#tog gag

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

The scientists had gagged you. It was a first for you — usually they liked it when they could hear your pain. You suspected that they had made some sort of table, charging your pain on a meter. It had certainly seemed like their bruisers worked harder on making you scream on certain days.

But the gagging was new. It might have come about because you were screaming not in pain but in fury — it bothered you more when they had turned their attention to your family than when it was on you.

However, the scientists had three new subjects to experiment on and had little use for you currently.

Instead, they left you tied up and gagged, only able to watch as they repeated the torture and deaths you’d been experiencing the last few months on your brothers. They had enough information on how you reacted to physical torture and wanted to know more on how you’d react the emotional torture brought about by knowing the pain your family was about to endure.

@themerrywhumpofmay

#the merry Whump of May #the merry whump of may 2022 #Don’t Leave Me Here #tmwom #Day 20 #the merry Whump of May Day 20 #tmwom day 20 #tw: torture #tw: tied up #tw: gagging #tw: gagged #tw: ongoing torture #tw: captivity #the old guard #the old guard drabble #tog #tog drabble #my stuff #m’s drabbles

[separatist-apologist]

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1

-

In recent memory, Lucien couldn’t remember ever feeling fouler than he did that day, standing in the throne room between his parents to greet a personalized list of women his mother hoped might one day be her future daughter-in-law. Lucien had tried in the beginning, offering a smile as he kissed gloveless hands. He’d filed away names for later, trying to paste them against genuinely lovely faces.

He’d expected to meet five women—maybe ten. But this had been going on for hours and he’d lost count of how many women he’d been shown. Fifty? With more that had arrived that his mother deemed otherwise unacceptable and therefore weren’t worth his time or attention. They’d be looking for him, too. Lucien felt like a piece of meat dangled before a wild animal gnashing its teeth hungrily. 

“Mother,” he said when the doors closed, catching his parents before they could beckon for another. “Surely this is too much. Please.”

“It’s good for you to meet your future court,” his father said, drumming long fingers against an ivory carved throne. Gold crowned both his fathers dark head of hair as well as the back of the chair, making it seem as if the King of the West radiated pure sunlight. His mother was a vision just beside, draped in a cream dress and a threaded crown of gold woven through her vivid auburn hair. 

“Isn’t that what all the activities are for? I feel…” he couldn’t say it, couldn’t force those spoiled words from his lips. “I need some air.”

He could see their frustration etched over their features. Was this truly the life laid before him? Would he one day be sitting in his fathers chair beside a woman his mother arranged for him, their son between them? The thought made Lucien want to gag. He hadn’t asked to be a prince, after all and right then, resentment burned hotly through him.

“Take a breath, son—”

“I won’t,” Lucien interrupted, fingers curling to fists. It wasn’t the first time he and his father had disagreed, though it was the first time that his mother would witness it. “This is too much.”

“This is duty, Lucien. Or did you imagine it was all dress up and sword fighting with your friends? We are on the precipice of war and every man has converged on our home to demonstrate their loyalty to our family. You repay them poorly by scowling and acting like a tantruming child,” his father cautioned, gold eyes narrowed in warning. 

“They’re delusional if they think I’ll marry one of their daughters and elevate them far above their stations!” Lucien snapped, stepping from the dais to the swirling gold and gray patterned floor. “There are simply too many women and not enough time—”

“You will choose one of them,” his father said again, harsher this time. 

“Let’s not fight,” his mother interjected quickly, also rising to her feet. Biting her bottom lip, those russet eyes were swimming with apprehension. “Surely there is a compromise to be found.”

“Amera,” Helion chided, his tone softer than before. 

“If you want to pick a wife, I won’t stop you. Any available woman in this city can be yours…so long as you choose one before the end of the summer.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will choose for you, based on your mothers recommendations,” his father snapped impatiently, crossing one powerful leg over the other. “There will be no more scheming or whoring, Lucien.”

“I know you were hurt when Lady Jes—”

“Don’t,” Lucien whispered, unable to hear his mother speak her name. “Please, mother. My heart can’t bear it.”

“There will be another, my sweet boy,” his mother murmured, reaching up to cup his face in her soft hands. Lucien pulled himself from her grasp, heart thudding in his chest. He hadn’t dared to ask if she was coming, too. He didn’t want to see proof that she could be happy with someone else. That she’d made the right choice in leaving and she’d been right—they didn’t belong together. “Any woman?”

His father pinched the bridge of his nose, recognizing Lucien’s intent but his mother was sincere. “So long as she is of southern birth, yes. Any woman.”

“Fine. I will bring you a daughter to dote on by the end of the summer if you free me from the obligation of choosing one specifically from your list.”

“You better take this seriously, Lucien,” his father warned, leaning forward to look at his only son. “Or it will be me who chooses.”

Lucien had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His father would do whatever his mother told him to, and his mother would look out for Lucien’s happiness as best as she could. It wouldn’t be love, but it would be tolerable.

How delicious, he thought, to pick some commoner from the city. A woman who knew how to clean her own laundry, something Lucien had never been tasked to do. With the added bonus of keeping him out of the palace and the madhouse of his mothers machinations.

“I accept this arrangement. I won’t let you down,” he added to his mother, guilt pricking at his conscience. His father understood this was malicious compliance based on the hard set of his mouth but his mother’s eyes were shining with hope and Lucien so hated to disappoint her.

Perhaps his father was banking on his sons better nature because he waved him off. “Go get your air. I expect you at dinner tonight. Sober,” he added, guessing Lucien’s plans. 

Lucien exhaled a breath, slipping down a corridor and away from the madness that had befallen the palace. Jurian wasn’t hard to find, leaned against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out toward the gardens.

“Washed hair?” Lucien began teasing his friend with a bump to the shoulder, “That must mean Lady Vassa has arrived.”

“She has,” he admitted, dark eyes nodding toward a mass of bouncy copper hair half hidden amongst the foliage. She was with a friend, back turned so Lucien only saw the long, thick tumble of loose golden brown curls and a lavender dress clinging to a slight frame. “Playing her favorite game, of course.”

“The one where she pretends you don’t exist? Has it occurred to you that perhaps she doesn’t like you?” Lucien asked, poking Jurian in his bare arm. “Maybe it’s time to move on.”

“That would show her, wouldn’t it?” Jurian muttered. 

“Here,” Lucien said, stepping from the veranda onto the stone laid path that wound through his mothers rather impressive garden. “I’ll say hello for us both. You can stand beside me silently brooding. I’m certain that will win her affection.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Lucien only grinned, swaggering as he made his way toward the pair of giggling women. There was no possibility either of them didn’t know Jurian was approaching, though Vassa was the first to look at Lucien. Beautiful as always, with her full mouth, her pert nose, and those big, cerulean eyes brimming with mischief. He liked her, if only because she was so unafraid and unimpressed by him. Lucien imagined if he asked Vassa what she thought of him, she’d tell him frankly and without an ounce of flattery.

Lucien opened his mouth to tell her she was looking lovely. “You look…” The words died on his lips as her friend turned at last, looking up at him with the biggest set of brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life. The tumble of her hair, the slope of her neck, the way her mouth was shaped…Lucien’s palms began to sweat.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. How had he never met her before? Who was she? 

“Stunning? Perfect? Like the woman of your dreams?” Vassa’s voice cut through the buzzing in Lucien’s ears. He couldn’t take his eyes off her friend long enough to even respond to Vassa. Instead, he found himself sweeping into a deep bow, all the while holding her gaze. 

Her cheeks flushed but when she tried to curtsey back, Lucien was quick to catch her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. She smelled like jasmine and honey. She looked like a daydream. Perhaps the heat had finally gotten to him and this was an angel coming to usher him into the afterlife. 

“This is my sister,” Vassa told Lucien, her amusement burning. Beside him, Jurian coughed pointedly, a mere blur to Lucien. “Elain.”

“Elain,” Lucien replied before Vassa’s words settled. “Since when do you have a sister?”

“Since always,” Vassa retorted, arms crossed over her verdant dress. “Sorry you’re so unobservant you never noticed.”

“I would remember you,” Lucien insisted, memorizing the shape of her face. “Where have you been hiding?”

Cheeks flaming, Elain’s eyes slid to her feet. “I ah…”

“She doesn’t come to court precisely for this reason, my lord,” Vassa interrupted, unaware Lucien was moments from throttling her. “Vultures, the lot of you. Men are so obsessed with finding wives they can’t allow a lady even a moment of peace in the garden.”

Jurian barked out a laugh, causing Elain to jump back just a little. “I prefer the quiet of the countryside,” she said, her voice somehow more beautiful than her face. Lucien wanted to bathe in it, wanted to close his eyes and listen to her speak. And it was becoming increasingly clear she did not want to be anywhere near him based on the way she looked as though she might bolt at any second. 

“I’m glad you made it,” he said, releasing her hand with great reluctance. “That both of you made it.”

“Oh, I’m certain you’re so delighted to see me,” Vassa chided playfully, thrusting out her own hand so Lucien could give her a similar kiss. He did, grinning like an idiot while watching her companion from the corner of his eye. Let her see he wasn’t a threat—that he was charming, and funny too when he wasn’t struck dumb. 

“If you knew the day I’d had, you’d know just how grateful and relieved I am to see you.”

“Do you need me to check your ego, prince? You’re not that handsome, you know.”

Lucien tipped his head back to laugh, genuinely delighted for the first time all day. He needed to hear that and perhaps wanted Elain to see that he could laugh at his own expense. He was a prince, sure, but also the kind of man she could tease a little.

But when he looked back, Elain was still watching with a carefully guarded expression. 

“And how have you been, Captain?” Vassa asked, finally turning to look at Jurian. 

“I count the minutes you’re away,” Jurian replied dryly. Lucien swore Vassa’s cheeks flushed and a touch of shyness slid over her features. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Jurian to catch too. Her father would never allow this match—Lucien knew for a fact Lord Koshington was looking for someone for his daughter. Perhaps them both. Lucien could ask for either woman if he wanted but Jurian would never be able to convince a lord of Koschington’s merit for the hand of his only daughter and heir. Whatever man Vassa married would be entrusted with the estate and Jurian, for all his accomplishments, was simply not the sort of man Koschington envisioned for her.

Lucien suspected Vassa would do her duty and marry as she was told to while carrying on an affair with Jurian as so many other ladies at court did. That was an open secret no one did much about so long as there were no disputes over it. Occasionally some errant husband would become enraged and kill another noble, giving them all something to gossip over while Lucien’s father dealt with the headache. 

If Vassa asked him, though, he could have interceded on her behalf. Perhaps he could make Jurian nobility if he went to his father shamefaced and apologetic and agreed to be a better son. Lucien’s gaze cut to Elain. She was a lady, wasn’t she? Southern born, which was the only true criteria his mother had laid down. Perhaps, he reasoned, he could use his marriage as a bargaining chip for both Vassa and Jurian.

He’d elevate one daughter to a princess and in exchange, Koschington would allow the other to marry his Captain, now Lord of some tract of land further north. Of course, that all hinged on Lady Elain even wanting him and as they stood now, things looked bleak for Lucien. Not to mention if he had such a visceral reaction to this woman, perhaps he would to others that were more agreeable.

Still. It was a thought he wasn’t willing to wholly discard. Not yet. 

“I’m sure you two are incredibly busy,” Vassa said, still looking at Jurian. “We should—”

“Will you be at dinner tonight?” Lucien blurted out, once again looking—and speaking—to Elain. Her eyes widened, glancing over at Vassa to answer for her. 

“Only if you promise us a good table.”

“Consider it done,” Lucien said, sweeping into another bow. It was an instinct that told him when true danger was approaching. Some call in his blood, a pull that turned his usual heat to ice. 

Eris was near.

He could feel the prickling on the back of his neck, the awareness that he was being watched much the way prey must feel when a predator was near. He didn’t want to be caught here by Eris—didn’t want this showdown to happen in front of a woman he might want to court.

“Until this evening, then.”

Vassa merely waved him off, looping her arm through Elain’s to guide them further into the foliage while he and Jurian watched, both enamored. Just until the rounded a corner and Lucien could shake off whatever spell Elain had unwittingly cast.

It was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head.

“Eris is near,” he said, his voice slipping into a growl. Jurian cast one last love-lorn look in Vassa’s direction before setting his jaw.

“Well. Let’s give him a southern welcome.”

Lucien grinned. “After you.”

The moment Elain and Vassa were out of earshot, Vassa immediately burst into laughter. 

“Stop it,” Elain chided, bewildered and a little embarrassed. The prince—the actual prince—had been gaping at her like he’d never seen a woman in his life. Elain hadn’t expected to meet him so close. He was handsome, just as Vassa had promised, though she’d undersold how attractive he was. Even with the trio of brutal scars raking down one of his russet colored eyes, gouged so deep into his cheeks they still seemed fresh, Lucien was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Beautiful in a dangerous sort of way.

Beautiful and he knew it, had been told so his entire life. Something about that annoyed her. She didn’t want to be another fawning woman, delighted he’d paid her a moment of interest.

Exhaling, Elain rounded on her friend. “You couldn’t say one nice thing to Jurian?”

“No,” Vassa replied quickly, some of her amusement fading. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“He’s handsome.”

“As handsome as the prince—”

“That’s enough,” Elain interrupted primly. “The prince is not hurting for beautiful company. I doubt he will be thinking of me come this time next week.”

“And if he is?”

“Then I shall disabuse him of the notion,” Elain replied, biting her bottom lip. “I have no interest in being an amusement and later discarded when he grows tired of whatever country charm he imagines I possess.”

“Oh, but how fun to watch him run himself ragged for your affection. You’re better off just letting him trail after you for a few days—the longer you resist, the more he will imagine you as his great love.”

“You’ve read too many novels,” Elain complained, reaching for a pretty pink rose. The petals were satin against her fingers, the scent of it sweeter than she remembered. Perhaps there was magic in Rhodes that didn’t exist in the country. 

Or perhaps she, too, had let romantic notions cloud her senses. 

“Maybe. If I…” biting her bottom lip, Vassa faced Elain fully. “If I told you something, would you swear yourself to secrecy no matter what you heard? No matter how much trouble it would cause for you?”

“Of course,” Elain swore, standing upright again. “Anything you need, consider it done.”

“Father is never going to let me leave the city unmarried. He hopes, distantly, the prince might finally show some interest in me beyond friendship but realistically he intends to shop me around to other lords who are suitable enough. I’m being allowed a small taste of freedom but by the time the summer wanes, he’ll have me married and he’ll be looking at you, too. 

“It will take time and he’ll need the kings blessing. As long as the Sun King is preoccupied with his son, he’ll move slowly on everyone else. If I had a mother, perhaps she might appeal to the queen… and I need to take advantage of it.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

Vassa shot Elain a confident smile that didn’t meet her eyes. She was scared. “It is my hope that Jurian will make an offer of marriage. And if he does…I intend to accept. To marry him in secret and ruin myself before father ever learns. There is nothing you can do to help me, nor could you stop me. I just…wanted you to know that I brought you here because I wanted us to have one last summer together. And perhaps I was hoping you might find someone and I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty leaving you behind.”

Elain flung her arms around Vassa, burying her face in her friend's neck. “Don’t worry a jot about me. I’ll be fine. And your secret is safe with me—if anyone asks if I knew, I’ll lie so convincingly it’ll make the gods weep.”

Vassa hugged her back, exhaling a warm breath against the skin of Elain’s newly exposed neck. “I knew I could count on you. Let's speak no more about it—Jurian hasn’t asked and maybe he won’t. For now, let's discuss what we’ll wear to dinner tonight. Something that will ruin Prince Lucien’s evening.”

“You’re a menace. Do you know that?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon giggling through the garden, all talk of Jurian and Lucien banished from conversation. In truth, Elain forgot about the prince entirely by the time she reached their shared chamber to wash away the sweat of the day and to change. The clothes she’d brought with her had been neatly hung in a nearby closet along with a row of new gowns likely purchased on her behalf by some harried servant. Elain laid a few out on the bed before deciding it was far worse to be the only person out of fashion in a room filled with worldly ladies than it was to worry so much about modesty.

Besides, the gowns hid everything—they merely lacked so many of the stiff layers she was accustomed to. Elain wouldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ability to button herself rather than needing two servants to help get her into her layers and tie everything up, even if she did feel a tad exposed in the silken jade gown she found herself in. Wishing she’d paid more attention to how everyone else was dressed, Elain elected to leave half her hair down with pins in her little wristlet, just in case she had to quickly pull it up. 

Vassa was waiting in the wide, marble lain halls in a gown of violet that looked utterly stunning against the golden brown of her skin. If Elain was terribly out of fashion, her friend surely would have said something, but instead she looped her arm through Elains and began walking her through the palace. 

Vassa had been before enough times to know the layout, allowing the pair to dawdle as Vassa pointed out paintings she thought Elain would enjoy and or explained what marble bust belonged to what long-dead king. There was something deeply thrilling about seeing the history of her home up close and personal—something that made her feel strangely proud to live there. 

A feeling that slid into anxiety the moment she and Vassa walked into the grand hall. Reproposed for a banquet, at least a hundred little tables dotted the expansive room, all facing the long, high table where the royal family would sit. The king was already there, a golden goblet dangling between his fingers as he surveyed guests pouring in.

Was it her imagination, or was he looking at her? Definitely her imagination, Elain decided. She wasn’t nobility, and Vassa’s family was minor nobility at that. Still…those golden eyes, set against warm, dark brown skin, seemed to stare right through her, seeing everything she was and everything she had ever been.

Someone she didn’t recognize approached the king, drawing his attention—which had never been on her—far, far away.

“We’re probably back here,” Vassa murmured, clasping Elain’s between her own. “If we get seated quickly, we can eat before anyone else.”

“I am starving,” Elain admitted with a breathless laugh. The entire thing was exhilarating, so decadent that Elain felt utterly alone in that room as she drank in the gilded walls, the high, arching ceilings and the glass windows that rose up to meet them. Beyond them, Elain could see the placid sea, brighter than any blue diamond and clearer than any sky.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Prince Lucien appeared from seemingly nowhere, eyes bright. He looked…well. He was absurd in his beauty, so lovely in his gold trimmed blue jacket that

Elain’s teeth were set on edge. He’d braided the top half of his head, pulling it back with a leather strap that somehow made his cheekbones seem sharper, his jaw more defined. The rest of his hair curled loosely about his shoulders, longer than Vassa’s when her friend wore it unbound, though not half as curly. 

He was looking at her again and Vassa knew it.

“You’re much more accommodating this time than you were the last time I was here.”

“Give it time,” Lucien replied with genuine amusement. “When father begins one of his terrible speeches it will be nice to have someone nearby to rescue me.”

“You tease me,” Elain complained. As if she could rescue a prince from his wordy father.

Lucien placed a large, ringed hand against his heart. “Lady Elain, I would never.”

Elain doubted that given the twinkle in his russet eyes. Still, though, it was kind of nice to be the object of his interest, however short-lived she suspected it would be. Warmth flooded through Elain’s face, impossible to hide given how fair her skin was.

Lucien’s smile was laced with pleasure. “This way, ladies.”

Vassa merely rolled her eyes, bouncy curls blowing in a nearby breeze. Elain kept her eyes down, well aware everyone in the vicinity was looking at her. Oh, how she wished they weren’t—not like this, at any rate. It wasn’t that she hated being the subject of their attention, but she would have preferred it be because she was stunning in some new dress and not because the prince’s fingers were grazing her elbow. 

The table wasn’t just close—it was the first one before the high table—a seat reserved for people far more important than Elain and Vassa. They weren’t alone—Lord Koschington was already there flanked on either side by men at least a decade older than him. All three rose from their seats to bow to the prince before returning to their conversation, leaving Elain and Vassa awkwardly staring Lucien down.

“Well,” Elain finally said when she couldn’t stand it a moment later. “This was generous of you.”

“You’ll find I can be very generous, Lady Elain.”

“Just Elain is fine,” she promised, embarrassed all over again. 

“Well, just Elain, my generosity comes with strings, if that helps to put your mind at ease.”

“Oh? What strings are those?”

“Lunch with me? And if it goes well, a turn around the garden.”

Elain nearly said no. The urge was automatic. Something stopped her—the notion that if Lucien spent a few hours alone with her, he’d realize how woefully plain she was, how inept her social graces in comparison to other women. His interest would wane and she wouldn’t have to be firm with him at all. That was, truthfully, a best case scenario. 

So Elain nodded, lowering her eyes demurely. “That would be lovely.” Lucien’s delight radiated like pure light just beneath his skin. “You’ve given me something to look forward to.” And then he was gone, leaving Lord Koschington watching with curiosity and Ealin even more embarrassed than before.

“I’m not surprised he likes you,” Vassa began, but Elain wasn’t having it.

“Sit down,” she demanded.

Vassa only laughed. “Bossy. You’ll make an excellent princess.”

Rhodes.

Curling his upper lip, Eris glanced at the dirty streets beneath his gleaming boots. How he loathed the Southern Empire. The city itself was too self-satisfied with itself, certain they were the gods favored people. A blessed empire, having risen from the ashes of centuries of subjugation by the north. The scars for the people weren’t healed—it had been King Helion’s grandfather who’d shaken those chains and thirty years of bloody fighting just to establish a true home with recognized borders. Recognized, Eris thought bitterly, by his father and the late King of the Spine. 

Helion had ended that conflict, invading the north's once impenetrable capitol and genuinely terrifying the realm with the might of his military. If he could break down those walls and get inside, he could potentially cross the spine to the east or the desert to the west. He could have the whole of the continent if he wanted it.

Of course, Helion’s reign hadn’t come without its scandals. His victory cost a princess her life and Archeron his wife. It had also cost the west their queen when he’d stolen her away in the dead of night, declared her marriage to Beron Vanserra completed under duress, and married her himself. 

North and west had a reason to hate the south. Eris had never forgiven Helion for losing his mother and Nesta Archeron, heir apparent to the Northern throne, had never forgiven Helion for the loss of her mother and her younger sister. Eris had heard rumors of her fury.

But meeting her was another thing entirely. He’d made her no promises, of course…but he knew she was thinking the same thing he was—if they married, they could unite their kingdoms and turn their eyes to the south. They could eradicate Helion and take it, too, if they wished. And oh, how Eris wished.

The prospect of asking for Nesta Archeron was the only reason he’d accepted the invitation to the south. Might as well look around for himself. Helion would be looking for peace and his mother absolution, but Eris was looking for exploitable weaknesses. 

Something he could offer up to Nesta Archeron so she had no recourse but to tell him yes. It wouldn’t be love, but Eris didn’t require that. Didn’t want that. His would be a marriage of political convenience and if he needed genuine companionship, he could always take a mistress. 

So there he stood, soaked in sweat and angrier than he’d ever been as he stared up at the monstrosity that was the palace. His half brother was being fussed over—a golden prince Eris would keep alive as a political prisoner in his court, forcing Lucien to do his bidding with the threat of a sword hanging over his head.

It was Eris’s favorite daydream. The destruction of Helion’s court, the ruination of his empire, and his son and wife forced to live in Eris’s home under Eris’s rule. Despite himself, he smiled, ignoring the butler who wanted to give him a tour as he strode into the palace. He knew it well enough and didn’t want the royal family to know where he was until he was ready to make a grand entrance. 

Helion’s kingdom was said to house an impressive collection of knowledge and the rarest (and items stolen he didn’t want found) were housed within his personal collection within his palace. Eris had never been interested before, annoyed by the philosophers and scholars that inhabited these spaces. Old men obsessed with the sound of their own voices who had never been told their ideas weren’t interesting. 

But today was pure chaos and if the Sun Palace was anything like his home, everyone would be congregated wherever the wine was, neglecting their responsibilities under the deluded belief no one would find out. Eris took the stairs two at a time, eyes darting around him to be sure no one was watching.

Though if they were—and if he was caught—he’d simply feign ignorance. No one stopped him, allowing him to climb higher and higher, walking down halls with his hands jammed in the pockets of his cream colored pants. He opened bedroom doors like they belonged to him, ran his oily fingers over windows and paintings, and kicked over a potted plant just because it amused him to do so. 

And when he reached the room he’d come all this way to see—Helion’s famed library—Eris found it delightfully abandoned, just as he’d expected it to be. There were three more towering floors, attached to what he supposed was the highest tower of the palace. Spiraling stairs led to rows and rows of books unreachable even by the rather tall ladders. Desks and chairs on the first level were, he supposed, for scholarly pursuits that seemed to vanish once one reached that second level.

The third was entirely off limits to anyone but Helion’s most trusted. And they were gone, Eris thought, stepping through the arch way. The room itself could be hidden behind wooden ivory double doors carved with some brightly painted fresco of a heroic battle long faded from memory. 

Eris made it two steps before a woman materialized from a too-bright golden sunbeam pouring into the room. One moment he’d been walking toward items hidden from everyone else in the realm and the next a curved blade was pressed against his neck and his back was slammed against a wall. A slim knee slid between his legs, pressed threateningly against his manhood while a pair of vivid green eyes stared him down cooly.

“I’ll need to see your pass before you take another step,” she said. Eris blinked, taking in the shape of this woman. Thick waves of blonde hair cascaded down her back, tumbling against her shoulders and framing what was, objectively, a beautiful face. Her bronzed skin seemed to shimmer in the light as though dusted in sunlgiht and those eyes of hers—green and flecked with gold—were lightly lined in black kohl. 

“I don’t need a pass—” he began, utilizing the haughtiest voice he could muster given the position he found himself in. In any other circumstances, overpowering her would have been a simple thing.

But Eris wasn’t willing to risk his throat, nevermind his cock and balls. 

“You do,” she replied, both her knee and her blade pressing just a little rougher. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” he demanded. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” she challenged, one eyebrow raised as though it wouldn’t matter. He was going to see her personally punished for this, he decided. 

“Prince Eris—”

“Oh, a prince,” she interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Do you have a pass?”

Eris was rarely speechless. But right then, looking down at a woman that was primed to kill him over a book, Eris found himself at a loss for words. 

“No,” he spat, outraged that some nobody was preventing him from snooping. And no one, in his life, had ever dared such defiance. This woman did, though. She didn’t care he was a prince or the queens eldest son. She merely saw an intruder and felt empowered to spill his blood against her feet if need be.

“I’m glad we agree. If I remove my knife from your throat, are you going to leave peacefully?” she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. Had they been home, Eris could have thrown her in a cell for that hateful look on her face alone, not mentioning the way in which she addressed him. 

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Eris promised, his lip curling with disdain. To her credit, the woman stepped back, removing herself entirely from his body, though that knife remained between them. “I’ll see you punished for this.”

She smiled, smoothing one hand over the yellow of her dress. “Of course, your majesty.”

“You think I won’t?” Eris hissed, unsure why he hadn’t stormed out. Just leave. Fuck the last word. 

“Oh, I’m certain you will,” was her reply, eyes burning with amusement. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and the king will allow me the privilege of hearing your explanation as to why a future foreign king was skulking about a room filled with state secrets. Surely you must have known, but maybe they educated you poorly back home and you can’t read?”

Bitch.

“I can be wherever I like—”

“Wrong, majesty. You know, we hear rumors about you here. Of your…ambitions. I’m sure your impending marriage to a northern princess is mere gossip hardly worth the rags it's printed on, of course, and this little trip was merely an accident.”

Eris’s lips parted, an insult on the tip of his tongue. Who was this woman? Eris wanted her family name more than he’d ever wanted anything, if only so he could burn it from the face of the world. When he came marching into Rhodes with an army, she could be the first person to meet his sword. 

“Some people would think it was unwise, insulting a future king.”

Her eyes flicked to the knife in her hand. “I think some people might thank me for protecting my home. In fact, I think a parade might be held in my honor if you took another step toward me and fell on my knife.”

“Is that a threat?” he demanded.

She smiled. “I’m glad you noticed. I was starting to think these subtleties were flying right over your poor, illiterate head. Yes, your lordship. This is a threat. A wiser man would recognize he’d been caught and leave, but I can see you’re not wise and so perhaps I ought to spell it in simple terms you’ll understand: your mere presence in this room could be considered an act of war. Remove yourself, or I shall do it for you.”

Fuck her.

“This isn’t over.”

She followed behind as he turned on his heel, burning with an anger so hot it would have manifested as flame against his skin had he any magical ability. Eris could feel its heat shimmering off him, fingers curling and uncurling with the urge to teach her a lesson she’d never forget. She was no one, some lowly peasant made to feel important and elevated by a bastard king. 

Eris expected one last quip—turned around to face her. She flashed him a smile, those eyes still sparkling with amusement.

And then slammed the double doors in his face. On the other end, he swore he heard soft laughter though maybe he imagined it. Eris exhaled, overwhelmed and frustrated and furious all at once.

It wasn’t over between them.

Eris would have the last laugh.

Ellesmere was easily the worst city Cassian had ever visited in his life. Velaris was the best, of course, and Rhodes was nice if a little hot for his taste. He’d seen Allfeld once which personally was enough given how much pollen seemed to be in the air, though it had been autumn at the time and he’d quite liked the glittering jewel-top trees that dotted the sloping hillsides.

Ellesmere had no charm whatsoever. Only fog and a constant misting of rain that left Cassian damp beneath the leathered armor he wore. 

He’d put on wool socks to keep his feet dry that day, tucked into boots that were supposed to be waterproof and hoped for the best. Rhys was supposed to be out charming the nobles and who the fuck knew where Azriel had gone. By the time Cassian dragged his ass out of bed, Azriel was nowhere to be found and Rhys was agonizing over a lock of hair that wouldn’t lay just right. 

Cassian was grateful no one expected perfection out of him. He’d shaved his face—though the dark stubble would be back before noon—and pulled the thick, dark waves that cascaded to his shoulders into a half messy bun. Good enough.

Dumb brute, remember?

As if he could ever forget. At home, Cassian was a hero. People cared about the words that came out of his mouth, respected him as someone of  great intelligence. But out here, he knew what they saw. The other kingdoms must employ idiots to lead their armies, or something particular about Cassian gave off the impression he liked the taste of blood. And Cassian had never once tried to correct that notion given he did like a little blood smeared across his mouth. 

But it irked him at times, chafing against him like rough material against soft skin. 

He had a job—only one, at least, while he was trapped in this gloomy hellscape, which was to get a sense and scope of the military power Ellesmere commanded. How did they fight, how many of them remained, their tactics, their training. Anything Cassian could weaponize against them. Cassian needed them to believe he was one of them.

Less than, even. That he couldn’t take even a day off from swinging his swords when truthfully, were he back home, Cassian would have been parked at Ritas waiting for a massive plate of eggs and bacon. Ah, well. There would be more of that later, though he couldn’t help but feel like he was wasting the best weather Velaris had to offer to the rain. 

And breakfast wasn’t horrible, at least. He’d been allowed to eat alone given there was no expectation he would eat with the royals. Cassian picked through one of his books, wasting time hoping the weather would clear and the sun would come out, even if it didn’t warm the air. When it became clear he wasn’t going to get his wish, Cassian sighed, armed himself, and made his way toward the training yard housed within the palace walls. He’d seen barracks on his way in, tucked off in the distance, when he’d first come into the city. That was where Cassian really wanted to be. 

If Rhys did his job well, Cassian would be invited to watch them train and possibly train alongside him. It was ego the way so many cities assumed they had something to teach him. There was a reason Velaris hadn’t been invaded, though Cassian knew everyone loved to chalk it up to The Spine. The mountains were passable, their coast relatively undefended. There was little need, though they did have a Navy. 

Cassian was always waiting, sword in hand. 

Today, though, was just about seeing the best of the best. They’d be looking to impress him, knowing full well Cassian would tell Rhys. All in good time. Cassian liked to think he was clever enough to keep his mouth shut with a face that always seemed pleased right up until his sword was pressed against someones throat.

They expected that from Azriel. Maybe they expected that knife in the back from Rhys. But despite his titles, no one ever expected that from Cassian, though he was always the quickest to jump to bloodshed. 

Eloquence was Rhys’s domain. 

Cassian shuddered when he stepped outside, shaking out his hands to try and keep himself together. This period of time in his life would pass until he forgot it entirely. There was no way in hell he’d ever agree to return here and was grateful Rhys wasn’t actually interested in any of the princesses on offer. 

Cassian wished he could say the same. He’d half forgotten Nesta Archeron—could have forgotten her completely for the majority of the day, even—had she not been walking toward him in a well-fitted violet coat dress, the hood pulled over her face and lined with immaculate white fur.

Her fair cheeks were flushed from the chill or exertion, making those silvery eyes of her brighter by comparison. The scowl on her face couldn’t diminish the beauty that radiated from her and just like it had the day before, Cassian felt struck by her. Nesta’s whole person was its own blade at his throat, threatening to spill him open at any moment. 

She halted when she saw him, hands jammed into her pockets. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he wondered if she’d speak to him. It was only after a moment of staring that Cassian remembered he probably ought to bow. That felt strange—Rhys had never required that and Helion was so casual it was cause for teasing if Cassian were to try. Something about Nesta demanded it, though, and so Cassian felt himself bending at the waist, one hand on his stomach. 

“You mock me?” she asked, unaware of the sincerity of his pounding heartbeat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cassian heard himself say, his every word laced with amusement rather than the reverence he felt. And though he was so much taller than her, Cassian felt small as Nesta approached, her spine ramrod straight. He wished he could convince her to come to Velaris and teach his soldiers that sort of posture. 

Hell, maybe she could teach him, too. 

“Where are you going?”

Straight to hell, he thought privately as he tried not to imagine what she was like when she liked a man. Jealousy gnawed at him knowing Rhys was here to court her, swallowed quickly before Cassian was consumed. Glancing at one of the hilts peeking over his shoulder, Cassian offered her another quick smile. “To train with your guards.”

She scoffed. “I should think one sword would be more than sufficient.”

“Oh? Something you want to tell me, princess?”

He hadn’t meant for his words to sound suggestive. Cassian was genuinely asking her—were they not capable of fighting off a warrior holding a weapon in each hand? But something about her made everything he said sultry and Nesta’s cheeks burned with heat. 

She was sweet. Cassian wanted to taste her. 

“Just…they’re more…” Nesta was flustered. He knew if he came any closer she’d take off like a skittish baby deer, fortifying herself for their next interaction. Put her at ease, a voice whispered in his head—it sounded suspiciously like Mor. So Cassian relaxed his posture, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He was, afterall, just a man.

And he wasn’t a threat to her. Everyone else, perhaps—and one day she’d hate him for the part he was playing to keep her father from starting another war—but not her. 

“They’re mostly decorative,” Nesta finally said, coming back to her senses. “And I suspect you are the opposite.”

“Shrewd of you,” Cassian praised, taking in this information. “I would think the palace guards were the best your kingdom had to offer.”

She rolled her eyes. “If that were true, Feyre would be easier contained within its walls.”

Cassian filed that away, too. Where did the little princess run off to, he wondered? And why was Nesta telling him this? She didn’t strike him as the uncareful type. No, Nesta was giving him little crumbs he was certain were leading somewhere. The expression on her face was too well guarded for anything else. 

“And you?” he guessed.

Nesta only shrugged. “Where would I go beyond the palace walls, General?”

Cassian’s body went tight all at once. Fuck, but that voice… “Anywhere you like, I hope. Unless this is a cry for help and you’ve actually been held hostage?”

The faintest whisper of a smile spread over her features. Pretty thing. Cassian wanted to touch her and thought that was the quickest way to lose a hand. 

“My life is one of endless wonder,” she assured him, her voice dry and laced with sarcasm. “I am incandescently happy.”

“My apologies, my lady,” Cassian murmured, needing to get some air before he did something monumentally stupid. “Far be it from to cast aspersions on you and your life. But…if you find yourself wishing you knew how to wield a blade so you could…I don’t know…move more effectively in the world…you know where to find me.”

And then he kept walking, refusing to touch her as he passed though it was hell not to even brush a wisp of hair from her cheek. 

“Why would you do that?” Nesta asked when they were shoulder to shoulder, staring straight ahead. Cassian watched her from the corner of his eye. 

“You’ll need to know if you’re going to marry Rhys,” he replied, the words ash on his tongue. Nesta didn’t move.

“That’s it?”

“Maybe I want a reason to see you again.”

Her breath curled around her face like a shadow, vanishing in the gloomy morning light. “I’ll think about it.”

There was nothing Cassian could say that wouldn’t make him sound insane. So he nodded, clenching his jaw to keep his words leashed before he took off walking again. There was no reason to arm that woman—and every possibility she would take everything she learned and turn around and use it against them.

And yet the thought of Nesta pressing a blade against his throat was so erotic that Cassian had to lap around the garden twice before making his way to the training yard, later than he’d meant to be.

And still—it was worth it. 

#elucien #nessian #eris being the worst #all the usual shenanigans #tragically as i wrap up chapter 5 i think i need 5 more chapters #I will keep clackity clacking away

[ylge]

Haha it's a bit embarrassing but I've decided I want to introduce my only ToG OCs and they are KhunBam's children

Meet Arlene and Vi, everyone!!!

So in my HC, Khun was the one carrying them. Because when they decided they want kids, they were still at war. Khun couldn't risk Bam, who was always in the frontline, to carry their children so he offered to do it.

They couldn't wait to settle down first, if wars were constantly happening.

Of course they had discussed it, about the risk of having babies and how could they raise them in the middle of war.

Well they could settle tho, finally. The situation had become more peaceful, and they could raise their kids, also, in peace.

And about the pregnancy, I don't like to think too much about it so let's just say the workshop had something to do with it.

They didn't expect twins at first. They were enough with just one child because male pregnancy was already risky. But when they checked it to the doctor, she went "opps, yeah there's two fetuses in there, congratulations sirs! You two will have twins!"

So yeah, it scared them a bit, Bam especially, because that meant the risk was doubled. But Khun reassured him (like he always did) everything would be okay, he would be alright. And he was right, everything went well despite the hard times they were in.

About Vi / V

She's the older twin. From outside she looked a lot like Aguero (but with brown hair), but her personality resembles Bam. She's brave, honest (too honest), and stubborn. She's also fiercely protective of her sister.

Her intial position is wave controller. She also learns martial arts from Bam (they often spar), and inherited spearbearer skills from Aguero (being a Khun herself).

She's kind, but her tongue sometimes is too sharp with words.

Bonus funfact: Vi is a KhunBam slanderer, she would gag when she saw her parents being lovey dovey all the time (but she secretly always wish for their happiness)

About Arlene

She's the witty one between the two, the one who can keep up with her dad (Aguero). She smiles a lot and people often said that she looked a lot like Bam, but don't get fooled by those innocent smiles.

She's still a Khun. Arlene will use those puppy eyes to manipulate everyone into her favour. Aguero was her first victim (and she never fails to manipulate him since she was a toddler).

Meanwhile Bam is, surprisingly, immune to those big golden eyes (maybe because he also has big golden eyes).

Arlene's position is lightbearer, but it's not because she can't fight. She just doesn't like using physical power, it's more like Vi's job.

That's it I think, thank you for coming to my tedtalk

A bit more about them here

#tower of god #tower of god OCs #khunbam #bamkhun #their children actually #i'm not creative with names please forgive me

[k-ru-h]

not to get all analytical and stuff, but bam and endorsi shouldn't end up together- not because of bam, or khun, or whoever else you ship with him - but because of ENDORSI.

characters in tog are quite commonly either parallels or foils to the main cast - wangnan wants the role bam was forced into, hatz is the complete opposite of khun, and khun, bam, rachel and endorsi are... well. the general story of bam, khun, and rachel is "person is abused by their family, forms an unhealthy relationship with the first person they recieve genuine affection from, leaves and finds someone else". there are so many parallels between the three of them, its hard to analize their characters without delving into the other's. endorsi... well, shes got everything but the last step. her story ended on the first floor, and shes been begging bam not to leave her for whoever she thinks hes interested in. she has a team of her own - she has aanak - but bam was the first. bam was the first to offer her friendship, the first to show her genuine care, the first person she ever connected with. she didnt have a rachel or a maria or a bam, she only had her abusive family and... bam.

and bam doesn't care about her as much as she cares about him. which is perfectly fine! he doesnt owe her a return of her feelings. but to him, she isnt even *the* friend. he objectively cares about khun and rak more, to the point where its a running gag that he wont even realise shes talking to him if hes already talking to khun. he doesnt become as vulnerable or as trusting as he is with khun when around her. he doesnt revert to the sweet, happy persom he truly is when hes with her, like he does when hes with khun. he cares about her, a lot! but in the same way that he cares about team shibisu or sweet and sour. shes had to fight her entire life to be seen as worthy, shes had to be the strongest and the prettiest or she wouldnt be worth FEEDING. there is no way in hell being in a relationship with a person who shes never going to be the priority for is healthy for her.

she cares about him, a lot, and it goes both ways. but sometimes your loved ones, in any sense of the word, arent the destination, but the bridge. and she deserves someone who she is the number one to, no matter what

#i dont mean this in the context of any romantic feelings between any of the characters aside from her feelings for bam #this works no matter what you ship imo #but in general she just deserves better. she deserves more #tower of god #also i do imply that khun is the number one for bam when its arguably rachel for a long while but thast got more to do with unprocessed trau #ma and whhen it comes down to it and she harms khun. he chooses khun. over rachel.

[wingedblooms]

Forbidden secrets

This theory was written in honor of @elriel-month and combines prompts from weeks 1-3. Okay, so week 3 might be a stretch but gardening on a grander scale is proposed and I think it counts. Spoilers for other Sarah J. Maas series, including TOG and CC.

Two Secret-Keepers

Sarah has talked about planting secrets for the next ACOTAR book, so naturally my mind turns to our notorious secret-keepers: Azriel, the spymaster, and Elain, the seer. Both are, as Sarah explicitly points out for us, skilled in the art of uncovering and keeping secrets.

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.” (acosf)

Azriel’s got no shortage of lovers, though, don’t worry. He’s better at keeping them secret than we are, but … he has them.” (acomaf)

On a Forbidden Adventure

Not only are both matched in secrecy, but they are also forbidden from doing what they want.

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” (acosf)

Rhys bared his teeth. “So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to the pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.” (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

But, you see, they have a tendency to challenge commands (even if that is a more recent development for Elain, I think it’s here to stay):

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.” (acosf)

“You can’t order me to do that.” (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

I believe these parallels are designed to set up an adventure for Azriel and Elain that involve the sacred sister peaks. Both Feyre and Nesta have overcome challenges in these mountains, so it would make sense for our spymaster and seer to continue this trend with a different kind of mission that suits their powers: together, they can explore and unearth the forbidden secrets that lie beneath the sacred peaks.

Mapping the Secrets of the Sister Peaks

In ACOSF, Sarah refers to the sacred mountains—barren sister peaks, at odds with those around them—in a way that reminds us of the Archerons and sacred trio (Mother, Fate, and Cauldron, or Urd as I have theorized elsewhere).

Eris was waiting for Nesta and Cassian when they arrived in a forest clearing nestled in the Middle. But Nesta didn’t bother to do more than glance at the High Lord’s son—not with the sight rising above the trees. The sacred mountain—the mountain under which Feyre, Rhys, and all the other High Lords had been trapped by Amarantha. It rose like a wave on the horizon, bleak and barren and somehow thrumming with presence.

Sound familiar? It should. Sarah has been planting this water imagery since at least ACOMAF, starting with Elain’s emergence from the Cauldron:

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. […] Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

And then when Nesta makes her bargain with the Cauldron:

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore. A bargain. With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

To Cassian’s chagrin, we learn more about these sacred peaks from Eris:

Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.”

“We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?” […] Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.”

“I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said. “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.” (acosf)

There are palaces buried deep under these sacred mountains, or at least two out of three that have been confirmed. Ramiel remains a mystery. These underground palaces seem to be linked in unexpected ways, and lead all the way back to the Middle—a place with its own forbidden secrets.

The Middle

“Oorid was once a sacred place,” Amren said. “Warriors were laid to rest in its night-black waters. But Oorid changed to a place of darkness—don’t give me that look, Rhysand, you know what I mean—a long time ago. Filled with such evil that no one will venture there, and only the worst of the faeries are drawn to it. They say the water there flows to Under the Mountain, and the creatures who live in the bog have long used its underground waterways to travel through the Middle, even into the mountains of the surrounding courts.”

Feyre frowned. “It can’t be more specific, though?” She asked Rhys, “Do we have a detailed map of the Middle?”

Rhys shook his head. “It’s forbidden to map the Middle beyond vague landmarks.” He pointed to the sacred mountain in its center, where he’d been held for nearly fifty years. “The Mountain, the woods, the bog … All can be seen from land and air. But its secrets, those discovered on foot—those are forbidden.”

Feyre’s frown didn’t lighten. “By whom?”

“An ancient council of the High Lords. The Middle is a place where wild magic still dwells and thrives and feeds. We respect it as its own entity, and do not wish to provoke its wrath by revealing its mysteries.” (acosf)

When they travel to Oorid in the Middle, the darkness Amren spoke of is readily apparent. It seems to be in a death-like slumber, and evokes imagery connected to the sacred trio and Elain in surprising ways:

But then gray, watery light hit her. And the air—the air was heavy, full of slow-running water and mold and loamy earth. No wind moved around them; not even a breeze. […] Oorid stretched before them. She had never seen a place so dead.

The oppressive air muffled even the sound of their wings, like Oorid would abide no sound disturbing its ancient slumber. […] Islands of grass dotted the expanse, some so crowded with brambles that he could find no safe place to land. The tangles of thorns were a mockery of what might have been—as if Oorid had ever produced roses. Not a single flower bloomed.

He screamed, but it was soundless. Just as the dead were soundless, surging from the murky bottom, some in marching formation, and converging on him. […] “Mother save us,” Azriel whispered, and it was undiluted terror, not awe, hushing his voice as the dead rose from Oorid’s depths. (acosf)

As an aside, we know that Nesta raised the dead in Oorid with the Mask. And it’s likely that she will, indeed, need to call upon thousands to help defeat an ancient enemy in the future:

Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet. Her blood was a cold song, the Mask a slithering echo to it, whispering of all she might do. Home, it seemed to sigh. Home. (acosf)

From the information we are given in the text, it seems like Oorid—which is corrupted and lacks life—is the source of the water flowing deep within the earth, into the sacred peaks, and even other courts. Is it possible that, if the Daglan were indeed related to the Asteri, they used this source as a way to drink power from the land like wine? And did they take too much, causing its sacred places to become bleak and barren?

Rhys lifted a hand, and a book of legends from a shelf behind him floated to his fingers. He laid it upon the desk. He flipped it open to a page, revealing an image of a group of tall, strange-looking beings with crowns atop their heads. “The Fae were not the first masters of this world. According to our oldest legends, most now forgotten, we were created by beings who were near-gods—and monsters. The Daglan. They ruled for millennia, and enslaved us and the humans. They were petty and cruel and drank the magic of the land like wine.” (acosf)

Ramiel and the Illyrian Mountains

Ramiel is also described as ancient and barren, and it is connected by a network of water-carved caves.

Ramiel. The sacred mountain. The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court. None were permitted on its barren, rocky slopes—save for the Illyrians, and only once a year at that. During the Blood Rite. (acofas)

But Cassian paused before a landscape painting of a towering, barren mountain, void of life yet somehow thrumming with presence. Snow and pines crusted the smaller peaks around it, but this strange, bald mountain … Only a black stone jutted from its top. A monolith, Nesta realized, stepping closer. […] The sacred mountain from the Blood Rite. Indeed, three stars faintly glowed in the twilight skies above the peak. It was a near-perfect, real-life rendering of the Night Court’s insignia. (acosf)

Like the sacred peak in the Middle, Ramiel is also surrounded by water imagery:

Ramiel might as well have been across an ocean. It loomed straight ahead, with two mountains and a sea of forest and the gods knew what else between her and its barren slopes. It looked identical to Feyre’s painting.

Around a river, she’d learned on her hike with Cassian, cave systems were often carved out by the water. (acosf)

Even before the spin-offs, Elain stared at the barren ground when they entered the Illyrian war camp for the first time. I can’t help but wonder if the sight of it made her hands itch to make something—anything—grow there. If she looked at it and saw its potential, like she did with her family’s cottage.

Warriors and females laboring around the fires silently monitored us. Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground.

But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. […] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta … she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. (acowar)

The language Sarah uses in this scene has already proven to be foreshadowing for Nesta (who is compared to a freshly forged sword; she then forges swords in ACOSF with her magic). Elain is a rose bloom in a mud field, a place that is bleak and barren, preparing for death. Is it possible she might map the secrets of the land with her powers, and help it bloom in earnest again? Her powers—which seem to involve tracking and mapping like the mystics in CC—may allow her to uncover secrets that were either lost or forbidden before even setting foot in these places. This would provide a significant advantage to missions that require any recovery of important objects on foot. And the mysteries buried within the earth may lead her to those above:

Emerie’s eyes shone. “Long ago—so long ago they don’t even have a precise date for it—a great war was fought between the Fae and the ancient beings who oppressed them. One of its key battles was here, in these mountains. Our forces were battered and outnumbered, and for some reason, the enemy was desperate to reach the stone at the top of Ramiel. We were never taught the reason why; I think it’s been forgotten. […] This Rite is all to honor him. So much of the history has been lost, but the memory of his bravery remains.” (acosf)

Why, exactly, were the ancient enemies (who I believe were the Daglan and related to the Asteri in CC) so desperate to get to the top of the mountain? Is it possible the obsidian stone—that heals and transports—is one of the Made items that was forgotten after this epic battle?

Amren’s eyes glowed with a remnant of her power. “The Cauldron Made many objects of power, long ago, forging weapons of unrivaled might. Most were lost to history and war, and when I went into the Prison, only three remained. At the time, some claimed there were four, or that the fourth had been Unmade, but today’s legends only tell of three.”

Rhys threw her a frown. “Those who possessed them grew careless. They were lost in ancient wars, or to treachery, or simply because they were misplaced and forgotten.”

“Made objects tend to not wish to be found by just anyone,” Amren cautioned. “That they have faded from memory, that even I didn’t think of them immediately in the fight against Hybern, suggests that perhaps they willed it that way. Wanted to stay hidden. True things of power have such gifts.” […] “They were Made in a time when wild magic still roamed the earth, and the Fae were not masters of all. Made objects back then tended to gain their own self-awareness and desires. It was not a good thing.” Amren’s face clouded with memory, and a chill whispered over Nesta’s spine.

Rhys mused, “Just as I’m able to alter a mind to forget, perhaps they have a similar gift.”

“When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her, presented itself in a dream.” All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta. “You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.” (acosf)

Is it possible that the Illyrians can’t remember why their enemy was desperate to reach the top of Ramiel, where the stone remains, because it is Made and willed it that way? True things of power have such gifts. Is that why Elain has already been forgotten in the narrative of the most recent war, as @sleepylivart has theorized before?

“I …” Nesta blinked. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I know you are the High Lady’s sister. That you slew the King of Hybern.” Gwyn’s face grew solemn, haunted. “That you, like Lady Feyre, were once mortal. Human.”

Nesta sank into the chair beside Gwyn’s. “I’m not a warrior.”

“You slew the King of Hybern,” Gwyn repeated. “With the shadowsinger’s knife.”

“Luck and rage,” Nesta admitted. “And I had made a promise to kill him for what he did to me and my sister.” (acosf)

Did she, like Rhysand and Made objects, will it that way?

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

Elain studied the trees ahead. “Nesta did. I just stabbed him.” (acowar)

Would the stone recognize Elain as kin, like the Trove objects’ response to Nesta? What might she be able to heal, or explore, with that stone? This special kinship may be one reason why Elain, with her sisters, is Starborn. It allows her to find and wield Made objects unlike other fae. It sets them apart—at odds with those around them like the sister peaks. And as @offtorivendell, @silverlinedeyes, and I have discussed before, if others use these objects without that connection, there are consequences. Helion’s reaction to the Mask is a stark contrast to Nesta’s kinship and use of it; he is repelled by it, and wonders if the consequences of its past use were written in his very blood. Could those consequences involve the betrayal and death of Fionn?

Helion whirled to Nesta, all sensuality vanished. “You truly wore this and lived?” It wasn’t a question meant to be answered. “Cover it again, please. I can’t stand it.” […] “Doesn’t it rake its cold claws down your senses?” Helion asked.

Helion shuddered, and Nesta threw the cloth over the Mask. As if the cloth somehow blinded it to their presence. “Perhaps an ancestor of mine once used it, and the warning of its cost is imprinted upon my blood.”

Rhys’s eyes flicked to Ataraxia, then to Cassian. “Some strains of the mythology claim that one of the Fae heroes who rose up to overthrow them was Fionn, who was given the great sword Gwydion by the High Priestess Oleanna, who had dipped it into the Cauldron itself. Fionn and Gwydion overthrew the Daglan. A millennium of peace followed, and the lands were divided into rough territories that were the precursors to the courts—but at the end of those thousand years, they were at each other’s throats, on the brink of war.” His face tightened. “Fionn unified them and set himself above them as High King. The first and only High King this land has ever had.” (acosf)

The Prison

The sacred mountain on the prison island is barren, and it can no longer sustain the wild creatures that once lived there.

Helion’s most beloved pair—this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate—hadn’t produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn’t made it out of weaning before he’d succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy. According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them there was no longer. (acosf)

We are told that Clotho discovered ancient songs in the lower levels of the cavernous Night Court library. These songs are a wave of sound and function like a dream that transports Nesta to the Prison. She even flows into the mountain, like she might if she were traveling through an underground waterway.

“Some of the songs you’ll hear are so ancient they predate the written word. Some of them are so old we didn’t even have them in Sangravah. Clotho found them in books shelved below Level Seven. Hana—she’ll be the one who plays the lute—figured out how to read the music.”

As that seventh bell finished pealing, music erupted. Not from any instruments, but from all around. As if they were one voice, the priestesses began to sing, a wave of sparkling sound. […] It was like a braid, the song—a plait of seven voices, weaving in and out, individual strands that together formed a pattern. […] She’d never heard such music. Like a spell, a dream given form. The entire room sang, each voice resonating through the stone.

The music took form behind Nesta’s eyes as the priestesses sang lyrics in languages so old, no one voiced them anymore. She saw what the song spoke of: mossy earth and golden sun, clear rivers and the deep shadows of an ancient forest. The harp strummed, and mountains rolled ahead, as if a veil had been cleared with the stroke of those strings, and she was flying toward it—toward a massive, mist-veiled mountain, the land barren save for moss and stones and a gray, stormy sea around it. The mountain itself held two peaks at its very top, and the stones jutting from its sides were carved in strange, ancient symbols, as old as the song itself.

Nesta’s body melted away, her bones and the stones of the cavern a distant memory as she flowed into the mountain, beheld towering, carved gates, and passed through them into a darkness so complete it was primordial; darkness that was full of living things, terrible things.

So Nesta drifted down and down, the harp and the voices pulsing and guiding, until she stopped before a rock. She laid a hand on it to find it was only an illusion, and she passed through it, down another long hall, beneath the mountain itself, and then she stood in a cavern, almost the twin to the one the priestesses sang in, as if they were linked in song and dreaming. (acosf)

Is it possible that these mountains are not only linked physically, but magically? If so, this makes it even more likely that Elain might use her murky realm of dreams, which I believe is connected to the sacred trio and the waters of the Cauldron, to navigate the magical waterways that may exist between the peaks. And who knows what she might find…or even wake in the womb of these sacred mountains?

Healing the Womb of the Earth

The language Sarah uses to describe the sacred sister peaks and their cavernous depths is not exclusive to Prythian. Healers in TOG use a sacred underground cave called Silba’s Womb. Silba was believed to be the goddess of healing and she was associated with owls, purple, and water.

Candles had been tucked into natural alcoves, or had been clumped at either end of each sunken tub, gilding the sulfurous steam and setting the owls carved into every wall and slick pillar in flickering relief.

A plush cloth cushioning her head against the unforgiving stone lip of the tub, Yrene breathed in the Womb’s thick air, watching it rise and vanish into the clear, crisp darkness squatting far overhead.

Some ancient architect had discovered the hot springs far beneath the Torre and constructed a network of tubs built into the floor so that the water flowed between them, a constant stream of warmth and movement. Yrene held her hand against one of the vents in the side of the tub, letting the water ripple through her fingers on its way to the vent on the other end, to pass back into the stream itself—and into the slumbering heart of the earth.

An acolyte had been waiting with a lightweight robe of lavender—Silba’s color—for Yrene to wear into the Womb proper, where she’d discarded it beside the pool and stepped in, naked save for her mother’s ring.

Water—Silba’s element. To bathe in the sacred waters here, untouched by the world above, was to enter Silba’s very lifeblood. Yrene knew she was not the only healer who had taken the waters and felt as if she were indeed nestled in the warmth of Silba’s womb. As if this space had been made for them alone.

The darkness above her was that of creation, of rest, of unformed thought. […] Yrene stared into it, into the womb of Silba herself. And could have sworn she felt something staring back. Listening, while she thought through all Lord Westfall had told her. (tod)

It is perhaps no coincidence that Elain is inspired by Blodeuwedd, who was transformed into an owl, and has begun to glow with health while wearing the color…purple. Her emergence from the Cauldron even evoked the water imagery most associated with the power of the sacred trio, which includes the Mother. Silba’s healing waters are compared to a womb. And like a womb, it is calming and creative, and allows the healer to emerge renewed. We learn of another dark womb from Nesta in the acotar series:

There was night, and there was the darkness of extinguishing a candle, and then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but … a womb. The womb from which all life had come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. […] Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. […] The darkness pulsed, beckoning. (acosf)

This language reminds me again of the sacred trio, especially the Mother, who is believed to be a primal goddess associated with creation and wild magic:

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

For whatever reason, Nesta placed Elain’s carved rose—a symbol of love and beauty and color in the bleakness of winter—next to the Mother. It is half-hidden in shadows, like Elain herself. There are many symbolic meanings for roses, including (1) love and beauty, (2) strength through silence, (3) healing, and (4) divination and secrecy (more on how those apply to Elain here). Like the Mother, Elain is also elusive and associated with symbols of rest and renewal.

The gates to her mind…solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

And as though the Mother is indeed next to her, Azriel mentions her as a witness to their secret, forbidden encounter:

But he could have this. The one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. “Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. (acosf)

Could these two secret, forbidden lovers merge their powers of sight and sound to find the source of the corruption in the Middle? It will likely involve unearthing events of the past that were lost, including—potentially—the actions of Theia’s forgotten daughter. And the secrets they uncover as they navigate time and space might help Elain, like a rose bloom in the mud, clear the corruption at the root and heal the wild magic that once bloomed and thrived throughout the land. Together, Azriel and Elain could create a thing of secret, lovely beauty, showing the Spymaster that he can help heal rather than torture, and finally—finally—feel hopeful about his future with Elain at his side.

#elriel #elrielmonth #forbidden secrets #sister peaks #cc acotar tog crossover theories #forbidden lovers #azriel and elain #seer elain #azriel #shadowsinger #elrielmonth22 #maasverse theories

[soft-persephone]

Minx Season 2 Epjsode 6???

I am.. gagged. I truly am speechless (but also kinda not because here I am making this post).

Joyce and Shelly? That was truly brilliant. Joyce is a lil bit selfish by nature of her attention seeking and other validating tendencies, but to learn that their mother walked out on them and Shelly is kind of like her mother figure as well as her sister?? That changes so much of how I view them in season 1!

Shelly is so right about Joyce! I am so glad she’s taking more time and agency for herself as well as in terms of her sexuality! I am so glad she’s able to explore that with other woman other than Bambi! Shelly is so smart and capable, it was amazing to see the more personally side of her and how she may navigate herself through certain professional as well as relationship field!

Open marriage?!?!!

This show does character so well. And they just keep so much shit to themselves that they’ll give us all the answers to our questions with one little line, but it still makes so much sense! It still feels very true to the character and executed perfectly!

How is this show this good?

I am yelling at the sun at this point!

And TINA?!?! DOUG?!?!

That could have went either way!

This show and the way it build suspense and plays with your expectations. I was more nervous than they were about this dinner! Like yay proposal! But the more they brought up the family business it was obvious what they wanted you to think about it in terms of Tins, Doug, and what they have at bottom Dollar.

But they don’t do that! Like any of it!

Tina and everyone in the family hates that fucking stationary company💀

I’m still laughing at how she told her mom she needs to sell it and stop passing it around like a cursed hot potato!

The conversation Doug has with her brother Marvin? How they all claimed he stole Tina away and charmed her into being his secretary? And like talked her out of her family?

That is a serious conversation, but on the other hand funny as hell. Because that the first thing black family will say when you leave home supposedly with a new partner!

Like the snake charmer comment made at Doug had me rolling!

But they wrap it all up with Doug defending himself but just giving her some speech probably about how she has potential and how amazing she is, and giving her the courage to leave herself!

And then her brother is automatically convinced to just leave! Doesn’t even have a passion! Just goes with trucking and tells everyone deuces!!

Funny and heartwarming.. have I mentioned how much I love this show?

And we learn in real form with Doug that Tina is supposedly going to be the head of Minx International!

And we like Tins, have no idea what that’s going to be.

But he’s not even mad or sad. He just wanted her to tell him. Because he tells her everything! Good or bad.

And Now we don’t even know if they are on the same page relationship wise!

I am pulling out my hair at the roots!! Like I am relived but my hearts still broken! What happens now? Is she taking Doug with her? What the fuck does he even do anymore?!?!

Constance better count her mother f’n days!

I think she’s tryna keep him at bottom Dollar and out it out of business. I mean he own 49%, but he doesn’t have a day on anything but merch at this point. And now Tina is over international.

So where does Doug go?

What is Constance planning? Whatever it is, she wants him out the picture and I am terrified!

So far no one but Bambi is noticing how scattered they all are!

Because Ben down to the C plot with Richie and Bambi on drugs, this show does a lot!

Bambi thinks of everyone as a little found family and not the “co workers” that they are as Richie points out!

Which is very ironic because he calls Doug and Tina Mom and Dad in that one episode during season 2 (callback bitch! I am smart!)

And Richie is very much a mood in that regard. However they do have a bond. They’ve all been with each other at their lowest, and Bambi just wants to make sure their together at their highs too!

And Richie is very in tune with his own career and artistic voice! There’s a lot of demand but Joyce isn’t letting him flurish on Minx!! And he’s also very concerned about his BAG! As he mf should!

But he is very obviously (or should be obviously) queer!

And the journey to his self portrait is as funny as it is heartwarming!

This episode ended kinda heavy.

I think it’s about Joyce now fully hating her success. Or just being a it embarrassed by what she just did.

If that was me I would have just jumped off the plane.

In conclusion, I still have an unhealthy relationship to this show and it’s fictional characters. I might need serious help, but this is a fandom space on tumblr, so I’m just a “super fan” that makes “fan related content.”

#minx #minx starz #minx season 2 #minx season two #Doug Renetti x Tina Lewis #jake johnson #idara victor #oscar montoya #ophelia lovibond #jessica lowe #lennon parham #elizabeth perkins #softie talks minx

[fulleggsslimedreamer]

Part 4 of the story Fat Boy Becomes Chav

Pete's eyes flickered open, and for a few seconds he wondered where he was, until he felt Marco's arm laying over him, and he smiled, not only at the thought of being with his friend, but also of the sex they'd enjoyed the night before.

Needing the toilet, he pulled his side of the duvet off him and slowly slid out from under the protective arm Marco had placed over him.

Pete felt warm and safe, something he hadn't felt his his mother had died, and wondered how he'd been so lucky.

On his way back to the bedroom he pulled the curtain aside and was surprised to see everywhere outside was white, with snow falling quite heavily.

"Bring my smokes through will you Pete,"

"Yeah, no probs bro. Hey, guess what, it's snowing outside, settling as well."

"Yeah, fucking brill, we can drifting later, need to get you some decent togs first though. Tell you what, let's have a splif, then we can stop at Maccies for some breckie, then go see Mark, he's a mate of mine, got a warehouse full of clothes."

It was about an hour later as they pulled up at Mark's place, but what Pete hadn't realised was that Marco had his own car,a BMW 3 series. He'd been shown how to drive at 13, and had done this 1 up.

"Marco, didn't expect to see you today. Actually, with the snow I didn't expect to see anyone, what can I do you for?"

"This is Pete, met him yesterday, and, as you can see fam, he need clothes, can't have hin walking the streets looking like Paddington."

"Yeah sure bro," then turning to Pete, "what size are you fam?"

"Fat," Pete replied. He'd always avoided calling himself fat before, but with Marco it all felt different.

Mark laughed, "yeah, but how fat?"

"Usually 3 or 4 XL."

"Right, well all the really big stuff is down there," pointing towards the back of the warehouse, "help yourself, there's plenty of it."

Pete walked to where Mark had pointed and began trying on clothes, while Mark walked into his small office and put the kettle on.

"I presume you fucked him then."

Marco smiled, "yeah, always wanted a huge fat lad and now I've got 1. 3 lads were beating him up yesterday outside Park Grove school, so I stepped in, slapped em and then took him back him. I promise, he was hard before I was, absolutely gagging for it, and he's a decent fuck as well."

They sat talking and drinking the coffees Mark had pour for around 15 minutes when Pete joined them.

"Fucking look at you fam," Marco said, admiring the new clothes Pete was wearing, a black and grey Nike tracksuit, Adidas trainers, and a shinny black Moncler puffa coat.

" I got some other stuff as well, is that okay?"

" Yeah, don't get much call for those real big sizes, and you look the biz fam, bet you feel better as well."

"Yeah, sure do, I chucked my old stuff in the bin, don't think and sad cunt would want that."

"Proper chavy boy now bro," Marco said to him, "the real deal."

All three sat in Mark's office for around an hour, just talking, mostly Marco and Mark chatting, hut occasionally Pete would join in.

It was just after 1pm when they walked back outside, to see the car covered in a another couple of inches of snow.

"Getting good," Marco said as used the sleeve of his coat to clear the windscreen, "another couple of hours and we can head out drifting."

Although he could drive, Marco had little experience of driving in snow, and with the accumulation getting deeper, a couple of times he found himself struggling to control the car, and was relieved when he parked it up on the car park by his flat.

Find out what happens when Marco and Pete go out drifting in the next episode of Fat Boy Becomes Chav.

#chav attitude #chav lad #gay chav #fat chav #puffa jacket #puffa #puffer #puffajacket #puffa coat #puffer coat #puffer jacket #chav scarf #scally #hooliganism #footy hooligan #hoodie boy #hooligan #hoodie #bubble coat #bubble jacket #chav in winter #chav lads #chav in the snow

[twistedoverbloat]

Hear me out ! Can you make this scenario please ? :

The first years gonna make a good prank they decided to pretend to be dead and ink thorns on their body when everyone saw that they were scared and Yuu who was still standing say

Yuu : I feel funny these days I rather sleep than stay awake (I Forgot the last part lol)

Then blood came out of their mouth and nose and the same thorns took shape on their body Everyone was screaming and crying 😂

The thorns that take.

So rq this has some gore so be aware but please remember this is a prank! Also it's just the first years I don't think Ortho is considered one? But I think that will just be very bad flashbacks for Idia.

Yuu and the first years got into position. The boys would act dead in their rooms with notes saying that Yuu was the one causing all of this and they all put the first years in the nurses office and ran to Ramshackle.

Riddle freaked seeing Ace on his bed eyes still opened ink pouring out and blood coming out out it with thorns around his neck. Deuce was on the floor with blood on his neck and ink on his hands seeing like he tried tog et them off of him but they tightened and he suffocated. Trey ran in when he heard the scream and Cater came after. They gagged at the sighed and Riddle was the one to find the note.

Ruggie was looking for Jack so so went to the track and saw him sitting down. He giggled and creepe up behind him "Boo!" And pushed him he flopped to the ground. He paused not likeing this, he touched Jack's shoulder woundering if he fells asleep. When he flipped him over he let out a shriek calling for Leona. Jack had thorns in his eyes and ink dripped down as blood caked his neck. Since Ruggie barely screams he rushed to him. Ruggie was crying high jack and Leona found the note.

Vil was pissed Epel missed his afternoon class!! He walked with Rook to the boys dorm and opened it and screamed seeing Epel. There was blood and thorns on the floor with Epels hands scratched up by the ink thorns too. Rook checked for a pulse and he rushed him to the Infirmary and Vil found the note.

Malleus was wondering where Sebek was so he asked Silver to get find him. He heard Silver shout for him to get him Lilia and he rushed to see Sebek on the floor in a pool of blood and black ink. He screamed for Lila and he popped up and his smile faded away "Give him here!" And with that he vanished. Silver was looking for clues and Malleus found the note. Betrayed he rushed to Ramshackle to get revenge for a fellow Fae.

They saw the thorns that Maleficent could conjure around the dorm. And they also saw blood going down the walls and saw Grim dead on the floor and the ghosts saying they needed to leave. Yuu came down with a crown of Thorns sticking into their head and Yuu told the dormheads that came that they didn't feel well for the last couple of day. Malleus stepped forward and touched their shoulder. Yuu looked at him "Malleus I rather sleep then be awake." He was confused and was going to ask.

Yuu then let the blood pour out their mouth and ink rushed out of their eyes and nose. Thorns slowly incase the body. Malleus panicked and tried to stop it but couldn't. The dormheads were crying because they lost the first years and the perfect. Then Ortho came out and apologized since the prank gone too far. The first years came out "Heeeyy." Ace said as Deuce helped Yuu up. Riddle through tears began to shout and curse, Jack had his ears turned back as Leona scolded him. Malleus hugged Sebek and cried since he though he lost a friend and was going to have to kill another.

Epel looked bored as Vil screamed at him. The first years and perfect got grounded. They said it was Ortho's idea and then Idia was the one to punish them all. They had to watch all the horrible animes. And worst they all were the questionable ones.

#prank #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu

[littlegreenfag]

And you suck dick, too? Might end up picking you up sooner rather than later, darlin~♡

idont have a very good gag reflex but im sure you cpuld train me tog et better at it! ima fast learner!

#post office #adina's originals #hypnosis

[itsthedoodle]

🐚🥤🍄

🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises?

I love surprises, as long as they’re planned by the people who know me very well. For example, someone saying “I have a surprise dinner for you” and it turning out to be a surprise eggplant dinner isn’t going to be very surprising (in a nice way) since I gag at the thought of eating eggplants 🤣 you know what I mean?

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

A Court of Faded Dreams by the one and only Feysand Queen @the-lonelybarricade (but I call her The Feysand Encyclopedia). You can read it here. It’s one of the first Feysand fics I read and I immediately fell in love. Then I got to know the person behind the account and realized she is the sweetest soul you’ll ever meet 🩵

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

I’ll go ahead and assume you’ve read ToG, if yes, my answer is under the break . If not, PLEASE GO READ THE BOOKS 🩵

:

:

:

:

:

Dorian and Manon secretly got married pretty soon after KoA. They have a daughter named Asterin.

#ask game

[vgilantee]

just normal bestie chad!!! like childhood besties <3

oooooh!

okay well just besties chad is such a hype man. this is literally canon we know this is a fact.

he'll also make sure that if you're the kind of person to be cooped up in your room studying, that you get some fresh air.

definitely texts you late at night saying "we're doing a dairy queen" which means you have 5 minutes to get changed and ready to leave the house because he will be showing up and taking you to dq. or any fast food place he's craving.

has thrown you over his shoulder and carried you through the hallways when y'all were in high school

has thrown you into a pool on more than one occasion. both in clothes and in togs (swimmers? bathers? what do non-queenslanders call them?)

if he knows your phone password, you can bet that this man will make your lock screen his fact the second that you leave it in his vicinity

you once got drunk and texted him "i love you my favourite bestie" and the scare he got because favourite???? nah you were out of it for sure

once accidentally made himself throw up after pretending to gag when someone suggested you both should date

matching. childhood. halloween costumes. with the twins. then later just chad.

#˚:✧｡• paper bin #˚:✧｡• chad meeks martin #˚:✧｡• anon

[autumnworld19]

Autumn! Sorry to go missing, I had a few busy days. How are you! Hope everything is going well.

Ok, so Fisherman!!! I love the idea so much! The fact the fisherman has been obsessed with the reader from the beginning and been absolutely in love with her is so funny to me, cause the reader is like "well who can I easily seduce to save me from shunning" and just pan to the fisherman drawing her name with his last name kicking his feet in the air. He would have been so excited to hear the news of the breakup. Does he think the boyfriend was the one who ruined his chances with the reader? or did he know she was giving him the cold shoulder because she didn't like him and he saw it as a chance to prove himself. Or was he deluded into thinking that she was just trying to tease him and make him chase her and that she wanted him to? AhHHH!! Reader shows up with puppy dog eyes and a slight shiver, and he's just so dazed, it's his dream come true. So can you blame him when he makes his dream a reality by locking the door? Also, does anyone else know she's pregnant? Or the blame is to marry him quick, pretend the baby is his, have the baby a little early than the town expected, but not uncommon, and then get a divorce? or stick it out with the fisherman? I love this idea so much! I'm getting joseph's reader vibes as well, love a scheming woman manipulating men to get what they want.

I was gonna add on another one of your ocs but i'll do it in a part 2!

Don’t worry about it! I know how consuming college can be, so I wanted to give enough space to make sure everything in your school life is put together. I didn’t want to pressure you, so we’re all good! Everything is good! I’m doing just fine, how are you doing? :))))

Does he think the boyfriend was the one who ruined his chances with the reader? or did he know she was giving him the cold shoulder because she didn't like him and he saw it as a chance to prove himself. Or was he deluded into thinking that she was just trying to tease him and make him chase her and that she wanted him to?

This requires a complicated answer,so please bare with me.I would say it’s an combination of all three.Reader peaked in middle and high school and adopted an mean girl persona.She’s use to and expects men, especially men she deems beneath her, to so be utterly and hopelessly in love with her. It’s all she knows.In her relationship with her bf,them being retired mean popular kids, tried to subtly one up each other in any superficial ways.Even though the reader did use her bf and was with her bf for superficial reasons,she was indeed in love with him. I wouldn’t say she saw them as equals,but she respected him in some way enough to want to be committed to him only (in a non-superficial some way I guess).She believed they were close to each other’s levels, that’s why she thought so highly of him.So any guy who would try to come at her,would immediately get shot down with an humiliating monologue of how “lesser” he was to her or wasn’t even spared an glance and rightfully was ignored.Well,technically it could be said it was the bf’s fault for the reader not reciprocating the fishermen’s feelings,but mainly the reader’s superficial views and standards plus her mean popular girl persona.And with all of this in mind,he still pursued her.It was almost an running gag of how many times his romantic actions would be refute on a daily basis.While the Reader also likes the thrill of being desired and chased,so sometimes if she was truly bored would show him a slight human decency(cuz of his obsessive attitude she would ignore him 24/7)or would subtly flirt with him, in a way that would have him staying up at night trying to comprehend if she was actually flirting with him or not.And Yes!!!After they broke up he saw this as an perfect opportunity to try harder to get with her,because in his mind her heart is broken and open and probably would want to be comforted by someone…In his mind they were always going to get together, I wouldn’t say exactly that he was just waiting for her and the bf to break up,because under some non canon circumstances he would have literally either killed her bf and kidnap her or would kidnap her solely.But before he could make his grand jester of a love confession (once again) or commit any crimes she comes to him all by herself…Reader has made a few acquaintances and friends but they aren’t close enough for her to confide about any of her problems,I mean who am I kidding, why would she need to rely on them when her so perfect and so precious bf is around, right…To answer your question, no, nobody else knows she’s pregnant.But for dramatics I have created and added the fishermen’s brother,a skeptical and pessimistic man who despises the reader. When I added the lock scene,I wanted to create some kind of thriller or scary effect. The reader getting doubts, but its too late to go back when he locks the door can be comparable to when a regular normal student decides to be nice to the weird kid in school but now they act even weirder and obsessive towards them,and won’t leave them alone, with the latter being less scary. But I don’t blame him either!His plan was to take her out for a nice dinner and wait till the second or third date to kiss her for her sake, but if she wants to jump in his bed and ride his big ole willy, he won’t stop her!!! l can see the difference between this reader and Joseph’s reader is that she wasn’t exactly manipulative but really carless. She not only overestimated herself but underestimated Joseph and that’s why she ended up the way she did. And compared to the fishermen’s reader she was honest about her predicament,not to be critically of anything!I like to keep every reader/oc unique w/o having to face the problem of having them being the same,the same way oc artist have trouble facing the“same face” syndrome with their characters. I also like a manipulative scheming woman!!! It’s even fun if he knows it and just plays along with it! OR maybe he’s a himbo and can’t see what’s going on because of his worship for the reader.To see what she actually is or realize what she’s doing.

I’m not totally sure how this would pan out, but I’m thinking comedy, a lot of humbling and knocking the reader down a million pegs, lots of angst but mostly sex, sex, sex, sex, sex and also sex.

[separatist-apologist]

Omg wait why are you a book review blog now LOL I love it! What’s your most loathed book that is very popular? (Mine is crescent city)

Anon said- hey MB cancel yourself.

It's Throne of Glass. The whole series. Every single book, even the two I didn't read.

I could talk about my problems with TOG until I die. It is often touted as SJM's best work and I sometime think if I'd started reading when I was like, 14-15, I would have loved Aelin. But I started as an adult, and so I don't love Aelin.

My issues are numerous- the most egregious is that the first three books are not interesting and the fandom knows it. People are CONSTANTLY telling new readers to push through the first three books before it gets good. And I'm tired of this standard of like, suffer to get to well-written content. If you can't write a good FIRST book, your series is bad. Full stop. The first book is where I should have quit, but I knew too much and I wanted to see it all play out.

Aelin is the BEST assassin, teenager or not. We're told this every few pages (along side how beautiful she is gag me SJM), but when we're shown Aelin in action, she has loss after loss after loss. Is she the best? Because I was banging my head against the book like, where is this famed talent of hers? SJM makes EVERYONE the best and then realizes there is no plot if your heroine can best everyone with her eyes closed so she has to lose, but then its like...okay but why did she eat shit here?

Also, I have suffered through so much "Rhys is abusive" rhetoric and that should make Rowan REALLY nervous. I was really excited to meet him since I'd been spoiled and knew he was the main LI. And he is...I mean, again WHAT DO THEY LIKE ABOUT EACH OTHER? Being in the same room DOESNT COUNT. Oh no, the ancient man is sad, I guess that makes it okay to tell a suicidal teenager she should have died. Definitely okay to hit her in the face. And miss me with "they were both bad" because he is an old ass man and she is deeply traumatized. Like oh no, did the teenager say something mean? Grow up. I hated him all through that book, so the shift where shes like, oh hes my mate and now we're in love was just. Okay. Very SJM though so I don't know what I expected.

I never finished the final book and I didn't read Chaols book either. Say what you want about me, but I am a quitter. I was just bored. You know how the series ends. Not to mention the near blatant LOTR plagerism that no one ever brings up but gets emblazoned on t-shirts, as well as like, the inspiration for her plot in a way that feels very obvious.

Like TOG is done, and maybe in its heyday people were with me on this. Let the past stay buried, that's fine. And if people love it, I'm not saying they're wrong for liking it (or liking the main pairing, so much of the art of Rowan makes me question myself). But for me, reading it all at once, it was not it. I don't like it but I WILL be buying the Dominique Wesson dust jackets for my collection so.

#haters book review #ive been waiting on those dust jacets #more than once almost got the nerdy ink ones #i want them to match my acotar ones #im a hoe for aesthetic

[theladyofbloodshed]

Its the tea anon: i promise I wasnt bashing anyone for writing fanfic and getting published- some of the best authors I know start out that way. However, the difference is that those authors will see a piece of media that has a potential story within it and write a fanfic. Then, once they get published they either make a completely new story, change the characters, or they make different setting so the story is now their own. Perfect example of that is a fanfic call Watch Your Step. It started off as a triple frontier fanfic and now she bulit it up so well that it is entirely different from the movie. It's nothing I've ever read and thats a good thing. While, S.J Mass did make a different world- i feel like alot of her stuff is copy/paste. I'm only reading TOG rn so hopefully its different from the acotar series.

P.s also I hate that I have to read her whole collection since she decided to make a multiverse. Thank GOD for libraries.

Sorry, I didn't mean it that way either. I mean I am super jealous of writers who get found through their fanfics! I'm submitting my oc stuff to agents atm and it's so demoralising because it takes so long and it's so scary then you get a response saying how busy they are and if you don't hear back in months, you're unsuccessful. And then they just publish people who have lots of views on tiktok and that's how they market it all too🙃

In my opinion, the world building in tog is a lot better in acotar! There are similar issues like characters who aren't the "golden child" ones e.g. chaol, lorcan, nesta, lucien, make mistakes and are given hell for it. I did enjoy it more than acotar though, so i hope you enjoy it too!!

I liked CC as well, more than I thought I would. I usually don't like reading modern settings, and modern fantasy usually has me gagging, but I did enjoy it. The spoiler of cc2 leaked and i dreaded finishing it however because, once again, the world revolves around that ratman!

#anon asks

[clarklovescarole]

December 1938: Christmas Carole

December 1, 1938 – Daily News

Mrs. Andy Devine gets a maple highchair from Carole Lombard at the baby shower given by Mrs. Phil Harris and Mrs. Tuffy Goff….

Clark Gable ready to make another South American trip.

December 3, 1938 – The Times Tribune

Carole Lombard has bought her Christmas present for Clark Gable – the latest in outboard motors…

December 4, 1938 – The Fresno Bee

All the time that Clark Gable has been kicking up his heels and hoofing in "Idiot’s Delight," Carole Lombard has never seen him go into his dance. When Clarence Browr finally got ready to shoot the big scene, Carole slipped in the back door of the set and watched the whole performance from the side lines. She said Clark was so good that it didn’t seem possible that he had learned to do such intricate steps in such a short time. Just as the last shot was filmed, with characteristic humor Carole sent a big bouquet to Clark, and he was so embarrassed at this delicate attention that he actually blushed.

December 6, 1938 – Los Angeles Times

Gifting Gable

I wish they could put on the screen the expression Clark Gable wore when Carole Lombard sent him flowers after his dance in “Idiot’s Delight.” He looked so pleased; then foolish. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d ever kicked up a heel! I understand he’ll be something of a sensation when his dancing is viewed in your local theater. The boy’s actually good.

December 13, 1938 – San Francisco Examiner

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, all done up in hunting togs, stopped in Sunday to pay us a visit. They shot nary a quail, although they spent all day hunting in Northridge. Sunday was the only day Clark could go hunting because he is trying to finish “Idiot’s Delight” before Christmas. 

December 16, 1938 – Great Falls Tribune

Drilling of test oil wells near exclusive Northridge has the movie star ranchers in arms – Barbara Stanwyck, Bob Taylor, Clark Gable, Carole Lombard and Paul Kelly are organizing the protestors…

December 16, 1938 – Quad City Times

Clark Gable’s sprained ankle isn’t rating much sympathy – he got it when he brodied, teaching Carole Lombard his “Idiot’s Delight” dance steps…

December 19, 1938 – Sydney Morning Herald

Clark Gable usually sneaks off on a hunting trip over Christmas to dodge all the celebrations, but this year Carole Lombard plans to hold him down to having Christmas dinner with her. Carole says she is going to cook dinner with her own hands – perhaps that is the reason Clark tries to sneak off.

December 21, 1938 – The Modesto Bee

Carole Lombard couldn’t wait to give Clark Gable his Christmas gift; a gorgeous ruby set in gold ring; so now she is buying him another present…

December 23, 1938 – Kansas City Star

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard will be among the crowd making the trip to the Caliente race track.

December 25, 1938 – Cincinnati Enquirer

Christmas Eve guests at Carole Lombard’s house were Mr. and Mrs. Andy Devine and their son, Tad, and of course, Clark Gable. 

December 25, 1938 – Los Angeles Times

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard make one of their rather infrequent appearances at a Cinema Capital preview.

December 26, 1938 – Fort Worth Star Telegram

Clark Gable Sends Carole 200-Pound Statue of Himself

Gag Christmas presents exchanged by Hollywood stars causing their annual laugh in filmdom Monday.

The topper, as usual, was the continuation of the friendly feud between Carole Lombard and Clark Gable. 

When Carole awoke on Christmas morning she found a 200-pound statue of Gable on her front doorstep.

The statue was one that a Rochestor sculptor, Phillip di Napoli, brought to Hollywood and presented to Clark several months ago. It had been something of a problem to the star until he thought of the present use for it. 

“I don’t know what Carole will do with it,” said Clark, “unless she uses it for a hitching post.” 

December 26, 1938 – The Columbian

Clark Gable gave Carole Lombard, his best girl, a Persian lamb coat and she gave him a ruby pin, camera and motor boat…

December 27, 1938 – The Holyoke Daily Transcript

Hope it does not tip off a surprise, but Carole Lombard is buying Clark Gable a sailboat for Christmas….

December 29, 1938 – Deseret News

Jack Benny’s fiddle playing, Dick Powell’s cornet music and George Burns’ dancing were the highlights of the elaborate party given at the new Benny mansion, the largest and best attended dinner of the holiday season. The fun went on until the milkman arrived…

Carole Lombard and Clark Gable were having fun, as were Barbara Stanwyck and Robert Taylor…

December 31, 1938 – The Fresno Bee

Track Fast for Arcadia Opening

An old familiar placard, “Weather clear, track fast,” was hung out at Santa Anita today as 50,000 assorted citizens answered an invitation to spend the last day of 1938 at the opening program of California’s fifth and richest Winter horseracing season. … 

Stars Arrive 

Gates to the big green plant were swung open at noon. Joe E. Brown, Bing Crosby, Constance Bennett, Louis B. Mayer, Clark Gable, Dorothy Lamour, Carle Lombard, and other film figures drove to the exclusive Turf Club in their shiny limousines and Gus Fan trundled the family car into the 155 acre parking lot.

#carole lombard #1938 #clark gable #old Hollywood #pictured

[ligiarlana]

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