#but watch out for those who dim the forest green trait

[maiuoart]

How rare exactly are healers in Swapfell red? are there any left at all?

Extremely rare; Almost legendary, infact!

There have been rumors said that Poison(SFR!Muffet) has them hoarded. But others have told stories that The Queen raises the human young and trains the certain Green souls for healing to use in her Army, just for them to die off no sooner they leave the palace out of age... Or even that they are sold off in their version of a Black Market.

Or, that the healers are just in hiding in every aspect of every space you walk; But too afraid to show their true colors in fear... Or they are just waiting for the right idiot to come along and sink their tainted fangs into.

But, honestly? Magic is magic; Everyone can learn what they want to do if they have some desire for it ;)

[lvlyhao]

『lifetimes; H.R』

one-shot; huang renjun

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since i posted the teaser but welp it’s finally here :] this has got to be one of my favourite things i’ve ever written so please give it some love!!

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: not a lot of it but fluff (♡), angst (❆), fantasy (✯), author’s favourite (ツ)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: some mentions of death but nothing too explicit

word count: 2.8K

pairing: huang renjun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

With chocolate eyes that dazzle golden under the light, he scouts the forest. The canopy is thick above his head and shudders every few seconds when some creature hurriedly passes by. The trees' branches sway in the breeze, and he can almost hear their rumbling under the chirping birds. The ever-so-green grass is dank under his boots, and he can still smell the rain that ended just a couple minutes ago. The Sun, though, seems to have no recollection of that. He is as argent as always, here in the Violet Woods. The place is dazzling, alive, and crisp; far too different from his own home, but also far less foreign. 

Graceful fingers reach for the periwinkle flowers just left from the tallest red oak, kissing their soft petals as he wonders where they are. Renjun is positive he's at the right place, and this is the right time. Noon, by the bush of forget-me-nots. He could only hope they hadn't misremembered this week's chosen spot. Knowing them, it's perfectly possible. Maybe he should head to the muttering roses, where they had met last week, and wait there instead...

Laboured breaths and feathery footsteps sound from behind him a second later, and he doesn't have to turn around to know it's them.

"You're late", he states, fierce gaze still burning in the flowers.

Renjun doesn't expect an apology, not really, but the mellow hand they lay on his shoulder is just as startling. Still kneeling, he twirls to face them at once, and he doesn't miss the dim look of urgency that paints their features.

"Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?"

They don't answer him. Instead, their lips curl into a small smile that Renjun supposes is meant to calm his nerves. It doesn't work very well, or well at all, and he stands up to his full height, holding their hand in his.

Both of their hearts beat loudly, wildly attempting to escape their ribcages. However, neither of them shies away from the proximity. Renjun and Y/N idly stand together for a second, basking in each other's warmth when they speak for the first time today.

"Father knows about you."

If the incoming information is anything short of shocking, he doesn't let it show. His keen, fox-like traits remain the same as he searches their eyes for something else—fear, rage, or any other emotion. Something that would tell him what to do now. 

Nodding slowly, he gently squeezes their fingers, waiting for them to continue. 

The way Renjun looks at them is enough to make Y/N's throat tighten in concern. From the palace, all the way over here, they've been trying to conceal it, but they no longer can. 

It's freezing cold, even against the strings of sunlight that filter through the trees. Its' grip is vicious, instilling into their body a form of despair they had never felt before. It is the dawning realization that their little world is shattering, and there's little they can do to save it.

"...And he calls you a filthy mortal."

Somehow, Renjun finds it in him to snort. Out of all the things he thought they would say, that was certainly not one of them, but it makes him happy. After all those months, they still manage to catch him off-guard. Will they ever stop doing that?

"Aren't you elves so kind?" he laughs, lifting his other hand to gently flick at their pointy ears.

Y/N simply huffs, dodging his fingers and escaping from his hold to pace around the trees.

Watching them in silence, Renjun thinks their race truly is something else. Elegant, breathtaking, stunning, unmatched, perfect. Sharp edges give way to soft curves that make him question the existence of all deities. Should he turn his face in shame? Should he go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness over sins he didn't commit? Should he declare them as his one redemption and worship them until his breath forever ceases?

Sighing dreamily, he thinks he, too, would be an arrogant bastard if he looked anything like an elf.

"Don't put that on us, Renjun. You, humans, have a terrible tendency to destroy and foul the space you occupy" Y/N turns to him. 

Placing their hands on their hips, they know they're falling into the usual routine: bickering about historical events between the two races until one gives up. That's how their rendezvous always begins, and they wouldn't have it any other way, but today something hovers in the air between them.

Doubts.

Renjun can't keep himself from speaking.

"He will banish you some time, Y/N. You know we can't keep this up forever."

He's right, and they know. Had it not been for the strands of sunshine dancing across their frame, they would have shivered. The thought of getting banished from their realm is terrifying. Y/N is still incredibly young for an elf—just over their 75 years—but they've lived enough to know how it goes for elves who get exiled. 

For an elf, banishment isn't being outlawed from your homeland. That is most indisputably sad, and Y/N would cry about it for some time, missing nature's presence from her forests. Although that's not the part of the exile that frightens them: it's the loss of immortality, their lifelines cut too short from straying from their hearths.

Death is no friend of the elves, as everybody knows. The mere idea of perishing from disease or poison is strange to their minds, if not altogether catastrophic. It's not normal, as it is not natural. It's almost reason enough to stop Y/N from making her offer, but the pink haze in their eyes wouldn't allow them to.

"Run away with me then", they mutter, slowly closing the distance between them and the boy once again. Something in Renjun's eyes shifts, and his pink lips part to speak, but not yet. 

"Protect me from the dangers of mortality. We could go south to the Cristalline Planes, Injun", Y/N stops in front of him. "Or, maybe even head west, since I know you've always wanted to see Wistful Shores."

Hope shines bright in their complexion, burning with such richness it nearly turns into despair. What they're doing is not asking—they're pleading, and Renjun nearly collapses to the ground at the honeyed tone in their voice. However, the glow of their fingers, smoothly tracing the shapes of his light robes, grounds him. Their touch is as delicate as the breeze, and it takes all of his self-control not to say "yes" right away.

"And let you give up on eternal life for me? That is possibly the most foolish decision I have ever heard of", he says, stoping their movements to lace his fingers between theirs.  

For a moment, everything around the two of them stills and fades into silence. The woods are quieter than ever before, and even the tree's lullaby comes to a halt. Nothing exists out of their eyes, embedded deep into the others'. 

His might just be Y/N's favourite thing in the whole entire world. The vibrant, sunny brown of his orbs reminds them of the goodness still left in mortals. They shimmer, sparkle and flicker with every bit of emotion Renjun feels, for they are too honest not to. It would be nothing short of a crime if they ever lied about his heart.

Y/N's are what he would describe as literal gateways. To where? Well, that, he will always argue. Some nights, when the stars are out, he could swear the entire universe is right there, before him. On other occasions, when what surrounds them are the glistening streaks of dawn, Renjun sees magic in its purest form. He could spend all of his life staring at them and still feel like there's too much left to explore.

"I don't think this foolish decision is yours to make, then", they decide, lightly squeezing his hands and glancing down to the ground. "I would rather live one more hour with you than one hundred lifetimes on my own."

There is a sharp intake in his breath as if a blade had buried itself deep in his stomach. It pains him just the same, he realizes. Hearing them say that and knowing they speak the truth brings tears to his eyes because he knows this is the point where he has to stop them. Stop them from wondering about the "what if's" and from asking that of him. Gods know if they ask again, he won't have the strength to decline.

"I, on the other hand, would like for you to live a very long, happy, fulfilling life," he remarks, hoping the shaking in his voice is not too evident. "And for that to happen, you can't be that much of an idiot, okay? Don't give that away for some human prince, Y/N."

"And what if that human prince is all I care about? What if he is my entire existence, and my one reason to sleep through the nights is to dream about him? What then, Renjun?" they challenge. 

It's rare to see elves speaking in any way that is not moderate, light, but the fire in their voice is nothing like he's ever seen. It's the same anger that fuels them to pull him closer, resting their palms on his warm cheeks and wiping away the tears he didn't know have fallen. 

"Then you must tell me what does that make me. What is this between us?" Renjun mutters, eyes closing with soft flutters. Guilt claws at his chest for not immediately putting an end to it but savouring the moment, feeling himself fall a bit deeper for the elf as each second ticks by.

"Love", Y/N simply states, sighing when his hands come together to hold the small of their back. "It's love."

"A part of me wishes you had not said that", he leans into their touch. "Had you said 'nothing' and stopped torturing me, my heart would have been broken, but I would have been fine. How can I be, now, when all you've just done makes me cherish you more?" he chuckles bitterly.

He knows what they're about to say, and he can't stand to hear it, so he continues talking, eyes indolently opening to scan their features.

"Things are different for us, Y/N. While you don't have to worry about succeeding the throne, that is my fate. To be a good ruler for my people when my own father dies. I can't leave them behind", Renjun breathes, hating the way their hopeful look melts into denial.

"You have a brother, you know? Leave him to rule. We've both seen what it's like to wear the crown, Injun", they grimace. 

It is true. Being part of the royal family means you grow used to many horrible sights and dark secrets. He can't help but wonder what it will be like to live all of that and not have you to keep him sane.

Shaking his head to dissolve querying thoughts, Renjun attempts to focus on something else that is not them. It's dangerous to be that close, feeling their own ragged breaths fawning over his face. He is just one touch away from all he has ever wanted, but one touch away is still forbidden. In that one touch lies his downfall.

As if hearing his prayers, the wind blows stronger, running through his silken, dark locks and messing up Y/N's. It backfires, though. The urge he has to resist now is to run his hands through their hair, pushing away all of the wild strands that frame their face, and he curses. Nothing could ever make this any less difficult for him.

"If Chenle ever becomes king, I pity the people that will live under his hand." 

He smiles, and Y/N realizes he must be attempting to make a joke. They wish they could laugh, but the conclusion behind his words hangs in the air. He won't change his mind, will he?

A sob leaves their body as suddenly as the tears come. Their vision turns misty, and the cold awareness that hits them is too much to manage. Wordlessly, Y/N falls to their knees, hugging their own body in attempts to calm the heartbreaking cries pouring from their lips. The pleasant spring evening turns cold and unforgiving, and the elf loses their bearings for a second, only to realize Renjun has dropped to the ground in front of them.

Neither of them dares to open their eyes when two bodies become one, and the only thing they know is each other. Fingers grasp at robes, armour and leather, and rough sobs blend together in utter heartbreak. Renjun pulls them so close he's not sure which limbs are his or whose tears he's tasting, but it hardly matters. This is where they end.

How much time they spend lost in each other's embraces is unclear. Neither Y/N nor Renjun knows, and they don't want to. Acknowledging time is dangerous here because it means accepting this moment won't last forever, and that is something they can't—won't do. It won't be so until they let it, right?

Wrong, and they know it. The Sun is going down.

When sobs have turned into whimpers and clutches have turned into caresses, Y/N takes the courage to pull away and look at him.

The prince's eyes are red and puffy, much like theirs, they imagine. His pale cheeks are stained with dry tears, and his pretty lips still tremble from the deep breaths. He doesn't meet their gaze until they call his name.

"Renjun", they call once more, admiring the blue hour lights shifting across his dashing features. "I—" Y/N gasps, and he's suddenly terrified of what they'll say. "I think maybe... maybe we should no longer meet. I can't bear to look at you and know you're not mine to take."

Just like that, his fears were confirmed. In his mind, he knows this is how it was supposed to go all along. This is for the best, he reminds himself, even if right now it feels like having your soul ripped to shreds.

"Don't say it like that, Y/N. I've always been, and I'll always be yours", he flashes a watery smile. "Perhaps just... in another lifetime."

The pain becomes too much to handle, and all they can do is close the space between them again. Their last and first kiss is salty, from the tears they both still shed and bittersweet, from the goodbye it speaks.

How poetic, they think, to say goodbye right by a bush of forget-me-nots. I'll surely never forget him.

"Go now", Y/N whispers as they part, "before I kiss you again and never let you go."

A heartbroken chuckle leaves his lips while he touches his forehead against theirs. 

"Remember me, Y/N", he begs, slowly dragging them to their feet. "Remember me like this, young and well, learning what the flowers you mark our spots with look like. Always see me like this: grateful and completely in love with you."

"How could I not, my prince?"

And in truth, how could they not?

To say Y/N never forgot about Renjun is a misunderstanding. They never forgot about him, and they never stopped thinking about him either. His are every emotion they've felt. Every split of every second in every day of their life was and is dedicated to him. His smile is all they see when they close their eyes, and his laughter sounds right by their side whenever they visit the forget-me-not fields. He lived in all of the things surrounding them, and even in the name of that corner right by the tallest red oak: Prince's Lair.

Likewise, his very soul was bound to Y/N from the day they met to the day he died, still in reverence of how much devotion it is possible to feel for someone. He grew older and eventually found a family, yes, and he even went to war. His eyes held visions he would never wish for anyone to see, but they were still his first thought in the morning and the last one in the night when he allowed himself to weep for their lost future. He got to see the most distant borders of many kingdoms, and he got to meet people in all of them. Yet, no creature on this Earth ever compared to Y/N—his Y/N.

Even at the tender age of 18, Renjun was wise. 

Aeons of praying upon the stars never changed their fortune, but maybe there is something else to their fates.

Y/N never stopped loving Renjun, and Renjun loved them until his days were over, but their paths never crossed again.

Perhaps in another lifetime.

[headoverjojo]

Human wandering in the woods discovers Forest nymph Giorno! How would they become friends and lead into a more intimate relationship? [ would love a scenario but headcannon is totally fine, please and thank you! Love your blog, your scenarios are really great and they make my day, thank you again ]

Hello there, darling! Waaaaa I liked so much to write this!! Maybe fantasy AUs are becoming a weakness of mine? And thank you for you kind words hhhhn :,)

Human reader meets forest nymph Giorno Giovanna

(Under the cut for length!)

It was such a pretty day. The sun was high and warm, but the leafy trees shadowed you from the direct rays. You smiled, following an old path in the forest not so far from the little town you were staying at the moment; it seemed not to be frequented a lot and the owner of the little hotel you were staying had said that the forest was hunted. How funny! Still, you had to admit that the forest really had a sort of mystic halo…

The air seemed to be pervaded by a low buzz, as little creatures were talking among them. Of course you didn’t believe there were actually little magic creatures in the forest; it was just an acoustic effect. And even the greenish thin haze that seemed to twirl at every step you took, sometimes framed by the rays of sun that filtered through the leaves; this too was a visual illusion: it was the light filtered by the green leaves, nothing more.

Around lunch time -or you thought so; you had forgotten your watch at the hotel- you stopped in a little clearing dominated by just one young oak tree. You sat under the tree, with a sigh of relief, stretching your legs and leaning your back on the trunk. The leaves nicely shadowed your little nest and a soft breeze was brushing your face and hair in a so relieving way… maybe you could allow yourself to take a short nap…

“So you are a human…” you frowned, hearing an unknown voice, in your sleepy daze. It was a really pretty voice, soft, almost ethereal. Weird… you opened your eyes, thinking it was the wind -or a sort of residual of a dream- and found in front of you the cutest face you’ve ever seen.

The boy’s hair was blond, no, not simply blond: it was as golden as the sun, as the summer wheat gently brushed by the warm wind that rolled from the sea… and his eyes! His eyes were turquoise crystalline pools, as the ones you saw just on magazines about far, paradisiac shores.

He tilted his head to a side, his braid gently swaying over his bare shoulder. Just then you noticed that the boy wasn’t dressed, or, better, he had just a cloth around his waist, but nothing more. You blushed, drawing back a little, arousing more curiosity in the strange boy, who followed your movements, keeping his face at a span from yours.

“Hu-human? What do you mean? Of course I’m human. What should I be?” you replied, nervously chuckling. He seemed strange, but not dangerous…

“Well, I never saw a human before. And I live here since long, long time. Humans don’t enter the forest. No one told you? It’s inhabited by spirits.” he said, while your eyes widened. No, it can’t be true… that boy must surely be crazy. There wasn’t other explanation.

Still… you payed more attention at his tanned face sprayed by some pale freckles on his nose and cheeks. All in all… he seemed a bit ethereal? Like he wasn’t totally of this world… and were his ears pointed? Like an elf from a book. And some parts of his neck and arms seemed a bit coriaceus, as they were made by rough wood…

“What are you?” you finally whispering, flashed by a smile from him. He drew back a little, still crouched in front of you, content to have been asked so.

“I’m a Dryad, dear human. My name is Giorno Giovanna and I’m tied to this oak that is shading you right now. What’s your name?” he asked, even with a little bow. You let out a slow breath, admiring the… Dryad? Apparently. The Dryad in front of you, trying to find your voice again.

“I’m… I’m Y/N.” you managed to murmur, rewarded by another flashing smile.

“Such a pretty name! Y/N…” you liked the way your name rolled on his tongue. It seemed almost as a spell, a good one. A really magic word.

“Are… you hungry? Do you eat human food?” you asked, bringing out of your backpack a couple of sandwiches. He studied them, curious and perplexed, shaking his head.

“Usually no… but I could try a bite.” he murmured, pensive. You smiled a little, dividing one of the sandwich and handing it to him. You couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped your mouth at his perplexed face, while he studied the piece of sandwich from every angle. He was cute…!

And, after the first, timid bite at the sandwich, Giorno Giovanna found out he absolutely loved it.

You laughed, seeing the look of pure amazement on Giorno’s face. From then, he started to ask you every kind of things about human world, how it worked, what were all those strange things humans always used, and there were sandwiches everywhere?!

You didn’t even noticed that you had talked with him for all the afternoon until the light dimmed drastically. Giorno got up, now careful, on guard. His eyes gleamed in the twilight, bright turquoise lightnings that flashed in the darker and darker surrounding.

“You can’t stay here at night. Soon the Fairy Queen will wake up from her slumber and ride through the forest. She can’t find you here!” he grabbed your hand, hastily tugging you through the path you walked that morning. His hand was warm and dry, his grip strong, as he ran through the forest, fast and agile, bringing you with him. He just stopped a bit behind the border trees, pushing you out of the forest’s borders.

“I can’t go beyond this point. Please, come again, some day! I’d wish to talk more with you.” he asked, a plea in his eyes. You couldn’t deny this to him. And you too wanted to know more about his world…

“I’ll come tomorrow. I promise.” you said, making him smile again that bright smile that always managed to almost blind you.

“I’ll wait for you, Y/N!” in a blow of wind the blond simply disappeared. You blinked, as you were slowly waking up from a daze, and shook your head. Well, that was a strange dream…

But, the day after, you found yourself in the forest again, as you were pulled by a mysterious force. Again under the solitary oak, again facing the smiling Dryad Giorno Giovanna. And so it was the day after and the one after that and so on, for weeks. From the hotel you had moved to a little cottage from which you could see the forest and work from home. You never told anyone the real reason of your moving house; no one could have understood or believed you.

“But… are you sure that this is the right place for you, Y/N? From your stories, you seemed happy in the city.” Giorno mused, one day, while gently braiding your hair and decorating it with small flowers. You hummed, relaxed, enjoying his slender fingers through your locks.

“Yeah, I was, it’s true. But I am happy here too.” you replied, leaning on his chest, enjoying his nice scent. He smelled of grass, of pine, of wood. It was a earthy scent, something that made you feel at ease, at home. You catched a glimpse of his flashing smile, while his arms came to rest around you, in a gesture that, he had learned, was called hug.

“And you’re happy here with me?” he asked again, nuzzling his face in your cheek, making you giggle. During the time spent together, he had learnt a lot of affectionate gestures, but still not the boundaries. It was natural, for him, to show his affection in a physical way, he didn’t see anything wrong in it. And you never had the heart to correct him: not when you were receiving so genuine affectionate gestures, not when you actively enjoyed them. You, well… you never had a friend like him. He cared, for real. He listened to you, he was interested in what you were saying. He wanted to understand you and, well… he seemed not want to leave you.

It was so bizarre that you had to fall into a sort of magic world to find a person like this.

“I’m more than happy with you, Giorno.” you replied, sincere. Giorno smiled, his eyes slowly grazing your traits, your thin eyelashes, the curve of your nose, the soft hills of your lips…

He never felt a urge so strong. Since he knew you, however, a lot of things changed in his life. He wasn’t alone anymore. With you he felt so at ease, so warm… you were warmer than the sun that always kissed his oak’s leaves. You were making him feel things that he never thought he could feel.

“Y/N… is it bad if I want to kiss you, now?” he asked, almost in a whisper. You snapped your eyes open, turning to him, surprised. Would he really…?

“I-it’s… it’s not bad…” you replied, baffled, feeling your heart galloping so fast that seemed on the verge to break your rib cage. Giorno smiled again, a sweet, sweet smile, before placing those same lips on yours, his fingertips gently brushing your jaw.

He didn’t know how to kiss, it was obvious. But this was not a problem: you gently sank your fingers in his fluffy hair, kissing him, showing him the practical way how to do it. And he was a fast learner: after just a little, he was kissing you back with your same intensity, your same sentiment. You never felt like this before…

After a while, you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead on his, staring in his half-lidded eyes. A bubbling laugh escaped your lips, as you caressed his smiling and dreamy face.

“How… how will we make this work?” you asked in a whisper, gladly welcoming Giorno’s lips for another sweet, quick kiss.

“As we made our friendship work. It will go all well.” he answered, honestly, before kissing you again, sweetly pleading you to keep these thought for another time. Now and here was more important…

Now and here you were together for sure. Now and here you were kissing under the oak which was Giorno’s home.

Now and here you were happy.

[canadian-buckbeaver]

Down the Portal Hole (ch. 1)

Welp.  This turned into a multi-chapter endevenur... I’ll work on the next chapter later.  @saiyurimai and @the-tinkerbell0522, enjoy! @lina-lines, @nikki-on-edge and @babypizzawonderland prepare for next chapter

Based off a discussion with Sai, and a dream.  OCs and Sonas galore!  

Sai’s mansion has grown in size and holds many monsters and humans.  Friends all alike they spend their days enjoying the sun or working on their own many projects.

But when Gaster’s project fails, they find out that the multi-verse is far more complex than any of them imagined.  How the smallest different decision or coincidence can lead to the biggest difference.

Just off the mainland of the USA, located on the equator line, there is a small, unassuming island.  It is one that not many know of, and the majority of those who know of it, live there.  Only accessible by an hour's boat ride, this little island is paradise to those who call it home.  The island itself was perfect.  Warm and tropical, but not too hot, flowers, trees and other shrubbery grew wild here - shielding the mansion from other, unassuming eyes.  Here, monsters and human's live in perfect harmony, all living and loving under the same roof.  

 Sai and Sebastian first built the mansion many years ago in an attempt to escape the many of the politics that surrounded her home life, and protect him against the Anti-Monster/Demon Groups that walked around unchecked.  As the years slowly passed, the mansion slowly grew, expanding in both size and the number of occupants.  Sai couldn't remember what exactly what caused the trickling of roommates, but she never complained.  She had many friends and mates and was more than happy to share her place with them.  How they all came to live in the mansion, that is a story for another day.

 Despite life in the mansion being perfect and lazy, the occupants never found themselves bored.  The days were never the same, there was always some new chaos to them.  One the day that IT happened, the days started out on just another day for them.  It appeared to be just another normal day at the mansion, perhaps one that was even quieter than usual for them.  There were no meetings with the nearby townspeople, no meetings about selling the energy that the little island produced, nor were there any grocery runs that needed to occur in town.  It was supposed to be a calm, relaxing day.

 The kitchen was an orchestra of scents and sounds.  Pots smoothly bubbled and simmered on the stove under the meticulous eye of the demon butler.  Sesshomaru was, as usual, sunbathing in the front yard, his long white hair smoothly blowing in the breeze.  Edge and Berry were busy working the vegetable garden with the ex-demon lord, Asmodeus.  Vixen and Deacon were holed up in one of the many rooms, suffering through the dragon's heat together, just the way that Vixen loved to do.

 All while everyone hummed and lived and loved, there was a little group gathered in the lab of the basement.  Here was where Gaster worked and experimented, working days and nights on his research.  And today, today he said that he had something to show them.  Something that would revolutionize the world as they knew it.  In the dim light Grillby, Sai, Stretch, Alana and the three babies gathered around Gaster.  The atmosphere was tense, unhelped by Gaster's refusal to answer questions until the moment where "all would be revealed".

 Alana's little orange ears still flattened slightly as she watched the scientist, her entire body trembling.  Her own Gaster had been none-too-friendly with her, leaving her with mental scars that she would be battling her entire life.  Even though she knew that this was not 'her' Gaster, he looked too close for comfort.  Slim and Black were often her rocks, supporting her, but they were currently busy training with the Undertale Undyne. "So when will everything be revealed?" she asked, her glorious fox tail wrapping around her like a security blanket.  As if by instinct, she pressed herself further against the wall when the purple eye lights met her hazel ones.

 Gaster smiled at her, making sure that she could see where his hands were.  That he was no threat to her.  "Very soon, Alana," he told her.  "Just as soon as Bucky shows up..."

 As if on cue, Bucky ran through the lab doors, her curls wild and free, blue eyes wide.  "SORRY I'M LATE," she panted, glancing around at the assembled group.  "I would have been here sooner, but someone drew on my cheeks with red lipstick..." she said, glaring at her mate.

 Stretch chuckled, walking over and pulling her close to himself and Honey.  "To be fair, you did fall asleep on the couch.  What was I supposed to do?  Ignore the perfect opportunity to perfect my art?"  Honey giggled and cooed, reaching out to her mother.

 Bucky grumbled back at him, eyes flashing but took she took Honey in her arms, holding her close.  “You just wait…” she warned him.

 Sai decided not to mention that there was still the faint outline of a heart on Bucky's cheek. It was sort of endearing in a way. "So we are all here," she said, turning to Gaster.  "Now, what is your big surprise?"  Gaster was one of her two fiances, and easily the smartest one in the entire house.  Her other fiance, Grillby, raised his brows as if to mutely agree with her.  

 "Just a moment," Gaster said, clicking a button on a nearby remote.  Apparently, he had decided to record the great reveal today.  With a great flourish, Gaster reached up and tugged the sheet from the contraption behind him.  "For years I have been able to shortcut and instantly appear where I desired to go.  A trait that has been passed down to the eldest son of every AU.  I have long debated the pros and cons of developing this power, knowing how it could revolutionize the commercial world.  Fresh food any time of the year.  Real Japanese green tea at the snap of a finger.  Mail would be instantaneous, no longer waiting for the delivery of cards or parcels.  And health care would no longer be forced to risk the death of vital organs or blood. I have managed to harness the power of my shortcuts and project into this machine!"

 The machine would have been a perfect ring if it did not have the little outposts of lights.  The purple lights shimmered ominously at them, making the entire group shiver.  Made of solid steel, it stood about eight feet tall, towering over the little group.  Sai gave a little whistle.  "Impressive," she whispered, her eyes reflecting the purple light.  He never failed to surprise her.

 "Reminds me of Stargate,"  Bucky muttered, earning a snort from both Stretch and Alana, and an amused but annoyed look from Sai.  

 Gaster puffed out his chest, bathing in their reactions.  "I have run simulation after simulation.  This is pure perfection.  No accidents, no mishaps.  The portal is stable and strong.  Once I am able to better control how much solar energy it requires, I can start commercially producing them, putting them into every household.  Eliminating the need and use of cars and airplanes, the carbon dioxide output would decrease.  Without the need for roads, farms can be built and trees planted.  Global Warming will become nothing but a thing of a past!"

 'He's a little excited about this, isn't he?' Grillby signed to them.  Despite his nonchalant words, his eyes glimmered behind his glasses.  He too was excited for his friend and lover.

 Alana's ears twitched towards the contraption, biting her lip softly.  "Have you tried it out for real?" she asked softly.  "Without the computer tests?"

 At her quiet words, Gaster deflated slightly.  "Well.  No.  Nothing 'real' yet," he admitted.  "But that is why you guys are here.  In front of everyone, I will try out, and prove the effectiveness of my product."  Quickly crossing the floor to a nearby computer, Gaster typed furiously, activating the machine.  With a small popping sound, a rippling sheen spread in the little ring.  The sheen, like the lights, was a dull, flickering purple.  The more that Sai looked at it, the more she realized that it matched the same colour as Gaster's magic.

 "Stars..." Stretch whispered.  Cornel and Ignatius looked at the portal, chattering and babbling to one another in a language that only they understood. 

 Honey shrunk back with a small whimper, hiding in Bucky's arms.  "Me too, Honey," Bucky whispered, eyeing the portal with distrust.  There was something about it that she just couldn’t put her finger on…

 Gaster stepped in front of the freshly-formed portal and addressed the crowd.  "I will now enter the portal.  The coordinates I entered are of the far edge of the Underground forest, closest to the little area where I grew up."  He looked around.  "Would anyone like to come with?" he asked.

 Grillby and Sai stepped forward immediately.  "We will," Sai said, cuddling the little flame-haired twins, "it would be great to show them where you grew up."  Grillby nodded in agreement.

 "Alright. We shall make a family outing out of it," Gaster said with a smile.  Reaching out, he wrapped an arm around both Sai's and Grillby's waist, propelling them forward.  "Watch and be amazed," he told the rest of the group.  The rest of the group looked unsettled and worried, watching as they walked on.

 Together, they stepped over the outer rim of the ring, stepping through the portal.

 The magic felt like cold water, Sai realized as she shivered.  It felt cold and heavy, drawing her deeper into the magical depths.  Still, Gaster confidentially propelled them on, heading towards a tiny light and the end of the tunnel.

 It was only when the three of them stepped onto snow instead of the tiled floor of the lab that the realization of what they just accomplished hit them.  Gone was the lab, gone was the mansion.  A dense forest surrounded them, the tops of the trees unable to be made out in the artificial ceiling.  Birds were singing, but other than their slight sounds, the forest was silent.  "It's so peaceful," Sai whispered.  Corbel and Ignatius looked around, cooing softly, feeling their parents' wonder.  "Wow," Sai whispered again, "you really did it!  You really did it!"  The twins giggled and waved their fists in excitement, following their mother's tone.  If she was happy this had to be good! Gaster grinned and pulled them all in for a gigantic hug, absolute joy seen on his face.  He could support the entire world and make it a better place for their children.  For their children's children!  He would be a hero...

 The crackling and hissing of failing magic popped the feeling of elevation.  Slowly the three of them, the twins clutching tightly to Sai's sweater, turned around to look at the portal.

 The portal sparked and fizzled behind them before dying completely.  Gaster and Grillby stared at the vast emptiness, before looking down to Sai.  Her eyes wide, she clutched the twins closer to her.  "No… why… what happened?”

"I do not know…” Gaster responded looking paler than before.  Grabbing his phone he began to punch numbers into his phone, trying to reach the main computer.  "None of my tests… none of the outcomes calculated this.  It was supposed to be stable.”

"Yeah well, it isn’t!  And now we are stuck here, in God-knows-where!” Sai spat at him, anger consuming her conscious.  Gaster had been so confident in his machine and now this happened? It was the cry of one of the twins that brought her back.  "It’s ok… we’ll find our way back… somehow.” she promised them, ignoring Gaster’s worried look.

Grillby mentioned to the ground.  'Fresh tracks, about the same size as Sai.  Shall we follow?  They might lead to shelter or some way out.’

"Good, someone at least has an idea.” Sai snipped, still angry, causing Gaster to flinch.  Stomping along, she lead the way through the forest, carrying the twins close to her.  She knew that she was being unfair to Gaster, he hadn’t gotten them stuck her on purpose, but she couldn’t stop the venom flowing from her mouth.

They walked for what seemed like hours, the trees blending into one continuous loop.  Sai could feel her patience slowly begin to run out as they continued on.  Grillby, however, was looking everywhere, puzzled.  "What is so interesting about the trees?” Sai finally demanded

‘It’s just… this seems so familiar…’ Grillby signed.  'Familiar but backwards…’

"Backwards?” Gaster asked, now also looking around.  "Yes… I see what you mean…”

"Then could someone fill me in?” Sai asked, more and more annoyed.  The twins were cold and hungry, some shelter would be nice, as would a nice portal home.

Gaster looked at her.  "This is like the Undertale where Grillby and I originally came from, but there are some unique differences.  Like things have swapped places…”

"Swapped?” Sai asked, eyes questioning.  So they weren’t even in the right area?  She was about to ask more when a branch snapped in front of them.  

The three of them froze, looking up at each other before slowly turning to the noise.

The person in front of them was slightly smaller than Sai they noticed immediately.  Dressed in a pair of jeans and a purple parka, she stared back at them, her breath fogging her glasses.

Hiding her brilliant blue eyes and curls.

“BUCKY!!!!” Sai screamed, handing the twins off to her mates and launching herself at her friend.  Bucky stumbled back to catch Sai, almost falling backwards as Sai sobbed into her shoulder.  "Oh, thank stars it’s you!  We’ve been walking for hours and hours!  Gaster’s machine fucked up and sent us to the middle of nowhere and we weren’t sure how we were going to get home, but you seemed to have found us ok, thank Asgore!  The twins are hungry and cold and I’ve been a total bitch and hangry…“ the words tumbled from her mouth.

Bucky blinked and gently patted her back, letting Sai cry and sniff.  Finally, it was only Sai’s shoulders that were shivering.  "Hey now, don’t cry.” she smiled at Sai, offering her a tissue.  "Your face will freeze if you continue.“ she shot that familiar smile.

Sai sniffed and gratefully took the tissue, wiping her eyes.  "Uh.  You’re right as usual, Bucky.” she sniffed, wiping her nose.  "What would I do without you?“

Bucky smiled at her.  "Well, here’s the thing… I’m not exactly sure how you know me, but I’m always happy to be of help,” she said.

Ice froze Sai’s stomach as she stared at Bucky over the tissue.  Bucky… Bucky didn’t recognize her?  But… “How?  You are literally…”

“How curious…” Gaster said, pulling out his glasses and staring at Bucky, eye lights flickering as he scanned her, paying close attention to her cheek.

“hmm…. mind filling us in on what’s so curious, doc?” a familiar husky voice asked.

“and why you guys are bothering our mate?” a slightly deeper voice asked.

Orange arms appeared from the fog, wrapping around Bucky’s hips.  Two tall and lanky Papyruses hovered over her, cigarettes in their teeth, orange eye lights scanning the intruders.  One dressed in an orange pullover, the other dressed in an orange and black hoodie.  "they seem to know you, Buck,“ Stretch chuckled, nuzzling to her cheek, still watching them closely.

"or perhaps they confuse you for someone else,” Bee suggested, kissing her cheek.

[deepfearsrp]

hello everyone! we hope that your week is going well so far, and we’re so excited to share our next site preview with you all: our member groups!

given our hollywood theme and focus on celebrities, deep fears’ member groups are all inspired by constellations. below, you will find six member groups, each made up of a different cluster of personality types the same way that stars in the night sky make up the constellations they were named for. we wanted to give you all a solid mix of traits and aesthetics, so that you don’t feel confined of the rigidity of one personality type per group, and can instead select based on which suits the general vibe of who your character is

so, without further ado, here they are! ✨

AQUILA - THE EAGLE // #e79d79

associated traits

 impatient / sociable / reckless / original / unpredictable  passionate / competitive / sensitive / emotional / bold

associated aesthetics

entire text messages composed of emojis / dozens of carefully curated playlists / the exhaustion that comes from trying to act like nothing actually matters / stacks of self-help books and motivational podcasts / half full cups of coffee left strewn about a kitchen / those frantic few moments before remembering where a car was parked / late night internet stalking even though blue light is bad for the eyes / friendships that span time and space / loyalty that is more a part of the anatomy than the very skeleton / the paranoia of being watched

COLUMBA - THE DOVE // #828ae4

associated traits

observant / impractical / enthusiastic / unassertive / idealistic  / unfocused / easy-going / inconsistent / inspirational / shy 

associated aesthetics

the twinkle of fireflies that can be mistaken for stars during summer nights / the drag of fingertips across granite countertops / a sink full of dishes that will be attended to eventually / half full notebooks from years ago, stored in the back of a closet / silly little trinkets that still decorate a room because they can’t be thrown out / the awkward dance of entering a room full of strangers / licking the spoon to savor the taste / sheet forts made first as a child and then as an adult to keep the monsters at bay / the assured knowledge that everything will be okay even if nothing is / beautiful words read aloud by a soothing voice 

DRACO - THE DRAGON // #a874e4

associated traits

dedicated / manipulative / intelligent / selfish / creative / inflexible / protective / judgmental / resourceful / uptight

associated aesthetics

a book light perched on the edge of the bed for late night reading / the serenity of morning mist settling over the grass / silk sheets that scream of money / the flash in a lover’s eyes / tiny gestures that move mountains / the rhythmic clack of high heels on tile / diamonds draped around a delicate neck / the damaged antique chair that remains in the corner of the room / hands permanently clenched into fists / the heaviness of sleep pushed aside / insatiable restlessness that always beckons

LACERTA - THE LIZARD // #5ce59c

associated traits

imaginative / capricious / insensitive / energetic / confident /  aloof / perfectionist / independent / absent-minded / intuitive 

associated aesthetics

keys thrown onto the counter, right underneath the hook / hurried shopping lists, half complete, written in three different inks / hair whipping around going 95 miles on the freeway / a messy room with everything in a very specific place / the five seconds it takes for any space to become covered in papers / walking away in frustration, only to return moments later / tearing out a sheet of paper and starting over because there was a mistake in pen / the delicate balance of caring too much and caring too little / the persistent thoughts of 3am musings / copies of nietzsche tucked next to a.a. Milne

MONOCEROS - THE UNICORN // #ec73c1

associated traits

independent / flaky / curious / self-absorbed / altruistic / defensive / decisive / argumentative / insightful / oblivious

associated aesthetics

brightly colored syrups that do nothing to a drink but add color / dedication to a specific aesthetic online / the smoke left behind after a fireworks show / teasing touches on the back of the neck / the soothing sound of rushing water over rocks / pink and orange clouds as the sun is sinking below the horizon / birds chirping early in the morning outside bedroom windows / rolling green hills that fade into forests / longing for whimsy that cannot be manufactured / color coordinated closets

PEGASUS - THE WINGED HORSE // #dfd075

associated traits

hard working / stubborn / charming / non-confrontational / fortunate / insecure / approachable / passive-aggressive / caring / controlling

associated aesthetics

dimmed fairy lights draped over a pale wall / seasonal decorations that stay out year round / the drag of soft fabrics across the cheek / the near tangible warmth that comes with holiday baking / mismatched socks thrown haphazardly in a bin / cuddling on the couch in the middle of the afternoon / the dull ache in the spine from standing too long / the iron taste of blood from biting the cheek too hard / the quiet victory of holding a winning poker hand / the buzz of energy that accompanies a new project

[achievingelysium]

Legacies

A remix of One Day by @rage-crystals​; written for the VLD Fanfic Remix 2017.

by: achieving elysium [main blog] summary: On the edge of the crater, Alfor stands with Zarkon. He can see glory a lion will bring, can taste the blood of battle, bitter on his tongue. In his hands—in their hands—rests a universe ripe for the taking. 

There is no room for fear, he thinks. And between him and Zarkon, there is none.

The story of a king told in eight parts.

notes: this was written pre-s3 and features ambiguous relationships as well as Zarkon/Alfor. AO3 Link.

King is a heavy title, but Alfor bears it well.

It’s one he takes on with no hesitation. He is born to be one—it’s written in the stars—and so a king Alfor is.

He dismisses Coran and listens for the sound of the door shutting before he crosses over to the tall mirror on the wall. On the table, Coran’s left his crown and cape.

Alfor fastens the cape first, a deep blue the color of water. The colors seem to shift in shadow. Then he fits his crown on his head, considering himself in the mirror for a moment.

“You are a king,” he tells his reflection. His eyes bore back into him, and Alfor smiles.

The party has only just begun when Alfor sweeps in. Still, he’s the last royal to arrive; the other four stand as he takes slow, measured steps, each one the epitome of regality.

“Ah, Alfor,” Zarkon says. He extends a hand, and Alfor grips it, grinning.

Zarkon doesn’t smile back — no, the Galra never show much emotion, but there’s a pleased look in his eye.

“Zarkon,” he replies. “You are too kind. Three quintants, and still we are feasting like the kings we are.”

“Indeed,” the High Priestess says. “Truly, I thank you.”

“I do not want to be an ungracious host,” Zarkon says smoothly. He gestures at the table filled with dish after dish of delicacies, and Alfor takes his seat to Zarkon’s right.

Halfway through dinner, there’s an unsettled murmuring of their guests. When Alfor looks up, he catches the tail end of a meteor, sparking bright as it tears through the atmosphere.

He sets down his fork as blue flame bursts across the sky. Alfor can feel it calling to him — there is something different about this night.

“We should go see where it lands,” he suggests, not worried about overstepping his boundaries as he puts a hand on Zarkon’s arm. Alfor smiles brightly at him. “The universe is calling for us.”

Across the table, the High Priestess of Qataar nods.

“I, too, hear its call,” she says, voice low.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Lwain's king says.

Zarkon rises from the head of the table, and the entire hall goes silent.

"Then you do not have to go," he says, his voice carrying a sense of finality. Alfor stands with him, and so does the High Priestess.

"Come," Zarkon says, beckoning, so they follow.

They take a small but spacious pod, the ship silent as it glides over the land. Alfor keeps his eyes trained on the meteor, watching it draw closer and closer.

When it hits the ground, the entire world shakes. They stop for a moment; his ears are ringing, and his bones feel rattled. But there is an energy in the air he cannot ignore.

"Quickly," he says, and Zarkon straightens in his seat. "We have to see it."

The three of them stand together around the meteor. It’s enormous, easily the size of Alfor’s ballroom. And more than anything, Alfor finds it beautiful — black as ink, and dotted with gold flecks like the stars in the night sky.

“We need to do something about this,” Zarkon says. “I cannot have this on my planet without touching it.”

Alfor steps forward and runs his fingers over the surface. It thrums with potential, and in his mind, he thinks he hears a lion’s roar.

He turns to Zarkon.

“We should make it into a lion.”

“I beg your pardon,” the High Priestess interrupts. “A lion? And how do you propose to do that? I have seen your lions — they are not nearly the size of this rock. And what would be the purpose of said lion?”

But one look at Zarkon reveals that they share the same thoughts.

“It will be a war machine,” Zarkon says. “Capable of destroying planets.”

Capable, he thinks, of bringing the universe to its knees. Capable of harnessing his beloved stars themselves. Capable of war, yes, but also of peace.

“Indeed,” is his only response.

On the edge of the crater, Alfor stands with Zarkon. He can see glory a lion will bring, can taste the blood of battle, bitter on his tongue. In his hands—in their hands—rests a universe ripe for the taking.

The High Priestess takes a step back, fear lining her movements.

There is no room for fear, he thinks. And between him and Zarkon, there is none.

ii.

The Meteor Lion is Altea’s most beautiful creation. Black and silver, with glints of red. Alfor even crowns him in gold, shaping it until it is a Lion fit for a king.

“Soon,” he promises Zarkon.

When the time comes, Alfor steps forward, followed by a set of his trusted friends. Coran hovers anxiously, but stays back in the distance as Alfor calls for the process to begin.

They fill the Lion with quintessence, and Alfor spirals into his magic. He is in his body yet not; energy pulses beneath his hands, and after a moment, he begins to think it sounds like a heartbeat.

He and his people stumble backwards, and Coran rushes to him, gripping his arm.

“Alright?”

Alfor doesn’t answer, staring hungrily up at the Lion, waiting for his creation to come to life. The entire world seems to hold its breath. Far away, from a castle balcony, he knows Zarkon is waiting, too.

And then the Lion raises to his feet and lets out a roar that tears through him. Alfor falls to his knees, victory ringing in his ears.

After a few moments, Zarkon is there, too, kneeling with him. Alfor raises his eyes to his friend.

“The Meteor Lion will bond with a pilot who is a strong leader and whose people will follow without question,” he whispers. “It’s so no one else can pilot it but you, Zarkon.”

Yes, yes, the stars sing. Zarkon, pilot of the Black One, emperor. History calls for you.

It is the first time Alfor sees Zarkon smile.

“Thank you, Alfor,” he says. “I am in your debt.”

Four other meteors follow the first, as if it is a chain reaction that starts with the black one. The second one falls to Altea, the third to Qataar, the fourth to Olkari, and the last to Lwain.

Alfor is travelling when he hears the news and orders his ship to turn. Not home, to Altea—but instead to Galra.

“If that’s not a sign from Divinity, I don’t know what is,” he says excitedly, pressing forward. “Five meteors, each landing on the most influential planets of our generation. Five meteors—we can create a super-weapon, five Lions to form one.”

“We’ve got a theme going with the Meteor Lion,” the Qataaran High Priestess said. “Can we even still call it that? They’d all be meteor lions. Anyway, the— Galra Lion, it’s got leadership qualities— Alfor, could you use your divine powers to give the other meteor lions traits for the ultimate super soldier? There are five. It can’t be too difficult. And they’d need to work in tandem, too.” She trailed off. “There is so much to think about in this situation. It is unprecedented in all of our histories.”

“Indeed,” the Olkari representative said. “I propose calling them different colors for simplicity. Ours shall be the Green lion, for the mighty forest we found its meteor in. I believe they all should have unique powers, such as land, and forest, and fire. So on.”

Zarkon rubbed his hands together.

“The pilots should be able to defend themselves, in case their Lions fall.”

Alfor gritted his teeth. The Lions were to be infallible, and as one, they would reach levels the universe had never seen before. There was no need.

“Alfor, you should be able to make weapons that echo our souls, right?”

“That’s your expertise, not mine,” he says finally. “And the Lions won’t fall.”

The High Priestess stares at the sky.

“We’ll call it Voltron,” she announces decisively. “After the angel.”

Voltron, harbringer of death — but also protector of those who were brave enough to ask. A fitting name.

“Voltron,” he says, lifting his face to the sky. “Voltron.”

iii.

Later finds him and Zarkon alone on the balcony, staring at the stars.

“There’s so much hanging on this,” he says. “Imagine, Zarkon. A universe united in peace that we will create.”

He can see it. Blood may stain his hands, but in the end, the universe will be at peace.

“It’s beautiful,” he finishes.

Zarkon’s eyes gleam with his vision. He doesn’t respond to Alfor, instead deep in thought. He’s a dreamer, too—both of them are.

“I’ll make the weapons,” he says. “And once the Lions are completed, we’ll form Voltron—head, arms, and legs.”

Alfor raises his eyebrows but smiles. “And who’ll be the torso?”

Zarkon shrugs.

“The same person who’s the head, I guess. Which planets will be which parts, do you think?”

He leans against the railing, considering it for a moment.

There is a part of him that hungers to be the leader, but he knows that even as a king, he cannot be the head. No—

“You’re the first, and you will be the intellectual and leader of Voltron. So you should be the head at the seat of power,” Alfor says.

Zarkon is far better than him; he carries a drive and determination that Alfor trusts will lead them far.

“I’ll be your right hand man, the arm. Olkari will be the left, and the other two will be the legs.”

“You should be fire,” Zarkon muses. “Bright and burning, like you. Instinct, gut feelings—soldiers need that. And you’ll be red, and Qataar will be blue, like water, fluid and faithful. A leg. Lwain, too—they’ll be the support.”

Alfor sees brightness burning in Zarkon’s eyes, and he realizes that he will follow him anywhere.

“And you?” he says softly.

Zarkon turns to him. The dim light spilling from the room casts half his face in shadow, but Alfor chooses to study the brightness.

“I’ll be the sky,” Zarkon says after a moment. He doesn’t seem to realize it, but his voice, too, has gone soft. “Black — for sky and space and its endlessness.”

They have been kings and brothers for a long time, but suddenly, in this moment, Alfor wants more.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing burning words on his tongue. “We’ll defend the universe.”

Zarkon only stares out at his home, silence resounding as his answer.

iv.

The first time they form Voltron, Alfor’s mouth fills with the taste of blood, coppery and strange. Then he laughs, because they’ve done it; they’ve finally, finally done it.

And it’s not just him. It’s all of them—a team.

No secrets. No hidden agendas. Only trust and family.

Suddenly their bond extends deeper than any of them expect it to. Suddenly they are all one, and Alfor’s thoughts aren’t his own.

A lingering thought from their Blue Paladin, Cellie, catches on a snag in his mind and doesn’t let go.

Alfor snaps back into his mind as Voltron drifts apart again. The others are celebrating, laughter faint through the comms, but he’s left with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Cellie is in love with Zarkon.

He thinks of his nights spent together with Zarkon, pinning his heart to his sleeve and waiting to be noticed. And as it turns out, he is not the only one.

Alfor does the only thing he can.

He copies the Galra and buries his feelings until they become the ghost of a dream. He watches Zarkon fall in love. Watches the way his eyes go soft, listens to him when he speaks about his girl like she’s the only other person in the universe.

Zarkon’s not blinded by love, of course. He still hungers for more, but the sharpness that comes with him is soothed by Cellie’s waters.

Alfor settles.

Marries childhood friend Alladosia—and when she confesses to him that she only loves him as a friend, Alfor presses his lips to her forehead and closes his eyes.

Still, they provide Altea with an heir. Allura is a brilliant star in the midst of darkness. She awakens in him a father and a sense of wonder at how the entire universe has managed to manifest in such a small thing.

“Would you like to hold her?” Alladosia asks, bouncing Allura in her arms. Zarkon hesitates, but then he gently takes Allura in his huge hands, scooping her up and treating her like she is a piece of glass to be broken at any second.

“She’s beautiful,” Zarkon says, and his eyes are bright as he peers at Allura. His voice is warm and full, and Alfor feels something in him twist. She should be their child.

Alladosia lays a hand on his arm, her eyes dark.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs to her as they step back slightly, keeping Allura in sight but moving out of earshot. He touches her face. “You are— dear to me.”

“As are you to me,” Alladosia says, “which is why you need to let go. Loving him hurts you.”

Alfor turns his face to the ground, bitter. Distantly, he hears Allura gurgling with laughter.

“I know,” he says. “I just— can’t.”

 Alladosia leaves a gaping crater in Alfor that begs to be filled.

Only a month has passed since she has passed, yet Alfor feels like he’s been in some sort of dream. He locks himself up most days, finding solace in Allura. He pleads with the universe to bring her back, to give him someone who will love him and stand by his side.

The universe answers.

Not with his wife, but in Zarkon, his hand on Alfor’s shoulder as he leads him back to his chambers.

“I’m sorry,” Zarkon says when they reach the doors. “I know what she meant to you.”

There is grief lodged in his throat. Alfor blinks back his tears, trying not to think of the pink shroud Alladosia had been burned in. The smell of smoke still clings to his clothes, and suddenly he is desperate to get rid of them.

“Alfor?” Zarkon says when he is silent.

He is not quite in his right mind, he realizes. But he needs—he needs someone to piece him together, needs to forget his grief and his aching loneliness, so Alfor shuts the doors behind Zarkon and watches the room go dark.

Then he kisses Zarkon, desperate and numb.

“Alfor,” Zarkon says.

“Please, Zarkon,” he whispers.

Zarkon drops to his knees, eyes dark as he looks up at Alfor. He looks like he’s praying at the feet of a temple when he rests a hand on Alfor’s knee, hesitating.

“No secrets between Voltron,” Zarkon murmurs, repeating Alfor’s old words.

“This one will be fine,” Alfor says.

 Things change.

It’s inevitable, of course. Alfor drifts in and out of reality, caught in between his emotions and his duty as a king and paladin of Voltron. There is no rest for him—always more meetings and fights and not a moment alone.

He’s not doing well, he knows.

When the others ask him to stop piloting the Red Lion, the fog that has seeped into his mind disappears.

“I’ll be better,” he promises, and his voice is desperate as he stares at Zarkon. Leader, he calls him most days. Lover, if he feels brave enough. “I will.”

“Very well,” Zarkon says, “but if this is a problem again, I do not want you near the Red Lion. Understood?”

Losing the Red Lion is losing a friend. Losing the Red Lion is losing a family. Losing the Red Lion is— is losing Zarkon.

“Understood,” Alfor whispers.

The two of them are different people now, but still their paths converge.

“Thank you, Zarkon,” Alfor says when they stop outside Zarkon’s quarters.

Zarkon opens the doors. “It’s what friends do.”

 vii.

Footsteps pound through the hall.

“Alfor!”

He stops, and Coran grabs his shoulder as he pants.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Not a moment later, the alarms begin to ring. He turns in a circle, his first thought of Allura, his second of Zarkon.

“Alfor,” Coran says. “He’s gone.”

“Who?”

Coran grips his shoulder tighter. “Zarkon.”

The alarms continue to blare, but they fade away. Alfor rocks back and forth on his feet for a moment, unsteady, before it sinks in.

“I don’t understand,” he says, mind racing. “What… what do you mean?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him,” Coran says frantically. “I knew we couldn’t trust him. I knew, I knew… and the look on his face, oh, I’m such a fool—”

“Your Majesty!” someone interrupts, racing down the hall. “A Burn Worm… outside the Castle…”

Alfor feels his face drain of color and warmth. Burn Worms are deadly creatures of destruction, and to have one here on Altea, where their grasses are plentiful and now burning—

“Prepare the Castle defenses,” he snaps. “And evacuate the people. I’ll send for Voltron.”

Coran catches his arm again. “Alfor, you aren’t listening to me.”

Alfor whirls, thinking of his people, screaming, burning—

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. His voice is loud to his ears, and in it he hears denial of the one fact he has been sure of, perhaps, since the beginning.

“It doesn’t matter!” he bellows, like he’s trying to prove something. Desperate.

“Alfor,” Coran says, and his voice is soft this time. His eyes are warm.

“My friend,” Alfor says, and he hears his voice strain and crack. “Do what you must. I will see you… I will see you on the other side.”

Coran studies him for a moment and then bows.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he says before turning and sprinting down the hall. Alfor stares at his retreating back and wonders how many friends he will lose today.

 viii.

His kingdom is breaking at the seams.

Alfor hasn’t slept in… a while, he thinks. He’s not sure. His people live, but they live in fear of what Zarkon—emperor, as he calls himself these days—will do. He’s already sent many of them off-planet, shuttled to Altea’s allies.

“Are you sure, Alfor?” Coran says in the quiet moments. He’s binding a wire around Alfor’s wrist; there are already many attached to his head and along his chest.

It feels like there’s a storm waiting.

“I’m sure,” he says, and Coran nods.

The process doesn’t take very long. It’s simple and painless. He blinks, and then it’s over. All of his memories, everything he is, stored here on the holodeck.

“You will not tell Allura about this,” Alfor instructs as they unattach all the wires from his body. “Not until the time is right.”

“Surely—”

“No,” he says sharply. “She will know.”

Coran worries at his lip. “Know what?”

Alfor fixes his cloak as he stalks towards the doorway. There is no time to spare—Zarkon will be here soon, and Alfor must face him.

“I will not see her again,” he says, and the words are the most painful ones he’s ever spoken. “Coran, I— I want both of you in cyrosleep.”

Coran wrenches his shoulder back, and they stare at each other. “No.”

“You must,” Alfor begs, letting his walls crumble. “It is the only way. If Allura lives, so does Altea—today and tomorrow and years from now. And she is going to need someone by her side.”

His eyes burn, and Alfor turns his face away.

“It will not be me,” he chokes out, “but I know you love her as much as I do, and you will protect her with your life. And—”

Alfor touches Coran’s shoulder. “I want you to live,” he whispers. “You have been… you have been a dear friend to me, Coran. I am sorry I never told you, and that I did not appreciate you enough. You have always been here.”

Coran’s lips are pressed together and trembling, but he nods.

Alfor draws his sword and looks into it.

A tired man stares back at him.

“Tell her I love her,” he says, “and that I… I will see her soon.”

He has no words left to say. Alfor has lost in terrible ways: the screams of the dying haunt his dreams, his planet is almost decimated, and Zarkon rules an empire now.

But he has also won. The Lions are locked away, hidden safely. His daughter and best friend are safe.

The universe will find a way to rise up. It always does. All Alfor needs to do is give them a fighting chance.

Coran stares into his face. He has nothing left to say, either—they have spoken all the words they need to, and the ones left unspoken Alfor carries in his breast.

So Coran presses his fingers to his lips and then bows.

“Coran,” Alfor says.

“King Alfor,” he replies. When Coran leaves, he will be carrying hope in his arms.

They are the last words they will ever say to each other.

The crown the king keeps, but the emperor takes his throne. 

[mistfox]

The Little Dryad

A warm summer’s breeze blew gently through the willows as it reached the neck of the small girl lying below. Her eyes closed deep in thoughtful sleep as her memories danced around her mind in the form of dreams. Light shone down from the ever-present sun that sat high in the sky at this reoccurring time known as noon, a fact as it were, the sun always shines down at noon. The breeze was small and did little to ruffle the little ones short red hair. Instead the neatly kept strands just lay softly against the grass with the rest of her head. Cushioned tightly within that hair sat two small antlers that jutted strait out of her head, they were brown, as antlers were, and made the little dryad very distinguishable from human children. Of course that was not the only difference between a dryad child and a human one; however it is the only physical one. Surely if one were to stick around for a short while after she woke they would notice quite a few interesting separations between Dryad and Human. Then, after a fairly decent amount of invaluable time, the little one opened her eyes. She was awake once more, although nothing changed in response other than the grass she had lay upon returning to its original shape as she rose. With a stretch and a barely audible yaaawwwnnnn the precious being viewed her surroundings. Nothing had changed it particular. The grass was still a dim green, the wolf sized rock that she had regularly sat on when she was younger, okay still sits on, had barely shed a pebble. What was she to do today? One could possibly come up with large list of possible activities; however there was only one thing that the little Dryad had in mind to do that day. She was going to visit the Village. It was a daunting thought really. A Dryad visit a human village? Something like that could end quite in catastrophe. It wasn’t that the humans did not know of Dryads, there were perfectly aware, it’s that they did not have very good relations. Upon closer examination, it is not too difficult to understand why.  A Dryad spends their days in absolute harmony with the nature they were born from. From womb to tomb they are irrefutably connected on an intimate level with the earth itself. This leaves them with quite the large range of abilities that Humans no doubt lust for and would abuse to the fullest greedy extent if they could. Amongst these abilities include a calming effect on animals and animalistic life. This is something a Dryad uses often and this particular one is no exception. There hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t made a playful puppy out of a local dire wolf; it is one of her favorite things to do. Humans, in contrast, are rather dull and uninteresting when compared to other aspects of nature, at least, from a Dryad’s point of view. This is one of the many reasons most of the woodland beings tend to avoid places of Human habitation, although boredom is the least of a Dryad’s concerns when it comes to dwelling next to humanity. Human beings are notorious for being destructive ungodly creatures, constantly hunting the wildlife in excess and mindless cutting down the trees that used to dot the landscape so vibrantly. Although one could argue that it is a necessity that humans do these things in order to survive. However, it is the purposeless excess that makes a Dryad question humanities so called “need” to perpetrate these sins. All it takes is a simple glance in the direction of one of the larger human constructs to see humans covered in fur. Fur. Fur is something that animals use to keep warm during the harsh winter nights the plague the landscape during the frosty season. Humans lack these warm coverings and thus resort to murdering local fauna and tearing off their skin for materials to weave their garments. Once more, one could argue necessity. However, it is when humans purposely hunt specific creatures such as the beaver as means to glorify and “decorate” their worn materials that Dryad’s start to see the death that lies in humanities soul. Pointless massacre for nothing but pleasure and pride is something not seen in nature. This would lead some Dryad’s to see humans as outside of nature, an invading force bent on corrupting and ruining the world. But, that is ahead of what is currently taking place. This Dryad here, this small girl, she knows nothing of humanity. She has only seen the smoke from their fires. She has only heard their cries of celebration during one of their self-proclaimed holidays and she has only dwelled on the thought of what they could possibly be, what kind of creatures they are…she yearns to know. And she is going to find out. Smoke bellowed out from their chimneys as per usual. This is something that she had seen all the time, however it had always been from a distance. Walking into the village felt very odd, so out of place in these woods were the square constructions that these humans had erected. They had stone bases, neatly chiseled down so that they lay flat against the cold soil, whilst the humans placed rugs of woven cotton or furs down upon the top part of the rock so that they did not feel cold when stepping upon it. Accompanying these universally used bases was a wide array of possible formats. Most structures were four room homes with sturdy wooden walls surrounding the edges of the base flooring, blocking any chance of wind disturbing ones rest. There are other types of buildings within the settlement as well, some quite unique. Take for example the Blacksmith, this construction has the stone base as much as anything else, but the wooden walls placed along the edges were coated in a fine gel that negated any chance of the wood igniting into fire. There was also of course the very obvious difference of a patio being present in the front, however this was not for leisure, but for work, as anvils lined up against a large stone furnace that smoldered and churned with controlled heat and flame. Metalworking is something that Dryad’s typically shy away from, although it is one of the least disruptive activities to do involving nature, it is still seen as odd by many of the Dryads. There was another oddly shaped construct sitting in the center of town. This one was longer and wider than the others, its wood elegantly carved with runic scribbling’s that humans use to control the natural forces of magic within the realm. Through shining window panes the little dryad could see books lining neatly kept shelves along an erected wall of rare elder wood. Books were an interesting concept to her, the idea that knowledge could be etched down onto paper fashioned from plant fibers was intriguing to say the least. Dryads have no books, no commonly passed down facts or stories other than a few notable legends they would tell to one another. This is likely due to the fact that Dryads commonly live alone or in a tight nit family group, never a settlement or large home. Finally, there was the large towering spire that sat on the northern edge of the village. This spire reached the tops of the trees and had a small home resting at the bottom of it. The little dryad assumed correctly that this was the Town Hall, a place where the humans would gather for meetings and set up laws. Yet another interesting human concept, Laws. Laws do not exist in Nature, not by human standards at least. There were the Laws of Nature, the natural order of things that could not be accurately explained to an outsider. The way a wolf would stalk the weaker deer of the herd, the method in which a rabbit discerns what plants it should and should not consume. What should be destroyed, and what should stand. This was the way things were, these are facts, and yet… Humans exist outside of Nature. This becomes evident the more the Dryads watched them, and the Little One is no exception. She too could quite easily tell that these beings could not feel the pull of the earth below them, they could not see the soul within a deer’s eyes, they cannot sense when a fern is going to seed, or if it is the springtime when all creatures of maturity should be mating. They could certainly come up with devices and fancy constructs to aid them in predicting the events of nature, a calendar to know the seasons, a thermometer to detect the air, or a clock to know the time. But they cannot feel it. This fact alone is enough to view the humans in an antagonistic light, unnatural, cursed, evil. However, they seemed so…normal. The Little Dryad watched as two young human children danced among the leaves freshly fallen from an uprooted tree. One child was female, she wore a small red dress of cotton and had her short brown hair entangled on the top of her head in a knot. The other was a male, he wore a cotton shirt dyed a shade of brown that matched the wood of the tree he danced by. In sharp contrast, he also wore bright red pants, however these ended up matching the fallen leaves from the downed maple. Her diligence and devoted attention to these younglings did not go unnoticed by their parents, who eyed the Dryad untrustingly. Such racism was not uncommon; Dryad’s are very mysterious creatures after all. They typically stick to the deep forest like glue, rarely venturing out to human settlements. This has led to many rumors, such as ones of kidnapped children or cannibal monstrosities. Of course these are dismissed by those of rational thought, though rational thought amongst Humans is a rather rare trait. It wasn’t long thereafter that a fire started, it was as the Little Dryad was attempting to exit the village which led to her immediate accusel. Any individual who had any basic understanding of Dryad philosophy would have known that the Woodland Beings have an aversion to fire, and would never start one of their own accord. However, as previously stated, Rationality amongst Mankind is all too rare. As a result of this accusation the Little Dryad was forced to flee back into the Forest, but was then immediately perused by those who would rather be satisfied with a petty vengeance then put out the fires currently revenging their homes. The Forest is not kind to intruders. The thorns tore the leggings of the stubborn lynch mob and the nettles stung the exposed arms of those attempting to brush past the low-bearing branches. The Little Dryad was confused and afraid, so the Forest responded to that. No Human would be allowed to pursue this Child into the safety of her own dwellings. As the thorns fell upon the foolish Humans, the nearby Wolves descended even faster. Ravenous in their first for the blood of those who had hunted their lands dry of game, they tore into flesh. Blood for Blood as the cycle of Nature goes, and the Little Dryad, the previously ignorant Little Dryad, learned the valuable lesson to avoid humanity forever.            

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Jen you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Greta Catchlove!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Your application was such a beautiful thing to discover in our inbox! We’re so blessed that you found us in the tag and that you decided to apply because your interpretation of Greta was so wonderfully thought through and written. I loved all of the little details you decided to put in, from your head-canons about her childhood and family life, to the playlist and moodboards you made, expanding on her traits to fully flesh out her character and your interpretation of it for us! I was sold before I even got to the in-character questionnaire. And then with your para sample, I loved how you expanded on how how the war has changed her -- I think all too often the impact of war on a character can be glossed over, but you fully expanded on how it applies to her in particular, and that was beautiful to see! *your faceclaim change has been accepted!

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hi! I’m Jen, I’m 22 and British so my timezone is GMT. I prefer she/her pronouns

ACTIVITY

I’m in two other roleplays but working days means I have my evenings to myself so it’s relatively easy for me to get on and do replies at least once every two days, so I’d give myself a 6 or a 7 for activity.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I search the lsrp tag every now and again and that’s where I found your promo!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

This is such a tough one to me because they’re all so near and dear to my hearts. If you were asking me to pick a favourite then it would be a tie between the twins and Ginny but as for which one I relate to most I would probably have to go for Mrs Weasley. Family is hugely important to me and I think that being open and caring are two of the most important things a person can be and those are two things that she embodies and that I strive for.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nothing I can think of but I hope you enjoy my application!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Greta Elin Catchlove

FACE CLAIM

Zoey Deutch would be my preferred choice but if she’s not acceptable then I’d be happy to use Gabriella still.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

When I first saw the characters I didn’t know how I’d be able to ever choose one, so many of them called out to me. So I slept on it and in the morning the one in the forefront of my mind was Greta. There’s just so much that appeals to me about her and I couldn’t get my thoughts off this wild girl with a heart of gold. But despite her good intentions she’s flawed: thoughtless and rash there’s no thought put into anything she does and logic never factors into anything she does. She’s all heart and emotion with her head never getting a look in.

I see a naivety along with all that courage and love of life. She’s an optimist and is skilled in fooling herself that things are better than they seem with her ability to find a silver lining in any situation and I would love to exploit that in her and watch the war slowly twist her world view as she sees more and more that there’s more darkness than she ever thought and even her light might not be bright enough to avoid being dimmed or extinguished.

In my opinion, she’s the youngest child with an older brother who doted on her and parents who loved her enough to dig her out of any trouble she caused with her wildness and mischief. She’s a girl for who there has never been any repercussions, always safe despite her daring and penchant for adventure.

Her stubbornness is a real draw, I love characters who make up their mind and can’t be swayed, whether they are right or wrong. I feel like she’s even stubborn in herself, refusing to let herself grieve for those she’s lost and who made the war seem like a harsh reality instead of abstract because if she does there’s a worry that’s all she’ll be able to do such is the depth of her emotions.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Greta is pansexual and panromantic. She falls in love quickly though not always deeply and her short attention span means that her relationships are often shortlived., though not from her lack of interest in the person when it usually has more to do with her restlessness than anything they might have done wrong.

When it comes to her and ships, it’s all about chemistry for me though whoever has her in their sights will have to be prepared to handle her energy in some form or another. She falls in love easily enough but it’s making her stay that will be the challenge.

Greta identifies as female and uses she/her pronouns.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Anything I have done for Greta can be found on this little mock blog: gcatchlove.tumblr.com some of it is just reblog but there’s also things I have made specifically for her.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Something to dull fear. I feel like it stops a lot of people from living to the fullest and maybe with the edge taken off it they might be open to more new things. More daring.” There was a selfish edge to it too, when the girl who had been fearless was feeling a very real chill from the war that was going on around her. So much so that she felt the need to joke to lighten her mood again. “Or maybe something to do with cheese.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Anyone who was up for the adventure!” There’s a pause while the girl laughs, entertained by the prospect of exploring with anyone else who had the same thirst for adrenaline, someone new to get to know along the way. “As for what I’d take, maybe some rope or something, reach more hard to get to areas.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Ones that involve others. I know I make rash decisions, act first think later, but I’m ok with that when I’m the only one dealing with the consequences. I’d hate for someone else to have to deal with my mistakes.” The girl couldn’t think of anything worse than having to live with any tragic effects her actions might have cause, the inevitable weight of guilt that would no doubt ground her usual buoyant self.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

There’s a slight pause before she answers, frown furrowing her brow as she tries to pick just one thing that she hopes no one ever thinks or says of her. “That I’m cold or unfeeling. It always seems the worst way to be – like you live half a life at best or don’t live at all at worst.” Shrugging slightly “I always try not to be that so I think I’d offended if someone said it.”

WRITING SAMPLE

There’s flour on her nose again and her brunette locks look like she’s greying early from the powder that’s found its way there. The tickle of it brings her back to summers by the coast, warm days filled with running through forests or jumping off piers with cautionary calls of her parents and grandparents getting lost in the wind. The thought of it brings a little smile to her lips as she rolls out the pastry  that she thinks she could make with her eyes closed. Her grandmother had taught her the spells to make vaniljhjärta with magic but working the mixture with her own hands was what she needs to ground herself when another, more unwelcome memory surfaces to remind her that  it wasn’t that long ago that it was dust from crumbled bricks in her hair and blood on her nose from a curse fired in her direction.

There had been blood on her nose, foreign and uninvited the warmth of it anything but comforting. Red had long been her favourite colour, vibrant and bold, but the sight of it staining her fingertips after they’d been raised in a daze had made her stomach turn. It had been weeks since she’d managed to pick clothes of that colour from her wardrobe, settling for others that couldn’t possibly betray her in the same way. Yellow, blue, green, even white (though that in itself posed an issue when she no longer considered herself remotely clean or pure, too dirtied from war) had all adorned her but not red.

Once more she directs her short attention to the task at hand. Satisfied with the thickness, Greta uses a steady hand to cut the shapes necessary for the pastry. It’s always amused her the calmness that comes over her when she’s focused enough, so unusual to her and yet it’s also when she feels most at peace which is exactly what she craves when the world outside is far too chaotic for her. Adventure and excitement has always been what she craved, the things she was always searching for in her life, but she’s finding it harder and harder to let herself partake in such activities when the reality had hit far too close to home when she’d lost Max. The war had made her cautious when she’d never possessed such a trait before. She still wanted to take part, to fight for what was right, especially when she had time to make up for, but there was a fraction of a second more thought put into her actions now. While she might concede that she was rash and failed to factor others in to her impulses, Greta would never agree that she was knowingly selfish so she was going to do everything in her power to stay alive so as not to leave her parents childless, even if that care she was taking was at odds with every inch of her being.

[fullmoonfenrir-blog]

Overview

Fenrir Valter Greyback. Fenrir, in Norse Mythology, was a monstrous wolf. Valter is an Old Germanic word for “warrior”. The Greyback family were a half-blood family, his mother being pureblood and his father being a muggleborn, both of whom were of German descent and moved to England when Greyback was two years old. They were not very well known, and after Greyback was turned into a werewolf, it was assumed that the line would die with him.

Basics

Name: Fenrir Valter Greyback

Age: 35

Date of Birth: 18th November 1943

Birth Place: Cologne, Germany

Current Location: London, England

Blood Status: Half-Blood, Werewolf

Appearance

Eyes: Brown/Yellow depending on the time of month

Hair: Long, brown and matted

Height: 6ft 3inches

Weight: 220lbs

Scars: All over, everywhere

Tattoos: Upper arms, chest and back

**Important** Fenrir’s face is not very well known by the public, and only those who interrogated him when he was dragged into the Ministry in front of many wizards, including Lyall Lupin, are able to recognise him. He often wears disguises if he needs to venture out in public. He becomes more recognisable towards the end of the first war.

Extras

Boggart: The Dark.

Patronus: Bull.

Affiliation: Death Eater. Fenrir is a follower of the Dark Lord for his personal gain, rather than his belief in what the Dark Lord represents. He is siding with those he believes will give him and his pack the better chance at thriving.

Employment: Fenrir is unemployed in the tradition sense of the word. He was outed as a werewolf in 1965 when he sought revenge on Lyall Lupin and bit his five year old son, and before that worked in a dodgy bar that even those who enjoyed browsing Knockturn Alley would not dare to enter. He still spends time there.

After that act of revenge, he allied himself with the Dark Lord and though many of his pack have some sort of job, usually within the muggle world where their werewolf natures remain undetected, he is only hired for protection or murder by pureblood elders who don’t wish to get their hands dirty.

Personality Traits

grating ― irritating ― frustrating ― boring ― confusing at best ― awkward ― unreasonable ― psychotic ― disturbing ― interesting ― engaging ― affectionate ― aggressive ― ambitious ― anxious ― artistic ― bad tempered ― bossy ― charismatic ― appealing ― unappealing ― resilient   ― creative ― courageous ― determined ― dependable ― unreliable ― unpredictable ― predictable ― devious ― dim ― extroverted ― introverted ― egotistical ― gregarious ― calculating ― impulsive ―intelligent ― sympathetic ― manipulative ― up beat ― violent ― calming ― badass ― flexible

Character Associations/Aesthetics

Fenrir is the howling wind that rushes past your ears, moments before the storm rolls in. He is the low rumble of thunder that sends shivers up your spine. He is the creaking floorboards in the dark old house, that everyone tells themselves they are imagining. Fenrir is broken glass, shattered decoratively and dangerously on the ground. He is dark green and earthy brown, like the forest where he roams. He is the pale, silvery glow of the moon that shines bright against a near black sky. He is a thousand half read books and unfinished scribbling. He is a leader of those that are more than men. He is sharp teeth against flesh and blood that drips menacingly. He is the haunted house that parents warned their children not to play around. He is the rain that falls hard, drenching clothes through to skin, dragging people down. He is loyalty that flows like the magic in his blood. He is the bitter taste of black coffee that few can stomach so early in the morning. He is the strength of the old oak tree that has stood, unmoving, through every storm since it’s birth. He is the pain of a hundred knife blades piercing through skin and feels it more than he would admit. Fenrir is the nightmare that can never be completely shaken off when morning comes.

Background

Fenrir Greyback and his family originated in Germany, however, Fenrir only spent the first two years of his life there and has very little memory of the time. Born in 1943, at the height of both a wizarding war and a muggle war, things were not easy for Greyback’s mother and father. His mother was a pureblood married to a muggleborn wizard, and they were both dragged into the different wars by their families. In 1945, having had enough of the fighting and fear, they fled Germany for the safety of England. Fenrir’s mother was heavily pregnant at the time. Several months later they would realise that they needn’t have fled to England, as the wars came to an end. However, they never moved back.

How Fenrir became a werewolf is a mystery that only he knows, as the rest of his family have perished. He was a student at Hogwarts for the first four years, having been sorted into Slytherin for his ruthlessness and cunning. However, he never returned for his fifth year. The summer between his fourth and fifth year changed his life forever. Waking up late one night and spotting his nearly twelve year old sister sneaking out of the house, he climbed out of bed and followed her to drag her back inside. He followed her into the shallow woods at the end of their garden, but before he had a chance to persuade her to come back inside, a twig snapped in the distance and a werewolf appeared.

The werewolf chased both the children, and as his sister was slowest it looked as though she would be caught. Fenrir stopped and let her run ahead of him, sacrificing himself to the wolf to give her a a better chance at surviving. Hearing his children’s screams and the werewolf’s howling, their father ran out of the house with his wand and a shot gun but it was too late. The werewolf was shot but Fenrir had been all but mauled by the creature. Despite having saved his sister’s life and having it be his sister’s fault that they had been out there to begin with, once his mother had cleaned his wounds, they had kicked him out of their house and told him never to come back. He was a monster to them.

When Fenrir was fourteen and alone on the streets, he fended for himself pretty well. He couldn’t go back to Hogwarts and since opinions against werewolves were that they deserved nothing more than to be destroyed, he couldn’t share details of his affliction. It wasn’t until he had been alone and taking care of himself, breaking into homes and stealing to survive for a year, that he was found by Loren. Loren was a monstrous werewolf who hated all wizards and collected abandoned werewolves like some muggles collected stamps. He was taken into the pack, fed, clothed and taught that he was the superior species. Every werewolf in the pack had been abandoned or hunted, and all of them were violent and angry. Fenrir, quickly influenced by his new family, acted the same.

Fenrir was a fast learner and with steady meals and grooming, became twice the size, and had twice the strength and agility of any other werewolf his age. His instincts kicked in. He was able to tap into his primal werewolf urges even when the full moon had disappeared from sight for another month and soon became one of Loren’s top soldiers and most brutal murderers. He learned everything from Loren, but after many years of watching as Loren preached violence and an uprising that would put them on top and have wizards bowing at their feet, he saw nothing come of it and lost his faith in him as a leader. As he shared his thoughts, he found that some of the others felt the same. At the age of nineteen, in 1962, Fenrir and his conspirators took control of the pack and Fenrir killed Loren to become Alpha.

He allied himself with the Dark Lord when he was approached to do so. He had heard of him by this time, they all had heard of him and the darkness that had begun to descend upon Britain, but he had not expected that the Dark Lord himself would wish to engage Fenrir’s special skill set. He was not deluded in his thinking; he knew that the Dark Lord had no love for werewolves but after having decided that more numbers would be needed to help their cause, the Dark Lord made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He and his pack began working for him. While hunters still attempted to take out members of his pack, his wolves grew ambitious, daring and added steadily to their ranks with every job that was thrown their way.

In 1965, when he was twenty two, he found himself dragged into the Ministry of Magic, luckily disguised as a tramp and without his wand on him. Two muggle children had been murdered and they were questioning anyone they could find. This was the day he met Lyall Lupin, an authority on Non-Human Spiritous Apparitions who had the look of hatred and fear in his eyes when he looked at him. Fenrir knew the man suspected his true nature, where others did not, since they did not know his face at this time and he was not registered as a werewolf with the Ministry. Acting bewildered and horrified at the talk of dead children, he fooled all but Lupin who called werewolves “soulless, evil, and deserving of nothing but death”. When Lupin was ordered to leave for his comment and Greyback was apologised to, he overpowered the man who attempted to wipe his memory, released three of his incarcerated pack members and fled the Ministry. Shortly before Lyall Lupin’s son turned five, Fenrir attacked him in a revenge attempt against the man who had told him he deserved death, the man who had reminded him of his father. He laughed later on that either he would kill his son or raise a son who he hated and feared. Whether this came to pass, he never knew, but he knew that the boy survived.

By 1978 his pack had tripled in size and his name had become a terrified whisper that few parents dared to utter. However, by this time Fenrir was a father of sorts himself, caring for his pack as a family and taking in many werewolves as Loren once had. He works for the Dark Lord and his pack work for him. He still does odd protection and assassination jobs where he can and lives out in a cabin the a large forest where very few people dare to tread, due to the rumors of vicious wolves and mysterious disappearances. His violent tendencies have not subsided with age, though having been taught well, he controls them well and keeps himself hidden. He is only seen if he wants to be seen. Though his name is well known, since he attacks as a werewolf, his human human is not as easily recognised and he keeps it that way, also using basic magic to alter his features from time to time.