#head crownguard

[wheretwofacesmeet]

[anothertina]

I like what they did this year with their hairstyles changing when they are not guardians, Jinx and Lux are very iconic so I didn't want to change them, Ezreal on the other hand... 

Also I miss them

[me-and-my-hyperfixations]

Shout out to Reddit for backing me up on my Top!Lux headcanons.

And yeah, Jinx is a bottom just like the rest of her family. 💅

[sapphic-woes]

I'm so certain that Lux dresses up as a witch and Jinx is a vampire for Halloween. I'm so certain that Jinx also does way too many pranks and goes overboard. As in Lux literally walks in to a horror scene of Jinx dead on the floor with "blood" everywhere, and she's panicking and Jinx isn't breathing and then:

Dramatic gasp. Jinx starts screaming and rises like a zombie. Lux starts screaming. Everybody starts screaming–

[jelzorz]

153.

Rayla is back a week, maybe two weeks, and honestly, Opeli is not happy about it. It was too easy, she thinks, too forgiving. When she came home with the boys the first time, it was fine because they promised she was their friend and had nothing to do with King Harrow's death and Callum obviously loved her with all of his heart. Opeli was willing—and happy—to sort of adopt her into the royal family, just another orphan, another child needing a home, and then she left and—

Well. Callum and Ezran might be happy to let such a thing slide, but she is not. She did not watch Callum break two years ago for Rayla to come sidling back in like nothing happened. She did not watch him mope around the castle, miserable and heartbroken, for Rayla to return without even an apology to him. Opeli stands for Justice, and Justice will not be denied.

When they return from the Sea of the Castout, Aaravos' shining prison in Ezran's arms in need of somewhere safe to hide, Opeli welcomes the boys back gladly, relieved that they're safe and they're home once more, but she regards Rayla coolly and does not offer her the same warmth. Rayla shuffles a little under her glare, but she says nothing about it.

It's not until dinner that evening that anyone mentions it at all.

"We do not keep weapons at the table," Opeli says crisply, when Rayla takes a seat, resting her mentor's bow against the chair next to her—the same bow that Rayla broke into Callum's office to steal; the same again that killed King Harrow.

Rayla withers a little, her eyes on the floor, even as she gets up again to put it away, but Callum sets a hand at her elbow and glares back.

"Since when?" he demands. "Soren doesn't put his sword away for meals."

"Soren is captain of the Crownguard," says Opeli. "There are reasons for him to carry weapons, and none so good for this elf—"

"Her name is Rayla, Opeli, and she can do what she wants."

"Prince Callum, if I may—"

"No!" Callum slams a hand against the table, rattling the silverware in his wake. "Don't think I haven't noticed! You've been kind of an ass to her since she came back and it's not okay! What the hell's the problem?"

Opeli scowls at him, affronted. "Language like that is not appropriate for a prince and high-mage—"

"And the way you've been acting isn't appropriate for a high cleric," snaps Callum. "The castle is Rayla's home, the same as the rest of us. Back off."

It comes off like an order and Callum's eyes are hard, so Opeli ducks her head and mutters an apology to him without further argument, but she sees Rayla shift uncomfortably all the same and is pleased to know that she has not let herself off the hook so easily. It's still a surprise, though, when, just before bed, there is a knock on Opeli's office door.

Opeli rises and blinks to find Rayla on the other side of it looking guilty and uneasy but there all the same.

"Can we talk?" she asks, and Opeli nods stiffly if only because she doesn't know what else to say. She steps back to let Rayla in, and Rayla waits until she's seated again before she takes a seat herself. She takes a breath. "Did I do something wrong?" she asks at last.

"You tell me," says Opeli, her lips thin.

Rayla pauses and fiddles with her fingers. "I know it's not just about the bow," she says after a moment. "I just... I don't want to keep causing trouble. You've all been so kind to let me stay here but—"

"If you leave again, you will not be forgiven," snaps Opeli, and then she scolds herself for making it so obvious, for giving it away at all. She wrinkles her nose and presses on. "My duty is to Lady Justice and to the Crown, Rayla, and I will not see either insulted by someone so cruel. Do you know what you did to him? Do you know how broken he was in your absence? And for you to come back thinking all would be fine, and then to break into his office to steal that bow, and then to leave again—"

"I'm sorry, okay?" says Rayla at last. "I mean it. I can't do that to him again, Opeli, it killed me the first time, and I knew the whole time—"

"Why do it then? Why be so selfish?"

"Because—" Rayla swallows and looks away. "I just didn't want him to get hurt. And we left for the Bookery, and ran into so much trouble and he got hurt anyway, for me, and I—" She sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry I hurt him. I'm sorry he keeps getting hurt. I just... want him to be safe."

Opeli says nothing for a moment. She studies the way Rayla curls in on herself, shoulders bowed with grief and guilt and regret. And for all her devotion to Lady Justice, for all her talk about Justice not being denied, Opeli sighs, pulls another teacup from her desk drawer, and slides it across the desk.

"You and I have that in common," she says, pouring Rayla some tea. "And I see that all he wants is the same for you."

"I—" Rayla flushes. "He shouldn't."

"That choice is his to make," says Opeli. "Have you made yours?"

Rayla presses her lips together and nods, her eyes shut to dam up the moisture welling at the corners. "Yes," she promises. "I can't do that to him again, Opeli. I won't. I mean it."

"I should hope not," says Opeli. "Drink your tea. It's not so comforting when it's cold."

[raayllum]

Sarai is the first person to ever see him hold a sword.

Soren is loitering in the courtyard after crownguard practices, and Sarai is prone to sparring with the soldiers, as their new captain. She’s only been here for six months since Captain Amaya became General Amaya and left for a stint at the Breach, and Soren finally feels well enough that he can lift one of the practice wooden swords left lying around. 

He swings it a few times, adjusting his grip experimentally - imagines himself as a brave, powerful hero instead of a recovering, sickly boy - and grins triumphantly as he follows through. He then accordingly almost topples over from going too far, and actually does drop the sword when he hears, “A warrior, are you?” and nearly shrieks.

Captain Sarai stands behind him, hands on her hips and a teasing smirk on her lips. His ears burn.

“I’d like to be,” he says petulantly, scooping the sword up and then holding it out to her. 

She bats his hand away. “Adjust your grip,” she says, drawing her own sword and carefully laying her hand over the hilt. “Like this.”

Soren does his best to follow. “Uh, why?”

“Your sword is ideally going to make contact with something solid. You don’t want your wrist to be flimsy and break.” She rests her sword by her side, one arm crossed over her stomach. “Now show me your fighting stance.”

Soren does, Captain Sarai’s smile softening, directing him over to one of the dummies.

“Alright, now swing your sword. Aim true,” she tells him. “You can’t take back the strike of a sword. Every hit has to matter.”

Aim true, Soren thinks. He swings. 

Two years later, Queen Sarai dies saving his father. 

He gives Callum a bit of leeway, because the kid just lost his mother, but Soren can’t hold out forever, because he’s lost his mother and his teacher, and, well... Callum would never be a warrior like them. It’s an easy thing to pick on.

Nine years after that, Soren stands in the shadow of the Storm Spire, his sword held aloft with shaking hands. Another one of her sons is here, helpless, and poised on the precipice of a coward’s blade, the end of the staff sharp enough to puncture even if that wasn’t its intended purpose (or maybe it was). 

“And I will do whatever it takes to protect his life!” Soren spits, dust in his eyes. This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. “Do you hear me?”

Sarai’s voice echoes in his head. Aim true.

Soren goes for the heart. His own falls out in his hands as his father drops to the ground, and Soren succumbs to his knees.

He hopes Sarai and Claudia can forgive him, someday. 

[questionablecuttlefish]

Some Lightcannon Headcanons

Just some thoughts re: these two idiots, specifically how I've been writing them in the Ill-Omen's fanfic series. YMMV, 'official' lore is pretty fuzzy with League stuff. LUX

Lux was expected from a young age to continue the Crownguard legacy in some fashion. With her brother captaining the Dauntless Vanguard, the possibility that he would Die in Glorious Battle leaving that branch of the Crownguard line without an heir would mean Lux stepping up.

Demacia seems fairly gender equal so there are plenty of ways she could do this. But if Garen were to die without issue, as the last remaining heir to that branch she'd have more pressure on her to Continue the Line through marriage and children on top of whatever else she was doing.

She is a trained diplomat and very good at putting her game face on. She usually expertly plays the sunny, charming young lady that has led her to be beloved across Demacia, but she uses so many different smiles she's literally numbered them in her head.

Like most good facades, it's not entirely inaccurate to who she is; Lux really does have a lot of warmth, compassion and idealism, but she isn't naive. She won't hesitate to manipulate people to her advantage if she needs to protect herself or a loved one, defuse a conflict, or deflect scrutiny.

Illuminators

As an Illuminator, she is officially a member of a charitable religious order responsible for helping the poor and downtrodden of Demacia. This is an aspect that Lux excels at, her natural empathy and ability to remain calm in the face of others' distress make her a natural carer.

The Illuminators also operate secretly as a spy network keeping tabs on outside threats to Demacia, including infiltration by old enemies like Noxus. Though young, Luxanna's political status as a Crownguard makes her a valued asset to the Order.

The Illuminators are also one of the few organizations in Demacia that tolerate and utilize mages, albeit discreetly and off the record. They are aware of Lux's abilities and have trained her to use them - covertly - in service of her country.

The Illuminators have on occasion acted to conceal and protect mages or smuggle them to safety, particularly those who might prove useful to their mission.

This puts them directly at odds with the Mageseeker order, (completely separate in my canon) who consider them bitter rivals and suspect, but cannot prove, that they aid mages in secret.

Like most oppressive regimes, the Mageseekers are giant hypocrites and use mages, brainwashed or tortured into compliance, as agents themselves.

In short; the Illuminators believe magic is a viable tool to protect Demacia if carefully shepherded and trained, Mageseekers believe magic is an abomination that must be suppressed or destroyed at all costs.

Lux has proven herself to the Order in several high-difficulty missions, including spying on the Noxian high command, primarily using her invisibility and light-bending powers to remain unseen and gather intel from a distance.

Though the Illuminators have kept Lux away from missions requiring seduction, to avoid 'sullying the Crownguard name', she has killed in the line of duty more than once.

Whilst not a frontline soldier like her brother, Lux has been trained since childhood like any Demacian noble in the warrior arts. She is adept with sword, staff, knife, bow, shield, lance and a deft rider.

She excels most at tactics and strategy; whilst Garen is a fearless and shrewd battlefield commander, Lux has a greater grasp of big-picture strategy and perceptive ability to read others.

She always beats him at strategic games.

Lux is a combat pragmatist. Her magical moves are dance-like and graceful, because when channeling her light she's accessing a transcendant mental space; her swordplay is more to-the-point, favoring strong defense and a quick end to the encounter.

She's not a natural killer, though she is as trained one; she'll kill in self-defense or duty, but she does not enjoy it and feels the weight of each life taken. She finds Jinx's aptitude for killing alarming, less out of moral judgment than out of fear that Jinx may lose herself in it if she goes too far.

Lux's strict, privileged upbringing, many duties, and the necessity of guarding herself from anyone discovering her magic have left her with very few actual, close friendships. She's often lonely, and whilst she's had a handful of unrequited crushes she's inexperienced with romance or relationships and feels like the Crownguard name intimidates away potential partners. She is quick with a smile but keeps people at arms' length for her own protection; with the weight of her name and her secrets on her small shoulders, Lux is slow to trust for very good reasons.

[jammatown919]

Mistakes Were Made (Chapter One)

A Lightcannon fic I've been chipping away at for a while now.

Fic Description: Jinx unintentionally forces Lux to out herself as a mage.

Lux never would have thought so much good could come out of being kidnapped.

Sure, most people would be terrified to have a blue-haired stranger appear in a flash of light and whisk them away to some sort of pocket dimension for a death match with eight more strangers, but honestly... it had been really, really fun.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of it all, Lux didn't have as much of a problem playing along as one might think. The stranger, Jinx, had been more than happy to demonstrate to her that no one could really die in this place she called the Rift, via a swift gunshot to her own head. Lux had maybe screamed a little, but it was definitely comforting to have confirmation that a fallen player would simply reappear at one of two ends of the map, no worse for wear.

Really, it was a lot easier than it should have been to get Lux to play, and from there, everything just sort of spiraled.

Free of all consequences and a good amount of her usual inhibitions, Lux was able to really let loose with her magic for the first time. Jinx seemed to appreciate her raw power and how ever so slightly nuts she'd gone at possibly her only opportunity to do literally whatever she wanted with it. The two of them didn't even need their teammates to completely dominate the game, which they did with reckless abandon.

When it was over, Jinx returned Lux safely home as she'd promised, but not without a promise whispered in the seconds before she vanished again: "I am definitely keeping you, Blondie."

For about a month after that, Lux managed to convince herself it had been some crazy, fantastical dream brought on by her repressive environment. In a country like Demacia, with a family like the Crownguards, it was only natural her subconscious mind would invent a reality it preferred. One where she could use her magic freely, go off on an adventure, and buddy up to someone who represented all of her temptations in life, both physical and otherwise.

But then Jinx made good on her promise, and Lux instead convinced herself she'd simply received a gift from some god somewhere out there. The escape she longed for was real, and her new friend had come back for her.

They continued their games whenever they could, typically at one-to-two-month intervals because of how difficult it could be to get ten people from all over the world together. Lux noticed as time went on that there would often be changes to roster of other players, until at one point she and Jinx were the only two left from their first game.

"Ah, sometimes you just gotta swap 'em out for people who are more fun," Jinx said when Lux asked about it. "Not you, though, Blondie. You were always the most fun."

Eventually, after quite a few swaps and trial runs, Jinx managed to put a solid long-term team together. Her and Lux, of course, with the addition of a surprisingly friendly creature made entirely out of green slime, a pink-haired songbird type on an elaborate hoverboard, and a man in a mask with a very different hoverboard who absolutely refused to play until Jinx pulled him aside for a long private conversation.

Zac, Seraphine, and Ekko. All people Jinx claimed were from home. Or almost, in Sera's case. It was these three, particularly Ekko, who gave Lux some much needed insight into Jinx as a person.

Another area in which Lux differed from most people was that most people would probably feel betrayed or disgusted or afraid upon hearing that their friend had blown up a city-state's entire government. But Lux had heard a thing or two about Piltover's old Council, largely from some of the previous players Jinx had brought around, and to be honest, she considered blowing them up to be an act of community service. A little brutal, yes, but a genuine favor to the people suffering under their rule.

What got to her a little more were the personal blows Ekko had taken. The betrayal of his oldest friend, and her subsequent murders of several of his newer friends. Only the fact that she hadn't gone near him in years made it possible for him to look at her now. Only an old, barely surviving desire to see her be better compelled him to play her game. She needed it, he claimed, to get the crazy out somewhere it wouldn't really hurt anyone.

Jinx didn't seem to love being presented with this information later that day, but she engaged with it nonetheless. Admitted to everything. Agreed with Ekko's assessment. The game was fun, yes, but it was primarily an outlet. A form of therapy, almost. Lux had to respect her for that; for recognizing what she needed to keep herself in check and following through with it.

They played on for another year, mostly sticking with Jinx's favorite assortment of allies but consistently switching up the members of the enemy team to keep things interesting. Lux got more and more used to this recreational violence, but she still found it exciting every time.

Strangely, though, the most exciting part to her was always that Jinx had never lost her initial awe of Lux's performance in the games. She was consistently impressed, often staring, and always laying the praise on thick. This all came to a head after a particularly exciting match, in which Lux had stuck with Jinx in the bottom section of the map and completely destroyed their lane with her. That, according to Jinx, had been "super hot", and one thing led to another led to Lux pinned against a tree in the jungle area with Jinx's lips and hands roaming her body.

This quickly became a standard post-game ritual of theirs, and over the course of the next six months, they grew steadily more emotionally invested each other. Neither of them could say exactly when their relationship became "official", but it did at one point or another, and thinking about it got Lux through the time spent between matches with her mental health more or less intact.

Even at times like this, when she was cooped up in the Crowngaurd Estate, awaiting tomorrow's arrival of a suitor she'd been expected to entertain for at least a weekend, she could sit by her window and draw little pictures of her girlfriend. And once the man was gone, rejected at the end of his opportunity to court her like the three that had come before him, she could look forward to the next game.

She did wonder how many more suitors her parents would allow her to cycle through before they really began to insist that she settle down, but she felt safe for the moment. At least for now, her family seemed to perceive her rejection of each and every suitor as pickiness, and that was fine by them. No noble would want their daughter to settle for just anyone, after all. She could turn up her nose at prospective mates all she wanted, and they'd simply keep bringing in more for her consideration.

It would likely get worse as she aged and cut into more of her "childbearing years", as her mother liked to put it, but for now, she was twenty-three and tolerated in her role as the stuck-up young noblewoman who would settle for no less than the perfect husband.

Yeah, right, she chuckled to herself as she outlined the shape of Jinx's shoulders on her page. Like there's such a thing.

For her, at least, there would never be such a man. One day, when it all got to be too much, she would leave this place behind. Jinx would come for her and whisk her away, not for the day but forever. For all the love she held for her family and the better aspects of her country, Lux knew her future did not lie here. She would leave it all behind eventually, when she was ready to say goodbye.

Until then, she would draw and play pretend and dream and be satisfied with her brief escapes.

She smiled at Jinx's sketched face looking up at her, longing to see the real thing again. They were about due for another game, but Jinx tended to show up with absolutely no warning, so Lux could only give her best guess as to when they'd see each other.

Right now, apparently.

The window by Lux's desk flew open despite having definitely been locked a second before, and in climbed the very woman who occupied the majority of Lux's thoughts these days.

"Mornin', Sunshine," Jinx crowed, dropping from the window to her feet.

"It's nighttime," Lux corrected her gently. Jinx squinted out the open window, like she'd only just realized.

"Huh," she said under her breath. "Guess so."

"It's good to see you, but what's with the entrance tonight?" Lux inquired, recapturing Jinx's attention. "You usually just zap right into my room. And... how did you even get up to my window?"

"Ah, y'know, climbed, dodged some guards," Jinx said rather flippantly. "Had a pretty good time, I guess, but that's not the important part. It's game time, Blondie! Got everything all ready to go!"

"Tonight?" Lux asked.

"Yeah, for tonight." Jinx held out her hand, as she often did, to invite Lux into her teleporter's range.

"I'm sorry, Jinx, but I can't tonight." Honestly, it was kind of a miracle they'd gotten this far without ever having some kind of scheduling conflict. "I have to be up at dawn to greet a suitor."

"A what?" Jinx's brow furrow slightly.

"A suitor," Lux echoed. "A man my parents invited here to get to know me. He's going to spend the weekend trying to court me."

"Huh?" In an adorably canine fashion, Jinx tilted her head to the side.

"Trying to impress me so I might want to marry him," Lux explained. "And I won't, of course! I send all my suitors away. But I still have to entertain them for the time they're given."

"Ohhhh." Jinx let out a small chuckle, which was a better reaction than Lux had expected. Knowing her and her past, threatening to simply murder all of Lux's suitors had been a very real possibility. Instead, she said, "just skip it."

"What?" Like it would ever be that easy. It wasn't even an option, really.

"Skip it," Jinx persisted. "You don't wanna do it, right? And it's stopping you from doing something you do wanna do. So just don't do it. Come with me instead."

Lux would be lying if she said the idea wasn't tempting, but she knew better than to think she could accept. It was too easy to lose track of time on the Rift; too easy to have it interfere with the plans that had been made for her. She would never be able to come up with an acceptable excuse if someone came looking for her and she was nowhere to be found on such an important day.

"I'd like to, Jinx, but I really can't," Lux said as gently as she could. "I have to wait until after this weekend."

"Aw, c'mon, Blondie," Jinx pleaded. "Everyone else is ready to go. We need ya."

"Maybe you can find a substitute this time?" The suggestion almost physically pained her, but not as much as it seemed to offend Jinx.

"No way," she said stubbornly. "You're the best part. It won't be any fun without you."

"I'm flattered, but-" Lux stopped dead as someone knocked twice at her bedroom door. Her entire body stiffened, and she stood to grab Jinx as if she were going to shove her back out the window. "Shit. You have to go."

"Why?" There was a distinct whine to Jinx's voice that was entirely too loud for the situation.

"Luxanna? Are you talking to someone?" Garen called from the other side of the door. Lux supposed it was better than her parents, but still not good by any means.

"I can't let anyone see you," Lux hissed. "I can't explain this to my family."

"I ain't scared of 'em," Jinx protested, "and you shouldn't be either. They're just a bunch'a fancy dickheads with sticks up their asses. I don't get why you think you have to listen to them."

"Lux, are you alright?" The knocking grew louder and more insistent. "Who's in there?"

"Jinx, please." But it was too late.

The door wasn't locked. Lux never locked it, because why would she in a place like this, where she was always safe and disturbing her privacy was a punishable offense for anyone but the parents who rarely cared to visit her quarters? Except Garen had probable cause, hearing an unfamiliar voice in Lux's room.

He threw the door right open and walked on in. For a second, nothing happened. They were just three people staring at each other. Then, all Hell broke loose.

Garen quickly took notice of Jinx's weapons and reached for his sword. Why he had it on him right now, Lux didn't know and didn't have time to ask. Jinx, in response, removed the gun she called Zapper from its holster and pressed it to the side of Lux's head.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Lux glanced back at her, bewildered but not afraid. Crazy as she was, Jinx would never pull the trigger. Not on her.

"Lux!' Garen quickly drew his blade, but the gun to her head stayed his hand. Guns weren't common weapons in Demacia, but Garen knew enough to know he would never cross the room fast enough. If Jinx actually wanted to kill Lux, she could do it in an instant. "Unhand her!"

Jinx took Lux by the arm and dragged her up from her seat. "New game, Blondie."

"What?" Oh, Lux did not like the sound of that.

"If we can't play fight, we'll play keep-away instead." Jinx secured her free arm around Lux's middle and began to back them both up toward the window.

"Jinx, wait-"

Lux didn't have time to finish her objection before Jinx, dragging her along, leaped through the open window. She didn't know which was louder; Garen's horrified cry or Jinx's shriek of delight as they plummeted toward a well-kept garden three stories below.

"Do your thing, Blondie!" she called.

Her thing? What the hell was "her thing" in a situation like this?

"Break our fall!" Jinx clarified when Lux just stared at her incredulously.

Oh! She wanted a hard light barrier, like the ones Lux often used to shield herself and her allies on the Rift. It probably wouldn't work to break a fall in the traditional sense, but Lux was no stranger to getting creative with her magic. She just had to pray nobody saw.

They both collided hard with a barely visible structure that had appeared directly beneath them, then began to slide forward at a sharp decline that gradually eased up. Lux kept her eyes closed, concentrating on the next few feet, then the next, then the next, trying to keep them at a pace that would get them to the ground quickly but not injure them on impact.

It was harder than one might think to keep up with it, even with all the magic practice she got on the Rift, and Jinx hollering excitedly in her ear didn't help.

They landed in a rosebush and seemed to take every single thorn with them as they rolled out in a tangled heap. Jinx ended up on top of Lux, staring down at her with bright eyes and a joyful grin.

"You gotta do that more often!"

"Shhh!" Lux sat up, nearly smacking her forehead against Jinx's with the speed of it, spitting out leaves as she harshly shushed her. "Someone probably heard us land. You have to get out of here."

"Aww, don't worry, Blondie," Jinx replied lightly. "I'm great at keep-away!"

"No," Lux groaned, but she didn't have time to air her frustrations. She could already hear voices and footsteps swiftly approaching.

"And that's our cue." Once more, Jinx grabbed Lux by the arm and hoisted her up, then she took off running. Lux was left with no choice but to stumble after her, mind searching desperately for a way to defuse this situation.

"Jinx, there's nowhere to go!" Lux insisted.

"That's what they think." Jinx casually raised Zapper to remind Lux she still had it, even though by all logic she really should've dropped it in the fall.

"No!" Lux pushed Jinx's arm down. She didn't know what the hell she would do if Jinx shot her guards.

"What's the matter?" Finally, Jinx seemed to realize Lux wasn't having fun.

Unfortunately, it was that exact moment that the guards started to catch up with them. Everywhere Lux looked, a different pair of patrolling guards ran toward them, swords drawn. One of them recognized her in the dark and called out to her by name, spurring the others on. 

"You have to leave!" Lux insisted, yanking her arm out of Jinx's grasp. "Zap away. I-I'll do my best to clean up this mess."

"Lux..." Jinx licked her lips, her brow furrowing as she tried to put the pieces together. She had finally clocked that Lux was upset, but not why. "It's just a game, babe. You love games."

"They're not playing!" Lux gestured with one hand at the swiftly approaching guards and used the other to lightly shove at her girlfriend. 

"The Pilties were never playing either," Jinx said. "That never stopped me. C'mon, lighten up. It'll be fun."

She raised her gun again. The guards were definitely in range, and almost close enough to reach Jinx with their swords. They were out of time. 

"STOP IT!" The scream escaped Lux before she had a chance to think about it, and so did the burst of arcane energy. 

Instantly, everyone but her and Jinx froze in their tracks, caught up in a shimmering wall of mana that she frequently used to immobilize people on the Rift. It was one of her favorite things to do; laughing while her enemies raged about being rendered defenseless. Now, though, it gave her a strong urge to throw up. 

The guards were frozen physically, but they were still aware. They would still know what Lux had done to them. That she was a mage.

She'd just outed herself in probably the worst way possible. 

Part of her expected Jinx to hoot and holler and try to drag her away again, but it seemed the scream had stunned her. Lux had never screamed at her before. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, equal parts gentle and anxiety. "We're just playin', right?"

"No!" Lux snapped, tears burning her eyes. "No one else is playing, Jinx! I'm not playing!"

Jinx shrank back with something of a kicked-puppy expression and said, "ohh, fuck... shit, Blondie, I'm sorry. I'll take ya back upstairs, I-"

"No." Lux stepped away from Jinx's outstretched hand. Upstairs wouldn't help her now. Honestly, at this point, the safest option for her would probably be to just go with Jinx after all. Now that all these people had seen her magic, suitors would be the least of her concerns. The oppressive laws of her homeland would be turned on her in full force. 

And yet... she still wasn't ready to leave. 

"Go home, Jinx," she murmured. 

"B-but you're cryin'." Jinx continued to reach for her, but Lux wouldn't have it. 

"Please." Lux met Jinx's horrified eyes and held her gaze. "Please, go."

"Okay..." Jinx replied, small and sad. "I'll see ya later, yeah?"

"Yeah." Despite the emotional turmoil, the fear and uncertainty for her immediate future, Lux managed a smile. "Yeah. Love you."

"Love you too." In a flash of electric blue light, Jinx was gone, and not a moment too soon. Lux's spell probably wouldn't have lasted much longer. 

Seeing no use in stalling, she released the guards, but refused to look at any of them. She hung her head, tears of fear and grief for the life she'd certainly just lost streaming down her face, and sank to her knees to await judgement. 

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[thatartiststudios999]

My first contribution for @tdp-prism-event-2024

Prompt: Twist - Chaos

The throne room was filled with tension as the chaos outside echoed through the stone walls. Ezran, Callum, Rayla, Opeli, and the council members huddled together along with Soren, Corvus, and the Crownguard, seeking refuge from the unfolding turmoil.

Ezran, showing leadership in the face of crisis, ordered Soren to take a group of the Crownguard to scout the area and provide information.

Callum approached one of the windows overlooking the courtyard where the battle raged. The sight was grim, Katolis guards and elves standing united against a band of Sunfire rebels, but their combined efforts were struggling against the onslaught.

He felt a hand slip into his, gripping it tightly.. He turned to her, meeting the worry in her eyes. His touch was gentle as he cupped her cheek, fingers delicately brushing against the thin braid framing her face.

“Hey, we’ll be fine, alright, love? I won’t let them touch you,” he reassured with a steadiness in his voice.

Rayla leaned into his touch. As she did, she felt the coolness of his wedding band against her skin, a reminder of their connection.

She reached up, grabbing that hand, “Even if it hurts you?”

Pressing his forehead against hers, Callum spoke with determination, “Even if it hurts me, Ray.” He affirmed his commitment to protect her, despite the potential risks.

“I don’t want it to hurt you,” she admitted, her voice fragile.

Smiling thinly, Callum said, “I know, love, but I’ll do anything to protect you,” he assured, tilting his head up to place a comforting kiss on her worried brow, “anything.”

Soren and a few members of the Crownguard burst into the room with urgency etched on their faces.

“They’re almost in the castle,” he informed, his gaze swiftly assessing the room. “I’ll need everyone I can get to secure the door.” He turned to Corvus and the other Crownguard, issuing swift orders, “Guard the door and ensure a safe exit for the others if things go south.”

As the plan unfolded, Soren’s gaze eventually landed on Callum. Rayla felt a knot tighten in her stomach, anticipating what he was about to request.

“High Mage,” Soren addressed Callum, and Rayla gripped Callum’s hand, anxiety coursing through her. “I’ll need you to help me keep them away from the door.”

Rayla’s heart pounded as she looked at Callum.

He turned to her, a solemn expression on his face. “I’ll come back,” he assured her, pressing a reassuring kiss to her lips.

Despite his words, fear lingered in her eyes, and she clung to his hands. “Don’t go,” she pleaded.

He shook his head, determination in his eyes. “I have to, to keep us safe, to keep you safe.” Another quick but firm kiss passed between them, and he pulled back reluctantly. “I’ll return your heart to you, I promise.” With that, he joined Corvus, Soren, and the rest of the Crownguard, leaving Rayla behind in the throne room.

Ezran approached Rayla, offering comfort by holding her hand. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure of it,” he reassured her.

Rayla turned to him, a slight softening in her expression. He was almost as tall as her now, a testament to how much he had grown. She glanced downwards, and he understood the unspoken worry in her eyes.

“I know he will, but–”

“You still worry.” Ezran gently interrupted.

She nodded, and Ezran guided her to sit next to him at the council table. The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the sounds of distant clashes and muffled shouts. Rayla’s eyes kept flickering towards the door, anxious for any sign of Callum’s return.

Ezran spoke softly, “I trust Callum. He’s strong, and he’s got the Crownguard with him. They’ll handle the situation.”

Rayla managed a small nod but couldn’t completely shake off the worry that lingered in her eyes.

Opeli, who had been coordinating with the guards in the room, approached them, her expression grave. “We’re doing everything we can to secure the castle. The guards are ready, and Soren is leading a strong defense at the entrance.”

Rayla offered a grateful but subdued smile.

In the courtyard, chaos ensued as Callum, Soren, and their determined guards fought against the rebel onslaught. Callum’s wind spells whipped through the air, creating a protective barrier, while his Fulminis spells crackled, deterring anyone bold enough to approach. Soren strategically directed his guards, forming a shield around the High Mage as they pushed back against the rebels.

Ezran added, “We trust Callum, and we trust our guards. They’ll protect Katolis.”

—

The clash of weapons, the echoes of magic, and the shouts of warriors blended in a chaotic symphony. Despite the fierce resistance, Callum’s determination and Soren’s strategic prowess began to turn the tide. Slowly but steadily, they pushed the rebels back, forcing them to retreat into the city.

The courtyard, once a battleground, now saw a hard-earned victory. Soren rallied the guards, ensuring they maintained their defensive positions, ready for any potential counterattacks. Callum caught his breath, surveying the aftermath of the skirmish.

“We did it,” Soren exclaimed, a mixture of relief and pride in his voice.

Callum nodded, a weary but satisfied smile crossing his face. “We held them off, but we need to secure the city. Send more guards and protect the villagers.”

Soren saluted, “Right away, High Mage.” The guards dispersed, some helping wounded comrades, others preparing for the next phase of defense.

—

“Where’s Rayla?” he demanded, a tinge of desperation in his voice. Ezran, standing with a worried expression, only made Callum more concerned.

Callum burst into the throne room, Soren trailing closely behind. His eyes darted around frantically, taking in the familiar faces of the remaining Crownguard, council members, Opeli, his brother Ezran, and—

“Where’s Rayla?” He repeated.

Ezran hesitated before responding, “She... she went after you not long ago.”

The revelation hit Callum like a punch to the gut.

“What?” He gripped Ezran’s shoulders, seeking more information.

“I tried to stop her, but she didn’t want to wait any longer,” Ezran explained, his own concern mirroring Callum’s.

Callum released Ezran and strode toward the door, a mixture of determination and desperation in his movements. Soren attempted to reason with him, placing a hand on Callum’s shoulder, but Callum shook it off.

“Hey, you should think about this,” Soren urged, his voice calm and measured.

“I already have,” Callum snapped, his mind consumed by the fear of the unknown.

He left the throne room in a hurry, sprinting down the hall toward the nearest exit. Instinct guided him, leading him to the market, the urgent need to find Rayla driving every step.

Callum reached the market, the distant clash of swords heightening his anxiety. The urgency in his steps mirrored the pounding of his heart as he ran toward the source of the commotion. His eyes darted around the chaotic scene, desperately searching for any sign of Rayla.

The weight of his wedding ring felt heavier on his finger, a constant reminder of the fear gnawing at him. As he maneuvered through the crowded market, the scent of danger thick in the air, his worry deepened.

And then he saw her.

Rayla was in the midst of the skirmish, wielding her Butterfly Blades with grace and precision alongside Katolian soldiers against the rebel Sunfire elves. For a brief moment, Callum couldn’t move, captivated by the sight of her fierce determination, yet simultaneously paralyzed with fear for her safety.

A passing guard jolted him back to reality.

Callum seized the guard’s arm, urgency in his voice as he commanded, “Go get more, we’ll need them.”

The guard nodded and sprinted back toward the castle.

As Callum glanced back, the rebel Sunfire elves unleashed fire spells at the front line of guards, inflicting fatal injuries on some and seriously wounding others. Panic surged through him, especially as Rayla now had even less protection. Time seemed to slow, his mind racing through desperate options. Even if he were to call to her, she wouldn’t make it in time. She would still get the brunt of the fire. She would die.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Callum chanted confidently, “Manus, Pluma, Volantus!” He dove toward Rayla just as the flames glowed, seizing her and sliding on the stone tiles to the area behind nearby crates. The fire singed his jacket, burning his exposed skin. Despite the pain, he held back a scream, his breaths unnaturally shallow.

“Callum?” Rayla’s wide eyes searched his face. He looked up at her, tightening his feathery hold, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I got you, love,” he breathed against her lips, kissing her gently, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

The reinforcements, led by Soren, rushed by them, and the sounds of combat resumed. Callum pulled her even closer, attempting to shield her from the horrors unfolding nearby. Cries of pain echoed from both humans and elves. He tucked her under his chin, her on top of him, wings remaining wrapped around her.

Desperate for reassurance, she grabbed at his shoulders, seeking proof that he was truly there. Her hands reached up to his face, feeling the scratches from the stone.

Gazing up at him, she whispered, “You’re hurt,” her voice breaking.

He shook his head, “Don’t worry, you’re my only concern right now. I’ll be fine.”

Soren found them amidst the chaos, “Hey, we got you covered, time to get out of here,” before rushing back into the fray.

They rose to their feet, but Callum maintained his summoned wings. As they attempted to leave, stray flames penetrated the line. Instinctively, Callum threw his wings around Rayla as they ran, some of his feathers getting singed by the heat.

Rayla noticed, “Callum, your–”

“No time,” he interrupted, holding out his wings and inviting her to grab onto him.

She gripped his shoulders, “But can you still fly?”

In truth, his arms stung and ached, his back engulfed in pain, and he hurt all over from the impact of diving after her.

Despite the discomfort, he flapped his wings, reassuring her, “I can make it home.” With that, he lifted them into the air, soaring away from the danger.

As soon as they landed and found refuge in their room, Callum enveloped Rayla in a tight embrace, his wings dissipating as he held her close.

“I thought you were going to die, Ray,” he murmured into her hair.

“I know, but I didn’t. You saved me, love,” she reassured him.

He chuckled lightly, pulling back to place their foreheads together, “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

She smiled back, “Yeah, you did,” pressing her lips to his, savoring the connection, grateful that he was here, safe, and alive.

Lingering, she brought her hand to his cheek, feeling the scars on his face. She pulled back immediately, her eyes flicking to the marks etched on his face. She traced a long scratch down his cheek, a pang of concern filling her heart.

“Oh, love,” she whispered, her voice laden with worry, “what did they do to you?” Her gaze moved to his singed jacket, determination in her eyes. “Take it off,” she demanded.

“What?” he asked.

“Your jacket,” she pressed, her urgency evident.

He sighed, undoing the clasps and removing it, wincing at the pain with every movement. Her hands gently took over, pulling it off the rest of the way, and she gasped. Her eyes widened as she observed the extent of the damage.

His chest bore bruising, hues of purple painting a painful picture; burns marked his forearms, biceps, and even his hands; scratches trailed down his neck. When he turned around, the true gravity of the situation revealed itself.

Three angled burn scars adorned his back, a brutal testament to the dangers he faced. The skin around the scars looked grotesque, as if it had partially melted and then solidified again.

And the blood…

Rayla’s breath caught, and the sight of blood intensified her distress. The sight overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t hold back the surge of emotions that threatened to spill over.

Rayla’s eyes misted with a mix of anguish and anger. She reached out, tracing the burn scars, her fingertips trembling.

“Callum,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t stand seeing you hurt like this.”

He turned to her, and the vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the ache in her heart. “Rayla, I’ll heal, I promise,” he reassured, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

She shook her head, a hint of frustration coloring her expression. “You shouldn’t have to endure this. It’s not fair.”

Callum gently cupped her face, “I did it to keep you safe, Ray. I’d do it a hundred times over.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she tightened her grip on him, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce love and sacrifice he showed.

“Just let me take care of you,” she whispered, before seizing his lips in hers.

They broke the kiss, foreheads leaning against each other. Callum’s hands rested on her waist, grounding himself in her comforting presence.

Rayla took a deep breath, her fingers gently caressing the bruises on his chest. “I hate that you had to do this for me. I hate that you got hurt.”

He sighed, “Rayla, it’s not your fault. We’re in this together. I’d do anything to protect you, and I know you’d do the same for me.”

She nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I just wish we didn’t have to go through this.”

Callum tilted her chin up, locking eyes with her. “We’ll get through it. Together.” His lips found hers again, a shared promise of strength and unity.

She reluctantly pulled back, kissing the long scar on his face. She left the room briefly to fetch a healing paste for the burns and bruising, accompanied by fresh bandages. Upon her return, she found him gazing at himself in the mirror.

Wincing, he remarked, “Wow, it’s... really that bad, huh?”

Standing together, he held the roll of bandages while she applied the healing paste to his right hand and up his arm. Through the lingering sting of the burns, he gasped lightly but urged her to continue.

She scoffed with a mix of concern and reassurance, “And it was almost worse.”

Having finished applying the healing paste, she was about to reach for the bandages when a question tugged at her concern.

“How did your arms get burned? You had your wings,” she asked.

Guilt flashed across his expression.

“Callum,” she pressed, urging him to explain.

He sighed, admitting, “My wings got burned, and my wings come from my arms so…” He trailed off.

Her eyes widened, a rising concern evident in her voice. “This is what happens?” she asked, her tone edging towards worry.

He nodded in confirmation. She sighed, taking the roll of bandages from him, carefully wrapping it around his hand, then up his arm. As she pressed the bandage to the largest burn scar, he let out a tiny gasp of pain, prompting her to pause.

“Too tight?” she asked. He shook his head, assuring her, “No, it’s okay, keep going.”

She did, then tore the bandage when she was done with his forearm and started on his bicep, finishing quickly before moving to his other arm. As he watched her work, she looked focused, but he saw in her eyes that she was still so scared for him, her worry etched in her brow.

Rayla couldn’t help but feel a mixture of emotions—relief that he was back safely, anger at the rebels for causing this pain, and a deep, overwhelming love for the man standing before her. She tried to hide the trembling in her hands, focusing on the task.

Once she completed tending to his arms, she transitioned to applying the healing paste on the bruises scattered across his chest. The gravity of the situation intensified when she finally reached the burn scars on his back. A moment of silence enveloped the room as she hesitated, fixating on the morbid sight before her. The severity of the injuries, coupled with the presence of blood, threatened to overwhelm her emotions. In a moment of vulnerability, she had to acknowledge that she was on the verge of breaking down.

He, still facing away, asked, “You okay?”

Trying to conceal her inner turmoil, she took a deep breath and replied, “Yeah.”

Starting with cleaning off the blood with water, she diligently applied the healing paste and then delicately wrapped him with bandages. During the process, her hand brushed against one of the scars, capturing fresh blood on her fingers. The sight of his blood on her hand threatened to overwhelm her, but she pressed on with unwavering determination.

Completing the bandaging, she tore the end of the material and circled around to face him. His smile, a beacon of reassurance, went unnoticed by her.

Raising her hand, she gently traced the scar on his face, her thoughts lingering on the burn scars on his back and arms, the dark bruises concealed beneath the fresh bandages. Despite the visible signs of healing, the haunting image of him bleeding persisted—a stark reminder of what could have been, the brutality inflicted upon him.

Anger welled within her, fueled by the realization of the imminent threat to his life, the attempts to sever him from her.

“Hey,” he cupped her cheek, tenderly wiping away her tears, “I’m right here, okay?”

His bandaged hand against her skin triggered an overwhelming surge of emotions, causing her to crumble. She enveloped him in a desperate embrace, tears streaming down her face as her body succumbed to pitiful sobs.

Concern etched across his widened eyes, he held her close, his arms a sanctuary against the storm of her emotions.

Softly shushing her, he whispered, “Ray, I got you, I’m right here.”

In the midst of her tears, she confessed, “They hurt you. I almost lost you.” Her hand sought his chest, only to encounter the protective layer of bandages, intensifying her anguish.

“Hey, hey, easy, darling, you didn’t lose me,” he gently lifted her head with his hands, planting a reassuring kiss on her forehead before claiming her lips. The kiss was firm yet tender, lingering as a testament to their shared relief. Pulling back, he placed his forehead against hers, whispering, “I’m still here,” his words a soothing promise against her lips.

“They hurt you,” she repeated, no less broken.

Callum held her close, feeling the tremors of her sobs against him.

“I know, love,” he murmured, “they hurt me, but I’m here, I’m okay.” He continued to speak softly, each word an attempt to reassure her. Yet, Rayla couldn’t shake the images of his injuries, the fear of almost losing him. She clung to him, her tears staining his bandages.

“They wanted to kill you,” she choked out between sobs, her voice cracking with the weight of her distress.

Her emotions swirled, and Rayla’s tears seemed endless. “It’s not fair. You don’t deserve this pain.”

Callum’s response was immediate, his fingers gently brushing her hair, “But they didn’t. I’m right here, safe with you.”

Callum’s gaze was unwavering, his thumb wiping away her tears. “Love, I can handle it. What matters is that we’re together.”

She sniffled, a mix of frustration and sorrow evident in her voice, “But you’re hurt because of me, because of us.”

“No, Rayla,” he insisted, “I’d do anything to protect you. This wasn’t your fault.”

“I can’t lose you, Callum,” she whispered, desperate.

He cupped her face, his eyes searching hers, “You won’t. I promise. I love you.”

Her breath hitched, and she tried to speak through her tears, “I love you too, and I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

He kissed her forehead gently, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

Despite his soothing words, it took a while for Rayla’s sobs to subside. Callum remained patient, offering comfort and reassurance, determined to mend the shattered pieces of her heart.

Callum continued to whisper calming words, his hands tracing gentle circles on her back. He felt the tension gradually ebbing away from her, the sobs becoming softer. He pressed another tender kiss to her forehead, letting the warmth of their shared embrace envelop them.

“It’s okay, Ray. I’m right here,” he murmured, his voice a soothing melody. “We’ll get through this together.”

She clung to him, her tears subsiding, but her grip on him remaining firm. The remnants of distress lingered in her eyes, reflecting the turmoil within. Callum could sense her vulnerability, and he held her even closer.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” she confessed, her voice raw with emotion.

He kissed her forehead again, “I know, love. But remember, we’ll heal together.”

She sighed, the weight on her shoulders slowly lifting. Callum gently pulled back to look into her eyes, his fingers softly tracing the lines of her face.

“I’m here, Rayla. Always,” he assured her, the sincerity in his eyes unwavering.

She nodded, a silent acknowledgment.

As they settled into the warmth of their bed, Callum instinctively pulled Rayla closer, his arm enveloping her in a protective embrace. Despite the ache in his arms, he resisted the urge to put on a fresh shirt, yielding to Rayla’s insistence that he not aggravate his injuries.

Rayla nestled into him, seeking solace in his presence. She felt the bandages beneath her hand as it found its place on his chest, a silent reminder of the ordeal they had endured together. Callum’s touch was gentle as he brushed one of her braids behind her ear, his concern palpable.

“Love?” he murmured softly.

Rayla remained silent, her head tucked against his neck, her breaths slow and steady. Her words came as a whisper, barely audible against his skin. “I just want you with me, so I know you’re safe.”

Callum’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. He tightened his hold around her, offering the only reassurance he could. “I think I can do that,” he replied softly.

[darkmagicmirror]

This is not a response to any specific post because I've seen so many of them (and I don't remember any specific post(s), I just know I've seen this take), but like I don't really understand why there are people who think Claudia healing Soren was some kind of selfish act done because she wanted it and didn't care about what Soren wanted or whatever. Soren, throughout the entire show up to that point, prides himself on his physical capabilities. He's always on the move, he's the captain of the Crownguard (also something he's proud of), etc. Also I don't think there's anything Soren says to indicate he genuinely is okay with being unable to move.

Like there are plenty of things to maybe analyze/criticize about Claudia there, but it's really hard to get where "Claudia is just being selfish" from, in that specific situation.

I mean the only point I can maybe see toward it is that she doesn't ask Soren directly what he wants. But idk it feels kind of weird to see someone injured and be like "Hey are you okay with this?" while they're clearly upset about it. Plus Soren has been in her life since the beginning, so there's some extra understanding there that would be different than if it were anyone else. (I do think she should have given him some sort of heads up before actually doing the spell, but I don't think that equates to not caring about what he wants.)

Like idk I'm always open to hearing other opinions (if calmly/respectfully discussed), but I find it really confusing.

[wheretwofacesmeet]

[avenger09]

TDP: New and Old Friends in Scumport

"I said you'd be back."

Rolling her eyes Rayla turns to look at the source of the familiar voice, she'd hoped not to run into during their time in the pirate bay.

"Not that it's any of your business Redfeather, but I'm just passing through."

As if to emphasise this statement, Stella crossses her four little arms and turns her head away in solidarity with Rayla.

Letting out a short snort, the eldar Moonshadow Elf crosses her much thicker arms and continues to speak.

"Really? Because you look just as lost as your last time here. C'mon girl there's no need to be prideful. If you need a hand you can always..."

"Rayla!"

A voice cries out drawing the Elves attention with Redfeather looking on befuddled as a young human lad in a red scarf runs up to Rayla, almost oblivious to the much taller woman, and inciting a smile from the younger woman. One caused by an unmistakable something Redfeather recognizes all too well.

"Are you and Stella ready?" He asks.

"We are, Callum. Just waiting for Soren to make his move."

She scans the misty marketplace for a sign of the blonde, who she still had some trouble believing was now head of the Ezran's Crownguard for some reason.

"Where is he anyway?"

Without hesitation Callum replies.

"He's looking for a fake mustache for his disguise."

That's why.

"But... They've never met before, why would he even need..?"

The mage holds up a hand. "I tried saying that too, but he just kept insisting that 'Snort Longpocket' just isn't complete without it."

Rayla sighs, clearly just as unwilling to press the topic any further than Callum was.

"Well I guess it couldn't be any less ridiculous than the smokebees."

"Probably. Anyway I gotta get ready with Villads."

He says pulling out one of the blind man's spare hat's from his leather bag, which the old salt had loaned him for the upcoming caper, before placing it over his perpetually windswept hair.

"Arrr'll be seein' you."

Callum declares with a wink and a point as he trots backwards to the direction he came from, inciting a giggle from Rayla. Immediately noticing the huge grin on the older Elf beside her as soon as it stopped.

"What?" She states, a bit more defensively then she meant.

"Nothing. Just forget what I said before. Seems you're right where you want to be afterall."

After a second Rayla relaxes.

"Yeah. I am."

----

A small interlude I could imagine happening between scenes.

[bisexualenbyblueberry]

A Guide To TDP's Male Cinnamon Rolls

So, since I have seen even more "season 6 is the most heartbreaking season yet" tweet screenshots (Aaron Ehasz tell your merry band of jolly souls to stop tormenting me and to leave me alone please I can't take it anymore) I figured I would bring more happy content to this fandom and completely ignore season 5 episode eight ahaha what are you talking about

So I will be explaining the differences between each of our little wholesome men here, because they're all just sliiiightly different from each other, which warrants an entire long text post from me because I'm bored

King Ezran- despite all the trauma he's withstood throughout his life, he's still a twelve year old boy, and there's a sense of childlike innocence about him. This boy would like to tell you about Pokemon, and I would listen to him if I were you. He's the type of twelve year old cis boy who would definitely stand up to transphobic bullies. King Ezran is the definition of the "not all (I suppose men doesn't apply here, 12 year old boys ig?) is right, [insert character name here] would never" meme.

Prince Callum- Callum is literally the biggest loser around and it's adorable. He's literally a crown prince and he couldn't ride horses normally until he was like 16. He's just a dorky little man, who gets excited about big books and research and libraries and things like that. Dude would love light academia. He's a nerd with tiny skinny arms, need I say more?

Head crownguard Soren- he's a himbo, need I say more?

Commander Gren: he's the dictionary definition of cinnamon roll. Dude is polite even with his captors. He has the patience I never will, and that is completely envy-worthy. He's that one friend in the gay friend circle who is endlessly polite to the homophobic mom, just because that's how Gren is. I don't think he could ever be mean, or rude, or angry. And that's just the way he is.

Title-less Terry: Terry is the one who is setting high standards for boyfriends. Terry is everything a boyfriend should be, and he goes even above and beyond. Terry needs to get out of this relationship soon, though, because he is too optimistic and happy to realize the gravity of what is going on with his girlfriend. He literally put all of his issues on hold for his girlfriend, and keeps telling her "Claudia you need to sleep, it's not healthy for you to go this long without sleep :(" and then goes around building rafts throughout the night with no sleep and wearing his binder 24/7. Terry you need self-care too!!!

Crownguard Corvus because I just considered to include him- Corvus is a man who is built different. He is the voice of reason in these trying times, but under his rough exterior, he has no idea what is going on. He is pretending to be in control and he is not fooling us. Corvus is the type of man who had an emo phase. Corvus is just trying to keep everyone alive, and honestly, they need to bring him on more missions because he would've probably helped them avoid so much awful stuff.

Another crow themed man I missed- The associate crow lord. While being an unnamed side character, the crow lord is just a struggling man fresh out of college trying his best to help all of his customers. This man exudes waves of he/they energy. He is happy you're happy, definetly. He just got promoted and he is very proud of himself.

Lemme know if I missed anyone

[kradogsrats]

bonus of being still too pissed off to look at my dash is I can actually get some writing done:

Claudia wandered out into the living area, flopping dramatically face-first onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. She turned her head, glancing at Lissa to gauge her response, then gave another sigh, even louder and more put-upon. Lissa had to work to suppress a smile. For all that Claudia's seven-going-on-teenager attitude could be exasperating, it was also sometimes hilarious. Keeping a straight face, she sat down beside Claudia to stroke her hair. "Why so glum, moonbeam?" "I'm so bored," Claudia groaned emphatically, only slightly muffled by the cushions. "Soren's always watching the stupid Crownguard training, and Callum has some kind of special prince lessons today. There's no one to play with." She turned her head again, this time fixing Lissa with a pouting glare. "I don't even have a book." Lissa gave her a warning look, eyebrows raised. "You have plenty of books. You'll get Daddy's spellbook back when you've shown me you can handle its contents responsibly." The book was a pretty thing, its cover bound with canvas dyed a deep purple—Claudia's favorite color—and bearing an intricate, gold-leafed design that seemed to promise mysterious and exciting secrets within. Its interior, however, was as dry and impenetrable as any of the dozens of magic-related tomes Viren had kept, so Lissa had deemed it reasonable enough for Claudia to keep as a memento—at not even seven years old, she would be able to do little more than look at the scant collection of figures and diagrams it contained before getting bored. Unfortunately for her, Claudia's reading skills—already more advanced than Soren's had been at her age—expanded at a prodigious rate. Their tutors assured Lissa that Soren's progress was perfectly acceptable and Claudia, having quickly surpassed her brother's abilities despite being two years younger, was simply exceptional by comparison. It was still sometimes alarming to have a child who frequently needed help buttoning her own shoes also requesting definitions for words like endothaumic and arcanoprecipitate. Claudia made a sound of disgusted frustration. "How long will that take?" "Longer, if you keep whining and carrying on about it."

[jelzorz]

140.

The cut comes from a cutlass. The pirates that attack their ship on the Sea of the Outcast are wily, Rayla will admit—wily enough to get the better of her and land a hit on her arm but certainly not wily enough to get away with it. It's a tricky fight, but they manage. Tidebound advantage or not, Callum is too skilled a mage, and Rayla too skilled an assassin, and Soren too skilled a Crownguard to let them get far. In the aftermath of it, the deck is a mess and everyone's a little battered, but it's nothing they can't handle, and Rayla quietly, surreptitiously, hides the cut on her arm because they've got enough to deal with at the moment without another injury to add to the list.

(It's nothing to worry about anyway, just a scratch, and in any case, she doesn't know why Callum—why anyone—would care).

In hindsight, she should have just said something. The fever that's starting can't mean anything good.

"Hey, are you okay?" That's Callum. Typical Callum. Always worrying over her which is exactly why she'd kept her mouth shut.

"'M fine," says Rayla, but she stumbles over her own feet as her vision starts to narrow. It's so cold. It's supposed to be Summer.

"You don't look fine."

"Shows what you know," she mutters stupidly. "This is how I normally look."

Callum frowns at her. "You don't normally look like you're about to pass out," he says sharply. "C'mere." He catches her hand before she can protest and Rayla yelps, pain flaring up her arm. Callum's frown only grows sterner, and he yanks up her sleeve and scowls at the shoddy patch job she'd done on her arm. "Rayla, what the hell?"

"It's only a scratch," says Rayla, although her voice sounds whiny and weak in her ears. "Just leave it, I'm fine."

"Are you serious?"

"Seriously." Rayla tries to grin to prove it, but her knees buckle beneath her and the world spins out.

*

She wakes later to Callum, rolls of bandages in hand, sullen scowl pulling downwards at his lips. She's still shivering, even with her outerwear stripped off, even with Callum's wind dome whirling around them to bring her temperature down. Vaguely, she notices Ezran, Zym, and Soren standing over her, worried frowns on their faces, but it's Callum she zeroes in on.

"You're not fine," he snaps.

"I'm mostly fine."

"Rayla."

Rayla ducks her head shamefully. "I'm a little not fine." Then, queitly, she adds, "I just didn't want you to worry."

"Well, I'm worried now," grumbles Callum. "You have to stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Acting like you don't matter. You do matter. You matter to me."

A pause. Rayla blinks blearily at him, unsure if he's really looking at her like that or if it's just her fever-addled brain. There's so much in his face: so much anger, so much concern, so much... She's too afraid to say love.

She hesitates. "You still..."

"I still what?"

Rayla swallows. She looks away. "You still care about me."

Callum pauses, his eyes hard but still somehow affectionate, the truth more obvious there than in anywhere else. "Yeah," he says. "I do."

[raayllum]

3+11 for Sorvus, maybe?

3. + 11.

The castle has never been under siege, before, and the only reason Soren isn't freaking out more (because fine, he's freaking out) is because Ezran isn't even on the premises. He's off safely in Duren with Queen Aanya, and Opeli and a couple of the other crownguard had gone with him, leaving him and Corvus behind to look after the council for a week.

Which was going so well, clearly.

Nothing but chaos, and infiltrators, and failing again somehow, and—

"Soren!"

He lurches upright with a cry, blinking stars out of his eyes. There's a sky and trees above him. He's not in the castle. He's outside in a forest. It's nighttime, Corvus' empty bedroll just a few feet away.

Corvus kneels next to him instead, a steady hand on his shoulder, concern etched onto his face.

"It's okay," Corvus says and Soren tries to focus on his face. Breathe in and out. In and out. "It's just a nightmare."

"We're... alone?"

Corvus nods. "Whatever you say... It's okay. They're gone."

The air comes more easily and less like it's scraping his throat on the way down. Soren settles. He scans the clearing they've camped in. Quaint, quiet, safe. Nothing but some animals chittering in a nearby tree and the familiar hum of bugs this time of year.

"I... had a dream," Soren eventually gets out. He places a hand over Corvus' on his shoulder to ground himself. Something else is here and warm and alive. They're alone but he's not alone.

"It's okay," Corvus repeats. "Just—" He seems flustered for just a moment, but it must be awkwardness or Soren's eyes playing tricks on him. "Just hold onto me. If that helps."

It does.

"We were at the castle," Soren says. "You and me. There were invaders."

"Ezran was in danger?" Corvus guesses sympathetically.

Soren shakes his head, speaking without thinking. "No, just you." Now it's his turn to flush. "I mean—you weren't like in in danger in the dream, I just knew—my dream-self knew you were going to be danger, that is. Somehow." He coughs and forces a laugh. "Dumb, right?"

Because he's Soren, and when he's not being silly he's being stupid, and—

"No, Corvus says softly, gently squeezing his shoulder. There's something Soren can't name when he looks into his eyes. Something safe and fragile all at the same time. "It's not dumb."

In the end, Corvus drags his bedroll over to be closer, and Soren falls asleep listening to the steady rise and fall of his—his friend's breathing.

Soren thinks, if he were braver, he would fall asleep holding Corvus' hand.