#Somber Wood Foes AU

[unreone]

I'M GOING INSANE I DON'T REMEMBER THEESEEE

Happy Tree Friends

Somber Wood Foes/Fiends AU

Personalities and motivations inverted

Rascal the Bandit (opposite for Russell the pirate) Frixking menacingggg

The Masked • Gothelles

Idles and Tiffy hanging out • Not so Tough, Tiffy

Wifty (Opposite Lifty) and Frankly (Opposite Shifty) are the members of Respectably Refined Readily Righteous Raccoon Rangers or RRRRRR. They don't have powers but they try their best to help apprehend criminals

Provoka and Nimble ship art request????

Mike the Comic's problem is that he talked too much everybody wishes he is mute. His joke works at the expense of others. He's the type to easily get cancelled aaaaa

[child-of-hurin]

Dark Narn AU

Recently I mentioned I had some ideas for a Dark Narn AU and @outofangband  expressed curiosity, so I decided to copypaste my notes here :)

The reason this AU was conceived was that I wanted Túrin and Nienor to get buddy buddy with Gothmog and Glaurung…. Literally my motivation for this lmao.

WORD OF WARNING:

1. This is almost 3 pages long on Gdocs 😭 2. This is actually dark, so mind yourself. CW for mentions of nonconsent, manipulation, murder, slavery, the whole nine yards and, of course, incest.

And btw, this relies on my headcanon/understanding that there were mortal slaves in Angband as well as elves.

When teenage Húrin and Huor are cornered by orcs in Brethil, they are in a dense spot. Húrin stays behind to hold the orcs while Huor runs up the hill. Huor would never have left his brother behind, but it���s a mess and he doesn’t realize what happened until he’s being carried away by other soldiers/rescuers and screaming his lungs out for Húrin, who’s pulled back by the orcs and then taken captive to Angband.

There he undergoes some brainwashing by Melkor, who, true to the essence of their Narn interactions, sees he can profit more from corruption than from killing this agent. By this point Húrin is a teen and hasn’t met Turgon yet. He breaks eventually and becomes Melkor’s champion. 

We have Húrin, and now we need Morwen. To keep the chronology, I prefer having her be captured during a raid on Emeldir’s group of refugees, when they’re migrating west to escape the Battle of the Sudden Flame; that can also have Rian either being captured as well, or escaping and following canon and marrying Huor and mothering Tuor, which I prefer for this AU (also casts a shadow on them as… replacements for the true heirs, sort of! Both having dear family members, who are also the eldest and the legitimate heirs, captured by Morgoth). Either after his brainwashing is complete, or during it, she is given to Húrin to marry as a token of Melkor’s regard: Morwen the beauty, the heir of the House of Bëor, the only fitting consort for the heir to the house of Hador, etc. Túrin is born in 464.

Lalaith is born two years later, which is a weird year because that’s when Beren and Lúthien steal one of Melkor’s silms! Angband has never been more somber, but there is talk of hope among the slaves, of which Morwen hears some, as well as the name of Beren her kinsmen who she knows and loves. She’s fiercely proud of him. But then Húrin, who is head over hells smitten with her, but who’s still wary of her loyalties, casually mentions in bed at some point that Beren was killed by Carcharoth (a lie meant to shake her/destroy any hopes of rescue), and that despite the loss of the Silmaril, Melkor is somewhat satisfied that the whole ordeal ended up dividing the elven kingdoms further apart, and confides in her about some of the plans for the following war (Unnumbered Tears).

The very next day, Morwen kills Urwen. She knows how other female thralls fare, and she knows that as soon as Húrin is dead Melkor would have no more use for them. Like canon, better dead than a thrall. To her, killing Urwen is not only a mercy, but an act of love. I think Morwen was about to end her own life too, or maybe end Túrin’s, but they caught her before she did any more. Maybe she locked herself with her children in a bedroom, ready to off all of them, and someone intervened before she could.

This sends Húrin into a rage out of despair because he really dotes on Urwen no matter the AU, and Túrin takes it all pretty hard, as he adored his sister and feels betrayed and confused. Melkor ofc enjoys the opportunity to turn Húrin even more towards him, and encourages him to get another child from Morwen to make up for the one he lost, whether she wants it or not. 

In this AU Niënor is conceived (at least) nine months before the Unnumbered and not nine months later. During all the pregnancy Morwen is watched, to make sure she won’t do anything drastic. Túrin is one of the people keeping tabs on her. Morwen names her Niënor, lamentation, and instead of being offended, Húrin laughs and says it’s an appropriate name for a warrior that shall bring woe to her foes, who will lament upon seeing her. Morwen is forbidden to be alone with Niënor and they are closely watched; as a result, they aren’t very close in this hc, as opposed to canon.  Niënor grows up being reminded that her mother wants to kill her, never wanted to conceive her in the first place.

Both Túrin and Nienor have strong mommy issues. Túrin is always keeping Morwen company and they have a very similar temper, but he tries to keep his visits a secret from Nienor. Nienor loves Túrin enormously but confronts him when she learns he still visits Morwen; also I think she sees Morwen in Túrin a little, too, because they’re so similar. It drives her mad. There’s a lot going on here with sibling competition / possessiveness / jealousy; Nienor doesn’t want Túrin to get along with Morwen, against whom she has a big grudge; she also doesn’t like that Morwen gives to Túrin the love she has always denied Niënor (according to how Niënor perceives the situation). She wants Túrin to choose her but Túrin just evades the question or gets angry and they fight. 

I like the idea of Húrin heading the fight against mortals in the Unnumbered, and him and Huor meeting on the battlefield, and killing each other. 

Túrin is crazy about Nienor, though you wouldn’t guess it by looking. Not only they’re the only mortals around who are equals and thus relatable on any level, he projects a lot of his Urwen grief on her and is very protective and possessive. There’s a lot of unresolved tension that they don’t even acknowledge. When they’re together onlookers get a feeling like there isn’t space for anyone else - though Morwen is an always-felt presence and the only crack in their bond. Túrin is stoic and reserved and his canon obsession with fighting Melkor is changed into a type of family pride. Right now I think he’s really mad that Dor-Lómin was given to the Easterlings and his mistrust of Melkor grows. He’s also concerned with the hidden elf cities, especially Nargothrond and Doriath because of their ties to the Silmaril heist. 

In this AU Túrin (and Húrin before he dies) is buddies with Gothmog who is sort of a mentor to him, and Nienor has a great friendship with Glaurung, whom she rides on sometimes, maybe into battle. 

I had considered the idea of either Túrin or Nienor meeting Gwindor by accident on the woods and goading him and fooling him, following him until they got the path to Nargothrond, while the other sibling followed them from afar. One sibling goes into the town and the other comes with the army down on them, no need for bridges I guess. Or the bridge can be deliberate sabotage. Since I like Nienor riding Glaurung, it can be Túrin who goes in, as in canon - OTOH idk how good Túrin can be with deception no matter the AU, so maybe it is Nienor... though, really, is she any better? Also, would she have a voice in council? How sexist are they? Maybe if she got Gwindor’s ear somehow��� idk, thoughts!

Anyway, Finduilas is captured and not killed, though I’m not sure how much better this is. Maybe both Túrin and Nienor take her for consort in a smoking hot, nonconsensual, incesty edain sandwich. 

I haven’t thought ahead of this yet, that’s all I have! They need to have a cool and tragic ending, though I’m still unsure how. I feel like they need to fall with Brethil, but then I’m unsure what happens. Also I really don’t want Túrin and Nienor to have a permanent falling out and dying hating each other, it’s not my thing. I feel like they need to die together, like in canon. 

Things to consider:

>> Tuor and Aerin as kin who are held captive. Do Túrin and Nienor know they exist and are there? If they do, how do they react?

>> Morwen + other mortal thralls, or maybe Morwen + having ELVISH thralls to serve her, which Melkor does to show Húrin how much he honors him bla bla. I love this concept.

>> Húrin and Gothmog banter, Gothmog warming up to the mortal once he sees him being an absolute savage in battle, Húrin and Gothmog competing to see who causes more havoc

>> Glaurung is super mean to Morwen once and that tickles Nienor so much she just gets attached to him. Nienor joking with Túrin that she rides a dragon (Glaurung) and he is ridden by one (the dragon helm of Dor-lómin)

>> Gurthang???? I think Túrin needs a black sword. I’m SUPER attached to the visuals of Nienor using an axe though.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Missed a Chapter?

Chapter 5 The Bones

Days had turned to weeks, and yet she was not back to her husband’s side welcoming him home from his daily routine, or spur of the moment missions. The home she had been taken from in the name of politics and war had changed little in her time away. It had been missed, and there had been the oddest sense of peace within her when they had first arrived. That peace had done little for the longing that had settled over her only days in. It whispered within the mornings, and it echoed within the nights, and yet she was no closer to returning to him.

Those moments she desired to return to stood forever away from her grasp as her ears rang within the screams that echoed around her.

The trip had been a simple one, and one she could have never foreseen falling so far down hill in the fire that erupted around them so traitorously. Her mother had called for her upset and wishing to see her after being unable to come to their side to welcome the New Year in a time so different from the Uchiha’s traditions. She had come reluctantly, and now her heartaches of what’s become of her not too long ago home.

Never would she have wished to watch such things before her. Never would she have traveled to watch it all burn and fall apart.

Lungs burned with smoke, and the slaughter around her had her glowing eyes running faster than her legs could carry her. Fingers sought to save all she could, and her heart rang loudly as the next attack shook the ground beneath her feet.

An unforeseen breakout of battle had come into the unknown village she had been plucked from with all the vexation, and torment that came with war. The innocents of her little village simply victims of circumstance. They were swept within the crossfire of a battle of Senju and Uchiha.

Wrong place, and wrong time. Neutral territory meant nothing.

Her heart clenched painfully as she lunged forward. Fist connected with the skull of a boy she knew nothing of sending him flying through the air and away from one of the thousand victims of circumstance.

She could hear the familiar earthly sounds of Wood Style, and the heat of Fire Style as it clashed around her. The arts swam through the air as she sought to take another to safety. Fingers held her tightly and she could only continue running and protecting hoping to come back to her guard she had kept at bay with orders to protect the ones she saved.

The destruction did not stop the continued attempt to run back and forth willing her legs to never stop in their ache for rest. Rose-colored strands stuck to her face as she begged and pleaded to keep moving within her head. She’s drenched in panic, and drenched in fear. The bodies and those that seek to get within her way only seek to further such knee jerk decisions. Even as she has made her way to her guard there is little calm that comes over her as she separates from the innocent she had managed to save, “Mama, any word of Papa?”

“He’s not been found yet Sakura.” her mother’s voice was strained as if the worry, and fear would spill at any moment.

“Sakura-sama I cannot allow you to continue. If anything were to happ—”

Glowing viridan are quick in meeting with those of deep rich red, “Naori-san please continue to look after them all—I know I am asking a lot.”

She turning, and she’s not listening to the voice that calls after her. Those legs of hers carry her forward refusing to listen to logic and listen to reason. Her father was still not among those making their way from the battlefield. The priority was clear and loud echoing within her mother's desperate attempt to remain composed in times gone wrong.

They would come out alive, and they would come out together. It did not matter how deep within the war torn village she had to go. Desperation would keep her moving, and keep her looking. The cuts, the bruising, and the blood that came from her wounds would hold no purpose if she did not find him. She would save all she could, and yet the selfishness in her would forever make family the priority even in times like this.

She’s not thinking things out, and her choices are but knee jerk decisions that called forth her original decisions—to bring recovery when there were so many hands bringing destruction—into question. The concave earth cried out as she broke up the string of arts and continued her move forward searching, gazing, pleading. She’d destroy the earth, and dig deep within it’s crust if it made a path to him. She’d fight through those that did not know her to be friend or foe if it brought her to him. She’d do it all even if it meant being the destruction upon the battlefield.

It was then and there deep within the flames, and chaos. It was there in that moment when glowing viridian would meet deep rich red. It was there in the submerge of her viridan windows as her lungs let out a strangled cry that her fist would connect with the earth once more no longer seeking defense but offense.

Earth shattered and cracked did not begin to explain the wreckage of what she was capable, and what she was willing to bring in her attempts to find him—and yet she had been too late, and she had been to far. All that force behind her fists seemed so unnecessary now—she had brought destruction for nothing.

The silence that came forth in that moment devoured and suffocated. Those features before her are so very familiar, and yet so painstakingly foreign. She could not make out the arts around her—she could not hear the yells of those fighting. All that she could feel was the heat of the flames upon her skin as they engulfed all that stood around her.

The body fell and the eyes on features so familiar looked towards her with a lackadaisical attempt she was convinced was hereditary. Fingers twitched unsure of how to proceed. The glow of the spring wife was confused on where to cast her glance between the rose-colored strands that laid across the destroyed earth below or those of deep rich red that sought to see what she would attempt.

This is where she would become the girl that time forgot.

There was no clear indication of when he had left her line of sight. There was no clear recognition on when the flames that had heated her skin, and put the salty sweat into her own wounds had ceased around her. There was no clear indication of when the battle had stopped. There was no indication of who had won. There was no clear indication of her taking in smoke filled air.

The only indication in front of her was that there her father laid slain before her. The voices around her remained forever out of reach.

Just like her husband.

“Sakura!”

Glowing viridian startle at the voice of her mother that dared to bring sound to her ears—she’s sure she’s praying she’s imagined it. Time is merciless within its rush forward. She’s not ready to awaken from this world frozen in time. She’s not ready for time to remember her. She’s not ready to leave the world in which time forgot.

Legs give way to the ache that had become numb within her distress. It’s only as her knees come to find the shattered earth below that she truly feels that ache deep within her muscles. Fingers twisted digging into the earth as her tears soaked and blurred that which she could not handle seeing before her. She had thought she was locked within distress but little had she known it had barely begun. Her voice could not find its way from her throat choking her within her desperation to let out a wail as she found herself entranced by the body of her father.

She had been willing to sacrifice so much—so, so, so much—as long as they came out together.

“Sakura.”

It’s his voice—it’s Sasuke’s voice—that now rings forth making her heart pound against her rib cage. Brows pinch together and fists slam down upon the already abused and ruined earth below her shaking all that surrounded her. He had come with the battle that had washed away her old home—that had taken her father from her. She had longed to return to his side, and now here he was. The war had brought him to her, but it had demanded payment—and payment it had received in the life of her father, and the destruction of this village once called home. The wail that has escaped her will not be drowned out from her spur of anguished strength. It will not be silenced by power behind her hands so small.

A body warm and loud with their own wail echoes into her ears as it envelopes her own as if seeking to shield her own from that of her bloody and lifeless father before her. Her mother is a mother even in her own anguish. No mother would dare stand by when their child cried out so hurt, and so broken.

War was not kind to any it came across. It took without remorse upon those that tried to relieve. It took from even those who compromised, and gave fully. It took from the woman who had tried to bring recovery from it.

Ebony had followed through traditions and wails upon the funeral he could not—would not—escape. The burden upon those shoulders so small is heavy as he watches her perform her duties as the child—he overhears of the Confucian principle of devotion to ones parents. The temple not far from the wreckage of her home away from their home has helped prepare the body and coordinate the funeral rites. The somber colors they adorn as the guests, and family—who perform the wake—sets the tone for how things will move forward.

An overnight vigil, the bringing of flowers, the funeral itself with the burning of paper—he recalls they called it joss paper—the loud cries, and wails, the handing of red envelopes with hopes for safety returning home, the procession in which he falls behind her clad in black, music of a band that marches forward, and all that comes to follow is heavy upon them all. He takes it all in far to aware of how different these moments are from his own when he had performed the traditions so familiar to him with his mother and father.

He had once stood where she now stands, he had once been the one to lay his parent to rest, and he had once been the one deep within mourning. There’s no mistaking the familiarity that comes with the passing of a loved one. She is the him from so long ago—it had been so long since those times, and yet they feel so near as he stands beside her giving silent support. He had not known his father-in-law, but that does not stop him from feeling the weight of his loss upon his shoulders. His only desire is to follow her through each step in hopes he does not bring disrespect within their traditions so foreign.

This woman who had been locked within a world of spring, and now she had been dragged down from it into the depths of despair. There is a silent understanding, and the tightening of his throat in remembering his mother and father within these moments. The war continued to be cruel upon those who gave, and she was no exception.

The low voices that surround her in this funeral make themselves within his ears. He can no longer remain ignorant of this neutral village’s name. He can no longer remain ignorant about her. The whispers have removed multiple mysteries behind this otherworldly spring nymph and all that has taken place in a time when she had not gazed upon him.

The clearest of them all is what has built her until this moment before him. This otherworldly creature was birthed and brought into their world in Konohagakure. There was a time in which she spent her youth living in that of Tanigakure. That youth brought her to Kusagakure where she worked as an adult before being plucked to become his wife.

Konohagakure heart, Tanigakure eyes, Kusagakure bones.

Fingers twitched at seeing her adorn the white around her left sleeve—it symbolizes a person in her culture in mourning he’s told. He has been given pardon in this time to mourn with her. There are no reds upon her person in the weeks that have followed the procession, and her return home.

There is an odd air that overhangs this once bright spring wife of his, and he is unsure how to handle her with her heart no longer adorning her sleeve in that spring warmth that he has grown to know and his family crest not stitched upon her back. The words Izuna parted him with when checking in echo within his being.

Her loss is all that she knows in this moment allow her to embrace it in the traditions she’s familiar with.

He had questioned her mourning as she plastered the soft smile cheap in quality upon her face as they go through the days to come. Hikaku's wife had come to her when they returned seeking to care for her and lend a hand. They had held looks of understanding when she had first taken his wife within a warm embrace before he had chosen to sit out within the hall—he does not wish to let her to far from him, and yet desires to give her privacy in her mourning. Those soft smiles gauged the question of reality versus myth. It dared to make him question if his memories of her shattering the earth beneath her had been but a figment of his imagination. It dared to make him question if he, and those who had come too little too late to aid the village plunged into war had seen it wrong. That white upon her sleeve though is all it takes to know that he had not imagined her being the one to quake the earth and shatter her way to where he found her—he would believe nothing less.

It’s in those moments when he catches the white around her arm that he seeks to give her more privacy. He seeks to give her time to mourn privately and without fear of his eyes upon her. He seeks to give her some form of comfort in leaving her to mourn in these traditions only she knows. Their home has become heavy with unspoken words, and thoughts that threaten to spill. There is fear in what she would speak, and what she would finally allow to enter the air between them. There is fear he cannot comfort her properly.

The whispers through out his home talk of her temper giving way so unlike before. It talks of her loss of patience. No one dares to speak out of turn though—they fear his wrath should they not deal with these small out bursts. He feels regret in not letting her stay with her mother, but relieved that she is safe within his sight. He feels regret that he has taken her so far from her father no longer among them, and without her mother who could give her proper comfort. He has made her alone within her mourning. Yet he is relieved that he can watch over her even if that is all he can provide. Silently, he hopes she finds comfort that he will not leave her in this state.

Sasuke can only gaze upon the cherry tree finally in bloom, and yet it is almost bitter sweet.

It does nothing to bring calm within their home. This feeling thick within his home is far worse than that of when they had fought—it suffocates in an entirely new way.

Ears perk at the sound of a crash he can only assumes echoes from the kitchen. His wife’s voice comes quickly after the words assaulting the maids that only seek to assist her as she performs her wifely duties. The shuffling of feet is what makes him finally come to seek her out. Soft steps are what carry him through the halls as if the smallest of noises would make her anger come out once more. Rounding the corner he cannot stop his need to halt at the door that would lead within the kitchen that she resides within. It is as if what he sees will be something that he should not.

There is the sharp intake of air that he is sure is filling her lungs, and then the muffle of a cry, and it’s at that sound that he cannot hold himself at the door any longer. He cannot continue to give her privacy within her mourning. The sight he takes in is what he finds twisting his insides as she stands in the kitchen with flour coating herself and the floor.

Those delicate fingers that shattered the earth below her in her wail are dug into her hairline with palms pressing those viridian that overflow in her anguish. This new cry calls his steps forward once again—there is something coaxing about her strangled cries that beckons him to her. He can tell she’s trying to contain them in her throat making her choke and release them in more sharp gasps. She’s alone within her mourning and there’s no doubt he’s done this wrong. He’s done her wrong in thinking she needed privacy.

He’s only made her think she cannot outwardly express her loss.

This otherworldly creature before him who is the incarnation of spring—with her rose-colored strands, glowing viridian ocular windows, pale purple mark, and milky unblemished skin—is but the shell of the woman he remembered standing in his—no their—genkan before she had left his side.

The ways in which they mourn are so different and yet the heavyhearted feelings are all too familiar—no, no they are the same.

Fingers find their way into those untamed pink strands as they wrapped themselves around her shoulder to press her toward him. This unconscious action is bringing her to him—it’s all in an effort to comfort her as she needs to be comforted. It’s all in an effort to make her see she is not alone in her loss. The sharp intake of breath and alertness at his presence causes her to resist and yet he will not allow her to separate from him in this new moment of closeness he is giving her.

Delicate little fingers are curling in his shirt, and his own rough ones have found their way to the back of her head cradling it. Her sobs fall harder as she gives into her momentary weakness. There are no words that escape his mouth, and her tears are all that fills the otherwise overwhelming silence their home has fallen into from her outburst of anger.

He will let her sorrow pour for as long as she requires in this moment. What more could he give this woman who seemed to never ask for anything in return?

Sasuke does not know how to comfort her in this moment more than what he has given. It brings frustration to him, and it makes him want to open his mouth and give more—but that is not something he truly understands how to do. He has always taken and in the moment where he wants to give he is empty handed. He is lost in how to do just that—he can only give her protection.

She has fallen too far and he is unable to clean the salt from her scars. He is staring into her Konohagakure heart, Tanigakure eyes, and Kusagakure bones. She is nothing more than a whistle in the graves she has visited. This woman before him is paradox.

The rough digits cradling her neck give way to curl tenderly into the rose-colored strands pushing her harder into him as if to make her realize his desire to protect her. She is but a victim of compromise stuck with a man who continues to waste moments full of atonement. She is truly the woman that time forgot.

It’s here that he can pictures those eyes so long ago gazing upon him with disdain—he deserves it all.

It’s here that he wishes to begin giving more to this union—this marriage—that he once had bitter taste for. It’s here that he promises to make time remember the woman it had forgot.

They sit peacefully among their garden as her head rests against his shoulder. He does not remove it or make way to have her change the closeness that she once again creates. He is trying as best he can in only the ways he discovers as they present themselves.

Silence is the atmosphere in which they reside. It’s no longer is suffocating as it had been before she had broke within their kitchen. It is no longer deep within unspoken words, and thoughts. The smallest of light hums falls from her, and yet they are barely heard in this moment. Sasuke can only wonder if time has remembered her deep within her mourning period. Her temper had quelled, and the small out breaks had become fewer as the days passed since then.

These little moments of peace with her even as she continued to wear the white showing forth her continued mourning are all the more worth it—he did not dare wish to gaze upon such distress as her heavy heart broke her down and threw her where he could not reach.

The sensation that comes with this peace between them is still foreign. There is an odd sense of claim to her now that he had not considered when they had first gazed at each other so long ago—since they had wed. There is a comfort he had never thought possible.

“You’ll be going away again.” she muttered lowly ending her quiet tune.

“Ah.”

The air had thickened in those moments. He could feel her desire to keep him here. He knows she holds fear should he not stay beside her. He knows she fears he will leave her just as her father has done. The words don’t need to be spoken. She is still the woman who wore her heart upon her sleeve.

He cannot continue to stay with her. He cannot continue to stay upon the sidelines. Madara was planning much bigger things in the time to come, and he recognizes he should savior this as it would be a long while till he would return to her side.

Her fingers tightened in her lap as if it could quell her fear, “How long?” her voice did not waver as he almost thought it would.

“A while.” she knew better than to expect a time frame.

Time was something never given. It was just assumed.

She gave a slight nod in understanding, and he questioned if she would speak out against it more. He questioned if she would vocally tell him of her fears. She did not though falling back within her hum and he allowed himself to gaze out to their cherry tree.

Do you disagree with our way of thinking? Her tune stopped once again as she lifted her head from his shoulder.

The ebony haired male had not meant to speak his thoughts. He had never intended to ever ask her such things. These were not things he wanted nor desired to hear come from her. Those ever glowing viridian gazed at him, “I do.”

She had held no shame in her expressing it.

There was no hesitation. There was no second thought. This is where they would always diverge.

“I believe in a peace brought about by love.” she said raising to her feet avoiding his gaze.

“Peace cannot be gained through such measures. Power is needed to bring it.” his voice was even as he gazed at her back—the emblem of his people and the ideal in which they held still missing.

Her head seemed to tilt as she took in the sky above her. Those delicate fingers once wrapped in her lap—once wrapped in his clothing as she sobbed in their kitchen—coming behind her to lace themselves together, “Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?”

The voice she had used was no longer soft.

He refused to answer such a thing—he did not follow anyone blindly.

“Is there nothing that anchor’s you to this world or do you simply hope for it to kill you off before you see this peace you bring with power?”

Wasted moments full of potential atonement.

“I do what I must because I am an avenger.” even he feels like the response he gives is something of an excuse.

“You do what you must because it is how you excuse yourself.” there is such a tightness in her voice—it makes it clear that this is very much the girl that time had forgot.

“What is the excuse that you cling to then wife? All of those craters upon the earth were—we all saw how you ravished the earth in Kusagakure.”

Kusagakure bones.

There was never an intention to be so aggressive—so gruff in his response—and yet his tone was clipped and as soon as the words left his mouth there was regret—such an overwhelming regret. How could he have said wife in such distaste? He had never felt the need to call her by her title. Yet, here he had—his eyes look fleetingly upon her back missing the emblem he held pride in. There was nothing to shield him in the way her eyes whipped to take in his own. That mouth of hers had opened to answer and yet it closed biting into her lower lip.

The regret doesn’t fully hit home until it is too late—so, so late. She has reopened her mouth and it’s here that he sees he is wrong once more. The girl that time forgot did not completely forget—this was a piece of the her before her father’s death. Here it is clear that time was in fact remembering her.

“You—the Uchiha—and the Senju—both of you bring with you war. I choose to provide something far less in supply.”

Tanigakure eyes.

Sasuke cannot stop his face from decorating itself to her response. Those endless orbs have opened up from their residential scowl to give way to shock, and a subtle open mouth at her response. This is where that regret fully hits home. This is where he sees he’s gone to far. He’s said to much. He had been to outspoken. To be so disgusting—to be such a cruel human—and have the audacity to mention Kusagakure—to mention what made her all the more a victim of compromise.

He can only follow up her form noting the tightly closed fists that shake with her being as they make their way up her form—albeit unprepared—to see what is reflected in those eyes of hers—to the glassed over viridian.

Here is where he needs to apologize for his cruelty and yet—he doesn’t because apologizing is not what he does—she has never given him more opportunity than now to do so and as much as he swore he would do better he is a selfish man who cannot it seems. As much as he had promised to protect her he cannot protect her from himself. He can only let out his anger at her claims that they were a group of people who brought war—the Senju were the one’s who had brought war. He knows he’s wrong, but it does nothing to stop him.

“If you disagree, dear wife, then why are you here?”

There was so much venom on her status and he would pray later for answers as to why he was such an unbelievably cruel man. This woman did not deserve such things. This woman who had been doing everything she could did not deserve such things from him, of all people. Where had she spoken a lie? Where had she been wrong?

He did bring war with him.

“If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so.”

Konohagakure heart.

There is an absolute cruelty to her voice. The promise that lingers in it is heavyhearted and he can only swallow in response. He had pushed her too far, and it’s in this that he realizes that he would take the disdain that had once lingered in those viridian and hold its towards himself even more than when she had been sobbing in their kitchen.

He cannot stop her as she now walks past him leaving him in these moments, and reversing their roles once more since the time she had left before the fall of Kusagakure. That reflex that comes with her is on the tip of his tongue as she is leaving him. It’s no apology, but it’s laced with something he does not understand but hopes she will hear—maybe she will understand that which he does not. Before she can escape him it falls from his lips.

“You really are damned annoying.”

Time had found her well before now. It was him who had forgotten her.

He has left her once more, and it is bitter sweet as she does her duty at the clinic. The spring wife can only question her inability to have contained her anger in their fight, and yet this fight did not rival that of the one they had held what felt so long ago—a distant memory. A distant memory like the time he had wrote her. A distant memory like when he had placed his hand in hers when she had welcomed him home. He had wrote her since that time, but she knows that is just as he is.

Her mourning period has ended at fifty-two days. In the weeks following his leave she could not sit idly by. If there was one thing her father had taught her it was not to live in the past. She was needed. She had told her husband she had sought to give that which was less in supply. Her hands are what could stop another from becoming the mess she had become. The shame she had brought upon her home in those days of mourning needed fixed. The faith she had destroyed in her lack of control before her husband's leave needed to be mended properly by her own hands. He had been harsh with her status, yet she had continued farther pushing him just as much as he had pushed her.

That husband of hers was not one to apologize, and yet he gave the reflexive words that would bring forth the calm after a fight before she had left him sitting there that day.

You really are damned annoying.

There was an almost ironic tenderness to the statement looking back on it now. What had once been an insult was becoming a reflex holding the subtlest changes with how he handled her. There was an increased warmth each time he uttered it to her that she was sure no one would catch outside of the two of them.

The days were long, and the weeks even longer as she continued to await his return. He had not been wrong. A month and a half had come and gone bringing forth a warmer sensation among the weather as months flipped by. Their cherry tree had scattered it’s blossoms among the garden and her husband had missed it. Their anniversary had scattered to the wind just the same.

It was in these moments that she felt herself growing closer to him even as he was out of her grasp.

The tides of war were forever changing and as it seemed so was the company that would find her at the clinic today.

Viridian came to find the ebony she had come to expect, but the face attached to those eyes was one that seemed content on checking in on her, and her dear husband.

“Izuna-sama what brings you to me today?” she was sure this was not merely a social call as he sat in her section.

There was the slightest look as if he knew something upon those Uchiha features. There was the slightest of contemplation before he gave the slightest look of tenderness her way, “I apologize for coming without word. I’d like to speak with you in private when you are finished for the day.”

She gives but the slightest of nods knowing this most likely had to do with her husband, and she lets the softest of smiles decorate her eyes and lips as she reaches out to give him a proper check up, “Of course, Izuna-sama.”

The silence between them is comfortable as she pulls back the sleeves of her kimono going through the routine. He is cleared and yet she was sure he only had participated in the check up so as to get that request to her in person knowing she would be here for several hours.

The patients she sees after are a blur as doubt begins to settle in her stomach. There is a small voice in her head questioning if her husband has become hurt, and yet she battles it with the idea that he would not wait till her shift was completed to tell her of such things. She was allowing her father’s death to rule her thoughts, and that could not be something she succumbed to. She had to move forward, and she had to not allow it to frighten her more than it already had.

No one could be that cruel.

The light of day darkens as the hours wind down and she is sure she has never gazed upon the clock as much as she has in this one day. Fingers find there way into the band holding her hair at bay releasing them after the many hours they had been tamed.

She excuses herself earlier than usual intending to no longer keep him waiting on her than she has already made him. Finding him is easy, and she’s thankful he has kept himself entertained. The walk to her home is quiet and neither begins their discussion until the doors are closed and they have made their way into the kitchen.

He has only come a handful of times since her marriage and yet she knows how he likes his tea. He is a simple man, and like wise his taste in his tea is just as simple. Her husband and him were the same in this way and not just in their looks. Finger tips cradle her own cup of tea sweetened with honey as she breathes in the scent.

“Sakura-san, I will do my best to make myself quick with the hour so late.” polite and formal as usual, “Madara-san as asked me to see if you could lend your skills on the battlefield.”

It’s here that her viridian open. Her cup does not move from her lips as she looks to the Uchiha before her. There is the slightest disappointment that he had not come to her over her husband. There is then silent scolding. This was a good thing. This meant her husband was as well as one could expect while in the midst of war.

Her shoulders relax and roll themselves back as she lowers her cup, “I’m sorry to say that I have no intention of fighting in this war.”

“Ah, that is fine we only wonder if you could perform medic relief.”

Shifting her weight she leans against the cabinet, “I see no reason I cannot do such a request if that is all Madara-sama is asking for.”

She would not follow blindly at Madara’s call, but she also would not leave those who needed healing. He is sipping his tea as the silence has come back over them, and she in turn can only sip her own as she feels new questions forming. This was yet another chance for her to gain new information of her husband and what he was up too, “Is he well?”

“Ah, so Sasuke-san does not write you when he is away.”

He is not mocking her and yet she feels almost slighted by the remark, “Will I be back before he returns?”

The shift in topic is in hopes to not bring forth more attention to her and Sasuke’s lack of communication. It fills her with embarrassment to have someone else know that she is kept in the dark in times like these. She holds no resentment in his choice to not write her, and yet she longs for it more than she had before her father’s death.

“He is well. He is doing exceptional as always.” he states with the slightest humor.

At first she is silent as she digests the information, and then there is a sense of pride that decorates her already ethereal features. Warmth swims within her at the praise the man has given her husband, “I’m glad—yes I am so glad.”

He has given way to the slightest of smirks, and it’s in this moment that she is sure that look is one that must be hereditary.

[yolandajulius]

Answered Prayer

Oopsa semi-sequel.

Only more fighty-- AND AN AU AAAYYYyyyyy i suck, sorry, I’ll go sit in Bad Mun Jail.

He couldn't sleep again.

Noudenet rose from his bed silenttly, slipping his feet into the soft slippers he stowed in his cell and drew his robe about him in silence as he moved about to try to work out how to return to sleep. He was troubled, but dare not speak to the Archbishop -- they technically weren't meant to court anyone, let alone nonbelievers, but...

But she always offered him the freest smiles, and the most honest communication and it was driving him mad, trying to decide between his duty and his heart. He silently chose tocheck the sun and a clock, finding it early enough just to rise for the day -- a mixed blessing, but not one he refused -- and moved to dress himself in his vestments, studying each piece of fabric and protection with a silent gaze of concern.

He dreamed of it so often now he was troubled. Of sweeping her away from the Dragonsong before some Horde dragon deigned attack his violet, before the cold drew colder and threatened her health, or, he feared, she left to the warmer climes in the rest of Eorzera never to return. He dreamed of sweeping her to him, and taking her to those climes -- the Shroud, perhasps, to study conjury and the aetheric aplications of his work in the forest; letting her have a stable home there, perhaps, aiding her in a cafe of some kind. He could plant anything, perhaps, she felt in her heart was attractive; flowers, herbs, trees -- they could be hapy then, away from the dichotemy of the believers and non-believers -- nobody cared if they were of one faith. If he was of the Hreavens' Ward at anytime. Noudenet could provide openly, give her everything she deserved...

But could he turn away from his people? No. He could not and she often worried about interfering. She didn't and he was always quick to soothe her fears, but he was at a loss, and the conjurer made his way to the primary Sanctuary of the Vault, the portion that held services and confessions, and knelt in the pews to pray in silence.

Halone, guide him -- he dared not chase a wild fantasy lest he cross some unspoken line to creatye a weakness for Ishgardm, but neither too did he seek to break his violet's heart. He was trapped between his honor and his heart and did not know what he might do. Noudenet was lost, and he did not know to whom he might turn.

Those entering the cathedral so early were nostly the priests, and a small handful of his brothers whom were particularly pious; Noudenet knew the sounds of theiur footsteps well and could guage whom was whom be theur steps alon. Charibert entered briskly, scenting of cinnamon, incense, and wood smoke -- his quarters offered a fireplace Noudenet often watched him ignite for scipture studies, and the man preferred keeping his room a sanctuary from the burly of the outside. He was focused as ever, and scented more than average of cinnamon -- meaning he'd been stressed and soaking in his bath more than average the night prior. Haumeric was next, a bore. The man was far more reverent and careful, walking with slow pace and reverent posture, taking a kneel in a pew nearby to offer prayers. The man was as devout as any, maybe moreso, and focused on the less fortuanate. He scented cold and biutter. Sers Janlenoux and Adelphel then entered together, side by side and-- the faint sound of metal on metal indicated they'd come hand in....

Hand./

Noudenet felt his breath waver as he listened to the inseperable pair of knights enter and sit themselves for prayer near the back, and contemplated.

They. Of any of his brothers, they might yet know of what troubled him. Long had he and the others suyspected they were involved in a chaste but loving relationship, and if any might offer him advice, it was one of them.

Noudenet waited in prayer as the morniung prayers carried several long minutrs before concluding, and he was quick to rise, silently moving for the Sers Janlenoux and Adelphel with porpuse, light trickling in to join the candles of the Vault as he reached, fingers touching Ser Adelphel's wrist silently, and the young knight paused, looking to him curiously. Noudenet felt Janlenoux's gaze boring into him immediately as if demanding what he wanted, and Noudenet spoke with a low voice.

"Brother, wait. I would seek your and Ser Janlenoux's council on a matter I dare not speak of to any others of import to me, if I may."

Silence, but Adelphel turned his gaze to the other man's, and Janlenoux nodded in silent understanding -- Adelphel then nodding.

"Ser Janlenoux has affairs to tend to, but I am happy to offer the aid I can." Thre younger knight said, and Noudenet nodded gratefully as the blonde guided him to his cell to speak in private. N0oudenet was grateful for the privacy considerations, sitting as bidden as Adelphel gathered a coffee for both as Noudenet sighed.

"Brother, you and Ser Janlenoux are amorous, correct?" Noudenet asked. Adelphel startled, turning to Noudenet to speak, but the conjurer shook his head.

"No, no, I mean no ill will, but I must know." He explained. Adelphel blinked in confusion as he adjusted the coffee, and sighhed.

"I... Well... We are, brother, but not so far as perhaps Ser Grinnaux or Ser Paulecraine can be." He sighed, before blinking, lighting up. "Oh! Don't tyell me you have eyes for someone of us, do you?"

Noudenet smiled. While he had considered Grinnaux or Paulecraine's adbvice, he also... Well, the conjurer really didn't want to deal with their boorish behaviour or efforts to.... 'Help.

"Not among my brothers no." Noudenet chuckld good naturedly before growing somber. "It is a young woman not of Ishgard whom has me quite tyaken and I am... At a loss. I would not seek to turn on my country and flee, but I would not lose her, either."

Adelp[hel listened respectfully, offering the other coffee patiently before he sipped his own in thought.

"An outsiuder.... Oh, that woman you keep visiting qwith dfaily?" Adelphel's tone grew lilting, gently ribbing Noudenet, the conjurer tensing a moment before the young knight could simply smile.

"We have no control of our hearts, brother. If it troubles you, talk to her. Iam sure a good woman would be willing to listen. Becides, brother, she shares her creations. If you are so taken, talk to her."

"I do. She knows my station. I'm more afraid... She will be harmed if she remained." Noudenet fingered his mug, looking into the black liquid for answers, as Adelphel watched him in silence. The blonde was contemplative, studying Noudenet thoughtfully before taking a hand off his mug andmoving, placing it on Noudenet's shoulder soothingly.

"The Archbishop won't be angry, you know. He's well awae of Janlenoux and I, and Paulecraine and Grinnaux. He just wants to help make Ishgard better so there is a safe haven for this, brother. He can help, I promise -- especially if she understand your position. I'm sure the Archbishop would appreciate support from outsiders. Ours is a rightious cause."

Adelphel smiled serenely, as sure as anything in his advice, and Noudenet considered silently, sipping his coffee before grimacing. There was a faintly metallic aftertaste he noticed. He'd thought that he tasted his cups in the coffee -- but Adelphel's cups were ceramic, and there was no reason to taste thus, Noudenet lowering his cup and sizing it up slowly.

"Brother?" Noudenet said slowly. "What did you use making this?"

Adelphel remained serene, smiling warmly as he hummed, head tilting.

"Birch Syrup, why?" The paladin said, voice almost an unnatural melody as he blinked. "Is something wrong? Do you need cream or milk, brother?"

Noudenet felt his muscles tensing as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He was a healer, trained in knowing poisons and toxins, to know how things ought taste, and this.... Was not proper coffee. Something was done to it, and Noudenet forced himself to parse his mind for what it might be.

"Brother." Noudenet's voice began taking an efge as he lowered the mug, Adelphel tilting his head in question. "What did you pit in the coffee. Do not tell me nothing -- what poison is this?"

Adelphel studied him slowly, before a serene smile gave way to a pleased one.

"Oh... The Archbishop added some dragon's blood that we might know our foes better."

The mug fell with a crash, Noudenet raising Imagination defensively.

"Dragon's Blood is a drug. forbidden by Halone." Noudenet hissed sharply. The hairs on his neck continued pricking, the conjurer studying Adelphel's gaze. Something looked unnatural in his eyers then, his smile too pleased, eyes too bright, and Noudenet prepared a stone spell when hje was shoved abruptly into the wall moments before thick smoke was a breif warning of flame, flame that all but obliterated the door to the cell.

Ser Charibert had been pleasantly curious at Noudenet's need to speak to Adekphel and Janlenoux. Perhjaps concern, with how unnaturally calm Adelkphel suddenly became with the trying times around them; perhaps other matters. His affection for the outsider had been -- well, surprising, but Chjaribert intended to speak to him after, unsure if he wanted to murder his brother in arms, or see if he might help him explain some things -- but now, not now. Now he could confirm, Adelphel was acting unusually and the man had pinned the source on the Arcjhbishop. Halone save them all, even the explosive Ser Charibert, first inquisitor and man of the cloth was terrified to know it went so high, but he worried not of how. Now, his brother needed aid fleeing Ser Adelphel's heresies before he was tainted more, and knowing he too likely was exposed only fuelled the rage the First Inquisitor felt.

"Heresy!" Chjaribert was snarling, and Noudenet wasn't sure at whom, but the abrupt appearance of his brother was met with releif and alarm, Noudenet refusing to leave the inquisitor as he raised Imagination, hurtling a stone at Ser Adelphel before wincing. Cjharibert did not once lower his guard, hjis staff raised in defense.

"Heretic!" Charibert snarled, advancing for Adelphel as the paladin began raising, dishevelled but smiling eagerly as a pup to Charibert.

"Brother! I was going to speak to you!" He greeted Charibert as if naught was wrong, and the fiery man hissed, glancing top Noudenet pointedly. Noudenet caught it, but hesitated momentarily before another stone flew to Adelphel in panic. The normal finesse was gone, but Charibert didn't budge, instead his voice a snarl.

"Sickness is to be purged this morn, Ser Noudenet." Charibert hissed slowly. "Go to her. I will see to it you have an ample head start to reach the woman." A pause. "Please, tell her what is occuring. And perhaps that there is no shame in love, save the failure to communicate. Go. NOW."

Noudenet was silent several moments, before grunting affirmation, rushing from the hall as he listened. Several brothers were running to investiugate and Charibert was audibly enraged -- but he dared not look back. He understood both messages and had to chuckle, if weakly. Ser Charibert, of all men. He had to admit he'd wondered how he'd acquired some of her efforts at pork buns a few times and it was thin consolation the inquisitor didn't look ill on him. And Yolanda was young, and from what either likely knew, didn't know how to handle a loving heart. Noudenet would ensure the message was passed with utmost tenderness, but for now he was rushing from the  Vault, moving for Yolanda with porpouse. It was early in the morning, meaning she was preparing to go to the market for cooking materials, and so Noudenet moved for the last vigil with porpuse.

She had stepped out and was greeting the knight by the door pleasantly, a smile on her face that was sure to fade in moments, but Noudenet did not think to fret over it as he rushed to her, Yolanda swiftly looking to him in concern as it indeed faded from a smile to apprehension, the knights styartling at his unexpected appearance.,

"Yolanda. Violet." Noudenet breathed, pausing to listen. He could hear steps moving their way, heavy, rapidly moving -- possibly Adelkphel, if Charibert hadn't subdued him, but more likely someone else of the Ward, and Noudenet pulled Yolanda into an embrace tiughtlky.

"Yolanda, we have to find somewqhere safe. Something is-- wrong with my brothers." He fgelt his voice shake as he realized he had to tell her Charibert had attacked Adelphel. "Ser Charibert -- He's challenged Adelphel for heresy. There was dragon's blood in thge drink, something is -- Adelphel was not right. I am being chased, we have toi leave for someplace safe." Noudenet realized he wasn't communicating clearly, though, and he looked towards the sounds of steps before Yolanda nodded to him, turning to the knights.

"We-- he can hide inside, right?" The young woman asked sadly. There were awkward looks, but the knight motioned for Noudenet to follow, leading him to the interior of the House upon opening the door, and then for Count Edmont, Noudenet felt releif wash him, before looking. Yolanda has not followed.

Yolanda clutched at her lance tightly, eyes focusing on the paths from the Vault to the Vigil, blues rapt in attention after getting Noudenet inside. Charibert would nmever attack without cause, even if he was quick to cry heresy -- these were his brother knights, both his and Noudenet, and that Charibert had encouraged Noudenet flee.... Was troubling to the cheery woman. Still, it meant they would send someone adept at handling a mage on par with Noudenet, and Yolie was far from that in terms of skill with the lance. She was a hunter first, and barely a warrior save self defense, but now, with her parent figures attemptng to broker peace in Dravania and herself alone to protect even one of the men she loved, Yolanda felt a strange sense of defe3nsiveness -- a hostility she never felt for her gellow Spoken, and yet here, now, her blood boiled and she called to her chocobo with a Gystal green in hand, the golden bird striding close in curiousity, brown eyes studying the green as a figure in whitye and blue drew near.

Ser Janlenoux hadn't seen the woman before, but he knew this was what Ser Noudenet had wished to speak of before so horribly attacking his Adelphel for merely seeking to bring him to the peace the Archbishop offered, and he'd gotten Ser Charibert to attack. Messy business, truly -- but the order to collect Noudenet clear. IOf the woman was here, he may have run here, and the man shifted grin on his shield patiently. This was a non-believer, a Garlean, it seemed, with a rather weak lance and no regard for proper protocol of combat, but her defensiveness meant Noudenet was near and Ser Janlenoux regarded her as little more than a curiousity.

"Where is Ser Noudenet?" Janlenoux asked patiently. Surely this woman would know challenging him was a moot point, if she listened to Noudenet at all or truly knew what the Ward was. Instead she regarded him a moment and hummed. She looked to her chocobo, then Janlenoux with a confused look, head tilting.

"I don't know. Do you know Sunflower?" Yolie looked to the bird innocently, the great golden chocobo chirruping a moment before watching the Paladin cautiously, and Yolanda shrugged.

"I'm sorry good Ser, I simply haven't seen him today." Yolanda responded innocently. For a moment, Janlenoux considered. It was possible... Then he regarded her lance.

"Why would a young woman carry a weapon this morning?" He asked then. Yolanda hummed.

"I make ready to hunt meat to prepare for eating later." She responded, but her tone and posture weren't that of a Hunter.

Yolanda glanced as the knight returned, eying Ser Janlenoux anxiously before looking to her, whispering.

"Count Edmont is speaking with him now and bids we wait for the return of the diplomatic party sent to Dravania before we can act on this." The knight whispered. Yolanda nodded, then frowned, whispering back.

"Kind of have a paladin here, Ser. What do we do?"

"We... We cannot deny him entry. If he asks..."

Yolanda hummed then, eying Ser Janlenoux cooly.

"He's not here, I said. Go away."

The guards blinked in surprise at the woman's tone of certainty. They could not deny a Ward Knight entry, but she was.... Standing her ground? Hadn't they been told she was dominantly a pacifist? Still Janlenoux regarded her several moments before shifting.

"Then I would ask you accompany me to the Archbishop; he has attacked a fellow brither and we would know why." Janlenoux drawled. Yolanda tensed, grimacing sharply. He was trying to lay a trap, clearly,and Yolanda huffed.

"I will not. You have no cause to assume I would know what he does at all hours, let alone of this attack you speak of. What you describe is heresy, which Ser Noudenet is incapable of." Her response was a hiss, her posture shifting as her hackles raised, and Janlenoux regarded her appraisingly. Defensive position. Her limbs were ticked close and she was remaining near the entrance; she kept her weapon close and her chocobo was apprehensive -- tell tale signs of defense. Janlenous took a moment to absorb her observation, and then sneered disdainfully.

"No nonbeliever can claim to know what is and is not heresy." He finally snappedf. "Your ignorance is shameful."

Yolanda huffed.

"And I already told you to bugger off." She snarled back, unable to contain the irritation building with the unusual urge to simply tear his face off for thinking of touching Noudenet. It reminded her of people whom asked if she was a traitor who might betray Eorzea as well, and she didn't know what to do with how close to the surface it was. She didn't know this feeling, bar the rage it was feeding. And then Janlenoux scowled grimlyu.

"I don't recall offering an option of refusal, however." The paladin growled thern, and Yolie raised her lance as he grinned. "Where is he, heathen? Tell me and I'll make sure you don't enter a hell this day."

"I'll tell you again, I've not seen him and you will not touch me." She then hissed, eyes flashiung dangerously, the guards moving from her slowly. Janlenoix motioned, gesturing with his blade.

"Then I've no chouice but to charge you with heresy and claim my right to Trial by Combat." Janlenoux responded. Yolanda huffed.

"So be it."

Janlenoux laughed bitterly then.

"Tribunal or here and now, woman?" He trilled. "To find your champion like that lalafellin woman."

That was when Yolanda's face seemed to warp and twist from the tense expression to a terrifying smile, blues locking on him with a sharpness that even he recognized was not natural for her.

The pair remained still before Yolanda motioned to her chocobo and the paladin launched for her, the woman suddenly light on her feet to dart about, avoiding his blade rapidly as she brought her lance up. She fought defensively,, eyes locked on the Paladin as he continued to attack, the pair feeling one another oiut. Janlenoux was calm, almost too calm for a man suddenly engaged in trial by combat, the guards noted to themselves. He was the more experienced fighter by far, the lancer moving to avoid or block his blade, although even defensively she was imperfect, lacking in proper footwork at points, but.... They noted the sweet, kindly lady whom enjoyed greeting them ere she passed was no fainting violet. What she lacked in skill was made up for her reaction time. A hunter first indeed, she responded to his movements with the eyes of one avccustomed to unpredictable, deadly game -- she was no slouch fighting a beast and her expression was visibly reading Janlenoux as such. Be it her breeding, or be it some otherworldly touch, the woman's lance didn't crumble to a swift death -- the cold metal held against Janlenous' ferocity, matched by her own half-wild combat when he shifted to block a sudden strike. The shift to offense spoke she'd thought she'd seen an opening, but she knew not the ferocity and guile it took to battle a dragon, and those all knights trained for. Janlenoux was a swift, decisive fighter, moving to lunge as she recovered from striking. She was no Dragoon, she could not take to the skies to dodge, merely dart, jumping and  fighting to avoid the aggression he came for her blood with, and his felt it as his blade cut through skin, watched the red creep to the surface. She dropped rapidly, intyernally panicking but expression cold and ruthless before her mind turned. It felkt like minutes but was only a second as her cooking oil spilt around them -- a slick substance that burnt easily and lightly flavored food.

She was a Garlean. Garleans bore no magic, and suddenly she shifted a bottle of Sour Red to her hit, bringing her lance again to bear against Janlenous' sword as she felt her injury burn, and discreetly uncorked the wine, rushing past to try striking from behind, wine gushing to the ground after her. Janlenoux spun, drawing up his shield before her charged, Yolanda trying to dodge aside as she shifted her fingers, feeling the flint drop obediently into her hands. Flint against a metakl surface just right wrought sparks. She turned the flint once in her oil-soaked hand, feeling the substance coat areas of the stone and she shifted, gasping as the paladin suddenly moved, slamming his shield into her as she snapped flint against the uncoated tip of a finger and slammed down, sdwiping with her lance. She had to get a spark, she was going to lose if she didn't get a spark, and the faint ticking of flint on armor plate was muted by a lance blocking a sword of finer make, the woman snarling. She had to win, or else he'd fine....

Fresh anger welled through even as she was bleeding, but then a sudden crackle in hger hand as heat told her therte was flame -- flame she threw at the stuynned paladin before the ground ignited with hungry flames, the guards starting back to seek water as the fire rushed to claim the wine and oil greedily, Janlenoux lookingat the sudden, percieved hellfiure in stunned alarm, eying the Garlean. Yolie's eyes remained locked as she bared her teeth at the paladin with the ferocity of a feral animal -- the paladin unable to shake the rumours of Garlean savagery. Here they were, embodied in the frame of a Garleran whom not only challenged a superiuor warrior but also seemed to command flame as any magic-capable spoken. The Paladin stepped back in alarm, then grunted as her lance found purchase lashing at his side, the woman suddenly closing in.

"You lost, and I'd prtefer not cause the Vault undue duress sending anyone back in a coffin. Go." The woman hissed. Janlenoux whezed, bnefore sklashing a final time bnefore bolting to return. The Archbishop ewould not nbe pleased, but the woman had summoned flames -- a woman whom nevert shared sign of magic anility, coming of a non-magic race. This was a warning, potentially from the Fury -- or worse, he did not know, nor did he darte remain to ask.

The flames dfied quickly after the blue maned paladin fled, and Yolie wheezed as her injuries caught up, seeping redf as she breathed, helping to put out the flames before lifting the flint, wiping it down. She was injurted, both by blade and, alas for how she'd had to terrify the Paladin, by burns, leaving her to begin feeling light headed as she nodded to her chocobo and moved to enter the mansion to see what was occuring within and report the attempt to seize her. She was cleared, but she felt her head swimming, and only made it to the foyer before she had to lean on her lance, sinking to kneel in pain, feeling guilt at the red dribbling after her as her vision swam.

Noudenet had sense enough not to allow himnself to be seen through the wuindows, and skill enough to peer out to see Yolanda's fight with Janlenoux, and the wisdoim to know he'd challenged her to Trial by Combat -- and he'd felt his blood turn cold knowing he'd put her in the path of the man immediately. However, he was grateful she had thought to ignite the ground, even if she had begun to catch when the flames were put out, and grateful her deception drove Janlenoux off enough to earn her victory, but that did not alter the fact she was severely wounded defending him -- and herself, or the unmistakeable red rivulets dribbling lethargically from key points on her body. Janlenous had aimed for weakening the enraged woman, and Noudenet had no doubts adrenaline kept her standing long enough to come in, that rage had pushed her to steal a thin margin of victory, but now she was inside, she was coming down, and bleeding.

Part of him blamed himself for the injuries she sustained and he moved to her deftly, kneeling to place his hands on her body, face pressing in next tpo hers as he willed the arcane energies he commanded to obey, to let him treat her wounds with the healing magics he knew. He would not let his violet die for him, nor for Charibert -- and for his brother Noudenet worried still, knowing him trapped in the Vault with whom knew how many of their brothers. If they had both fled, then, would she be so hurt? Or would they have fought their brothers? How many were possessed of some unholy grip now anyhow? Noudenet's stomach turned but did not loose their contents -- he had already done so speaking to the Count, and was grateful he was hidden. Still now, he kept his hands on the Garlean woman, medical knowledge swiftly reminding jhim she was covered in cooking oil, and he instinctively barked orders to the staff -- she needed clean clothing, and the conjurer began to pull the damaged, soiled armor from her. She surely had planned to enter hazardous areas to bear iut, only iut had barely protected her. It was clearly light, and not fit to battle another Spoken, sparse plate shielding the most vital points, but thick leather that easily caved to the deadly sword Janlenoux bore, and Noudenet removed what he could while trying to preserve her modesty, nodding as the requested items came. He thought nothing as he swiftly changed her into clean garb, if only after using clean fabric to clean her wounds even as his magic took hold to soothe her wounds. His touch was careful as he checked for more wounds, and then rose, lifting his violet in his arms to carry to the sofa, disregarding the abandoned armor as he sat, pulling her head to his breast and allowed her simplyto listen to his breathing and heart as he quietly cast another healing spell. He wanted to question why, why the archbishop was giving them dragons' blood, why they dared to chase him, what was going on. His mind was heavy with the reminder Ser Charibert had attacked Ser Adelphel to enable him to escape,fearing for the other man who.

They loved the same woman and she tjhem. Perhaps she assumed they spoke of uit, perhaps she wasn't sure how to handle loving so, but he didn't feel he could begrudge her any more than Ser Charibert. Even he had admired the man in a respect andf he could see how others might. FGingers ran through her hair as the healing spells took effect, mending wounds he knew may scar,and he held her to him, mind turning over the fact she'd fought not for herself alone but to protect him, and with a ferocity only whispered of regarding all Garleans -- his delicate, no. His gentle, kind and loving violet was capable of a wild, untamed ferocity that Ser Noudenet did not know her capable of, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head, allowing himself to be touched by the fact she chose to express such ferocity to protect him. Ahw responded with a deep[ sigh. She was still concious, and slowly blearly blue eyes searched for his own gaze, turning on him in concern even though she'd just been fighting, and the conjurer sighed, nosing at her softly.

"I am safe, my violet, but I daresay I forgot Ser Charibert's message. He wishes you please remember that there is no shame in love, so long as you communicate, and hide no secrets." A pause, and he frowned. "He bought me time to flee the Vault after Ser Adelphel tried giving me coffee laced with dragon's blood. I know not what they plan, but that the Archbishop and several brothers sought this heresy, I... Am worried, my violet. I know not if the brothers coming were to help him, or subdue him, but Ser Adelphel was abnormal -- something about him. Ser Charibert drove him from me. Thaty Ser Janlenoux targeted you to find me is...."

"I'm sorry.Iwas scared.": Yolie said, slow, sluggishly. She had lost blood, and her body craved rest to mend and restore it, spells or not, and Ser Noudenet pulled her closer, sighing gently.

"You did not know, and you claim no family until recently, so you were not taught how to handle your abilityto love. You cannot be faulted for loving many as much as for being Garlean. It is a part of you that you can learn to handle with time, violet. And you will learn, of thatI am sure -- but for now you need to rest, and to mend." The conjurer pressed a hand over her eyes then.

"You need to heal and recover my flower."

"It is the twelvedamned morning." Yolanda muttered, almost slurring her words, and Noudenet crooned.

"And you were injured and need rest from a duel. You fought for your life, now please keep it and rest. I'll be here when you wake, my violet. I won't leave your side." The conjurer sighed, moving to gently encourage her to shut her eyes, and settled. "Rest my flower, rest and wake refreshed. Hopefully, soon, we can discuss matters with your guardians."

His answer was a muffled, slurred noise, the blonde woman falling asleep in his arms as Ser Noudenet sighed.

One and a hsalf bells, and the man had an answer from the Fury. And somehow, he doubted this was over.

[unreone]

LOWKEY WANTING TO DO THIS SINCE 2017 AND NOW I'M GOING TO COMMIT-

Making a tumblr blog for my opposite au!!!!!! This right here is the pfp for ittttt :]

After writing and rewriting and rerewriting

I ultimately decided to scrap a bunch of stuffs

BUT teenage Cub is still the main chara because i like the arc of his dynamic with Pop and Inversed!Pop

Agsjskkskskskka

(Also alsooo ONFG MY DELETED WATTPAD FIC'S COVER WAS ARCHIVED THNK FOKEN GOODNESS I DID MAKE IT I THOUGHT I WAS DELUSIONAL)

[unreone]

Yall have seen my 2017 artstyle, now here's

2019 edition

Happy Tree Friends

Somber Wood Foes/Fiends

Personalities and motivations inverted

▪︎ Somber is the coolest antonym I found for Happy, Wood is a darker alternative for Tree, and Foes is the opposite of friends

EXTRACTED DESCRIPTION: Cub is finally a teenager but he still dies because of his father's negligence and clumsiness. He is really tired of the cycle and he desires to be in an opposite world where Pop would actually make constant efforts taking care of him. After an encounter with his opposite counterpart at the well, the two switches places to live the lives they think they wanted.

▪︎ Lye (Wolf in Sheep's Clothing) and Byte (Cheetah with headphones) are like Cub's classmates. They knew how Buc and Cub switch places so they'll do their best to try to make it nothing's out of the ordinary-

▪︎ This is the chapter's cover of Somber Wood Foes/Opposite AU that~~I never have the chance to write~~ I really adore :DDD

It features Cub, Frankly and Wifty

I called the white featureless creatures "Bases" because I haven't known the word "Generic Tree Friend" yet-

The Respectably Refined Readily Righteous Raccoon Rangers are the main helpers for Cub to adapt to the world.

▪︎ The ones with Crystal in it are really cool, her role is to like guide Cub around. First image is of Cub getting introduced to Inversed! Cuddles, Giggles and Toothy. Second image is Cub telling Wifty about Crystal. He's unsure of her existence since he is the only one who have seen her so far.

▪︎ I forgot how this chapter supposed to go but I rembe about Cub trying to survive the "executioners"

Featuring:

Flippy > Fiasco

(Fiasco is a bloodthirsty executioner whose goal is to have the most kills each day. He is quick, ruthless, and loves the creativity in his kills. He avoids places containing wholesome stuffs since he will flip into his little alter, Freaky.)

Russell the Pirate > Rascal the Bandit

(loves gold, hoards gold, will kill for anything that looks like gold)

Flaky > Ruby

(she doesn't have flakes, fearless, adrenaline junkie, uses her quills as weapons when needed, loves to compete on having the most kills for the day)

▪︎ These are AMINO art requests of the Inversed critters yeeee

[unreone]

MORE OF THESE???

Happy Tree Friends

Somber Wood Foes/Fiends

Personalities and motivations inverted

Like fokem look at thisss????? Supposed to be opposite splendid but huhhhh???? Why this gaster walmart freak is my idea for opposite splndid and splendont@??@@??@I have no excuse for my lazy flank Ill definitely scrap this idea out from the revamped opposite au. I will keep the fact that (Since Toothy and Sniffles are biggest Fan Bois of Splendid) Tiffy and Sclutzy are biggest Haters

Insipid (Opposite Splendid) is a villain that accidentally good heroic deeds. Once i start doing the animatics, ill definitely use that ProZD audio

Intrepid (Opposite Splendont) is there to remind Splendid how to be actually villainous.

Omgggg Lucent!!! Lucent meant bright and thats the name i used for opposite Lumpy. Although he doesn't think outside the box, he is prepared for anything and everything. The chaotic variables (Sclutzy) are harder to prepare for though.

Natty for opposite Nutty. Onfg did ye know the word natty means smart looking and fashionable- He's just the rehab Nutty we have met at False Alarm ep. Hes also a dietician who promotes eating veggies and fruits and detest candies ajodod

Sclutzy was a gifted kid snapped. There's a thin line between madness and genius and Sclutzy snorted that line. Inspired by that Dexter's Laboratory episode where Deedee brings out the manic technology destroying monster inside her brother.

ONFG I REMBER HOW AN AMINO USER REQUESTS THESE BITS- Discord Ursid? DiscUrsid?? Discursive????? <<< autocorrect According to my archived notes, he's just so awkward it's awfully embarrassing???? YOUNG ME SPEAK CLEARLY WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT- but ye get flustered a lot, he never tried getting into disco music industry despite wanting to, big sadge

Of course Of course this right here is Luna and Sir Prickly. The pickle was the escapegoat this time. Luna be goin around slaughtering and then everyone blamed the pickle because he shouldnt exists and his presence is "demonic"

(ahhahaahhaaahhaa i clearly remember I just based off Sir Prickly to Will Cipher from Reverse Falls aaaaaaa ORIGINALITY DOESNT EXISTSSSSSS IN MY DICCTIONARYRYYYRYY)

[unreone]

A Happy Tree Friends AU Idea!

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Somber Wood Foes AU

/ Inversed Au

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Somber Wood Foes is the Opposite AU of Happy Tree Friends. The characters still dies for the sake of cosmic joke, but their personalities are flipped around.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Cuddles > Idles (hates being outside, ridiculously lacks energy to do anything, sad and droopy)

Giggles > Gruntles (grunge aesthetic, hates cute and girly stuffs, will def kick your ass if you flirt with her)

Toothy > Tiffy (tough, likes to fight, sharpens his teeth to look more intimidating, drags Idles outside for adventures)

Lumpy > Lucent (both antlers are upright, he deemed himself as the brightest of them all, hates mistakes, always over prepared, still dies even when prepared)

Petunia > Pungentia (trash is an aesthetic for her, her mess ends up killing others, she genuinely thinks she is beautiful with her "fashion")

Handy > Nimble (he was nimble until he lost his feet, a feet would be nice as a mail man)

Nutty > Natty (healthy living for the win, a promoter of fruits and vegetables, he keeps accompanying Sclutzy out of pity)

Sniffles > Sclutzy (antz is frients nat fud, was a genius but his sanity is now broken, enjoys destroying technology)

Pop > Top (he goes over the top on protecting Buc, wears a top hat, imposes too much rules and restrictions on Buc)

Cub > Buc (never died even once, actually curious on what dying feels like, was told to never go off without his father, dying for freedom)

Flaky > Ruby (she doesn't have flakes, fearless, adrenaline junkie, uses her quills as weapons when needed)

The Mole > The Watcher (his blue eyes get to shine, his beautiful eyes are just too distracting, some died because they were disracted by those ocean eyes)

Disco Bear> Discord Bear (extremely lacks confidence, bolts away at the sight of girl's shadow, dislikes disco since he can't dance)

Russell the Pirate > Rascal the Bandit (loves gold, hoards gold, will kill for anything that looks like gold)

Lifty > Wifty (loves giving, enjoys making stuffs from wood, doesn't see the value in gold and jewelry, too noisy to steal anything)

Shifty > Frankly (hates gambling, never lets his twin die, works honestly for money, wouldn't dare to enter the life of crime to survive, too full of conscience to steal anything)

Mime > Mike the Clown (he never talks but he's freaking loud, relies on visual gags and humiliation to entertain others, his noises may drive someone crazy)

Cro Marmot> Pro-Macro 2000 (a time traveller who's trapped in his time machine since it only runs on the specific electricity that they have in the future, every episode he'll try different type of morse codes to ask for help, the "help" he receives will lead to further sealment of his machine or death)

Flippy > Fiasco (Fiasco is a bloodthirsty executioner whose goal is to have the most kills each day. He is quick, ruthless, and loves the creativity in his kills. He avoids places containing wholesome stuffs since he will flip into his little alter, Freaky.)

Splendid > Insipid (wants to be villain but accidentally saves others, kryptonut boosts his powers)

Lammy > Luna (she thinks no one can see her, kills for entertainment, she blames the pickle and everyone believes her)

Mr. Pickles > Sir Prickly (tries to keep Luna from killing, fails to keep Luna from killing, an escapegoat, accepts the punishments so Luna wouldn't suffer)

Truffles > Trifled (he wants to be the center of everything, he'll make sure everyone notices him regardless of being alive or dead, the gags revolves around his ideas of stealing the spotlight)

Cursed Idol > Sacred Idol (You will not die as long as you have this, basically the totem of undying, however you will die in the most grotesque and horrible way the moment that you lost/let go of this)

Tell me what you think of this! I would like to make some concept arts one day but for now, I have no idea how :p

[unreone]

How's your Opposite AU going? I've seen in your post that you're having trouble with the designs so I just wanna share some ideas. When I see the description of Idles, I see a droopy-eared bun-bun whose default pose is laying still and staring blankly ahead. I think it would be funny if Tiffy would still be a dentist and his methods might look brutal but ending up giving best results. For Ruby, I imagined her to have very short quills and usually wearing a daring expression. Hope these helps!

So far, I have recovered a few of my old, amateur concept works in hand. They were at least 4 years old, drawn on an old, unrecoverable notebook, and the only proof they existed is a post I made in Amino.

Prepare your eyes from shiddy arts and highly contrasted images!

Bruh Lumpy is now an anime protag

First change on the design: the hair. I don't think a smarter Lumpy will wear that kind of silly hair. I'll also remove the glasses and labcoat, he may be more clever but his job shouldn't be a scientist. I think it's much suitable for him to become a Professor that constantly scares his students with existential questions. Since I want him to be overprepared, I will change his demeanor from a cold, calculative guy to a kooky, restless and ingenious. He must have multiple, secret bunkers around the town just in case of apocalypse.

I have changed his name into Idles since Snuggles is already the name for Genderbent Cuddles. And I think I will draw him droopy eared all the time as you said!

There's already a goth au so this idea is completely scrapped off. Since Giggles' character is all about being a stereotypical girl, Gruntles would be a rebel who is disgusted by the idea of conforming. She will wear whatever she wants (meaning her accesroies will change everyday). I will keep her love for earth but she will show it in a different way. "Chop this tree then I'll chop your head off"

Did you know Ruby used to be a Fliqpy Sue???? Yeah, I'll have to change so many things. But now that you mentioned it, I guess I'll take away more of her quills away since she did use most of them for self-defense. I will change the hoodie since Idles already got one.

Here are the old designs that will have no/few changes in my AU:

If y'all have comments or suggestions, feel free to share them! My ask box is open as always.

[child-of-hurin]

PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT THIS DARK AU

Took me ten thousand years to reply to this because I wanted to DRAW THINGS about it and I didn’t!!! But I’m in a dark au mood tonite so I typed out my ideas for the

Dark Narn AU

Motivation: I wanted Túrin and Nienor to get buddy buddy with Gothmog and Glaurung…. Literally my motivation for this lmao sorry I just. Monster buddies. It all was inspired by [this drawing] of @nyolofinwe’s where for a split second I thought Túrin was cuddling Gothmog (actually it’s Túrin killing Morgoth lmao!!! Im a dumbass. No regrets tho).

Disclaimer: 

1. UGLY things here, it’s fine if you hate it, also you might block “dark narn au” in advance if you want; 

2. Also it is my headcanon and understanding that there were mortal slaves in Angband as well as elves. 

What I came up with was:

When Húrin and Huor are cornered by orcs in Brethil, they are in a bad spot for pick up, so Húrin stays behind to hold the orcs while Huor runs up the hill. Huor would never have left his brother behind, but it’s a mess and he doesn’t realize what happened until he’s being carried away and screaming his lungs out for Húrin, who’s captured by orcs and taken captive to Angband.

There he undergoes some brainwashing by Melkor, who, true to the essence of the Narn, sees he can profit more from corruption than from killing this agent. By this point Húrin is a teen and hasn’t met Turgon yet, so he breaks eventually and becomes Melkor’s champion.

We have Húrin, and now we need Morwen. To keep the chronology, I prefer having her be captured during a raid on Emeldir’s group of refugees; that can also have Rian either being captured as well, or escaping on and following canon and marrying Huor, which I prefer for this AU (also casts a shadow on them as… replacements for the true heir, sort of! Both having dear family members captured by Morgoth). Either after brainwashing is complete, or during it, she is given to Húrin: a true prize, the heir of the House of Bëor, etc. Túrin is born in 464.

Lalaith is born two years later, which is a weird year because that’s when B and L steal one of Melkor’s silm iirc! Angband has never been more somber, but there is talk of hope among the slaves, of which Morwen hears some, as well as the name of Beren her kinsmen. Húrin, who has developed genuine affection and trust in her, mentions in bed at some point that Beren was killed by carcharoth and that despite the loss of the Silmaril, Melkor is somewhat satisfied that the whole ordeal ended up dividing the kingdoms further apart, and confides in her about some of the plans for the following war (Unnumbered Tears).

The very next day, Morwen kills Lalaith. She knows how other female thralls fare and she knows that as soon as Húrin is dead Melkor would have no more use for them. Better dead than a thrall.

This sends Húrin into a rage out of despair bc he really dotes on Lalaith no matter the AU, and it also hits Túrin pretty hard, he adored his sister. Melkor ofc enjoys the opportunity to turn Húrin even more towards him, and encourages him to get another child from Morwen to make up for the one he lost. I think Morwen was about to end her own life too, or maybe end Túrin’s, but they caught her before she did any more.

In this AU Nienor is conceived (at least) nine months before the Unnumbered and not nine months later. During all the pregnancy she is watched, to make sure she won’t cause an abortion. Morwen names her Nienor, lamentation, and instead of offended, Húrin laughs and says it’s an appropriate name for a warrior that shall bring woe to her foes, who will lament upon seeing her. Morwen is forbid to be alone with Nienor and they are closely watched; as a result, they aren’t very close in this hc, as opposed to canon.

Both Túrin and Nienor have strong mommy issues. Túrin visits Morwen and they have a very similar temper. Nienor loves Túrin but confronts him when she learns he visits Morwen; also I think she sees Morwen in Túrin a little, too, because they’re so similar.

I like the idea of Húrin heading the fight against mortals and him and Huor meeting on the battlefield, and killing each other.

Túrin is crazy about Nienor, though you wouldn’t guess it by looking. There’s a lot of sexual tension that they probably don’t even realize they have. When they’re together there’s a feeling like there isn’t space for anyone else - though Morwen is an always felt presence an the only crack in their bond. Túrin is stoic and reserved and his canon obsession with fighting Melkor is changed into a type of family pride. Right now I think he’s really mad that Dor-Lómin was given to the Easterlings and he thinks a great victory might convince Morgoth to give those lands back to him and Nienor? Though I also like the idea of him snooping around and trying to find Nargothrond or Doriath.

In this AU Túrin (and Húrin before he dies) is buddies with Gothmog who is sort of a mentor to him, and Nienor has a great friendship with Glaurung, whom she rides on sometimes, maybe into battle.

I had considered the idea of either Túrin or Nienor meeting Gwindor by accident on the woods and goading him and fooling him, following him until they got the path to Nargothrond, while the other sibling followed them from afar. One sibling goes into the town and the other comes with the army down on them, no need for bridges I guess. Or the bridge can be deliberate sabotage. Since I like Nienor riding Glaurung, it can be Túrin who goes in, as in canon - OTOH idk how good Túrin can be with deception no matter the AU, so maybe it is Nienor, though, really, is she any better? Also would she have a voice in council? Maybe if she got Gwindor’s ear somehow… idk, thoughts

Finduilas is captured and not killed, though I’m not sure how much better this is. Maybe both Túrin and Nienor take her for consort in an incesty-non-incesty weird triangle dance.

I haven’t thought ahead of this yet, that’s all I have! They need to have a cool and tragic ending, though I’m still unsure how. I feel like they need to fall with Brethil, but then I’m unsure what happens. Also I really don’t want Túrin and Nienor to have a falling out, it’s not my thing. I feel like they need to die together.

Things to consider:

Tuor and Aerin as kin who are held captive. Do T and N know they exist and are there? If they do, how do they react?

Morwen + other mortal thralls, or maybe Morwen + having ELVISH thralls to serve her, which Melkor does to show Húrin how much he honors him bla bla

Húrin and Gothmog banter, Gothmog warming up to the mortal once he sees him being an absolute savage in battle

Gurthang???? I mean, we NEED it. Also something for Nienor!! Maeglin fans will kill me but uuuhhh imagine if the twins had anglachel and anguirel… #goals

Beleg?? Mablung?? Everyone else?

[unreone]

Y'ALL I AIN'T REMBER THISSSS

I ACTUALLY MADE THE FIRST VERSION OF THE FIC IN 2016?? HUHHH???? LIKE 6 YEARS AGO?????? WTFRICKKKK-

Also also CHAPTER COVERS OMYFOKENGODTHESEAREOLD

Chapter 1 Parody????

LOWKEY WANTING TO DO THIS SINCE 2017 AND NOW I'M GOING TO COMMIT-

Making a tumblr blog for my opposite au!!!!!! This right here is the pfp for ittttt :]

After writing and rewriting and rerewriting

I ultimately decided to scrap a bunch of stuffs

BUT teenage Cub is still the main chara because i like the arc of his dynamic with Pop and Inversed!Pop

Agsjskkskskskka

(Also alsooo ONFG MY DELETED WATTPAD FIC'S COVER WAS ARCHIVED THNK FOKEN GOODNESS I DID MAKE IT I THOUGHT I WAS DELUSIONAL)