made by rowan

2

Like I said in this post, I have more CC to release with you all and the first thing I’m going to release is an eyeshadow I made colored in @smubuh‘s Freshly Brewed Palette (hence the name of the eye shadow :P )

Info:
File size is 285 KB

Download: Simfileshare

If you have any problems downloading please tell me!

What if...

Fenrys is the one who tries to keep Aelin sane while Rowan comes? He knows Rowan is coming, and he knows he will get Aelin out.

But what if Aelin is too broken? No, he thinks. The Queen endured too much, she risked so much, gave up everything. Fenrys knew there was no way in hell Rowan wasn’t coming for her, and he knew that there was nothing that would stand in the Prince’s way. 

Maybe it was Fenrys’ turn to do some good. So he works around every command, he looks for every possible loophole, to maybe take away a bit of Aelin’s pain, heal her wounds, talk to her, remind her that Rowan is coming, and that she has to hold on. And even when Maeve finds out, and she punishes him, he still tries. He can’t take away her pain anymore, so he gives her water. He can’t heal her, so he feeds her. 

So Fenrys prays to every God that’s listening that Rowan gets there before Maeve goes after Connall, because he knows who he’s going to choose.

Girl Crushes

• Lauren Jauregui
• Kristen Stewart
• Floriana Lima
• Chyler Leigh
• Camila Cabello
• Cara Delevinge
• Lyndsey Gunnulfsen
• Shay Mitchell
• Troian Bellisario
• Sasha Pieterse
• Ashley Benson
• Alycia Dabnam-Carey
• Eliza Taylor
• Cara Delevinge
• Sophie Turner
• Marie Avgeropoulos
• Katie Macgrath
• Rowan Blanchard
• Sabrina Carpenter
• Dua Lipa
• Lena Headey
• Natasha Negovablis
• Elise Bauman
• Katie Stevens
• Rita Volk
• Eva Green
• Sarah Poulson
• Cate Blanchett
• Rooney Mara
• Emily Blunt
• Kendall Jenner
• Maia Mitchell
• Jessica Capshaw
• Sara Ramirez
• Anna Kendrick
• Gal Gadot
• Caity Lotz
• Naya Rivera
• Dianna Agron
• Jennifer Lawrence
• Emma Watson
• Lily Collins
• Emma Roberts
• Amber Heard
• Shannon Beveridge
• Taylor Schilling
• Lana Parrilla
• Rose and Rosie
• Ally and Stevie
• Kate McKinnon
• Natalie Dormer
• Laura Prepon
• Megan Fox
• Natalie Portman
• Jennifer Connelly
• Charlize Theron
• Normani Kordei
• Dinah Jane
• Ellen Pompeo
• Alexis G Zall
• Lindsey Morgan
• Scarlett Johansson

elorcan/tog headcanons

- Sometime in the distant, peaceful future… Various members of the cadre are having breakfast in Perranth
- Lorcan sneaks up on Elide and squeezes her ass in the kitchen, and Elide swats his hand away playfully with a bread loaf
- Food falls out of Fenrys’s mouth as he gapes in disbelief
- Rowan is restraining the urge to laugh and reminds himself to tell Aelin later
- Gavriel exchanges an amused look with Rowan
- Lorcan walks into the dining room, where the rest of the cadre are trying to look preoccupied with something
- Gavriel is staring intensely at the window drapes for gods sakes
- Fenrys is burning a hole with his eyes into the muffin he’s holding
- Rowan is pretending to drink some orange juice
- “Got something to say?” Lorcan asks, that lethal quiet edging his tone
- “No-pe.” Fenrys replies, popping the “p”
- Rowan gives Lorcan a slightly smug look. “You always did love hands-on learning best.”
- Gavriel can’t help but crack a smile
- Lorcan snarls, “Let’s take this outside, Whitethorn.”
- Rowan grins. “I did need to get some morning exercise in.”
- Lorcan doing Lorcan things, probably snarling and snapping his teeth some more. having a mate is hard!
- Elide’s obviously eavesdropping, and she rolls her eyes as the Fae males wrestle in the dirt outside

oblivious
  • Rowan: Does your heart speed up when you see her?
  • Lorcan: Yes.
  • Rowan: Do you want to kill whoever made her frown?
  • Lorcan: Yes.
  • Rowan: Will you protect her to whatever end?
  • Lorcan: Yes.
  • Rowan: Do you wish her to not be with another male?
  • Lorcan: Yes.
  • Rowan: You would die for her?
  • Lorcan: Yes.
  • Rowan: You would chop up your shirt into linen shirts for her when she's on her monthly cycles and sacrifice your own life for her and damn the entire world just to make sure she's safe and protect her even when you have a separate mission and obey all her orders willingly and slaughter anyone should she deem so?
  • Lorcan: Yes.
  • Rowan: Do you know what this means?
  • Lorcan: No.
  • Rowan: You don't know what's happening to you?
  • Lorcan: I fail to see why this is important.
  • Elide: He fails to see a lot of things.
Faerie Sight

How to see faeries:

  • Wearing one’s coat inside out.
  • Wearing a posy of primroses.
  • A four leaf clover crushed and put into an ointment may give one sight of the Faeries as well as placing Faerie Ointment on the eyelids.
  • Bending over and looking backwards through your legs.
  • Looking through a Fir knot hole.
  • Looking through a loop made with a Rowan twig may cause Faerie sight.
  • Looking through a hag stone
  • Meditating on a daily basis.
  • Averting one’s vision.
  • Dawn, moon, dusk, and midnight are the best times for faerie sightings.
  • Believe - faeries will most likely not show themselves to non-believers.
  • Have good intention - faeries can sense it.
  • Looking for a long time without blinking.

Here is something I did for @meabhd colouring contest 

Your art is simply amazing and when I saw that we are free to colour your lines I thought to myself ‘’ listen Beta, even if you don’t have drawing tablet, even if you don’t have printer and are to lazy to go to the neighbour, you have a damn photoshop and a mouse, for Christ sake go utilize this opportunity to colour meabhd’s lines.’’ And so here I am ^-^. I am not good at many things, drawing being one of them, but with that said I had to do this and I hope it looks… decent. I wish you all the luck with uni and stay awesome. <3

Lines made by Méabh , coloured by me in photoshop using my damn slow mouse. 

Things I think people forget about ToG
  • Aelin is 19
  • Rowan is described as in his late 20′s
  • Aedion is the Wolf of the North and a war hero
  • Aelin can play the piano so beautifully, she almost made Rowan cry
  • Kaltain was able to overcome the Valg Prince in her head
  • Erawan is still out there (but no one cares as long as Maeve dies)
  • When Aelin was 8 she was strong enough to beat the Valg and Erawan
  • Aelin dyed her hair red in Queen of Shadows
We Are Young: Prologue

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

Next Chapter

——————–

Rowan couldn’t help but feel a bit foolish as he stepped into the cafeteria, lunch tray in hand. He stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes moving from table to table. He observed the crowds around him, looking for a head of golden hair.

Relieved wasn’t actually the right word he’d use for when Fenrys invited him to sit at his table during lunch. But he did feel the slightest bit grateful. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to spending another lunch by himself. Plus he thought he was doing pretty well. Only three days into the school year at a new school and he was already, somewhat, making friends. Hopefully when he told his mother this, she’d get off his back.

Though he wouldn’t exactly call Fenrys a friend at this point. He simply seen the Pittsburgh Penguins patch on Rowan’s backpack in the bio class they shared and deemed Rowan interesting enough to talk to. Turns out Fenrys was a Penguins fan too. And that’s basically all it took for him to invite Rowan to sit with him at lunch.

Thankfully, he wasn’t standing too long when he spotted golden hair pulled back in a low pony tail. With long strides, Rowan made his way over to the table. He wasn’t typically a nervous person, but he still tried not to pay too much attention to the other bodies sitting around the table.

“Hey man,” Fenrys grinned up at him before pointing to the chair on his right. “Take a seat.”

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Little Fireheart. (Rowaelin Oneshot)

Creak.

Rowan’s eyes shot open.

He glanced at his wife, her breathing steady and quiet, her body outlined by the light of the moon. Rowan had been away with Aedion for the last week, overseeing Terrasen’s new recruits, and he had spent hours making it up to Aelin earlier that evening. Considering how often she moaned his name, and the marks on his back from her nails, he figured he was forgiven.

With a smile, he pulled up the thin, white blanket to her bare shoulders, and kissed her forehead gently. “I love you, Fireheart.”

As he stood, he swore he heard her mumble Buzzard, but when he looked back, eyebrows raised, she was still sound asleep. He pulled on his pants with a chuckle and grabbed a blanket from the chair by the fireplace on his way out the door.

The creaking of the stairs had stopped, and the pitter-patter of small feet were now heavy on the main floor. Wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders, Rowan silently took the stairs two at a time.

He found her by the window, watching the city-goers walk by their private residence under the streetlights. She had her chin perched on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs as she sat on the window sill, her golden hair a mess and her pajamas rumpled. She was clinging to her white-fur blanket, the one she was given by Gavriel the day she was born.

He leaned against the door frame, watching her, admiringly. He thought back to the first time he held her in his arms, bundled in that same blanket, when terror and love and utter joy flooded him. He remembered looking into the eyes of his firstborn, his daughter, and knowing he was in trouble. She had put him through hell since the day she’d been born, and she was only four. There was a lot more hell to go.

And he loved every minute of it.

“Didn’t your mother tell you to stay in bed?”

The small figure jumped at her father’s voice, her cheeks turning pink as she turned to face him. “Maybe….”

The silver-haired fae crossed his arms as he tried not to smile, and failed. “Ana.”

When her lip began to wobble, he ran to her side and pulled her into his arms. Once her small arms had wrapped around his neck, and her head was lying on his shoulder, he sighed.

“Are you mad, daddy?” she asked.

Rowan sat down on the cushioned couch that sat in front of the fireplace and wrapped his blanket around his daughter. “No, why would I be mad?”

“Mommy gets mad when I get out of bed,” she said, matter-of-factly.

He laughed. “Mommy doesn’t get mad. She just wants you to get a good night’s rest, that’s all. So you can grow big and strong.”

“Does mommy get mad at you when you get out of bed?”

He pulled back and looked into those curious, pine-green eyes. It was the only trait she’d gotten from him. “Yes. So, don’t tell her I was out of my bed, and I won’t tell her you were out of yours. Deal?”

She held up her pinkie in answer, and Rowan wrapped his around hers.

“Deal,” she giggled, and fell into his chest.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked her, after a minute. “It is late.”

“I thought you were on my side,” her high-pitched voice was highly offended.

He held up his hands in defense.

The little girl sighed. “Uncle Aedion told me a scary story. Aunt Lysy got mad at him, but he thought it was funny.”

Aedion and Lysandra had taken Aliana to the square earlier that afternoon for lunch, and to find a dress for Friday’s gathering. Apparently, Aedion liked to add his own fun to the agenda.

“Scary story?” he brushed her hair back behind her ear. “About what?”

“About snow leopards.”

“Snow leopards?”

“Yeah, about how they eat little girls with-with blonde hair.”

Rowan made a mental note to kick Aedion’s ass tomorrow when they met for their early morning workout. “Uncle Aedion was just joking, Ana.”

She frowned. “Well, he’s not very funny.”

The corner of Rowan’s lips tugged upward as the little girl in his lap yawned.

“Go to sleep, Ana,” he kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

“Will you stay?” she asked, pine-green eyes growing wide.

“Of course,” he promised, pulling her tighter against his chest.

Another yawn escaped. “Love you, too, daddy.”

They sat there, just the two of them, in silence as he patted her back, giving her the comfort that only he could.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?” he asked, realizing he was dozing off.

“Can I be a bird like you?”

It took him a moment to realize she was talking about shape-shifting, and the thought made him laugh, breathily. “You can be anything you want to be, my Little Fireheart.”

But, when he didn’t get a reply, and he looked down at the four-year-old cradled in his arms, her eyes were closed, and her breathing was steady.

A small flame rose, and grew, from within the fireplace.

Rowan glanced toward the door frame and gave its occupant a soft grin. He whispered, “I thought I wore you out.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was humor there, and love. “I came to see why I was the only one in bed.”

He held out his free arm, and before he could take another breath, she was there, lying her head against his shoulder and taking her daughter’s feet into her lap.

“She’s getting so big,” she sighed. “I don’t understand why she thinks I’d be mad to find her downstairs. Remind me to kick Aedion’s ass, by the way.”

Rowan chuckled. “I’d be scared of you, too, Majesty.” Aelin stuck her tongue out at her husband. With a smirk, he continued, “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to come to the conclusion that you two must keep a lot of secrets from me,” she narrowed her eyes as if to say liars.

He shrugged. “A pinkie swear cannot be broken.”

She nudged him in the ribs, then continued to rub his chest with her finger in lazy circles to the sound of his quiet laughter.

“She’s perfect,” Aelin whispered, as Rowan’s eyes closed. “I still think that, every day, just how perfect she is. She reminds me of you.”

“She’s just like her mother,” Rowan whispered, back. “Yes, she is perfect. And beautiful. And kind. And smart.”

As he opened his eyes, he caught the tear that had fallen down his wife’s cheek.

“There was a time when I didn’t think I would ever have this life,” she whispered. “There was a time when I dreamt of this life, with you. Sometimes, it feels like a dream after all that we’ve endured.”

“I often have to remind myself that it’s not,” he kissed her head as the flames in the fireplace grew. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“To whatever end.”

“Always,” she smiled. “To whatever end.”

Aelin fell asleep a minute later, and Rowan sat there, holding them both tightly, lovingly, admiringly, until the flames turned to embers, the logs turned to ashes, and sleep consumed him.

Theatre technicians, overlooked and fearless magicians of blackout, set, backstage, are people you want on your side. They fade into the background, often, their work done out of the dazzling lights, but they work hard, and they don’t take kindly to not being acknowledged.

(It’s hard to tell when technicians go missing sometimes. The changelings are often very similar to the human they replace.)

Make allies of the costume shop—most costumes have at least some hand-stitching, and if you’re polite and friendly, they’ll make sure to knot their thread with three loops around a needle, and to tie it off in three neat motions. The costumers believe in threes, and their ability to ward off the Gentry. It’s not steel or iron or salt, nothing so powerful. It’s a little more insurance, a knot to tie you to earth.

Mostly, they do it automatically. Technicians are a practical and time-starved lot, and no one wants to frantically re-fit a costume at the last minute. But don’t push them. Go too far, and the threes will stop being a priority for their clever hands. They can’t and won’t make sure that you’re taken. But they can stop helping to protect you.

Among technicians, it’s carpenters and props people who are Taken the most often. Both groups are a special kind of strange, and they work with their hands to bring beauty out of nothing. Give a carpenter two pieces of plywood, some two by four and a mission, and they’ll overcomplicate it to impossibility and pull it off anyway. Props people are the kind who look at scattered scraps and trash, and see what could be, not what is. Swords of cardboard, fine chocolates of clay, embossed leather armor from foam. Illusion, for a props person, is king, and it’s no wonder the Gentry find them fascinating.

(Props has sent people onstage with bona fide magical objects, lost to the prop room years ago. It’s the ruthlessness in them, the mercenary way of taking whatever works.)

Electricians are safest, the ones who are closest to the technology of it all, who spend hours on high, calling information back and forth in a code unintelligible to the uninitiated. They chatter, and they clamp and tighten and connect and swear, and suddenly there is light, and color, and glitter. The Gentry are amazed, but do not understand. What you do not understand is best left alone.

(Still, some electricians go missing. Maybe they sing, or they see, or they’re thoughtlessly kind or cruel—no one is safe, here. This is the theater, liminal, filled with Gentry even on a good day, and being safe is so often at odds with doing things fast that it’s not unheard of for electricians to climb precariously, thank thoughtlessly, or strip off iron jewelry.)

Designers bargain most often, sometimes thoughtless and sometimes with clever words and clever research and a clever friend who knows contract law. Sometimes it’s for inspiration, which often goes badly—those are desperate people, and the Gentry are not kind to the desperate. Sometimes it’s for persuasiveness, or money, or, most precious of all, time.

(I need more time, is the motto of the department, the guiding light of a program always living under a deadline. Give me more time.)

Elsewhere University’s stage managers, the ones who make leaving stick, are good. Really good. Flexible, punctual, smart, good with names and at ironclad paperwork. They’re capable of corralling even the most difficult personalities with charming words and a refusal to back down, and that makes them valuable. But they never break old habits, of opening night gifts made from rowan, and closing night gifts of iron and silver, and they’re deeply superstitious.

(The fines, for touching props that don’t belong to you, are a serious business when an EU alum is stage managing.)

The few who learn to weld and build with steel from the metalworking students are safest, with steel shavings scattered in their clothes and hair, on their skin. They’re still not safe. All too often, they’re carpenters too, and it just takes one day, when the steel has finally washed away, and the rings have been yanked off to avoid losing a finger, or they ask, criminally careless, for help building or learning or understanding.

A good handful of technicians go missing every year. Most of them will make it back, better, or at least stranger, than before.

After a semester or two of working in the theatre shop, or a show or three, most technicians will go to Cat Eyes. Most of them, by the time they graduate, have a distinctly odd pair of safety glasses, never far from them. Theatre is about syncretism, about everything working, and if you can’t see it all, if you can’t see if the costume really matches the actor’s skin tone, or if the light is unflattering on half the ensemble, you can’t make it right.

With those glasses on, it’s never about seeing anyone. It’s about looking at costumes, light, paint, props. Nothing else matters.

(Technicians remember the most about The Play when it’s performed. The costume shop remembers the way the fabrics slipped through their fingers, bright and silken and gorgeous. The carpenters remember building, the lumber straight and clean and lovely. Tech is a blur, and no one remembers who stage managed, but it’s better than other shows. You don’t think about it in the moment—it’s just another six-to-ten tech, and you bring your coffee and your bagel and don’t think about the paper your history professor wants tomorrow. After, though. After, you realize it was The Play. Some few students can’t bear to give that seamless beauty up. The department faculty has to come from somewhere.)

A last word of advice: When the show is on, always be polite to whoever you meet backstage. You never know who they really are—Gentry, ghost, short-tempered technician who will spend two hours unpicking every single three-loop knot in every one of your costumes—and if you say the wrong thing, you’ll regret it. And pay attention to the show. Actors have gotten lost before, the crossovers stretching on forever, lost eternally in the moment right before their entrance.

[x]

Fey Boys as Memes
  • Puck: ~picks up sixteenth glass of faery wine~ ...This bitch empty...YEET! ~throws goblet into Oberon's head~
  • Ash: ~Mab says something~ Why you always lyin'~~?
  • Rowan: I came here to have a good time, and I honestly feel so attacked right now.
  • Sage: ~inhales deeply~ BOI.
  • Glitch: ~stuffing breadsticks into bag~ Something just came up and I really have to go.
  • Tertius: ~looks into camera like he's on The Office~
Missed Dreams and Lost Sleep {Rowaelin AU}

So my beautiful best friend, @tacmc and I decided to do a prompt exchange! The prompt we went with is “The fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the apartment next door is standing next to me in his underwear,” with a Rowaelin pairing.

Let us know if this is something you’d like for us to do more often!

You can find her half of the exchange HERE (it’s so damn cute, UGH) and mine below the cut! Enjoy!

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