#aragorn is just so tired
Aragorn: Ok, I’ve called you all to this meeting because some of us don’t seem to get along.
Legolas: Gimli and I are literally the only ones you called here
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so........... so I have this idea I was thinking of Sauron's name and reading Isildur's account of taking the Ring and he was obsessing over the Ring. and then I was thinking of Morgoth, like obsessed like that about Sauron in a fucked up he views him as a "pretty thing" kind of dynamic?
so Sauron is fucking gorgeous and ruins people's lives by being hot, his name has that connection to being precious, Isildur has the ring and despite his family dying he's already all "oh it's precious to me" even though it's this thing that contains Sauron's soul (even though Sauron has killed his family)
so the concept of Morgoth having this possessive "Sauron is one of the greatest creations and I want to shape him with my own hand like I did to the world" kind of aspect because he's... Like That
okay so maybe I'm just looking for characters to torture but like... 'he's beautiful and I want to ruin him' and then absolutely doing that
Sauron has a lot of fire connections and Morgoth has a lot of ice elements in the freezing north and Mordor is in the south with Mordor being really hot. and then Morgoth wants to grab him and shape him or break him into what he wants. It's a really really really really abusive relationship. like really fucked up. like Morgoth torturing Sauron levels of fucked up BUT Sauron becoming almost like addicted to it? like and then it shapes his interest in torture/cruelty
I think it's in character for both of them? Elrond makes that weird comment about Sauron being not evil in the beginning (which like is read as a warning) but it's like... almost sympathetic? like it makes me wonder how much he's seen of Sauron's mind
bc we know that Sauron really does hate his family. and Elrond still makes that comment. A warning that you can become evil but... Elrond, that's a weird person to bring up right there. (I know he's going the most evil person on the planet right now was not evil to begin with. remember that. but still this is when they've just lost Saruman and he's been saying this happens)
But I want to write like seeing Sauron like actually... break. bc Morgoth wants complete domination of the world and creation and Sauron being part of that creation? and Sauron has such a strong will and wants order while Morgoth is more chaotic but he admires that will. but he also wants to break it? you know?
and then we see it in Sauron's control later. with like the ringwraiths and how he winds up controlling people in the end after he loses his beauty. like I really want Sauron to be a little bit... insane? I guess would be the word. the whole Numenor thing really gets to me
(I know I shouldn't relate so hard to that but when I was a kid I had this idea where we were like captured but I created a fake religion where we had to do "human sacrifice" so that we could get people out alone into the forest but they wound up escaping as the 'sacrifice' but when we came back with blood and without them everyone thought we were doing human sacrifice and were too scared to stop us. I was like... six. okay look. I heard too much about human sacrifice. It fucked me up. But I read about Sauron and his human sacrifice and I was like same. and like sometimes I just relate to Sauron and I hate that I relate to Sauron BUT actually I can give Sauron a fucked up enough background to relate to. and it's like... you can see where my life influence comes into this idea. but like... people would read it and be like that's fucked up. and I'd be like yeah I didn't invent ideas about human sacrifice religions in which I was the high priest. ever. never did that.)
I'm going to project onto Sauron so hard right now
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More Third Age Finrod!
I have no consistent timeline for this AU, by the way, just kinda’ doing whatever I want at any given moment.
[Finrod:] “Whoa, Aragorn, is that Sauron? (No way!)”
[Finrod:] “Mind if I talk to him real quick?”
[Finrod:] “Ey yo Sauron, wassup? Looking significantly less corporeal than last time I saw you, LOL~... Anyway, so you’ve been bothering my friends, you threatened a hobbit the other day...you trying to start something or...? ’Cause I’m down for a rematch if you are.”
[Finrod:] “Is that a yes? I’m gonna take it as a yes.”
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honestly? mad respect to lotr for making the majority of the main characters nonhuman
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They saw cellphones and they understand they can talk to someone even if the’re in other country, how do they react ? ( Thranduil + Legolas )
( none of the gifs or pictures are mine)
asked by @iwenttomordor to celebrate my 100 followers :D ( i know you asked me to forget about it but it’s so much fun to write this one XD)
-“MITHRANDIR !!! WHAT IS THIS...THING ?”
-his eyes are riveted on the strange rectangular shape that the wizard holds in his hand and from which seem to come words
-nevertheless the fact that it is Gandalf who holds this thing and not someone else reassures him about this object
-if he had come across the phone on his own, he would have called the White Council together on the spot, worried that it was an invention of Sauron
-”Don't you want to try it?” Gandalf offers him
-after the moment of stress, the discovery of the phone and he is captivated
-he loves emojis
-he won't send photos or sms before he has mastered the full functionality of the phone
-if Gandalf tells him that Elrond has one, he will spam the Lord of Rivendell every day
-just to annoy his interlocutors he will send fifty small sms instead of one big
-he will take a lot of selfies to 1) admire himself 2) check his hairstyle
-will send a hundred pictures of Mirkwood to anyone who dares to say that evil no longer exists, that it has been defeated (especially Saruman in the Hobbit), like "ARE YOU SURE EVERYTHING IS FINE ? ARE YOU SUUUUUURE ?"
-instagram, twitter and facebook
-roast people on twitter/fashion model on instagram/awkward proud dad on facebook
-the fact that he can call his son anytime and anywhere reassures him
-nobody tells him what it is, what it's for, how to use it, but he tries anyway ( even if Aragorn advises him not to do so)
-”Aragorn ! That thing makes noises !”, “Legolas, put that thing back where you found it!"
-he doesn't understand when the thing makes a little music and a series of symbols appear on the screen
-as it happens every day, he manages to pick up by chance. It is Gandalf who calls him.
-“ARAGORN ! GANDALF IS STUCK IN THIS BOX !”
-he runs to Rivendell to give the thing to Elrond to take out the wizard
-Elrond is tired, Legolas is the twentieth person to whom Gandalf makes the joke
-finally everything is explained to him
-loves to call people (especially Tauriel)
-he can challenge Gimli by sms and they both love the idea
-put his father on mute
-not on facebook but on every others social site
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1. Joe: I've been fighting so long
A face of stone and marble,
proud bridge of sculpture resting.
When Nicky announces that he is going to bed, Nile's look speaks volumes and she gasps in shock. "What? Nicky you can't just go to bed now! The best scene is yet to come!”
Under his hands, Joe feels Nicky's abdominal muscles tense uncomfortably for a split second before his partner shakes his head with the gentle smile that Joe doesn't have to see to know it's there. It's that soothing smile that is little more than the subtle curling of the corner of his mouth and underlines the mute apology in Nicky's eyes. Just like Joe himself, Nicky can hardly refuse their new sister anything and although they have only known Nile for almost three weeks, Joe has already taken the strong, young woman into his heart.
Especially now that they have to recover from the past, all changing events that still cast a shadow over the day, her youthful, easy-going manner is a welcome gift. Of course, Nile isn't replacing Booker, but she eases the dull ache the Frenchman's absence causes in Joe's chest.
Joe hasn't put his name in his mouth since they left him on the banks of the Thames and refuses to talk about him because he doesn't want to think about the fact that he failed his younger brother somehow. That he had let Booker down so much that the latter had even handed over his family in the prospect of finally being able to end his infinite life. That Joe's love for his best friend wasn't enough.
Nicky is not happy about his behavior, but he gives him time and doesn't force him to deal with it any more than Joe himself wants to, for which he is infinitely grateful. His soulmate also suffers from Booker's betrayal. Nicky still puts a plate on the place Booker would sit on, but Joe is certain that Nicky's anger and disappointment will last longer than his own anger. And for this very reason Nicky is the last person who would accuse him of being so mad at Booker that Joe refuses to have a conversation about anything that has to do with Booker for now.
"Really, Nicky," Joe says teasingly and pokes Nicky in the side with an index finger, takes a quick look at the television, where Aragorn with a stylish hairstyle is holding a captivating battle speech. "How can you want to miss the best scene?"
The question is which scene Nile considers to be the best scene, but Joe can already guess which one it is. He may be centuries old, but he and Nicky were in a movie theatre for The Return of the King after they both had read the books and that night is associated with sweet kisses under the lantern for Joe. Very pleasant, then.
"When you talk about the scene where Aragorn says to the hobbits, 'You bow to no one', I can still remember it very well," Nicky says and starts to part from Joe against whose chest he was leaning on the sofa. If Nicky can resist Nile's puppy look, he must be really tired. So, Joe releases him without reluctance, although he lets his fingers linger longer on Nicky's hips.
"Spoilsport," Nile grumbles, but good-natured humor lurks in her open face and she gives Nicky a firm, warm hug, which shows Joe that Nicky's real fatigue has not escaped her either. "Good night, Nicky."
"Good night, Nile,” Nicky wishes her with a smile and gently strokes her shoulder as they end the embrace.
While Nile sinks back into her armchair and soaks up Aragorn's fight scene enthusiastically, Andy throws popcorn at Nicky from the huge bowl in her lap, which the warrior has already emptied three-quarters of the way. “You are much younger than me. Actually I should go to bed earlier, old man!”
Because of the crumbs from the popcorn that land on the floor, Nicky subtly wrinkles his nose and the expression he gives Andy makes clear that he expects her to sweep the floor before they go to bed afterwards. "I'm just setting a good example."
"Lame excuse," Andy snorts and throws another handful of popcorn into her mouth. But she leans slightly in Nicky's direction when he bends down and kisses her head.
"Breakfast waffles tomorrow?"
Andy shamelessly pats him on the bum as Nicky walks past her to wish Joe a good night. "You can bet on it."
"Hey, only I am allowed to touch Nicky's ass," Joe complains, grinning, ignoring Andy flipping him off and stretching a little to shorten Nicky's way for a kiss. He gently cups Nicky's cheek and kisses him again. "I'll be coming soon too, habibi."
Nicky's gaze is warm. “Enjoy the rest of the movie. And don't rush yourself. I know how much you like the ending. Nile will surely be happy to rave with you about it.”
“Did I hear 'the movie' and 'rave about it?'” Nile calls from her spot without taking her eyes off the screen. "Count me in.”
Nicky's silent chuckle sounds like music to Joe's heart and he laughs too. "You know me too well. I will try to...how do you say? To keep my fangirling about Aragorn's coronation outfit in check.”
"You have never managed that before, tesoro." Nicky gifts him with one of his rare winks and Joe continues to melt into the pillows like a sugary puddle.
"I'll see you in my dreams,” Joe calls after him as Nicky leaves the room and avoids laughing at Andy's thrown popcorn.
When Joe slides under the covers behind Nicky later than he had planned, Nicky stirs a little and squints over his shoulder at him with a tired smile. Even if Joe's intention was not to wake up his love, it is almost impossible to do anything near Nicky without waking him up. He wakes up at the slightest noise. Something that has saved their asses several times over the centuries.
"Sorry," he mumbles in Nicky's ear anyway, gets a soothing hum back and wraps his arms around his soulmate, making himself comfortable at Nicky's back with a satisfied sigh and buries his nose in Nicky's neck. As always, he strokes Nicky's arm to interlace their fingers and... "Fuck!" His hand jerks back due to the sudden cold. "You're freezing!"
"...m sorry," Nicky mumbles sleepily, but he still takes Joe's hand and the latter first groans and pretends to fight to protect his hand from Nicky's cold fingers, but allows Nicky to press their clasped hands against his chest.
“Seriously, it's totally warm in here. How can it be that you are so cold?” Joe laughs softly on Nicky's neck. Nicky can't freeze particularly badly because he's not wearing one of his carefully guarded hoodies.
"How lucky that I'm taken to someone so hot, huh?"
Joe practically plasters himself on Nicky's back to keep Nicky warm as best he can. “You flatter me, my heart. How could I keep my incredible heat from you?”
"How very generous of you," Nicky says with a snort, but presses closer to him. "Did you have fun with Nile?"
“Yes, I've finally found someone to discuss the choice of costumes with. Especially when my husband has no eye for it.” Joe grins in the darkness.
Nicky pinches the back of his hand slightly. “Your husband has an eye for it, but no interest in talking about clothes. As long as something is comfortable, it doesn't matter whether it is stylish what you wear.”
"Pah." Joe giggles. "Speak for yourself!”
"I can't always walk around as a snack," Nicky says dryly and Joe has to dampen his surprised bark with Nicky's shoulder.
"I beg your pardon? Snack? I had no idea you knew that this term could be used for anything other than something edible.”
Nicky snorts a little laugh into the room. “Thank Nile for that. I hate the English language. The words are getting stranger and more disrespectful. I mean, who the hell came up with Milf or Dilf?”
"Oh Nicky," Joe brings out laboriously between his laughs that intensify in their volume. He wishes he could have been there when Nile explained to Nicky what Milf or Dilf meant just to see the crease between his eyebrows and the horrified look in his eyes. "I love you."
"I love you too," Nicky says, laughing softly. "After all, you're hot."
"Does that mean you're only staying with me because I'm a snack?"
“Oh, stop it. You have a very pleasant body temperature. But the visual aspect is a nice bonus.”
"Bonus, huh?" Joe rubs his beard gently against the sensitive skin on Nicky's neck, knowing that Nicky is ticklish.
"No, stop it!" Nicky puts a hand on his neck. "We should sleep, Joe."
"Oh really?" Joe kisses the hand on Nicky's neck and then the skin underneath when Nicky takes his hand away again after the danger through the beard seems to be banished.
"Really. Besides the fact that I'm pretty tired, I'm not the one of the two of us who will be sitting at the table like a zombie in the morning and accidentally pouring salt into his coffee instead of sugar.”
“That only happened to me once, okay? You mean moon of my night sky.”
"Would it help if I kissed you goodnight?" Nicky asks and the smile in his voice warms Joe from the inside.
"I think I need at least two to handle your words."
Nicky rolls over in one smooth movement and his lips easily find Joe's. They no longer need light to recognize the body they know as well as their own. When Nicky wants to end the kiss, Joe deepens it by sliding his tongue into Nicky's mouth and Nicky smiles slightly, but lets himself into it. Sometimes Joe is amazed at the very idea of being bored of kissing that man in his arms, because in moments like this and the nine hundred years before it is impossible to understand how couples can get bored of their partner after a period of time. However, Joe and Nicky aren't exactly what an average couple can be called either.
"Better?" Nicky finally whispers against his lips.
"Better," Joe confirms in a whisper and kisses him again.
Continue reading on AO3 ;)
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hey squid! if you're feeling like it, could i ask your thoughts on boromir? i just found out that you like lotr, and he's my fave and you're my fave!
Sure! There was a great meta I saw on FB about Boromir (actually from @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, small world, eh?) that essentially went with the thesis that Aragorn is the shining heroic paragon we dream of being, but Boromir is the flawed person we are, particularly as we grow older and inevitably encounter some of life’s disappointments and our own failures.
And I think that’s apt. In a story populated with larger than life personalities, there are the more down-to-earth protagonists: namely, the hobbits and Boromir.
The hobbits are wonderful in their sensibility and humility and the illustration of “the most unlikely people are capable of being heroes”, but there’s also something in how Tolkien wrote them as somewhat childish and innocent. I don’t mean that in a negative way, but in that there’s something naive and pure about the hobbits. Which is part of the reason Frodo is so badly damaged by the whole quest and finds he can’t live in the world anymore, can’t go back to the Shire and live that life.
Obvious and huge parallel there to Tolkien relating the experience of combat veterans of WWI returning home and finding a dissonance with that former life, especially in the movies where the Scouring of the Shire didn’t happen to bring the reality of war to the home front, and therefore the Shire is still pristine and untouched.
But again, that’s the story rising from the experiences of young Edwardian men being thrown into an incomprehensible, scary, and violent world after a fairly idyllic life to that point. It’s very well written, and it’s certainly relatable to more people than British men ~17-25 in 1914-1918. But it’s only going to be deeply personal and relatable to a certain type of person about their experiencing a very sudden loss of innocence.
Then you have Boromir, whom I agree is the relatable character in LotR for many of us. Boromir has grown up in a country fallen from its former glory. Boromir’s grown up in a country constantly under threat. Boromir’s grown up with the weight of impossible expectations. Boromir is afraid, and Boromir is tired, but Boromir will fight all the same. Boromir loves his people, loves his brother. Boromir's a warrior, not the “wizard’s pupil” like Faramir, but his motives in fighting are still fairly pure. Boromir knows he’s not given power as a lordly birthright, but he’s instead been entrusted with it as a caretaker, and he takes that charge seriously as the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor rather than bearing it with arrogant entitlement.
Boromir’s kind, showing the hobbits how to fight, demanding that they be given a little time to rest and absorb the loss of Gandalf. Boromir’s eager to defend those in need, by fighting for the hobbits, by showing them how to fight, by caring about Gondor and its people, by constantly telling Fucking Asshole Denethor that Faramir has worth and talent and wants desperately only to please his dad.
Boromir falls to the Ring briefly--and who among us hasn’t made a poor choice we immediately regret? But he makes that choice not for the lure of power for himself, but out of the idea that this will help him save those he loves. Even his failure is generally well-intended. And he realizes it and is horrified, and dies trying to make it right. He even defends Merry and Pippin to the end.
Boromir falters. Boromir doubts. And alone of the Fellowship, Boromir dies. And that could be taken as a sign of his weakness. But I believe it’s a sign of his relatable human nature. Most of us didn’t grow up in an idyllic bubble like the hobbits. Most of us aren’t paragons and heirs to great power like Aragorn. Most of us aren’t amazingly powerful like Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas. Most of us are people who grew up in some kind of uncertainty, and who have found the world is more complicated, exhausting, and disappointing than the tales would have us believe. That even our best intents and best efforts sometimes won’t be enough. That sometimes darkness wins a battle. That we’re flawed and human, despite our best intents, and all we can do is own our mistakes as best we can.
He’s dying, afraid that he’s failed entirely, and his final exchange is with Aragorn, distant aloof near-elvish Aragorn who hasn’t really cared about the people of Gondor who are actually his responsibility. Boromir has tried repeatedly to make Aragorn care, to make him love Gondor and its people as Boromir does. And Aragorn does. He swears that he won’t let Minas Tirith and Gondor fall into darkness. Aragorn takes Boromir’s vambraces and wears them for the rest of the journey, openly bearing the sigil of Gondor and bearing the memory of a dear friend and Gondor’s fiercest defender.
And that’s the legacy of Boromir--his absence deeply marks the Fellowship, and we see it moving pieces later with things like Aragorn’s love of Gondor, or Pippin’s offering service to Denethor and then helping Faramir. Boromir died, he faltered when confronted with the Ring, but his life was no failure, his death no forlorn disgrace. His memory lives on and helps his friends save the day in the end. And Tolkien could easily have written Boromir as a boorish, selfish disgrace in this tale that’s often about larger-than-life fantasy archetypes, but he didn’t.
He’s a deeply relatable man with fears and flaws, who loved fiercely and fought fiercely. Who knew he was no grand hero fated to save the world, but only a man caught up in events far bigger than him, with a charge to do what he could to the best of his ability. Who acted with as much honor as he could, and who felt his mistakes deeply. Boromir’s an ordinary person who’s a major character in a high fantasy tale.
We admire Aragorn’s perfection, or the beyond-human abilities of Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf. We adore the hobbits in their earnest naivete. But at the end of the day, especially as we get older, we relate to Boromir.
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Boromir ~ We Are Monsters
1,300 Followers Challenge!
Requested by Anon
Part 1: Unforeseen Circumstances, Part 2: Xenial
Thank you to @zeyien again, I may just be tempted to write a fourth part XD
Warnings: Neutral Reader, mention of severe injury, personal doubts
“Stay with me Y/N, we’re almost there.”
“You just have to keep breathing, in and out, one at a time.”
“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Boromir’s words rang in your ears, fading in and out of a blurred and fuzzy silence, the world sometimes swimming before you, golden leaves floating past your eyes. He was carrying you, but to where and how quickly, you honestly didn’t know. You felt oddly weak and limp in his arms, but as you faded out again, it just didn’t seem to matter.
Pain gripped you next, ripping you from black slumber you’d been in. Your back arched and hands held you down, a cry on your lips from the searing, burning pain ripping through you.
There were voices, but none of them made sense, no matter how much they talked. It was exhausting, fighting against them and the pain, and eventually, you couldn’t handle it any longer, slipping away again.
Boromir watched you, his expression drawn. You seemed to be resting peacefully for now, but he knew that could change at any moment. He knew well enough what the bodies fight or flight response could draw out.
Aragorn was watching him, even as he rebound a wound on his arm. He knew that look of worry we’ll, and, much like they all had, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between the two of you. “Y/N will be alright.”
He blinks slowly and looks at Aragorn, his eyes dark and tired. “This should not have happened. We should have been able to fight them.”
“These are servants of the enemy Boromir,” Aragorn said gently, cleaning his hands. “We cannot predict what they are capable of, it is far more than we have ever faced before. It seems to change day by day. Do not let yourself dwell on one battle. Y/N knew the risks as much as anyone. Y/N always knows the risks.”
Boromir nods slowly, his gaze moving back to you. “Yeah...I noticed.”
Aragorn gives him a kind smile. “They’re strong, it takes a lot more than some orc and uruk-hai to take them out. I know it means little, especially after what the elves have treated, but Y/N has looked worse.”
A shaky breath got their attention and Boromir hurried to your side as you groaned, eyes opening to faint light above.
“Where are we?” You asked, your voice feeling thick and heavy on your tongue.
“Lothlorien,” Aragorn said, his hand resting on Boromir’s shoulder. “You’ve been incredibly lucky. Again.”
The fight was a haze, the wolf having had so much control, as was normal, but through that haze, was a clear sight of Boromir.
“You saved my life,” Boromir said softly, earning your tired gaze. “You almost got yourself killed to save me.”
A pained smile tugged at your lips, even as you let out a soft sigh, your eyes closing again. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
They watched as you drifted back into unconsciousness, your body finally relaxing completely.
Aragorn gave Boromir’s shoulder a squeeze. “Y/N wanted to know you were alright. They’ll rest peacefully now, they’re body will heal.”
Boromir sighed, sensing it, but it made his heart ache no less. “It should not have come to this.”
“Stop blaming yourself.”
He shakes his head, shrugging off Aragorn’s hand and walking away, unable to stay by your side any longer, hating seeing you like this. Aragorn watches after him a moment before he follows.
“Y/N would not like to see you like this,” Aragorn said gently. “Whatever is going on between the two of you, I’m sure this can be worked out.”
Boromir sits, looking miserable. “If I cannot protect Y/N, then what is the point? They should not be the only one that jumps in for me, especially not at the cost of their own life.”
“That was Y/N's choice,” Aragorn crouches in front of him, his gaze concerned. “Y/N has done the same for me on many occasions. It’s who they are. You do not need to take this so personally.”
Boromir’s expression crumbles and he buries his head in his hands. “Why does everything have to be so horrible all the time? Why cannot things be simple? This curse running through our blood had made this all much more complicated than what it ever should’ve been.”
“You love Y/N.” Aragorn said quietly, Boromir muttering under his breath. “Why should that complicate things?”
“Because of what we are,” Boromir said miserably. “Because my father struggles with what I am already, as do my people. We are monsters, Aragorn. What sort of monster deserves love?”
“One that is kind and true,” Aragorn sits next to him. “One that has gone beyond his duty to rid the world of evil. Monsters are created by actions, Boromir, not by anything that runs through your blood. The connection that you and Y/N share is unlike anything I have seen before, and even though I do not truly understand it, I have seen enough to know that the two of you are well matched together. In this form or the other.”
Boromir is silent for a long moment, unmoving.
Aragorn let’s out a soft sigh. “I had a similar conversation with Y/N once, not long after they’d been attacked, after the first time...of turning. It is not an easy life to put together after something like that happens, but it does not make you a monster unless you allow it to. The two of you finding each other...it means that you no longer have to face this alone.”
Slowly, Boromir lowers his hands and looks at Aragorn’s kind smile.
“Go and get some rest, Boromir. I’ll keep an eye on Y/N.”
Boromir hesitates, but then nods, getting back to his feet and starting to walk away. He pauses and glances back.
“Will Y/N...be healed by the time we have to go?”
“I don’t know,” Aragorn said honestly. “But I know Y/N will do everything they can to catch up should we have to leave before then.”
Boromir does a final glance towards where you were, before he sighs and steps away, Aragorn watching after him.
His expression turns a little worried, but he shakes his head, taking out his pipe. Closing his eyes, he listens to the quiet of Lothlorien, and waits to see how well you would recover.
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After watching a bunch of ROTK behind-the-scenes with @daisyfornost this weekend, I’ve decided it’s time for Part II of my writing-things-actors-did-as-though-they-happened-to-the-characters: AKA that really sweet moment with Orlando Bloom giving his horse a sweet little nose-smooch. Except I was also reflecting on how there’s not enough Gimli hurt/comfort (especially re: Paths of the Dead), so it turned into something... kind of different. But here it is anyway, for your enjoyment. Legolas and Gimli, gen but very possibly heading towards something more...
It’s slapped-together and unedited, so maybe someday I’ll clean it up, but don’t hold your breath.
Stabling a horse should not take so long.
Gimli shifted from one foot to the other in the doorway of the small inn room he would be sharing with Legolas, fighting the urge to glance behind him as though to ensure that the room was truly empty. After days of long hard travel, he still felt the chill of the Dead at his back, the stir of displaced air from the shapeless ripple of their presence. They were gone now, or had seemed to disperse – but how could something without form be trusted to truly vanish?
He shivered, rubbing at his arms, the chill swarming like ants over the skin of his back. He must trust their absence, must he not? After all, their presence had been real enough.
Aye, real indeed – he shuddered again at the memory of that shapeless mass exploding at last into form behind him, beside him, spears and swords flashing into being in the gleam of sunlight, fighting with the ferocity of ten men each – but it was not the fighting that stayed with him. The source of that fear was not their blades, but something deeper – something that clawed at his gut in that primal birthplace of screams: the horror of something that was and was not: something without stable form, that left impression without taking space –
Even in his thoughts, he could not put words to it, and that elusiveness of description only added to the distrust.
Around him, Aragorn’s Ranger companions made their way down the halls, returned from stabling their horses to find their own rooms. They were finished, it seemed, worn from fighting and the long ride preceding it and ready to snatch the first night of rest any of them had had in days at this small inn in Pelargir – and yet still Legolas did not return.
I will just see our friend settled, he had said to Gimli, with a hand on Arod’s nose. Go find us a room, will you not? I will join you soon.
Soon, he had said, and yet the last of the Dunedain trickled in and still there was no sign of him, and Gimli found he could not bear to settle in alone.
How long had it been since he had been alone? Months since Rivendell and the privacy of his own room there, certainly. There had been Lothlórien, of course, but that had only been perhaps a fortnight ago, for all that it felt like so much less – and even then, he had rarely been alone, for Legolas had always accompanied him.
The question was not, perhaps, how long it had been since he had last been alone – but how long since he had not had Legolas at his back, at his side. A few short weeks only since Lothlórien, and already he felt as though he had known the elf all his life. His steady presence, his soothing words – they were the only thing that had kept Gimli with the Company through that long, hard, freezing ride with the Dead at his back –
Gimli closed the door behind him, tucking the key away in his breast pocket, and set off for the stables.
Ah, but his muscles ached with every step – the twinge in his hips and chafing burn between his thighs from days on horseback, a position he had never intended to know so intimately; the stretched-out ache between his shoulder blades from swing after swing of his axe. He had not felt these aches in days, too busy accumulating new ones by curling up so tightly in his bedroll at night that he could not feel the chill of the Dead, by clinging to Legolas’s waist during the day, his face buried against the elf’s back. But they were present now, making themselves known on their first – and only – night of real rest before they must make their way forth again tomorrow, sailing to Gondor.
At least these boats would be larger than the tiny leaflike canoes they had paddled down the Anduin. And at least he might have a rest from the horse’s back.
A few words from the innkeeper set him on the path to the stables, though he could have found his own way from smell alone. He had grown accustomed to the scent of horse in the last few days, but the scent was intensified in the stables, with all the horses gathered together: hay and dust and dung and sweat. Most of the beasts seemed sleepy as well, he noticed as he passed, and it was no wonder – for all that he felt the ride of the last few days, he had at least not been the beast of burden!
Legolas had settled Arod in a stall at the far end of the stable. The horse seemed well groomed, at least to Gimli’s untrained eye, but Legolas stood still beside him, passing a brush over his back in slow, almost dreamlike circles.
Gimli stood still for a moment, watching the almost hypnotic motion of the brush. It was strangely peaceful; he could be almost lulled to sleep – and for a moment he wondered if Legolas was asleep, in that strange way of elves. But no – after a moment, Legolas sighed deeply and turned to face him, his face drawn as Gimli had rarely seen it, eyes and mouth folded in tired lines.
For a moment, there was no sound but the quiet shuffling and snorting of horses, and Gimli forgot why he had come to seek Legolas as the silence stretched between them. But at last he found his voice again and took a few steps forward. “Not settled yet, hm?”
“Not - ? Oh.” Legolas looked at the brush in his hand and then gestured with it in a half-shrug that sagged as quickly as his attempt of a smile. “I was merely . . .” He trailed off.
Gimli waited for him to finish, but Legolas only gazed at him – no, through him, his eyes vacant as sleep again. As though he had forgotten he was speaking.
Gimli cleared his throat, and Legolas started as if out of a dream, his eyes focusing again, but did not speak – so Gimli took it upon himself. “You said you meant to settle our friend,” he said. “He seems well settled, unless I miss my guess.”
“Yes,” murmured Legolas. “He is . . . I was only – thinking.”
“Thinking?” Gimli prodded. For the first time in days, some emotion other than his own misery was returning to him – concern for whatever this strange mood might mean. “Will you share your thoughts with a friend?”
Legolas let the hand holding the brush fall to his side and took a few steps, but stopped at Arod’s head and began to stroke his nose instead. “Perhaps . . .” he said. Arod whuffed and nuzzled his head into Legolas’s hand, and Legolas gave the smallest of smiles and murmured something in elvish.
Gimli hid his fond smile behind a snort. “I meant myself, not the horse, Master Legolas,” he said. “Come, now, what troubles you? There is a hard road ahead, but the Dead have left us, at least.”
“The Dead do not trouble me,” Legolas said vaguely, and then as though he had heard his own words, his head snapped up. “Oh! But” – And then he was turning to face Gimli in full at last, his eyes clear as though he finally saw him. “Yes, they have left us. And how do you fare now, Gimli?”
Gimli’s cheeks heated under the warmth of his regard. He had not meant – but then, at least Legolas seemed present in the moment at last. “I am well enough,” he mumbled. “But if it is not the Dead, it seems something is amiss with you. Will you not come back to our room and unburden yourself to me?”
Legolas let out a long, sad sigh. “I think not,” he said, “not yet. It is still too near, and I do not know what it means – but yes, I will come back with you. Thank you for coming to fetch me; I do not know how long I would have stayed here.”
“Too long, doubtless,” said Gimli. “Our friend deserves his rest as well as we do; he has run hard these last days and endured more than any horse of Rohan ever ought.” For Arod too had loathed the ride with the Dead. Gimli approached him cautiously – he did not feel as at ease with the horse as Legolas did, but he thought they had reached an understanding in the last two days. And sure enough, Arod whuffed gently, a gust of warm air over Gimli’s outstretched palm, and let Gimli pat him cautiously on the nose as well.
“He does, and he has,” Legolas said softly. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Very well; you are right. I will leave him in peace and come with you. Good night, my friend,” he said to Arod, and leaned in to press his lips to the horse’s long flat nose.
The sight made something in Gimli go soft and loose, but he forced himself to hide it behind a laugh. “Such a farewell!” he made himself say. “You will see him in the morning!”
Legolas shrugged and laughed a little. “He deserves it,” he said, and then he was eyeing Gimli speculatively.
The gleam in his eye made something in Gimli’s belly clench, but before he could speak, Legolas was coming toward him, stopping only to drop the brush into a bucket of grooming tools, and taking his face between both hands. Gimli had no time to react before Legolas had leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead as well, directly between his brows.
His lips were there and away in a moment, but Gimli swore he could still feel them tingling, a print against his face. “What was that for?” he managed to splutter, pretending amusement even as his bones threatened to melt and leave him a puddle on the straw floor.
Legolas looked at him for a moment longer, some strange combination of melancholy and tenderness in his eyes, and then shook his head. “Everything,” he said simply, and slung an arm around Gimli’s shoulders, turning them both towards the entrance to the stable and letting it rest there as they made their way together back towards the room.
Only moments before, he had wondered if the chill of the Dead would ever be banished – but now, Gimli thought he had never felt so warm.
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fandom: Lord of the Rings
summary: Aragorn and Gimli find amusement in singing to the hobbits of a tale about a time Geordie found herself in the cells of Erebor due to a misunderstanding that had Arwen come all the way from Rivendell to rescue her lover.
characters: oc; arwen; aragorn; gimli; frodo; sam; merry; pippin; gandalf (mentioned); legolas (mentioned); boromir (mentioned);
a/n: i wrote this in like... a day?? so that's my excuse for it to be so short.
As soon as the sun began to set, the fellowhip prepared to set camp for the night.
Although the day had been tiring, the warm dinner Geordie had prepared gave them comfort and rejuvenated the remains of energy inside them. And so, what Pippin started with a story about stolen vegetables soon excalated to songs and tales.
Boromir told them of great battles Gondor fought and Gimli of the challenges dwarves had faced and conquered. Aragorn told tales of his and Geordie's adventures, while Legolas of the elves and spoke of their culture, just as the hobbits sang the wonders of the Shire.
"And what of you, Miss Geordie?" asked Sam, "Do you have any story or song to share?... If I may ask, of course?"
She smiled at the hobbit and his last question.
"My most interest adventures are shared with Aragorn," Geordie told him as she tended to the fire, "and I'm afraid he's already ran out of tales to tell."
"Oh I wouldn't say that, lass."
Gimli's enormous grin gained the other's attention more than his unexpected intrevention. A more discrete version of the amused grin soon was seen on Aragorn's face.
"There is one tale of yours which does not involve me" Aragorn rose his eyebrows in amusement as he spoke in a smile.
"But which involves my kin!" Gimli's voice vibrated with pride and laughter.
Gandalf too grinned at the sigh that left Geordie beside him, but noticed she didn't seem upset, just rather tired.
"Tell me, dear hobbits," said Gimli, "Have you ever heard a song called, precisely, Geordie?"
The hobbits looked at each other curiously although they all knew the answer.
"No, can't say that we have" Frodo answered.
"Well, from today on you can say you have," the dwarf told them, a grin still visible on his expression, "for I will tell you of the tale of Geordie, the dunedain who once found herself in the cells of Erebor..."
Gandalf chuckled at the amazement and curiosity found in the hobbits' eyes as soon as Gimli said those words. They looked at Geordie, who rose her eyebrows as she tiredly closed her eyes in a sight, but soon their attention was captured by Gimli's singing voice.
There was a battle in the north
And nobles there were many
They tried to kill Dáin son of Náin
And laid the blame on Geordie.
O she has written a long letter
And sent it to her lady Arwen:
“You must come up to Erebor town
To see what news of Geordie.”
Geordie's heart gloome at the name of her lover, and a smile grew on her lips as Aragorn continued to sing.
When first she looked the letter on
She was both red and rosy
She had not read a word but two
When she grew pale as the lilly.
"Go fetch to me my good grey steed
My men shall all go with me
For I shall neither eat nor drink
Till Erebor town shall see me."
The she has mounted her good grey steed
Her men they all went with her
And she did neither eat nor drink
Till Erebor town did see her.
Gimli chuckled as Aragorn gestured for him to continue the song, and so, gladly, he did.
And first appeared the fatal block
And then the axe to head her
And Geordie coming down the stair
With bands of iron upon her.
Geordie couldn't help but feel her cheeks warm as her chest. Although her mind knew Arwen's love was powerful enough to lead all the elf soldiers there were to Erebor, her mind always fluttered with grace and melted in devotion at the memory, as if it was unknown to her.
Her mind was brought back to the song by Gimli.
Though she was chained in fetters strong
Of iron and steel so heavy
O not a one in all the court
Was so fine a woman as Geordie.
Geordie chuckled as the dwarf bowed to her to compliment her between lines, and Aragorn sang.
O Arwen down on her bended knee
I'm sure she's pale and weary
“O pardon, pardon noble kings
And give me back my dearie.”
Gmili then continued; singing the first line with an impression of Dáin that made Gandalf choke on pipeweed smoke trying to hold a laugh.
“Go tell the heading man make haste”
Our king replies full lordly
“O noble king take all that's mine
But give me back my Geordie.”
The Gordons came and the Gordons ran
And they were stark and steady
And aye the word among them all
Was Gordons keep you ready.
Geordie remembered the contrast between the ardent feeling in Arwen's eyes - barely pleading - and the diplomacy of her words as if it was yesterday. To think of her lover kneeling before the King of Erebor and asking such thing made her heart feel guilty, but nevertheless warm.
An aged lord, Balin is his name
Says “Noble king, but hear me
Let her count out five thousand pounds
And give her back her dearie.”
Some gave her marks, some gave her crowns
Some gave her dollars many
She's counted out five thousand pounds
And she's gotten again her dearie.
Geordie looked at the flames of the fire she tended which seemed to dance to the rythm of the song. Her chest felt heavy at the thought of Arwen sitting in a corner of the mountain, counting endless gold merely for the sake of her lover's safety.
Yet the words Aragorn sang next made Geordie feel her Arwen's touch on the cheek, almost as if she was there herself, lifting her face up to meet hers with a smile.
She glanced blithe in her Geordie's face
Say “Dear I've bought thee Geordie;
But the blood would have flowed upon the green
Before I lost my lady.”
Geordie clasped her by the middle small
And she kissed her lips so rosy
“The fairest flower of elven kind
Is my sweet strong Arwen.”
Geordie smiled at the memory, her happiness so real her lips felt kissed right there and then. Yet Gimli and Aragorn had finished the song, and her mind remembered the saudade that made her heart ache in such a lovely way.
The hobbits asked her of the veracity of the song and while Geordie answered their questions with a conscient smile, Aragorn could see her eyes, mind, and heart walked the halls and gardens of Rivendell, - hands not holding a stick to tend a fire but Arwen’s hands.
Geordie called her lady’s name in a thought, and, sensing it in a heartbeat, Arwen smiled sending back her lover a loveing thought from Rivendell.
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End Of Time
Pairing: Boromir x Gender Neutral!Reader
Word Count: 826
Warnings: Mention of minor character death, injuries
Requested By: @yakuzussian-2nd
1. “Be mine until the end of time.”
7. Trying to find the right words to write in a Valentine’s Day card
40. “ I don’t even want to hear about Valentine’s Day, okay? The love of my life is dead.”
A/n: Ugh this was too cute not to enjoy writing this. Boromir needs love.
You should've realized something was wrong early on.
However Boromir, The Captain of the White Tower, was merely an acquaintance. Not yet a friend, but not entirely a stranger. Enough to send him off to Rivendell with an one armed hug, but nothing more. You weren't brave then to tell him your feelings, and now you regret not doing so.
His last note was sent to you when he was at Lothlorien. Afterwards, there was none. Zilch. The silence was uncommon from him, and you were accustomed to the long wait. Until the rumor started circulating. You refused to believe it, that he was dead. Lord Faramir was a mess, and Lord Denethor hardly spoke after it was officially declared that his first, and favorite son was dead.
"Y/N?" A familiar voice spoke from the shadows.
"My Lord Aragorn," You dipped your head once in respect. "To what do I owe this meeting?"
He made a come hither move with his fingers. Shrugging, you stepped closer to him. Almost immediately, you stepped away.
"Please don't joke like that, my lord. I don’t even want to hear about Valentine’s Day, okay? The love of my life is dead.”
Aragorn shook his head. "I'm not kidding."
With three more words whispered into your ear, your whole world turned upside down. Your eyes lit up, eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you! Thank you so much."
Boromir is alive.
With another respectful dip of your head, you scurried away to your room. Sitting down at the desk, you stared down at the parchment and stopped. What the hell were you supposed to write him?
A Get Well Soon card? No.
A What the hell were you doing out there card? Maybe.
Instead, you drew out a cheesy heart on the front. Works. Then laid your head on the desk. What were you doing? You cared for him much more than you let on. Sure, an acquaintance or even a friend would do the same. You suddenly remembered the words you uttered to the king, and your eyes nearly popped out.
Love of my life.
You liked him, actually liked him enough to care for than an average friend. His being, his thoughts, and most of all his love. The one armed hug still warmed you even though it was months since you last met. Sitting up once more and taking up the quill, you knew what to write.
That was it. Taking the card with you, you scampered towards the healers, hoping that the Captain was awake. His survival must have been kept from the public and to his relatives. Even his father Denethor died thinking that his son was dead.
When you arrived at the healers, you were promptly turned away at the mention of Boromir. Some probably thought you were out of your mind for thinking that he was alive. However after speaking with the charge and the words from the King himself, you were asked to follow.
After a series of hallways and a few stairs, the charge stopped in front of a room. "He should be waking up soon. I'll be on the second floor if he needs anything, as he's not supposed to be seeing visitors yet."
Thanking the healer, you knocked twice on the door. Hearing no answer, you headed in and stopped in your tracks. There he was. Boromir lying peacefully on the bed, looking angelic in his sleep.
Noticing the bandages around his arm and chest, you grimaced. Those were arrow shots from close quarters. Even though you weren't a soldier nor ever handled a bow and arrow before, you could tell the injuries were severe. No wonder he was pronounced officially dead.
"Just going to stand there and stare?"
Your gaze snapped to his face, where his eyes were still closed. Despite the smirk slowly spreading across his face, Boromir sounded amused. "Boromir, you're alive!"
"I hope I am."
Rushing to his bedside in excitement and nearly knocking over a chair, you sat on the corner of his bed. "I didn't believe it when they said you were dead. After all these months, I just knew you weren't. I'm so glad you're here."
The edges of his mouth curled up into a tired grin. "What's that?"
He pointed at the half attempted Valentine's card thrown haphazardly on the nightstand.
"Oh um," Your face heated up at the thought of him opening the card. "That's supposed to be for you. I just didn't know what to write in it, so I thought I would come in person."
The Captain, despite his injuries, snatched the card that you were trying to hide behind your back out of your hands. With another glance at you, he opened the card without another word. It was a moment before he calmly set the card down.
"Forever?" You croaked out, scared witless of his reaction.
“Until the end of time."
Permanent: @mournthewicked @asraime @aspiring-ginger @bluesclues-1234 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @groovyfluxie @keijibum @also-fangirlinsweden @mysoulshideaway @fandom-imagination-ss @your-sparklywinnercollection @yakuzussian-2nd @supergeekfangirl @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations
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Legolas x Elf! (pirate) Reader
Synopsis; Kidnaped after a war, you passed years away as a slave - never-thinking you’d see Legolas again.
The years of your childhood were your most prized ones. You spent those years enjoying the treasures of Mirkwood, never leaving the side of your best friend; Legolas.
But this peace was quickly disturbed when you decided to follow your parents' footsteps and leave for a battle you never come back from.
“Don’t go Melith, this isn’t your war” Legolas gripped your shoulder, trying to hold you back from leaving.
“But it is-” You wiped a few stray tears away from your eyes as you looked back to Legolas. “My parents fought for it, it’s my time to do too.”
“Then let me come with you.”
“We already talked about that... It isn’t Mirkwood’s war.”
“Then it isn’t yours.” He argued making the hole forming in your heart even larger.
A small silence lingered as you watched him in the eyes, giving him a silent 'You know I have to go'.
“I love you Melith.” You sighed before kissing his forehead, your kiss traveling to his lips. “I’ll be back before you know it.” You patted his cheek before mounting your horse.
“Wait.” He gripped your arm before you could leave. He gripped the reins and placed his feet into the stirrup, grabbing your face with his free hand to kiss you one last time.
And that was about the last time you saw him. You’d spend 200 years being slaved around Valinor (for the sake of this story there’s slavery in Valinor lmao - for the sake of the story Valinor is just an island across the sea from Middle-earth 🤚🏻 sry Tolkein), and for the past 50 years, you were traped onto a cursed pirate ship.
It started out as deck cleaner - sleeping on the floor at night, and cleaning the decks during the day.
“Y/n!” The captain called you on a summer day as you finished wiping the last traces of dirt on deck.
“Yes, Captain?” You wiped your face with your sleeve, pushing the strands of your long hair that had become tangled with the salty air with the tips of your soap-wet fingers.
“I want to talk to you.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and walked you towards a corner of the ship where his crew wasn’t too present. “I've always admired your kind.” He looked into your elven eyes. “Tell me, if you look to the horizon what do you see?”
You blinked, the words stuck in the back of your throat as you turned around towards the sea and looked as far as you could.
“Valinor Captain.” You scanned the shore. “Boats are boarding, one with salts and other foods... One is boarding passengers.” You turned back to the captain who looked at you with an impressed smirked.
“You’re the only elf on board?” you didn’t know it if was a question or a fact but you nodded adding a yessir to it.
“How would you like to be upgraded to First mate?” He folded his arms and you took a second to soak in what he just asked you.
“Elves aren’t made to clean decks.” He pointed out. “My first mate doesn’t help.” He pointed to a lazy fat man who was laying by the view, a bottle of Rhum in his hand. “you can see further than I can see, even with my telescope. Skilled with maps I suppose?” You nodded again. “Good.”
But that was 48 years ago.
Today, you were standing proudly next to the captain as his First mate, taking the seas as your new home.
Now, you might think that being First mate meant you were able to escape the ship - leave and go back home to Mirkwood. But it wasn't that easy. The only problem; the entire ship had been cursed. For 400 years the ship had been cursed to sail the seas, anyone who would step on land turning to dust. Each time a person was added to the crew, whether they were slaves or crewmates - they would be cursed too.
Over those years multiple captains had seen the decks of the Meltix. But you knew that once this captain was gone; you’d had to take the reins for eternity.
“Captain.” You stated as you looked far across the sea, a wave of panic filling your lungs. “Were getting closer to Middle-Earth.” Your voice wavered as you spotted the familiar mountain tops of Gondor.
“Good.” he nodded and your eyes filled with worry, not knowing if you’d be able to hold yourself together if you sailed the borders of Middle-earth.
Suddenly the captain let out a hard trail of coughs, clutching onto his stomach and bending near the table. His skin turning paler than you’d ever seen him and the glow in his eyes seemed to disappear.
“Captain!” You crouched to him and he waved your help off.
“I'll be alright girl.” He smiled before more coughs escaped his lips. “My time is near.” Before he could say a word, you helped him to his chambers, sensing the life fading from him.
You stood near his bed, your lungs about to take flight from panic - you couldn't be captain, captains were bound to this ship more than any crew members. You'd have to spend eternity here - all final hopes of coming back home sinking down the ocean.
“How can I help you?” You breathed out as you unfolded his covers and settled his head comfortably on his pillow.
“Nothing for me.” He coughed again. “I knew this day would come.” He sighed and looked up at the chandelier. “You have to leave, free yourself before it’s too late.”
“I can’t leave.” the tears that were bound to fall were already leaving your eyes. “I- No one can... Apart from you” you sniffed, remembering all the times the captain went freely off the board. "Even when I'm captain-" you closed your eyes as you thought of all the times he'd said you were next as captain. "I won't be able to leave."
“You know why?” He looked down with a soft smile, removing a little glowing crystal resting on a chain. “This.” He removed the necklace, feeling a little weaker than before. “It was made the same day the curse was placed on the ship, passed on from captain to captain.” a new cough escaped his lips. “Its power is fading.” He sighed looking back up. "The crystal dies when the boat's 100th captain’s held its last breath... All part of the curse.”
“You’re the 100th captain.” You realized, hope suddenly settling back into your stomach.
“I will dock onto middle earth-” He sighed. “The necklace will guide you through the mountains” You felt your eyes water. “You have to break this curse. A week on land for eternity at sea.”
Before you knew it, you were removing your hat and placing it onto your best friend's head; your first mate if you had to stay captain forever. You made sure you had everything one last time before holding on tight to the necklace.
Placing a foot on land after fifty years felt weird... Very weird. The land didn’t move, everything was flat. No waves to make you swing from left to right, no wind that would blow in your face.
But nature was near - it suddenly felt like home. You could sense the trees that shacked in the wind, and the flowers that grew in the forests. Everything felt good. Too good.
That’s when you realized you had to move fast. Very fast. You had one week to travel over the misty mountains and climb to the ones nearest to Rohan to place the crystal in its rightful place; back in the tomb of the one who cursed the ship, and destroy the curse. Maybe after that, travel to Mirkwood, and get your life back.
You didn’t know how fast your horse was going but with barely any stops and two days later you were knocking on King Theoden's castle door; Seeking shelter and a place to spend the night, shielding yourself from the gloomy days of middle earth.
A lot had changed since you were gone. The sky seemed grayer and a cold mist surrounded the place. Sauron was awake, it was obvious for any of the elves - It didn't take you long to sense it. Sauron had started to attack and wasn’t going to stop. War was near and it scared you.
The sky was dark when you arrived in Rohan. The stars seemed to shine with a certain sadness, a torrent of rain was falling from the sky the sound of the drops falling onto the stone path ringing in your ears - bringing a certain comfort.
Your horse was tired and slowing down, almost tripping as he climbed the hill of the citadel. You patted him, soothing his tiredness with the palm of your hand, feeling some guilt for making him travel so much in so little time.
“My king.” A guard walked up to Theoden as Eowyn and the rest of the fellowship discussed the plans of Sauron’s armies. “A woman is at the gate. She’s asking for help - By her words a matter of life and death”
Aragorn and Legolas turned to each other with a frown. Life and death?
“Well is she injured?” Theoden asked. "Is she from Rohan?"
“She isn't injured, my lord." He shook his head. “She doesn't seem so- She said she wasn't from Middle Earth.”
“We'll bring her up, I’ll question her. If she isn't from Middle Earth... Then it must be serious.” He thought for a second "Is she armed?"
"A sword sir."
"Make sure you stay near." Theoden nodded. "Let her come in."
“Alright.” The guard nodded and King Theoden approached the grand doors of his castle. The doors opened to reveal you, sadly Legolas couldn’t see you from where he stood. You stepped off from your horse, handing him to a guard who was standing in front of the gates.
“How could we help you on such a dark night?” The king’s soft voice rang in your ears and brought warmth back to you. “I rarely expect visits from the elf” He added with some simplicity as he saw your pointed ears, the word ‘elf’ making Aragorn and Legolas fill with curiosity. And elf not from Middle Earth?
You raised your head to meet his eyes, your eyelashes filled with rain drops and your thick coat dripping with water.
“I’m very sorry to bother you my lord” You slightly bowed your head before clearing your throat. “It would be too long to explain my case...” Your soft voice made its way to Legolas’s ears and the elf dropped his fork by the sound of it.
“What’s wrong Legolas?” Aragorn questioned seeing the color drain from his friend’s face.
“But I would need a stable for my horse and a place to stay the night- “ You trailed on. “I have barely a week to get to the misty mountains- I have been traveling non-stop for two days” the rain that your coat had absorbed made you shiver as you played with your fingers nails in stress of being rejected. “If I don’t get there I-”
“No need to say another word.” The king cut you off with a small smile. “Your horse will be taken care of." He looked at the tired animal. "We take whoever is in need of help in those trying times. It's a blessing you haven't been hurt by orcs” He turned and nodded towards Eowyn. “My dear if you could fetch some dry clothes for...?” He turned back to you.
“Yn.” Legolas jotted up from his table accidentally spilling his plate in the process, feelings some tears at the rim of his eyes. The same voice, the same name. It had to be you. But It was impossible? Wasn’t it? You died years ago in battle - he had spent years trying to heal from your disappearance.
“That’s very kind of you, Sir.”
“Please. Our country is on the verge of war, it's the least I can do” He gave a small smile pointing for you to walk in.
“May I?” A man came from behind you removing your soaking wet vest from your tired shoulders. You gave him a thankful nod before turning your head towards a table of guests.
Your eyes went to a tall human with long black tangled hair. He looked tired and warned out like he’d walked for days on end. His eyes saw war and the scars on his hands didn’t deny it. Your eyes trailed to Gandalf - you had seen him before. And then suddenly an Elf was standing in the group - speechless.
Legolas recognized you the second you had turned around. Your eyes still had the same glow - the same color Legolas loved so much. The same spark that held. Your hair was longer than he remembered - and more tangled, as though you hadn't bushed it in weeks. It looked dried, wavier and the color seemed lighter; washed out. Your tangled strands must have been sea kissed; Legolas thought.
You were dressed differently too. Nothing like an elf. Your wet white shirt fell from your shoulders, layers of scarfs wrapped onto a corset that held the white fabric under it. Your pants looked like leather, high boots that almost reached your knees to top it off - and hundred of jewels seemed to be scattered around your body. Rings on every finger, a huge gem that faintly glowed dangling from your neck, decorations at the tip of your belt scarfs, golden buttons on your vest and pants. Even your shoes had beautiful decorations.
But what really made Legolas realize what you had become was when he saw the sword that was resting on your hip. It wasn’t an elven sword, or a human one. It was built by pirates. It was forged on pirate islands far from the borders of middle earth.
You stayed frozen - never taking your stare away from him. You did have a plan to get back to Mirkwood once you were free, but seeing Legolas here, right in front of you- It felt as though the air was removed from your lungs.
Legolas looked at you for a few seconds too. A wave of feelings drifting through him. You weren’t dead - you were right there, standing in front of him.
“Y/n?” He asked his voice wavering.
“Legolas-” You managed to choke out before he started doing something between walking and running to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head in your neck to hold you tightly close to him.
“You’re not dead.” He cried onto your shoulder.
“No. I- I've been trying to make my way to you. For so long...” You sniffed wrapping your arms around him; remembering how much you missed him.
@averyfosterthoughts @slytherinambitious @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes @criminaly-supernatural @ksmy-99 @streets-in-paradise @entishramblings
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how would they react if you yell at them?
After more than three months with the Fellowship, you are tired, hungry, your feet hurt and you are easily irritable. When Aragorn finally stops for everyone to set up camp, you are relieved. Finally some rest! You collapse to the ground, ready to fall asleep within a minute when you receive a heavy object in your head.
"Sorry, Y/N!" apologizes Boromir “I didn't see you!”
He bent down to pick up his shield that had fallen on you when you got up and you started yelling at him. You're too tired to know what you're saying to him but you take out everything you have, the stress, the hunger, the pain from the wounds. You only stop when Aragorn puts his hand on your shoulder and that's when you realize what you've just done. Insulting the future Stewart of Gondor. Boromir stares at you silently, shocked, as you try to stammer out excuses capable of making him forget your enormous lack of respect.
"I'm sorry, please don't be mad at me," you end up stuttering
Finally Boromir sighs and gently taps you on the shoulder: "It doesn't matter, we're all a bit tense. Try to rest for tonight."
For the rest of the evening Denethor's son doesn't seem to resent you but you apologize to him a second time anyway. "Don't worry about it," he reassures you with a smile. "If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. I won't hold it against you."
You sigh with relief: "Thank you."
You arrived in Rivendell just in time to attend the Council. And your trip was the worst in your life: repeated Orc attacks, rain almost every day, thunderstorms, a wounded horse, a week's worth of lost provisions, and lots of other lousy moments like that. So when everyone (i.e. Gandalf, Dwarves, Elves, Humans) starts arguing, you're sick of it. No one here can debate in peace? After 5 minutes of putting up with their screams you lose your patience and you scream : “WE WOULDN’T BE IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION IF THE ELVES HAD DONE THEIR FUCKING JOB !”
Elrond's gaze of death passes through your body and freezes your soul. Never before have you wished to be buried alive and have your existence forgotten for centuries to come. A heavy silence settles in as Elrond rises and comes in your direction.
"That's not what I meant..." you mumbled. From the corner of your eye you see Gandalf making a gesture to grasp the elf's arm.
"Oh yes please, Gandalf, save my butt!" you begged silently, sweating all the water out of your body.
“I will take the Ring to Mordor !” screams Frodo
After that, you spent the evening gathering your courage to face Elrond's terrible look again and apologize. “I accept your apology.” is all he answered.
No matter what the situation, if you yell at him, he yells at you. If he sees that you're yelling just to relieve yourself of a weight, count on him to get you even more angry so that you can get all your anger out and finally feel better. But otherwise he will put you back in your place very quickly. After you have calmed down he will discuss with you why you are angry with him. If he thinks it's for a good reason, he won't blame you, otherwise you'll spend the next few weeks with a Dwarf angry at you and good luck getting him to accept your apology. Dwarves hold grudges, you're going to have to be stubborn too.
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If a person wanted to write Boromir fic, do you have any tips on how to capture the Tolkieny tone in writing/best scenes to re-read for characterization?
LET ME SEE if I can’t compile a nice guide for you;
First thing’s first! Boromir does not include his own feelings into his statements unless it’s utterly against his will, such as the ring-controlled scene. In fact his discussion with Frodo is the first and last time he expresses his emotions verbally at all and even then it seems to be squeezed out of him in the midst of his ranting ‘how it ANGERS me’ like he is almost shocked at how angry he actually is in that moment, so much so that he can’t hold it back like normal.
‘I am’ statements in general don’t come often either. He doesn’t use ‘I’ at all if he can help it. If he is describing the war or some conflicts or battles, he uses ‘us’ or ‘we’ ‘Some said that it could be seen, like a great black horseman, a dark shadow under the moon. Wherever he came a madness filled our foes, but fear fell on our boldest, so that horse and man gave way and fled. Only a remnant of our eastern force came back, destroying the last bridge that still stood amid the ruins of Osgiliath. 'I was in the company that held the bridge, until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others.’ Here he mentions himself only as an explanation for the circumstances, and goes quickly back to talking as a collective. (This is the first and last time he mentions Faramir too, and never by name)
The times when Boromir uses ‘I’ statements most is for defining his own actions and intent or when he is offering advice. 'I have let my horn cry at setting forth, and though thereafter we may walk in the shadows, I will not go forth as a thief in the night.' He is clear to himself and others about what he will and won’t accept. 'I will add a word of advice, if I may,' said Boromir. 'I was born under the shadow of the White Mountains and know something of journeys in the high places. We shall meet bitter cold, if no worse, before we come down on the other side. It will not help us to keep so secret that we are frozen to death. When we leave here, where there are still a few trees and bushes, each of us should carry a faggot of wood, as large as he can bear.' Note here he is also polite but in a confident manner. ‘If I may’ is added to acknowledge that he is not the leader of the company, but he is not shy with offering his advice and assuming it useful.
When he’s in more familiar and less strict circumstances, and actually sometimes even when he isn’t, Boromir has what I would call a... hint of sarcasm in his tone at all times. He’s always got a little sardonic wit with him, `Let those call it the wind who will; there are fell voices on the air; and these stones are aimed at us.' See? It’s not... OVERT but it’s definitely a little long suffering/etc. Boromir... talks like an old man I guess is my point. 'What do you say to fire?' asked Boromir suddenly. 'The choice seems near now between fire and death, Gandalf. Doubtless we shall be hidden from all unfriendly eyes when the snow has covered us, but that will not help us.' ESPECIALLY when he’s talking to Gandalf, there’s just a bit of dark humour and ‘cheek’. `I do not know which to hope,' said Boromir grimly: `that Gandalf will find what he seeks, or that coming to the cliff we shall find the gates lost for ever. All choices seem ill, and to be caught between wolves and the wall the likeliest chance. Lead on!' jhadsjd BITCHY... but very funny and he’s right. And here also, ‘wolves and the wall’, he tends towards almost... poetic isn’t quite the word but he likes sayings and flowing dialogue.
Continuing on from that point, Boromir is also generally... not WARM but he’s got a way of speaking that is comfortable and confident in comradery. Especially with Gimli, actually, he often makes these lighter sighed statements that have a lick of humour to them. Again, it’s never particularly overt, more of a constant underlying note in his wording, even in the latter parts of the fellowship. `Ah, it is as I said,' growled Gimli. 'It was no ordinary storm. It is the ill will of Caradhras. He does not love Elves and Dwarves, and that drift was laid to cut off our escape.' 'But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you,' said Boromir, who came up at that moment. `And doughty Men too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades might have served you better.’ This is one of my favourite lines of his it’s just like... confident, not over proud, you can hear him grinning and the leetle wry tone he’s speaking in. Even here! In like the very last days of his life, he still has this quality!
We might labour far upstream and yet miss it in the fog. I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here.' `That would not be easy, even if we were all Men,' said Boromir.
`Yet such as we are we will try it,' said Aragorn.
'Aye, we will,' said Gimli. `The legs of Men will lag on a rough road, while a Dwarf goes on, be the burden twice his own weight, Master Boromir! '
'Well, here we are, and here we must pass another night,' said Boromir. `We need sleep, and even if Aragorn had a mind to pass the Gates of Argonath by night, we are all too tired-except, no doubt, our sturdy dwarf.'
Gimli made no reply: he was nodding as he sat.
AND ANOTHER THING. Whilst Boromir CAN be an orator and give long speeches, he tends towards economy of speech. This is especially noticeable, again, between him and Gandalf. Gandalf will go on for three paragraphs about something, patronising him, explaining a lot of unnecessary stuff to sound clever. And then Boromir will just answer with; `We do not know what he expects,' said Boromir. `He may watch all roads, likely and unlikely. In that case to enter Moria would be to walk into a trap, hardly better than knocking at the gates of the Dark Tower itself. The name of Moria is black.' And that’s it! AND HE’S FFUCKIN RIGHT GGSHAHGS
So you’re usually going to be trying to narrow down his speech to it’s bare essentials in order to get the point across and nothing more. Stream lined, impersonal, confident and clear are the hallmarks of Boromir’s speech patterns. NO. SHOUTING. Unless to be heard or in a brief flash of shock, immediately restrained afterwards. Actually if Boromir has any kind of outburst, he tends to walk away from whatever situation caused it rather than allow anything to escalate. Boromir’s verbal tone is almost always neutral, wry or reassuring/comfortable. From experience, I can tell you this is... GRUELLING to write. You want so desperately for him to say what he’s thinking and feeling, what’s important to him, but he’s utterly incapable unless briefly possessed by evil. Not even when he’s literally dying will this change, though that might be because it was Aragorn at his deathside. Which brings me onto my final point.
We actually have no idea how Boromir might interact with people he actually likes and is friends with, let alone his family. I’m inclined to believe that warm comradery element just becomes more overt but little else changes. But you’re entirely at liberty to decide for yourself. Certainly though it is different from how he behaves throughout the fellowship. We never really meet Boromir... is a thought I can hardly bare so we’re STOPPING now.
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@eidetictelekinetic Lemme see if I can ponder how this would work a bit... Theodred wouldn’t leave Rohan in the midst of this war unless he was forced out. I think there could be a convoluted time manipulation possible here where... Boromir arrives at about the same time as the battle at the fords is occurring? And he saves Theodred from his attempted assassination. But in returning to Edoras, it becomes clear that Saruman and Grima have leveraged desperate tactics in order to save face. Perhaps Theodred is framed for Grima’s murder? That’s plausible. Grima manipulated by Saruman into a situation where he gets himself killed by Theodred’s hand or something similar. Theoden banishes his son? And so Theodred does indeed leave Rohan with Boromir then. Which would leave Rohan in a... different place than canon? Both without Theodred longer but also without Grima and perhaps Eomer and Eowyn now are able to draw him more out of his melancholy without Grima’s influence.
But Theodred is still banished and angry and tired about it and really... a nice long trip with Boromir into strange places might be pretty relaxing in comparison to what he’s had to deal with up till now... And Boromir wouldn’t lose his horse at Tharbad if he had help! :) They’d both arrive at the Council of Elrond much better rested and less wearied!
God... I want to see Theodred at the council so fucking badly actually... zero filter... zero deference... MASSIVE distrust of elves in general... Aragorn would be like ‘strider I am to one particularly fat man-’ and Theodred just juts in ‘and that must be so bloody hard for you, anyway Saruman is mere months away from invading Rohan and Boromir just told all of you that the entirety of Sauron’s forces are marching against the tower of Guard. Besides sending one skeleton of a man and his ancient sword to petition for a crown, are we intending on doing anything else about it? Talk more on this ring, if we should not use it how do we destroy it?’ >:3 oh I’m liking this...
And he’s on the fellowship too! Ohhh.... if Gandalf hates Boromir then he can’t fucking stand Theodred... Boromir’s all for de-escalation whilst Theodred’s just out and out constantly demanding Gandalf be held accountable, never letting a slight go unanswered, he’s even got a bigger horse than Gandalf! OH SHIT fuck Theodred would hate Gandalf even MORE because this bastard wizard walked into his at-war country, nicked their horse and then just bounced... I dont have the energy to take this thought to it’s completion but it’s actually very funny and good.
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Pairing: Boromir x Female Reader
Word count: 907
Summary: After a hard-fought battle, you and Boromir have fallen, defending the hobbits Merry and Pippin. You both know the end is near, but you cling on for a few moments more.
"I did not picture death finding me this way."
"How did you picture it?"
We lay on the cold, hard earth, side-by-side, the life slowly seeping from our bodies. I dare not close my eyes. I want to see the sky in my last moments. My legs ache. My arms do as well, and my head and chest and everything else. Each breath cascades around my chest like a shower of stones. It hurts to keep on living, to hold on for just a while longer, but I take in another breath and let it out, then another, nevertheless. My mind moves slowly, but I can feel my time waning and force it to clear.
"I always saw myself in a soft bed, at home, wherever that would be, with my children and grandchildren and friends all around me." I cough, having lost a lot of energy there, and take a moment to recoup. "I saw myself as old. But my time has come and I am young, I am dismally young."
I hear the rustle of a cracked leaf as my partner-in-dying reaches out to me. His hand is cold. It is just a little bigger than my own. It was once so strong, but now barely holds the strength to lay over my own weakening hand. I turn my palm up to face his and we lay there in silence for a few more seconds. He draws in a ragged breath, then I do the same, breaking through the sorrowful stillness.
"I did not think of myself dying in this way either."
My eyelids flutter, wanting to close, by I keep my gaze affixed to the sky. I have always been stubborn. What many frowned upon me for then helps me now to inhale again, to stay alive. "On the battlefield, yes, but not-" He sounds like he'd be tearing up if he had the strength left. "Not as a greedy fool. No."
I know exactly what he means by this. The One Ring called to him, drew him towards its glory, its corruption, and in a moment of weakness, he lunged for it. Our companion, the one who so bravely bears the Ring, was able to flee. Frodo Baggins. He must know it was not the fault of the regretful fellow beside me. He must. I advise Boromir of Gondor of my belief. His callused fingers, growing colder by the minute, curl into the curve of my own in a silent thank-you. The sky is so blue. So very blue. It is a sky I am glad to die beneath.
"I had such a short while to know you, Boromir," I say, my voice growing softer as my breathing becomes more shallow. The wounds that bring me to this edge of death still ache and pain me, but they seem duller as my conscience wavers. "I only wish I could have had longer."
"As do I."
And he falls silent. A tear wells up in my right eye. It is all I can manage in this state of in-between. That bristling tear trickles down my upper cheek and to the ground. I hear footsteps. Calling in worried tones from familiar voices. A face appears above me, then another two: Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Three others I wish I'd had more time to befriend. I offer up the best smile I can as Aragorn turns to Boromir, who is more gravely wounded than I. Gimli shakes his head in disbelieving sorrow and Legolas frowns, examining my injuries helplessly.
"Neither will see sundown," the elf prince says to Aragorn in a despondent tone, his voice almost trembling.
Boromir reaches an arm up to the rightful king of Gondor, a motion I can only see from the corner of my faltering gaze, and one that surprises me. I thought he had already passed for a minute there, he was so quiet, but a small hope renews in me at his motion. I hear rustling, the sounds of someone pulling something from a pouch, but they pause as Legolas restates his insight, that of which I wish was not true but I know must be. I squeeze Boromir's hand and he does the same in return, a silent reassurance that all will be alright someday, even if we are not here to witness that victory. He speaks, his voice rasping, tired, and I can see Aragorn's eyes tearing up as he kneels beside us:
"I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My king."
And then he is gone.
"Be at peace, son of Gondor."
My time to follow approaches swiftly. The sky is blurring. The trees seem to grow denser around me, closing me in. Legolas kneels beside me as Aragorn mourns for Boromir.
He whispers to me, his words so soft I nearly miss them, "Would you say hello to my mother once you are there?"
I manage a weak smile, my ailing heart warming at his words. It is a dear request, one I will gladly see fulfilled wherever 'there' happens to be.
"I will. In return..." I gasp for breath, feeling my soul floating adrift. "... take care of the hobbits. See that our sacrifice is not in... vain."
I cannot hold on long enough to hear Legolas' reply, but surely it is of a promise to see my wishes to satisfaction. The sky begins to burn with color, all my senses are stripped away, and I fade into this blue, blue sky.
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Prompt List Requests
Just a list of prompt requests I’m taking. If you’re interested, pick a number and a character from the list below and leave me a message with your choices in my ask box. Enjoy 💕
Characters I write for:
Obi Wan Kenobi
How did you know that you were in love with me?How did you know that you were in love with me?Oh?Every time I fought with someone in the past, I’ve run away. With you, all I could think about was how to fix it..
Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.
When I look at you… I’m home..
What I do know is that you need to get through your head, that I am a grown woman and that I am not a damsel in distress that needs protecting.
You’re scared of spiders?
I walked away from you once before and ever since, I wonder what would’ve happened if i hadn’t, I just-I can’t walk away from you again.
Stay, please, I-I don’t wanna be alone right now.
I wish I knew how to quit you.
Why is it whenever you show up at my door you’re always covered in blood?
I may or may not have left some….marks.
You’re going to pretend you didn’t just say you love me? Really?
If you got hurt… It’d hurt me. And not just ‘cause I’d jump in front of whatever was gonna hurt you.
You’re overthinking.You know what you get like when you start overthinking. Come here.That’s right. Just focus on me. Take some breaths.
I’ve never not wanted you.
Let’s just stay in bed.
I told you that I’d never leave you; I’m not going anywhere.
I tried to move on, but nobody is you.
Can I at least buy you a coffee, for old times sake?
Why don’t you hate me?
Don’t die on me-please.
Why are you here?Because you are here and that’s where I need to be.
Why do you keep doing this?Doing what ?Making me love you, then hate you, so I move on only to fall in love with you again.
Now, this is a view I could never get tired of.
You’re jealous aren’t you? No, why would you even think-Because of the death glare you’re giving that guy/girl.
Sorry I’m bleeding all over your couch.
I have every right to be angry.
You knew? Of course I did, I can read you like a book.
You’re safe with me, I promise.
You’re not fine!
I thought we were meant to be sleeping.
Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt
Move an inch and you wont be cumming tonight.
Show me how much you’ve missed me.
Where did this attitude come from?
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Haldir ~ Water and Shoes
1,300 Followers Challenge!
Requested by Anon
Warnings: Neutral reader, bit of a crack fic, fluff, wet shoes
You were tired, you were hungry, and you were glad to be free of the mines, although you wished it hadn’t come at the cost of Gandalf, grief laying heavily on everyone’s shoulders. This was more than any of you expected to happen, especially this early on, and even though Aragorn was now leading you to what you all hoped was some sort of safety, there was currently little hope amongst the fellowship.
Every impact your feet made with the ground reminded you of how tired you were, a shock of pain going through the soles of your feet making your shoulders tense, wincing at every step. It didn’t matter how much you tried to change how you walked, whether you limped for a few steps or anything, nothing made a difference on the pain shotting your legs.
At the back of the fellowship, you marched on miserably, hoping that it couldn’t get any worse.
You groaned, causing Gimli, Frodo and Sam to look back, water filling your shoes, ice cold and only biting at the pain you were already in.
Gimli chuckled. “Are you alright there Y/N?”
You glared coldly at him, stepping out of the stream, trying to ignore the squish of your feet as you walked. “Oh yeah, brilliant, thanks for asking.”
He chuckled again and continued walking, Frodo and Sam looking a little guilty. You wished you were a hobbit in that moment, and didn’t have to worry about shoes.
The cold of water combined with the pain bolting up your legs ensured that you were completely distracted as you all marched on deeper into the forest. Luckily, those that appeared were allies and you could all let out a small sigh of relief.
As Aragorn tried to talk his way into Lothlorien, you growled as you sat, missing the odd look from the elf he was arguing with. You struggled for a moment but finally managed to get one shoe off, tipping it upside down and pouring out some of the water that had pooled within. As you went to try and tug off your second though, you looked back at your first and saw just how swollen it was.
You sighed and collapsed back, not wanting to deal with it right now, ignoring the wet cold still making your other foot ache. You were too tired for this, too exhausted, but it seemed fate was not currently on your side.
The message was passed around. There was safety up in the trees tonight, so you all had to climb the silvery ladder that had now been dropped from the canopy above.
You made no effort to move, just watching miserably as the others climbed one by one, even the hobbits, who looked pale as they climbed the ladder. The thought of trying to get up and then climb up was very overwhelming.
The elf that had been talking with Aragorn approached, Haldir you believed his name was, looking a little worried, but also curious. “Are you alright?”
“No,” You sighed, perhaps a little dramatically. “I’m tired, I’m cold, my feet hurt, and my shoes are completely soaked through with water.”
“Oh,” Haldir frowned slightly, glancing at your feet, where you still only had one shoe off. “Would you like my shoe?”
The question was so ridiculous, so unusual, that you couldn’t help but laugh, and you had little doubt that it made you seem just a little mad.
Haldir smiled though, holding out his hand, even as you continued to laugh. “Come on, let’s get you up to safety. You can rest up there, and perhaps we can get something for your feet.”
Still laughing, you took his hand and let him pull you to your feet, his arm quickly supporting you as you buckled on your feet, the laughter turning to a groan. “This is why I’d been avoiding getting up.”
He frowned a little and looked up, quickly saying something in elvish, a new silver rope soon falling down.
You stared at it. “You are not pulling me up there.”
“You can’t even stand, you don’t have much of a choice.” Haldir raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have another suggestion?”
Unfortunately, you didn’t, the thought of running into any orcs or goblins that may be coming this way even less of a comfort than being pulled up into a tree.
You sighed. “At least let me get my other shoe off first.”
Haldir got you seated, and, surprising you, helped you get your other shoe off, this one having more water in it than the first. He then helped you back to your feet and started to tie the rope around you securely.
As you got pulled up, you silently hoped that you’d never have to go through this again.
Up on the platform, you were quickly seated, but it wasn’t till Haldir came up, your shoes in his hand, that he gave a few more orders and one of the elves started to tend to you.
“We still have a walk ahead of us tomorrow,” He said when he caught your look. “And, as much as it would be amusing, we cannot carry you all that way.”
You chuckled a little, too exhausted to feel anything else. “It’d be a sight to see, I’m sure.”
Haldir smiled, even as a couple of the other elves snorted in amusement near him, causing him to send them a glare.
Some sort of balm was lathered over your ankles before both were strapped. You then gathered by the tone of the elf talking to you, that you were to leave your feet in an elevated position while you slept.
It wasn’t comfortable, not by a long shot, but you were so tired it didn’t matter, having just enough awareness left to send Haldir a grateful smile before drifting into sleep.
Too short a time later, Aragorn was gently prodding you awake.
“What?” You asked groggily. “Where’s Haldir?”
Aragorn frowns a little, but shakes his head. “A group of orcs passed through last night, they’ve been dealing with them. We need to be ready to move when they get back.”
You groaned as you sat up, blinking wearily as the others stirred. “Right. Great.” You stared at your feet, the swelling had gone down and they felt a little better, but you weren’t overly sure how long you were going to be able to walk on them.
Then you felt your shoes and let out a curse. They were still very wet.
“My offer still stands,” Haldir said, making you jump, his smile more than amused. “If you need some shoes.”
You snorted, smiling and shaking your head. “No, I’m good. Believe it or not, despite my protests, I have dealt with worse. If I keep the strapping on, it should be fine.”
Haldir chuckled. “Well, keep close, if they give out again, I’m make sure you don’t fall into another stream.”
Despite feeling heat creep into your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t tempt me, I might just take you up on that offer.”
He shrugs and you don’t miss the slight smirk or pink tinging his ears as he turned away. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Did you need help down again? You are best to go first if you do.”
You tugged on your shoes, ignoring the looks from the rest of the fellowship and trying your best to ignore the still wet squelch of your shoes. “No, I should be good, but thank you.”
Aragorn sighed. “Can we just get moving please?”
A grin tugged at your lips, feeling better than you had in days, and as Haldir quietly chuckled, neither of you really sure how it had gone like this, you knew that it was far from over yet.
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A New Player
Chapter 16 : The Stranger
The story is completed, you can find all the chapters here :
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18
So, first I'm sorry for the delay of the updates. I had to try and book some driving lesson because we had a confinement scare with the covid, and trying to get my driver licence during this pandemic is a mission on itself. And I ate some gluten which resulted in a massive gluten attack, I will spare you the details, but I'm just getting back on my feet. Not easy because I'm tired constantly, so I really hope this chapter is good, we may have still 2 or 3 chapters to go. And I'm trying to give you some Daven content, I killed Gendry I can at least do this for you!
This is a filler chapter though.
At the end of this chapter, the count words for this story is 37309 words guess on of my most terrible english teacher from highscool can suck it becaus she said my english was garbage.
all thoses that can be applied to Game of Thrones (angst death and so on)
under 18 this is not for you
french writing in english
Warm, you felt warm and content on a fragile line between sleep and consciousness. You felt protected, Daven arm was draped over you pulling you over him.
«Morning, wife,» he rasped in your ears, the sound making goosebumps rise on your skin.
Propping an elbow next to your head, Daven hovered above you with the most beatific smile you ever witnessed. « I will never tire of you calling me your husband my Queen.»
Warmth floods your face, the things, this man did to you. You erupted in a laughing fit when you thought of what Olenna would’ve to say about your current husband. Margaery would have been jealous no doubt. The poor dear has constantly been dealt with husbands not worth her time.
«Why are you laughing my dear wife?» Daven asked with tenderness.
Biting your lips, you tried hiding your head in the pillow only to have Daven’s hand grasped your chin gently. « Never hide from me, my love. Now tell me why you were laughing,» he asked pouting which was an odd sight from a man forged to be a warrior since he knew how to walk.
«I was thinking about Lady Olenna Tyrell.»
His face contorted in a humorous way making you laugh harder.
«We are going to have a problem if you think of an elderly lady when I’m trying to romance you.» you were now doubled over laughter.
Any other men would’ve been vexed, but Daven felt a sense of pride and happiness to see you so carefree. It was a rare enough sight that he was left wondering if he had until now seen you this relaxed. You had so many things on your head; so many people depending on you and you never once take a respite. Consistently retaining your duty in mind.
«No, it’s just,» you tried to say between laughs, « it’s just that I’m certain that my dear Olenna would’ve talked about swallowing your sword.»
You could see the exact moment your lord husband understood the innuendo and it was the most hilarious thing you ever witnessed. He seemed to be absolutely horrified by the thought, but what you didn’t see was the devious gleam in his eyes. One instant you were laughing, the next, your arms were pinned over your head.
«We will talk about swallowing my sword later my queen,» he said nosing your neck. You could feel each of the ripples of his firm body against your naked one.
«I believe we have time left to acquainted ourselves some more.» he rasped rutting against your wet core.
You could nod your agreement as you were rendered speechless by the man over you. Overwhelmed by his scent, the weight of him on top of you, and the sound of his voice.
«What about our army?» Sansa inquired an anxious Jon. Both of them were standing on the rampart looking garrisons upon garrisons arriving from each side of kings landing.
«Our army? Sansa we don’t have an army anymore, they are with her! » Jon stressed out.
«We nevertheless have the Dothraki and the Unsullied,» she replied not thoroughly grasping the severity of the situation.
«Yes, but see what they did?» Jon pointed at the fields your men had rendered useless, by littering them with trunk trees and holes. « We can merely walk through one door, it’s going to be a slaughter.»
«Then we will negotiate with her Jon. I could marry Aragorn. You could wed her." Sansa tried.
Marriage between cousins was a commodity in Westeros, and Aragorn was pleasing to the eyes she wouldn’t deny this.
'Yes' she mused, this alliance would prove beneficial, she would be the Lady of Winterfell.
« I am betrothed to Daenerys. She is my Queen.» he seethed.
« The family that put the family first would always defeat the house that put the whims and wishes of its sons and daughters first. »
You looked around, and Daven was still asleep next to you, but in front of you stood Tywin Lannister. Hastily you tried concealing yourself earning a snort by the old man.
«Dear, don’t you worry about your state of modesty. The dead do not care about such trivial things. »
«Forty years I attempted to prepare my children, they never learn and Tyrion never will. But you, my dear, showed spectacular judgment and now you are on the eve of a war. »
You didn’t know what to say, and how to react, it felt so unreal.
«You are not him.» you never saw your parents, and the discussions were never mundane, only leading you toward your goals. If you could see the dead then surely you would have seen your parents at least once?
Tywin only raised a brow at your statement.
« Olenna, Dickon, Jaime they were all you. Who are you? »
«Clever girl.» the old lion smirked circling the bed like a predator. « I am entitled many names, the faceless men that serve me call me the many face god, others call me the Stranger. I am death. »
You felt yourself freezing at the admission of the god in front of you? A god, death was in front of you. How does one behave in such a situation? You weren’t ashamed to admit you were terrified. The God seemed to sense your fear and sent you a smirk.
« Wh-« you found your voice caught in your throat. Trying to compose yourself, you were appreciative of the patience of the entity in front of you.
« Why am I capable to see you? To talk to you? » unsure of your questions. Were you even allowed to question death?
« Because I will it so. I required a champion against the darkness. »
« The night king? But he was slain,» you asked dumbfounded.
« The darkness creeping in the heart of men. I offered my gift to a Stark. She used it for revenge and her gains. The Targaryen were graced with magic and wasted it with their madness. I am not allowed to intervene directly in the affair of men. So I select you to guide you. »
« But you killed the Dragon. »
« No, I provided my servitor with a means to dispatch it. »
« Why me? You said you chose me? But I’m nothing special. »
« Well for one, you didn’t sully yourself when you learn I was Death, it does make you pretty special.» Death noted amusedly. « I choose you because you know the importance of life, you don’t regard yourself as above the small people. You have a good head on your shoulder, and I saw your determination.»
«So why did you choose Tywin? »
« To remind you that death is necessary for the greater good. » Waving a hand over your face, your eyes became glazed over as if covered with a transparent veil.
In front of you stood now an old man. Is fetid appearance merely adding to his threatening aura. Men were cheering for the old men. You were in a banquet room. Looking over you recognized the Frey family crest engraved on the wall.
Walder Frey was a despicable man, and you had the luck you never have been in his vicinity. Being favoured by Tywin Lannister had made you off-limit for these despicable man attempts to marry off one of his sons to you. Yes, he was the patriarch of one of the grand noble houses, your house standing was lower but yours was wealthier and held a certain prestige.
«Maybe I'm not the most pleasant man. I'll admit it. But I'm proud of you lot. You're my family, the men who helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding. »
Observing these men cheering at the reminder of the massacre of the red Wedding filled you with disgust.
« Yes, yes. Cheer. Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman pregnant with her babe. Cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home. But you didn't slaughter every one of the Starks. »
That caught your intention, what was happening?
« No, no, that was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. »
Men started to choke on their drink, some coughing some already spitting blood.
« Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe.»
You watched speechless as the Frey's men collapsed and died. The most sordid sight of the old man peeping his face off left you nauseous. Revealing Arya's face.
« When people ask you what happened here, tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey. »
Death circle around the banquet room, walking amidst the bodies. «Death is a gift, not an act of cruelty.» he sighs, "I am Death, but humans made this monster out of me when I represent only the continuity of life. To take my gift and twisted it this way is abhorrent. Look around, this is not life."
«But you ask me to annihilate my enemy?» you asked undoubtedly lost as to what was your purpose in the scheme of life.
«Your family crest represents a tree. You are no wolf, dragon, or Kraken. You prosper with your garden and field, so you know you have to get rid of the weed to produce a fruitful harvest. You must do the same with your enemies. You can’t rule if you have families undermining your authority. You are not a wolf that for certain, you are a tree, and you give life. I need you to be the light.»
« We received words from the castle. Jon wants to meet halfway from your camp and kings landing.» Aragorn informed you.
« Jon Snow? Not his Queen? » very well we will. You declared you would see what the man wanted. «I’ll bring a little present,» you said coldly, and Daven has to refrain from ravishing you in front of the lords. He found himself getting aroused by your harshness.
You asked for your horse Tarly to be prepared. Your party consisted of Lord Garlan, Jaqen with his blond-haired face, Aragorn and Daven.
You were surprised to see that Jon Snow was there without his queen.
The presentation was tense.
The rugged redhead man stare gave you chills. You knew he was one of the free folk so of course, he would despise a southern woman like yourself. Sansa Stark lacked her usual bravado.
« You wanted to talk to us, my Lord? »
«Yes, this doesn’t have to happen. »
« What doesn’t have to happen, my lord? »
« This! » he said pointing at the men in armor in the distance. «This war, you proved your point,» he said exasperated.
« I was unaware I was trying to make a point. And here I thought I was declaring war to seize the power. » you mused.
« You are no better than Cercei Lannister. » Sansa sneered.
« If you say so. This was a waste of time. Lord ? » you asked the huge red head man.
« Tormund,» he growled.
« This is not your war, I offer you and your people safe passage to the North. You don’t have to die for the Targaryen. »
«Then you’ll die,» you said with finality.
« It’s not the first time we have to discuss before a battle. The last time we did, it was against Ramsey Bolton, I made his dogs feasted on him. Next, it was Cercei. She died too. You may think you have the advantage, but you’ll die before the war is over Lady Y/N »
« This would be scarier if your voice wasn’t trembling so lady Sansa. And I assure you my men, and my commanders are nothing like the Bolton bastard. I don’t think you realize the men power behind me, or how sick and tired they are of the ancient houses. The previous wars were caused because of the difference between the old and noble houses of Westeros. The Seven kingdoms were ravaged because your father couldn’t keep it in his pants. » You turned to Jon Snow.
«Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us. Choose one of your lords. Let’s end this the old way, me and one of your men. » Jon declared.
Daven made a move to agree but was caught by your hand.
«No, » your voice was filled with iron and venom.« You are mistaken if you think I’ll let the soldiers of the dragon Queen live to see another day. What they did during the siege of kings landing, raping, and killing people will be punished. »
« I tried to stop them. »
« I believe you, my lord. But yet they did, and your allegiance is still to the woman who has permitted them to do so. »
« It was war. Such happens during battle. » Sansa butt headed her way back in the conversation.
« Lord Garlan tell me how we deal with our men when they rape or killed smallfolk?»
« A nice cord around the neck my Lady. »
« We can arrange this with alliances? » Sansa tried to plead, « I can marry Lord Aragorn, and Jon could be married to Lady Y/N. » Sansa looked at Lord Garlan thinking the ultimate words were up to him, as he was a man, and you were still a woman.
« I don’t think my lord husband would be agreeable with this. » You hummed.
« Gendry? You are only betrothed to him, he would be relieved to be released from this engagement. »
« Oh, he was ecstatic, when I announced him for the end of our betrothal. » nodding to Daven, you fixed a courteous smile on your face.
"I was hoping to present a gift to Lady Arya, maybe you could present it to her in my stead?»
Daven grabbed the head by its hair and throw it in front of the horses of Lady Sansa and Jon Snow.
Jon's hand flew toward Sansa’s horse’s mane to soothe it for her.
« You assassinated him. »
«Well, it is safe to say I didn’t marry him. »
« He didn’t deserve it. »
«Deserve? You dare talk to me about deserving. Did my lord deserve to die when you Lady Sansa ordered it? Did my handmaiden deserve to be killed? Did I deserve to be poisoned? Did the people of king landing deserve to be raped, burned, and killed? »
« Are you sure you want to declare war? » Jon asked one more time.
« I was not the one starting it, but I will be the one to end it. » you locked yes with Targaryen. « Peace was never an option Jon Snow. »
@roxytheimmortal @sharktooothfairy@cursedfaechild@xceafh@art-flirt@cdwmtjb8 @jorileychan @blonddnamedhandz
@depressedcuppatea @mp0625 @omgsuperstarg
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Day 15: Troll Girls and Human Boyfriend Material
In exactly the same way that the indecency of Vriska’s abusive behavior (and the expectations of Troll Culture) are exposed when they come into contact with Tavros’ non-resistance, the indecency of the conditions of Troll Society are exposed as soon as Karkat is able to observe the conditions of Human society.
Karkat isn’t awake to that yet, though, so all his anger comes out pointed in the direction of the most immediate target - John Human Egbert. Thus begins the most legendary hatecrush in Paradox Space.
Dave and Karkat are both attracted to the same guy.
More after the break.
That little affair ended about as fast as it started.
I think what’s interesting about Karkat and Terezi’s relationship with full retrospect is that with the exception of their respective introductions, nearly all of their shared storyline takes place after they have already broken up.
Terezi is a bit of a serial romantic, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts, repeatedly breaking her own heart in the process. Maybe she’s trying to fill the void left behind by the end of her friendship with Vriska - if friendship is all it is. Terezi might not be the most important person in Vriska’s life (she also might be,) but Vriska is definitely the most important person in Terezi’s life.
Playing house with Karkat, turning Dave into a project, having her weird Batman and Joker relationship with Gamzee, but none of them fills the niche. I might be reading too far into that.
John and his Dad both address each other with symbols representing each other.
Being able to reunite with his Dad is, at this point, the same kind of fleeting fantasy that being able to fly is for Tavros.
Roxy Lalonde, Copium dealer.
Suffering is what all human beings share in common. Mom and Dad didn’t know each other until today, it seems, but they have their shared losses in common. That makes them friends.
Vriska probably latches onto John for the same reasons she latched onto Tavros - Breath Player. I have heard it hypothesized that Vriska envies the freedom that people like John and Tavros enjoy, their relative detachments from other people. She wants to be more like them. On the other hand, she also wants them to be more like her, and she does her darndest to turn both of them into hero coolguys (the kind of person she wants to be!)
On the subject of Vriska as coolguy, she is a parallel to Dave in that respect, and in more ways than that. Vriska ultimately wields the Ultimate Weapon against Lord English in the final battle as his nemesis, a role which is also foretold of Dave. Like Dave, Vriska has spent her entire life around vectors by which Lord English has infected her subconscious mind.
But Vriska becomes a dangerous antagonist whose presence represses other people’s agency. Dave, on the other hand, turns out to be a laidback and chill dude who rejects the violence inherent in the system. Dave has kinder, more understanding friends and easier living conditions though.
More push and pull between nature and nurture.
Maybe I do finally have something to say about the Carapacians’ emotional arc and the themes of their story.
It’s clear that the Mayor has aspirations of leadership and noble intent, but he doesn’t want Power with a capital P - not the kind of currency that power is in Carapacian life. Whether you’re a Dersite or a Prospitian, life for Carapacians is being part of a war machine, so the form that power takes is the capacity to commit violence and destruction.
A Mayor though, isn’t defined by his ability to destroy things, but to create them. His power doesn’t come from his personal capacity to commit violence, but from his community’s trust. Being the leader of the rebellion on the battefield is one step in the right direction.
As the Ringbearer, just this little guy caught up in a war that’s much bigger than he is, the Mayor is full of references to Frodo Baggins, who along with the other Hobbits, is part of the parable about violence that is central to Lord of the Rings.
The world will probably always have employment for heroes like Aragorn (and like John, and Vriska), and there will always be tyrants for those heroes to oppose like Sauron (and like Lord English, and Vriska), but it is the pity of Frodo in sparing Gollum, the humility of Samwise in rejecting the ring, Merry and Pippin’s love of simple things, and earnest respect for other sentient beings, that are ultimately what win the day. It is not the courage of the great, or the wisdom of the wise that rules the destiny of nations, but the compassion of the lowly.
Maybe the Mayor was the secret hero of Homestuck all along.
Vriska breaks character in this conversation with John a bit and continues the trend of secretly valuing the journey and just doing some cool things more than she actually values the destination.
She may pretend to be all business, the kind of girl who cheats, cuts to the chase, beats the final boss and wins the treasure, but Vriska loves meaningless sidequests.
She almost immediately reneges on the sentiment, of course.
John also has a bit of an interesting response, and one that suits his general gullibility. I could be reading into his non-plussed response, but I feel like it fits a pattern where John outwardly assents to the first truth claim that he receives, while pondering it and questioning it internally.
Few interesting things in this conversational sequence, actually. More of Paradox Space’s self-fulfilling, self-justifying, self-authenticating nature rears its head. Vriska meddles with John because she does - the meddling comes from nowhere in particular, she sees that John is standing around in his room for a few minutes doing nothing, and meddles with him, and it turns out that it was her meddling that caused it in the first place.
It’s these times, where a character’s actions result in a stable time loop, that I think Paradox Space uses to help them understand their own true natures - what does Vriska do in a vacuum? She meddles, because that’s what Vriska does.
Rose is uncharacteristically aloof here, and it should be our first clue that all is not well in LOLAR. None of the jocular flowery language she usually addresses her friends with - she is sharp as a razor and ice cold.
Rose is also careful with the words that she uses. She describes her relationship with the consorts as coercive. That is concerning.
I bring all of this up because it’s the first time we’ve seen Rose in hundreds of pages, and the very last time we saw her was the fallout from her awakening on Derse.
This is isn’t just about the game, it’s about everything - because the sorts of enemies and troubles the game manifests for the heroes to fight aren’t trivial, they’re rooted in the symbols that characters associate with their fears and social anxieties - Sollux’s Brain, Karkat’s Blood, Pipes as a symbol of John’s Dad and their ambivalent relationship, Water as a symbol of loss - Jasper, as far as Rose knows, drowned in a river.
Rose is tired of losing the things that are most important to her, and feeling antagonized by emotionally distant forces who she yearns for intimacy with. She’s mad as hell and she’s not going to take it any more. And of course, it might be that cutting through the bullshit surface-level quest and going off to create the Green Sun might have been Rose’s real quest all along.
The actual material of Karkat’s speech is not particularly important, and it’s clear because the reaction of all of his counterparts is not different from how they would normally react to Karkat. Kanaya is supportive of Karkat’s idea because she is supportive of Karkat. Terezi is dismissive. The point of the speech isn’t whatever Karkat said, but that it makes use of the relationships Karkat already has.
The other conversation John and Kanaya have.
Really, just so great.
Fashion obviously becomes more important the higher on the haemospectrum you go, but even some of the other lowbloods are more fashionable than Karkat, so the reality is probably just that he either doesn’t give a shit about it himself, or does but can’t afford anything fashionable.
Rose is clearly not okay with the fact that apocalypses are pedestrian in Paradox Space, but she has revolted, and one part of that revolt is revolting against her own preoccupation with the transitory nature of existence. She coolly pretends to be fine with it.
Kanaya is attracted to Rose exactly because she is so dangerous - Rose fills a Vriska shaped hole in her heart.
Skaia and the Horrorterrors are directly contrasted here. Let’s make a simile.
Prospit Dreamers are to Skaia as Derse Dreamers are to the Horrorterrors.
Prospit Dreamers go with the flow, are comfortable with the status quo, optimistic and flexible. Skaia reflects existence presenting everything as it is to Prospit Dreamers, without comment.
Derse Dreamers are rebellious, uncomfortable with stability, predisposed to catalyze change. We should expect that the Horrorterror’s relationship with reality and all of Paradox Space, is to question it, criticize it, and probe its vulnerabilities with their tentacles.
They are polar forces. There is one Skaia, because there is only one reality that all of the characters share. There are infinite horrorterrors because outside of the bounds of the one reality, there are infinite possibilities that could have been, or could still be.
Rose is predisposed toward the Horrorterrors because of her intense dissatisfaction with life. At times, her dissastisfaction trends toward the ultimate - there are a few indications throughout Homestuck that Rose might have suicidal ideations, and a number of places where she unnecessarily seeks out extremely self-destructive possibilities in the heat of the moment because of that intense dissatisfaction.
Kanaya is predisposed to trust her first impressions of her surroundings and the people in her life, and that gets her into trouble too. Her misplaced trust in Vriska’s intentions and goodwill toward everyone lets Vriska exploit her. They balance each other.
Rose has become dangerous because her dissatisfaction has increased to the extent that she doesn’t trust the people who care about her any more. Sure, she enjoys their presence, but she’s not really willing to listen to their concerns. She won’t be dissuaded from being manipulated.
Vriska reproduces/transmits herself onto John by replacing his symbols with her symbols (except for his green ghost, which is emblematic and can’t be erased.)
Constantly dunking on each other is a part of these two’s schtick that I’ve brought up before and I’ll bring it up again - they can barely go two seconds without exchanging shallow and insincere hostilities.
The Alternian Coolkid is, of course, Vriska.
Braggadocious, contentious, competitive. Terezi, like Kanaya, is trying to fill a Vriska-shaped space.
Man, somehow I forgot that Sollux is not merely their hacker guy, but their IT guy in general.
Suddenly, I am 1,000,000% more sympathetic to Sollux.
These past few pages have been absolutely swimming with good Dave dialogue.
Dave fills his speech with sexual innuendo and outright explicit language, particularly when means to shock and offend or deter someone from interacting.
He tends to string together multisyllabic adjectives and punctuate them with profane or explicit words in particular as a form of humor, and the words that he chooses tend to be literary references.
He tends to coin new words by stringing together adjectives or nouns.
Uses lots of slang suggestive of rap culture and basketball, both of which Dave has a fascination with.
I’ll preface this by saying your headcanons are valid, but I’ve always viewed Dave Strider as an intensely white character. For exactly the same reason that his use of Apple Products and his ironic coolkid routine come across as performative, so does his engagement with things that are culturally coded as black. Dave is an outsider, and a poseur. It would seem incongruous for Dave to actually be a member of the subcultures that he engages with by parodying them - because in no small part, he parodies them because he wants to feel like he’s a part of them, to enjoy the sense of community that comes from them.
John really is a clever and perceptive lad.
Even this early on in the comic, it’s obvious that Karkat and Dave have chemistry. Dave doesn’t respond to him with the kind of verbal legerdemain that he reserves for people who make him uncomfortable, he jokes around about himself with Karkat.
Wow this is a great conversation, there’s so much in here to unpack.
Let’s start with one of the first things.
Dave and Karkat’s language here is pretty indistinguishable from the way that they both normally talk to their friends - Karkat is always rude and shouty to everyone (except Kanaya), and Dave is similarly pretty rude and dismissive even to his pals. The thing is though, Dave is doing his whole performative alpha male thing, and so is Karkat, and it creates this really unpleasant tension between the two of them. These guys should obviously actually get along with each other for reasons that are complementary to the reasons they both get along with John, but they’re both so insecure that they can’t let the other’s challenge to their dominance go.
As a coming of age story, Homestuck is to some degree or another about puberty, and the effects that it has on social life - sexuality is intruding into formerly sexless spaces as youngsters become aware of their own bodies, and each other’s bodies. So that’s another tension in this conversation - being the alpha dog doesn’t just mean being the guy who is toughest, but being the guy who gets the girl, and part of that routine is Dave deliberately using his burgeoning friendship with Terezi as a point of contention with Karkat - making Terezi an object of competition.
The same tension makes everything awkward between all three of them because Karkat is attracted to John, and Dave (while still not awake to it) is also attracted to John.
And then Karkat wakes them both up to the possibility of the invasion of the sexual into formerly sexless friendships by bringing up the possibility of reproduction and the only biologically and culturally viable breeding pairs. (Breeding pair, as long as we’re on that topic, is as I understand it, film-industry jargon for the male and female romantic leads when considered together. Don’t quote me on that.)
Classic John is being completely puzzled by the existence of sexuality - completely oblivious to others’ attraction toward him, completely oblivious toward other people’s bodies. The only time in the comic John seems to show legitimate attraction toward another person is Roxy, but we’ll get back to that later. I think John might be Ace, which could be a bit of blatant wish fulfilment since I am Ace, but what am I gonna do, not project my own foibles onto characters I relate to and enjoy?
I am not going to play an interactive game right now, it’s getting late, and my break is about to be over.
So for now, this is Cam signing off, and you know the rest.
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