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#silrah
faytalepsy · 1 month
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Fate Mafia AU Sketches
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I only wanted to post the AU sketches here after finishing Andreas but since I got a lot of other stuff on my plate right now here are Farah (younger aka what would be battalion era time and older version), Saul and Rosalind
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atrxides · 2 months
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silrah x work song by hozier Fate The Winx Saga (2021-2022)
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simplybybea · 3 months
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Fanbinding Battle Lines!
I finished the fanbinding for @septemberrie 's Silrah bodyguard AU, Battle Lines, earlier this week and I forgot (of course) to take photos of the process but here is the end result! This has been a learning experience and there are definitely things I want to change for the next binding (the level of detail in the foil for example! Took me d a y s) and I am excited to try again but I am incredibly proud of this first ever full pdf to hardcover book bind!
Disclaimer that the wings and crossed swords were from a Google png search so I did not design but as this is for fully personal use its OK. Unexpectedly it was the swords that caused more problems at foil weeding! Wild. And there are paired birds on the endpapers!
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This was so much fun, and I am now going to be a menace turning all my favourite longfics into glitzy hardback books!
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rivusa · 5 months
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do I cross your mind?
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partiallypearl · 4 months
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Doomsday is close at hand I'll book the marching band To play as you speak
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evebestthinker · 7 months
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Give me the ship
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I said give me the ship
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I said give me the fucking ship
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PERFECT!
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jenni3penny · 4 months
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Just having Thoughts™ about how FtWS really had their adult female lead cradle and comfort their injured adult male lead right in front of the shippers. They really said “These bitches are starving for some slow-burn-hurt-comfort-stare-longingly-into-our-forbidden-fruit’s-eyes so let’s serve them some fandom wagyu. They’re worth it.”.
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AND THEN.
LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO US.
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forestelfo · 1 year
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The Golden trio as Soldier, Poet, King
if this flops my career is officially over children
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septemberrie · 4 months
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Worlds Unconquered
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Happy @winxsource HEXmas to my giftee, @veritaserum07! You gave me such a fun series of prompts to consider, but after much deliberation of how to combine our shared interest in holiday-themed romcoms with our mutual love of Saul whump, I chose the latter. Thanks for chatting with me on anon! I hope you enjoy "Die Hard: Silrah Edition."
Summary: Farah vanished this morning but won't tell him to where, Sky's just enrolled in Alfea and has started dating the princess, and the last thing Saul wants to do is attend Solaria's annual Solstice Gala. He probably should have stayed home. Pre-canon but canon compliant.
Word Count: 23k [completed]
⚔ Read on ao3 here! ⚔
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faytalepsy · 4 months
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Every night I‘m dancing with your ghost
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Never got the chance To say a last goodbye I gotta move on But it hurts to try
How do I love How do I love again? How do I trust How do I trust again?
I stay up all night Tell myself I'm alright Baby, you're just harder to see than most I put the record on Wait 'til I hear our song Every night I'm dancing with your ghost Every night I'm dancing with your ghost
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atrxides · 1 year
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Wish That You Were Here
hi @forestelfo I was your secret santa for the FTWS Holiday Exchange! ❤️ Here’s a silrah x stellatrix gift for you, I loved making this and they are my absolute favourite fate ships, hope you like it and happy holidays love!! xoxo  
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queenwhoneverwasx · 2 years
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FARAH DOWLING and SAUL SILVA in FATE THE WINX SAGA
The key is mutual trust. You must trust your Specialist to hold it back while you channel controlled magic, and you must trust your Fairy to get the job done.
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rivusa · 1 year
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grieving, grieving, constantly grieving.
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partiallypearl · 5 months
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“Well, there’s a first time for everything."
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myalchod · 4 months
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Silrah and 32 pleaseee
Bringing back the "what the fluff" tag for this one, methinks, though I very nearly went in the precise opposite direction.
32. a kiss to wake up - [ also on AO3 ]
“But curses don’t exist.”
“Just try,” Bloom urges from the doorway, where she and the rest of the Winx hang back in a knot. There is a undercurrent of concern from them, quiet murmurs aloud and in her mind alike. “It can’t hurt, can it?”
Oh, but it can. It can. To kiss him would be to admit so much that she’s held back through their years together, to cross the line they’ve danced around for as long as she can remember without ever acknowledging it. They are friends, partners, have been bedmates, but somehow this is so much heavier, especially when the stories of old are all too clear about what can break a curse. (Assuming it’s real. Which she’s still not admitting.)
And maybe they don’t exist, but reality is Saul lying still but for the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest, completely unaware of the world around him in a way that feels entirely unnatural, curse or not. Even in sleep he has always had a readiness born of years in dangerous situations; the war had only deepened his naturally light sleeping habits, and she can remember many a night when she’d started awake to find him already upright, head cocked as he listened to the woods around them. None of that is present now; his lashes fall dark against pale skin, mouth slightly slack, breath nearly silent. His mind, when she reaches for it, feels impossibly distant.
If she is to do this, she will have to be honest with herself. That doesn’t mean he has to know, however — all that matters is having her specialist at her side again, whatever it may cost her. With everything she carries, one more secret should be nothing, especially when she has locked those feelings away for so long already.
“Girls — out.”
They protest — no surprise — but subside in fairly short order, and it isn’t long before the door clicks shut somewhere behind her and the worried mutter of their thoughts retreat. Alone, Farah sinks down on the edge of the narrow bed, cupping a hand against his face. Even now, he remains warm. It would be so easy to pretend, if she closed her eyes, sinking back into the memory of those rare times she’s woken up beside him, soft and relaxed before all that they are intrudes once more, but she cannot allow herself that. If she is to do this, to try, it must be without illusions.
The truth, then: she loves him, not only as the friend and partner and lifelong companion he has been. She’s in love with him — at least, as best she can understand such a thing. Rosalind’s voice rings in her ears even now, reminding her of how similar they are, of all the times she’s pushed aside the weakness of emotion to become unyielding steel. And yet through it all Saul had been there, a steady glow at the edge of her thoughts even when things were darkest. How can she not do whatever it takes for him, after everything? How can she not, when she knows he would do nothing less for her?
(Curses may not be real. This may be an exercise in futility. But she loves him, gods help her, and nothing remains but to try, and to acknowledge that this has nothing to do with what she may owe him and everything to do with …)
His lips are soft when she traces her thumb across them, chapped enough to catch slightly against her skin. She wets her own as she looks down at him. He’d laugh if he saw her sitting like this, so unsure about such a simple gesture — or perhaps he wouldn’t, but if she doesn’t do this, she’ll never know. That is, in this moment, the only certainty she has.
Come back to me, she thinks — pleads, nearly, if only within her own mind, and then closes the distance between them to set her mouth to his.
If it’s a curse, then surely she should feel something. Every time she has felt magic break, there has been some sort of physical sensation, from the faintest of shivers to a sound like a thunderclap. But she feels nothing besides the warmth of his lips against her own, the faint shift of his ribs and the even quieter flutter of his heart and the prickle of stubble against her palm, and her own heart sinks in her chest. They must have been wrong. Life is not a storybook; she should know that by now, after all that she has seen.
But when she pulls back blue eyes are looking at her, still hazy with sleep but open, present. As she watches, disbelieving, the corners of his mouth pull up.
“Breathe, Farah.” The words are rusty, sleep-rough. Her hand is still against his face. As he covers it with his own, air shudders back into her lungs and something slides back into place inside her.
Always, he answers, to that earlier whisper of a thought, and now it is her turn to smile.
[ ask me another ] [ all answers ]
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