't want to spend the holiday with a fat lip now. So where's dinner? I'm starving after that long ass trip."

"There's stew in the pot over the fireplace. It's all we had."

"I brought more food. It's on the back of the snowmobile. Go get it. Oh..and Josephine??" he smugly toyed while holding up the keys and jingling them. "Just in case you got any stupid ideas of taking off."

"Peter...I've been here for..I don't even know how long and I know you keep all the keys on you. You remind me every single day."

"Well, I have to because I know that every single day, the wheels are turning in your simple little mind, trying to find a way to leave me and that...will never happen. I told you that back home when you foolishly tried to leave before. I always find you. There is nothing out there for miles. That is why we are here. No one is coming and you know I'm right, don't you Josephine??"

"Y...yes Peter. You're always right."

"I don't like your tone. How many times do I have to explain it so you get it through your fucking fairy tale little head? There's nothing to the North for over a hundred kilometers and the East, West and South are nothing but mountains, rivers and woodlands. I've told you, if you want to go, go...but you know you'll never survive. All alone, in the dark, in the freezing cold, no food, no shelter, just turned 24 years old and you have absolutely no survival instincts or skills since you grew up sheltered from the world, moving from place to place every few months...and lets not forget about...the wolves."

And now you were sheltered again. And The wolves. You heard them howling every single night. It was just another reminder, besides the recurrence of the real big bad wolf rubbing it in your face, that you were trapped.

"You have everything you need here. Food, heat, electricity thanks to a very expensive generator, and most importantly...me. What do you have back there?? Nothing and no one. Your mom is dead, your dad is dead. You have no friends or other family. You have no money. All that you own is a bag of shit I brought with us that you already had packed when you tried to leave me that day. Everything else you have, I gave you. I own it. I own you."

You did have everything...except what you truly needed and wanted. Love. But you did have money. Lots of it that your dad left you in his will. But what good did it do you now? You were probably presumed dead anyways, if anyone even noticed you were gone. Peter was right. You had no one anymore but him.

You didn't want to hear his cruel rantings anymore, so you put on your coat and boots and went out to get the food.

Brushing the snow from the seat of the snowmobile, you sat down and gazed up at the full moon of the winter solstice, wondering if there was another like you, gazing into it too, wishing for things you wished for, searching for shooting stars to make those wishes upon. The last time you saw one was on your recent birthday, but that was two weeks ago, so now all you had to rely on was the moon and each unique and perfectly crafted snowflake that fell into your hand as you held it out, sobbing.

Although your faith in fairy tales was diminishing, the things that were real, you could not deny, such as the wicked effects of the Mercury retrograde that began on the 13th, just before the solstice and would last another week into the new year of 2022. Your life was already shit before it began, but it only seemed to make things worse. You could feel it through Peter's actions, the way it made someone dark even darker and nothing would change when it passed. This would continue to be your hell.

Sobbing harder, you quietly cried out. "Please help me. Someone."

Everything was so deafening outside, for the blanket of snow on the ground always absorbed sound which created a calming silence. There was no wind or breeze of any kind either in that moment and then...a cool whisp of air puffed softly over you, carrying the fragrance of lilacs, a scent you would never forget for they were flowers your mother loved.

For a moment, you smiled, believing it was her...her spirit, watching over you until you heard a man's voice and it certainly wasn't Peter's. The voice seemed to also carry in the breeze and it was deep and alluring, yet soft and loving...and filled with desperate concern.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

You gasped and flung off the snowmobile so fast as if it were on fire.

"Hello?? Wh..who's there??"

Seconds went by as your eyes darted about the darkness inside the trees and then all was quiet once more.

"Josephine!! Get your ass in here! I want my bottle of whiskey!" Peter shouted as he banged on the back porch window, glaring at you.

With great hesitance, still staring out into the nothingness, you grabbed the bag of goods and scuffled back inside, glancing back on the way with every two steps you took.

As Peter devoured his stew like the slob he was and slurped on his liquid fire, you sat on the couch, sipping wine in a state of befuddlement. Had you really heard someone? Or was your mind going into some kind of survival mode to protect your sanity, making you believe there was hope? Was it the retrograde or was your mind just completely breaking? Surely that had to be it. You were just flat out losing your mind. For one thing, how could you smell lilacs in the dead of winter?

Peter finished off most of the stew and then plopped in a chair by the fireplace and began his nightly regimen of getting sauced, but not enough to where you could ever take the keys from him. He was quite smart as most psychopaths were. The only way you would ever get them was from his cold dead body and you knew you didn't have the stomach to kill someone, not even him. It didn't mean you didn't wish him dead though. Maybe choke on a chunk of the deer meat in the stew from the deer he killed, slip in the shower or fall down the basement stairs. You've imagined all kinds of scenarios with you standing over him, watching him take his last breaths. Did that make you a bad person after all he had done to you in the past 4 years?

"You gonna open your gift or what?" he snapped.

You wanted nothing from him and would much rather throw the box in the fireplace....or at his smug ass face.

"It's..it's not Christmas day yet."

"Just open the fucking box Josephine! Your lack of appreciation really pisses me off."

Picking the box up, you fretted about what you would find, for his gifts were never thoughtful and usually just junk. and that's exactly what it was as you pulled out the first item.

Cheap cosmetic jewelry that maybe a 5 year old would wear for dress up. Honestly, you didn't think anyone would wear it and that's probably why it was in a thrift shop. Next...another pair of gawdy high heels which he bought only for his own fetish. You despised high heels and he was why. Then there was a long white dress, which at the time you had no clue would be the one you wore when you finally escaped 4 months later and the high heels would aid you in that feat.

The next two items were decent at least. Another fantasy book and a classic cassette tape that you could play on an old 80's boombox you had in the bedroom. You didn't know the artist or genre, but to you, music was music when you had none, for you couldn't pick up any radio stations out in timbuk-fucking-tu. Anything was better to listen to besides silence or the cringing sound of Peter's voice.

Lastly...you pulled out an object at least two foot tall that was heavy and wrapped in burlap.

"Thought you'd really like that one since you're into all that fantasy bullshit. It's supposed to be magical or some shit. That's what the lady said anyways. I don't think she was all there, if you know what I mean. She reminded me of one of those chicks that look like they're into that creepy voodoo shit or what not...a gypsy or some fortune teller maybe? Said it grants wishes."

"Well, than why would you give it to me? You know what I will wish for."

"Because you know I don't believe in all that hocus pocus hogwash! You're not going anywhere Josephine. Deal with it and just open the damn thing already."

Upon unraveling the string and removing the burlap, your eyes widened as you were now holding a realistic porcelain sculpture of...a male elf?? Not any ordinary elf though like one of Santa's helpers with striped tights and hats and shoes with bells on them. This one was of majestic youthful beauty and superior elegance, an Elvenking of royalty maybe? A King in all the ways you had always envisioned and dreamt of one to be, whether human or immortal, for he wore a crown of twigs and berries over his long, sleek platinum strands that hung perfectly straight over his broad and sturdy shoulders clear down to his abdomen. A high standing collar wrapped around his thick, elongated neck that was accentuated by a black blizzard stone, set inside metal prongs that reminded you of spider legs and it was centered and pinned just under his captivating clavicle at the V shaped opening. Crystals were something you knew well because of your mother's massive collection. This one in particular, also known as merlinite, was a very rare and powerful crystal. It was said to hold a strong connection to the earth that gave it grounding energy and also helped to give healing strength.

Down his slender body, ran a form fitting robe of shimmering silver and placed underneath him was a blood red outer robe that you could tell was twice his lofty height as it draped over his forearms and flowed around his feet in a swirling pool of scarlet satin. You guessed the beautiful giant to have stood well over 6 foot tall and to be highly resilient, vigorous, stealthy and agile.

The way he was prestigiously positioned on the tree carved throne with enormous elk-like antlers sprawling out behind his head, spoke of a highest stature that cautioned of puissant power and dominance. His head was held high, angled to the side with fierce confidence and noticeable arrogance. One knee was crossed over the other, revealing his grey leggings where his robe parted below the waist and one arm was relaxed on the limb rest as his hand slouched freely off the end. His other hand gripped a very tall wooden staff of twisted oak that was crowned by a peach sized and shaped amber jewel on the top, snuggly nestled inside a lattice of silver vines. Baltic gold the gem was sometimes referred to. It was made from tree resin and preserved for millions of years and would turn to stone. Just how old was this Ellon supposed to be?

Your perplexed eyes then traveled right back to his glamorous face because their was some kind of undeniable magnetic pull to this mystical being of defined glass. His skin was of flawless ivory and delicate as the porcelain the figurine was made out of. Like his body, his nose was long and lean, sloping down in to a softly pointed tip while his pronounced ears raised up in to stronger points. His supple lips were heart shaped and pouted ever so perfectly over a very compelling jawline. Even his Adam's apple was intriguingly and audaciously apparent.

Whomever created the sculpted masterpiece from clay with their bare hands was highly skilled and deeply invested in it. The artistry was of such detailed precision, right down to his crystalline eyes of the moon that your boring olive orbs were helplessly lost inside of and desperately trying to read. There were multiple rings upon his pampered fingers with one in particular standing out upon his left forefinger, a sizeable moonstone that resembled the icy blue hues of his eyes, eyes that drew you right in against your will as you began to understand them, ageless eyes that held presiding pain and darkness as if they had seen an eternity of hatred, fire, war and death, yet love and light, loyalty, wisdom and knowledge dwelled within them in competition with the evil and sheltered over those lonely soulful eyes were the boldest of brows, black as his knee high boots.

You also were now highly invested in the art piece. What was something like that doing in a thrift shop? Did the piece have a name? You wanted, needed to know more, so you carefully turned it over to see if there was any information on the bottom.

Gúl -o Aran Thranduil. Ech- a ithil sarn iest no i clair de lune was carved on it and nothing more.

"Clair de lune. I know and love the song. It's French for Moonlight...but the rest of these words, what language is that?" you whispered aloud with furrowed brows as you ran your finger softly over the grooves of the letters.

"What does it say?" Peter curiously answered your question with a question and a hiccup.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking. It's not English and I don't know how to pronounce any of it."

Peter took a hefty swig from his bottle and then chortled. "It probably says made in China."

Asshat, you thought. It wasn't any language you had ever seen and from all the fantasy books you have read, you guessed it to be from long ago...medieval era?? No...it had to be even older and you desperately wanted to decode it.

"Well why don't you put that pointy eared princess on the shelf...right there, in the window and make your stupid wish. I'll even entertain you and make one too." he barked, then got up, ripped it from your hand and sat it down on the wooden sill so hard, you swore it would shatter...and it should have, but it didn't. The elf sat chip free under the rays of the moonlight shining in from the window, his eyes sparkling in it as they looked right at you.

"I...I..I don't want to." you stammered as you began to tremble, knowing the whiskey was kicking in and Peter would become meaner than when he was when sober.

Here he came, storming at you, grabbing a clenched fistful of your hair at the scalp and dragging you to the window, stumbling, screaming and sobbing.

"Now. I'm going to make my pointless wish at this sexy elf on the shelf and then so will you! I can't say I wasted my money on it because it was free, some horseshit that freak at the store told me, saying the price tag is in the wishes, SO why not?...here goes nothing!"

"No, wait!...I....I changed my mind. I..I want to go first....please."

You never believed in this stuff, even though your mother and Sarah did. You and Sarah argued about it all the time and eventually, you just humored her and played along with the tarot cards and seance's for fun, but right then...you were willing to believe and be daring and brave, knowing what the consequences of your actions, or words you should say, would be after you blurted them out, and not by the price tag of karma, but by Peter.

"Alright. Go." he sarcastically agreed and pushed your head forward as he released your hair.

Your pent up anger rolled into rage and out of your mouth, as you stared into the elf's moonlit eyes, spewed words you had been aching to say out loud....and you knew, this night, you could die for it.

"My King, I wish for you to take me away from this awful place! And for all the times Peter has tortured me with spiders, I wish he would be dragged off by the Queen of all spiders, bloodied and screaming, deep into her dark cave and ripped limb from limb, leaving him alive long enough with his disgusting head attached to his torso so he can watch a dozen more spiders come and feast on the pieces and then I wish the Queen would drag his dismembered remains to her lair and spin him up in her web so he can be tortured for days, screaming in the dark as she snacks on him till his death!!"

Peter's eyes gaped as he gulped and then the rage that you knew would come...came.

"Brava!!" he shouted in a fury, clapping his hands as the Italian in him came out. "Tell me how you really feel Josephine! Well guess what? I wish that I will come back from the dead and haunt and torture you for the rest of your life!... Although that may not be very long..." he snarled and head butted you.

Down you went, to your hands and knees, stunned and almost blind as he knelt down and growled right in your face.

"There's no King coming! The only thing that's coming for you is my cock fucking you to death."

Peter grabbed the statue and hit you in the head once more, knocking you to your back, barely conscious and then he hoisted you up over his shoulder and carried you off into the bedroom, where for over an hour, he roughed you up... before, during and after having his forced way with you....and it was after this night that Peter began drugging you because the sadist realized the sex was much easier when you were practically limp and couldn't fight or talk back.

Crawling in tears of pain from the bed to the floor to find your clothes, you passed out and later awoke on Christmas morning with the sun blazing over your face and throbbing head, instantly crying once again from the pain, mostly below your waist and from also realizing you were still alive.

You stumbled in agony to your feet and gazed out the window to see the sun had melted most of the snow and the car was gone. What time was it??

After wrapping a robe around you, you crept out to the kitchen and sighed in relief when you saw Peter's coat and boots were gone too and you knew it was so the coward wouldn't have to look at you after what he did.

Knowing that you had a good amount of time to yourself, you showered, dressed, ate a donut and then remembered the elf figurine.

Gasping, you quickly hobbled to the living room to find it and sure enough, it was gone. It was real, wasn't it?? You couldn't have dreamed all of that, considering the huge knot on the side of your head from where Peter struck you with it.

You frantically began searching every corner of the cabin, even the basement that you dreaded going down to, but you came up empty handed. The creep had taken it after you wished him dead, you just knew it.

Crying ONCE AGAIN, you went back to your room and threw yourself on the bed, instantly regretting it as intense pain shot through every inch of you. As you laid there, sniffling in your snot, your eyes found the floor board where you had hid something special to you because you knew Peter would take it just as he had taken the statue. Luckily, he had never went through your bag that he had brought there when he kidnapped you, the bag you had pre-packed when you were going to leave him.

Slowly making your wincing way to the floor, you pried it open and pulled out the wooden box buried within the wooden box you were buried in. As you opened it, you smiled and sobbed some more to see the three items that belonged to Sarah, your best friend and neighbor who had disappeared into thin air on Halloween night 8 years ago.

Inside were her deck of tarot cards, a photo of the both of you, happy and twinning it at 14 years old, for you were both the same age, and her special ring, a silver ribbon ring she always wore, claiming it warded off magic spells placed upon the one who wore it. The day after she had vanished, her mother Jocelyn did too and you never saw her or Sarah again.

One night, after your sick father had fallen asleep, you snuck into their house through an unlocked window and went up to Sarah's room. That's when you found what looked like a shattered figurine all over the floor and in the shards, laid her ring. You had placed it inside her box on the dresser that had the photo and cards in it and took it for special keeping for when she came back, because you always believed she would....but she never did, nor did her mom. What you didn't know was of the special compartment the box held on the bottom and what was inside of it...until now.

As you were attempting to place the box back inside the floor board, your dropped it and the bottom popped open and out fell a beautiful amethyst pendant.

"What the??" you whispered and held it up by the chain, gazing into the purple crystal that had swirls of white clouds inside of it.

"Why would she hide it??" you asked yourself, completely and utterly confused.

You had never seen it before and she had shared everything with you. It must have been something of great importance, you figured. Maybe something personal or sentimental that she didn't want to share with anyone, not even you.

You stuffed it back in it's hiding place and the box too, then you decided to go outside for some sunlight and fresh air while you had the chance, and you took with you the battery powered boombox and cassette tape Peter had brought back to see what kind of music was on it.

Sitting on the picnic table out back, you slid the tape in and pushed play. The music began and it appeared to be some kind of country, bluegrassy, Irishy mix. It was all you had so it would have to do.

About 5 songs in and two glasses of Peter's whiskey drank down to help wash away your pain, you were completely caught off guard when a song came on that you knew. The same song you recalled the night before as you stared hopelessly out the window, dreaming of a King on a great white horse, for that was the name of the song.

You had sang it a lot as a child. Your mother was always singing it and it had stayed with you all through the years until now, but for it to just randomly pop up after you thought of it the night before, and after the wish you made to the porcelain elf, it was just too odd and it was all just too much.

"Why???? Why is this happening to me????.....Is anybody out there??!!" you screamed, so loud it burned your throat and then broke down into hysterical, uncontrollable sobs and blubbered the words as you tried to sing along.

"When I was a young girl I used to dream of a lover, to be my shining knight of strength one day. He'd carry me to a castle in the heavens and battle all my dragons on the way. And he'd ride down on a great white horse. He'd bring me love I was longing for. He'd bring me joy and everlasting peace and on a great white horse, he'd ride away with me."

"Josephine..." you heard in the wind and jumped to your wobbly feet.

"Josie! Josie...wake up!" you then heard, a voice echoing in your head. Legolas' sweet elven voice.

Was he really there or were you hearing him in your head again? You couldn't open your eyes, only mumble his name and when you did, you then felt yourself floating as Legolas lifted you from the cold stone floor...just like the night Thranduil found you in a similar state on the cold forest floor and carried you.

"Legolas?? What happened to her??" Lola frantically asked as the Prince gently laid you upon your bed.

"I do not know. Quickly, bring the healing water. Her skin is like fire."

Lola did as he asked and when she returned, she momentarily froze in her tracks with a hard dose of reality. Legolas was holding one of your hands and caressing your cheek with his other and the way he was looking at you spoke volumes of his undying love. It was as if no one else existed but you and Legolas proved it only seconds later.

"Legolas? I have the water and a cloth."

The worried and suddenly deaf elf did not hear a word Lola said as he continued stroking your cheek with a stare lost upon you.

"Legolas?? The water???"

"Huh?" he gasped and glanced at her and then took his eyes back to you.

"Would you rather I pat her with it so you do not have to remove your hands and eyes?"

Legolas certainly heard that. "I will tend to the Queen. You tend to the child as it is your duty is it not?" he snapped as held his hands out.

His words were cold and biting and Lola's eyes began to sting as she handed him the pitcher and cloth. She could hold her tongue no longer when Legolas aggressively took it from her.

"And you are appointed Josie's keeper? By whom? I am quite capable of looking after her as well as my DUTY of caring for Leean. I do believe the Queen has hired me, not you. I am the one who has always done it, never leaving her side, as you so easily did when she needed you."

Legolas' lips pursed as he turned to the bitter face matching the bitter words.

"By my father's rule...which... that is what he would wish, for she is his Queen and that makes her my Queen! And whom are you to speak to me that way, or to speak anything at all of the situation? I am Leeanduil's brother and godfather. I do not require employment or authority to care for either of them. You are merely nothing more than a servant and should mind your place and tongue if you wish to continue your duties as such."

"You did not seem to view me as merely a servant when your lips neared mine this evening! And now you threaten to remove me of my duties? And whom are YOU to do so? Josie retained my services, not you."

In a spitting image of his father, Legolas rose to his feet with rage and flared nostrils.

"I am the King! That is who I am to do so! Dare you ever question me again girl and consequences shall be suffered! Your jealous tirade is unwarranted and inappropriate and.."

"Leggy?" you grumbled as your eyes began to flutter.

His head whipped right to you as he immediately sat back at your side, abandoning the conversation with Lola...and Lola herself and continued to dab the wet cloth over your forehead which only infuriated her more.

"You are not MY King!" she barked, not caring if you heard her. "Lord Narcisse is and this is his castle. By all means, continue to pine for what shall never be yours while she pines for the one she truly loves. Unless you are a vampire named Garrett, which you most certainly are not, then it is you that shall suffer. I will leave you now to do MY duties."

Lola stormed out of the room in tears and the slamming of the door fully awoke both you and Leean.

"Yes, it is I my lady. I am here. I have not left you and I will never again."

"Leg...gy...my..my dream...I..I remember someth...." you paused with a flinched face as you noticed he was holding your injured hand a bit too tightly. "Owww!!"

"My lady?? What ails you?? Your hand?"

"Y..yes...it.."

Legolas' gasp cut you off. "It is bleeding clean through your glove!"

He carefully removed the lace covering and unraveled the makeshift bandage you had applied.

"Josie. This needs sewn up. Do not move while I locate a healer."

"NO!! Don't leave me! You said you wouldn't! I..I want you to do it. There is a thread and needle in the vanity drawer. The healing water will sterilize it."

"You...want me...a non healer...to stick a threaded needle through the tender skin of your palm??"

"Yes. I don't trust anyone here anymore. Give yourself more credit Legolas Greenleaf. Believe in yourself as I do."

He smiled at your kind words, but then frowned. "But..we have no pain reliever."

"Yes we do...hand me that carafe of wine. I will drink it down while you thread the needle."

The Prince's eyes gaped and then reluctantly did as you asked and while this was happening, Lola stood outside Narcisse's chamber door in full blown tears and sobs, vigorously knocking and receiving no answer.

"Daddy! Where are you??"

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