#if he wanted to study dark arts to learn to heal it

[kncrowder88]

I mean, not only does he create spells he also creates counter spells. Like, yeah it's learning how to defend oneself from things (we don't know when the spells were made beyond 6th year nor what - sectumsempra just says enemies, yes Marauders were likely viewed that way but enemies could also mean dangerous magical creatures that magic doesn't usually work on). He created a healing spell for it, he also is brilliant at potions - used for healing - and he is brilliant at healing curses (as seen when Dumbledore's hand gets cursed).

This is a man who doesn't just pull a casual "let me walk around with a knife on me for defense" but also pulls a "let me ensure I know how to perform life saving skills in case I end up needing to utilize combative skills, so I can ensure someone doesn't die unless necessary" --- you know unlike the individuals we see sending him at a werewolf or banging his head into ceilings.

A map being made supposedly just to sneak around is bad but it also shows they were able to spy, stalk, and invade privacy (Harry demonstrates that uses himself).

But we actively see the disregard for others safety through other actions as well. Snape at least actively shows he cares about safety (even as a member of Hogwarts staff despite how much he loathes his job and isn't fond of kids he actively seeks for the safety of the students).

Blaming Snape for creating Sectumsempra is like blaming a woman for carrying pepper spray in her bag for self-defense after being repeatedly harassed by a specific group of men. Can you really blame a victim for creating a weapon to protect themselves against their tormentors, while at the same time praising the Marauders' ingenuity for creating tools to spy on, stalk, and invade others' privacy purely for fun and bullying?

What kind of ridiculous logic is that?!

[weclassygirl]

deception

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: years pass in Eregion and reader learns how much connected she is with Sauron

warnings: some blood, but none really

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: finally the fun begins. also keep in mind this is a story that spans over hundred of years. enjoy! (previous part -> visions)

It was no secret why you pursued the dark arts in the first place. A forgotten book in your father’s library when you were a child. A child. Who in their right mind would let someone so young to read upon the cursed texts? But what happened could not be undone.

You learned in secret, became obsessive at times, your family believed you to study, to one day become a respected diplomat for the realm. How disappointed they were to hear what you have done from the mouths of others.

Cast out and alone you made your new life. You never saw them again and yet you knew them to be long gone.

It became your solace, powerful and unpredictable but you preferred it that way. You had your days when you tried to leave it behind, stop this pursuit but it always lingered, drew you even more back in.

You look up from under the tree and up into the sky, your hand picks at the skin on your palm unconsciously.

The faint scar on your finger makes you wonder what his intention was. He drew blood that day in the cell and you never questioned, never thought that there may be an intention behind it.

The man you saw in the garden looked nothing like the Sauron you knew, but you heard he could take whatever form he liked.

He survived then. That beam of light was his doing, the pain you felt was his work, but how? You trace the scar and head to the library.

It’s been some time since that day in the forge, the High King has been informed and you’ve been confined to the forge, cleaning rather than creating. Celebrimbor saw with time how quickly the blackened fingertips faded with each good deed and requested for your freedom to be expanded.

There were some Elves who deemed it uncertain of what your time would be like if you started to dwell into Eregion‘s tomes and scrolls. Celebrimbor assured them that it would be supervised. And so you took out every piece of parchment you could find, book and a passage to ensure he did not do it.

You spend a whole evening in the library when you come across it. A short mention but nevertheless clear as day. He planned it, he smiled when you healed the small cut and there was this gnawing feeling within you when he did so.

The black blood looked indistinguishable from the one over your darkened fingertips.

You rush out of the library and the guards barely catch up with you, but let you be as they see you heading to your bed chamber. You lock the door and lean against it, your breathing heavy. Your feet carry you to the bathroom and you rub at your fingertips where the small scar is left, you move so harshly that you draw blood.

It drips down and you stare in horror, black mixed with red.

He bound you… to him.

You’ve heard of rituals involving exchanging blood but for this one you hope he did not speak the vow that sealed it.

“It suits you.” you turn startled to see him standing before you. A shadow this time, almost human like, not the man you saw before.

“Get out of my head.” you snap and storm out of the bathroom, he follows you and leans against the doorframe. You hope there’s no guards outside if they were to hear whatever you would say to a ghost in your mind.

“I told you we’re bound.” his voice is distorted, like a spell cast over it.

You scoff at his words and speak through clenched teeth. “To path to darkness, not to each other.”

“Not yet.” he moves closer.

You step back until your back hits the wall, he’s not truly there but his presence alone makes you move according to his rhythm. “You cannot think I would willingly give myself to you.” it’s a twisted thought and you tip on the axis of whether you want it to come true or not.

“With time, perhaps.”

Your eyes go ever wider. “You’re insane.”

He leans above you and you avoid his gaze as his phantom breath lands next to your ear. “One day, you’ll need me just as I’ll need you.” when he pulls back he looks at you with such adoration. If he were truly here, people would mistake you for lovers.

He’s right though, you will need him. Who wouldn’t want the help of a feared sorcerer? The one person who can show you the craft you so longed to learn.

A knock comes at the door and you tear your gaze from him, he vanishes in your mind and you run your hand down your face. Persistent shadow.

You open the door to a guard. “Lord Celebrimbor wishes to see you.”

You give him a short nod. “I’ll come by the workshop later.” you start to close the door but his spear stops you from doing so.

“He wishes to see you now.” you sigh but follow his lead.

When you walk down to the forge a distinct conversation dies down as you enter. You see Celebrimbor standing with… the High King. You march closer to them, the forge is quiet, the fire crackling in the pit.

“High King.” you give him a nod. It’s been a few hundred years since he sent you to Eregion, you wonder if he comes to judge your progress or to put an end to it.

“Lord Celebrimbor has informed me of your growth in your punishment.” he starts, though his voice sounds as if the words were poison on his tongue. You knew he never took liking to you and you never hid your disdain. His next words make you rethink that perhaps he had a heart after all. “We’ve decided to free you of your confines.”

You stare agape. “What?”

Celebrimbor steps closer. “Your hands are clean, have been for many years now. I believe this could be a start of something new.” he says as he takes your hands in his and cuts the metal around your wrists.

You feel as if a weight has been lifted from your soul, like you can finally breathe. You pinch yourself, this could be another dream, another illusion from Sauron but you feel the sting on your arm.

Gil-Galad comes closer. “This does not mean that you will be less watched. The moment you dip back into your old craft, the archers will kill you without hesitation.” a threat and you see the honesty in it.

“Of course.” you respond. The High King bids goodbye to Celebrimbor and you don’t know whether to feel elated or frightened. You’re free, no more chains to hold you down, after so many years. You look down at your hand and hesitate to conjure up the smallest speckle of light. Celebrimbor notices it.

“Go on.” he encourages you. “I must admit, I’ve never seen a wizard, much less a witch to create something without using a staff.”

You gather the courage and bring up a small mist of light, scattered across your palm. You laugh and your eyes fill with tears.

“Freeing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” you whisper. You form an orb of light and almost caress it. You close the palm of your hand and the light that illuminated your face fades out in the wind. You feel a presence in the back of your mind but pay it no mind, you turn to Celebrimbor. “Shall we continue with our work?”

He smiles. “We shall.”

Time passes as you become a well-respected Elvensmith of Eregion and in those years you learn to create a perfect illusion of the effects from using dark magic. It didn’t take you long to be pulled back into it, a scroll here and there, you took many notes, crafted your own spells for your needs. Celebrimbor never suspected. Gil-Galad never knew.

And your shadow remained and with time you started to tolerate his presence but still refused to bind yourself completely to him.

You used him as much as he used you. You were his eyes in Eregion whether you liked it or not, you could not avoid it. He was a cunning sorcerer, that much you knew from your time under Morgoth’s and yet you never realized how inventive he could become. You’ve learned more from him than in all your years of studying the craft.

“Focus.” he tells you as you try to form your own illusion over your body. Your bed chamber is quiet, no guards posted outside, the balcony slightly opened to let the fresh air of the night. You pin your attention to your hands, the dark fingertips motionless in the air as they glide over your other hand.

After a moment your hand once youthful and smooth turns wrinkled with speckles of old age. “Good. You listened for once.”

“Believe it or not but your instructions sometimes prove useful.”

“Sometimes?”

You tilt your head at him. “Don’t mock.” your hand returns to its former beauty, the effects of dark magic visible in the comfort of your own chambers.

“You could leave Eregion. The High King has pardoned you, Celebrimbor believes you pose no threat. Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You could, but you needed to stay, you knew he would come here in the future.

“I can bide my time here a bit longer.” you admit. You did not wish to part from Eregion yet, you waited until Greenwood had all but forgotten your name before you could return to the calmness of your cottage. It may take years but you could wait, time was at your side.

You stand up from your spot on the bed and close the journal that lay beside you. You go over to your desk and hide it from any prying eyes. Your spells, your creation, your precious.

“Tread carefully.” he says and you turn to face him. He stands right next to you and you could almost feel his breath on your face. “They may have fallen under your deception but sooner or later you’ll slip.”

You lift your hand, the scar barely visible on your finger. “Then I’ll need you more than ever.” he looks down to your finger and gently takes your hand. Even through the illusion, the shadow you can feel the dulled touch.

“And you claimed you’ll never give yourself willingly.” he teases and raises your hand. You tilt your hand and move your hand further to place it where his cheek would have been. For a moment you think he’ll melt into your touch, a Dark Lord at your mercy. You grab his jaw forcefully and bring it down to you, even as an illusion he complied with whatever you wanted to do with him.

His gaze is unyielding and he smirks. “I won’t. At my deathbed I might, but not before.”

“I can arrange that.” you let go of him and his hand goes over his stubble. “In time, you will beg me to.”

He disappears once again leaving you alone in your chambers. This man… you grunt in annoyance and close the door to the balcony. Your sight lands on the desk, you’ve grown quite irritated at his constant disappearances. You lock the door to your chambers and sit up on the bed, your journal lays before you once more with hopes of mastering the spell once and for all.

You concentrate and lay back on the bed, you close your eyes trying to pin point where he is. You hear the water surrounding him before you see him. He lays there or so you think, below the deck, his eyes open as he senses you. The old man sees him looking around, not aware of your presence.

“Nightmares again? What haunts you so?” the old man asks. It’s then he notices you, you never sought him out that was his task but there in the shadows you stood just like he has before.

“I’ve done evil.” he says while looking at you.

The old man leans closer. “All of us have done things that we care not to admit.”

“Not like I have.” the silence weighs, you dare not to respond. The old man lectures him about choosing good, you scoff. You could never imagine him being in the light, every good act he’s done has been for his own gain. You understand, you’ve done the same.

You come closer and kneel before him. He watches you and when you try to speak to him the words caught up in your throat. He smiles for a moment, such a fleeting expression. You may have learned how to reach him but conveying a message would take time.

His eyes grow wide when he feels the beast beneath the deck and he aims for your head as if to push you down to the side. You disappear from his sight as the water crashes through the boards.

You gasp as you sit up on the bed and your hand flies to your head. You curse under your breath and try to get back to him but you’ve reached your limit.

You’ll have to wait until he reaches out again.

next part -> scheme

[sunnyrealist]

Let's Talk about Sebastian's Parents

I recently needed to write about Mr. and Mrs. Sallow for my fanfic, and because there is very little information out there, I had to invent a lot of backstory as to who they were and what life was like for the Sallow family prior to their deaths.

I'm so curious to know what headcanons others in the fandom have created about them. It would be interesting if some of us had similar thoughts. If you're willing, would you share your own ideas via comment or reblog? Thanks!

I threw in a little preview above of one of my many commissions from @giselsann-opencommissions that I've been sitting on for quite some time. I don't usually post them until I get to the plot points they depict. This one is close enough - I'll show the entire thing real soon.

Before I get to my headcanons, this is what Hogwarts Legacy: The Official Game Guide has to say about Sebastian's parents (see last paragraph):

Here is the background I created for my fic:

Their names were Samuel and Selina (Ware) Sallow. Their family and friends called them Sam and Lina.

They were both pureblood and the same age.

They met at Hogwarts. Sam was in Slytherin, and Lina was in Ravenclaw.

When they were students, they were academic rivals - not "enemies," per se, but they were not exactly friends until they were assigned as partners for a project in Potions during their seventh year. They realized how similar they were and fell in love.

They got married very quickly after graduation but didn't have Anne and Sebastian until they were older (around 30).

The two of them eventually became teachers at Hogwarts. Sam taught Magical Theory (predecessor to Professor Fig), and Lina taught Defense Against the Dark Arts (predecessor to Professor Hecat). They were experts in their fields.

They moved to Aranshire when they became professors. I believe they lived in the spider house in Hogwarts Legacy (there's actually evidence to back this up). It was FILLED with books to the point that it was practically a library.

The cellar was their workspace, and the twins knew that when their parents were down there that they were not to be disturbed unless there was an emergency.

Both of the Sallows were incredibly studious and conducted a lot of research in their spare time. They sometimes teamed up to study particular subjects, such as defensive magical theory and love as a form of magic in its purest form. They didn't view Dark magic as inherently evil, just as everyday magic is not always perfectly good.

Mr. and Mrs. Sallow were quite lovey-dovey. Sebastian remembers them reading in front of the fireplace, engrossed in their own books, but always holding hands or touching. He also remembers being grossed out as a little boy by how often they would kiss.

Neither of them had big families, and just about all of their family members had passed by the time the twins were born. Solomon Sallow was their only living relative at the time of their deaths.

They took the twins to Hogwarts often during summer breaks, so they had a head start on learning the lay of the land and the school's curriculum. Sam and Lina had them read some of their textbooks prior to their first year so that they could get the most out of their education.

They wanted the twins to be well-rounded, so they taught them multiple languages. Lina considered music a language and taught them how to play piano. She also would sing them a song every night when she put them to bed.

Lina was exceptionally gentle, despite her interest in magical combat, Dark magic, Dark creatures, etc. She tended to coddle and fuss over the children. Every year on their birthday, she would bake a spice cake with vanilla icing. She was proficient in both Muggle and magical healing. Her nicknames for Sebastian and Anne were "little prince" and "little princess" - "the little twin rulers."

As far as looks, Sebastian takes after Lina, who had curly auburn hair and freckles. While Anne got a few of Lina's freckles, her hair is similar to Sam's.

Sam loved to give the twins sweets behind their mother's back. He had a distinct laugh and enjoyed reading stories aloud and "doing the voices." He taught the kids how to play Quidditch; he had once been a beater. When he traveled for his studies and would come home with unique artifacts and new information, he would share all of it with the twins in plain language, never talking down to them. I see Sam as an Atticus Finch kind of father.

Christmas was a simple affair. They'd have Uncle Solomon over for dinner, and he would leave pretty quickly after dessert (he and Sam were not close and disagreements were frequent). The twins were always gifted two items: a new book and something particularly interesting, useful, or coveted.

They liked animals and had an Old English Sheepdog named Endy (short for Endymion).

Again, I would love to hear your headcanons. Are yours similar or completely different from mine? Sound off in the comments or reblog! I love discussions like this.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

YOUR HIGHNESS I HAVE A REQUEST FOR YOU. 💍 not much of request, more of a suggestion if you ever feel like writing it, what about a necromancer yandere? or a mortician?!! OOOOUGHH im so obsessed with necromancers and everything related to them, and there's só many options!!! trying to realive darling reader? put me in! necromancer went to get body parts but when they were doing research they fell in love with one of the people they were getting body parts from, now they want to realive them! DELICIOUS!! killing unwilling reader and bringing them back as a form of punishment! IM ON! i give you full creative control thy humble lord, thank you for the food

(and of course, feel free to deny, YOU are the artist, you are what matters ❤)

Yeah, I can do this

Yandere!Necromancer x GN!Reader

CW: Mentions of death and corpses, both human and animal

The most powerful bastard to have ever lived.

The unspeakable horror known as Letum the Terrible, a powerful sorcerer that seemed to draw magic from the universe without any limitations; a bottomless pool of stamina who could wipe out armies with a snap of their fingers.

Or, as Nephin knew them, (Reader).

He still remembered the first time he met (Reader), when they were a young teenager and he was just a child. What the pitiful town's people called power hungry and malicious, Nephin understood to be ambitious and determined. Even at the age of five, the small boy could see how the people never broke (Reader's) spirit; how every time they publicly beat them out of fear, or accused them openly of evil and conspiring with dark forces, (Reader's) resolve strengthened.

Unlike wizards, who had to learn the ancient arts and memorize countless spells, or mages who had to use magickally imbued artifacts and books written by magick users of the past, the terrifying teenager was a sorcerer, who's power was instinct and perfected by trial and error experimentation.

Nephin craved the user's attention.

He studied so diligently, begging the universe to give him access to the energy of the universe or to grant him his own supply of natural mana.

The rest of the town was so focused on being afraid of (Reader), that no one but Nephin noticed their one and only flaw. (Reader) could not heal themselves.

Less than a month before the human known as (Reader) would seemingly fall off the face of the earth, they had changed the course of the little love sick child's life forever, after an encounter hidden deep in the woods.

Nephin cradled a bleeding rabbit, focusing on a simple healing spell, chanting it over and over again while rocking on his little heels, screaming in his heart for the universe to awaken his healing power. But the rabbit continued to bleed out over his shirt.

"Hel, oh breathing earth, this broken body. Hel, oh breathing earth, this broken body. Hel-"

The small little black rabbit went limp in Nephin's arms, releasing her last breath. Tears tumbled down out of frustration.

"No. No. No!" He whined, gripping the body against his chest harder. "Wake up! Wake up!"

A warm green light bubbled up from the earth like liquid, rising into the air around Nephin and the rabbit. It was working. "Wake up! Wake up!"

The rabbit stirred to life, moving within his grasp, without breathing.

Joy filled Nephin, believing himself to have finally achieved the power to heal, when he realized that the wound on the bunny never closed, and blood was still dripping from the gash.

He didn't have much time to wonder what was happening, as (Reader) emerged from the bushes, wide eyed at the sight before them.

"I.. didn't heal him right.." Nephin sadly stated, holding out the rabbit to his unrequited love.

(Reader) reached out for the beast, ignoring it's screams. After a brief inspection, (Reader) got on their knees to stand at eye level with Nephin. "What is your name, child?"

".. Nephin."

"Nephin, dear young magick user, you were born for power, but not to heal."

"-but-"

"This rabbit is dead." (Reader) angled the violently wriggling head towards Nephin so the child could see the green hue in the bunny's clouding eyes. "What you have accomplished, was quite impressive for one without training. You are a necromancer."

Nephin felt his tiny heart shatter. The tears that had begun to dry restarted, falling freely down his round, baby cheeks. "But I wanted to - to heal!"

"Look at me." (Reader) snapped their fingers, startling Nephin into choking back his sob. "With the advancements in non magickal science, even regular men can make healing medicines. With time, the doctors and the apothecaries will surely render healers useless. However, you can do what no healer has ever achieved. You can raise the dead."

(Reader) hoped that they successfully encouraged the kid, handing him back his first successful minion.

Their words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

After (Reader) disappeared, Nephin ran away from home, traveling across the continent to find necromancers to study under. They gladly accepted him as one of their own, filling him with praise over his natural talent. And as the years went by, Nephin grew in power tangentially with (Reader). He had no proof that the nearly inhuman Letum was (Reader), but with the descriptions of their abilities he had little doubt in his mind as to who they were.

Without an ability to heal themselves, (Reader) slowly became less and less of the person they once were. Stories told of the terrifyingly powerful being spread around the world, as the strongest warriors of all classes and species left to challenge them and were destroyed so thoroughly that there was not body to send back to their families. The only times (Reader) was injured was due to their hubris, which allowed their opponents to gain the upper hand. The fighters would be reduced to ash with a snap of their fingers afterwords, but (Reader) never missed the opportunity to allow their opponents to show off their pitiful abilities against them.

Scars covered so much of (Reader's) skin, that their original skin tone was difficult to determine. With a bald head and lack of a nose or upper lip, the intimidating menace was easily mistaken for a monster.

No one but Nephin remembered (Reader), but everyone knew of Letum the Terrible.

And as time went on, Nephin's love for his first crush never faded, counting down the days until he reached adulthood and could track down (Reader). He knew, logically, that (Reader) would not remember him, but whether or not they allowed him to follow them around like their loyal dog, or killed him without a second thought, was enough for him; just to be in their presence once more would be an honor.

On Nephin's twentieth birthday, when he was awarded the highest rank amongst his adoptive village and became not only an adult, but a necromancer more powerful than any other in history, he set out to find (Reader), ready to track them down by following their crimes like a trail of rose petals.

Instead, Nephin found a nation of people celebrating the death of Letum.

And it was as though his entire existence had been a waste.

Letum the Terrible was preserved with magick to be researched my magickal scientists.

Their body would not deteriorate, nor rot, as scholars from around the world freely came to poke and prod and slice open their body in an attempt to understand what gave Letum such immense power.

In the hall of intellectuals, Nephin stood transfixed before the viewing table, admiring what little remained of the neighbor he once knew. Their chest and abdomen were hollowed out, every organ except the brain removed and placed in jars to be examined. Everyone who got a chance to see the most powerful evil to have ever lived felt comfortable enough in the corpse's presence to mock (Reader).

"They died from something so mundane.."

"An allergy? Even children can heal themselves.."

"Perhaps they were bored with life.."

"Perhaps they weren't so strong after all.."

'Enough with this slander.' Except for (Reader's) body, each and every cadaver, no matter how incomplete they were, woke, and turned on the humans. The atmosphere quickly changed from cheeky to tragic, everyone scrambling in a mass panic as the dead began to tear apart the living. In the chaos Nephin stole away (Reader's) body, carrying them like a bride on their wedding day.

It took years to find every piece he needed.

Nephin searched the world for pieces to fix his precious neighbor, his first and only love. The two were now the same age as each other, as a corpse can not grow old.

Although Nephin found (Reader) just as beautiful with their scars as he did when they were children, the world knew of Letum, but only he knew of (Reader). So he hunted down pieces of the old (Reader) throughout the lands. Someone's similar shaped nose, a hide matching their skin tone and texture, scalping someone with (Reader's) hair. Bit by bit, throughout the years, with the help of a warlock under contract to resurrect her wife, Nephin sew (Reader) back together.

(Reader) woke up.

Head splitting in pain, they forced themselves to sit up, despite the voice of a stranger commanding them to take it slow. Everything was fuzzy, and they couldn't recall what had happened to cause such a stiffness and agony. The last thing they remembered was being bitten by a spider, and falling ill nearly instantly, collapsing alone in the woods.

They raised their arm to inspect their bite, but found an unfamiliar arm. Patches of skin stitched together. Their other arm was similarly foreign, and as their eyes learned to focus again, they learned that the same was true for the rest of their naked body.

"I wanted to clothe you, however I was worried the texture would be uncomfortable on your new skin." The stranger with white hair and tired eyes shyly spoke, disturbingly pale skin blushing red.

"I am in no mood for jokes." (Reader) attempted to proclaim loudly, however, their voice was nothing but a dry whisper.

"You may not remember me, but I remember you. I am the one who brought you back. And.." The red deepened as his smile trembled. "I am your master now."

"Ha! Cheeky. Regret your words, and I, Letum the Terrible, shall let you live."

"You are no longer Letum the Terrible." He bent down, caressing their left hand and placing a soft kiss on a their ring finger before pulling out a small box. "You are (Reader), my beloved spouse."

"That's it." (Reader) raised their hand, no longer amused. "This conversation is over."

And snapped their fingers.

.. but nothing happened.

Confused, they looked at their hand.

"I told you." Nephin said sweetly, admiring the green swirl of magick in (Reader's) eyes. "I am your master now."

[antiquepearlss]

Freckled Siblings ramble because I love them-

I feel like freckle siblings is a relationship we tend to look at from Varian’s perspective. We view it as Rapunzel being Varian’s friend. Her helping him and being the person he desperately needs. Which I love that. But I also think that a friendship with Varian is something that is so healing for Rapunzel, too.

I mean this is a girl who was sheltered her entire life and doesn’t know how to properly socialize, who is now thrust into the public eye. Varian, being the mayors son, knows all about that. He’s likely had to grow up with a lot of pressure to be likeable and probably grew up with everyone in his village watching him. And he definitely gives off the vibe of a child who has been sheltered his whole life. He, too, doesn’t know how to properly socialize. I think his experience would help him understand, and he’s there for her to vent to and he can provide advice.

Not to mention they have similar interests. Art, engineering, science (Rapunzel canonically studies astronomy) not to mention that Rapunzel has a deep love of learning. I think she would gain a lot from Varian teaching her about how the world works. I think the two could bond over engineering and Rapunzel would adore having Varian as a little tutor.

And, also, Rapunzel has done so much for him that Varian absolutely tries to return the favor whenever possible. Of course he builds things for her (likely without her even asking) but I also headcanon he does little stuff for her too, little favors. Helping her clean her room, bringing her snacks when she’s working, helping her dye her hair, being a model when she designs clothes, peeling her oranges, etc. Little things that she doesn’t even always notice he does for her. She’s so used to always doing everything, (let’s be honest, she was a lot like a maid to Gothel) that she doesn’t even notice that Varian always takes her plate after they finish eating, that he packs her and Eugene lunches before they leave town, or that he always walks by her side when he notices a festival is just a little too crowded for her.

I also headcanon that aside from Eugene, Varian is the only person Rapunzel has really opened up to about Gothel. She sees a lot of Gothel in Andrew and the two can trauma bond, in a way. And since Varian lives in the castle, if Eugene is busy and Rapunzel just really doesn’t want to be alone, she knows Varian won’t mind if she hangs out with him, even if it’s the middle of the night or he’s in the middle of a project. His lab is always open to her.

Also, he totally invents the lightbulb for her because of her fear of the dark, and he tells her when his neighbors livestock have baby animals for her to come play with. He also always brings her fresh apples after he visits his dad.

[kylatheartist22222223]

The Industrialists Daughter

Part 1

The city of Zaun had long belonged to Silco. His name was a whispered threat in the dark alleys, a shadow stretching across the neon-lit depths of the Undercity. The air hung heavy with smoke and the ever-present scent of chemicals—a blend of ambition, danger, and decay.

She was Silco’s daughter, his true blood, and his reflection in more ways than one. Where Silco’s power was tempered by years of cunning and the scars of betrayal, hers was sharper—young, cold, and unyielding. She moved through the alleys like a specter, as precise and calculating as the mechanisms that powered the great machinery of Zaun. She had inherited her father’s steely resolve, his ambition, and the hard glint of fire in his eyes.

To the people of Zaun, she was a figure to be feared and respected—a presence that never raised her voice but always commanded attention. In her silence was a promise of danger, in her gaze a warning not to challenge her claim to the city’s underbelly. She was the shadow to Silco’s flame, the silent warden of his empire. And if the Undercity trembled at the sight of Jinx’s wild laughter and manic eyes, they held their breath when she walked past, her expression calm and unreadable.

But just as her father held a cunning intellect, she was also known to have a brilliant mind behind her cold exterior—almost genius in more ways than one. This led her to stray away from the wanton violence that spread through the streets, instead finding herself drawn to the opposite of killing. She found an inner want to heal.

Silco, never to deprive his firstborn of freedoms, let her take her own path. Supportive of wherever her own desires led her. Her acceptance to the Piltover Academy however, came as a shock to everyone—even to Silco himself.

In the heart of the gilded city where the air was crisp and clean, removed from Zaun’s suffocating smog, the academy stood as a symbol of Piltover’s supposed superiority—a beacon of learning, wealth, and privilege. Yet his daughter had earned her place there, not through her fathers reputation, but by her own merit. She had spent years studying medicine in secret, pouring over stolen textbooks and dissecting creatures in the shadows of Zaun’s abandoned labs. When the acceptance letter arrived, she met her fathers gaze with the same cool composure she always had, and Silco’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and wariness. She was going to Piltover, not as a spy or saboteur, but as a student determined to master the art of healing in a world that saw Zaunites as little more than criminals and scavengers.

Her reasons were her own, buried deep beneath her unreadable expression, but one truth was clear—she would claim the knowledge of Piltover's finest minds and bend it to her will, just as she had learned from her father.

“You must be more careful.” Silco’s voice was low and tense, each word carrying the weight of his disappointment as he chastised Jinx for her carelessness. She sat slumped in a worn chair, her arm bleeding from a gash she had earned in one of her reckless escapades.

“Sorry I can’t be your-ever perfect daughter like little miss perfecta.” She snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not all of us get to play doctor by day and daddy’s little soldier by night.” She said while spinning her chair idly. The wound was deep, the blood trickling down her wrist, forming a dark stain on the floor. Jinx’s eyes were downcast, her defiance seemingly amplified by the stinging pain and shame of Silco’s rebuke.

“Watch your tongue. You know better than to speak ill of your family.” Silco started to scold Jinx,

“Do you think your sister didn’t work to become who she is? She earned every step. You have your own strengths, don’t forget that.” His voice held a softer edge as he attempted to keep her arm from flailing about and hurting herself more.

The room fell thick with silence when the office door creaked open. Clara stepped inside, her academy vest trailing the scent of Piltover’s crisp air. She moved without a word, her expression cool and focused as she set her books and medical bag onto the floor.

“Ah Clara, thank you for coming. Your sister here needs your attention.” Silco greeted as he stepped aside, his eyes following her movements as he watched her pull on gloves and gather tools with calm efficiency. Jinx winced when Clara pricked her skin with a needle, numbing the area with local anesthetic, her hands steady and practiced.

She stitched the wound with a precision that spoke of the countless hours spent mastering her craft. The glow of the lanterns cast a faint halo around her as she worked, and for a moment, Zaun’s raw edges and PIltover’s clinical detachment seemed to blur—embodied in the young woman who’s quiet authority settled the room. When she was done, Jinx met her sister's eyes, but Clara only nodded once before standing to place everything back into her bag.

“Fourteen stitches.” Clara said simply as she wiped her hands with an antiseptic towel.

“Serves you right for being reckless.” Silco added with a deep sigh,

Jinx leaned back into her chair, a smirk spreading across her face as she eyed Clara with mock sweetness.

”Look at you, all high and mighty now that you’re rubbing elbows with the fancy Pilty types,” she taunted, her voice laced with venom.

”Guess a couple of shiny buildings and fresh air were all it took to make you forget what real dirt feels like, huh? Do they teach you how to look down on us in those fancy classes, or did you just pick that up all on your own?” Jinx taunted, Clara didn’t even flinch at her words, instead leaning and placing both hands on the arms of Jinx’s chair as she got down to her level,

”I haven’t forgotten a thing,” she replied evenly, her eyes steely.

”But at least some of us are doing more than just making noise and leaving a mess for someone else to clean up.” This struck a nerve. Jinx’s eyes narrowed, her face twisting in fury. With a huff of defiance she shoved past Clara as she stood and stormed out, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the windows. The room fell silent, the echo of Jinx’s rage lingering like the smoke that drifted through Zaun’s streets. Silco watched the door for a moment, his face a mask of strained patience, before letting out a slow, weary sigh. He turned to Clara, his voice quieter, almost tired.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” He admitted, the rare vulnerability cutting through his usually commanding tone.

“She’s a force of chaos—brilliant, dangerous, and so far from control.” He spoke, his eyes searching hers for some answers she might have. As she looked upon her fathers face, the lines of weariness etched into his eyes, her expression softened.

“She needs time,” She said gently, her voice a quiet contrast to the chaos Jinx had left behind.

“Time to figure out who she is, and trust that we’ll still be here when she does.” She moved closer to him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, a rare gesture of comfort.

”You gave her a chance when no one else would. Took her in when she needed a family the most. But you cannot force her to be what she is not.”

Silco’s hard gaze softened, just a fraction, as he looked at his daughter. He reached out and swept a stray piece of hair from her face.

“You have always been the voice of reason.” He said quietly,

“You make me proud, every day. I just…I just wish Jinx could see the world the way you do.” Clara’s expression broke into a small smile at his words, but after a moment it fell away as she stepped backwards to retrieve her bag.

“I must go. It is growing late.” She said softly as she glanced out the darkened windows. He gave a slow nod, the hardness settling back into his eyes, though the affection remained.

“Be safe, princess.” He said, his voice low and measured. Clara allowed herself another smile and leaned in to place a quick kiss to his cheek before slinging her bag over her shoulder.

”Always.” She promised, then turned and walked toward the door, the weight of two worlds pressing on her shoulders as she left Zaun’s shadows for Piltover’s light.

________________________________________________________

Clara moved through the streets of Piltover with a quiet, determined grace, her cloak pulled tightly around her to shield her from the cool night air. The Academy had long since quieted, and the city’s lights reflected off the polished stone as she walked in the cover of darkness, the shadows of the Undercity still clinging to her despite the stark contrast of her surroundings. She approached the gates, her mind heavy and tired.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of golden eyes watched from a high window in Professor Heimerdinger’s office. Viktor stood, his gaze lingering on her approaching figure. His silhouette was barely a shadow against the dim light of the desk lamp, and the faint hum of machinery behind him echoed in the silence. Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Clara’s every movement. There was a curiosity in his gaze, an awareness that drew him to the young woman with a sense of intrigue that he couldn’t quite place.

”What are you staring at, dear boy?” Came Professor Heimerdinger's voice, Viktor’s gaze shifting from the window as the Professor’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. He glanced sheepishly out the window once more before settling his gaze back on the Professor.

”Oh, ah, nothing Professor.” He replied, trying to keep his voice nonchalant as he collected his thoughts.

”Just…observing the stars. It’s such a beautiful night out after all.” Viktor was aware that the professor could see through his lie, but he couldn’t find the words to explain his intrigue with the campus sidewalk.

_______________________________

Clara had grown used to the isolation that came with being at the Academy. Her peers whispered in hushed tones when they thought she couldn’t hear, speculating about how the undercities tycoon daughter had managed a seat amongst the Piltover snobs.

They watched her with a mix of curiosity and caution, but Clara never seemed to notice. During lectures, she sat at the same table—always alone—her focus fixed solely on the material before her. The empty chair across from her never bothered her, nor did the sidelong glances she occasionally caught from the other students. It was a loneliness she had long accepted, a solitude that gave her the space to think, to learn, and to plan. The walls of the academy may have felt foreign, but she had learned to thrive in their cold, indifferent embrace.

Jayce Talis was still new to the Academy, his mind buzzing with the possibilities that came with being accepted into Piltover’s prestigious halls. When he entered the lecture hall for the first day of the class he had been moved to, he scanned the room for a place to sit, and his eyes landed on Clara, sitting alone at the same table she always did. Without a second thought, he moved toward her, pulling out the chair across from her with a friendly grin.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, unaware of the unspoken rules that governed the space around her. Clara glanced up at him, her expression unreadable, but she made no move to stop him. With a casual shrug, Jayce sat down, offering a genuine smile as he took out his notebook. His presence, though unwelcome by some, was open and unguarded, a stark contrast to the usual avoidance Clara had grown accustomed to. She said nothing, but the slightest shift in her posture—more relaxed than usual—suggested that, for once, his company didn’t disturb her.

Jayce couldn’t help but be drawn to Clara’s focused intensity as he watched as she traced her fingers over the pages of her textbook. His curiosity piqued, he leaned forward to get a better look, his eyes widening slightly when he realized she wasn’t just reading. It was a detailed, intricate sketch of a human skeleton taking shape on a sketchbook resting next to her textbook. Her movements were fluid and precise, fingers gliding over the lines with an almost reverent care. The sketch was stunning, each bone rendered with painstaking accuracy, the shadows perfectly placed to give depth to the drawing. Jayce leaned forward, his interest growing as he watched her work, her brow furrowed in concentration. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she seemed to lose herself in the process, the rest of the classroom fading into the background. Despite her usual aloofness, in that moment, Clara seemed to come alive with the lines she created, a sharp contrast to the more rigid, distant version of herself. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how she truly expressed herself—through the precision of her art, rather than words. It was something he didn’t expect, and for a moment, Jayce found himself silently admiring the quiet skill and depth beneath her guarded exterior.

Clara’s hand froze mid-stroke as she felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her. Her fingers paused over the page, the faintest tension creeping into her posture. She glanced up sharply to find Jayce’s eyes fixed on her sketch, his expression open and curious. For a moment, she saw only the potential for ridicule in his gaze—he was just another student, probably here to mock her for being from Zaun, to look down on her like so many others. Her jaw tightened, and she straightened in her seat, giving him an even, but cold look.

“Is there an issue?” she asked, her voice low but carrying an edge of warning. Her hand instinctively moved to cover the drawing, as if protecting it from some perceived threat. “If you’re going to judge, best you find somewhere else to sit.” Her words were sharp, defensive, the same armor she’d developed to protect herself from those who didn’t understand. But beneath the tough exterior, there was a flicker of uncertainty, a fear that this new face—this new presence—might be just another person who would treat her as an outsider.

Jayce blinked in surprise at Clara’s sudden defensiveness, his expression shifting from curiosity to confusion. He hadn’t expected such a sharp reaction, especially when all he’d done was show interest in her work. His hands instinctively raised in a gesture of peace, his tone sincere.

“Whoa, hey, I wasn’t staring to judge,” he said quickly, a small frown pulling at his brow.

“I just—I was impressed. That’s some seriously detailed work.” He leaned back slightly, giving her space, hoping she’d see he meant no harm.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just… new here, and not really sure about the unspoken rules yet.” He paused, meeting her gaze directly, his expression softening.

“But I get it. If you don’t want to share, I won’t push. I respect that.” His voice was calm and steady, the sincerity in his words evident as he returned his attention to his own work, giving her the space she clearly wanted.

Clara’s shoulders relaxed slightly as Jayce’s words sank in, the tension in her chest easing just enough for her to realize he wasn’t mocking her. He was genuine, something she hadn’t expected, and it made her defensive outburst seem even more misplaced. She glanced at him again, watching as he turned his attention back to his work, the openness in his expression lingering. She felt a small, unfamiliar tug of guilt, but the thought of apologizing verbally wasn’t something she could bring herself to do. Instead, as the bell rang signaling the end of class, she quietly folded the page containing her skeleton sketch. Without a word, she slid the drawing across the desk toward him, her fingers barely brushing his as she did so. The motion was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it carried with it a quiet apology, a silent acknowledgment that maybe she had judged him too quickly. Before Jayce could even react, Clara was already gathering her things, slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder and walking out the door, her steps brisk as she disappeared down the corridor to her next class, leaving only the sketch behind as a quiet sign of peace.

__________________________________

Viktor sat quietly at the desk, his eyes scanning the equations scribbled across the pages of his own notes. As he flipped through the textbook Jayce had left open on the table, something unusual caught his eye—a folded piece of paper tucked neatly between the pages. He reached for it, unfolding it with careful hands, revealing the intricate sketch of a human skeleton. The detail was remarkable, the shading precise, as if each bone was meticulously placed with an artist’s touch. Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly in curiosity. He wasn’t used to seeing such work from the students at the Academy, especially not in a textbook.

He glanced up at Jayce, who was still working on his own projects across the room, absorbed in his research.

“Jayce,” Viktor’s voice broke the quiet, steady but curious. “Where did this come from?” He held up the sketch between them, his eyes now fixed on his colleague. “This definitely isn’t yours. Who drew it?”

Jayce looked up, clearly surprised by the question, his gaze shifting to the drawing. He hesitated for a moment, his face flushing slightly as he stammered for a response.

“Uh, it was… from my classmate Clara. She just, um, slid it to me after class. Didn’t really say much about it.” Jayce shrugged, his discomfort palpable, but there was an underlying hint of sheepishness as he added,

“I guess she just didn’t want to leave things awkward after… well, after I kind of stared at her work.” He finished as he rubbed the nape of his neck in embarrassment. Viktor raised a brow at his friend, mischief tugging at the back of his mind as a small smirk settled on his lips.

”Stared at her work, or stared at her.” Viktor said slyly. Jayce chuckled nervously at Viktor’s teasing, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I—uh, I wasn’t staring at her, Viktor. I was just… admiring her work. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t help but notice how talented she is.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “Right, just admiring her work… sure, Jayce. You know, it’s totally normal to admire an artist’s technique—but that doesn’t explain your reaction.”

Jayce’s face flushed deeper. “I—” he stammered with a sigh, clearly flustered, but couldn’t suppress a small grin. “You’re impossible.”

Viktor laughed as he placed the folded drawing back into the pages of Jayce’s textbook, content with the rise he got from his friend.

___________________________________________

Clara felt a pang of regret for snapping at Jayce that day in class. She hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but catching him staring at her sketch made her feel exposed, her art too personal to be criticized by someone else. Over the next few classes, she found small ways to make up for it. Without saying a word, she started leaving him detailed, beautifully organized notes, filled with insights and observations that went far beyond what the teacher covered. At first, Jayce didn’t understand why she was doing it, but as he flipped through the notes, he saw just how brilliant Clara was—her mind a mixture of creativity and precision, a depth he had never expected.

Over the next few months, Jayce found himself stumbling upon Clara in the most unexpected places. He’d see her tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, hunched over a thick textbook, or perched on a bench in the courtyard, sketchbook balanced on her knees. Each time, he’d plop down next to her, a crooked grin on his face, and start talking about anything that came to mind—classes, music, the latest campus gossip. At first, Clara’s reactions ranged from barely concealed annoyance to resigned sighs, but Jayce didn’t mind. He started to make a habit of it, these “accidental” meetings that gradually became routine. Little by little, he noticed her irritation softening, her guarded silence breaking into occasional, reluctant laughter. What Clara saw as a persistent annoyance, Jayce considered the beginnings of a real friendship, and he was happy just to be around her—even if it meant ignoring the glares she shot his way when he interrupted her concentration.

Jayce found Clara one afternoon, buried in a stack of biology textbooks at her favorite spot in the library. He watched her scribble notes furiously for a few moments before finally asking, “So, why medicine? Why put yourself through all of this?” He gestured to the chaos of diagrams and highlighted notes spread around her.

“Because…all life is important. We take much from ourselves as a society. I simply wish to help others.” She said without looking up from her notes, her expression unchanged and voice even.

Jayce nodded, leaning forward. “But you could do that in other ways, right? Why not something that, I don’t know, seems more you? Like art?”

“Art, while impressive to look at, does little for those dying of bullet holes,” she said while highlighting a passage,

“Besides, I want to be useful.” She tacked on at the end while flipping the page of her book.

”Fair.” Jayce replied as he leaned back into his chair with a thoughtful expression.

___________________________________________

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the atmosphere of the academy’s research wing was heavy with the smell of ink and the soft scent of old books. The vaulted ceilings, tall windows, and the quiet murmur of students made it feel like a cathedral of knowledge. At one of the study tables near the back, Clara sat, absorbed in her work, her long fingers poised over a pile of anatomical sketches, meticulously detailing muscle fibers and bone structure. Her focused expression was like a mask—stoic, unyielding.

Jayce, ever the tireless optimist, approached her table with a confident step, a faint grin on his face. Beside him, Viktor shuffled, his frame a little hunched from the weight of his own thoughts, and his gaze darted around the room as if trying to get a read on the environment.

“Clara,” Jayce greeted warmly, as though interrupting her study was nothing at all. “How’s the progress on those case studies? Or are you too busy to talk to an old friend?”

“I’m studying for an exam. Is there a reason you are interrupting me?”

Jayce chuckled, clearly unbothered by her bluntness. “I was hoping to introduce you to Viktor,” he said, gesturing toward his friend. “He’s been working on something that I think your going to like.”

Viktor stood slightly stiff beside Jayce, his gaze briefly sweeping over Clara before he spoke, his voice, deeper and quieter than Jayce’s, entered the conversation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clara.”

Clara looked up, her gaze sharp but not unfriendly. Her eyes flicked briefly to Viktor before returning to Jayce. “This better be legitimate and something I’m actually going to find interesting,” she replied, her voice cool but not dismissive. “This is a very important exam for me, as you are aware.”

“I know, I know. I understand. But this could be groundbreaking for the three of us.” Jayce said enthusiastically. Clara raised a brow at his choice of wording. Three? Us?

“As you know, I have recently got funding through the academy to start my Hextech project, and me and Viktor have been talking about the potential of applying it to the medical world, particularly prosthetics. We thought you might be interested.” Jayce began, Clara furrowed her brow, her fingers drumming lightly on the table.

Her gaze shifted to the man standing beside Jayce, studying him for a moment. She noticed his unassuming presence and the way he carried himself, the faint trace of exhaustion in his features—an academic burden, perhaps?

Viktor finally spoke, his voice steady but thoughtful. “I’ve been developing a prototype,” he began, his tone quieter than Jayce’s, more measured. “A prosthetic limb that uses Hextech to synchronize with the user’s nervous system. A limb that not only looks human but also functions like one. My goal is to make prosthetics not just a replacement, but an extension of the body—a way to restore what was lost, not just in form, but in function.”

Clara’s expression didn’t change, but her interest was piqued. She leaned forward ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing as she considered Viktor’s words. “Prosthetics. And you think this Hextech magic can replicate the full function of a human limb? The neural connections, the sensory feedback… arcane magic is powerful, but even you must realize the limitations.”

Viktor nodded solemnly, aware of the challenge she presented. “I do,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “That’s why I’m combining it with bioengineering. If we can integrate Hextech’s energy systems with the neural pathways that control motor functions, we might be able to create a prosthetic that responds to the user’s intent. It’s not about replacing the body—it’s about working with it. Restoring a level of autonomy to those who’ve lost it.”

Clara’s eyes swept over Viktor as he spoke, his voice low and intense as he explained the mechanics of the prototype he was suggesting. His words flowed quickly, passionate. But Clara’s gaze drifted down to the brace on his leg, to the crutch he leaned on. She noted the way his fingers traced the metal handle of his cane absently as he spoke. How his shoulders were slightly bent with fatigue, probably from standing long hours and never asking to sit in resentment of the pity he might receive.

She understood then that this project wasn’t just about innovation—it was personal. There was a determination in his words, a need that went deeper than simple curiosity or ambition. Clara sensed that Viktor’s pursuit of perfection was as much for himself as it was for others. It wasn’t just science; it was a lifeline, a way to reclaim something he felt he had lost.

Clara’s eyes flickered as she thought over his proposition. Leaning back slightly in her chair, folding her arms.

“That’s ambitious, Viktor,” she said, her tone reserved but thoughtful.

Viktor nodded, as though accepting the challenge of her words. “Of course. But that’s why I need someone with your expertise,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve worked with machines all my life, but the human body is still a mystery to me. You understand the complexities of it. Hextech could revolutionize treatment—if we can bridge the gap between your knowledge and my technology.”

Clara’s eyes flickered slightly—perhaps an acknowledgement of the sincerity in his voice. It was clear she wasn’t ready to fully commit, but something in Viktor’s words seemed to strike a chord.

Clara sat up in her chair and placed her hands flat on the table, her demeanor shifting slightly. “I’ll have to see more details of your research before I can commit to anything. But I’m intrigued, Viktor. Consider this the beginning of a conversation.”

Viktor gave her a nod, a faint but sincere smile forming on his face. “Thank you.”

Jayce clapped Viktor on the back, his enthusiasm undeterred. “That’s the closest thing to a yes we’ll get from Clara. Let’s get to work.”

_____________________________________

This is part one! I hope you enjoy!

[a-forest-in-her-bones]

ok, Thrawn Time

I just watched episode 6 of Ahsoka, enjoyed myself, and then naturally went to the Ahsoka tag on this blue website to see what everyone else thinks and so on. And… I’ve seen some complaints/commentary about Thrawn’s dad bod. So, I propose a theory that has absolutely no bearing on the story. Firstly, at this point in the Star Wars timeline, Thrawn is about 70 years old. And while there are many older men who stay active and fit, and one would expect Mr. “Physical exercise stimulates the brain and frees one’s intellect” would keep up with his training regimen, there could be factors at play we simply aren’t considering. The Chimera crashes on Peridea after being thrust through hyperspace by a pod of Purrgil. Ezra Bridger escapes to go live with hermit crab turtle guys. Somewhere in that chain of events it’s very possible Thrawn could have sustained a serious injury. Perhaps a younger Thrawn could bounce back easily with a quick dip in a bacta tank and some very sophisticated yoga, but he isn’t young anymore, and such medical treatment was probably hard to get quickly enough in that chaotic situation. Perhaps the Nightsisters healed him, but I imagine dark magick would still leave a mark. So training and sparring are no longer an option, and Thrawn pours himself solely into keeping his mind sharp. He studies the history, culture, and art of the Dathomiri, he organizes his remaining troops (maybe oversees their kintsugi zombification and designs Enoch’s mask, we don’t know), he strategizes and conspires with the Mothers, plans, rebuilds. And even though his body is getting older and he’s not the warrior he once was physically, his mind is honed to a deadly edge. It’s also pretty likely that Lars Mikkelsen (who is also no longer a young man) couldn’t or didn’t want to get in shape for the role. Which, you know, respect. Honestly I think dad bod Thrawn who’s had YEARS to learn new things and plan and ponder over his previous defeat and feels secure and confident enough to put on a few pounds and accept old age has the potential to be WAY scarier than we’ve seen him before.

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Waking the Flaming Fist

Cw for blood, mentions of suicide/self sacrifice. Freya being a prickly bitch like normal. Don’t worry she gets better soonish.

Freya handed Halsin a small bag of gold to restock their supplies with the quartermaster - Talli, he learned - while she went inside to speak with Jaheira. He couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of hope, this small pocket of safety in a land he was sure had been all but lost.

As Halsin hoisted his pack over his shoulder - now brimming with bandages, food, fresh water, and herbs to make potions - he tried not to think about the Selûnite who’d captured his attention. She was beautiful, to be sure, the picture of elven grace beneath all the dirt and grime. Her beauty was almost matched by her strength, both mental and physical, and her wit was as sharp as the blade she wielded with that unwavering ferocity. Most soldiers found themselves encumbered by their heavy armor, but Freya danced across each battlefield with the elegance of a noble lady.

He admired her, this woman who was half his size and a hundred years his junior, yet mightier than any he’d ever met. He’d gotten the tiniest of peeks into her mind, and he wanted more than anything to tear down the wall of stone erected around her heart. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

As if his thoughts summoned her, Freya came barreling out of the inn, searching the square until her gaze landed on him. He was immediately on alert at the sight of her urgency, and dropped his pack to hurry to her.

“What is it?” He asked, searching her face. Her expression, normally a stoic mask, was excited and swimming with hope.

“There’s a Flaming Fist in the inn. He’s insensible and unconscious, but he keeps singing about Thaniel.”

————

Halsin and Freya stood over the Fist’s bedside as he mumbled his song in his sleep. Over and over, the sleeping man mentioned Thaniel. Freya had not misheard, it was true. They needed to rouse him, to find out what he knew, but how?

“It’s true, then. He’s met Thaniel. We need to wake him.” Halsin repeated his thoughts aloud to Freya as she studied the man.

“Look at his hands,” she said. “His callouses, those aren’t from wielding a sword. He’s a musician, probably played some stringed instrument or another.”

“His name is Art Cullagh. He had this letter on him when we found him,” one of Counselor Florrick’s guards said, handing an old piece of parchment to Freya. She took it, and her brow furrowed as she read it to herself.

“Duke Eltan…he’s long dead,” she whispered. Halsin racked his brain to remember where he’d heard that name, but in truth, the city’s politicians were ever changing and Halsin paid them next to no mind. Freya’s eyes flicked upward to meet Halsin’s. “He was the duke in Baldur’s Gate a century ago,” she explained. “The timeline matches. This letter is an order to investigate a ‘House of Healing.’ I’ll go get the others, and gather a party. We’ll head there tomorrow.”

Halsin wrapped a hand around her bicep as she moved to leave. “You shouldn’t go out in the shadows alone,” he whispered, earning him an icy glare from the paladin.

“I need you here, to watch him. Make sure he doesn’t succumb to whatever this is that ails him. He’s our best lead - our only lead. I’m trusting you with his life, and I’m asking that you trust me with mine.” She sighed when Halsin did not let go. “On my oath, I will return. You have my word.” He loathed the idea of sending her out into the darkness alone, and hated even more that she was right. Art looked like he was on the brink of death, and he was the key to finding Thaniel. If there was anyone who could traverse the shadows on their own, he knew that it was Freya. She would go, retrieve their friends, and return to him intact - or so he prayed.

“Be swift, be brave, and be safe,” he commanded her. She nodded once, her resolve hardening her features, and Halsin released his grip on her arm. He watched as she turned and strode out of the room with her easy swagger. Shoulders back and head high, the picture of confidence and strength.

He prayed to the Oak Father, to Selûne if she would listen, that his soldier would be true to her word and return to him.

————

The Flaming Fist in the room were visibly annoyed by Halsin’s incessant pacing. Freya had left close to two hours before, and there were no signs of her return.

She was probably slowed down by all the gear they had to lug from campsite to campsite. That, or she was a shadow-cursed corpse somewhere…

Halsin growled in frustration at his own thoughts. She probably was slowed down by the larger group and all of their supplies. She had given him no reason to doubt her capabilities, but even the most skilled of warriors could be overwhelmed.

So, he paced. He worried. He watched Art Cullagh as he’d been directed. He worried some more.

After what felt like an eternity, Freya came sauntering through the door. Halsin quickly closed the distance between them and checked her over, but there wasn’t a drop of blood in sight. She removed her gauntlets and flexed her slender hands, the calluses of her palms glinting in the inn’s soft light.

“Not a peep from the shadows, if you can believe it. The others are setting up camp near the lakeshore. Apparently, Shar is protecting Shadowheart from the curse. As much as I despise it, we might be wise to keep her close. Shar’s protection may be an asset. The rest of us will have to figure something else out, if we’re all to reach Moonrise, I heard the shadows are deeper there and our torches won’t keep them at bay.”

“You are not our only secret weapon, paladin. Isobel, a faithful cleric of Selûne, casts the spell that protects this inn. She might be able to aid you, too. She’s upstairs in her room.” Halsin turned to find Jaheira in the doorframe. Secret weapon? He had no idea what she was talking about, and Freya refused to meet his questioning gaze.

“Thank you, High Harper,” Freya nodded at the half elf in gratitude. She finally turned to Halsin, but rather than explain what they had talked about before she left, she simply inquired about Art’s condition.

“He’s restless, but stable. I can come and assist you in settling the camp, but I’ll stay here tonight.” Freya nodded, then motioned for him to follow. Before they could leave the tavern, she spun on her heel and nearly smacked into Halsin’s chest.

“Oh, by the way, there’s an extra wizard. I don’t know what he wants, but it seems Elminster Aumar decided to pay us a visit.”

There was never a boring day with this group. Halsin chuckled as Freya led the way, and noticed it was getting harder not to stare at the sway of her ass as she walked.

————

“By the fucking gods, Gale, are you touched in the godsdamned head?!” Halsin heard Freya shriek at the wizard as he helped Shadowheart erect her tent. “I mean, honestly, you’re meant to be the smart one among us, and this has to be the dumbest fucking shit I’ve ever heard.”

For one so devout, the paladin had a mouth that could make a devil blush. He’d always thought of them as being the pinnacle of righteousness, almost above typical mortals, but Freya seemed bound and determined to prove him wrong at every turn.

“The Absolute is a threat to all of Faerûn, and if I can destroy it and earn Mystra’s forgive - ”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Mystra. She can rot in the Outer Planes for all I care, or better yet, she can come demand your suicide herself so I can smite her where she stands.”

“What, so you’re the only one allowed to make sacrifices in the name of this mission we’ve all been thrust on? The orb is powerful enough to rid the world of this cult, and you know that. What good is a sword against - well, not a god, but close enough.”

“You doubt my blade, wizard?” Freya’s eyes narrowed as she hurled the accusation.

“Never. But even you must understand that what we’re up against is beyond our mortal capabilities.”

“Your mortal capabilities. Last I checked, my goddess and I are still on very good terms. She’s at least not commanding me to kill myself.”

“And if she did, would you? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. We both know that if Selûne asked you to sacrifice your life to save others, you would throw yourself on your sword without question.”

Freya sucked in a deep breath, then turned on her heel and stormed away from Gale towards the tavern up the hill. Their shouting had drawn the attention of everyone in the party, and a tense silence settled over the camp like a cold blanket. Halsin approached the wizard, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the tremble in his lip. He’d lost weight, enough that it was obvious under his thick amethyst robes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The druid asked carefully. While he was typically the camp healer, the role of mediator often fell to Freya. Resolving disputes was something he had much practice in thanks to his time as an Archdruid, and while he despised it in the grove, he found that he wanted to help his new friends overcome their differences and come to an accord.

“She thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, but this isn’t up to her. It’s my life, my orb, my goddess.” Gale shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“She cares about you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Gale mumbled.

“She’s angry because she cares about you. About all of you. Her goal is to see everyone here make it out of this in one piece.” He glanced in the direction that Freya had gone when she stormed off. She had a short fuse on her best days, but something seemed…off. She was wound tighter than normal, and Halsin suspected the curse wasn’t the whole of her troubles.

“Go,” Gale said, interrupting his thoughts. “Check on Freya. I will get over it.”

Halsin nodded at the human before clapping him on the shoulder and heading in search of their paladin.

————

He found her drowning her feelings with the tiefling wizard, Rolan, at the bar in Last Light. As he got closer, he heard Rolan snapping at her as she nursed her drink.

“If you hadn’t convinced us to stay, Cal and Lia would still be here. This is on you,” he seethed, causing a hot fury to boil in Halsin’s stomach. After all she’d done for the grove, for the refugees, he dared to speak to her this way? They would all be dead if she hadn’t come along.

Freya didn’t so much as flinch. “Then it’s my responsibility to bring them back.” Her voice was calm, factual, and ever so slightly slurred.

“They’re my responsibility!”

“Rolan, that’s enough,” the bard, Alfira, scolded quietly in an attempt to calm the other tiefling.

“Go. Save the world, or your own arse, or whatever it is you do.”

“Enough.” Halsin raised his voice as he towered over the red mage in warning. Rolan backed away with a final glower at the paladin, and Halsin took his seat next to her.

“If you’re here to tell me to apologize to Gale, you’re in for a hell of a fight, druid.” She finished what was left in her glass and reached for a bottle half full of amber liquid to fill another. Whiskey, he’d observed these past weeks, was her favorite. Good ale was a close second.

“I’m not. Something is bothering you, and I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look around us and tell me you’re not bothered.”

“Ever since you talked to Jaheira earlier, you’ve been acting strange.”

She slammed her glass on the bar and gripped it until her knuckles turned white. “I’m not in the fucking mood, Halsin.”

“What happened?”

“Ketheric fucking Thorm happened,” she snapped. “Ketheric Thorm, not just risen from the dead, but invulnerable. I’ve been tasked with infiltrating his stronghold, and now I have to kill an invulnerable man and pray that he doesn’t fucking recognize me. That’s what happened. Are you happy now?” Freya grabbed the whiskey bottle by its neck and stormed away once more, leaving Halsin reeling in her revelation.

Ketheric Thorm. The man who unleashed the curse on this land, the man that he and his comrades had fought so hard to destroy a hundred years before, alive. Memories of that horrid day crashed into him like a tidal wave, and he found himself wishing for his own drink to push them away.

Instead of smothering his growing misery with alcohol, he returned to Art Cullagh’s bedside. He decided he would stay with the man until they woke him, or he eventually succumbed.

————

“Look alive, druid.” Halsin barely had time to catch the lute as it came flying at his face. Freya strode into the room with Shadowheart, Astarion, and Lae’zel in tow, the githyanki and the paladin soaked in black blood. It was a similar sight to the aftermath of Marcus’ failed abduction of Isobel, the Selûnite cleric who protected this patch of land and extended that protection to those who would need to travel outside of the shield’s boundaries.

“Found this on a surgeon in the House of Healing,” Freya explained gruffly.

“Are you hurt?” His eyes trailed up and down her form in search of injury, but unless she felt inclined to strip the black armor that covered her from neck to toe, there wasn’t much to be seen. Given her mood towards him lately, he found that particular scenario unlikely.

“The surgeon was some creepy follower of Shar. Wanted to take my eyes. I took his head instead.” Shadowheart huffed at Freya’s explanation. “Found the lute in a chest, look at the neck.” Halsin did as she wished, spinning the instrument until he found the letters A.C. carved into the wood.

“This is what we needed,” he whispered. “Well done, indeed.” His chest swelled with pride as he held the lute out to her, this day was her victory. She should be the one to break the man’s trance. “Go on, then. Maybe its music will restore him.”

“Or perhaps my horrid musical skills will finally put the poor man to rest,” she quipped as she removed her bloodsoaked gauntlets. Freya rolled her black sleeves up to her elbows, lithe muscles flexing with the movement. She took the lute from Halsin with a roll of her pretty blue eyes, and began to play.

With her prior comment, he was not expecting the easy notes that floated from the strings in a haunting melody that floated effortlessly through the air like a ghostly whisper. Her fingers danced across the strings with grace, each note carrying the weight of centuries past, filling the room with a sense of mystery and longing. A northern tune, to be sure. Perhaps a clue to her homeland, Halsin had guessed that she hailed from the frigid tundras of the north, but where specifically he could not say. Her playing brought tears to his eyes, until Art startled awake and he was once more brought back to earth.

Halsin laid a calming hand on the Fist’s shoulder and knelt as he jolted upright. “Calm,” he murmured, the bedside manner of an Archdruid taking over. “Breathe. You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind.” Freya set the instrument down carefully next to Art’s bed and knelt on one knee, nodding at Halsin to take the lead.

“You-you’re Halsin. Thaniel said to find you. He’s in danger, you have to save him.”

“I will. But I must know where to look. If I venture into the Shadowfell blind, I will never find him.” He met Freya’s piercing blue gaze. Perhaps he should have told her the whole of his plan before they got to this point, but she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with her own schemes.

“The landscape shifts and changes…lavender. Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender.” Halsin nodded and helped the man to lay back down before turning to Freya.

“Meet me by the lakeshore. I have what we need, but I’ll need your help to see this through. Be ready, this may prove…perilous.”

Freya’s eyes narrowed at Halsin’s direction. “What is it you’re planning to do here, druid?” she demanded.

“I’ll explain everything, after you’ve gathered your supplies. I suggest bringing anyone along that wields radiant magic. Fire, light, the works. Your own magic will be needed more than your blade, I’ll wager. Meet me there, and we’ll discuss what comes next.”

Freya studied him for a long moment, then turned on her heel and headed in the direction of their camp. A ball of anxiety took root and began to grow in his stomach. He knew the shadows would not be banished without a fight, and he was asking even more of this woman who had already done so much to aid him. A paladin of Selûne was perhaps the most well equipped to handle the threat that was about to come her way, but he’d seen enough great warriors fall to a well placed blow that he worried for her. He knew she would protect her friends - and him - no matter the cost, even at the cost of her own life.

Halsin took a steadying breath and retrieved a lit torch from the wall, making his way in long strides either to his doom, or their salvation.

[griffinswitch]

Some Headcanons for Griffin (Company of Light AU)

I’m sharing a rough draft of my headcanons for Griffin, a bit of her backstory and her reason why she studied the Dark Arts and joined the Ancestral Witches before it continues to gather dust in my drafts. I'm still working out the story and this is for my Company of Light AU, some may be canon compliant and canon divergent.

My background story for Griffin is that she grew up in a realm where it is surrounded by the stars. Her father is a wizard (dark magic user), who used to teach at a wizard school but left after the rise of threat towards dark magic users. He was the one who introduced Griffin to astronomy becoming a profound expert in it among other things. It also makes her feel closer to home. Her love for the stars is one of the first things she shared with Faragonda when they met since she always felt at home with the fairy (but that’s another hc for another time). I haven't quite figured out what her relationship with her mother is yet but she is an only child.

Anyway, Griffin moved to Magix to study in Cloud Tower. Throughout her time as a student, she excelled in ALL of her classes, creating her own spells, potions, and hexes (especially healing and defence). As she learned more and more about the disparaging indifferences between light and dark magic and how the council and most Magix society favour light magic and ordered the execution of any dark magic users, thinking they were a threat, she started to dabble in magical research that would help dark magic users rise and be seen as equal to light magic users. She wanted to break the stigma and shame against them to free them from the oppression they were facing, so after she graduated, Griffin left Magix in search of her quest, her research.

During one of her missions, Valtor encounters Griffin in a[n unnamed planet] chanting an ancient spell using a Whisperian Crystal to measure levels of magical energy in an object and watches her steal it for her to use at a later time. He was charmed by her knowledge of using an ancient relic and enamoured by her beauty. He followed her to see what she’d do next. Along with her other extraordinary abilities, Griffin is an expert in cartography (study of maps) and with her combined knowledge is astronomy, sigil, divination, and ancient runic magic. She was able to locate the next magical object she needed that Valtor has been after for so long, but a creature was guarding it. He was impressed at how she handled the creature protecting the object as she effortlessly used her own hex that lulled the creature to a deep slumber.

He approached her using his charm and convinced her to join the Ancestral Coven. She doesn’t immediately accept his offer because a witch never works in groups let alone trusts anyone but she realises if she wants to accomplish her selfish pursuit of her goals quicker and safer than by herself, what better way for a witch to work with someone than through a coven, and a very powerful one. Plus, she knew she’d have their protection, her powers would further develop and she’d be invincible. In fact, studying the Dark Arts wasn’t easy but Griffin loved a challenge and she was exceptional at all their missions. She was also a HUGE asset to their missions, her knowledge in astronomy, defense strategies, cartography, alchemy, among others were useful in completing their quests.

After decades of working with them, she finally received an invitation to join their inner circle during a blood moon. (A mission with Valtor prompted this unexpected "invitation" that I'll share at a different post.) The night before her initiation, one of the members of the Ancestral Coven was discussing an annihilation of magic in Domino. Baffled by the revelation and her refusal to participate in mass destruction, she reached out to Faragonda casting a soundproof bubble sending the fairy cryptic messages, to warn the King and Queen of Domino. She never intended to cause mass destruction of lives. Yes, she and Valtor would steal artefacts that the Ancestral Witches and Darkar think contain the Dragon Flame, such as the Ring of Solaria but Griffin never took another life. She was blinded by political propaganda, by power and her thirst to reinstate dark magic users, to be seen as equal. When she declined their invitation, the Ancestral Witches captured her and severed her magic using ancient runic cuffs.

Just as soon as her magic was severed, Faragonda felt something was off since she was Griffin’s counterpart. She couldn’t feel Griffin’s magic anymore nor Griffin’s presence even from afar, which caused concern. Despite being on both different sides and having drifted apart for decades, Faragonda still cares for Griffin. They had gone through SO much and grew up together ever since they had met. Hence why Faragonda planned a rescue mission to save Griffin. (I’m still working out the logistics for this) My other headcanon is that Griffin sent out a distress signal that reached Faragonda all the way from Obsidian to Alfea (or the Fortress of Light or Domino) just as soon as Griffin was being handcuffed. OR it could also be that Faragonda and Griffin made a pact from when they were younger that no matter what happens between them, they would ALWAYS have each other's back and they swore on it.

Side note: In my verse, Faragonda and Griffin are endgame and my OTP, always and have been but it's not until later on in their lives that they finally confess their feelings to one another. I really don't 'ship' Valtor and Griffin but they did have a 'fling' once or twice (okay, maybe more than that), especially considering that they've worked together for DECADES. Griffin is also pansexual in my AU.

Anyway, I just want to share this page in issue 21 from the Winx comics. After the fall of Domino and aside from being the Headmistress of Cloud Tower and her immense care towards her students, I feel like Griffin kept all of the ancient key knowledge, dark secrets, forbidden magic, curses, spells, objects used to summon creatures and books she learned (and took) from Ancestral Witches (after they were sentenced) and hid them somewhere safe in Cloud Tower, so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands and prying eyes of evil, which is one of the reasons why the Trix keeps trying to take over Cloud Tower as well as Valtor and other forces of evil. She's just as protective of Cloud Tower just as she is protective of her students and the good for the whole Magix Dimension.

Because of this, one of her expertise aside from astronomy and basic witchcraft, she teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. (Yes, that is a HP reference *and no, I do NOT support the HP creator in any way shape and form* but after everything that Griffin has been through and being a headmistress with huge responsibilities towards all the students she cares for, she'd do anything to make sure they will be well-versed in dark magic to use it for good, the same way fairies are. I also think this position is very fitting for Griffin because she doesn't want her students to make the same past mistakes she made when she joined the wrong side.)

[kharia-adarkim]

Restless

Several months had passed since the Endsinger was laid low, and a sense of normalcy was returning to Eithirys.

In a private study room of the Sharlayan library, Kharia lifted an empty mug to her lips. After a brief, confused pause, she groaned and set it back on the table with a heavy thud. She briefly considered throwing the mug at the 'request mammet' button near the door. However, she realized that that would probably shatter the mug, and stood from the table with a groan.

"You should probably call it for tonight," a voice murmured in the back of her mind. "You aren't going to learn much half asleep."

"Are you a professor now?" Kharia replied, rolling her eyes.

"No," Ardbert chuckled, "but I've got a century on you in terms of experience."

"Being a ghost hardly counts for life experience," Kharia grumbled. He did have a point though - the clock on the wall read 1:28, and considering she didn't start her studies 'til after dinner, that meant it was far too late. She held the button, waiting for the telltale buzz to sound before releasing it. Returning to the desk with a yawn, she began stacking her notes and placing bookmarks into her tomes.

"Why did you sign us up for an accelerated course again?" Kharia's other self complained.

"First of all Red, we're not taking classes, I am," Kharia replied, "And secondly, the normal somanoutics course runs for a full year and I didn't want to wait that long."

"I still don't understand why the Source has so many regulations on healing magic," Ardbert mused. "Back on Norvrandt, you just... did it."

"Green wanted to do things the hard way," Red answered, "We could've gone to Gridania to learn conjury but no, we had to go to stuck up prick town instead."

"Fuck off," Green snapped, "you know damn well we can't do traditional magic. A sage's arts are the best shot we have at helping people."

"We help people by chopping up bad guys!" Red exclaimed. She was going to continue when the argument was halted by a knock at the door. Kharia took a deep breath before opening it. A Sharlayan mammet stood at attention.

"What... is your... request..?" it chittered in a mechanical voice.

"We're done with the room for now," Kharia answered, "but need to keep the books on hold. Please index my things for later."

"Affirmative. Please... provide... student... identification... for... indexing..."

"Adarkim, Kharia. Student S121-24."

"Bzzt... Thank you... Miss... Adarkim... For using... the Sharlayan... Library!" The mammet said in the most cheerful tone it was capable of. Kharia gave it a small wave goodbye as she left for the Baldesion Annex.

As late as it was, Ojika wouldn't be at the front desk, but fortunately Kharia had her own key to the dormitory wing. Plus, his absence meant she wouldn't be getting an earful about proper sleeping habits, so perhaps it was better this way. The annex itself was still, and the only sounds were the faint click of Kharia's heels on the stone floor. She paused, briefly, outside of G'raha's room. He was probably sleeping, like she should be, and while he'd never complain about her dropping in, she didn't want to disturb him. She turned to leave when she heard a faint, frustrated voice from the other side of the door. She couldn't tell what was said, or if they were words at all, but it didn't sound particularly good. Quietly, she opened G'raha's door and peered inside. The room was dark, save the thin beam of light from the hall. It was enough, however, for Kharia to see that G'raha was sitting upright in bed, clenching at his arm.

"Damn it..." he winced under his breath, "Why..? How..? Agh-!" Kharia whispered the command word to her nouliths, and they dutifully floated up behind her. She stepped into the room, and the faint blue light from her tools lit the chamber. G'raha's face turned and he gave a forced smile. "Kharia? What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked, taking a seat next to him.

"It's nothing," he lied, quickly adjusting his posture. "I'm fine."

"Raha," Kharia said firmly. The miquote sighed.

"I swear to you, I've suffered no injuries. It's just-" he winced, and took a breath. "Ever since returning from the First, I've had dreams of my time as the Exarch. It's not unexpected, or surprising, of course.... But sometimes, the dreams are astonishingly vivid. It's as if I'm there, as if I'm him." G'raha paused, as if surprised by his own words. "That's a bit silly, isn't it? I mean, of course I'm him. I..." he trailed off, unsure of where he was going.

"Raha," Kharia said again, gently this time. "Are you, though? Are you truly the Exarch?"

"What do you mean? You know what happened with the Tower. A- and the soul vessel. I can remember everything that happened on the First, I- of course I'm him! I have to be! To suggest otherwise it- it doesn't make any sense..." Kharia noticed his poor attempt to hide his rising panic. She took a deep breath, adjusted her posture, and squeezed his hand.

"You don't have to be him," she assured him. G'raha looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"You... your... What did you do? Something's... different about you."

"That's because I am," Red replied. "Different, I mean. We're..." she paused, trying to find the right words. "There are two of me. Two different souls, tied together, in our body. We call ourselves Red and Green."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Ardbert's voice laughed in the back of their head.

"We'll get to you later," Green scolded, "stop distracting Red."

"Anyways," Red continued, "the two of us, we share memories sometimes. And feelings. But in spite of that, we're still own people. Green can explain it a lot better, but we felt that I'd do a better job of getting the point across."

"And that point is..?" G'raha was clearly confounded by this information, but the tilt of his ears suggested he was eager to learn more. Kharia let out a reassured sigh and continued.

"Just because you share the Exarch's memories, his pain... that doesn't mean you're him. If a nagging feeling in your gut says those memories, those emotions aren't yours, then maybe they're not. Maybe the soul fusion didn't go as perfectly as the Exarch had planned. And that's okay." G'raha sat silently, though the nervous flicking of his tail belied his anxiety. After some consideration, he finally spoke.

"Supposing that's true... if I'm not the Exarch... if his feelings aren't my own... then does that mean the feelings for you..?" He couldn't bring himself to voice his fear in its entirety. Kharia saw the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. She cupped his cheek and tilted his head to face her directly.

"What is your heart telling you?" she asked, wiping a tear away with her thumb. G'raha smiled, and began to cry tears of relief. He collapsed into Kharia's embrace.

"Thank you, Kharia," he wept. "I think I finally understand now, just a bit."

"We're here for you," she whispered. "If you want to talk about it, we'll be here to listen. And if you have questions, we'll help you find the answers. But for now, you can relax, and rest."

"Take your own advice," Ardbert suggested, "we need a bit of shuteye too." As G'raha's tears dried and his panic subsided, Kharia stood to return to her own dorm.

"Kharia, wait," G'raha called out to her. She turned. His blushing was visible in spite of the blue light of the nouliths. "You can sleep here. I mean, if you'd like. It's late, and your dorm is on the second floor, and I-"

"Of course I'll stay Raha" Kharia giggled at the miquote's awkwardness. G'raha averted her gaze, but he could do nothing to stop the twitch of his ears and the rapid flicking of his tail. Kharia returned to the bed, and snuggled up to him beneath the blanket. Though she could feel his heart racing, she knew this was the most comfortable either of them had been in quite some time.

[malsfefanfics]

OC Profile: Tancred

art by @/nessiemccormick, edited down to icon size by me

"He was always very sickly, according to his family. But from what I've seen, he's very enthusiastic and wise beyond his years. Tancred seems to really like it when people say his name, or when they compare him to his brother. I expect great things from him in the future." -- Edelgard, about Tancred

Full name: Tancred von Vestra Nicknames: Tanc (most people), Mini-Bert (Hapi and Yuri), Treasure (Ferdinand and Dorothea), Sweet-Breeze (Medee) Birthday: Day 31st of the Wyvern Moon, 1174 Age: 6-7 (Pre-TS), 11-12+ (Post-TS) Crest: None Family: Marquis Iason von Vestra (Father, Deceased), Medee (Mother), Hubert (Older Brother), Rosamund (Older sister) Nationality: Adrestia Titles: Hidden Treasure, Mage of Mercy Voice Claim: Maxey Whitehead (Child voice, similar to Alphonse from FMAB), Zach Aguilar (as he ages, hitting somewhere between Tanjiro in Demon Slayer to Aether in Genshin Impact)

Interests: History of Fódlan and surrounding nations, Opera, Magic Studies, Language Learning Likes: Sweets, His brothers and sisters, Gardening, Riding Dislikes: His father, People who are mean, seeing others in pain

Favorite Meals: Saghert and Cream, Sweet Trio Bun, Peach Sorbet, Sautéed Jerky, Liked Meals: Vegetable Pasta Salad. Country-Style Red Turnip Plate, Vegetable Stir-Fry, Small Fish Skewers, Disliked Meals: Spicy Fish and Turnip Stew, Daphnel Stew, Bourgeois Pike,

Tea Preferences: Dandelion Root Blend, Dagda Fruit Blend, Southern Fruit Blend, Sweet Apple Blend, Lavender Blend

Liked Gifts: Hunting Dagger, Board Game, Sheet Music, Armored Bear Stuffy, Tea Leaves, Exotic Spices Disliked Gifts: Goddess Statuette, Blue Cheese

Lost Items:

Bag of Herbs: A velvet pouch of strong smelling herbs that remind you of mint leaves. You find they make you breathe easier.

Small Toy Soldier: A toy soldier that looks to be part of a set. The handmade clothes remind you of someone sinister.

Tin Whistle: A small musical instrument that plays an airy tune. It's size seems best fit for a younger musician.

Starting Class: Noble Preferred Class Path: Noble --> Monk/Myrmidon --> Mage/Dark Mage/Priest/Thief --> Swordmaster/Bishop/Dark Bishop/Warlock --> Dancer/Mortal Savant/Trickster Strength: White Magic, Black Magic, Dark Magic Weakness: Heavy Armor, Brawling Budding Talent: Sword Personal Skill: 'Calming Winds' - Restores 10% HP to nearby allies each turn.

Weapons Starting Levels:

Sword: E+ Lance: E Axe: E Bow: E Brawling: E Reason: D+ Faith: D+ Authority: E+ Heavy Armor: E Riding: E Flying: E

Base Stats:

HP: 17 Str: 5 Mag: 10 Dex: 10 Spd: 7 Lck: 8 Def: 6 Res: 6 Cha: 10

Learned Faith Spells: Heal, Nosferatu, Physic, Restore, Seraphim Learned Reason Spells: Wind, Miasma Δ (Dark Mage) Thoron (Mage), Cutting Gale, Death Γ, Dark Spikes Τ

Recruit Requirements for Canon-Compliance AUs: CF exclusive - Must have up to B support with Hubert.

Potential Supports:

Byleth

Hubert

Rosamund

Medee

Linhardt

Dorothea

Ferdinand

Ashe

Mercedes

Jeritza

Lysithea

Marianne

Ignatz

Hapi

Constance

Dimitri (Through Meals Only, up to B)

Dedue: (Through Meals Only, up to B)

Crit Quotes: (Pre-Timeskip)

Stay back!

Stop it!

I can't falter!

I need to fight!

Just a little more.

I'm sorry!

I need an opening.

Must one of us die?

Crit Quotes: (Post-Timeskip)

For my brother!

For my sister!

I am your pyre!

I will make an opening!

You will be silenced!

Mind and Heart guide me.

Your head is mine!

I do what I must.

I must stay alive.

We shall prevail!

Defeat Quotes:

I can't be here. I need to go.

I...don't feel good....

I'm scared....I want to go home....

I don't want to die alone.....

Hubert....Rosa.....I'm sorry I made you sad.....

Skill Level Increase Quotes:

This is so much fun!

Glad I could get out of bed today.

I think I'm getting stronger. (Weaknesses)

That was too easy. (Strengths)

I never knew I could do that! (Budding Talent)

Level Up Quotes:

I hope I can make everyone proud.

I'm so much stronger now.

I'm know I can be stronger.

This is to help everyone.

You sure I can't learn a bit more?

Gift Quotes:

Liked Gifts: My absolute favorite! Thank you, thank you!

Neutral Gifts: You're so nice to me. Why?

Disliked Gifts: Did I do something to upset you? I'm really sorry.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

TRANSIT VENUS IN THE 8TH/ NATAL VENUS HOUSES EDITION

1st house venus and transiting venus 8th house

you could make a lot of money through others (8th house) with your looks at this time.

2nd house venus and transit venus in 8th then your finances should be the main focus. also secrets about money could come to the forefront.

3rd house venus - transit venus in 8th house - communicating/expressing anything you love/value is a good way to make money. anything you've kept a secret or private it would be a good time to let it go for transmuting. everything doesnt have to be in the light, but so much doesnt need to be in the dark either. this could be a good way to let out what you've been hiding and giving it that chance to be noticed.

4th house venus - transit venus in 8th

family matters, secrets unfolding. what was that he said? inner child may be giving you the chance to free yourself. what you loved to do as a kid may be nurturing you need at this time. mother may come up or some type of feminine figure in your life may have a secret, something hidden coming to the surface about love, money, affairs in relationships to family.

5th house venus - transit venus in 8th

money through creativity ! giving light to what you love. whatever has been hidden in romance will reach the surface. passionate affairs might come at this time.

6th house venus - transit venus in 8th

transformation in your routine/health.

might change your style/wardrobe. I feel like your sex life could be a focus here. if you end up buying a pet at this time it could really be healing and transform you a little, animals are able to do that <3

other peoples money may come in through some type of service that you do.

7th house venus - transit venus in 8th

transformation in affairs with other people. life-changing experiences with someone you may love (could be someone new as well). romance could be intense, passionate. you could simply get other peoples money doing what ever, since 7th house rules partnerships and 8th house rules other peoples money.

8th house venus - transit venus in 8th

venus return. transformation/healing and secrets meant to be kept hidden. might have some beauty secrets that only work best for you ;) might be more vulnerable/more powerful at this time with your artistic and self expression. this could be the boost you need to surrender/release what is no longer serving your heart.

9th house venus - transit in 8th house

transformation of beliefs about self love. you may travel at this time as well, it could be really beneficial for you. something you've learned/studied for sometime might have something hidden and it could show itself to you. you have the keys to a missing puzzle. you could teach others your favorite topic, this'll make you magnetic to other people.

10 house venus - transit in 8th

transformation in how you see yourself, your art, what you love and what you want to do publicly. how you are too the public may also go through some sort of transformation for better or for worse.

you could be noticed for subtle changes, how private you've become or something hidden might come up to the surface that you might share publicly (or it might just come out because its time).

11th house venus - transit in 8th

you might change dreams and goals. what you wanted might not be the same anymore, and thats okay. the values and beliefs you've had about community and friends might change, so where you see yourself with society and friends could change too.

12th house venus - transit in 8th

psyche might be going through lots of shadow work. I hear 'patience' for you guys. subtle changes in subconscious and art will be a good outlet for you to release any burdens. self-love could be psychologically transformed at this time due to subconscious/unconscious bringing certain things to light.

[floralneonlights]

Divine Warriors and Relics Overhaul.

The last major post I made was about the regions in my MCD rewrite but this time around it's going to be the Divine Warriors because they scratch my brain. Also this post is probably going to be LONG.

The Divine Warriors are characters we have heard before such as Irene, Shad, Esmund, Enki, Menphia, but I added two more as well, that being Drorit and Fionn.

I did rework some of the titles given to the Divine Warriors as I just didn't like them. Shad the Destroyer specifically felt too on the nose.

So, we have

Irene the Matron

Shad the Vandal

Esmund the Guardian

Enki the Astrophile

Menphia the Fury

Drorit the Defiant

Fionn the Traveler

I will explain some of the changes

Shad the Vandal

As I stated earlier, "Destroyer" felt too on the nose. While Vandal isn't a positive trait, it doesn't imply that Shad has always been a bad individual and was just know for delinquent tendencies, a loose screw in the guard. This allows Shad to be seen as more than someone who was always evil, although I would like to keep "Shad the Destroyer" as another title for him after the betrayal and uprising of Shadow Knights.

Esmund the Guardian

I just didn't like "Protector." That's just it. Nothing deeper.

Enki the Astrophile

Enki was known as "the Keeper" which felt too vague to me. In my version, Enki was an archivist so he was keeper of archives, keeper of knowledge. Although that doesn't explain the "Astrophile" part since that means lover of stars. I can't explain it any further than Enki has a relationship with nature thus the stars and the stars have always been symbols of knowledge in my mind. So that's what I'm doing here.

And then explaining the two NEW characters, Drorit and Fionn.

Drorit the Defiant

Her title is self-explanatory along with Fionn's. Drorit tends to create riots for a cause and doesn't follow the rules, she hates having to follow strict order and wants people to have the ability to have freedom in their choices instead of walking on a tight rope.

Fionn the Traveler

Self-explanatory BUT Fionn is a traveler by sea and is a water spirit. At first, he's a scammy merchant who tries to trick the Divine Warriors into a pitiful deal and only ended up joining for selfish reasons but ends up becoming very valuable to the group, actually being the most well-versed in magick.

Now let's talk about the changes to the Divine Warriors themself.

Irene

Irene in the rewrite is a Swan Maiden. If you don't know what swan maidens are, they are shapeshifting women who can transform from a swan to a woman but they tend to still have their feathers in their human form. They're usually married off to higher up power, like kings, and have their feathers plucked so they cannot fly away.

The cause for the up rising / the final straw was Irene herself being taken away and forced to have her feathers plucked so she could be married off to the King of Ru'aun. She soon runs away with two guards of the king and begins to study magick with the rest of her group. Along the way, she makes allies and builds of bonds with others.

Once the King is overthrown, Irene declares that no one person should rule an entire region, and then settles down as lord and founder of Scaleswind, where the rest of the group followed her. At this point, she had perfected her magick of light and healing. Healing was a lost magick even then, but with a witch's help, she was able to bring that art back to life. Since she is a swan maiden, a sign of purity and hope, it was easier for her to learn.

When one of the guards was overcome with darkness, that left the Divine Warriors as the only ones who could take him down as there was no need to bring innocent parties into this. Before the final battle, Irene asked one of the group to put a magick seal onto gems where, if they were to die, their magick would automatically go to that gem. Each member wrote an encryption onto the gem and went into battle by Irene's command, who held back as a final answer to the problem.

As she felt her friends die, Irene felt herself begin to fade. She didn't head to the battle ground for months as she became a recluse and her villagers and knights began to worry. And one day, there was a big, flaming light that walked down the road, and Irene the Matron was gone.

Phoenix Drop was named after this event as many people believe the light was a Phoenix signifying the end of an era.

Esmund and Shad

Esmund and Shad are put together here as they were both Royal Guards of the King of Ru'uan, Kieran. Esmund was the head guard of the kingdom, while Shad was still but a trainee despite being there for so long due to his rebellious actions. He tended to disobey the king for fun rather than to make a statement, which made Esmund very annoyed with him. The two bumped heads a lot.

When Irene was transferred to the kingdom as Kieran's fiancé, the two were assigned to guard her. They obeyed this command, Esmund because he would always obey the king and Shad because he just wanted to see who on Earth (Known as Terra because MCD is special) would marry him. When they saw a swan maiden without her feathers, both were horrified.

Even though both had sworn their loyalty to the king, more or less, they both realized how cruel this was and how they couldn't let an unwilling party be stripped of anymore rights. They hatched a plan and later escaped to meet with the archivist of Yggdrasil. They continued to run, going to Tu'La, Ivorian, Umbre'en, Aerania, and Rigguard. All places being of worth as Umbre'en and Rigguard were Shad and Esmund's home regions, respectively, which they had seen how Ru'aun's monarchy was slowly taking over the other regions and the protests surrounding this. This sped up the process over overthrowing the king.

Esmund became head guard of Scaleswind, but Shad became Irene's right hand man. They had also become skilled in their magick sets which complimented the other; ice and protection (shielding) and shadow and imprisonment.

Both loved Irene and they both knew she could only love one of them or even neither of them. Esmund felt peace with that, while Shad felt a pain in his chest whenever he thought about the possibility.

Although Irene showed feelings towards Shad, he became more and more bottled up with disgust and despair towards those around him, feeling as though he is still looked down upon as some sort of rebel because of his previous actions and not with all of the good he has done. The darkness in his magick was dangerous to learn, as dangerous as Irene's light magick, and it began to physically and mentally consume him as he lost more control of his thoughts and anger. Esmund, Irene and the others desperately tried to get Shad out of this state, but it failed.

Shad later escaped to the Nether/Underworld (It's Both) trying to attempt to build a kingdom of his own, which previously was just a place of darkness. Esmund felt defeated, and made sure to inscribe his relic to go to someone who was loyal and protected, and did not strive for power.

Esmund was the last person to fall to Shad, he was hoping and praying that maybe if he still stood up and fought, Shad would eventually be reminded of their training days, but that never happened. Shad lost his heart.

Irene had put a seal on Shad's relic, after she defeated his, at least, physical form which put the magic in his relic. The seal being it can only go to someone who had a kind, intelligent soul.

Enki and Zoey

Enki and Zoey are siblings in my rewrite. Zoey was roughly around 10 when Irene was around even in MCD and I thought it would be nice for her to be related to one of them somehow. Enki is a well known archivist in Yggdrasil, near the kingdom in Ru'aun as they get most of their resources from there. Actually, Enki is THE royal archivist, holding all files and letters the king has received and sent, along with anyone else in connection with him. He was a trusted figure. His magick was not seen as a threat during this time as he was more so of a support type rather than an offensive type.

Enki kept a book of myths and read them to Zoey every night as well.

When Esmund, Shad and Irene came to him, asking for help about getting away from the king, relaying all of this information, he was hesitant. But since Esmund was head guard and Irene was the queen-to-be, he felt obligated to show them the files they wanted to see. After a lot of convincing, Enki eventually joins them, not before giving Zoey the book of myths.

After the kingdom fell, he joined Irene and the others in Scaleswind as the archivist there, still visiting Zoey every so often. Similarly to everyone else, Enki had mastered his magick of plants and stars (the stars part is with support -- typically asking for support spells from the galaxy. Isn't as OP as it sounds, it's like Wendy's support magick from Fairy Tail where they either feel lighter or move faster.)

When Shad strayed from the path and the relics were made, Enki went to a remote island (later where the Enki Warrior Tribe is located) and left all of his archives there, out of the weather and where they would be safe, and handed his relic over to Zoey. The encryption was simple, only one of his relatives of the next generation can inherent his power. Enki did not have any kids as much as he hoped he would.

Despite knowing that they would statistically fail against Shad, Enki still went all in when fighting, hoping he wasn't wrong even in the slightest.

Menphia and Drorit

Menphia and Drorit have a lot of overlap between their goals and morals and were also married! Canonical wives in my rewrite.

Menphia comes from Tu'La, a very chaotic region where magick beings and demons roam freely, Menphia being a cat yokai (like KC/Nana). Due her upbringing, she's hotheaded and quick to join fights, she bites. But she is a very supportive person, puts her entire being into everything she does, and loves hard. Most of the chaos as caused by the king as he actually turned Tu'La into just an extension of Ru'aun, so of course she would jump at the chance to overthrow him.

Drorit is from Ivorian and is a big protestor. Ivorian is known for it's precious gems and materials, and her being a person of the public, was scared what might happen if the king of Ru'aun, a tyrant, were to get their hands on these gems. Drorit is a ride or die sort of person, she is willing to do anything for anyone for the cause she believes in. Every action she did was not void of purpose, so she easily joined the Divine Warriors.

We know the drill, kingdom fell, Scaleswind was made, they joined, and they mastered their magick. Menphia's being fire (including explosions and lava) and ground, and Drorit's being wind and flight.

When Shad betrayed then and attempted to make a kingdom, Menphia felt betrayed and Drorit was sickened. Menphia viewed Shad as a brother figure and the two were very close, seeing her... Brother, basically, being taken over by the magick he chose to learn hurt her. Drorit wasn't all that close with Shad but knew him as a honest and passionate man, which is why she was sickened to see the outcome. Drorit did the most damage out of them all during the battle while Menphia was one of the last people standing with Esmund.

Drorit's relic was meant to go to someone who stuck to their beliefs, much like Drorit. Menphia's relic is to go to someone who knows the ins and outs of every battle.

Fionn

Finally, Fionn.

A traveling merchant from Aerania, a region KNOWN for trade, and him being a water spirit. Water spirits can be a little devious and Fionn was just that, always being able to swindle people into giving him ever so slightly more money than intended. That's also what he wanted to do with the Divine Warriors as they caught him on one of their off days, until he say the gems they had in their possession with Drorit had taken from home. He soon warmed up to them, agreeing with them, and faking the passion. Like Flynn Rider/Eugene from Rapunzel.

Along the way, he realized how interesting they all were and how adventure was truly something he liked more than selling stuff for outrageous prices. He enjoyed being with them and learning about their lives.

Once the king was overthrown and Scaleswind was made, he.... Get this... Mastered his magick, being water and storms.

Fionn was the one who created the relics, he was the one who enchanted them and inscribed them with the seal. He had an old book he bought off another merchant that had the ability to take away magick and let it back out depending on how you write it out. He was the only Divine Warrior not to die in that battle as he was the one to hide the relics. Fionn's relic is meant to go to someone who understands the meaning of trust.

After Irene's disappearance, Fionn died from heartbreak.

This was just one big word dump and I am very sorry, but just a little more of you're time and I will talk about

The Relics.

Irene's Relic

Similar to the one that is in the original MCD, where it looks like a bunch of flames but instead it had light purple on the outside but a deep violet as the center. The relic is still in Irene's Dimension in the rewrite.

Shad's Relic

Somewhat the same as Irene's relic with the looks of flames, although they are more scattered and wide. It's also a light pink relic with a red diamond in the center. This relic is also in Irene's Dimension, so she can forever protect it.

Esmund's Relic

A square relic with rounded edges and carved like a diamond, it has varying hues of blue. The relic was in the possession of O'Khasis until Garroth faked his death in help with his mother, who handed him the relic to both protect him and the relic itself.

Enki's Relic

The relic resembles a bug with a pale green center and a dark forest green on the outside, some of it stemming off to look like "legs." The relic is in Zoey's possession BUT the Enki Warrior Tribe says that they have it to bring comfort to everyone else.

Menphia's Relic

A cross shaped relic with a vibrant orange hue that leads to a borderline red. The relic was found in the Nether when Aphmau was saving the werewolf pup from there. Shad had stolen Menphia's relic which caused the Nether to turn into a firey pit of hell.

Drorit's Relic

Two sharp, skinny diamond shaped relics with a piercing teal color. The relics were previously in the palace in Ivorian before the kingdom fell and was reborn with a tyrant, it is now in a treasure hunting guild known for criminal activities.

Fionn's Relic

A water droplet shape relic with a deep, blood red color. The relic was placed in a underwater temple, which Fionn had flooded.

If you have ANY questions regarding my rewrite, please ask. I am currently working on getting a stable rewrite on the characters right now so by all means, THINGS WILL CHANGE and have been changing.

Thanks for reading :3

[henrywintersdearestgirl]

Chapter One

The first proper chapter!

As you could already see, this story plays in a different time, so don’t get upset at what the characters say or do.

Please please please tell me your opinions on it and most importantly, enjoy:)

warnings: mentions of murder, death faking, classic Henry Winter behaviour

summary: Henry is on his way to his new home and he reflects on the last couple of weeks.

word count: 2k

Prologue to this fanfiction

1948

He was a free man now, but at the same time he wasn’t.

At least the restless nights were over, he didn’t have to worry about the police coming any second to bust his door down and arrest him. Even though deep down he knew that his father would shoot anyone who dares to lay a hand on his son. But, the freedom he was always destined to live came with a price. He had to sooner or later, so it didn’t really matter anymore. He had his Hampden years as only his, as a brand new person, but after he should have graduated he was supposed to get back where he really belongs. He didn’t need a diploma, when you’re the son of one of the wealthiest and powerful man in the world, you need anything but a stupid diploma. He went there, purely because he wanted to. He wanted to be someone else for a while, he wanted to study languages and adore literature, art. He was lucky to find the people he called his friends, well, some of them were a burden. Bunny Corcoran made himself a burden and Charles Macaulay was born a burden. But Francis Abernathy and Richard Papen were good men with no bad intentions and he liked having them around. And then there was his little love, Camilla, he believes that he loves her, but then again he has absolutely no clue what love is, but his feelings for Camilla were the closests things to it. However, if he loved her, why did he leave her so easily? Wasn’t it supposed to be a hard choice choosing between her or his powerful freedom? The answer doesn’t even matter anymore, nothing that happened in those years and few months matters anymore. Things happened the way they happened and it is time for new beginnings. He was a brand new man, the one he was always supposed to be and the one he left behind is dead, at least to everyone else.

He stared out the window of his family’s private plane. His cigarette dangling from his lips mirrored his father, who sat in front of him, also with a burning cigarette between his lips. He was his father’s twin, the same pale skin, same big height and the same raven dark hair, but he got his bright eyes from his dear mother.

The stewardess, who was also the family’s maid, came in with a tray, two crystal glasses and a bottle of fine scotch. The silver haired woman poured both of them an inch.

“Laura, dear.” Henry’s father said “the boy had a hard time, don’t shy away with the scotch.”

“Yes, Mr.Sinclair.” She said as she poured a few more inches.

When she left the lounge of the plane, Henry reached forward and downed down his drink in one go, his father immediately went to pour him more. He was a ruthless and powerful man, so was his wife, Mrs.Sinclair. But they adored their only child and son, they did what they did not only to carry on their family’s name and reputation, but to give their son everything he could ever want. However, this life came with sacrifices, he would learn that soon enough.

“Look at me, son.” Mr.Sinclair said in a firm tone, so he did. “I know how hard this must be, I understand. Me and your mother will give you time to heal, but that comes with accepting what you have to do. You are the heir who will keep up the magnificent Sinclair name, you will get into business and you will do your duty with honor, like a good man.”

Henry nods slowly and takes a long drag from his cigarette. “I know, father. I had my fun and now it is time.”

“Very well, my son.” He suddenly snickered to himself. “Two murders, huh? Your heritage cannot be denied. However the ancient sex ritual was a new addition.”

Oh yes, when the events in Hampden heightened Henry went home for a weekend and told his parents everything, every single detail. With a life like theirs, there are not many things that can suprise them. They listened to everything and came up with a solution and a perfect plan that suggests a fake tragedy. It took careful and perfect planning.

He needed someone to snap, his first subject would have been Richard, but then Camilla called him in the middle of the night when Charles had hurt her. This version of the plan was better, he would provoke Charles until he did something stupid, he drove up to Francis’s country house on one weekend and put Francis’s aunts beretta in Charles’s room. He left the door open at the inn’s room and waited for Charles to come. The beretta had 2 bullets and the third would be a fake one that had piglet blood in it. He also gave a bit of drug to everyone without them noticing, he hid a bottle of whisky in Charles’s room with drugs mixed in it. Then the second Richard told him that he is there at the estate and drunk, he knew that the plan was on. He ordered room service and wine, when Camilla went to freshen up, he also put the drugs in her glass of wine. He hoped that Francis and Richard would show up desperate and shaken up, when they did he was pleased that they took big gulps from Camilla’s glass of wine, he needed everyone’s mind fuzzy. He paid attention to their body language that got more slumped by the minute. When Charles busted in the door, it was game time. He was confident, he was a Sinclair for fuck’s sake, he knew self defense like no one and he had reflexes as sharp as a knife, Charles was no competition. The first gunshot to the window and the second to poor Richard’s stomach, he held the gun in his hands now. There were heavy knocks on the door, it was time. He pulled the trigger, he felt the fake bullet hit his temple and explode with the pig blood, he dropped to the floor and tried to stay as still as he could. The others were too shocked and their heads fuzzy. He smiled smugly to himself when he felt the blanket on him, bless Francis. His father’s men came acting like the police and took him out of there, straight to the private plane.

“You will get over it.” His father interrupted his train of thought. “But, you have to know one thing and keep it in your head, always.”

“What is it?” He was desperate for some good advice.

“Henry Winter is dead, it is time for you to be who you really are supposed to be. Henry Sinclair.”

Henry smiled at that, he would never say it out loud but he felt better being Henry Sinclair, his true self.

Henry Winter was someone he used for his Hampden years, Winter was his mother’s maiden name and he put it to good use. He didn’t need anyone recognizing the Sinclair name.However, there was one thing he never planned. Falling in love with a certain twin blonde girl, if this meant falling in love, he wasn’t sure. He felt protective over her, wanted to protect her as long as he could. But how could he lay beside her at night knowing that he was going to leave her? He didn’t mean to hurt her, she was better off without him and Charles, he just hoped he stayed away from her.

His mother joined them in the lounge, as he walked beside her son she caressed his dark hair and she sat beside her husband.

“It will get easier, honey. I know your heart aches for that blonde girl twin, she will get over it too. Just like your friends. What matters is that the plan went perfectly, and now we have you here with us.”

She threw back a few inches of her husband’s scotch and smiled at her family.

“Paris will wash all your troubles away. You will see the wonderful business of our family, get to know some new friends, join us to magnificent balls and parties.” She smirked at him slyly, he knew that smile of hers, he knew what was coming. “And who knows? You might meet a nice sweetheart and hold her close to your heart.”

“Paris does show you true love, son.” His father says and puts his hands on his mother’s, his fingertips touching her wedding band.

“Yeah, sure. I am fine by myself, thank you.” Henry rolled his eyes, the scotch in his head brought out his attitude. His parents shared a knowing look.

There was a heavy silence now, all three of them lost in their own thoughts. Until Laura, their maid, came in and informed them of their schedule.

“The pilot just announced that the plane will land in an hour, a driver will be waiting at the airport and he will be taking you to your apartment.”

“Actually, Laura,” said Mr.Sinclair. “Henry will be taken to his own apartment.” He wrote an address on a piece of paper and gave it to the maid. “Get another driver and give him the address. Thank you, Laura.”

The maid left and Henry gave a peek to his parents who were already looking at him with smug smiles.

“Thank you, father, mother.” He really was grateful, what he needed was his own space, alone with his thoughts. All he wanted was to finally sleep some and then have some good old silence. Which he could never have, his head and brain were always running and thinking. He needed a good book to concentrate on, or maybe if he emptied his mind down to his diary, he could feel relieved. Or perhaps, if only he had Camilla by his side, he could put his stress somewhere else… Whatever, he should just get himself together and flip the page.

“You will feel much better when we arrive.” Mrs.Sinclair stood up and started to leave the lounge. “I will sort the luggages for the landing.” And with that, she left. Leaving father and son, alone.

“There is more to life than books and ancient languages, Henry. Until you settle down, there are always good ways to cope with stress. Like… Beautiful women, eager to please.” Here we go…

“You kn—“ he tried interrupting.

“I know, I know. Not my business, you have your own private life and I know it. But, so you know. The building we own, where you will live in the apartment, has a little section for pleasure. If you want anything or anyone, pick up the phone and you shall have it. So you know.”

“Alright. I will think about it.” He won’t.

Don’t you get him wrong, he liked to have sex. He liked being inside of a woman, feeling her warmth everywhere and holding her close. He liked seeing pleasure consume her body and seeing it on her face. While he was in Hampden he always found a nice girl to fuck, he didn’t use women, he gave them all the pleasure they could want and he put their pleasure in front of his, always. But he was dead to the one woman he felt really hungry for, some whore or anyone for that matter will not do the job. Right now, he just wanted to get to the place he will call his home and rest for a while.

But for now, he can at least close his eyes knowing that Henry Winter is dead, he can now focus on one thing and one thing only.

Being his true self, Henry Sinclair.

[shallowoak]

Design Chatter - MLP Grand Line Gang!

>> Link to the art here! <<

I really enjoyed rambling about the East Blue Crew, so I'm back again to talk your ears off about the rest of the crew now that I've finally posted them! Once again, fair warning that this will be long and there will be spoilers!

I kept a few simple guidelines for myself in mind:

Keep it fun and surprising, in the spirit of the original!

I draw in the G4 style, but features from every gen and toy line are fair game

I love back card / blind bag style character blurbs. I live for crumbs of worldbuilding XD

I've purposefully not included cutie marks because I suck at drawing them and I'd never finish a piece if I had to draw them :v (maybe a post for another time?)

🌸Chopper🌸

In-universe:

Further than the Crystal Empire, even beyond Yakyakistan, Chopper hails from the frozen north. A skilled potion maker, he loves to brew warm healing tonics with ingredients found on the mountain. He's hoping he can learn to skywalk like the Reindeer in Robin's books!

Design:

Every now and again, it's nice to do a 1:1 translation of a character rather than a full reimagining! Reindeer appear in G4 during the special Best Gift Ever, so it's the little changes that make Chopper 'ponified'- the lighter patches on his face, ears and tummy. The swirls in his inner ears. Changing his hoof/antler colour to be just a little more pink. One thing I did add was little baby deer spots shaped like blossom for an extra pop of colour!

I chose to draw him in Defence Point because it's cuter 🥺 my mind also thought to draw Brain Point in the Equestria Girls style and I'm not sure the world is ready for that 😂 Defence Point was also supposed to harken back to a popular fluffy fan character- before I found out their creator isn't someone I want to be celebrating. But you live and learn when trying to reference fandom culture 🤷

📚Robin📚

In-universe:

Many hooves make light work! Having studied at the Mythica University and Golden Oak libraries alike, this magic scholar always has a spell to get her crew out of a pinch! During her travels, the wily CP9 tried restraining her magic with a tennis ball!

Design:

Hm. Put into pony form, Robin kind of looks like Twilight. Similar key colours and hairstyles can't really be avoided. I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing, though. Something about this combination must just give off 'bookish'! Besides, there are plenty of character foils to Twilight that look like her in canon, too. Moondancer, Sunset, Starlight... Robin could fall into this category- a promising student led astray by forces beyond her control. It certainly isn't easy being a magic student.

Rather than an odd outward appearance, Robin's fear factor is based on people's perceptions of her abilities. I feel like she's similar to Nami in looking normal and still getting demonised. Left to her own devices, she just likes to travel and study! So I didn't want to give her a super edgy design and feed into those misconceptions. Robin is at her coolest when she chooses to be wicked for herself!

She's a normal pony, but she's still a little more dark and mysterious than someone like Twilight. That sweeping black mane, heavy hooves, and curved horn—not to mention that colourful glint in her eye—make her sturdier than a Unicorn like Sanji, and her calm confidence lets you know it! I like to think Nami has inspired her to look into getting a big flowery leg design, but she's a little worried about being even more recognisable.

⭐Franky⭐

In-universe:

Self-acceptance and found family are super! Building each other up is almost as satisfying as building new airships... almost. This loud n' proud Griffon makes Canterlot cruisers and Ornithian pirate ships alike! Lately, within the crew, he's been helping Usopp come to terms with being a Cutie Mark-less creature. Every creature has worth and is deserving of love, with or without a mark!

Design:

Franky just kinda washed up from somewhere and that really ignited my imagination when it came to his appearance. From the start, I was adamant that he should be a creature with 'fingers'. There's something about crafting with your hands that can't be recreated with Unicorn magic.

MLP Griffons are known for their strong personalities and love of precious metals- so I thought one was a great fit for the unapologetic, totally authentic Franky! This larger body also gives him more space to customise, more feathers and fluff to style!

Horse noses are very closely linked to the shape of their mouths, so having the top half of his beak be metal avoided a lot of weird imagery. His pre-time skip design shows less of his cyborg nature, but being able to use bird forelegs definitely helped to dampen the weirdness of his bulky arms more than the noodly legs of a pony. Without the differentiation between fore and upper leg, I think he'd just look swollen! Besides, you do not want to take a strong right with added claws 😬

I think it's definitely easier to imagine a solo Griffon making ships than a solo pony! His large wings and long tail help keep him safe and balanced while he works high up, and his muscular back limbs help shift heavy materials. Those back legs are coloured to look like his Speedo, as they appear less fluffy than the rest of him.

🎶Brook🎶

In-universe:

This lifelong sailor knows no pony is an island. Music can bring every creature and animal on the seas together- if only you stop to listen ❤️ All our paths are bound to cross again one day, even if the seas are wide! Magic works in mysterious ways, no bones about it!

Design:

I felt that if I was going to go to the effort of drawing a full pony skeleton, I didn't want to then cover my hard work up with clothes. Now I'm thinking I should've- the structure on those limbs was hard to draw! I looked at real horse skellies, the Hidden Dissectibles figures, and even the 'Don't Mine at Night' MLP crossover parody song... None of it made it any easier 😂 would not recommend.

Seeing as there wasn't much I could do with his base design, I decided instead to add to it! In the climax of the Rainbow Rocks movie, the Siren villains summon giant magical projections of themselves to attack. This reminded me of Brook's soul leaving his body- so that's what I drew! Though it doesn't have any mind control powers, I still wouldn't advise touching this frosty apparition... or any of the sound waves it produces!

☀️Jinbei☀️

In-universe:

Design:

Keeps up with 'current' affairs! This sagely Seapony is a pillar of the community as well as Equestria! He helps the crew stay on course (emotionally and literally) as the world changes and expands around them- it's always an exciting time both above and below the surface!

I should've been more forward-thinking and drawn him up for Mermay! Seaponies have a long history with the MLP universe, appearing alongside their land counterparts at the start of G1- a fact I think is very fitting for his character. Of course, Jinbei's design is based on Whale Sharks, and Fishmen/Merfolk as a whole are so unique with how they can be designed. Seaponies too are different in every generation- so I had a lot of fun incorporating as many unique elements as I could!

I couldn't exactly make a horse wide and flat to mimic a Whale Shark's body as he does in his canon appearance, so I decided instead to lean in more to the cute spots and shark-shaped tail fin! Then I extended his sideburns to create a softer border between his body colours and to add back some visual interest lost by removing the large membrane fin G4 Seaponies have. Jinbei is already pretty hefty and strong, so a little extra fluff doesn't noticeably slow him down.

It's certainly more difficult to imagine hair as fins; they're so much more rigid. Without individual strands or the ability to curl like natural hair, it's a lot harder to suggest diverse textures. But I still think the semi-transparent look is a lot of fun to look at and layer, and it helps his blonde streaks stand out!

Though I could've put the sun brand on his flank, it just didn't look or feel right when we're so used to seeing it on his chest. Seaponies don't usually get their own marks, and the sun is a widely used symbol of freedom. Leaving his flank free still gives me the option of giving him a unique mark in the future- he's still a prominent individual in his own right!

[weatheredpileoftomes]

the light in the abyss

For FFXIVWrite Day 10, a free day. Frydlona & Sidurgu & Rielle + Frydlona/[ShB spoilers], post-Shadowbringers, spoilers through 5.3, ~700 words. I glanced off of Frydlona’s job change in Day 6’s fic and meant to come back to it later, and now it’s later!

There are as many ways to protect the people you love as there are ways to love.

“The problem is,” Frydlona says, tracing her finger over a scratch on the table. “The problem is, he’d die for me.”

Rielle nods.

“Not just to save my life.” She’s…she wouldn’t say she’s used to it, or that she accepts it, but she acknowledges that sometimes, it’s tactically necessary to keep her alive. It doesn’t make her comfortable. She wishes it weren’t true. “Or—I mean, yes, to save my life, but…”

“But what?” Sidurgu asks, frowning.

Frydlona stares into the depths of her mug of cider. It’s dark in this corner; the reflection of her face is barely even a pale blur. “He would… You know how we had to learn that it wasn’t about what you could endure alone, and just because you could didn’t mean you had to, if someone else were willing to help?”

“We,” Rielle mutters, with the exasperation of someone who has all her combat training in conjury.

Sidurgu nods a little guiltily.

“He’s still learning that. We both are, I guess.” Frydlona sips at her cider. It’s gone cold while they talked, but the cinnamon and ginger still warm her almost right through. Nothing ever really does, in Ishgard, hot or spiced or both or neither. “But I don’t… I’ve learned a lot of things, to try to protect people. I’ve learned the dark knight’s arts, and how to heal. I’ve learned how to…”

“To?” Sidurgu prompts, after a moment.

“To kill more efficiently.” She’d left Cliffhide to see the world, and so much of what she’s seen has been red with blood and black with soot. “Because sometimes that’s what you need, to just end it.”

He nods again.

“And I can’t do any of it alone. None of us can. But you know how it is, when you’re the first line of defense. You can wear much more substantial protective magicks without the aetheric resonances warping your abilities, and you can wear as much armor as you’d like besides, but you still get hurt.”

“You do,” Rielle says grimly. “All the time, blood everywhere, trying to hide cracked ribs sometimes—”

Frydlona cuts in quickly. “I don’t think I trust him to watch me get hurt, on purpose. To let that happen. I don’t know if I could protect him that way, or if he’d do something reckless because he couldn’t bear seeing it.”

She isn’t sure what else to say. To ask whether it’s a betrayal of Fray—the real Fray—’s legacy, when he left her a part of his soul? To ask whether she’s right at all, or whether it’s just cowardice in disguise?

“So don’t.” Sidurgu shrugs and finishes his own cider. “That’s never been what this is about. You took up the sword to defend the weak and disturb the powerful, but you didn’t graft it to your hands. If you don’t feel right using it, you shouldn’t. If you think it would hurt someone you love, that’s not protecting them.”

“Fray’s the one who taught me conjury,” Rielle says, a gentle reminder that still pierces like a needle. “He and Sidurgu kept me safe, and now I keep Sidurgu alive.”

Frydlona goes back to tracing the scar in the tabletop. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve studied white magic, been using it for years…” It would be good, she thinks—reassuring—to have all that overwhelming power at her fingertips, ready for the next time G’raha feels the need to put himself between her and a threat. She doesn’t think she could stop him. Besides, she wants him safe, but she doesn’t want to change him, and she’s not sure how else to reconcile the two.

“You’ve never relied on the sword.” There’s just a suggestion of a smile around Sidurgu’s eyes, bright in the gloom. “We never said you were doing anything wrong when you slayed gods with a charming little dance—”

“Stop,” Frydlona says, but she’s laughing, as he meant her to.

He does. “It’s not any different. It doesn’t mean whatever you think it means, if you won’t rely on it now.”

Frydlona looks from him to Rielle, and nods, and lets it settle in.