#the weavers apprentice

[natyune-writes]

what places do YOU get the most inspo from for your stories?

oh man.... my inspiration comes from a lot of places. prepare for an infodump

for my fantasy fey story, my inspiration comes from a lot of books i read as a kid. i was obsessed with fairies when i was little. one major inspiration was '13 treasures,' a triology by michelle harrison. i remember loving every single book in that series. i was also a disney fairies kid and spent soooo many hours playing pixie hollow. like... a concerning number of hours. so much so that it's genuinely a wonder no one picked up on my neurodivergence sooner, haha. my fairy phase became somewhat dormant after pixie hollow shut down, and i had almost entirely forgotten about it. i had also stopped reading so much because of how busy i was with college/graduate school. but i still wanted to engage in books somehow, so i started getting into watching booktube to keep up with new releases. i remember SJM's fairy series got really popular but i had exactly 0 interest in reading it, and then i found that the booktuber 'cari can read' uploaded the hours long summary videos of the series and i watched all of them. and i distinctly remember thinking that it was an interesting concept with very poor execution in terms of plot. but because it was fairy themed, it reawakened my middle school fairy obsession and i was back on my bs again. then i decided to take my own characters and create my own fairy world with all my favorite things. and thats how this story was born. i would say aside from those, i've definitely also stolen some vibes from 'genshin impact' and 'ori and the blind forest' as well as several ghibli films (but mostly 'howl's moving castle'). oh! how could i forget. aurora's music also strongly inspired the vibes in this story. in fact, i would say aurora's music has been one of the biggest influences to date for all of my works, but especially this one.

as for the weaver's apprentice, the vibes are also all over the place. for some reason, i became weirdly obsessed with like... cirque du soleil aesthetics. acrobatic circuses are just so fun to watch. i definitely also pulled from 'caraval' by stephanie garber, 'night circus' by erin morgenstern, and recently 'a darker shade of magic' by v.e. schwab. over time the more circus-y vibes were washed out a tad, although they are still there in some capacity. but i really loved the concept of mysterious and unknown magic and that concept became very prevalent in that story concept. additionally, howl's moving castle inspired some aspects (again). and there was also the animated music video "the greatest living show" by toby fox which helped me pull together some vibes for the main antagonist of my story (the weaver).

i could probably go on forever talking about where i pulled vibes from, but that would take ages to pick out everything. the point is that i am inspired by many things, haha

[briarborealisocs]

ASK BOX.

Do any of your ocs want kids??? Are any of them vehemently against it??? I am so curious, especially talking to Nat about Nuri has gotten me thinking about my OCs and what they'd want in their future.

oh a very interesting question!! i dont usually think about this in regards to my characters because i prefer not to think too much about romance in my writing (i am aroace and find other dynamics easier to write) but hmmmm yes i think i will give it a go

you will find many of my characters are on the aroace spectrum as well because the projection game goes too hard

whoopsverse:

kiska doesnt really want biological kids because shes. immortal. and it would be weird. but she's VERY maternal. she adopts vas almost every reincarnation cycle and even beyond vas she's the type to pick up strays. she's a great mom too, she does her absolute best to learn everything she can about parenting

vas is . 15 years old usually! i dont think kids are ever really on her mind when i write her. i know some teenagers are already thinking about having a family, vas is not one of them lol. but she grows up Eventually and i think if she found someone she really trusted and loved she wouldnt be opposed to having kids, adopted or otherwise. back when vas was a grown woman in older drafts, her story was actually a romance! and she did have kids with her partner, aaron, in some aus. so hypothetically she could want kids, but i dont think about it much because shes 15 and a gremlin and i dont think she plans for romance or family life, its something that finds her when shes older sometimes though

project starstruck:

since boreal and austral are kind of my sonas to an extent, uhhh... nah haha i dont think theyd want kids. austral definitely wouldnt, shes the type to be a Cool Aunt with a dog or a cat and several trips to italy HAHA. austral also has pretty bad parental issues that make her even more hesitant to have kids, even if she wasnt aroace.

boreal honestly might want kids someday but i dont think shes very interested in finding a partner to raise them with. i do have it in mind that boreal becomes a kindergarten teacher though! she loves kids and is very good with them, i just dont think she'd have any of her own.

sshs:

there are sooo many characters here! i'll only talk about the ones that do probably want kids, and ignore the ones who are already canonically parents

leon definitely wants kids. he's a real teddy bear of a guy and he wants to be a dad someday, maybe even a stay at home dad if his future wife makes enough money to support the house on her own. he's dated on and off but nothing ever really worked out for him so far. he really really values family and would love to raise one on his own... he's kind of got other priorities right now that make dating hard, though haha. especially because his crush is an aromantic villain

dani i feel like also wants kids. my gut instinct was that she would not want kids but i think... not biological kids, probably, maybe? but she wouldnt be opposed to, when shes a lot older, having a kid or two of her own. i will say that currently its probably one of the LAST things on her mind, she doesnt even know what college she's gonna go to, much less what her romantic prospects are.

brendan (the dad-aged hero i havent formally introduced you to yet) probably WANTED kids but was never able to settle down due to his hero duties coming first. i think he probably still wants to have a family someday but its looking less and less likely the older he gets. dont worry dude, youll find someone someday

maia (dani's best friend who i also havent formally introduced you to yet) also wants kids someday. it actually is something thats been on her mind despite being a teenager, she's very grounded and the "plan ahead" type and shes already thinking about what she'll need to do if she wants to raise a family someday... girl its alright you can relax. you dont even have a girlfriend yet

the weaver's apprentice:

dijah doesnt hate kids? but she definitely does not want one of her own. maybe she gets baby fever every once in a while but then she remembers the reality of having to raise a child for 18+ years and decides she is NOT equipped for that, Thank You!

the owl house:

sol does not want kids. or a partner. or romance. but maybe someday when shes a lot older she'll take on an apprentice who becomes like a kid to her. (vague shrug) i love that trope and i feel like sol could pull it off if she wanted to. she definitely doesnt want kids though. she wants a potion empire and to hang out with her best friends

[cyraen-ae]

My Dragonfable OCs

Thallen Varsen ID : 24647148

Aleena Varsen ID : 47060525

The Brass Angel ID : 47060525

Leonas Shieldmane ID : 46610654

Kamin Wildbreeze ID : 46954765

Lysander Chrisanti ID : 47060530

Sanya Borowska ID : 47065616

Wisp Art by @platiumdragon-blog

[randomlittleimp]

My current TNR short list. Yeah I'm reading the top book, little by little. It's dark and I'm loving it so far.

[tenth-sentence]

Her extraordinary talent for design and colour prompted her to train as an attentive to a London master weaver – probably a woman master – who entered her into the Weavers' Company.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

notes; This is my first time writing fan fiction. I hope that you guys will like it, and since English isn't my first language, please don’t hesitate to mention any mistakes <3. The story takes place when Rhys was in the early stages of being the High Lord of the Night Court, around 300-350 years old, so 200 years before ACOTAR actually began. I'm not sure yet how many parts this story will have, but I hope that you all will keep reading it ;)))

here is the link for part 2

---

The sound of hammer striking hot iron echoed through the narrow streets of Velaris, mingling with the melodies of the city—the distant hum of conversation and the ever-present whisper of the Sidra River. Within the heart of the Rainbow, a district renowned for its vibrant arts and crafts, a new shop had begun to draw attention. It was an unassuming place at first glance, yet the sheer force of energy within its walls set it apart. This was no ordinary smithy.

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, your hands expertly maneuvering the red-hot blade beneath your hammer. Sparks flew with each strike, the heat from the forge wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace, both comforting and overwhelming. The rhythmic clang, clang, clang of metal against metal was music to your ears, a symphony you had been conducting since childhood.

Velaris was in your blood. Though you had been born here, your early memories were of the forge and the sound of your master's hammer. Your mother, a powerful and kind high fae, had died giving birth to you, and your father, unable to bear the weight of his mate’s passing, had followed soon after. You had been raised by a close friend of your father’s, a Master in the art of blacksmithing, who had taken you in as his own. It was under his watchful eye that you learned the craft, your small hands gradually growing strong and sure as you worked beside him, day after day.

With your master, you had traveled across the courts and to the far reaches of the continent, learning from smiths of every kind, studying techniques and secrets long forgotten by most. But no matter where you went, Velaris always called to you. And now, after hundred years of honing your skills, you had returned to the City of Starlight to forge your own path.

The shop itself was a reflection of your work—functional, yet beautiful in its simplicity. The front room was a gallery of sorts, with weapons and tools displayed like pieces of art. Gleaming swords, daggers with intricately carved hilts, and axes that looked as though they could fell the mightiest of trees hung from the walls, each one a testament to your skill. The floor was of polished wood, dark and smooth, with rugs from the weavers of Velaris adding warmth to the space. The light streamed in through tall windows, catching on the steel and iron and casting a soft glow across the room.

The shop had been open for only a few months, yet it had already begun to stir curiosity among the citizens of Velaris. Word spread quickly in the Rainbow—whispers of the new blacksmith who had come to claim a place among the best. But you rarely dealt with the customers yourself. That task fell to Alexander, your young apprentice. At only ten years old, he was sharp as a blade and twice as charming, with a quick smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. The boy had a knack for reading people, knowing just what to say to put them at ease—or to convince them that they needed a new sword or dagger.

As you plunged the heated blade into a trough of water, the hiss of steam rising into the air, you heard the familiar chime of the shop’s bell and the light patter of Alexander’s footsteps as he went to greet the newcomer. You allowed yourself a small smile as you heard his cheerful voice, already launching into his well-practiced routine.

“Welcome to the finest smithy in Velaris!” Alexander’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm. “You won’t find better craftsmanship anywhere in the city—or the continent, for that matter. What are you looking for today? A sword? A dagger? Or maybe something a bit more… unique?”

There was a pause, and then a voice, low and measured, responded, “I’m looking for the blacksmith.”

Your hands stilled, your grip tightening around the hilt of the blade you had been shaping. It was rare that someone asked for you directly. Most customers were content to browse, to admire the work and perhaps make a purchase. But something in the tone of that voice, the way it cut through the air, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Ah,” Alexander said, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise. “You’re in luck. She’s right here. Let me fetch her for you.”

You took a deep breath, wiping your hands on a cloth as you made your way toward the front of the shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as it closed, and you stepped into the light, your eyes adjusting to the brightness. Alexander was standing by the counter, his wide eyes flicking between you and the figure standing in the center of the room.

As you rounded the corner, you finally laid eyes on the stranger. The words of welcome you had been preparing died on your lips as your gazes locked, and you felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over you, as if this meeting had been fated long before you had returned to Velaris.

Alexander, sensing the shift in the air, stepped back slightly, his usual exuberance giving way to a quiet curiosity. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “The best blacksmith in Velaris.”

The stranger’s eyes never left yours, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for whatever would come next. He took a step closer, towering over you despite your own considerable height, his presence imposing. His dark hair contrasted sharply with his piercing violet eyes that seemed to take in everything with a single glance.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice smooth and rich, hinting at depths of authority and power. “I’ve heard much about your work, and I find myself in need of your particular expertise.”

The chill from the incoming winter seemed to linger around him, a reminder of the cold that had swept through Velaris with the approach of the Winter Solstice. Despite the warmth of the forge, you felt a shiver run through you—not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m honored, my lord,” you replied, maintaining eye contact, feeling the weight of his presence. “What can I do for you?”

Rhysand’s expression was serious, and his next words carried an air of significance. “The Solstice celebrations are approaching, and with the colder days upon us, I’d like to commission two sets of weapons—a sword and a dagger—for my brothers. I want them to be special, crafted with the utmost care and consideration for their owners.”

Your mind whirred with ideas, but you needed more information to tailor each piece to its future owner. “To create something truly fitting, I’ll need to know more about your brothers. What are their personalities like, and what are their preferences in combat?”

Rhysand’s face softened slightly as he spoke of Cassian and Azriel. “Cassian is a warrior through and through—strong, fiercely loyal, and a born leader. His weapon should reflect that strength and his role within the Illyrian legions.”

You nodded thoughtfully, picturing a sturdy, bold design for Cassian’s sword. “And Azriel?”

“Azriel operates in the shadows, precise and strategic. His weapon should be subtle yet deadly, embodying his role as spymaster.”

A smile flickered across your face. “I have the perfect idea for him—a sleek design with a hidden element, perhaps.”

Rhysand’s approving nod encouraged you to continue. “Since those two are illyrian maybe we can include syphons in the design. It might be best to work with their olds ones. If you could send those to me, I can restore them and integrate them into the new weapons, preserving their familiar feel while enhancing their function.”

“That sounds ideal,” Rhysand agreed. “I’ll arrange for some of their old syphons to be brought to you tomorrow. They are quite worn but hold significant meaning for my brothers.”

You glanced up at him, reassured by his confidence in your abilities. “I’ll ensure the weapons reflect both their personalities and their needs.”

Rhysand’s smile was genuinely warm now. “Thank you, Y/N. I look forward to seeing your craftsmanship.”

With that, he turned to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he stepped out into the cold Velaris air, leaving a trail of frost in his wake. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling his departure.

Standing in your forge, you felt the weight of the responsibility settle onto your shoulders. This commission was more than just a job; it was a chance to craft pieces that would be carried by some of the most formidable warriors in the Night Court. You had done works for other lords, kings or fighters, but every time a new challenge would come up your excitement increased so much. The idea of those people working with your creations was just incredible. 

As the cold seeped into the shop, you turned back to your workbench, pulling out parchment and charcoal. Your sketches began to take shape, influenced by the discussion and your insights into the characters of the two brothers. Powerful, elegant, and deadly—just like the men they were meant for.

The forge called to you, and as you answered, diving into your work, you felt a sense of purpose. These weapons would be more than just tools; they would be extensions of the warriors themselves, forged with skill and imbued with the spirit of the Winter Solstice.

After a few more hours of work and locking up the smithy, you and Alex headed up to your cozy apartment. It was adorned with all the comforts of a true craftsman's home—polished wooden floors, local Velaris art, and big windows that showcased the night sky. Your personal collection of swords decorated the walls, each blade a story from your past travels with your old master.

At the foot of your bed lay Stellan, your faithful direwolf companion. His thick, snow-white fur contrasted sharply with his deep, dark eyes that held a world of wisdom and loyalty. You had found him as a pup during one of your early travels—a small, shivering ball of fur huddled against the cold. From that moment on, Stellan had been by your side, growing into a majestic creature whose presence was as comforting as it was formidable.

Your apartment, while only boasting two bedrooms, mostly saw both you and Alex sharing the larger one. Alex had claimed a corner of it with his makeshift bedding, but as the night deepened, he inevitably migrated to your bed, preferring its warmth and the company.

Tonight, you were sitting in bed with your sketchbook, the moonlight and candlelight mingling to create the perfect ambiance for drawing. Stellan's gentle snores provided a soothing background hum, his large form curled protectively at the bed's end. Alex, lying next to you, propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at your work.

"So, Nana, this one’s going to be for the High Lord, huh?" Alex's voice was soft, filled with awe and curiosity.

"Yeah, it is," you nodded, continuing your sketch. "Every piece needs to be perfect, though, no matter who it’s for. Whether it's a High Lord or a local warrior, they all deserve the best." Despite the illustrious clientele, you held every piece to the same standard of perfection, knowing well that each creation bore your signature, no matter the buyer.

Alex grinned at that. "I know. That’s why your stuff is the best. But hey, why’d you let me call you Nana again? It’s nicer than just ‘master’ or something too formal."

You chuckled softly, a slight blush on your cheeks. "Because you said it fits well, and I guess it does. It’s kind of endearing, Alex."

He blushed, pleased with the affirmation, then leaned closer to peek at your sketchbook. "Show me what you’ve got so far. I bet it’s epic."

You tilted the sketchbook towards him, revealing detailed designs of the sword intended for the spymaster. "This blade needs to embody stealth and strength, reflecting who it's for. It’s not just a weapon; it’s a piece of art."

As you spoke, Stellan lifted his head, ears twitching as if acknowledging the conversation. His dark eyes flickered open, observing you both with a gentle, protective gaze. With a soft huff, he repositioned himself, laying his head back down on his massive paws, content to simply be in your presence.

Alex nodded seriously, taking in every line and curve you had drawn. "It’s amazing, Y/N. They’re gonna love it."

As the evening wore on, Alex's questions and observations gradually slowed as sleep began to claim him. His head eventually found a resting place on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. You smiled down at him, setting the sketchbook aside. His trust and the simple title of 'Nana' he'd given you felt more precious than any formal recognition.

Stellan, sensing the room's quieting energy, stood up and stretched, his movements graceful despite his size. He padded softly around the bed, finally settling down closer to you and Alex, his body a warm barrier against the night’s chill. His presence was a comforting constant, a silent guardian watching over your small family.

With the room now quiet, save for the soft sounds of Alex's sleep and Stellan's rhythmic breathing, the distant hum of the night city served as a lullaby. You felt a peaceful end to the productive day. The weight of creating something worthy of the Night Court was significant, but it was a challenge you were ready to meet with your usual dedication to excellence. Slipping under the covers, you settled in next to Alex, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over you all. With Stellan's protective aura enveloping you, you allowed yourself to drift off, thoughts of tomorrow’s forging dancing in your dreams.

On the other side of the city at the townhouse, the evening was filled with laughter and good spirits. Cassian was in fine form, regaling the table with a joke about an Illyrian warrior who mistook a glamour-spell for his opponent in a sparring match. The table erupted in laughter, appreciating the absurdity of the tough warrior swatting at thin air.

As chuckles subsided and glasses were refilled, Azriel steered the conversation toward local news with his typically quiet but clear tone. "Have you heard, Rhys?" he began, capturing the table's attention. "There’s a new blacksmith in Velaris."

"Actually?" Cassian's interest was piqued, his expression curious.

"Yes, I’ve checked on her—she's already established quite the reputation," Azriel continued.

"Her, like she is a female?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yes, 'her' like that, Cassian…" Azriel replied with a slight smirk, enjoying the moment of revelation.

Rhysand joined in with a knowing smile. "She's not just any blacksmith. She’s made quite a name for herself, especially with blades. She’s worked with several high lords across Prythian."

Cassian choked slightly on his drink, surprised. "A female blacksmith, swinging hammers with the high lords? She must be quite skilled."

"She is," Rhysand confirmed, his voice reflecting a mix of respect and intrigue. "Her blades are reputed to be some of the finest—well-crafted and balanced. The detail and precision are said to be exceptional."

The brothers shared intrigued glances, the atmosphere buzzing with new interest. The conversation seamlessly wove around various artisans they knew, but the topic of the new blacksmith lingered, sparking a particular fascination.

"So, what's her specialty? Just weapons, or does she do armor too?" Cassian probed, clearly intrigued.

"Primarily weapons. She has a particular talent for swords and daggers," Rhysand explained. 

As the evening wore on, Rhysand found a moment to lean towards Azriel. “By the way Az, could you drop a box off at the blacksmith's tomorrow? "

Azriel nodded, sensing the significance of the task, though his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just the box," Rhysand responded, his tone firm yet enigmatic, giving nothing further away.

Both Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, their curiosity clearly piqued, but recognizing that Rhysand was keeping his cards close to his chest. They returned to lighter topics, but the mention of the new blacksmith had woven itself into their conversation, adding a thread of intrigue to the vibrant tapestry of Velaris’s ongoing stories.

—

Back in your smithy, the clanging of metal and the heat of the forge filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of customers at the front of the shop. Alexander, navigated skillfully among the patrons, his arms laden with weapons. His voice, bright and enthusiastic, carried over the din as he extolled the virtues of your craftsmanship.

"Feel the balance of this blade!" Alexander exclaimed to a curious couple, holding up a finely crafted sword for inspection. "Forged right here, each swing is as smooth as the Sidra's flow!"

With the Winter Solstice drawing near, the shop was bustling with activity as each order demanded meticulous attention and finesse. You had just put the finishing touches on a stylized hammer, commissioned by one of the lords of the Illyrian camps, when the bell above the door chimed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure cloaked in shadows enter. It was Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster, moving with a quiet grace that seemed almost unnatural. His presence caused a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he approached Alexander first, speaking in hushed tones before your apprentice pointed him towards the back.

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you pushed through the curtain that separated your work area from the shop. Dressed in a revealing black top and overalls that were unclipped at the top, leaving much of your torso exposed due to the heat of the forge, you approached the visitor. Big gloves covered your hands, protecting them from the forge’s heat. As you came into view, you caught Azriel's gaze flick momentarily—almost imperceptibly—downwards before meeting your eyes again. Though brief, it didn’t escape your notice.

“Who is it?” you asked, your voice echoing slightly in the busy shop.

“I need to deliver something to you,” Azriel stated, his voice even and calm, holding out a small, intricately carved box.

Before taking the box, you carefully removed your heavy gloves, revealing hands marked by the rigors of your trade. You took it, feeling the weight and the latent power it seemed to hold. Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him. “From the High Lord ?”

“Yes. He said you’d know what to do with it,” Azriel replied, his gaze now fixed firmly on your face, any earlier distraction gone.

You nodded, understanding that the contents of the box were likely tied to the commission Rhysand had mentioned previously. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll handle it from here.”

As Azriel turned to leave, Alexander’s voice once again filled the shop, drawing new customers' attention: "Every piece has its own story, crafted with the finest skills learned from the great forges of Prythian! See for yourselves!"

You couldn’t help but smile at Alexander’s enthusiasm as he continued to engage the customers with his lively banter. Azriel, the enigmatic shadow singer, had left as quietly as he had arrived. There was something undeniably captivating about him—his mysterious aura only added to his allure.

Standing for a moment, you held the box, feeling its potential. But the demands of the day pulled you back, and you returned to the forge, your mind already racing with ideas for the contents of the box and the work that lay ahead. 

Just as you were about to reignite the forge, Alex poked his head through the curtain, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“He was hot, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with teasing curiosity.

You paused, a smirk forming as you glanced back at the retreating figure of Azriel. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten?” you retorted playfully, raising an eyebrow at Alex.

Alex chuckled, undeterred. “Maybe, but I can tell when someone’s cool. He’s like a shadow knight from those legends you told me!”

Laughing, you shook your head and turned back to your workbench, the plans for Rhysand’s commission spread out before you. “Get back to the front, Alex. And keep your comments about the customers to yourself, even if they are high lords or shadow singers.”

Alex laughed and ducked back through the curtain, his voice soon mingling with the customers once again. As you focused on the intricate designs of the new commission, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement for the challenge ahead, your heart still light from the brief yet intriguing encounter.

[probablybadrpgideas]

OCtober day 9

Our OC has an appearance! Go team!

(If apprentice wins they'll be apprenticed to the second place career)

previous winning options below the cut

Fantasy, they/them, aroace, mascy femme, short/fat/muscly, purple eyes, silver hair

[briarborealisocs]

INAUGURAL POST! i have more ocs and more stories than this but these are the main ones For Now

tell me about your favorite characters (or ocs if you’d like) 👀👀👀

this post is going to be long so: oc info under the cut! i guess this is a good time to tell anyone who doesnt know me from other sites that i have a bunch of various ocs in my brain always. fun fact: originally this blog was going to be my art and oc blog! hence: briarborealisart. unfortunately the allure of fandom reblogs Got Me and now my blog is a deeply disorganized folder of Interests rather than me putting anything of my own out there LOL. maybe i should make an oc sideblog or smth but i feel like i wouldnt keep up with it </3

OK SO I HAVE A NUMBER OF OCS FROM DIFFERENT WORLDS. i'll go in order of world age (mostly---i don't remember the exact chronology) and stick to my main oca. anyone who i tag as a collaborator/co-author also has ocs that interact with mine and did a great amount of the worldbuilding and u should check them out hehehehe!!

WHOOPSVERSE

whoopsverse is a world jointly created by some friends and i (@natyune-art, @catatonickeeper and alythea). it's an epic fantasy and it is also falling apart actively lore-wise because we all became Adults With Jobs who had some creative differences regarding what we wanted for the roleplay SO its kind of a free for all rn. BUT IT IS SO DEAR TO ME. it started out as an offshoot of the google plus roleplay community World of Alengra by derbybubblefish but it quickly became its own thing. i technically have a billion and a half ocs from this world but most of them are defunct/shelved for now (read: dead)

my two most active ocs from whoopsverse are vas and kiska

vasushri jilpa nuriya, aka vas, is a mortal girl who keeps getting reincarnated with the same voidkin attached to her soul. voidkin are minor gods who are born from the void, a nebulous sea of chaos. they are goopy fellas and can latch onto mortal souls to give them innate void magic. void magic involves portaling, hammerspace, and in rare occasions, shapeshifting into a voidkin. vas has the rare shapeshifting bond.

kiska, aka the godkiller, aka tempest, is a once-mortal woman, now immortal, who is blessed by the death god with immortality and great power. in return, she is to wander the earth exterminating rogue immortals. she's like a very specialized grim reaper.

kiska frequently runs into vas in her many incarnations and adopts her.

PROJECT STARSTRUCK

@ask-projectstarstruck (mine and @doeblossom 's poor abandoned baby) is an ask blog set in a world much like our own, except that magic exists! it takes place in a fictional college and follows two (or three? 👀) students. blog spoilers to follow!! (also, the concept existed before and continues to exist outside of the ask blog, lol). MY two (most active) ocs in there are austral and boreal

austral lucis is a college student at the university of lenton springs! she's a business major and communications minor who graduated valedictorian of her high school class, and got a full ride scholarship to this ivy league college not too far from her home. she's a huge stick in the mud and very VERY type A. her story revolves around learning how to be her own person instead of doing what everyone expects/wants of her. her college roommate is callista aka elise, @doeblossom 's oc!

boreal lucis is dead. no, really! she's a ghost, and austral's twin sister. through an uncanny twist of fate, or maybe magic, when boreal was stillborn her life force attached to austral, and her ghost grew up with her. austral is the only person who can see her, and ghosts/hauntings aren't really well researched in the world of project starstruck, so... austral has defaulted to pretending she doesn't exist, so that people don't think she's crazy. boreal is a silly goofy guy, because you've got to have some way to entertain yourself when the only other person who knows you exist pretends she doesn't. boreal's story is ALSO about learning to become her own person, but this time a lot more literally.

boreal is very protective of austral, the both of them having grown up with a mother that was very demanding and dismissive of austral's emotional needs. austral would prefer not to talk about it.

SILLY SUPERHERO STORY

THIS ONE IS ALLLLL ME BABEY. i read so much of the Alernate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers tag on ao3 that i haaaaaaaad to make my own. since this is all me i have a bajillion ocs in this world.

here i'll just copy and paste over from my discord (these descriptions might not be super accurate since they were written a long time ago)

ok core cast

19 year old spiderman kinnie mc, a vigilante named leon wright. became a vigilante after his existing powers mysteriously evolved (this Doesn't Happen to other people)

15-16 year old dani wright, leon's little sister, found out leon was a vigilante and promised to snitch on him if he didn't let her join him

17-18 year old stereotypical tech/hacker/guy in the chair guy named mick simmons, technically a supervillain because he keeps committing minor cyberterrorism. his only parent was a supervillain who got arrested when he was like 14. he met leon online after hacking his animal jam account. so far he's the only one whose codename ive made and it's discord

18-20 yo main villain, kammie stoll, a deranged and unhinged cartoonishly evil young woman who leon is a MASSIVE simp for, and she is in love...with DESTRUCTION!!! NYEHEHEH

a registered dad-aged hero, brendan powell, so stressed about the fact that these kids are out here fighting, desperately trying to be a positive role model for/adopt them

a dad-aged villain, grant stoll, kammie's bio dad, they have a great relationship /gen, he is also trying to adopt all the kids because he respects their gusto and thinks they'd be great friends for his daughter

the wright parents, phoebe and cyrus; one of them knows about their kids vigilante stuff, the other is oblivious (havent decided which is which). theyre separated but friendly and have a rivalry going on about who the kids like more

the hero hq secretary, sandra flores, who has a power that "lets her type really fast" but actually its just legitimately a superspeed power and shes so cool and rad. she just lets people think she's Normal

milo pryce, mick and leon's third roommate that they picked up off of craigslist or smth because they couldnt afford an apt on their own salaries. he's pretty normal (or is he?) and just a background civilian (or IS he?) except that he's a doomsday prepper with a serious hoarding problem, but only in his room. very meticulous otherwise

and, of course, the REAL big bad evil guy: clarisse simmons, mick's supervillain mom. she's a very mysterious force for most of the story until the THIRD ACT TURN WHERE ITS REVEALED SHES BEEN THE MASTERMIND THE WHOLE TIME! or... something like that

THE WEAVER'S APPRENTICE

story MAINLY driven by @natyune-art featuring witches, betrayal, and mystery!! my character in there is named dijah

khadijah, aka khadi or dijah, is a witch. in this world, witches can see the strings of fate that surround a person and view, interpret, and/or manipulate those strings. dijah wanders the world as kind of a rogue, wandering from town to town with nothing tying her down anywhere. that is, until she arrives at a town where a string of kidnappings finally catches up to her location. a bartender she made sort-of friends with is the next to go missing, and she immediately decides to start investigating. while she's in town, she also meets auryn, a traveling performer like herself. he's extremely suspicious, but she has no real evidence that he's behind the kidnappings, especially when he agrees to help her with her investigation. drama! intrigue! romance! horror! whimsy! they have it all!!!

THE OWL HOUSE

most recently and most clearly the subject of my brainrot, @doeblossom peer pressured me to make an owl house self insert oc and BOY DID I. ITS SO FUN. in addition to being besties with toh!doe, she ALSO has interactions with @mothsha 's toh oc myrna, and @blimate 's toh oc wynter. her name is sol

solstice finch is a teen prodigy. she graduated hexside at 15 years old under the potion track, and ended up succeeded in the emperor's coven tryouts, which she had entered by accident. she quickly made her way through the coven scout ranks and at 16 is a coven official a la kikimora. she's besties with doe and hunter :) her mentor WAS lilith, but after The Season One Finale... they don't talk for a while haha. I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT HER BUT I'LL KEEP IT BRIEF: sol is THE silliest little guy. she's also basically a cat, we swear. shortly after hollow mind she defects from the coven and that's when she ends up meeting myrna and re-meeting wynter.

AND THATS IT. THATS EVERYONE THAT I CAN BE BOTHERED WITH RN. I FEEL LIKE IM MISSING SOME KEY FELLERS BUT WHAT CAN BE SAID. IM LATE FOR MOVIE NIGHT I JUST CHECKED THE TIME. GOTTA GO!

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 7

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits)

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Two Months Later

It had taken nearly a week of prowling the palace before Linnea had found the right space Not that the building was that large, strictly speaking - but the way it was constructed, winding around and through the forests of Lindon, meant that it had taken many hours of walking and investigating before she had found it. 

Adabes had made her a list - of course, there had been a list - and she had looked at every single option before she’d made her choice. And of course, then there had been days of outfitting it, procuring the necessary tools and supplies. She had indulged herself, trying - and occasionally failing - to not be too extravagant, but it was a heady thing having no limits on what she could do. 

Not to mention, a soon-to-be-husband who had done nothing to discourage her.

And now, it was finally ready.

The velvet loom had been delivered and set in its place, and the apprentices who had carried it in had departed. Adabes stood by the door, holding her ever-present portable writing desk, as Linnea slowly turned in the center of the weaving room.

It was circular, like many rooms in the palace, occupying an entire floor of one of the towers. It had windows all around it, large and open, spilling sunlight into the room, and there was a balcony outside that overlooked one of the large training courtyards. The floor was a light wood, almost white, and the walls had been whitewashed to keep the space as bright as possible; at this hour, just past midday, it glowed. 

She had divided it into working areas using the furniture: one for the traditional loom, one for the velvet loom, and additional small enclaves of seating and tables for handwork or simply sitting and conversing. And there was plenty of space to move things around later if that became needed; if she brought in more looms, or if there were weavers that wanted to bring their own.

Shelves held rolls of spun yarn and other supplies. She hadn’t brought in her own spinning wheel or dyeing equipment yet, but that could come later. For now, she could actually weave again as soon as the looms were warped, and it was a great relief knowing that that would be a way to occupy her days. 

After the wedding.

At the moment, she was consumed with preparations. For all their talk of trying to keep things as private as possible, it had been an Age since there had been a royal wedding, and there was no escaping that fact. To make it manageable, she had agreed to separate the wedding and the coronation, making the compromise of a fairly small wedding and a very public coronation held at the Tree, with the opportunity for anyone to come. And so, Adabes always seemed to have another list that she needed to look at, another decision that had to be made.

Gil-galad was trying to help as much as he could, but he had been just as occupied as Linnea, with reinforcing the eastern borders. And there was also the not-inconsiderable task of replenishing Lindon’s armies; the battle at Eregion had left few standing, and for most of the last two weeks, he had been gone visiting the Greenwood and meeting with King Oropher. He had returned three nights ago, but in the face of all of that, asking him to help decide on menus or schedules seemed to be an ill use of his time. He had offered for her to go with him, but there was simply too much to be done.

She also had yet to take her seat on the council. Despite Gil-galad’s assurances, it felt too strange to do so before she was formally crowned queen. Granted, there were plenty of people who were referring to her that way already, but she certainly had enough to keep herself busy without adding council meetings to the list.

There would be ample time after the wedding.

She finished her slow perusal of the room, coming to a stop and smiling at Adabes. “It’s all perfect,” she breathed. “Every bit of it. Thank you.”

Adabes returned the smile, inclining her head. She herself was not a weaver, and so her role in setting up the room had been limited to logistics. But she had brought her exacting nature to the task, as she did with everything, and all of the deliveries and other work had been executed seamlessly.    

“I am glad you are pleased, my lady,” she replied. “I know that this was important to you, and I am glad it is to your liking. Are you ready to visit the kitchens?”

Linnea kept herself from sighing, but it was difficult. Every time she thought the food for the wedding feast and the coronation reception was settled, someone had an idea that meant it all had to be revisited. She had to taste the new thing and carefully consider whether it was suitable, and if so, whether anything else was affected by the change. More than once, she had been tempted to tell Adabes no more, but the eagerness on the faces of the cooks was so palpable. How often, after all, did they get the chance to do this? And that reminder made it all at least a little more bearable.

It did help that everything she had tried was delicious and that the hardest part of all of it was having to say no occasionally. Else the feast would last an entire week.   

“I - “

I am, she had been about to say, but a shout from outside cut her off. 

“Dadhro nin!”

Gil-galad’s voice. She would know it anywhere.

The cry of come at me certainly snared her attention, and she glanced at Adabes, who shook her head - she had no more knowledge than Linnea. There was no sound of upheaval, nothing alarming, but a clatter of metal alerted her that something was happening.

Curious, she walked to the archway that opened onto the balcony, and stepped outside.

There were three groups of soldiers gathered in the training courtyard below. Two of them appeared to be mostly new recruits; their armor was shiny and unblemished, and there was a stern-looking soldier in front of each, putting them through sword drills. 

But that was not what had caught her ear.

At the south end of the courtyard was the third group, and here were the battle veterans. Scarred breastplates, stained leather; all cosmetic damage that could have been remedied, but they were marks of honor, of survival. It was not hard to understand why none of them had elected to have any repairs performed.

There were four of them, arranged in a rough arc around Gil-galad. He was also in full armor, training as he would fight. Aeglos was in his hands, and she could see that leather covers had been placed over either end of the spear to shield the blades and allow him to practice with the real weapon. She was no warrior, but she understood well enough the principles of weight and balance, and how important it could be to have no hesitation in the middle of a battle. Even having to make small conscious adjustments, as opposed to every muscle working without thought, could mean the difference between life and death.

Gil-galad’s four opponents had been hanging back, which had been the cause of his shout. She couldn’t blame them, being hesitant to attack their king, but as she stepped to the edge of the balcony they were moving in. Each was armed differently: one had sword and shield, one had two long knives, one had a length of chain, and the last had a spear of his own, although shorter and far less imposing than Aeglos. Variety that mirrored the battlefield, especially among their enemy, where the orcs were armed with anything they could lay hands on.

She had not yet seen him fight. And the sight of it, even here in training, rooted her feet to the spot.

He had the grace of a master dancer, every movement starting from his core and radiating outward to his limbs. Aeglos’ reach meant that his opponents had to remain at a distance, but they seemed to have some sort of strategy: the soldiers with the sword and with the long knives were pushing inward, forcing Gil-galad to defend while the other two moved in on his flank. 

The soldier with the chain was spinning it, preparing to try and use it to ensnare Aeglos and disarm the King, but Gil-galad was too fast. A sweep of the spear interrupted the whirling chain and his grip was tight enough that the force did not make him lose it; he snagged the chain like a fish with a net and flung it away, out of reach. The next spin brought the spear around to the soldier with the long knives, thrusting into his chest and forcing him to stumble back. One of the knives fell to the ground; the other snapped up into a crossguard position, turning Aeglos’ blade to the right. A less surefooted man might have stumbled, but Gil-galad used the momentum to fully spin around, bringing Aeglos through and cracking it directly across the first soldier’s shield. 

The soldier with the spear hadn’t been idle. He’d moved around behind Gil-galad, pressuring him into a continuous slow turn, exchanging a flurry of blows spear-to-spear before he would face the two other soldiers again. 

Linnea felt her heart speeding up, watching. It was training, there was no danger beyond perhaps minor scrapes and bruises, but it was still not the most comfortable feeling in the world seeing swords and knives thrust at her future husband. But Gil-galad was more than equal to the task; in the short few seconds it had taken her to finally draw a breath, he had disarmed both the soldier with the sword and with the one remaining long knife, and was fully concentrating on his spear-wielding counterpart. And even to her untrained eye, she could tell that the other soldier was skilled; he was pressing Gil-galad hard, willfully putting himself within reach of Aeglos and forcing the King to slide backward. It became a dance between the two of them, back and forth, the longer Aeglos presenting both benefit and disadvantage. 

Seeing him in armor took her back to that very first moment they had met. Her eyes had blurred from the pain in her arm, but he had been so clear to her as he had knelt by her side. His gentle touch had pushed the pain back, shielding her from it like the warrior he was. He had been filthy, injured, his mind in a thousand places, but all of that had been far less important than making sure she was all right. And she had known, the moment that his hand had touched her face; she had known who he was. If he would have her, she was his.

A cry from below; a yell of triumph. Gil-galad had finally disarmed his last opponent, sending the smaller spear flying. The soldier held up his empty hands, yielding, and she caught a faint chuckle from him. The King shifted Aeglos to one hand, stretching his shoulders back and settling his weight on both feet more firmly, and extended his other to his opponent. They clasped arms briefly and then moved off to the side, where a rack of weapons was waiting - presumably, to change out and continue their practice.

He hadn’t seen her watching, but that was all right. She had very much enjoyed the view.

And yet, even through her admiration, an icy tendril caressed the back of her neck. A whisper of a thought, looking at both the new recruits and the hardened veterans alike. Thoughts of the enemy and his armies of uruk, still out there, the same that had razed Eregion. 

Thoughts that there might come a time when every hand would be needed to hold a weapon. Her own included. She knew less than nothing, but there was clearly the means to learn, if she should wish it. Gil-galad would not ask it of her if it was not her will, but as queen, did she not have a responsibility to help him defend their realm?

Wife. Queen. Mother. And warrior?  

Behind her, Adabes delicately cleared her throat, and Linnea turned. The other woman had come up to the archway and was waiting patiently, but she knew that expression - Adabes was conscious of the passing of time, and they were expected in the kitchens.

Kitchens.

Gil-galad was working hard on the field below them. Even at that moment, he was lifting a practice sword from the rack, testing its weight in his hand, preparing to continue. 

He would surely be hungry when he was finished.

“Adabes,” she said slowly, a smile beginning to curve her lips as she pushed thoughts of battle away, setting them aside for later. “Would you please send to the captain of the guard, and find out how much longer the King will be training?”

It had been a long, and tiring, and good practice session.

Gil-galad sheathed his sword, placing the weapon in the practice rack. Another day he would fight with his own sword, with live steel, but these had been hours well-spent. He had also been able to keep half an eye on the new recruits that were drilling beneath the watchful eyes of the veterans. Enough of them were promising that he was able to breathe a little easier; Lindon's armies were depleted, but it would not remain so for long.

He nodded at one of the veterans, a captain, that had just finished an intricate drill with his troops. The soldier bowed to him before returning to his duties, shouting out at the recruits to do it again, faster this time.

Except they didn't. As one, they straightened up, snapping their heels together, and bowed deeply towards something behind him.

He turned, curious as to what it was, and smiled. He should have known.

Linnea.

He had seen her at breakfast that morning, but her grace and her beauty still took his breath away. She was wearing a soft blue gown, with the simple round neck and fitted sleeves that she favored, but the fabric was heavy silk and the skirts were full and brushing across the ground as she walked. And that round neck and those fitted sleeves were detailed with gold embroidery, and pearls, and she was also wearing a delicate half-circlet of gold filigree atop her chestnut curls. But it wasn't just her clothes that had changed over the last weeks; her bearing had changed too as she accustomed herself to who she was now. She was every inch a queen, and it pleased the great beast inside him - the beast that had been lazing in well-fed satisfaction for most of the last weeks - to see her receive the respect she was due. 

As she walked towards him, her guards behind her, he noticed that she was carrying a basket. A large, full basket, brimming with packages of folded leaves and papers, and there was a corked bottle resting against one side. 

She inclined her head at the soldiers, and they relaxed, reassuming their positions to start their drill. The captain bowed briefly to her and then turned his attention back to the recruits, and Gil-galad smiled down at her as she reached him. 

“My lord,” she said. “I hope I am not interrupting?”

“Not at all.” He reached for her free hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Your company is always welcome, my lady.”

She smiled. “I happened to observe your training as I was about to visit the kitchens.” She lifted the basket slightly. “And with such a level of exertion, I thought you might enjoy sharing some refreshment.”

It was so simple. Such a small thing. 

And yet that belt was back around his chest, cutting off his air with how much he had been given. Queen Tinnaril had been at court when he had gone to meet with Oropher, but she had seemed distant, seldom with the king except for the dinner that had begun his visit and the one that had ended it. When he compared her chill to Linnea's warmth - how she cared for him, plainly thought of him, made no secret of her love for him…

Perhaps Tinnaril was simply more reserved. Perhaps it had been different in the early days of their marriage. But he vowed that his own union would never change so, that he would never willingly submit to such a distance between himself and Linnea.

“You are most thoughtful,” he managed. “Allow me a few moments to shed this armor, to be in a fit state for such an interlude.”

Shed the armor, and change, and perhaps wash his face and tidy his hair. But Linnea shook her head. 

“Surely there is no need for that, when it is just us,” she said softly. “I find that you are in an entirely fit state.”

He did not miss the sparkle in her eyes - nor the way she dropped her gaze briefly, sweeping over him from head to foot. The beast purred at that, pleased that she found him pleasing, that he was not the only one counting the days till their wedding.

His appearance ceased to be of anything even remotely resembling a concern.

“As my lady commands,” he murmured. “Lead on, then. I put myself in your hands.”

He let his voice drop lower at that last, and he did his own share of running his eyes over her. Just for a moment - they were in public, after all - but enough for her to see it. To hear the desire in his voice, perhaps to plant an image in her mind of when he truly would be in her hands.

Her cheeks turned a delicate pink, and she smiled again.

Before they could test the bounds of propriety too much, he offered her his arm, and she took it, her hand resting lightly in the crook of his elbow. With the other, he reached for the basket, which she surrendered easily. And as she led him from the field, their guards falling in behind them, he could not keep the smile from his face.

The High King of the Noldor did not go strolling through fields gathering wildflowers.

But apparently, he did lie on a blanket in one of those said fields, stripped down to his gambeson and leggings with his armor in a pile off to the side. And further, he lay there with his belly full from the contents of the basket, with his hair loosened from the braid it had been knotted in for training, and with his head in his queen's lap.

The guards had positioned themselves at the edge of the clearing, as far away from them as was reasonable. Linnea was sitting upright, leaning back against the tree she had spread the blanket under. His head rested on her thigh, his eyes closed, and he could seldom remember feeling so at peace as he did in that moment. She was gently playing with his hair, stroking it back from his forehead and running her fingers through it, and the soothing motion coupled with his full stomach, with the faint sound of birdsong and the warmth of the afternoon, was in serious danger of lulling him to sleep.

“The pastries were excellent,” he murmured, and he heard and felt Linnea laugh softly. 

“Which ones?” she asked, and there was more than a hint of teasing in her voice. “The ones with lemon, or the ones with berries? Or the ones with honey and nuts? Or did you mean the apple cake, or perhaps the pumpkin?”

Gil-galad echoed her laugh, opening his eyes. She had packed the basket to bursting, and he hadn't been shy about sampling what she had brought. “All of them,” he said. “Must I choose?”

“Perhaps not,” she allowed, smiling. “This coronation reception has expanded so greatly, it causes no harm to have everything. But which is your favorite?”

He raised a brow at her, and tilted his chin over at the now nearly-empty basket. “Was all of that for the reception?”

She sighed, nodding. “I thought to bring samples of it all so that you could try it and make any preferences known, for the wedding itself. But yes - it is all on the reception list.”

She sounded weary, and he reached up, running his hand gently over the top of her leg. “I am sorry, melethel,” he said softly. “I am sorry this has fallen on you, and that it is not what you might wish were it your decision alone.”

“You need not apologize,” she said, returning to stroking his hair. “I understand why it must be, and it is not that I do not wish it - it is simply that I had…”

Linnea trailed off, and he let her collect her thoughts in silence. He caressed her leg again, not to arouse but to soothe, to let her know he was there. And by and by, she spoke again.

“I had not thought much of it at all, before you,” she continued. “And when I had - I had not ever pictured anything like this. It is not bad, but it is new. That is all.”

He sat up, the better to be able to look at her properly. This was important, and they had both been so busy, perhaps he needed to say it clearly so that she knew he was not blind to it. 

“I have asked a great deal of you, in a very short time,” he murmured. “I know it. And I have tried to make this change as easy as it may be, but it is you who bears the weight of it. Know that I am here, and that if there is anything you need of me, no matter how trivial it may seem, I beg you to ask it.”

Linnea smiled, her eyes soft, and she reached for his hand. He gave it, and she laced their fingers together, squeezing gently.

“You have had to change too, Ereinion,” she said quietly. “I know it must be strange for you, taking a wife after so long alone. Having to consider me in your plans, your decisions…”

He squeezed her hand back. “Strange, yes. And wondrous. You have brought light to my world, and I never knew it was absent, that I lived in shadow all these years. It is a change I welcome, do not think otherwise for a moment.”

“Nor should you,” she said. “The Valar did rightly, and I would not change it, meleth nín. I may be weary of tastings and guest lists and music and I know not what else Adabes doubtlessly has for me to consider, but it will pass. And what will remain is us.”

A kiss was the only answer he could give to her words, and he gave it gladly. He slid his hand along her jaw, cradling her face, and by now he was becoming accustomed to it - the feel of her lips, the freedom that he was allowed as many kisses as he wished, whenever he wished. The fervor and urgency of new love had overcome whatever shyness he might have felt about showing affection in the presence of his guards, and now he paid it no mind at all.   

Within reason, of course.

He let her go after far too short a time. He had been gone for nearly two weeks, and although both of them had made a diligent effort to make up for his absence since he had returned, there was still much to be done. But there would be other opportunities for that. 

She leaned into him after he released her lips, and he folded his arms around her, holding her close. 

“I did not tell you earlier,” she murmured into his shoulder. “The weaving room is complete. All is finished. The last of the looms was delivered this morning.”

“Truly?” Gil-galad released her, leaning back to gain space. “I should like to see it. Considering you have not allowed me past its doors until now…”

Linnea laughed, and he was glad to see the strain fading from her face. It had amused him, being barred from a room in his own palace, but she had been adamant that it was not properly appreciated until everything was in place.

“Of course,” she agreed. “Whenever you desire.”

“Then let us go once we have had our fill of this lovely picnic you have arranged for us,” he said, smiling. “You will show me your weaving room, and then we shall find Adabes, and we will set this menu once and for all. You need not endure any more tastings or changes; let us have it done.”

She chuckled wryly, but she was smiling, and he could see that his words had pleased her. 

“So says the High King?”

“I will order it so,” he promised. “Our wedding should be joyous, not having you wishing every minute that it were over.”

Linnea’s smile changed, as she took in his words. And he caught his breath, for it was a smile he was learning - a sultry, soft smile that pierced straight to his core and sent a rush of heat through his veins.

“Perhaps both is not so bad?”

He laughed, low and deep, as he understood exactly what she meant. And he drew her back into his arms. 

“Perhaps not, indeed.”

And as it turned out, there was still a bit of lost time to be made up for after all. 

Continue to Part 8

[discommunicator]

This is Kinsh, the master hairdresser of Wrongworld

Although she enjoys the Coven fashion and has a close acquaintance among the witches of Wrongworld, she's just one of the general hex-weavers, not a witch. Kinsh had the passion and expertise for her job to the point of getting an invitation to the Coven as a member but she wasn't really into group affairs, and above all, her flair was more of a physical prowess than a witchcraft. So she just chose to remain only as a good neighbor of the Coven, providing hair-styling service for the witches from time to time, while teaching her mortal apprentices.

[what-eats-owls]

What's the birth order of the Ros family siblings? And was it ever stated in the text?

Oh heavens, I'm not sure if it was ever explicitly stated beyond "___ is the oldest" and "___ and ___ are twins" type stuff, so maybe it could have been puzzled out with one of those "John, Susie, Steven, and Jane are going to the movies, John HATES popcorn, Susie is sitting next to Jane" grids?? But for simplicity's sake, here's a rundown under a cut for spoilers.

Oldest to youngest, their age as of Painted Devils, and what they do:

Katrin (F) - 28, runs the family horse farm w/husband and 3 kids

Jörgi (NB) - 27, runs the family forge

Jakob (M), Udo (M), Luisa (F) - 26, triplets; weaver hedgewitch, sheep farmer, and housewife respectively

Ozkar (M) - 25, artificer warlock

Eida (F) - 24, seamstress

Helga (F) - 22, hedgewitch and midwife apprentice

Dieter (M) and Erwin (M) - 21, small-time bard and general laborer, respectively

Sånnik (M) - 20, helps on family farm

Henrik (M) - 19, monastic scholar

Vanja (F) - 17, ??? Profit

[natyune-writes]

*asking to multiple writeblrs* Happy fourth day of Halloween! What would your characters dress up as?

hi! thanks for the ask!

sorry again for the late response! grad school is kicking my ass 💀

i haven't thought much about fall-related holidays in my world. for the purposes of this post we are going to pretend this is all in a hypothetical modern au

amina: has the energy of dressing in something cute but elegant. honestly her costume is probably the type of costume that would fit well in a ren faire, like a forest/flower elf. or maybe a mushroom creature of sorts.

nuri: in true little kid fashion, he probably gets a cute little pumpkin costume. when he's a little older (toddler age), i think amina would dress him as a little knight or a little prince. i think he'd really like trick or treating but would be terrified of the decorations that made noise.

nikolai: i genuinely cannot imagine this man dressing up for halloween of his own volition. i think he'd dress up just to entertain his wife's whimsy and would probably match her with some sort of ren faire-y type costume. like wizard robes or something, haha. maybe he also gets a fun wizard staff as a treat.

katarina: something edgy, probably. maybe a fallen angel lmao. she'd probably add a fun twist to it, though.

auryn: resident pretty boy probably loves halloween. he probably has a bajillion fancy costumes, all of them are ridiculously impractical and elaborate.

the covers my main characters! i appreciate all your asks they are so fun :)

[briarborealisocs]

ASK BOX.

Which of your ocs is most likely to steal something and not feel any sort of remorse?

ANOTHER inch resting question heehoo and once again it depends on what when and why we are stealing.... :) i'll go world by world again, assume if any world is left out its because the answer for everyone there is "they would feel bad"

whoopsverse:

kiska would probably only feel remorseless about stealing if it was completely necessary, because thats the only time she would steal anyway. she is very much a pragmatist. vas on the other hand is a RAT and will steal approximately anything without feeling bad (provided shes not like, actively killing someone by stealing it eg she wouldnt, like, steal insulin)

weaver's apprentice:

dijah would steal small things for fun and would only feel a little bad about it, she like takes a pair of earrings from a stand right before shes planning to skip town... nobody will ever be the wiser and now she has a great pair of earrings. this is to say: dijah would shoplift at walmart but she wouldnt steal from an artist. does this make sense can anyone hear me

silly superhero story:

leon would not be down for stealing he has morals that would make him go :( if he stole something from someone. mick doesnt care at all and makes most of his living through skimming off of other people's bank accounts with his #sick hacking skillz. dani is also a proponent of shoplifting from walmart but would kick the shit out of someone stealing from small businesses. kammie and grant are ... supervillains.... LMAOOOOOO and so is clarisse (mick's mom) so..... yeahhhhhhh HAHAHA. surprisingly sandra is pro-stealing but shhhh dont tell her bosses (she's a secretary at the hero HQ)

toh oc:

sol would steal <3 she has before and she will continue to do so <3 she's a big snoop and will go through people's belongings if she has due cause

pokemon oc:

hoenn trainer would steal ALWAYS thats actually how she gets her money from battles. lmao <3 "the cultural expectation is to pay the winner of a pokemon battle" yeah but this one in particular is holding a poke-gun to your head and you suddenly get the feeling that if you dont give her five extra moolah something bad will happen

[the-better-wizard-council]

The Better Wizard Council

A new, better Wizard Council.

Council Policies:

- the unbanning of (non-bear-related) banned spells

- the banning of all bear-related spells

- the lowering of wizard tax rates, eventually leading to removing wizard taxes altogether (clarification that I approve of regular taxes, just not wizard taxes)

- better supplies available for spellcasting

- higher quality bones

- fairer wizard laws regarding the undead

Council Members:

Galaxy the Almigty, they/them (head of The Better Wizard Council, runs this blog)

Meraki the Lich, he/they/xe/it (@merakilichfromspace)

mixt. apocrypha, they/them (@mystery-mage)

hunter, they/it (@hummingbird-hunter)

Osim the Metal One, they/it (@robo-wizard9000)

skulkie, she/they (@skulkie)

Faust, first of his name, he/him (@vampy-wizord) (currently not active)

Ebon, he/him (@ebonshward)

Worm, he/him (@wizards-apprentice)

The Interdimensional Revenue Service (@interdimensional-revenue-service)

Ollie, they/them (@thelocalwizardsblog)

Cladinsocks, they/them (@wizard-cladinsocks)

Boggle, they/them (@bogglethebogwizard)

Opalescent Apples, they/she (@opalescent-apples)

Vague, all pronouns (@vaguewizard)

Iridescence, she/her (@silver-weaver)

squid wizard, they/them (@squid-wizard) (something is wrong)

ORZAKROAKEN ADZMOZZAZZ, NEOPHYTE OF THE RED ONE, he/they (@cordateray)

Chili, they/xem (@hyperdragonthings)

Artemis, they/them (@wizard-architect)

Nora, they/them (@noreatriplea)

Babs, he/him (@boilinghotsoupandcrackers)

Dr. Zevia, any pronouns (@drzevia)

Rosin of the Dungeon, they/them (@rosinrush)

Felix, he/they (@wizardbonkers)

Corkscrew, they/them (@wizard-society)

One of the names, uncountable pronouns (@consultingdalekhunter)

Edan, he/they (@sodastreamskies)

Fynleigh, she/they/it (@gremlin-catgirl-wizard)

blue garfield, idk what their pronouns are sorry (@blue-garfield)

Julia, she who speaks the unespeakable, she/her (@weirdgirljulia)

Phoenix, any pronouns (@floridaphoenix02)

@a-bear-wizard

The Aromancer, he/him (@thearomancer)

Sophie, the generically named, she/her (@lostlaptop)

October/Andromeda/Chaos, they/them, fae/faer, xe/xem, ze/zir, ey/em (@beansinwonderland)

KHARAK XZA, SERVANT OF THE ALMIGHTY NAGASH AND MASTER BONE-SHAPER, any pronouns (@kharak-the-skeleton)

Security:

@not-wizard-council-aristocrat

@lesbianknighterrant

@hyperdragonthings

Some tags I use:

#wizard council members (for information about members of my council)

#banned spells (for talking about banned spells)

#not wizard council (for posts unrelated to my council)

#the better wizard council (occasionally used for posts about my council, I’m not very consistent about this one, sorry)

#the worse wizard council (for posts about my narrative foil @the-worse-wizard-council)

#bribery attempts (for attempts at bribery)

#council decisions (for posts where I consult the other council members)

#the curse (for posts mentioning my curse)

#plot stuff (for plot stuff)

#constellation’s posts (for posts written by my familiar, constellation)

Links:

Join The Better Wizard Council here: https://www.tumblr.com/the-better-wizard-council/715112116235976704/sign-up-to-be-a-member-of-my-wizard-council-by

Council Vote(s) in progress: https://www.tumblr.com/the-better-wizard-council/715360932720771072/like-the-wizard-council-but-better

[tekia]

Sun Blind

I commissioned @meredithmcclaren! She was a pleasure to work with and produces some of my favorite art! (I got my character drawn by @meredithmcclaren!!!!! omg how cool is that??(◕ᗜ◕))

Najma closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

In the shade offered by the balcony above her, she stamped her feet and stretched her arms, twisting her back and bending her knees. She had ran around the arena twice before arriving at the entrance, and her skin was pleasantly flushed, her body loose. Her bare toes dug into the dry dirt under her feet, the bite of the marble stone walkway bisecting her foot, cold and rough compared to the fine grain of the dirt in the arena.

Cheers and cries of merchants filled the air around her as the people gathered in the stands awaited the show. Children laughed at the antics of the fools now dancing for their entertainment. Drunkards shouted for more wine and beer. Somewhere, one woman’s boisterous laugh carried over the rest. Horns trumpeted in the distance as a foot race concluded, and a cheer went up as the victor celebrated.

Najma tried to ignore it all as she shook out her arms. She bounced on the balls of her feet, balanced delicately on that edge of marble.

“Najma,” her brother called softly from just beside her, and her eyes popped open.

“What are you doing here?”

Zilan smiled slightly, his dark hair blowing in his face as a breeze picked up, carrying with it the scents of fried foods, unwashed bodies, and animal. Najma shivered at the scent of angry bull.

“I’ve come to wish you luck.” He held out a length of ribbon, brightly dyed and thin. She peered at it happily until he motioned for her to turn. She presented her back to him and felt him tying the ribbon into her tightly bound hair. The tips of the ribbon only just brushed her shoulders once he was done.

“I love the color,” she said, picking up the end and eyeing it. It wasn’t an expensive ribbon, but Zilan surely knew how likely she was to ruin it today, perhaps even lose it. But it was the thought that counted.

Red for luck.

She turned back to him, smiling up at him.

He had always been taller than her, as far back as her first memories, when he held her clutched in his arms, his heart pounding loudly against her ear as she cried for their parents. It had been so cold back then, in the dark and rain.

She shivered again, and he reached out and rubbed his hands down her arms. “You’re ready for this.”

“Mn,” she agreed. “I know I am.” Her heart was pounding as loud as his had on the night they lost their home, for a reason so far removed that she couldn’t hold the sadness in her heart.

She knew the sadness of their loss was never far from her brother’s thoughts, something that kept him going in troubled times, but he tried for her. He smiled at her confidence and nodded.

“I’ll be watching from up there,” he said, pointing above their heads. She bit her lip.

Up there, the rich could afford seats under a shade and servants to bring them food from the market without them having to brave the crush. She and Zilan were certainly not wealthy enough to place among them.

Their parents had been simple folk, weavers by trade, dead these past eleven years. They had escaped the raging waves of the untamed river that had swollen with freezing waters into the city with only the clothes on their backs with the other displaced peoples of the flood. Just a pair of orphans among the dozens of others, lost into the crowd of poor and hungry.

Zilan had been old enough to become an apprentice, and clever enough to hide his sister in his little room permitted to him by his master that they had survived, but Najma had to wonder how much of their luck was due to hard work and how much of it was due to Zilan’s loose morals.

She had seen him come home far too often beaten and bloodied.

He patted her shoulder and shook his head. “Just focus on your performance today.”

She nodded. “Be careful up there with the lofty types, hum? They’re far more dangerous than any thief with a knife in the dark alley.”

“And you beware of the horn!” He pinched her cheek like she was still a child. Whinging like a child, she pulled away, batting at his hand.

“I know Sap well! He will not harm me!”

Laughing and shaking his head, Zilan left to take his seat as horns within the arena sounded. Najma returned to her preparations, stretching and bouncing on her toes.

She wore little clothes, so as not to have anything that might catch and pull. She had bits of cloth wrapped around the length of her feet, leaving her heel and toes free. Her hair had been pulled up, secured with pins and ribbons. Beside her, two other young women also prepared for their own performances. Dressed similarly, the three of them were a little troupe of dancers that knew no rivals in the city.

The oldest of them was Selika, dark and tall. She was well muscled and limber, and had been dancing their dance since she was a child, as her father had been a master in his own time. Najma was only two years younger than her, and the third girl was much younger, coming only up to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma wasn’t tall at all.

Salima had been sold to Selika’s father as a serving maid when her mother died and her father found he didn’t have it in him to care about a girl child that couldn’t work the fields. Selika’s father was a decent man that raised Salima as his own, giving her his family name, and teaching her alongside Selika. When Najma appeared to watch the girls practice, the man had easily drew her into the lessons until she was a part of the little troupe as if she were their sister, too.

He had died two years ago, a cough that wouldn’t go away, so Selika had taken over the training, while their cousin, Atam, insisted on taking over the business end of her father’s business.

He wasn’t as decent. Salima now lived with Najma, and Selika hoarded away as much money as she could, out of his hands.

Salima jumped into the air, touching the tips of her fingers to her toes in the air, and a few children spotted her, cheering at the display of skill. Salima landed, her arms thrown up into the air, posed just right, back arched, feet planted. A louder cheer went up.

Two fools came running back toward them.

“Let’s go,” Selika said, then ran out into the arena. Najma followed, and she could feel Salima behind her.

Two steps out of the shade, the sun bore down on them and sweat beaded on her brow, but she ignored it all in favor of leaping into the air, her hands landing with a dull thud in the dirt. She shoved back to her feet, into another flip, and a third, hands nearly touching her heels with every flip.

She caught glimpses of Selika doing a similar trick, higher into the air than herself. Then she stopped just in time for Najma to flip onto her shoulders. She caught her balance and held her pose as Salima lightly skipped onto her back. She touched a hand to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma gripped her leg and lifted her into the air.

Salima waved to the crowd, drawing more cheers, before Najma dropped her leg and caught her by her arm pits and then let her to the ground. Selika threw her into the air, and Najma twisted into a spiral before landing sideways in her arms.

“Good,” Selika commented before setting her on her feet. Najma nodded to her before bouncing back into motion, kicking up into the air to the cheers around them.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Twist. Land and tumble under Salima’s flip. Climb Selika’s knee and flip. Catch Salima and throw. Pose. And breathe.

She looked over the crowd, but there were so many people she couldn’t quite tell one face from another, and the balcony was facing the sun.

Who had decided to make them face the sun?

She glanced at Selika and saw that she was also worried about the sun. Under the balcony, Najma could just make out the shape of Atam as he opened Sap’s pin, but the bull that exited wasn’t Sap.

He was an unfamiliar bull, and Najma stiffed as fear coursed down her spine. The bull scuffed the ground, his snorts sending up a plum of dust.

“That’s not Sap!” Salima cried, her voice high with terror.

“Salima,” Selika snapped. “You stay out of his sight.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You stay out of his sight. Keep the crowd entertained and distracted with your flips and tumbles.”

“Yes, xwişk.”

“Najma-”

“Let me do it.”

“You-”

“He’s too short for you. You’ll get injured if he tosses his head. I can do it.”

Selika sighed. “Okay. I’ll dance.”

Grimly nodding her head. Najma ran forward. She knew Selika would be running just beside her. Salima would be sure to flip around to the back of the bull where he couldn’t see her and would hopefully forget about her.

The first pass the two girls dodged his wide horns as he charged, and each flipped in a different direction as the bull turned to face them again.

From around her waist, Najma tugged free the red pennant that would draw the bull’s attention to her alone. With the dust and dirt in the air, the red wasn’t as vibrant as in the fields just outside the city, but the size and fluttering nature of the fabric was enough to keep him distracted.

Selika kept pace with her as she raced toward the bull again, but once more they diverged when the bull swung wildly. Too dangerous to trust.

Panting, Najma knew that they’d couldn’t keep it up. Two flips was the standard. Najma daren’t go for more. Sap would have tolerated it, but this unknown bull was dangerous. Where did he even come from?

The third pass arrived and the bull lowered his head just right. Najma felt Selika break off as she caught the bull by the horns and threw herself into the air, feet over her head, body twisting as the bull tossed his head, shoving her farther up into the air. Silently cursing, she released the horns and touched her feet to his spine before quickly skipping off into a second flip.

That wasn’t elegant or smooth, she thought as she landed on her knee, quickly tumbling to her feet and dodging out of the raging beast’s path. Selika distracted the bull only momentarily before he was once more charging at Najma.

He was too close. The sun was directly in her eyes.

Huffing, Najma nodded to herself and met him head on again. He swung his head the wrong direction, and, had she time, she would have broke off, but they were too close. She heard Salima cry out.

Launching herself into the air, she landed on her hands on the bull’s shoulders, felt his horn brush her thigh, but shoved off just as quickly and landed on the ground, knees bent to absorb the impact.

There was blood dripping down her inner thigh, but it was done.

She did a back flip in place then looked to the bull.

She had dropped the red pennant on the last jump, and the bull had mauled it into the dirt. Selika was flipping off to one side, headed toward the shelter of the balcony. Salima was already in the shade behind the stone guard that surrounded the arena.

Najma quickly made her way out of the arena amid the cheers. Panting, she stopped beside Salima. “Are you alright?”

“Mn, he didn’t come near me.”

She reached out and patted her hair. “Good. That was dangerous.”

“You still did it.”

She nodded. “It was too late for all of us to back out. Never jump over an unknown bull, Salima. You saw how he tossed me the first time and then gouged me the second?”

Salima looked down at the blood on her leg. “That looks painful.”

“If it was painful, she wouldn’t have done it,” Selika’s cousin sneered, snapping a rope in his hands. “What a pathetic display.”

Selika stepped between them, glaring at her cousin. “Where is Sap?”

Atam shrugged. “I sold him. He cost too much to feed.”

“What?!” The three girls shouted in unison. Najma and Salima gaped at Atam while Selika fought to keep the rage out of her voice.

“How dare you? He was my bull!”

Atam waved a hand and turned away. “And the money I got for him will pay your rent.”

“In my father’s house?”

“And for your upkeep,” he went on, ignoring her. “Next time, I expect to see a better show.” He snapped at the arena. “And get that bull back into the pin so I can return him to his owner.”

He left them, and Najma could only reach out and rest a hand on Selika’s shoulder.

Salima leaned against her own shoulder. “How are we supposed to get him back in the pin?”

Selika shook her head, looking lost and afraid. Najma didn’t know what to say, and when she turned to wrap her arm around Salima, she spotted her brother standing farther inside the shelter, his arms over his chest and glaring at Atam as the man walked away.

She shivered at the hatred and anger in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that look since the day they discovered that the district governor had been the one to order the dam upriver from their family’s village to be destroyed.

That governor was now dead through unknown causes.

She met Zilan’s eye and shook her head. His eyes narrowed then he moved away, disappearing into the shadows, out of her sight.

[that-ari-blogger]

Go Now, Be At Peace (Hero)

One of my favourite things to see filmmakers play around with is time. As in, the information isn’t given to the audience linearly, and instead it is at the author’s beck and call.

This would seem easy, but the trick is making it work. Naturally, if you write a story and turn around in the final instalment and say “wait, I actually had a sister and a secret best friend this entire time”, it will feel like you have cheated. But if you can stick the landing, messing around with time is the juiciest writing technique out there. At least to me.

Case and point, the gimmicky emotional rollercoaster that is Hero.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

First up, yes, this episode is gimmicky as all heck, and that is exactly what I love about it.

I think we see a lot of criticism about how certain tropes are bad, but that really isn’t the case at all. If a story gets you invested enough, you can see it coming a mile off and it will still hit you like a truck.

There are even tropes that rely on you knowing what they are, with doomed heroes coming to mind most readily, but we’ll get there in a moment.

If we define a trope simply as a repeated literary element external to a story, then if that is by definition bad, symbolism doesn’t work in the same way.

Half of symbolism is external. This is Tumblr, that’s what colour theory is, you all know this. The red carpet represents happy thoughts and warmth and healing.

In this episode, for example, there is a ton of discussion about the Heart Of Etheria project, which is described thusly:

“It was supposed to be an energy source, capable of so much good. But that's not what they made.”

“How will destroying worlds bring peace?”

The Heart of Etheria project is a nuclear weapon. That’s what the symbolism is communicating here. The First Ones may not have been the antagonists in their war, but their ends did not justify the means, at least not in… hold on a sec. We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.

The symbolism here draws on the same ideas as Star Wars to create a feeling of unknowable terror. The first ones didn’t care about Etheria, they wanted to use it as a pawn in their own war.

The series dwells pretty heavily on the thematic idea of abuse being a cycle, and the Heart Of Etheria is a pretty potent symbol for that. In order to escape their own abuse, the first ones created something that would hurt others. In order to regain personhood, they took power from a planet.

They claimed the agency of someone else, leaving a vacuum in its place.

On the other hand, the series does have some heavy internal symbolism, that being through the dichotomy of magic and technology.

“I need the sword to control She-Ra's magic.”

“Ha! She-Ra was here long before your people arrived. You cannot control magic! Magic simply is.”

Technology, specifically that of the First Ones, but also from the Horde, is synonymous with control. Which puts magic in the role of freedom, specifically that of agency. Magic just is.

“Is”. The third-person singular present tense of “to be”.

Magic is the very concept of being. It is the freedom to do stuff. What stuff? Any stuff you want. Free from restraints and shackles, free from the will of others.

There are exceptions to this rule, and they are characters. Shadow Weaver, who uses magic to control, and Entrapta, the master technician who is unrestrainable. This gets watered down to their apprentices, with Glimmer and Bow respectively, and in the middle of this is Adora.

But the fact that these are exceptions to the rule kinda proves that there is a rule here.

And those exceptions are explained pretty handily, at least with Shadow Weaver and Glimmer. They are using dark magic, not in the way it wants to be used. They are forcing the magic to do what they want, and taking its agency from it, as well as using it to murk characters onscreen.

Bow, meanwhile, uses tech to coordinate, specifically in the sense of battlefield control. And Entrapta seeks only to understand, and knowledge is power. But she never tries to control anyone. Freedom is a big thing for Entrapta, and I honestly don’t have a reading of how she plays into this. I’ll let you know if this changes.

This is an in-text symbol that has meaning. Like an external one, it can be done well or poorly depending on the story, much like time nonlinearity.

Which brings me to my issue with writing this analysis:

For my coverage of the fourth season of She-Ra, I have been avoiding talking about Adora and Catra, because I will devote most of the final season to them. The problem here, is that Hero is set up around the parallels between Adora and her predecessor. The time nonlinearity serves to exacerbate those similarities, to the point where avoiding mentioning Adora even slightly is a detriment to the episode.

So, be aware that she is there, as I try to ignore her for the purposes of this post.

Anyway, the main character of this episode is Razz, and my question from about a season ago still stands here. Why is Razz in this story? How do I read the theming of an old lady who has lived thousands of years, and has met everyone under the sun? How do I read a character who is displaced in time? Why is that significant?

I have a thesis, and you’ll have to bear with me on this.

In my reading, Razz is Etheria. Maybe not literally, but on a story level, I think Razz and Etheria are one and the same. Razz saves and is saved by the previous She-Ra in a similar fashion to how Etheria teaches and is protected by her, and she befriends Adora in the same way. She gets temporally shunted because she sees the She-Ras as the same. To her, they are different and the same, and the order of events isn’t important.

Part of why I love this episode and its time travel shenaniganry is that it leverages that for emotion. There is a building dread in this episode, specifically through that pie.

Razz will never get to enjoy that pie with her friend, you know this from the start. So, when Mara walks through the door the first time, your heart sinks.

This episode is also about Mara, and I will get to the final scene in a minute, but first, introductions.

Mara starts the episode laughing. She closes it crying. This episode shows the breaking down of this character, and I cannot think of a better example.

This episode sets up Mara as incredibly intelligent. She pieces together the Heart of Etheria plan, but she also works out that Adora will need guidance, and that she can offer that via someone who would know. She knows that Razz will guide Adora to where she needs to be, and leaves messages.

She also acts as an audience surrogate for Razz to exposit themes to.

“It’s all right. No one here will hurt you.”

The theme here is pretty obvious. Things lash out when they are scared, and all you need to do to achieve peace is to be gentle. Mara, a person who is here to end a war, is trying to achieve that peace. But we have seen the cost of that.

I'm running out of space, so if you've seen How To Train Your Dragon, you know what this is. This is about trust with the other and coming together despite differences. This is about comradery with the planet itself. Mara needs to not rush at things, and instead wait, and be gentle. They will come to her.

I did a word search on the transcript of this episode for the word “peace”, and I found that it comes up thrice. When Mara and Light Hope argue, and here, when Mara calms down the animal.

“Go, be at peace.”

As a side note, the fighting styles of Mara and Adora are very different. Adora relies on strength and athleticism to win her battles. She can go toe to toe with Huntara and is the slower combatant when she fights Catra. But Mara flips around the battlefield like a gymnast or a dancer. The two come from different places, trained by opposite sides, it’s no wonder they fight differently.

When Light Hope presents her own worldview, or rather, that of her superiors, her wording is important.

“The Heart of Etheria has been activated. Your mission will be fulfilled. There will be peace throughout the galaxy. You will be a hero.”

Hero’s a funny word, ain’t it? It means someone you can look up to, and in war times, it is presented as loyalty and dedication to the cause. The ANZACs were heroes, for example.

Here, it is used as a trophy for Mara. She will be declared a hero, an empty title, just for doing what she is told.

But She-Ra doesn’t agree with this definition. In She-Ra, a hero saves people. In She-Ra, Mara is a hero because she disobeyed her orders to follow her better judgement and notably, she never gets called that in this episode.

Instead, she gets a monologue. She uses her last moments to give the next generation hope for the future and try to let them know of her mistakes. She sees the cycle of abuse, and she couldn’t break it, but she could leave tools for the next rotation to try and use.

Then Razz, the embodiment of the planet she saved, calls her brave, and leaves her a pie.

Mara is gone, Adora isn't looking at her predecessor, she's looking at an empty chair. She's looking at the absence of a person, the loss of a friend. She is looking at the legacy of someone she looks up to.

This episode doesn’t give you closure, because it’s not trying to. It is trying to make you feel empty. We meet Mara for just a moment, and then she is gone, and we know that, and yet we still get attached.

If that hologram hadn’t cut off exactly when it did, we would have seen Mara die. A millisecond later, and we would have watched it happen.

We watch an entire journey in this episode, everything we needed to know, and then it ends, with silence, as the credits role. The embodiment of the planet itself offers Mara a pie as a grave gift. She’s returning the favour. Go now be at peace.

"She said she would come back. She promised. We were going to make a pie. I've been waiting for so long."

I need to talk about the thing with promises, and specifically breaking them. In previous episodes, Adora promised Catra she would look out for her, and failed, and Mara made Razz a promise she knew she would never keep. Why?

The obvious reason is that unkept promises are a key source of dramatic irony, especially when you know the end point before it is said. In comedy, this is someone asking if a dress makes them look fat, and everyone in the room saying no. In a tragedy, it’s this.

The ticking in this shot of the countdown timer is such an incredible use of sound design. First up, time symbolism, of course. But it's also stressful You hear a timer getting quicker and you panic. When it is released, there is no explosion, just a dying friend.

Because, yes, this is a tragedy, remember? That’s why its cyclical, that’s why this episode exists.

"I try to remember but it gets all muddled up. Adora, Mara, it always ends the same. The present, the future..."

"Razz?"

"The past."

Everything in this series has happened before within its own continuity. The weapon, the loss of friends, the transformations, everything. This is a series about the cycle of abuse that always, always, leads to tragedy. It sets its current events up like one, and then shows you in vivid detail, just how that will end.

I said she ends the episode crying. But she does it with a smile. She looks her death in the eye and offers up hope and trust. Mara, the girl who laughed, the girl who cried, the girl who smiled.

The final scene looks like the two are talking in real time. The series cuts between Mara and Adora as they speak, taking care to be inconsistent with who is holographic. The parallels are baked into the setting, and they are being fought against.

I feel like whenever I talk about the story being cyclical, that I under stress how everything in it is about breaking those cycles. Magic and tech, agency and control. The cycle boxes you in, preventing your actions, controlling you. Breaking free is taking back that agency for yourself. The first ones tried to do this by trying to get someone to take their place, we will see if and how Adora and company will attempt the same or try something new.

Final Thoughts.

Genuinely, this post was the hardest to write of anything I have done. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because rewatching this episode left me in an emotional wreck. I genuinely felt like the scene from Interstellar when the main character laughs and cries all at the same time.

For the record, I haven’t seen Interstellar, I just know the meme.

This post was emotionally exhausting, so I'm going to lie down now. Next week is Fractures, stick around if that interests you.

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