#[ a book and a blade (there is power in you if you learn to wield it). ✑ ankita & lilstele. ] deityleft.

[passionfell]

TAGS ; ANKITA CULATHENE

[ the scholar. ✑ ic. ] ankita. [ the mournful moon & the sickly owl. ✑ visage. ] ankita. [ where do i run to keep my peace? (nothing killed under my claws). ✑ isms. ] ankita. [ hurried thoughts of home; no solace from the unrelenting sky. ✑ aesthetic. ] ankita. [ a mirage in the desert (a choice left unmade). ✑ lore. ] ankita.

[ actually there's a difference between a labyrinth and a maze. ✑ crack. ] ankita. [ why should i fear you specifically? a strong breeze could kill me. ✑ dash games. ] ankita.

[ the stalwart sword; it would hurt us both to have been wrong. ✑ ankita & alwin. ] risingretribution. [ a book and a blade (there is power in you if you learn to wield it). ✑ ankita & lilstele. ] deityleft. [ the strongest i've ever known (you'd be well within your rights to tear it all down). ✑ ankita & ragna. ] spiteriisen. [ magic in a pretty lie (a lionheart is a fool; a coward is alive). ✑ ankita & avelin. ] spiteriisen. [ silence in memoriam (we are as we are; half a life can still be lived). ✑ ankita & hauk. ] spiteriisen. [ the creaking of a voiceless door (your life is yours alone; i promise you this). ✑ ankita & kaeli. ] spiteriisen. [ a choice and a killer (if you're not dead; why do i still hear your ghost?). ✑ ankita & esfaan. ] spiteriisen.

[buckysunshine]

i got my eye on you – house of the dragon

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut (18+) ! Targcest/Targaryen Incest (Uncle/Niece), Enemies to Lovers, Denial of feelings, explosion of feelings, vaginal fingering.

Synopsis: Sixteen hours and six days were all it took for you to have everything Aemond had wanted. A dragon, a mother's unconditional love, a brother that actually cares and gives a shit. Sixteen hours and six days were all it took to hate you. 

At the return of the blacks, the princess is transformed, and the hate swirling in Aemond’s gut is replaced with something different, something new.

Word Count: 2.6K

Sixteen hours. That was how long Rhaenyra labored to bring you into this world. With blood came the heir's only daughter, a spitting image of her mother yet contrasted by the colors of the father. A princess. Another bastard. 

Six days. That's how long you stayed in the babe's cradle until the hatching of your dragon egg. Arrax.

Sixteen hours and six days were all it took for you to have everything Aemond had wanted. A dragon, a mother's unconditional love, a brother that actually cares and gives a shit. 

Sixteen hours and six days were all it took to hate you.

~

Living in a den of vipers taught you more than the books you were forced to read. You were a princess, the daughter of the realm's heir, yet they treat you as the scum of a mare's back disguised in petty smiles and hidden whispers.

Early on, you learned you only had your family to depend on. Not your uncles. They always liked to inflict the most pain. Helaena was always sweet, but the queen made sure to isolate her from you and your family. 

But your greatest tormentor came in the form of purple eyes and silver hair. Aemond Targaryen.

He was always there to plague you no matter how nice you've been or how little you were. Eyes distant and cold, and on you at all times. You could never escape it; thus, it only made sense that you were the one to take his eye on that fateful night. You – the object of his ire, the thief who stole his eye. You tell yourself it was to protect your brother, but deep down, it was also to break free of his punishing stares. 

Aemond Targaryen was not the only person who changed from that moment. The day you took his eye was the day you gained your own courage.

"Enjoy it, uncle. The next time you see me, my mother will wear the crown, and your family will be set aside to return to your little green towers." You speak brazenly atop Arrax at the hour of your departure to Dragonstone. He may have Vhagar, but the true power belongs to the heir of the Iron Throne. 

Your last words to the one-eyed second son rang in his ears for the rest of his days, fueling the bitter craving for revenge in his heart. 

~

"You'll cut yourself." The rogue prince's warning makes you jump away from the valyrian steel. "Careful."

You've sneaked a glance at dark sister. The prince consort was rarely without it, so the one chance you see it abandoned, you gather up the courage to hold it even for a second. It felt like the blade was calling to you; surely, it was the voices of the lives taken by the age-old steel. 

Daemon takes the steel in his hand, wielding it easily. You watch his every move, utterly fascinated. Daemon sees the spark of ambition in your eyes. It's the same spark that flamed within him in his early years. 

"Ever used a blade?"

"Only one time when I took an eye."

Daemon grinned, passing the steel to you. He could work with that. "Not a bad start.”

Dark Sister felt heavy in your hands, but it was also oddly familiar. It felt right to hold it. You were a Targaryen, after all, and coupled with the strong genes of your father, it was no trouble to handle a sword. You were a quick learner, and Daemon took delight in training you, gender norms be damned. 

This would have never happened in the Red Keep. The only place for you there were the quilting room and the birthing bed. Ser Criston Cole would have never allowed you to step foot in his training grounds, and you would have never had the courage to try. 

Ever since you left for Dragonstone, your courage grew day by day, and with Daemon at your side, it flamed anew.

But all that courage faltered at the news of Vaemond Velaryon's challenge to Lucery's inheritance to Driftmark. 

Vaemond did not scare you, but the thought of returning to King's Landing and meeting a purple eye did.

-

Aemond Targaryen had never waited for a day like this. 

The blacks’ return shall be met with the green's first strike. His nephew is possibly disinherited; most importantly, he gets to prove you wrong. He waits to see you again so he could inject the fear that always made you shrink in his gaze. The years had made him hard, brutish. He and Vhagar are alike in more ways than the valyrian blood that flows in them.

Aemond's eye finds you immediately. Surrounded by your family, you seemed small but grown, more mature. Your dress is filled better by newly developed curves. Your locks remained ever dark, and it gives Aemond a reminiscence of a dark-haired woman plaguing his dreams as of late. Ever since he heard the news of your return, his dreams have been nothing but hazy images of dark hair that makes him wake with a hard cock. 

He ignores it.

Your families don't have time to reunite as the unforgiving court awaits. You don't make the effort to find your uncles either, though you did send a warm smile to your aunt. You ignore them, and it makes Aemond itch. He longs to see the fire in your eyes so he could squash and spit on it.

Vaemond Velaryon speaks, and he loses his head. 

Aemond is no stranger to bloodshed, relishes in it even. An unexpected similarity between you. 

It does not miss him when you don't flinch at the brutal slash, only moving to cover your younger brother, Joffrey. You watch the blade slash clean through flesh with a fervid gaze, and it gives Aemond surprise, his interest piqued.

~

"Seems like you're wrong, princess."

You were a hard one to track alone. Always surrounded by your pesky brothers, Aemond awaited the chance to corner you. He finds it fitting to find you in the dragon pit. You endured the tense family dinner, playing oblivious to the one purple eye peering over you, and once the feasting had ended, you were gone. Not in your chambers or even the grounds of the Red Keep. You escaped to the skies, flying Arrax till late at night. You needed the reprieve, and you wished you were back there again the moment you landed with Aemond already waiting for your alighting.

"Uncle." You greeted him, shedding your riding gloves off. He is taller now, more slender, and his face matured with the scar you left him with. Shame, he could have been handsome.

You walk, and Aemond is at your tail. He starts his taunting. 

"We meet, and yet no crown on your mother's head, and our family's roots are still deep within these courts."

"I am grateful for our king's long life." You say, eyes blank, straight ahead. You're being polite. Your mother's words of peace ring in your ears, and it takes all your effort to maintain niceties. Aemond sees right through it.

"There is only us. You can speak plainly." He clasps his arms behind his back, unbothered. "The king is dying and should have died long ago."

"Must you be so cruel?”

"I only speak the truth." He is close behind, leaning down to mutter in your ear. "Last time I recall, it is not a crime to do so. Well, should not be treated as such anyway." He says slyly, laying down his bait for you to take. 

"I was a kid, Aemond. Must you torment me all my life?" You bite, stopping in your tracks and facing him completely with fire in your eyes. The years of guilt and vexing rifts at your resolve. The man always knew how to push your buttons.

Ah, there she is. Aemond flashes a condescending smile just for a second before slipping back into his usual glare. "You know what I want. Justice."

"Then so be it." You pull out your sword, the same one Daemon gifted you years ago. It was smaller than the standard fighting swords, for it was only supposed to be used in training, but you don't care. A sword is a sword. You've done worse with smaller ones.

"Here's your justice. Try to take out my eye. I'll allow your efforts. Take my eye and be done with all these bother.”

Aemond stares at you delightfully surprised before drawing his own sword out. You dare? He answers. The years in Dragonstone changed you, no more the little girl he could torment and plague back in the Red Keep. He is made clear of it. The girl standing before him is a dragon, a warrior, a Targaryen. A predator to be conquered.

"Today is a good day for justice."

He swings, and steels meet.

It was a dance between two dragons, and the sound of swords clashing against each other played the music to every spin and sway. It was a dance, and Aemond hated how you were leading. 

Honed by the rogue prince, you've learned how to put up a good fight and sniff out an opponent's weak points. You detect Aemond's obvious weakness – his blind side. You focus your attacks on his left side, taking advantage of his every crux. He underestimated you, your hits stronger than he expected. He stumbles at your strike, aim focused on his left shoulder. 

But Aemond is no fool on the battlefield. He also paid his dues in his training with Ser Criston Cole. The man might be vile, but there is no denying the knight is the most skillful swordsman alive in King's Landing. Aemond's skills are beaten into him in the most literal sense, the years of cuts and bruises shaping him into the warrior he is now. It was no match to your little lessons, no matter how fast of a learner you might be. Aemond is still stronger, faster. 

And with a swing to your leg and a precise hit to your wrist, your blade flies away from you. Unarmed, the older boy takes the chance to seize you. 

You take the hit head on, grunting at the weight of him knocking you down.

Pinned on the ground, bladeless and pregnable, Aemond's steel rests snug against your neck. The music has stopped. You've lost. 

"Beg." Steel presses further into skin. "Beg for mercy."

"No." you spat, ever so stubbornly. A dragon does not beg.

Aemond's nostrils flare at your defiance, a thousand emotions brewing in his chest. He has wanted this for so long, yet he finds himself stalling for time.

Despite your loss, you weren't giving up. Aemond always hated how stubborn you could be, so careless, yet protected and loved even as a bastard. Aemond could do everything right, yet his father would not even spare him a glance unless he found himself in some sort of trouble, and Alicent shared the family's burden with him, depriving him of the innocence of childhood. But you had your dragon the day you were born, showered with love and affection. 

Spoiled. Ungrateful. 

In his resentment, he cuts skin, drawing blood. "Don't think I won't do it. You know I would."

You refuse to wince from the pain, eyes locked in and determined. "I fought, and I lost. I'm true to my word. Take my eye now. Take your prize." You turn your head, presenting him the left side of your face. "Is that not what you want, uncle? Or do you plan to bitch and whine to me for the rest of your days?"

"I want… nothing!"

Throwing his blade away, you're finally given a chance to breathe. Still on top, he looks down on you. Aemond has you at the bottom of his feet, to do what he wants, to take what he is robbed of, yet he finds himself at pause. He wanted an eye, and now he yearns for more.

As he watched your face, cheeks turning delightfully pink, and chest heaving, the strangest thing happened. Aemond felt something squeeze suspiciously in his chest at the thought of you exposed and vulnerable to him.

He realized he wanted you. He really, really wanted you.

Only then did the feeling of hatred in his gut turn to something different. It swirled anew — to desire.

Aemond Targaryen desires for the niece under him.

Oh.

With this revelation, he starts seeing the image in his dreams clearly. His conscience is plagued by the woman of dark hair and milky skin he's been dreaming of, the cause of his seed spilling on his thighs in the morning. It was you.

With the veil of denial finally lifted, he leans down and captures your mouth, pouring every bit of frustration and newly found desire into your kiss. Your hands raise to push him off, but he pins them down easily. Warm lips lock onto yours, forcing your mouth to yield to his demand and, eventually, your own visceral need. Unrelenting, your defiance quickly faded, and your tongue started meeting his as well. Heat dances in your chest and straight down the apex of your thighs. 

You've been kissed before, kissed sweetly, softly, but never like this. This was different; this was hungry, consuming, punishing. Aemond's kiss triggers a primal craving in your flesh; it refuses your mind's reason entirely.

Shifting above you, Aemond parts your legs, planting himself between your thighs. You feel the hard ridge of him pressing against your clothed core, and you undoubtedly grind against it. 

His body – Gods. It is evil how it was pressed against yours, the heat of it seeping through your clothing, searing your very soul.

He made you shiver. He made you melt.

Aemond gropes your breast, dipping down to nip at the neck he just pressed a blade against moments ago. "I want you."

Aemond always told the truth, an ideology planted in his head by his devoted mother, but it is only now he felt the peace a person should feel when telling the truth.

Aemond’s tongue traces a map of pleasure on your skin, fueling a need you never knew. He chants your name, groaning at every repeat. His lips move frantically along your face until they find your mouth again. “I need you.” He pressed his hips hotly against yours. “Do you feel how I need you?” 

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair, making it undone from its restraints; you grip it, urging for more.

"What is it? Take what you want." He yearns to hear your voice, hear you beg for him.

He pulls away, and you whine at the loss. "Use your words, princess. Tell me what you want.”

You're faced with Aemond's face atop of yours, and unthinking, you take it in your hands. He leans in, hanging on to your next words. 

Your lips hover over each other, and with a whisper, you say, "No."

Aemond's face breaks into a grin, a deep chuckle escaping him. Your heart stutters at the image of a genuine smile on the prince's face. It was a rare thing, and you don't know what to do with it.

Distracted, his fingers find your thighs, squeezing them hard before delving further. You gasp when he presses at the burning between your legs. 

"Now is not the time for your stubbornness, sweet niece."

Aemond quickly breaks through the layers of cloth separating him from your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing how easily he found the wetness waiting for him. But Aemond relishes at the feel of them, the thought of your excitement feeding his desire. His fingers play at your folds, sliding easily. He circles at your center, noticing how your moans become louder when he touches you there. He watches your every expression, determined to pluck your pleasure from you. You looked too pretty with your lips red and puffy, but your unscarred skin calls to be dirtied by him.

He leans down to nip at the skin of your jaw, then to your neck once more. He hopes to leave a mark. "Would you do it? Bed your uncle like your mother did.”

The sting of his tongue against the wound he placed on you wakes you from your haze. Your mother. The lust is quickly replaced by guilt and shame, and you suddenly feel suffocated. Shoving away, you slap him off you. He stumbles, shocked and disoriented. 

Gathering your skirts, you stand, now looking down at him. Your throat dries, but you speak firmly. "You've had your chance to take your justice. Now let us speak of it no more.”

And you were gone, fleeing without as much as a second glance behind, and Aemond is left alone. The sting on his face and the hardness of his cock are the only reminders of your dance.

[diejager]

Alright so reader ends up pregnant, mom thinks it's horangis kid, reader moves in with him and we have the whole nursery situation

What happens next, like how will they treat her when she's 7 months pregnant? How will they deal with her cravings and stuff?

And what will happen when she gives birth and the baby's a carbon copy of konig? Will the mom be like "🧍‍♀️oh well that's interesting" or will horangi and Konig take reader away and disappear from the face of the earth? Or even worse, they make sure the mom's not gonna bother them anymore (yknow like ⚰️💀⚱️🪦)?

The whole story line is amazing btw and if I could, i would kiss your brain because of how amazing it is

I’m gonna expand on Baby Scenario since it’s almost the same principle. Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, childbirth, tell me if I missed any.

Your mother had adamantly encouraged you to move in with Horangi, it would only make sense, no? Since he was the father of your kid. You’d have more space from both her and your stepdad, and would be able to spend more time with Horangi, to build that intimacy and relationship that you’d need if you were to care for a child. You would have extra room for your stuff and a nursery fro your upcoming child in Horangi’s home since he lived alone, his ultilitarianlydecorated house was a perfect place to start building a warm home —a blank canvas coaxing you to paint. 

You reluctantly agreed to her proposition, not having much of a choice when she was obliviously overcome with joy, König’s hard stare and Horangi’s tightening grip on your hip, low enough to make you uncomfortable but not too much that it was improper. The move was made quick, the sudden change of your environment left you disorientated, confused and lost while they carried box after box into the living room of your new house. 

They hadn’t made a move on you since the test, leaving you alone to do your own things: fix your side of the room, paint and move furniture around the nursery when Horangi and König were busy with other things, or reading on the bean bag you moved near the window for better lighting. It made the move a bit better, neither feeling as oppressed as you felt nor as freeing as you used to be, but it worked nonetheless of your change of ownership. It, however, hadn’t last long, they were quick to lay a hand on you, their fingers kneading and wandering over your sensitive skin, moving you to the bed and leaving you mewling and panting from their mouth and fingers alone.

When your cravings knocked down the door with weird and changing tastes, both men were eager to help, buying or ordering whatever you’d cried about wanting even if you ended up throwing it away because you didn’t want it anymore. They were accommodating to your growing needs, at your every beck and call when you had a sudden craving or sickness. Your mother couldn’t be any happier about how it turned out, that you were with someone she could trust to care for you and not a boy who’d leave you the second he heard you were pregnant, she booked everything for you until the assumed date of birth. 

But on when you gave birth, staring at a boy with auburn strands and brown eyes, and a girl with black locks and pale eyes, your mother looked as horrified as you were, much unlike Horangi and König’s pleased gaze. She fought with him, screamed her head off and tried to pry them away from you, to protect you from the men who forced themselves on you and knocked you up. You learned that she kicked König out, throwing all his items out and had tried to have them both removed and taken away from you, but there was little she could do against powerful men. Their names and reputation the blade of their defense, to use and to wield to take you away from her. 

The last time you saw her, she was in tears, sobbing and fighting against someone’s arms, clawing her way towards you while you were pulled away and into a black SUV. They cut your contact with your mother and the rest of the world, keeping you in a locked box of their own making. You didn’t know what happened to your mother or how she was, you were completely cut off from anything than your penthouse. Your only physical contact was your kids and the men who called themselves your husbands, caring for Leon and Yoon-Suh and making sure they had food when they came home. 

And it wouldn’t take long before they’d ask for another child.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[writing-frenzy]

Isekai with the Kurosaki fam; now with some UraIchi spice

So, my brain has been dumping even more ideas for a fandom I can't write for, so I guess I'll dump all the ideas on the ground and sees what happens; also, partly inspired because of DevinePhoenix's Glass Body, Steal Wings and slightly be Cannon Ichigo in AU series by Williamcipher, especially the third of the series, because ye.

Anyways, so for me, I can never imagine Ichigo would part from his sisters and Goat-face easily, even in a normal au, because it's Ichigo's family, his friends, his lost, his life experiences that makes him who he is as a person; if he died and then transferred, a part of me wonders if he would ever try and get back home somehow. So my brain went-

Brain: hey, how about we have a thing that makes the entire family get into an accident :D

Brain: And, like, maybe a day before or when Ichigo was younger, he ended up saving a godly being's most beloved person, so the god is like; hey, I owe you, I'll reincarnate your family into my world; thing is, the world the god has is maybe connected in a way to an anime/webnovel/comic one of the girls or Ichigo's friends were reading, and Ichigo knows it because he was convinced to watch/read it as bonding.

It's a world of magic and fantasy, where words and names have power and things go bump in the night ever so easily. Ichigo and his Family find themselves in a cozy little hideaway, all confused but happy and relieved to be alive and with each other. Isshin in this au will be an awkward, not the best father but he loves and he tries, and he just wants the best for all of his children. (He is the unsarcastic B+ parent, because with all the shit in this au coming, Ichigo deserves this).

Isshin in their original world is descended from a sword wielding samurai family, and he's had the forms and everything beaten into him since he was young, and the reason why he never taught Ichigo was because he didn't know how to be a gentle teacher and he never wanted to hurt his boy. (it's why he's always given his children freedom and choice of what they want.) And coming into this new world, this new place, everyone can feel a change in their bodies, can feel power in their veins even if they don't know what to do with it. See, Ichigo's mom had a little something funky with her blood but didn't know it and Isshin is actually a human with spiritual powers but with their original world it never came out, and with the God giving them a boost/perks, everyone is learning how to control themselves first and foremost.

It's after a bit of convincing and Isshin making Ichigo promise to tell him if he's going too hard that he starts teaching him the family style, along with others in scrolls with phantom teachers to guide them along. It is rough, it is harsh, but it's Ichigo so he pushes on through and becomes better for it. (The two do agree to see if they can find better teachers for the girls though, as Karin wouldn't suit this style even if she would be good with a sword, and Yuzu seems like she would be better with magic then a blade.)

The family of four spends like three years here, learning all they can, devouring every book and all they can remember of the OG!Story of this place before they all have exhausted all the sources and knowledge of the cottage, can no longer progress in their skills as they have been, and had enough cabin fever to drive any sane person down the river. But they're not stupid, so first things first, Isshin scouting at first, then with his son, before him and Ichigo take turns exploring and scouting the area because they don't like leaving the twins alone. But as they're getting a lay of the land and comparing maps and such to reality, even getting a feel for their new magic gadgets and all, they come across monsters and such here and there Once Isshin is sure that Ichigo can handle himself, its only then they spilt so one can stay with the girls while the other explores for a few days, even if Ichigo is only allowed to do it for two days to his father's week.

After that, packing everything they need into magic bags and hammer space, the family takes one last look to their home of all these years, bows in thanks before they are off. It's not long till they join a trade caravan, Isshin trading his skills as a doctor to do so. They travel around for a bit, before in the end, they settle down in a bustling, safe city that never fell in the story, even if the story's protagonist and gang lives here with all their wacky and troubling hijinxs.

So, now that backstory and such is out of the way, let's get to some of the fun stuff. :3

Ichigo does not realize just how strong he actually is; see, in this world of magic and stuff, swords are... technically considered obsolete; of sure, in the story there is a Magic Swordman who is part of the Protagonist's party, but even there they mostly use the sword as fancy focus then to actually fight with it. But with the way Ichigo was trained, as well as both his and his father's lack of common sense for this world, for them it is as easy to cut down a monster as it is to cut down spells themselves. Neither Ichigo or Isshin understand how insane that is, because once a spell is out, you usually have to dodge it or hope it hits someone else if you can't counterspell it.

The Kurosaki's also avoid the Protag and his crew; lets not get involved in your drama, please and thank you (lol, just had the thought of how protective Isshin and Ichigo would get if the story was with a Harem Protag; both would be protective as heck over the twins because with either reverse or regular harem, girls usually get the shit end of the stick). Ichigo is just fine how he is, even if he keeps getting into fights because of random assholes, his charm flowing out and getting his own loyal friends without his knowing. Karin is way too interested in magical sports to care not to mention her age while Yuzu is getting fascinated by potions, alchemy, and cooking to care.

One day, after Ichigo has been feeding some tidbits to some strays, he finds what seems to be a tea and candy shop, with books to read. it doesn't have much business, being out of the way like it is, but there is the occasional regular coming out. Ichigo shrugs, he has time and so he enters this Urahara Shoten.

Somehow, someway, he ends up making friends with Geta-boshi, who as frustrating as he is, recommends good books and a listening ear. Things lead to one things, stuff happens, and Ichigo finds out this guy also has sword.

Sparring partner acquired, though it takes some convincing, a bit of bribing, but Ichigo is able to get the other to agree; he gets his ass beat easily, but Urahara is a harsh, but good teacher, and so Ichigo just thrives in the challenge.

As for Urahara, this guy is so fucking terrifying, just like in canon, how he is assassin sharp and quick with his blade even as he can spellcast at the same time, just watching Ichigo cut through his spells to meet his blade.

Kisuke: this is the most fun I've had in ages :D I wonder what else he can do if I don't tell him what's impossible.

These two end up getting involved in some harsh canon event disasters, Ichigo fighting with Kisuke, knowing the other man won't let him down. Kisuke, having someone he can trust lead the way, knowing, having faith the other can survive alongside him...

Just, these two bonding, getting closer, Ichigo introducing his sisters and Goat-Face who is giving that weird stare.

(On Isshin's part, he recognizes what's going on, and for all that he is not going to be a hypocrite, is not going to kick this Urahara guy as hard as he can and hide Ichigo away, he suddenly... completely understands Misaki's family's cold and hard stares as he had gotten, watching how the elder blond stares at his 20 year old son like he is sun, like he can't believe there is any light in his life again after being shadowed so long. He's pretty sure that is the same stare he had given Misaki as well, just as how Ichigo looks softer, warmer, happier the minute that Urahara guy stays by his side, just how his mother would melt around him despite her expression never changing.

So, Isshin won't say anything, especially since he can tell neither has a clue... but he will be doing the protective, embarrassing Father as much as he wants.)

So yeah, this is the idea :3 I also have another idea with a Mob Protagonist!Ichigo, where he comes to be a character never even mentioned in a story, and ends up charming local shop owner Urahara Kisuke, who is secretly the terrible, scary Puppet Master Benihime without knowing it. maybe I'll note it out when I feel like it, though if people want, they can ask questions about it.

[padawansuggest]

Some hot takes here but I gotta say them, a lightsaber isn’t a Jedi’s life because it’s their weapon, it’s simply coincidence that their weapon of choice happens to have a chunk of their literal soul powering it because kyber is bonding to a life force as a part of it’s very soul which is why I will never forgive Qui-Gon for taking part of Obi-Wan’s soul with him as if he had any RIGHT to it. Not only did he cut the boy’s hair (and again I think that’s disgusting because even if it’s Just Hair, no one in the world has the right to forcibly remove any part of your body from you) but he took Obi-Wan’s saber. His saber, which he built himself, and had a piece of his soul in it. This isn’t even talking about how Qui-Gon left a child DEFENSELESS on a planet in civil war, but he had No Right to take a child’s fractured being with him out of anger.

Conversely let’s talk about a few things here: the fact that Anakin and Obi-Wan (who famously have the exact same blade colour which I think means they have twin crystals) have such similar saber forces, but Obi-Wan couldn’t handle not burying them together when he thought his brother was dead. The fact that even if I hate his guts, Obi-Wan held onto Qui-Gon’s saber after his death because he hoped like the darksaber, maybe a part of it would remain. The fact that Luke carried an actual literal piece of his father’s soul and knew that Anakin Skywalker at his best was light and soft and happy. The fact that Obi-Wan tells Anakin that his saber is his life truly isn’t because it’s a weapon because Obi-Wan uses other weapons all the time in canon, looses that saber a lot, but because he knows what it’s like to miss pieces of your being. That Cody so willingly takes and cares for this piece of his general in the war. How many commanders cared for their general’s soul in the war? The fact that the idea that whoever wields the darksaber is the true ruler of Mandalore and whoever is given it without proof is going to be cursed is actually because Tarre is staring at them all from the afterlife like ‘these bitches are annoying the shit outta me can one of them really treat this position right before I come back just to strangle them???’ The fact that in Star Wars Visions we learn you can temper kyber to match the colour to the wielder and i think it’s also to help bond with it faster if it’s more pliant.

The fact is??? Kyber is so fucking strong okay I just wanna read 7000 books about it and if I was in SW universe I would probably run an obsessive blog about how cool I think kyber is. Also Qui-Gon is a fucknut

[screamingcrows]

So, remember that short drabble I wrote with a princess of Khaenri'ah reader? (probably not but anyway) here's a short continuation- @ellalalala pretend I am a pitiful kitten dragging this to your doorstep like I just caught a dead leaf.

Dainsleif had once been told that the Twilight Sword, whenever bared, was fated to strike down a man.

But what good had titles, legacies, and prophesies ever done him?

Centuries had passed, yet he still felt the softness of your lips in the apple blossoms weaving through his fingers, felt your caress against his blackened skin in the warm autumn breeze, the color of the sky reflecting your eyes alight with stars when he'd first brought you outside the safety of Khaenri'ah.

Your parents had been surprisingly lenient when they learned of that escapade. Too late did he recognize the muted sorrow mixing with relief in their eyes when they saw your happiness; no doubt they had felt the impending disaster.

The mere notion made him seethe, a dull ache that sat behind ruined flesh in a grim reminder of his own oversight.

Worst of all, he swore he'd seen you, laughing as you spun clumsily around in a field of cecilias, sword clutched too tightly in your hand - just like always - in what was undoubtedly your definition of training.

His knees had hit the soft bedding of moss without his awareness, hand already pressed to his heart in preparation to bow. Or was it merely because something he thought lost long ago suddenly hurt?

Legend told that a scratch from the Twilight Sword would never heal. Dainsleif had never considered if perhaps such a weapon could not be mended either. If that was the price to pay for wielding such power.

How long had passed in quiet observation Dainsleif had no idea, like a petrified fool he'd watched until the sun bathed you in warm gold, feeling greed settle like a fog over his mind the longer he watched. It was to protect you; whoever 'you' were now, he supposed. No one acting so careless should be left alone in the wilderness.

That was the excuse he gave as he remained unmoving, drinking in the enchanting visage as you swung at nothing, swearing some of your movements were familiar. It was predictable how quickly you discarded the dull blade to instead lay down in the sea of flowers.

A soft rustle in his periphery was all the disturbance needed for his hand to twitch at the hilt of his blade, old instincts flaring as he suppressed the urge to call your name. The thought of how it would feel upon his tongue made his stomach lurch in fear, yet it still paled before the image of how you'd turned towards him, blood dripping from where a blade was lodged between your ribs.

Fear, agony, and sorrow. Your bubbly voice had been tainted by the ichor that spilled from your lips, a gargled mockery of his name the last thing to leave you beside sobs.

Three foxes hopped from a nearby shrubbery, bringing his thoughts back as he sighed in relief, a few critters were no threat. He shrank down a little further behind his cover as you sat up and looked around, noting with a small smile that at least your senses weren't entirely dull. Perhaps you spent less time in the library here- Dainsleif pushed aside the thought of how much you'd miss all your old books if you knew of their destruction.

Though there were stars dancing in your eyes as the crimson foxes chirped and approached, eagerly pawing at the bag you'd rested your head atop, they were far from the ones he longed to see; even if he knew it had only ever been a foolish hope. You were someone else. Surely, they would not be so cruel as to-

Ah but why wouldn't they?

If there was a single certainty in this cursed existence, it was the continuous cruelty of Celestia. Dainsleif had seen enough come and go without change to a single constellation to understand.

Dainsleif was well aware of his own folly. Already, he had far overstayed his welcome in the City of Freedom, constantly feeling the eyes of inexperienced knights tracing his every move.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to leave, nothing truly urgent enough that he couldn't justify staying here just as well as continuing his hunt elsewhere. After all, Mondstadt was a vile den of monsters if only you looked closely.

Falling into a routine had been easy, feeling how his being longed to adjust even if it enhanced that crumbling sensation in his mind.

For you, he would endure erosion far worse.

For all his care, Dainsleif knew he was far from infallible, a fact proven time and time again, and so it came as no great shock when he looked up from the glass of apple cider he'd been nursing to see you cautiously peering at him.

"You've been following me."

The liquid tingled as it flowed down his throat, fingers gripping the stem a little tighter than necessary at the way your eyes flickered between his face and hand.

"I want to know why," your voice shook with faux confidence as you sat down opposite him, eyes determined to hold him hostage without any effort.

You'd died in his arms and he had mourned a love that never had time to blossom, suffered the passage of centuries alone, only to be confronted with your voice after giving up on his own desires. Even if he should forget himself, he would never mistake how your lips formed the sweetest of sounds.

The urge to run had lodged itself into his bones and itched for control, locked in fierce battle with the need to grasp your cheeks, soft-looking as ever, and feel the reality of your flesh sinking beneath his fingers.

"I mistook you for someone else," neither truth nor lie, Dainsleif found words gathering quickly and threatening to spill over.

Your eyes narrowed in healthy suspicion, fingers drumming against the wooden table loud enough that were it not for the bard performing, the other patrons would've surely glanced your way.

"You 'mistook me for someone else' for several days? You realise how unlikely that sounds, why didn't you simply ask?"

The rest of the conversation was nothing but a blur as he crossed the bridge, midnight breeze cooling his skin. You could take care of yourself, be happy here, without him and his curse.

Everything he touched was fated to die. For you, his hands could continue to twitch at his sides without relief, tears he thought the ability to conjure far gone could continue to press behind his eyes.

[kankuroplease]

What are your best headcanons for KisaSaku?

These will be all sorts of random because why not? Tw: mentions of violence, age gap relationship, sexual themes, and my own brainrot ✨

Getting the obvious out the way, Sakura would be a young adult meeting Kisame in an alternative timeline au. Age gap still intact, but she’s not a kid

How they meet?

Totally by chance

The worlds falling apart in a totally different way than anyone ever expected, but at least they found questionable company in each other

Sakura’s guard is up with him, but she finds herself smiling along his infectious smile after a short time

Kisame hasn’t had a partner since Itachi and little miss konoha is a difference vibe

She talks a lot, maybe too much. But he doesn’t mind it, it’s made getting to know her easier and feels his day with something other than his own assumptions and disillusionment

Her life up until now was a lot more sheltered than his, so he would feel that she needed to prove herself a bit

She’s trained under the notorious copycat ninja and a hokage, so he has no doubt she is capable

Because of this, Kisame does not baby Sakura when it comes to fighting. It’s so or die, pinkie pie

like, girl he’s seen you level a building with a well placed punch. You got this (also he’s not going to let her die unlike how he acts as if he would)

Because of this, Sakura learns to trust her own strength and train harder in her free time

Which, tbh is probably would be what attracts him to her the most

Pretty faces are a dime a dozen, but this girl won’t quit trying to keep up and improve herself

Samehada lowkey likes to steal a little chakra from Sakura, but she can feel it and lectures the sword because who does it think it is

Kisame thinks this is SO funny/cute and will cackle about it

You like her, Same? He thinks he does too

Occasionally Kisame will merge with Samehada when they’re near the ocean for training and a little special sea food dinner for two

If Sakura gets in the water with him, he’ll playfully circle her while she’s floating. Just to keep her on her toes before swimming back off

Sakura has tried to deep dive with him before but that didn’t end so well for her 💀

Sakura becomes enamored with the swords of the swordsmen of the mist and Kisame figures why not retrieve one with her

He can see what she’s made of while welding a blade and there’s a few he will mull over that might be a good fit for cherry girl

First that comes to mind would be The Kabutowari. She’s definitely strong enough to wield it, but it’s size and training may be burdensome

Then there is the Kubikiribocho, it’s another powerful sword that she could easily wield. There’s only the problem of Suigetsu. She might be able to seduce it of him or just beat him up

The sleeper one would be the Nuibari; small but extremely effective and brutal with wielded correctly. Just imagining her tossing it like a javelin through their opponents repeatedly making that dreaded knot of corpses would be quite a thrill.

But the choice is hers, just know she’ll have to earn the right to wield them

Sakura wouldn’t see him in a sexual attraction way at first, but training to wield swords with him and seeing his more, albeit subtle, caring side would have her thinking about it

blue and gilly, he is charmingly unique. Plus his body looks amazing despite not being in his prime and she’s seen the print of what he’s working with in his pants… my the sage, Ino would be slack jawed if she heard her thinking like this

When did she become a pervert? It must be her period talking💀

Speaking of, he totally let her use his hand as a make shift heating pad for her lower abdomen and that melted her heart a bit

After a year of being called every cutesy nickname in the book by him, she’d hit him with a “don’t hurt yourselves now, handsome” after pulling him up by his wrist off a crumbled cliff side

He’s confused. He’s usually the one poking fun at her

This leads to a bunch of not so subtle flirting between the two, testing each other’s interest and limits

Lots of stolen glances between before one of them (Sakura) cracks and slides into the others sleeping bag

Finally saying “fuck it” and crossing that line they’ve both been standing at the edge of dating each other to make a move

Yeah, Ino would definitely faint if she knew. Especially about the double dicks

But that’s Sakura’s little secret in her new life 🤫

[flamemittens]

TOO LATE. I SEND WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION. FOR THE FLOWER ASK: FERN

Flower Language Prompts from here.

Pairing - Gortash x Fem!Durge. 730 words.

*Now extended and on AO3*

Fern - "In a world of magic, the greatest miracle was you."

She has always surprised him.

Is still surprising him, even after all this time, after all they have been through together. She’s been a particular triumph to discover, to puzzle out, to learn over the years—and a frustration at times too, if he’s honest.

The living weapon he met in those early months, and sought to wield himself, has long since become, in a word, more. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hells, none of this was. Hands that were only supposed to shake once in agreement, now firmly clasped together, oftentimes sweat-slicked and longing.

She has her more chaotic, unknowable, and frankly odd moments, and he has learnt how to deal with it all. She is silk laid over a serrated blade. However, she has become a kindred spirit in so many ways he was not expecting. A hand-crafted match.

Tonight, she’s here in his chambers once more, perched on one of his knees as she thumbs through a sketchbook on his desk. She had declined his offer of a proper chair when she arrived earlier via the terrace windows as per her custom—for once blessedly clean of the aftermath of her calling—instead opting to sit herself down on him and simply respond- ‘This will do’.

“Very well, you infuriating woman” was his retort, slipping a hand round her hip to steady her. “Here. I have something for you to look at.”

And now, he sips at his whisky as he watches her study the schematics. He offers her no hints, but it does not take long for her to discover the amendment. Her face lights up when she sees it, tapping the page with an elegant index finger. “I see you have solved your potential problem with the exponentially high-power requirement at high velocity. This low friction spherical joint design should take care of that.”

He never doubted her. Still, every time, the feeling of being understood, even appreciated, touches him in a way he does not know how to parse. He’s not even sure he wants to.

“And the fusion of biological ideals with that of the mechanical? This is…this is brilliant, Enver.”

He feels almost foolish at how easily the praise stokes the warmth in his chest nursed by the alcohol. His hand reflexively grips her hip a little tighter, as the other swirls the amber liquid in its glass. An idle thought floats to him—he recalls how she had once told him how much she liked the scent of the whisky on his breath. The taste of it on his tongue.

“Yes” is all he offers.

She stops and considers him for a moment, head canted to the side as if somehow the angle will make things clearer.

“You are in a strange mood tonight. You are quiet. Laconic. What ails you?” she tuts, placing her hand on his forehead in a parody of concern for his temperature.

She then shifts closer, and cards her fingers through his hair, nails lightly raking his scalp. It’s soft, too soft for them. He should stand up, take his leave—but he doesn’t. Instead, he thinks about all the things he wants to say to her; the words sit dangerously, blasphemously, close to the tip of his tongue amongst the whisky. He swallows it all down.

“As you wish” she says after a spell, lips curling upwards in a fleeting smirk. He catches it, as he always does. “Keep your secrets, Lord Gortash.”

She does not push him. She knows not to, for the most part.

Suddenly she sighs, closes the book, and stands up; he briefly mourns the loss of the warmth, and wonders if she will insist on making her departure now. He would not blame her. He is poor company tonight. He opens his mouth to try asking her to stay, but before his brain can supply the words, she turns and settles in his lap, straddling him, hands smoothing down his shirt collar—she’s a familiar, comforting weight even as her orange-gold eyes assess him further. A lesser man would wilt under such scrutiny. But not him. A lesser man—and the world is full of damnably lesser men—would not be able to know her, to value her, to match her—nor be able to coax one final climax from her when she thinks she has given her all. Only he can.

To that end, he reaches up and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. It’s easier to fall into their usual routine—offering a suggestion, an invitation.

“It’s late. Shall we retire, my dear?”

[daitranscripts]

Haven Ambient Dialogue

Mages

Haven Masterpost

—

Sister 1: Do you think the mages will be able to seal the Breach?

Sister 2: I heard some speak of using the templars instead.

Sister 1: Oh… I suppose that would work as well.

—

Sister 2: You dislike the templars, sister?

Sister 1: No. I know their purpose, but… you remember, I once ministered in a Circle chantry.

Sister 2: Yes. I assumed you were used to having templars around keeping us safe from the mages.

Sister 1: The mages in the Circle followed the Chant of Light as faithfully as the templars, sister.

Sister 1: More faithfully than some templars, even. Some of the things those templars did when they thought I did not see…

—

Sister 1: I did not see good templars and evil mages in that Circle. I saw prisoner and jailers. The prisoners learned fear, and the jailers cruelty.

Sister 2: But the templars serve the Chantry.

Sister 1: Until we asked them to be less harsh in their treatment of the mages, at which point they rebelled. I am not certain the Chantry should ever have been backed by blades.

—

Sided mages

Sister 1: It is good to be surrounded by mages again.

Sister 2: Really?

Sister 1: The debate, the crackle of magic, the smell of old books…The Breach is a magical problem. The mages will help us solve it.

Sister 2: So you trust them?

Sister 1: I trust them to serve us more faithfully than they would as prisoners.

—

Sided mages

Sister 1: The mages seem happier here, without templars.

Sister 2: They are still watched by the Inquisition. Sister 2: And you are certain we can trust them?

Sister 1: In the Circles, I saw templars threaten mages with death or Tranquility. They kept the beatings from me, but I saw the bruises… and worse. Andraste said that magic should serve man. It never said that the mages must live in fear.

—

Sided templars

Sister 1: I hope the templars are able to seal the Breach.

Sister 2: You don’t trust them?

Sister 1: I trust them to fight magic and kill mages. I suppose that's what we need right now.

—

Sided templars

Sister 2: Were the templars ever unkind to you when you served in the Circle?

Sister 1: No, not to me—but to the mages… The templars had too much power, and they did not wield it carefully.

Sister 2: The Inquisition will control them now.

Sister 1: I hope you are right. Andraste said magic should serve man. She did not call for the death of all mages.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XXXVIII

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. On AO3 here.

So far, your combat trials were some of the most impressive sessions he’d seen in a while.   

You weren’t perfect.  Far from it.  Your aim needed work.  You had a hard time leveraging the claymore properly.  Such things only came with time, when one knew the weight and balance of a weapon as well as they knew themselves.  

A second shining blade made itself known with the first, pure Geo energy so refined that it passed for diamond.  Pantalone would be jealous, certainly.  In the first few trials, he speculated that your abilities mirrored his own, in that his claymore became unnecessary and he could freely wield his Cryo needles without a hand on his weapon.  

He was half-right.  You required the claymore in order to retain the Geo swords, however.  You had to direct the Geo energy somehow and despite the lack of familiarity with your powers, you moved as if you knew exactly what you were doing.  If he counted just right, it always seemed as though you were following a very specific rhythm when landing your blows.  Your claymore’s swing was accompanied by the lightest enhancement of a particular pitch, depending on how you swung it.

Your combat abilities weren’t the only thing subject to musical structures.  Silence that prevailed too long was filled with humming, sometimes fragmented until you found the right note and flow.  Occasionally, the repetition set his teeth on edge.  But when he addressed it and your head snapped up from the book you were reading (probably something left behind by a stray assistant), he realized from your expression that you had no idea you were doing it.

Music was as much a part of you as machines were for him.  He lived and breathed moving parts and systems and the perfection with which they operated; no doubt, music was as precious to you as your own blood, something he knew but never saw in practice, not even in your dream-shares.  Then again, you’d had a proper outlet for such energies and now all of that desire had nowhere to go.

Zandik looked down at the work table in front of him, the surface littered with parts and wires and drawings.  Omega was handling everything with Akademiya, as expected, which left him with time to look over the schematics for weapons manufacturing.  Easy work, really.  Boring work.

He’d given the plans all but five minutes of his time before he found himself examining the cello neck again.  You’d handed it over but not without several questions, all of which were understandable.  This remnant was precious to you, even if it only seemed like a chunk of carved and varnished wood to him.

You…directed…your elemental energy…almost as if you were conducting…

Something you’d never done, as far as he was aware.  If you had, it was an experience you did not impart to him in any way.

What if…

Ah, such a thing would be simple enough.  A receiver on both objects, intended for long distance, sensitive enough to acknowledge even the smallest nuance in motion.  He’d attempted something similar before he’d learned how to control his claymore without such interference.  The Akasha modifications were a more taxing option and he’d paid the price for it heavily before finding a more efficient solution.

A tool like this might make it easier for you to wield; better still, it might make you more sure in your strikes, confident in your abilities.

As for the other problem…

Zandik sifted through a few stray notes on the table.  He’d had to go by memory for the shape and the size, and it would require far more research, but this posed its own set of problems.  

Wood would, of course, be best.  He could hear Sandrone and Pantalone criticizing his prototype based on the material alone, let alone the notion of construction.  It would be more efficient to trust another in this particular area.  But the urge to create something unique, something no one else would ever be able to recreate, sat in his very joints and made his muscles itchy.  

So many of his advancements were attributed to others, his contributions pushed aside because of his moniker of outcast .

But this?

A cello so clear and radiant that it would only be rivaled by the Tsaritsa herself (and maybe not even then).  The material didn’t carry sound well on its own but an amplifier and a transmitter were easy additions.  It wouldn’t be possible to start until he returned to Snezhnaya.  Hard enough to keep you from spotting anything you shouldn’t as it was.

He heard a soft groan from the small lounge chair nearby and looked up to find you stretching, your nose still buried in whatever novel you’d found to occupy your mind.  Although your eyes had yet to leave the page, you were poised to get up, flex, find something else to do.

Case in point.

Zandik placed the instrument neck down and smoothly shuffled the various pages in front of him just as you came up beside him.

“Don’t stop on my account, Zandik.”

“There’s little to be done right now that cannot wait until I have proper facilities.”

“You heard a composition meant for you way too early; the piece you overheard was far from finished.  I always enjoy hearing you sort out ideas, what you’re working on…”

You were shrewd; you would still be in Omega’s dreamcycle if you weren’t.  Hiding this from you wouldn’t be viable forever.  

Especially when you looked at him like that .  Earnest, curious, encouraging and genuine in every aspect of it, despite everything you’d endured.  

He could deal with politicians looking out for their own self-interest.  He could deal with the other Harbingers just as vicious in their ambitions as they were towards one another.  The dreams had been nothing more than another experiment and he never anticipated they would truly result in you .  Finding you had been a happy coincidence, a pet project, an outcome he considered but never anticipated.

The plea at the end of your words had been slight, easy to miss if he were anyone else.  In your defense, you had little to occupy you for the moment and he was, for all intents and purposes, your only other connection for the moment.

That, too, would change upon your arrival to Snezhnaya.

A caged bird would never sing and he knew better than anyone what it meant to have the freedom required for creation.

Zandik turned and reached a gloved hand to brush your neck as he leaned down to whisper a teasing, “I don’t think so,” against your skin.

He heard your breath hitch but you didn’t pull away, didn’t move, and he longed to bury his nose in your hair.  You smelled of sweetness, of summer flowers, undercut by sensations that dreams could never capture.  He steadied himself with his other hand on the table and swallowed as you moved your head slightly towards him, cheeks brushing before you looked at him out of the corner of your eye.  His heart shuddered.

What if…

The distance to be crossed was negligible, so miniscule that neither he nor you needed to lean before your lips met.  He willed his heart rate to slow, not that it would listen, your lips soft and warm.  

It was over as quickly as it began.  His lips tingled and then burned, his breaths short but steady.  You had yet to move, to pull away, your hands seeking amongst the straps and ornaments of his coat.  He could not bring himself to step away, not yet. 

Zandik pressed the lightest of kisses to the corner of your jaw, just below your ear, where your pulse seemed to be thrumming.

 Everything was a delicate balance and while he never minded exploring opportunities, this was…precarious.

The sigh that escaped your lips was the closest sound to bliss he’d ever heard in his presence; the flip in his gut was unsettling, too unlike a moment of piloting a Ruin Golem, and yet he felt as if he would endure that sensation eternally if you…

Zandik caught the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye, the doors to the workshop open a fraction and a boot just barely through the doorway.  He flicked his eyes up to find Omega, mask off, ruin core spinning, hesitating .  For once, the Segment was acutely aware of itself, its place.  

Nothing from the Segment network, no attempt to communicate.

The Segment retreated, its boot disappearing from the doorway before the doors closed silently.

He felt your hands against his chest, seemingly smoothing out his lapels, tracing the decorative edges of his coat.  Eternity in all of a minute.

Oh, how he wished he could preserve this.

[vosh-rakh]

Ku-vastei watched lazily as young Hla-eix and the Duke’s daughter, Derelayn, play-fought in the palace courtyard. Derelayn was bigger than Hla-eix, being a few years older, but Hla-eix kept pace with her. The clacks of their wooden toy swords clashing resonated throughout the empty space. Ku-vastei was proud of her daughter’s skill; she recognized several short blade maneuvers she had taught her herself.

Ku glanced at her wife lounging nearby, casually reading a book. Ku-vastei thought she must be very lucky to have such a lovely wife and daughter. (Being Hortator was a nice plus, too – at least when she had a moment to breathe like this.)

But the feeling was short-lived. A sudden jolt of pain spiked up her right hand, permanently encased in Wraithguard. With her left hand she reached for the glass of cold marshmerrow juice on the small table next to her, and took a mighty swig. No healing potion, but a decent analgesic. The pain slowly subsided in descending throbs until it was barely noticeable. She flexed her hand to make sure. A bit tight in the fingertips and crook of the thumb, but manageable. Watching the interlocking plates and joints shift, she had an idea.

“Girls!” she shouted across the courtyard. “Come here.”

Hla-eix and Derelayn dropped their swords and approached seated Ku-vastei.

“Yes, mama?” asked Hla-eix, expectant.

At the same time, Derelyan asked, “Yes, Hortator?” She seemed nervous, like she thought she was in trouble. And the fact that the girl still called Ku “Hortator” after all these years bothered her.

“Tell me,” Ku began, “What is on my right hand?”

The girls fell silent and thoughtful. After a moment, Derelayn offered, “Lord Vivec, Hortator?”

“No, Derry,” said Ku, patiently but without smiling. “Vivec is my left hand.”

Hla-eix lit up and suggested, “Oh! It’s Uncle Arry!”

“No, Eix,” said Ku again, shaking her head. “Aryon is my right hand, yes, but you’re not thinking literally enough.”

“Ohhh,” Hla-eix gasped, a long, drawn out sound. “You mean Wraithguard!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” said Ku, still not smiling. She raised her right hand, the back of Wraithguard facing the girls. “Eix, do you know what it does?”

“Yes, mama!” Hla-eix said, eager to show her knowledge. “It keeps you safe from the power of Sunder and Keening!”

“And what would happen if someone without Wraithguard on their hand attempted to wield Sunder or Keening?”

Hla-eix frowned and her voice became solemn. “They would die, mama.”

“Hm,” muttered Ku with a slight nod. With Wraithguard, she pulled Keening from its sheath on her hip. “This,” she said, brandishing the profane dagger, “is Keening, what laid low Dagoth Ur with its final sting to his heart.” (She was so used to the lie she had told Vivec after that fight that she told it everywhere – none but Azura could prove her wrong, and she didn’t seem interested.)

“Ah!” gasped Hla-eix, leaning in close.

“Wow!” added Derelayn, also leaning in. “It’s so pretty!”

“Don’t touch!” Ku warned suddenly, raising her voice. “You would die!”

The girls recoiled in fear from the blade, frightened by Ku’s volume.

“You mustn’t be careless with the profane tools,” admonished Ku. “One wrong move and –” She quickly tossed up Keening, catching it in her bare left hand.

“Mama, no!” cried Hla-eix, lunging forward to stop her mother’s apparent carelessness. Derelayn burst into tears immediately.

Ku-vastei pulled back Keening from Hla-eix’s reach, and burst into laughter. “You thought I was in danger!” She returned the dagger to its sheath. “It’s a neat trick I learned by accident once – the gauntlet protects my whole body!”

But now even Hla-eix was crying big, angry tears. From behind came a shout from Ashiri: “Ku-vastei! Stop frightening the children!”

“Oh, it was just a bit of fun, I didn’t mean to –”

“Girls, come to mommy. It’s okay, sweets. That’s right, come here and give me a big hug.”

Ku rolled her eyes. Kids these days. So sensitive.

[acourtofthought]

And as a side note, my own theory is that you want to connect Lucien to Gwydion because you realise how important Truth-Teller and Gwydion/Starsword (and the prophecy) will be in future ACOTAR books, including Elain’s.

Especially knowing that the weapons likely tie into the Dusk Court, which Elain herself is connected to. There are three sister peaks in Prythian: UTM, which Feyre conquered, Ramiel, which Nesta conquered, and the Prison Island mountain… left for Elain. As I’m sure you know, the Prison Island mountain is the Dusk Court.

Then let’s recall how SJM described the scene where Azriel gives Elain Truth-Teller:

“Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Light and dark… is dusk.

Elain and Azriel are the two characters most connected to the Dusk Court (aside from Bryce)… not Gwyn or Lucien.

Sure, that could change, but with CC3 dropping soon… I doubt it 🤭

And here it is, if it's not a Bryce and Az shipper it's an Elriel.

You realize what SJM is saying with that scene right?

Elain is Spring and blooming LIFE, Az is Death and the ONLY thing connecting them is that knife in that moment, which she then gave back and didn't look back. They have nothing in common, that is what the author is telling us. Why would Elain have ANYTHING to do with a sword when SJM made it clear she doesn't like weapons and cruelty bothers her? YOU are rewriting her character completely and that's so extremely strange to me. I'm guessing you only like Elain if she becomes the K-Mart version of her already warrior sisters and Nesta's already warrior friends. There's a reason neither Nesta or Elain showed interest in learning to fight in ACOWAR yet only one sister agreed to wear the leathers and took a weapon without convincing. That my friend, was a clue. Did you read TOG? Did you take note how Yrene was able to remain a healer without becoming a sword wielding warrior?

It's extremely funny how in your last post you went hard-core on me taking the sword away from Bryce for Lucien while you're fine with it if it ends up with Elain and Az 🤔

Your version of Elain in Dusk with a sword / dagger to be Az's match is proof she doesn't match Az as she is, she'd have to sacrifice parts of herself. You're turning her into the one who is already hinted at being his mate.

Words, what are you doing in my mouth?! (ahhh, you put them there).

Gwydion is not hugely important aside from what it represents to the fae and their history, I'm not sure why you're assuming I think it's the key to the future of the series. Truth be told, I rarely think much about Gwydion because it's one sword out of many and SJM never makes a single weapon the savior of all (most of my theories were about Az giving TT to Bryce though I'm not sure I see that happening anymore).

To me, Gwydion is still just a sword just as Ataraxia is still just a sword.

Nesta is not powerful because of the sword she has just like Bryce is not powerful whether or not she keeps Gwydion just like the one who gets Gwydion isn't going to be the most special of all.

Sure these are Made weapons and yes they will be important in battle, just like if they call Narben from the sea but do they really and truly need them when they all have magic and can just destroy people with blasts of magic? When they have the mask and the crown?

Lucien doesn't necessarily need Gwydion to be powerful, he commanded Cassian with a single word (just like Az doesn't need TT and TT alone to save anyone). Not to mention Lucien already has a pretty fancy collection of weapons (remember the jeweled one? I wonder where he got it... hmmmm, maybe family heirlooms? Ones not stolen by a certain queen and general?)

These weapons are simply relics of their history and while they are meaningful because they were weapons that are what their ancestors used long ago, I doubt SJM will write it so her heros and heroines are worthless without them. That only the people with made swords are the important ones. SJM typically gives even the unlikeliest of her characters big roles in the war (Yrene anyone?).

Fionn didn't win the war single handedly with Gwydion. Also, Ataraxia is made as Gwydion was made. So based on your logic that Gwydion is the key to everything...... Why? Gwydion is almost redundant at this point. It's not really about it being one of its kind anymore so much as what it represented to the fae in Prythian millennia ago.

The big difference is that Gwydion does not have the dark history of Narben or even the fact that Ataraxia was made with Nesta's death powers, it's a saviors light and I'm sorry but if you think that means Az deserves it or your dark version of Elain deserves it ..... 😬

Gwydion, "savior's light", and fun fact, Lucien's name means "light" and SJM has made it a point to reference Lucien's "goodness" on a few occasions.

Az not caring whether he kills an ally doesn't really strike me as someone who would be granted a sword dubbed "savior's light".

That's once again assigning characteristics to characters who don't fit the profile.

I'm sure all these made weapons will eventually be used in battle, that Narben will also make a reappearance but I think you're putting way too much on Gwydion being the most important thing ever.

Just like Captain America's shield isn't the main thing that makes him him, it just completes the imagery.

Just like Thors hammer wasn't the source of his power but a way to channel it which he learned how to do without it.

I wasn't desperate to connect Lucien to Gwydion because I strongly feel Lucien is going to be High King during the war with or without it, I've always thought that.

I don't think Lucien is going to rule over all the courts, simply unite them during war.

This all came about a few days ago when I was chatting with a friend and had a random thought which is what spun my wheels:

I was messing around and joking with someone and I turned it into a "crazy theory" which I admitted.

And Lucien is actually more connected to dusk than Elain considering Helions connection to the Mask, and the fact that he owns the Pegasus which are originally from the Dusk Court. Helion is his father so.....

Considering Elain's scent is a promise of Spring and Spring had been MADE for someone like her, I'd say you are the one trying to fit the square peg into the round hole with Elain now being connected to the Dusk Court in any way that means she belongs there.

And the Dusk Court is THE PRISON. WHY OH WHY are people convinced there's going to be homes and a city suddenly built up on this land in the very next book?! Something like that would take time. 😂. And Az can't even talk to people outside the IC, he would honestly be the worst ruler ever and that's no shade to Az, he's got his strengths. But let's be for real. He likes his space and his shadows and he doesn't play well with others.

P.s. To your other post, I'm not sure why you keep choosing to ignore that Fionn is known for his heroic deeds. Again, any connection to leading the wild hunt in his lore (where he wasn't even the bad guy) is not something that makes him a monster in acotar just like Rhys isn't actually Hades kidnapping a bride of spring. SJM is using the imagery and loose ideas, not everything is a perfect match. You have to know that by now instead of acting like all pieces line up as a perfect match.

"Mythological HEROS"

Heros are the good guys, just in case you're confused

In Blodeuwedd, the guy that would be Az's character ends up murdered for what he did wrong to Lleu (Lucien). Does that make Az the bad guy in ACOTAR?

And once again:

“I rode in the Wild Hunt before you were even a scrap of existence, witch from Oorid. I summoned the hounds and the world cowered at their baying. I galloped at the head of the Hunt, and Fae and beast bowed before us.”

Lanthys told us he rode at the head of the Hunt and Fae bowed before him

You have a nice day now! Really looking forward to seeing your reaction after CC3 and the next ACOTAR book 😁

[theeccentricraven]

can you tell me about the lands that Voice of Shadows takes place in?

Thank you for asking! The universe of Voice of Shadows takes inspiration from Asheron's Call and the Elder Scrolls. I also owe inspiration to Shannon Hale's Books of Bayern series. It's a more traditional high epic fantasy (as opposed to The Keeper of Maralla) but with its own unique flavor. It spans over three continents that make up the world of Edon. At the dawn of time, Edon was full of many tribes that each specialized in their own weapon. The Drylan tribe specialized in the sword. The Ranlans specialized in archery. The Moga specialized in martial arts. The Sumar specialized in short blades, clubs, spears, and slings. The Erewon tribe used magic as their weapon. The Baddoners were dragon riders. Over the centuries, these tribes formed large nations. The weapon holders often fight each other over territory and resources, but they leave the Erewons and Baddoners alone because no weapon is a match for the magic wielders nor the dragons. The Jaralans were a peaceful people who never carried weapons, leaving them vulnerable to lose their ancestral land. Many mixed with Ranlans, learning the talent of archery.

Voice of Shadows tells the story of Myralyna, an Erewon who was ostracized because she wasn't good at magic and her mother was a Ranlan. Her people learn that a Drylan emperor has a new weapon that will tip the balance of power in his favor so that even the magic users should fear him. Myralyna also learns she has a half sister named Repp, a Sumer. They go on an adventure together to uncover the emperor's weapon. Myralyna soon discovers there are other types of magic, finding her own talent in a newly discovered magic called "shadow speaking". While other Erewon's wield the powers of the elements, Myralyna draws power from shadows.

There are companion books to Voice of Shadows, too, focusing on other tribes. Whelped in Fire tells the story of two Baddoners and their dragons. Of Thorns and Feathers tells the story of a Ranlan and a Jaralan, lifelong friends who get lost and embark on an adventure to find each other. I might come up with other companion stories, too, depending on where inspiration and time goes. There is a lot of romance in each of these stories💕😘

[sonicasura]

1/2

Oh the pack dynamic is real alright. Been so pretty much since the four of them and Akari was born. Let me tell. If these four had been with their sister when that kaiju attacked, it would be dead faster than it would think "Oh Shit".

While none of them are strong, much like their sister its their abilities and skills that makes them more dangerous than anything else. That and solid team work.

Only the strongest of officers of the DF would be able to go toe to toe with the four as the boys has long since mastered working as a team and it shows.

Which of course leads us to their bios.

The first son is the firecracker and knocklehead of the family. He's a bit likel Casey Jones from tmnt 2003, but a little less hotheaded and bit smarter too. No offence meant to any tmnt fan here, but that guy is not know for his brains.

He has a heart of gold and is generally the one that caused the most trouble for Hina and Proto when going to school. He's protective of all his younger siblings, and have more than once beaten up any one who'd dare to bully them in their younger years.

As for abilities and skills? He has the ability to wield water just like No 11, though lack the raw power that No 11 display. He makes up for it in skills though, as the man can make water like blades or darts that can cut through steel like butter thanks to the fact the water is actually moving at insane speed. No 10 would swear he can hear those blades or darts sing thanks to that.

He can also wield ice to a lesser degree too. Often making an ice staff that deal a quite the damage along with a small change of freezing whatever body part he hits. He is pretty much the close quarter fighter of the four. And is slight bigger than Akari in kaiju form.

The second son is quite similare to Proto in temperment. Calm, collected and someone you don't want to be on the wrong side of when mad. He's the more reasonable of the four and a bit shy around people he dosen't know well. Has great humor though and with an even better timing that would make anyone laugh.

He is also the one who always had the best grades, even helping his older brother with homework as well. Especially with math. But he was always behind in PE thanks to being born physical weaker than any of his siblings.

For abilites and skills? Well he is the only one in the family who can literally make and grow weapons out of his own body. Swords, staffs, bows, guns and more can be made in a matter of second to a few minutes depending on what is needed. Sometimes he even makes some for his brothers or sister should they need it.

Most of the time though he plays the sniper role of the four thanks to his physcial weakness and being the smallest too. Only 7 meters tall at the most. Though that those not stop him from dealing some pretty hefty blows should he ever have to fight up close. And while not at the same level as the fourth brother, he is pretty quick on his feet, making him a hard target to track down.

The Science Department would go buckwild upon learning that the second sibling can make weapons from his body. Also your valid about 2003 Casey not being so smart. He has the street variety, not the book kind.

The eldest definitely spits the most fire and no doubt insults Isao first.

[vavuska]

The dead of Loraille do not rest. Artemisia is training to be a Gray Sister, a nun who cleanses the bodies of the deceased so that their souls can pass on. She’d rather deal with the dead than the living, who point and whisper about the odd girl who was once possessed by a violent spirit. When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia fights back by awakening an ancient spirit bound to a high saint’s relic. It is a revenant, a malevolent being now whispering in her head. Wielding its extraordinary power almost consumes her in body and soul. But death has come to Loraille, and only a vespertine, a priestess trained to wield a high relic, has a chance of stopping it. As Artemisia investigates a mystery of saints, secrets and dark magic, an ancient evil is stirring. Can an untrained girl, tormented by the burden of containing the revenant’s devouring power, have any hope of defeating it?

The complete Book of the Ancestor Trilogy, a stunning epic fantasy series by Mark Lawrence! Red Sister: At the Convent of Sweet Mercy, young girls are raised to be killers. In some few children the old bloods show, gifting rare talents that can be honed to deadly or mystic effect. But even the mistresses of sword and shadow don’t truly understand what they have purchased when Nona Grey is brought to their halls. Grey Sister: Behind its walls, the Convent of Sweet Mercy has trained young girls to hone their skills for centuries. In Mystic Class, Novice Nona Grey has begun to learn the secrets of the universe. But so often even the deepest truths just make our choices harder. Before she leaves the convent, Nona must choose which order to dedicate herself to—and whether her path will lead to a life of prayer and service or one of the blade and the fist. Holy Sister: The ice is advancing, the Corridor narrowing, and the empire is under siege from the Scithrowl in the east and the Durns in the west. Everywhere, the emperor’s armies are in retreat. Nona Grey faces the final challenges that must be overcome if she is to become a full sister in the order of her choice. But it seems unlikely that she and her friends will have time to earn a nun’s habit before war is on their doorstep.

This two books are very similar: both the protagonists, Artemisia in Vespertine and Nona in The Book of Ancestor, are orphans raised in a female-dominated holy place, trained in their ways. Both became possessed by devious spirits at some point of the story and both are reluctantly call to save the day. Both the characters are highly influenced by the traumas they endured (physically and psychologically) but while Artemisia — at the beginning of the book — is more isolated and lacks of friends, Nona, despite her more feral nature, is more easily going with people who became loyal friends to her. Both in Vespertine and Book Of Ancestor Trilogy there's a great curruption in the secular and religious hierarchies, but while in Vespertine those religious authorities are victims in their own way, in Book Of Ancestor the corrupted spiritual leaders are more mundane and their action are plotted by the political plans and ambitions of the royal family members.

The main difference is that Artemisia is not a warrior herself: when the convent is attacked by possessed soldiers (Revenants), she takes up a reliquary kept by an elderly nun and, thanks to the spirit that resided there, she runs into the fight, saving the day. Afterward, she is arrested by a priest — probably a future love interest — in conflict with himself and his religious beliefs.

There are a handful of supporting characters with their own special traits: a soldier who experienced a similar trauma to what Artemisia went through as a kid, whom she's able to connect with and help; a fellow nun from the convent who is very different from Artemisia (I appreciated their enemies-to-friends relationship, and her cleverness); and a grouchy but powerful elder who you can't help but adore (which is very similar to the cunning Abbess who took Nona under her care) .

The Revenant is an interesting character, who is supposed to be evil, and it is in some ways, but it’s also caring: it's the revenant that taught Artemisia to take care of herself, to consider herself worthy of being cared for.

Artemisia isn't as kickass as Nona ––many of the badass moments were due to the revenant controlling her––but she has her strengths. I appreciated that she grew to trust and care for the revenant despite how she was raised, and that she was able to push out of her comfort zone at times. It's nice to see how people in similar situations can turn out differently based on their individual experiences.

Book of the Ancestor, on the other hand, follows the growth of young Nona Grey, adopted into a convent of nuns known for their martial and magical skills. Nona and her friends must learn how to utilize the magic of their world to hopefully save their empire. Nona’s story, as she taps into her own potential and makes peace with herself — and the violence within her — is well-written and the self-immersion in her thoughts is cathartic and immediate.

The world of Book of the Ancestor deserves special attention. It is, in my reading, wholly unique. Giant ice sheets are slowly covering the world, squeezing nearly the entire population of the world into a narrow strip of land. It's a fascinating concept and becomes a major part of the series.

Overall, I enjoyed the series. It's fast-paced with characters that I came to enjoy (more on that in a moment). The books have a fun magic system that leads to excellent pay-offs in each of the books, and Lawrence plays with time, too, keeping the tension high throughout the stories.

I'm not a huge fan of magical academy tropes, which are very prevalent in Book Of The Ancestor (like the first book of the The Poppy War Series by R. F. Kuang). There are occasional moments of familiar tropes (there is a brief period where the book seems like it is aping the story of the first Harry Potter book beat for beat; luckily, that quickly fades out), but in the end, Nona and her friends more than turn this into their own story…helped by the fact that this most definitely isn’t a Chosen One story. Indeed, within the first few chapters, it’s revealed that the Chosen One prophecy of this world is hokum designed to distract people – and it’s that sort of decision that makes Book Of Ancestor a great trilogy.

In Book Of Ancestor, magic and supernatural abilities are more common and accepted, while in Vespertine is more marginal, at the point that only elderly nuns have a deep knowledge of the precious powers of the reliquary that they kept.

Nona Grey is also very similar to Rin from The Poppy War Series by R. F. Kuang: high skilled warriors, dominated by their fury, but loyal to their friends, used as weapons by powerful authorities. Even if Rin, at the end, falls victim of her rage and is more eager to be manipulated than Nona, who seems to be unaware of the deeper meaning of her own battles all the time and just follows the Abbess' indications.

And also the detailed distinction made by Lawrence of the four tribes and their powers reminds me of the one created by Susan Dennard in her Witchlands saga, in which every nation has their own elemental-related talents.

[galderthefuzzy]

The Crimson Eidolon

Delving into the Sanguine arts and secrets of Blood magic has spread through house Vex with the return of Alanna, the Crimson Countess. Her knowledge, along with several stashes of centuries hidden tomes and books that have been delivered to the house's library have opened up many more career paths for those interested. And as usual among certain kinds of elves, many are indeed interested. Blood Knight, Seeker, Priest and Mage recruits are fairly common, but Blood Eidolons are much rarer.

The ability to weave their crimson magics in battle, while wielding dual blades and use both weapons and magic in perfect unison takes either extraordinary talent or decades of training. Eidolons are masters at channeling both their own sanguine energies and those of their enemies in a refined, much more complex way than Blood Seekers. One such individual is Zarel, a Quel'Thalas born Sin'dorei who arrived to Vex Manor after having heard the rumors of Alanna Vex' return. The Crimson Countess has spotted the raw natural talent in Zarel nearly immediately, along with hunger for power, reckless nature and ego the size of mount Hyjal. We shall see what kind of lessons Zarel learns under the tutelage of the the Vex matriarch, but somehow I doubt they will all be filled with sunshine and rainbows.  I have finished this piece recently when in the mood to introduce one of my sanguine minions. I think a Blood Knight or  Blood Seeker might be next? Or maybe some other member of the Brigade we haven't seen for some time? Any other suggestions?  I hope you like the final result!