#At least not in the first pages of the throne of fire

[cryoverlife]

Guys i'm re-reading the Throne of fire and I think the wiki lied to us, cause Carter just said Walt was fourteen years old.

So either the entire fandom collective read the book wrong or Rick forgot the age of his character and changed it.

(or my book is faulty)

[snowballseal]

My Dearest

Part 1

LaDS Zayne X Foreseer!Reader

Prologue

Summary: It's a normal day in the Tower of Thorns. Until someone knocks on your doors. No one ever knocks...

Word Count: 1094

Warnings: Brief mention of thoughts of death.

Note: This is still largely set up, but the end is just the beginning of the real story. I just love writing exposition :3 I'm laying the foundation for future parts of the story, and establishing how the Foreseer works in this AU. There is no cannon here lol.

---

It was a normal day within the walls of your Tower. Well, as normal as one of your days can be. 

The longer you stay here, the more they seem to blend together, the more time seems to mean less. You’ve spent months sitting on your throne, just to see how long you could. No food, no water, just…sitting. Letting the cold creep into the depths of your bones.

To see what death might feel like.

Shaking your head, you turn your attention to the sole window of your library. A storm rages outside, snow turning the usually dark sky white. A perfect day for reading.

Such thoughts aren’t worth lingering on, after all. You cannot die. Not by natural means, at least. Your body will live on despite lacking everything, which must be why you can exist in such a hellscape while nothing else can. Blessing or a curse, you’re not sure.

Your fingertips linger on the worn spines of your books, most of which you’ve already read. Many are without clear titles, though you know the exact contents of each of them. Carefully, you slide a familiar one from its place - a lovely collection of romantic myths. You brush your thumb over the embossed, gold details, the leather seemingly enchanted with an unusual warmth.

Maybe that's why this one is your favorite. Certainly not because it allows you to forget your solitude, if only for a moment.

Your heels hardly make a sound as you follow the winding stairs down to the main floor of the Tower. While it is tempting to sit and read in the safety of your library, it is the time of year when the mortals often show up uninvited for their “prophecies”. 

Presumptuous creatures.

Even so, it’s easier to crush their expectations than to try and avoid them. They can be rather persistent pests if ignored. And while most of the time, it is some corrupt noble’s envoy knocking on your door, on rare occasion, you have the good fortune of meeting a worn traveler with a bright fate and entertaining stories. If only they would come more often.

Tucking into your throne, you drape your fur robes over your lap. They offer a comforting warmth. You can’t help but gravitate towards it. The book, your robes, the fire you keep kindled in bedchambers. Anything to fight the frigid magic flowing through your body.

As you begin to read, the howling gale outside grows more fierce. The Tower groans and hisses, the old stones bracing against the winds. You swear you can feel it shudder from the force, yet you remain seated, unbothered as you read through the first story of your book. You’ve made sure to imbue the building with a fraction of magic, so it will stand for as long as you’re alive, if not longer.

As you’re reading through the second story, an odd knocking echoes through the main hall. You pause, eyes not leaving the page you’re on, but no longer reading the words. The sound fades, almost like it was never there. It wasn’t one of the common sounds of the Tower brought on by the storm…but the mortals never knock.

For a moment, you wait to see if it will occur again, but the Tower remains hauntingly quiet. Perhaps you imagined it…The many years you’ve spent here alone are bound to play tricks on even your sharp mind.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the words in front of you. They ramble noiselessly through your head, disjointed and meaningless. All you can hear is that sound, playing over and over again in your mind.

 Surely you hadn’t imagined it. Surely you’re not losing your mind to this solitude. Surely…

Before you can even process your own actions, you’re on your feet, robes cascading back to the floor as you march to the great doors of the Tower. If only to satiate your own curiosity, you assure yourself. Perhaps one of the wild beasts of the mountain stumbled upon your home. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Your magic prickles across your fingertips, a thin layer of ice forming on your skin. It always rises to defend you before you even need it, driven by something deep inside you, but you keep a firm grip on it. Still, you let it simmer just below the surface, finding yourself on edge as you reach the doors.

With only the briefest moment of hesitation, you press your palm against the solid wood, the door giving way with ease despite the harsh winds. You’re greeted with the fierce, biting cold. Blinking wildly, you shield your eyes against the barrage of snow. It makes it nearly impossible to see much, whiting out everything beyond a few feet.

With an annoyed breath, you flick of your wrist, your scepter appearing in your hand. The Creatio Protocore gleams from its twisted crown. You tap it against the ground softly, a pulse of your magic combining with the power of the Protocore and spreading through the air. 

The snow abruptly stops. Suspended in mid-air.

It’s only then the the tracks become clear. A set of prints - human - hesitating at the threshold of your Tower. Brow furrowing, you trace them back down the path, what you can see of it at least. It’s the path most take to your Tower, the only safe passage through the mountains.

Following them back up, you track them off to the side, along the wall of the Tower. Your brow furrows a little deeper. Why would someone walk around instead of waiting at the door?

Unable to resist your now growing curiosity, you find yourself following them. Steps slow, calculated, you tread beside the tracks, observing their odd quality. They seem staggered, like whoever left them was off balance. Weak. Not uncommon if someone travels this area unprepared.

A part of you wants to retreat back inside, to not bother with this. Surely if they weren’t willing to wait for you at the door, you shouldn’t have to go looking for them. But you can’t smother your need to know, your need to satisfy this curiosity. Curiosity over who would knock.

The steps only seem to grow more shuffled as you go, your shield of magic following you along the wall of the Tower. Until you round the first turn from the entrance and you come to a sharp stop.

Because there, in front of you, lies a man in the snow.

A man with death hanging over his pale, shivering form.

---

Part 2

Ooooooo, things are kicking off! Time for some good ol' fashion whump recovery. My favorite.

Tag list: @pirana10

[dernieredanse21]

A Kingdom of Ash and Fury

Summary:

Aelys Targaryen was a ruler, but power is a lonely thing. One love was a promise never kept, the other a storm never meant to break-yet neither will stand between her and the throne that was stolen.

"You were never going to be their pawn, Aelys. I made sure of it."

"You are cruel. Aelys." A statement, not insult, not judgement. "No, I am necessary."

A House of the Dragon | Aemond Targaryen fanfiction

Chapter 2 The Swordsman and the Sword

Word count: 4.3 k

It was morning in the Red Keep, and sunlight streamed through the high windows, gilding the stone floors in gold. The air smelled faintly of parchment and beeswax candles, though none were lit—there was no need, not with the day so bright.

The lesson chamber was quiet but for the rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of Maester Orwyle’s quill. A peaceful morning, the kind that seemed untouched by war or whispers of it. A picture of order and order calm.

“Now, tell me, when King Aenys died, the realm had two claimants: grandson of Aegon the Conqueror, Prince Jaehaerys, and Maegor the Cruel, his warrior half-brother. Tell me,” maester Orwyle paused, “Prince Aegon?”

“What?” The eldest prince yawned and turned his head back to the maester from the silver lock of his niece, Princess Aelys, whose gaze rested on the cover of the history volume, her mind seeming to have quietly travelled to a mysterious realm beyond the knowledge of men.

“Why was Jaehaerys The Conciliator the rightful heir to the Iron Throne? ” Questioned the maester.

“Because he was King Aenys’ trueborn son…”Answered Aegon impatiently before turning his head back to reach the silver beads braided on the princess, “And Maegor was an usurper.’

The maester sighed. It was the first question on a moon that Prince Aegon had been able to come up with a correct answer. Though his reluctance to answer obvious, at least, he had something positive to report to the queen.

“What could have been done to prevent Maegor’s reign?” The princess, who had been uncharacteristically silent, asked, “I wonder what Aegon The Conqueror would have done if he had knowledge of the events after his death. ”

Maester Orwyle’s eyes flickered wider.

“What would you have done?” Aemond injected.

Aelys cast her gaze on him and thought momentarily before tilting her head, as if expecting more.

“What would you have done, Aelys,” the younger prince breathed and repeated his question, his tone more carefully crafted in his usual elegant and perfect etiquette, “What would you have done, if you had been Aegon The Conqueror?”

Aelys chuckled, “King Aegon only had two sons—one weak and indecisive, the other violent and impulsive. You ask him for a successor, but it is as if the world had the choice stripped from him, even if he had conquered Westeros with fire and blood. Even conquerors cannot control what happens after they die…”

“How many hours did your poor lady-in-waiting spend on this?”

“OW!!”

The gracefully composed Princess Aelys Velayon – heir of the heir – poised and willful, was gone.

In her place was a spoiled, furious thirteen-year old girl who smacked Aegon on the head,

Aegon yelped, rubbing the spot as he grinned, pleased with himself.

Aegon grinned, “I was simply testing Aelys’ handmaid’s skills in braiding. Appearance is important for a future queen, isn’t it?”

Aelys growled, reaching her book this time.

“Your Grace-” Orwyle spluttered in disbelief, his old hands clenching the parchment of his teachings.

Aelys tilted her head, her lips curving into a smile far to be sincere. “Disrespect,” she muttered, her voice smooth as honey, “deserves an iron fist.”

Just as Aegon was ready to retaliate by launching an attack on the sapphire pin on her hair, Aemond looked at him coldly, “Are you quite done?”

Aegon froze and rolled his eyes, “You are always no fun. No wonder our mad sister is the only being who acknowledges you.”

Aelys threw a glare, “Right. Helaena speaks to Aemond, while you mostly speak to wine. And he is the unfortunate one?”

Aemond did not laugh, nor did he join in the banter. But for a moment—just a moment—a small, barely noticeable smile ghosted his lips.

She had not dismissed him this time. Aelys and Aegon carried on as they always did, their words sharp, playful, a game only they understood. But Aemond was not part of that game. He never was.

Not like Aegon.

Aegon, who never had to earn her attention.

Aegon, who took her barbs and threw them back like they were a shared secret.

The chamber had been filled with laughter moments ago. Aelys, still poised to launch her book at Aegon, froze mid-motion. The banter died in an instant, the shift so abrupt it was suffocating.

Aemond had spoken quietly, but the words settled over them like a blade pressing against flesh.

"I would kill him."

The silence was deafening.

Aegon turned his head slowly, his smirk faltering. Aelys lowered her book, her violet eyes narrowing—not in shock, but in calculation.

“I would kill him.”

Aemond repeated, his voice almost melodic, almost elegant.

The air was still warm with sunlight, but the peace in the chamber shattered as if a cold wind had cut through it.

"If I were the Conqueror, having seen the seed of sins he would have committed against the realm, I would have killed him with my own hands."

Maester Orwyle stiffened. His aged fingers gripped the parchment before him, knuckles turning white.

"My Prince," the maester rasped, "you are speaking of kinslaying—the greatest of all sins."

Aelys, still carrying the remnants of annoyance from earlier, perked in surprise. Her eyes found Aemond's, curiosity cutting through her early irritation. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she should be wary or impressed.

Aegon let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he leaned back lazily against the chair.

"And they call me reckless," he muttered. "You’d kill your own blood before they even committed a crime?"

Aemond did not look at Aegon. His gaze remained steady and unreadable, locked on the maester.

“A sin prevented is a sin erased.”

Orwyle’s face paled further.

Aelys, however, had not yet spoken. She was watching Aemond closely, head tilted just slightly, considering.

She leaned forward and spoke again, carrying a smile as if the subject was some court gossip, "And where does it end, then? If one executes a man for what he might do, would the world not be left leaderless?"

Aemond turned to her at last, "Would you have left Maegor alive, then?"

The question was a trap, and they both knew it. She did not answer immediately.

Aegon, of course, would not take this as seriously as Aelys.

He snorted, shaking his head, "Gods, you’re both insufferable."

He turned to Aelys.

"If my brother ever tries to steal your throne, do me a favor and kill him first, would you?"

Aelys ignored him. Aemond did not even blink.

The air was still thick with the weight of Aemond’s words. Even Aegon, who often laughed off the seriousness, had not yet made another joke.

FInally, Aelys winked, “ Maester, The ruler shall be the protector of the realm, but the Hand should be his sword. Perhaps, when I am queen, I will make Aemond my Hand."

For the second time that afternoon, silence followed. But this time, it was a different kind of silence.

Aegon blinked, then let out a sharp laugh, grinning as he slung an arm lazily over his chair.

"Would he have to braid your hair as well?"

Aelys tilted her head and smirked, "If he does it as well as he strategizes, I might allow it."

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. But beneath it, a flicker of something that was not quite irritation or amusement.

"That does make sense. He already stares at you like a dutiful knight waiting for orders,” Aegon teased.

Aemond did not react, but Aelys turned toward Aegon with a raised brow.

"Aegon, if you paid half as much attention in your lessons as you do to my hair, perhaps I would consider you for Hand instead."

Aegon feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart, “What a cruel thing to say to your future King Consort.”

A shade of pink crept on Aelys cheeks before she protested the betrothal was mere rumours and that she would rather die dragonless than marry an idiot like him.

Orwyle, still pale from Aemond’s earlier statement, seemed almost relieved by the change in conversation.

Almost.

He watched as Aelys subtly redirected the conversation, drawing attention away from the weight of kinslaying and back toward courtly wit.

But he had not missed Aemond’s expression, nor the slight shift in his posture. He had not missed the way Aemond had studied Aelys’ words—not as a jest, but as something else. Something dangerous.

"We will end the lesson here for today," Orwyle finally said, closing the book before him.

Aegon cheered, stretching his arms dramatically. Aelys leaned back in her chair, satisfied. Aemond said nothing at all.

The lesson ended, and they left the solar behind.

Aegon was already complaining about something, and Aemond was as silent as ever, but Aelys barely listened. The sun was high now, its heat warming the flagstones as they walked.

The path to the dragonpit was one she knew well by now, part ritual, part performance. She had walked it many times. Jace and Aegon were the only ones taking instructions from the dragon keepers. Arrax was too small to be ridden. And she and Aemond, well, their eggs weren’t hatched.

It never troubled her, watching the boys with their dragons. Jace all determined focus, Luke still too small to ride but beaming anyway. Even Aegon, who was smug enough about it for all of them.

Her dragon would come, not as a gift, nor as a birthright. She would not wait for an egg to hatch. She was waiting for the right moment to take one. And really, under her grandsire’s gentle reign, what need was there for dragonfire. A queen had other ways to rule.

But still, as they crossed the threshold into the dragonpit, and the hot breath of beasts curled in the air, she found her pulse quicken.

One day, when it mattered.

It did not take long before Jace and Luke found her.

Jace walked ahead, purposeful, his excitement barely contained. Luke, smaller and still growing into his limbs, practically bounded up to Aelys with the unshaken enthusiasm of a younger brother who had been waiting all morning for his sister,

“Aelys, mother said I improved much in High Valyrian,” Luke beamed, his small figure hugging into her

She ruffled his brown curls despite his weak protest, wrapping an arm briefly around his shoulders, “As a Targaryen prince should. Perhaps Jace should learn one thing or two from you.

Luke giggled, his face bright.

Ahead of them, Jace stiffened—he’d clearly heard.

Aelys raised her voice, just enough to carry.

“After all, it’s dracarys, not drasharys, dear brother.”

She let the syllables fall with exaggerated precision, her tone all silken mockery.

Jace turned his head, scowling over his shoulder.

“That was one time.”

Luke laughed outright, his delight echoing in the open air.

Amidst the banter, Aemond followed a step behind. He always did.

Aelys spoke to Jace with the sharpness of competition, but to Luke, she was different. She was gentle. Protective.

It was no doubt Aelys loved her brothers. It wasn’t the first time.

Aemond remembered her, several years past, standing with all the self-importance of a Velaryon princess at Luke’s first nameday feast when Lady Lannister’s little daughter had whispered something sharp about their hair, “brown like a common boy.”

Aelys had turned toward her with an expression so polite it was almost kind, “My brother’s hair shines like polished bronze,” she said softly. “And that makes him rarer than all the dull gold in Casterly Rock.”

And the Lannister girl had said nothing else for the rest of the afternoon.

Aegon was another story.

He walked beside Aelys, their steps in easy rhythm. They spoke in half-finished thoughts, their laughter low and private.

They didn’t need anyone else.

They never had.

The eldest prince.

The heir of the heir.

Their marriage was all but decided in the eyes of the court.

Ahead of him, Aegon brushed his fingers against Aelys’ braid—casual, familiar. She didn’t pull away.

Aemond’s jaw tightened.

He followed, silent, his pace measured.

But his hands curled once at his sides before he forced them still.

Aemond was outside of it.

He had always been outside of it.

And when they reached the foot of the Dragonpit, and the smell of sulfur grew thicker in the air, Aemond took a step closer.

And then, quietly—just enough for her to hear—Aemond spoke.

"The Hand should be the sword, you said."

Aelys turned her head, momentarily thrown off by his words. The restraint in his face only made his words cut cleaner.

"Would you still say that if the Hand was the one holding the true power?"

Aelys had not answered him directly, but she had answered him all the same.

She had turned her head, her silver hair catching the light, her violet eyes shimmering like polished amethysts.

She had smiled. Bright. As if it cost her nothing. The smile of a girl who had never wanted for anything.

"If the swordsman cannot wield the sword, it shouldn't have been in his possession in the first place."

She had blinked, unshaken and regal.

So utterly privileged in her belief that power would always be hers to command and to bestow.

Aemond felt something sharp curl in his chest.

She is a princess, the eldest princess of the Heir to the Iron Throne, who has never had to fight for her place.

She speaks of power as if it is something natural—something she will inherit, something the world will bow to without question.

Even now, she walks toward the Dragonpit like it is a place of entertainment. A place to watch her brothers soar, as if their dragons are an extension of her own future reign.

She had no dragon.

And yet, she is not restless.

She is not desperate. Not like him.

Because she does not need one. Not yet.

Aemond should have dismissed her comment as childish—but he couldn’t.

Because despite the silk and the untroubled grace of a girl raised to rule… her words had not been naïve.

She had not called the swordsman a servant.

She had not dismissed the sword as nothing.

She had not said the sword should obey the hand.

"If the swordsman cannot wield the sword, it shouldn't have been in his possession in the first place."

And Aemond understood what she meant.

If the crown could not control its blade—then perhaps the blade should decide for itself.

He had always known Aelys was clever, but he had never thought of her calculating.

Perhaps he had been wrong.

She was still a princess, a girl born into privilege, raised with the certainty that the realm would always bend to her, but she was not blind.

And she had just reminded him of his place.

A sword, Aemond. That is what you are to her.

Something to be wielded. Something useful.

Something that is only as valuable as the one who holds it.

Aemond inhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Then let us hope the swordsman never grows weak.

The heat of the Dragonpit settled over them like a heavy cloak, thick with the scent of sulfur and charred flesh. The ground beneath their feet was cracked from centuries of dragonfire, and the air carried the weight of an ancient power.

The keepers led out Vermax, his scales glinting a deep green under the torchlight. The young dragon was hot-tempered, restless, his wings twitching as if already longing for flight.

Aemond stood still, watching.

Jacaerys took a step forward, shoulders squared, the weight of command sitting uneasily on him. He raised a hand—hesitant, uncertain, yet eager.

"Dracarys."

Flames burst forth.

The poor sheep barely had time to scream before it was engulfed in fire, its body curling into ash and ruin. The stench of burning flesh filled the pit.

Aemond did not flinch. He barely blinked.

It must be a strange feeling.

To command a beast capable of death and destruction.

To know that a single word from your lips could reduce flesh to cinders.

Aemond’s grip tightened at his side.

The thrill of power.

Aemond saw it—the moment of hesitation, the glimmer of fear in Jacaerys’ eyes before Vermax obeyed.

He saw the way his hands trembled, the way his breath hitched in awe and uncertainty.

He is afraid of his own power.

And yet, he holds it all the same.

Power should not be held by those who fear it.

Aemond’s head snapped toward the roar of Sunfyre followed by his brother’s laughter, his thoughts interrupted.

There they stood—Aegon and Aelys.

The golden dragon, larger, older, magnificent in its youthful excitement, had nudged its great snout against her hand.

And then, Aemond saw them.

Aegon’s hand, covering hers, enveloping hers, guiding her touch against the warm golden scales of his dragon.

Aelys did not pull away.

She let him hold her hand, let him guide it along Sunfyre’s gleaming hide as if it were a natural thing.

He tore his gaze away, but the feeling did not fade. It would not fade. It only dug deeper, sharp and unyielding, carving something bitter into his ribs.

Aemond felt his breath slow, controlled, carefully measured.

Consumed by his thoughts, Aemond did not notice Aegon silently sneaking to little Luke’ side while Aelys was caught up trying to speak High Valyrian to Sunfyre, and whispered something mischievous in his ears. Then, a glance, a knowing smirk exchanged between Jacaerys and Luke, a spark of something unspoken but understood.

Aemond exhaled slowly, already bracing himself.

Before he could step away, Aegon was at his side, an arm slung lazily over his shoulders, his grin that of a cat toying with a trapped mouse.

“So, we’ve been wondering.”

Aemond said nothing.

“You are the only one among us without a dragon.”

The words were spoken lightly, as if it were an offhand observation, but Aemond knew better. Everything Aegon said was deliberate.

“Ah yes, Aelys—she flies with me,” Aegon blinked, feigning innocence.

The muscles in Aemond’s jaw tightened. He understood the reference immediately.

He remembered that day.

The day Aegon had taken Aelys on a reckless flight over Blackwater Bay, the day they had nearly drowned themselves after a miscalculated dive into the waves. The day Alicent had struck Aegon across the face.

Aelys would never have agreed to it, yet, she had gone.

Aemond inhaled. He would not react.

Aegon only smiled wider.

“So,” he continued smoothly, “we’ve decided to find you a dragon.”

Aemond turned to him, raising a brow. His voice, when it came, was calm, steady. Measured.

“A dragon?”

“How?” He raised his brows, concealing his interest.

Aegon’s grin stretched,“You will see.”

Aemond followed his gaze, eyes tracking the movement from the dark mouth of the Dragonpit.

Luke stepped forward, guiding something into the light, his face barely hiding his amusement.

The shape was small, ridiculous. Not a dragon.

A pig.

It was plump, pink, with wings made of cloth haphazardly tied to its back.

"The Pink Dread!"

The laughter rang through the Dragonpit, bouncing off the stone walls, loud and unrelenting.

Aemond stood rigid, his hands curled into fists, his breath slow, too slow. It was the kind of forced control that came before the breaking point.

The pig—The Pink Dread—snorted and fidgeted, its ridiculous cloth wings fluttering as it shuffled in the dirt.

Jace and Luke were grinning, proud of their little trick. Aegon stood at the center of it all, smug, triumphant, waiting to see just how long it would take before Aemond snapped.

“Seven hells, Aegon, are you really this stupid?”

Aelys’ voice cut through the laughter, exasperated. She stepped forward, pushing past Jace and Luke, her silver hair catching the torchlight as she glared at Aegon.

“I don’t have a dragon either, or did you forget? What, are you trying to insult your future queen?”

Aegon’s grin flickered—just for a moment—before he scoffed.

“Oh, come on, Aelys, it’s not the same—”

“Even having the most beautiful dragon cannot make up for your stupidity,” Aelys snapped, colder than usual.

For once, Aegon had nothing to say. His grin slipped, and he looked at her with a flicker of something she didn’t have the patience to name.

But she was no longer looking at Aegon.

Her gaze found Aemond in the half-light beyond them, where he stood apart from the others—as he often did, though she rarely thought to question it.

He hadn’t moved. His hands hung loose at his sides, his posture straight and composed, but there was a stillness to him that caught her attention in a way it shouldn’t have.

There was nothing remarkable about it.

She took a step toward him before she realized she meant to. Not out of pity. She told herself it wasn’t that. It was something else. Something she did not understand.

He held himself tightly, as if he had been carved from stone, every line of his body measured and precise.

She recognized the weight in his shoulders.

It was the weight of standing alone. She had forgotten the first time she had felt it. It was the weight of standing alone. She had forgotten the first time she had felt it.

Perhaps it was in those early years, when she stood at her mother’s side in court, naïve, or pretending to be, speaking with all the certainty of a girl who knew no fear.

Perhaps it was when she defended her mother’s claim with a sharpness that was dismissed as youthful pride, her words too smooth, too carefully chosen to be anything but rehearsed.

Or perhaps it was when she smiled sweetly while countering whispers about her brothers’ heritage, wielding innocence like a blade honed in secret.

All the while watching Alicent from across the hall, feigning courtesy as she struck at her in ways too subtle to be named for what they were.

The quiet weight of watching others laugh when you cannot.

She had not expected to see it on him.

Aelys let out a slow breath and smoothed her hand down the front of her skirts, a motion meant to settle herself more than anything.

She didn’t speak to him. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t sound hollow.

But before she turned away, she inclined her head ever so slightly. A gesture so small it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

But not by him.

And not by her.

Her attention snapped to Jace, who was still trying to smother his laughter.

“You are supposed to be the responsible one,” she said, arching a brow. “I see little evidence of it.”

Luke froze, blinking up at her.

She let out an exaggerated sigh and patted his head like he was a small, innocent child.

“Not your fault, Luke. You’re still young, easily misled.”

Jace’s amusement dimmed slightly.

“It was just a joke,” he muttered.

“Right.” She scoffed and glared at both Aegon and Jace. “A joke that needed a six-year-old to carry out. Next time, if you want to make a fool of someone, try handling it yourself.”

The laughter died completely. Aegon let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as if she had just ruined his fun.

Jace shrugged, suddenly less sure of himself.

Luke fidgeted, his enthusiasm drained.

And Aemond—

Aemond stood silent, watching her. He was used to standing alone, to swallowing his rage and letting it fester in silence. He had not expected anyone to speak for him.

And yet, Aelys had.

She did not laugh. She did not ignore me. She spoke.

But was it because she believed in fairness? Or because she would not let them embarrass her along with him?

Does she see me?

Or does she just not want to be associated with someone being mocked?

The thought made his fingers twitch.

He did not know which answer would be worse.

The Dragonpit was quieter now.

The laughter had died. The joke had passed. But the air still felt charged, like the embers of a fire waiting to catch.

Aelys had turned away, stepping lightly toward Sunfyre, already moving past the spectacle as if it were beneath her concern.

Aegon exhaled through his nose, unamused but unwilling to argue.

Jace and Luke, once so triumphant in their prank, now shuffled awkwardly, their excitement drained.

And Aemond—

Aemond had not moved.

His hands had relaxed at his sides, his posture straight, his expression composed, but his mind was not still.

"If you want somebody to do your dirty work, choose better than a child."

He had heard the words. He had seen the way Aegon had taken them, the way Jace had looked down, the way Luke had wilted slightly under her gaze.

Aelys had control.

She had not raised her voice. She had not fought. She had spoken, and they had listened.

Aegon, for all his power, for all his arrogance—had been made to look like a fool.

Not with fire, not with steel, but with words.

And that, Aemond realized, was what made her… dangerous.

A swordsman could be disarmed. A swordsman could be killed.

But the one who wields the sword? The one who chooses where to cut, when to strike?

They are the true power.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, watching her.

She had dismissed the insult, dismissed the game, but she had not dismissed the system that allowed it to happen.

Because in the world Aelys envisioned, she was always the hand that wielded the blade.

She spoke the commands, she decided who won and who lost, and the world would always bow to that.

But the sword itself—the thing she wielded, the thing she needed, the thing she used to carve her future?

It was not him.

Not yet.

The air was thick with smoke, with the heavy scent of dragons, but all Aemond could taste was iron.

It was a slow, curling decision, one that settled deep into his ribs like something inevitable.

He would not wait for a blade to be placed in his hand.

He would take one.

Not for Aelys. Not for the court. Not for anyone but himself.

That night, as the others slept, Aemond would return to the Dragonpit alone.

And by sunrise, the world would know:

A swordsman without a sword was nothing.

But a swordsman who seized his own? That was something to fear.

Authors note:

As much as we grew hotd season 2 was a disaster in many aspects… I LOVED LOVED their characterization of Aemond and all my predictions from S1 were validated… This chapter put a lot of analysis on how Aemond thought when he was young and I know u might have a lot fo questions like ‘why does he even care about Aelys and Aegon?’ ‘Why is he jealous… is it just bcz this is a fmc X Aemond fic?’ These questions will be answered in the followed chapters. I hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what u think! Your comments mean the world to me as a uni student struggling to find time to write :))))

[hollowed-theory-hall]

The Riddle of Tom Riddle: Part 2/?

(Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7)

Voldemort Isn't Insane, At Least, Not in the Way You Think

Horcruxes and Dark Magic don't cause insanity and physical deformity the way Dumbledore implies, and I can prove it.

So, first Dark Magic doesn't make you go mad

So, first off, let's just set the record about Dark Magic not causing the changes in appearance we see in Voldemort and neither does it cause insanity. (I'm talking of run-of-the-mill Unforgivables here, I talk about Horcruxes more in-depth later in this post)

Now, what other character we can be sure practiced Dark Magic... Bellatrix, of course.

And, as a matter of fact, we do get a look at her before she goes to Azkaban:

The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white.

(Goblet of Fire, page 594)

She is clearly not deformed. None of the Death Eaters show any sign of physical changes to their appearance or behaviour due to Dark Magic in general.

the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, “The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!”

(Goblet of Fire, page 595)

Bellatrix is sane and coherent before Azkaban. I believe most of her baby talk and more manic behavior we see in the series is caused by her time in Azkaban. While she was definitely loyal to Voldemort to a fault — she wasn't laughing maniacly in a baby voice like in Order of the Phoenix...

So, it isn't Dark Magic that made Voldemort snake-faced, so, maybe it's Horcruxes...

Second, Horcruxes don't make you go mad either

So, I talked about Horcruxes a bit here. But not about their effects on the person casting them.

So, let's try and trace the moments in time we meet Tom and count his Horcruxes. If his Horcruxes were indeed the cause for the change in his appearance, we'd expect to see a gradual change after each one in his appearance and behavior, if they indeed caused his insanity.

So, the first account we have of Voldemort is from Slughorn'smemory in 1943:

Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Harry recognized Voldemort at once. His was the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Harry saw that he was wearing Marvolo’s goldand-black ring; he had already killed his father.

(Half-Blood Prince, page 494)

As Tom is mentioned wearing the Gaunt Ring, we know this memory takes place during his sixth year, after he made the Diary and the Ring into Horcruxes already. (Why ask Slughorn about them if he already made two? Well, I'm gonna write a whole post about that don't worry)

But the point is, 2 Horcruxes in and there are no discernable changes in behavior or appearance. Harry actually describes him as very handsome, so clearly, he isn't snake-like yet.

The next time we see Tom is with Hepzibah Smith in 1956, the thing is, this memory doesn't give us much since it's before he killed her to make his third Horcrux, so we should expect nothing to change.

That then leads us to jump straight to 1967 and his job interview with Dumbledore. Between the talk with Slughonr about Horcruxes and this memory, Tom added 3 more Horcruxes to his collection (the cup, the locket, and the diadem).

So, we should expect to see a drastic change in behavior and appearance, and, well:

Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Harry had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ago: They were not as snakelike, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet masklike, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Harry knew they would become. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders. The Dumbledore behind the desk showed no sign of surprise. Evidently this visit had been made by appointment.

(Half-Blood Prince, page 441)

Tom's behavior throughout this interview isn't any different from what we've seen in his interactions with Dumbledore up to this point. So, I'll take that as a no, for Horcruxes causing insanity as he showed no sign of gradually deteriorating with each one.

And as for his appearence, yes, we see a change. But something about the wording bothered me. Harry referred to his face as looking: "burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted". This is a really off way to describe a face.

And it actually reminded me of a different description from Harry for a different memory:

And it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room so that Harry could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside him. Then Slughorn’s voice boomed out again, just as it had done before. “I don’t know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn’t tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don’t let me catch you mentioning them again!” “Well, that’s that,” said Dumbledore placidly beside Harry. “Time to go.” And Harry’s feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “That’s all there is?” said Harry blankly. Dumbledore had said that this was the most important memory of all, but he could not see what was so significant about it. Admittedly the fog, and the fact that nobody seemed to have noticed it, was odd, but other than that nothing seemed to have happened except that Voldemort had asked a question and failed to get an answer. “As you might have noticed,” said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk, “that memory has been tampered with.” “Tampered with?” repeated Harry, sitting back down too. “Certainly,” said Dumbledore. “Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections.”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 371)

Memories can be edited and when they are, they become fogged and blurry. Slughorn's memory is clearly very crudely edited, but a master Legilemence like Dumbledore could surely do a better job of it.

Because Dumbledore has an agenda with all these memories, he needs to convince Harry to be ready to die to kill Voldemort — that's his end goal. And as such, yeah, he could reasonably edit Tom's appearance. As he seemed to have.

So, do we have a different source about Tom's appearance during the First War, because the next Horcrux after the diadem is Harry?

We do, Voldemort himself:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face. Then the child turned and ran away. . .

(Deathly Hollows, pages 295)

In this memory Voldemort shows mercy to a muggle child, not killing someone whose death isn't necessary — another point to him not being insane.

As for appearance, well, his face scared the child, but, it's hard to tell why. I'm sure JKR intended us to assume it's because he looked snake-like, but, again, no Horcruxes were made between the interview in Dumbledore's office and this scene, so he shouldn't be any more distorted. And while Harry's description in the interview memory isn't flattering, it isn't horrifying either.

Therefore, my assumption is that Voldemort is staring at this little child dressed like a pumpkin with the most impressive death glare the child has ever seen and this kid actually thinks, Tom is going to kill him. Which, well, it's a fair reason to be scared, I'll give him that.

His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open.

(Deathly Hollows, pages 296)

"White hand" doesn't say much. Tom was always described as pale and nothing odd about the skin texture is mentioned.

I'll add, that magically speaking, at least, according to the way I believe Horcruxes are made, it makes no sense for them to effect one's appearance and sanity negatively. Well, making them isn't pleasant, but they won't make you lose your intelligence and coherence.

So, what's up with Voldemort?

Well, I'm getting there.

For his appearence, my assumption was always that Pettigrew butchered the resurrection potion (when making a potion or alchemical concoction the mindset of the brewer matters. If Pettigrew was adding Nagini's venom without thinking of it as a soul component but as a body component, it can cause the changes in appearences we see). It can also be affected by the unicorn blood, which we don't really know the negetive effects of.

As for the insanity... When talking about insanity in fiction the conversation is sometimes very shallow. the word "insane" is just used to describe any character people don't understand, or that acts somewhat unpredictably. But if we look at insanity as a concept, as in a mental illness or delusions of some kind, they always have consistency. Both in fiction and reality.

Say, if a person believes they are a butterfly, they would always believe they are a butterfly. All their actions and behavior would stem from that delusion. We would expect them to try and drink from flowers, or try to fly — because that's what butterflies do.

Voldemort doesn't have that.

He doesn't have a consistent behavior pattern I could chuck to insanity and call it a day. No, Tom Riddle is a more complex character than that and I feel calling him "insane" is a cop-out from analyzing his character properly.

I'm gonna make a full post about it and what exactly is going through his mind, but I wanted to cover the insanity claims first.

[revvethasmythh]

Sarah J Maas also feels like one of those writer's whose absolutely escaped the larger influence of her editors cause her most recent books are absolute fucking door stoppers in terms of length.

100%. You can track the increasingly length of her books as her series have gone on and her popularity has risen. Throne of Glass and Crown of Midnight are acceptably sized YA books, and after that they go from big (Heir of Fire) to ENORMOUS (Kingdom of Ash). Same thing happened with Acotar, that the first one was reasonably sized (and one of her best edited books full-stop, probably because it was marketed as a headliner for the brand new New Adult genre that, well, collapsed and went defunct by the time the second book came out, awkwardly placing that series in the YA section of the store for literal YEARS before someone finally moved them to adult) and then quickly got out of hand length-wise when it proved highly popular. From what I understand, ALL of the Crescent City books have been door stoppers, which would indicate to me, without having read them, that not much editing is being done on her work (not much was being done on the ones i HAVE read, except the shorter one's i've pointed out). And it's because people know those books will sell regardless. They don't NEED to be edited, because people will just read them. God, you could probably chop some of her books in half just by eliminating repeated phrases and copious ellipses.

And this is something that's plagued a LOT of popular adult Romantasy, I think. Just, super long, super unedited or at least poorly edited books. Some of this makes sense re: the recent New Yorker article on Romantasy (called Did a Best-Selling Romantasy Author Steal Another Wrter's Story? that i think is VERY good and worth the read) referenced that on Kindle, writers have a monetary incentive to have longer books, as they make more money for more pages read, and I'd be interested to know if that impacts the situation at all, especially since a fair few of these Romantasy books may have started as self-published books on kindle that were able to move to physical editions with the newfound popularity of the genre. That's purely speculative, but interesting! Anyway, yes, the size of her books certainly feels indicative of a lack of editing, I agree!

[writingbylee]

hi hello i think it’s time that i actually introduce all of my OCs? because i truly have so many and i never actually talk about half of them. so below you will find all my OCs! along with short bullet point explanations of their characters. if they have an OC sheet, that’ll be linked— as well as any fic i have posted about them. i’ve also included links to my vibes page (@vibesforlee) where i’ve got tags for each of my OCs.

Fandoms Below Include: Star Wars, A Song of Ice and Fire, Percy Jackson, Marvel, Chronicles of Narnia, Critical Role, Avatar The Last Airbender, and Top Gun: Maverick

so uhhhh yeah i hope this is helpful for at least my own brain but also anyone else who is interested!

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

banners by: me

Lyra Amidala Naberrie

General Knowledge

Younger sister of Padme Amidala

Jedi Healer during the Clone Wars

Served as Medic General of the 104th Legion, Chief Medical Officer of the 104th Company known as the “Wolfpack”, and as Medic General of the 501st Legion

Fic: @abandoned-by-destiny

Vibes

House of the Dragon

Aemma Velaryon Targaryen

General Knowledge

Firstborn child to Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, before Laenor’s premature death three years after the marriage

Older sister to Jacaerys Targaryen Strong, Lucerys Targaryen Strong, Joffrey Targaryen Strong, Viserys Targaryen Strong, and Visenya Targaryen Strong

Bonded to the dragon Vermithor

Vibes

Game of Thrones

Lyanna Stark

General Knowledge

Eldest child of Catelyn and Ned Stark (by approximately seven minutes)

Twin sister to Robb Stark; believed half-sister of Jon Snow; older sister to Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, and Rickon Stark

bonded to a red and brown direwolf called Scarlet Shadow

Fic: screaming from a crypt

oc blog: @princess-lyanna-stark

Vibes

Ceara Murphy

General Knowledge

daughter of Neptune and Emma Murphy, a legacy of Fortuna and daughter of Irish immigrants living in Portland, Oregon

inherited the power from her father to start earthquakes, and eventually manipulate seismic waves into concentrated blasts

brought down Mount Othrys after helping Jason Grace kill the Titan Krios

one of the demigods of the prophecy of Nine

Vibes

Emmalee Miller

General Knowledge

inherits the spirit and powers of the mythical Scarlet Witch when Wanda Maximoff is killed during her torture and experimentation at The Raft prison

is brought in by SHIELD after her powers emerge, and is initially assumed to be an Inhuman— and is therefore recruited by Daisy Johnson to join her Secret Warriors

Vibes

Edme Pevensie (female!Edmund Pevensie)

General Knowledge

Younger sister to Peter and Simon Pevensie, older sister to Lucy Pevensie

gains the power to manipulate ice and water after being stabbed with the shattered wand of The White Witch during The First Battle of Beruna

is crowned as High Queen Edme the Just, alongside her siblings; High King Peter the Magnificent, King Simon the Gentle, and Queen Lucy the Valiant

returns to Narnia twice after The Golden Age, both times to assist Prince, later King, Caspian the Tenth

Fic: A Reminder

Vibes

Campaign 1: Vox Machina

Alythea Vance

General Knowledge

Level 1 Druid/Level 11 Cleric (Death Domain) when hired by Vox Machina

is hired by Vox Machina to be their temporary healer/cleric during their mission to Whitestone, after Pike Trickfoot leaves on her vision quest

helps liberate the town of people of Whitestone, and returns to Vox Machina after the arrival of the Chroma Conclave in Emon

Vibes

Campaign 2: Mighty Nein

Kara Dean

General Knowledge

Level 7 Bard (College of Valor) when she meets the Mighty Nein

is Captain Avantika’s first mate/navigator when the Mighty Nein meet up with Avantika after stealing The Mist in Nicodranus

betrays Avantika and helps the Mighty Nein steal her journal

leaves The Revelry and Darktow with the Mighty Nein after The Plank King kills Avantika

Vibes

Xia Beifong

General Knowledge

Older sister to Toph Beifong, and heir apparent to the Beifong fortune

a nonbender who has trained extensively in swordplay

assists her younger sister in escaping, both to the fighting ring and to leave with the Avatar

in retaliation, is essentially sold by her father into marriage to the much older Earth King in Ba Sing Se

Vibes

Major Taylor Gardner

General Knowledge

28 year old Marine pilot

first Marine to ever be allowed to attend Top Gun, and the youngest female aviator to ever win Top Gun

callsign “Wasp”; due to the fifth generation fighter, colloquially called a Stinger, that she stole while escaping the uranium enrichment plant after being undercover there for several weeks obtaining vital intel

fic: Hangman and The Wasp

Vibes

[readingasoiafachapteraday]

now im not very sure if a world of ice and fire is counted as a part of the original series (prolly not) but i have unfortunately started to read and compile notes from that silly little 300 page infant instead of picking up agot and starting it for the third time (which i am supposed to be 113 chs in its ok I’ll catch up before 364th) and i dont wanna be persecuted but the order in which the information about this universe has been consumed by me is downright filthy if not just illegal by even my own standards.

I watched the show for the first time when i was 18 and before season 6 came out. Naturally the timing and what i know now to be a hyperdependence of the neurospice on dissociative media properties led me to consume everything on the internet about r+l=j and in the following years of nightmarish hell that followed all other 1-3hr yt videos i could find that expound on the lore (except the icebergs). Now, thanks to whatever degenerative brain disease ive surely developed by now, a good solid portion of those postulations and theories are now not recalled by me, other than the some truly sus sussy sussaf things from the lore that have stuck out.

These things, combined with my ability to read/consume jondanysansabriennejaimepodjoryetc fanfiction on our enabling site in very short time spans, like truly short, has also given me a somewhat interesting understand of ff tropes, favoured characters, common dumbassery, etc when it comes to time travel fix its. But but but with my ability to successfully forget a lot of what doesn’t stand out and stay w me for sure, i genuinely attempted to finally write the one that I wanted to read. it has to be cuz ik no one else will be able to write what i have envisioned already in so so much detail. And because only i know what fucked shit i want to read. It has to be me.

Yesterday on the 112th day of starting this false journey, i finally put my hands on that sweet strong thicc & heavy truly sinuous hardback of awoiaf, and actually compiled notes, something that has happened only for 7 dany, 3 bran & 4 jon and ned chapters in the past 3 readings of agot (i don’t count f&b because 1 gyldane is much more biased than Yondel and 2 the notes are filled with more names and much less fact, there’s a lot of intentional informational overload to fuck with the reader which manifests itself as gyldanes spirit live fucking with my notes in the form of excessive use of ‚????????????????‘)

PHEWWWW THAT SAID I’ve taken to editing chapters character wise and I’m happy to report that dany‘s situation, setup and early chapters are FINALLY solved, at least for me, for now (gonna switch jorah & barristan - another reason i have been pushing this, i absolutely ADORE iain glen and his and emilias friendship has been sacred to me and book!j welp nuff said)

If you managed to wade thru that word vomit - and you have no idea what’s going on or even if u do, here’s a link for my totally beginner will probably never finish startup i mean crossover

Ps- can you tell i have been writing too many cover letters

[otissbluebearshirt]

I See Red 18+

Chapter 8 - What The Hell’s a Dutch Baby?

Word Count: 5179

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

Two weeks had gone painfully by and yet Crowley still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Selina. Not a single text, call or even a summon had been fired his way by her. Or anyone bearing the surname Winchester for that matter. 

He was becoming antsy. Impatient. Scared that Selina might never be able to forgive him for the events that transpired between herself and Damien, who Crowley still wished he’d killed slowly as it was his fault all this was happening in the first place. Had that complete and utter moron not gone and kidnapped Claire, who was basically Selina’s little sister, then maybe Crowley wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks sulking around his palace, miserable and on the verge of insanity. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have been left stewing in the false hope that perhaps his days were off and he was still inside that two week wheelhouse that Alex had mentioned. Of course, he knew his calendar was correct. After all, he was punctual like that, but still, you can’t fault a guy for dreaming now can you?

Crowley was just hanging onto the hope that perhaps it would take Selina just a little while longer to decide to talk to him again given that the situation hadn’t involved only her. That maybe because Claire had been involved, that the situation had fallen higher on the ladder and deserved a lengthier punishment than Sam not looking for her in Purgatory did. 

Chances are Claire was the reasoning behind the entire silent treatment he was receiving as something told Crowely that Selina wouldn’t have even been phased, let alone angry enough to freeze him out had Damien only kidnapped her. 

If that had been the case then nothing would have changed between the two of them at all. It would still be drinks, near kisses and texts all round like it had once been. Unfortunately for him though, that wasn’t the case. Therefore he hadn’t heard a single peep from Selina since that fateful day and to tell the truth… Crowley wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could keep going like this.

Even his subjects had started to notice he wasn’t his usual self. Hard not to when they’d be in the middle of trials and punishments, the latter being a personal favourite of the King, and yet Crowley would zone out completely, appearing like he’d rather be anywhere else but there. 

Obviously they didn't know exactly why he was so out of it these days, although they had an inkling, but they were hoping that whatever it was would sort itself out eventually. They couldn’t believe they were thinking this but they actually missed the old Crowley, even if he did use them as dartboards as at least that way he wasn’t slouched on his throne, frowning and with his eyes glued to his phone like a teenager instead of doing his job.

“Sir?” Guthrie’s slightly confused voice seemed to snap Crowley out of wallowing in his own self pity. The King’s head slowly lifted from his phone as his brow furrowed a little in question, to which Guthrie replied with, “The trial, sir.”

Following the brief cock of Guthrie’s head, Crowley’s tired gaze came to land on the row of demons patiently awaiting their sentencing. For crimes they swore up and down they didn’t commit and to be honest, some of them probably were innocent but this was Hell-related after all, so they can’t exactly expect a fair trial. Sighing, Crowley beckoned the next fear riddled demon forth, holding out his hand that was soon met with a clipboard.

Another sigh escaped Crowley’s lips, his eyes falling to the parchment in his hand as he brought it towards him, flicking briefly through the vast amount of pages. He began to read, or more so skim, over the unnecessarily small writing that riddled them, telling him in excruciating and over-complicated detail exactly what the demon before him was being accused of. 

Truth be told, Crowley’s mind wasn’t taking in a single word of what was in front of him. Unless it was a letter written to him by Selina, one telling him that all was forgiven and that she was ready to talk to him again, then he simply didn’t care what the contents were about. Fed up already, he flipped the pages all the way back to the first one, tossing it aside and finding a touch of satisfaction when it clattered against the floor and was no longer his problem.

“You’re guilty of… Something.” Crowley began, waving his hand lazily in the air as he was too un-bothered to care about coming up with a proper crime. “Which I won’t tolerate… Whatever it was… Your sentence is death.” He said happily, motioning for his guards to take the accused away and once they did so he turned to the other occupants in the room, adding sternly, “The rest of you, get out.”

Those left in the throne room were gone mere seconds after the words left Crowley’s lips, not wishing to face the fierce wrath of the King. Certainly not whilst he was like this, all surly and unpredictable. Last time that happened he ended up feeding the demons to his hound, who had now developed quite a taste for demon blood so forgive them for being wary.

The only one who remained in the room was Guthrie, who was slightly less afraid than the others as he was Crowley’s right hand man after all. Although, that didn’t mean he was exempt from becoming Juliette’s chew toy and so he approached the throne with minor trepidation. 

“Sir, if I may.” Guthrie began, backing up a touch when Crowley stood from his throne and stepped down as he half expected an angel blade to the chest for lingering. Only to his surprise, Crowley simply walked past him and beelined for the drink’s cart, beckoning with his hand for the demon to carry on. “There have been rumours floating around the asylum recently, sir.”

“Rumours?” Crowley repeated, arching an eyebrow as he poured himself a hefty drink. 

“About your majesty and… Selina Winchester.” Guthrie replied carefully, not daring to make eye contact. 

The second the words escaped into the air Crowley’s grasp tightened on his glass, his knuckles quickly turning white with how hard he held it and he was surprised it hadn’t shattered in his hand. He sucked in a breath, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth as he closed his eyes, needing a second to prepare himself for what he was about to hear.

Opening his eyes, Crowley took a long sip of his scotch before repeating in question, “Myself and Selina Winchester?”

“Yes sir.”

“And what, precisely, do these rumours say about us?” Crowley turned, eyebrow raising again as he tried his best to act casual. When in reality his heart was racing and for once his palm grew sweaty. So sweaty, in fact, that he could feel his glass fighting to slip from his hold. 

“For starters, there's the texting… Something that’s been noticed even by those of simple minds.” Guthrie said, hearing a faint huff of amusement coming from Crowley. “Secondly, there’s Arman, sir, who has been rather vocal about the fact that he witnessed you saving Miss Winchester from a human attacker… That you seemed almost concerned about her wellbeing and that you sent her attacker to Hell… Personally.”

“Hmm.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed, tongue running over his bottom lip as he made a mental note to have Arman killed. Painfully. 

“Not to mention Damien. Who appears to have gone missing after reporting in that he’d kidnapped Miss Winchester. Along with another young hunter girl.” At that Crowley couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking red and the way his features tightened out of anger was enough to make Guthrie recoil out of fear. He quickly bowed his head, stammering out in order to save himself, “But like I said, sire… Rumours.” 

“Exactly.” Crowley’s eyes returned to their normal shade and he took a breath, that usual cocky grin of his rising slowly on his lips as he made things abundantly clear with just one word. “Rumours.”

Crowley was quick to leave the room afterwards, doing nothing but staring down at the darkened liquid of his refilled drink as it swirled in his glass with each step he took, slowly making his way through the stone halls of his asylum. He wasn’t overly worried about these so-called rumours, not really anyway. 

Demons always did have a tendency to gossip amongst themselves as a way to stave off boredom and even if the rumours reached other ears, hunter ears to be exact, nobody in their right mind would ever believe them. Why would they? 

Who would be stupid enough to believe a demon spread rumour about Selina Winchester being best friends with the King of Hell? 

Nobody, that’s who. 

Nobody, whether they be a hunter, angel or even other demons would ever believe such a tale as given Selina’s history, she’d made it perfectly clear how she felt about all demon kind. Just ask Azazel or Ruby… Oh wait, you can’t, because she killed them. 

Crowley himself may have been a special case but even he knew Selina hated demons. With a passion. 

Everybody knew it. Therefore he didn’t have much to worry about in terms of her safety as even should someone try to take her out, whether it be another hunter who assumed she was compromised or perhaps a rogue demon who accused her of poisoning the mind of the King, they wouldn’t stand a chance against her and that much Crowley knew for sure.   

In another part of the country, in a town only about an eight hour drive away from Crowley’s asylum, Selina and her brothers were in the middle of what would end up being a rather crazy case. One that was about to start when they rolled slowly into the parking lot of a local diner and pulled up beside a rather familiar looking logo. 

“God, I hate these guys.” Dean grumbled, shutting off the engine and taking a second to fully psych himself up for what he was about to endure.

“Oh come on, they’re fun.” Selina chuckled, patting Dean on the shoulder and hopping out of the car, surprising both of her brothers as lately she’d been downright miserable.

Like seriously, it had taken a hell of a lot longer than it should have to drag her out of bed this morning. Not even Sam’s famous chocolate chip pancakes could have enticed her and had it not been for Selina’s need to pee, she might have still been hidden under her covers, refusing to talk to anyone. 

To make things worse, she hadn’t even seemed interested in this case when Dean told her about it. She hadn’t even batted an eye at the strange crime scene photo and had it not been for Sam physically pulling her out of her room then she wouldn’t be here. Although now that she was, Selina was kind of glad she’d tagged along as not only did she need this, but she’d also kind of missed the owners of the white van parked next to them. 

A van with only a single word painted on the side… Ghostfacers. 

“You’re only saying that because they both think you’re hot.” Dean mumbled, his lips scrunching up a little at even having to say that. Just because his sister would be considered conventionally attractive, didn’t mean he’d like to think about it, thank you very much.

“I am hot.” Selina replied plainly, and with a cocky smile which had Dean roll his eyes as they headed towards the entrance of the diner. 

The bell above the door dinged faintly as they entered, their noses greeted with the mouthwatering smell of food and reminding Selina she hadn’t eaten yet. It was relatively quiet inside, it being just a little before the lunch rush which meant this conversation would go a whole lot easier as they didn’t have to worry about eavesdropping ears. 

It was never fun explaining to those unfortunate enough to overhear their supernatural related talks. Most of the time they just pretended they were writing a book as it was much simpler that way.

“No way.” Selina breathed out, coming to a stop next to a lonesome sign that stood just inside the door. “They make Dutch babies here… Let’s order one.”

“What the hell’s a Dutch baby?” Sam asked, his brow a little furrowed as he glanced towards the poster. 

“About two thousand dollars less than an American baby.” Dean replied wittly, grinning at his own joke which only had Sam frown in response. 

At least Selina found it funny, Dean thought to himself. And honestly, he was glad she did as he hadn’t even seen her smile since she got back from Jody’s let alone laugh at something. She was still taking what happened to Claire rather hard on herself so any chance he’d get to cheer her up, he’d happily take it. Especially if it meant aggravating Sam in the process. 

“It’s their world famous high-rise pancake.” Selina informed them, speaking as though it was obvious by the name. Which it was. For some anyway. 

Clearly not Sam though as he still looked a little confused. However, not confused enough to point out how long they took to cook. 

“Cat, it says it takes twenty-five minutes.” He tapped his knuckles lightly against the sign, casting his gaze back towards his sister. “Have you forgotten that we’re on a case?”

“I don’t care.” Selina replied, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m still reeling from being kidnapped… Not to mention I’m currently bleeding from my-”

“Okay, okay. You don’t need to say it. We get it.” Sam held up one hand, silencing her before she said anything that might scar him for life.

“Oh grow up, will you?” Selina muttered with a roll of her eyes. She’d never understand men and their disgust for periods. Sam and Dean especially as they’d experienced far worse over the years than a little bleeding.

They’d literally been to Hell for crying out loud but God forbid Selina ask them to buy her a box of tampons or mention she had cramps.

“It’s just a vagina. We’ve all seen one.” She added, for good measure as they really needed to get over themselves. 

“Well, Sam hasn’t. He’s still a virgin, remember.” Dean happily pointed out, making Sam frown more than he already was and even his eyebrows seemed to fall with it.

“Right, from the chastity group thing.” Selina chuckled, shaking her head a little. “That’s unfortunate… It's been a while, Sam. You want me to help you find someone?” She glanced up at him, rolling her lips and finding clear amusement in his blank expression. 

“Can you both focus? We’re working.” Sam said bluntly, a soft sigh escaping his lips when all Dean and Selina did was snicker in response. 

Maybe Crowley had been right that day in the car, maybe Selina wasn’t his twin after all as she was far too similar to Dean than she was him.

“Okay, jeez, relax you big virgin.” Selina teased, giving Sam a playful tap on the arm. “We can work and order a Dutch baby at the same time.”

“Fine, you order your baby, Dean and I will go talk to these two idiots.” Sam replied, about to spin on his heels before Selina spoke again.

“Oh, is there a mirror in here?” She joked, this time making both Sam and Dean frown. She rolled her eyes, exhaling tiredly, “I’m kidding. God, you’re both so stiff it’s hard to believe we’re related.”

“Let’s just go.” Sam nudged Dean, cocking his head towards the table where he’d spotted their old friends. Or acquaintances rather? Whatever they were, they were a pain in their ass.

“Hey, order me one too.” Dean whispered towards Selina before he was dragged away by Sam. She flashed him a thumbs up, making a happy grin rise on his face. 

Only that grin quickly fell when the two of them collapsed into the booth next to their two least favourite people, Ed and Harry. Both of whom looked equally as amused to see Winchesters as they did to see them. 

“Ah, the Winchesters... Yay.” Harry muttered, equally as fed up as he was sarcastic.

“Says nobody.” Ed carried on. 

“Ever.” Harry finished, rolling his eyes a little before Selina approached, slamming a chair down at the end of the table which had both himself and Ed jump in their skin. 

“Hey boys.” Selina smiled, clearly pretending to flirt with them as she spun her chair around and straddled it, noticing the drastic change in behaviours the two boys seemed to exhibit over her appearance.

“H-Hey, Cat. Nice to… To see you again.” Harry stammered out, doing his best not to look her directly in the eyes. 

“You changed your hair…” Ed pointed out, ignoring the furrowed eyebrows being fired his way by Sam and Dean. “Looks… Looks good.”

“All right, keep it in your pants.” Dean muttered, fed up already as it was bad enough just running into them, he didn’t need them both drooling over his sister too.

“What… I don’t…”

“Just up and listen, both of you. This is how it's gonna go.” Dean carried on, banging his fist on the table a little before pointing at them. “You two clowns are gonna get into that mystery machine outside and you’re gonna leave town… Or I’m gonna put holes in your knees.”

“Okay, first of all… You guys don’t scare us.” Harry said bravely, gesturing only between Sam and Dean as despite how attractive he found Selina, he was rather scared of her. 

Last time they’d been together, locked in that Morton House, she proved just how scary she could be so the last thing he wanted was to provoke her. Dean might not make good on his word of putting holes in their knees, but Selina would, that much he was certain of. 

“Not at all.” Ed added, trying his best to act cool when in reality, he was a tiny bit scared. 

Lifting his shirt to reveal a gun tucked into his waistband Harry carried on, “Say hola to my little pistola.”

"Am I supposed to be impressed with that treasure trail or the lady gun you got hiding in your pants there?" Dean asked, pointing briefly towards the world's smallest gun. 

“Uh… Both?” Harry hesitated, brows knitted together as that had sounded more like a question than a statement. His face relaxed, his shirt dropping as he unconvincingly shrugged, “Mainly the gun.”

“Hmm, I think mine is bigger.” Selina teased, lifting her own shirt to reveal not only the much bigger gun she had tucked in her own waistband, but the bottom of her bra too. 

Obviously she hadn’t meant to show it. She’d just pulled her t-shirt up a little too high but it seemed to only add to the impact as it appeared as though the boys were practically whimpering to themselves and she couldn’t help but think that was the only bra they’d ever seen on a woman.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Sam interrupted, motioning for Selina to lower her t-shirt. “Maybe you should go and wait outside.”

“Yeah, before these two melt into a puddle of ectoplasm.” Dean added, a soft scoff leaving the back of his throat as he looked over at the dazed boys.

“Fine.” Selina stood up, lifting her chair and placing it back under the table she got it from. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the eyes of the obviously disappointed Ghostfacers and adding, “See you boys around… And as for you two, don’t forget my Dutch baby.” 

“We won’t.” Sam and Dean called after her in unison, knowing better than to forget anything food related when it came to Selina as she was worse than Dean when it came to pie.

Satisfied, Selina left, allowing her brothers to do whatever it was they’d come here to do as honestly she hadn’t been listening to them. The entire car ride here she’d been scrolling through her phone. More specifically her text thread with Crowley, which had been mostly one sided as she’d yet to respond to any of his messages.

He’d given up trying to call her as she only declined it the second his name flashed on her screen. So instead he’d restored to texting her a few times a week to see if she was ready to talk to him again. To be honest, Selina didn’t even know if she was ready or if she ever would be , hence the fact that she’d straight up ignored each message no matter how hard it was for her to do so.

With a sigh, she locked her phone and tucked it back into her pocket after making note of the time as she was rather looking forward to her Dutch baby and was counting down the minutes to when she could eat it. Selina leaned back, hearing the slight squeak of the leather of her jacket against the car door as she glanced up at the sky, wondering at what point in her life had things gotten so damn complicated that she felt bad for ignoring a demon.

She knew it was the trials. That the last one had bonded her and Crowley in a way she never would have expected it to, but she didn’t like thinking about that day. Not when she only ended up remembering what Crowley had confessed to her and how badly she wanted to be able to give it to him. 

Meow. Saved by the cat, thank God. 

Selina’s head cocked to the side a little, her eyes soon spotting the small, black cat that was strolling towards her. She couldn’t help but smile a little, crouching down and holding out her hand as the cat approached her cautiously. It sniffed at her fingertips, eyeing her carefully and when it came to realise she wasn’t a threat, it happily allowed her to pet it. 

“Aren’t you such a cutie?” Selina cooed, trailing her fingers along the cat’s back as it brushed up against her, purring softly and in a way that made her feel all warm inside as she always did like when animals took a liking to her. Cats especially.

If she had it her way, there would be a cat running around the bunker but unfortunately her brothers were absolutely no fun at all and therefore wouldn’t allow it, making herself and Castiel rather disappointed. 

“The cat seems to like you… No surprise there.” 

Two weeks was a long time for Selina to have gone without hearing that utterly smooth voice, meaning she was unable to stop the intense shiver from running up her spine and having her entire body shudder in response. She glanced to her side, spotting Crowley’s signature black suit as he made his way closer, every step only accelerating her otherwise calm breathing.

Selina’s eyes moved slowly up the length of his body and she swallowed thickly the closer she got to his face, the one she hadn’t been able to get out of her head no matter how angry she was with him. The second her gaze locked onto his, she was practically done for, her heart hammering furiously beneath her enochian carved ribs and for a second, she played about with the idea of throwing herself at him. 

“Hello Selina.” Crowley added, deepening his voice purposely as he could almost sense the way Selina was feeling about him. He took one step forward, only to stop instantly when the cat she had been petting hissed at him before scarpering away.

Now annoyed, Selina sighed then muttered, “Did you have to do that?”

She was unable to help the slight scowl that flashed across her face as she straightened, folding her arms over her chest. She did her best to avoid making more unnecessary eye contact now that she was face to face with him, should she roll over and submit to his every need and desire.

“Apologies.” Crowley replied, edging his way closer to her as she leaned back against the Impala, still opting not to look directly at him again. But he had hope. After all, she did talk to him. 

“What do you want?” Selina asked, a soft sigh leaving her lips as nothing but the sound of gravel crunching beneath Crowley’s feet met her ears in response. 

A moment went by and still silence. For a second Selina thought he might have left due to her attitude, until the gap between them closed a lot more than she would have expected it to. She felt Crowley’s finger hook gently beneath her chin, slowly raising her face to meet his. 

“For starters, for you to look at me for longer than five seconds.” He began, watching as Selina’s lips pressed together into a tight line, almost apologetically. And when she didn’t drop her gaze after more than those five seconds, he began to feel hope spark beneath his chest. 

“There.” Selina breathed out, her heart hammering even harder against her ribcage at just how close he was to her. That still wasn’t enough to make her fully forgive him though, which may have been why her tone seemed so hostile when she next spoke. “I’ve looked at you. Now what do you want? ”

“Selina, don’t be like that.” Crowley said softly, opening the hand still beneath her chin to land lightly aside her face, watching the way her eyelids slowly fluttered and for a split second, her lips curled upwards. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” 

Wrong choice of words Crowley thought to himself, as the second they crossed his tongue and escaped into the air Selina’s face dropped beneath his touch. She raised her hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his wrist and pulling his own away from her face, all but throwing it back at him as she moved away from the car and out of his intoxicating personal space. 

“Because that makes it so much better.” Selina scoffed as she turned away from him, not finding herself able to look at him for another second. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that Claire and Alex could have been killed, all because you don’t know how to keep your demons in check.” 

“I know.” Crowley said softly, choosing to be patient as Selina was far, far more stubborn than he ever was. He edged his way closer to her, reaching out and lightly ghosting his hand over her shoulder, a spark of relief igniting within when she seemed to relax under his touch rather than tense up. “But I truly am sorry, Selina.” 

Crowley’s hand landed properly on her shoulder, a soft sigh meeting his ears after it escaped from Selina’s lips. She turned her head, eyes flowing up from the warmth of his hand to meet his, the honesty behind them making it all the more difficult for her to stay mad at him. She knew how hard it was for Crowley to admit fault let alone apologise for anything, only adding to the confirmation that he really had changed. 

“And I promise you…” He began, his touch slowly working its way up the length of her neck. He gently cradled one side, running his thumb along the almost faded bruise on her jawline, all while his eyes never once left hers. “For as long as Hell follows me, it will never happen again.” 

“It better not.” Selina whispered, her breath hitching a little as this was all so much for her to take in at one time. 

The gentleness of his touch. The softness of his words. Not to mention the look in his eyes, the one so filled with care and adoration that it had her unable to fully believe he was the same demon who had once tried to kill her. It was overwhelming to tell the truth, and for once she was praying that her brothers would show their faces and scare Crowley off as she didn’t know how much resistance she had left in her. 

“You have my word, darling.” Crowley said, continuing to draw light circles over her skin with his thumb. And for his own sake he ignored the rapidness of her pulse against his palm as chances are her heart was beating fast for entirely different reasons and not because of him. “And you know I always keep those.” 

It was true, he did always keep his word which is why Selina simply nodded her head once in response, her lips twitching upwards just enough to allow Crowley to let out the breath he’d been holding since the moment he showed up. 

She’d forgiven him. 

“I’ll do what I can to make it up to you.” Crowley added, for good measure as it couldn't hurt to offer her more in terms of an apology. 

“Just keep your demons away from my girls and we’ll call it square.” Selina breathed out, doing her best to ignore the way her hand twitched out of eagerness to touch him. “They’ve been through enough.” 

“You have my word that I’ll try my best.” Crowley replied, unable to fully promise her that he would as he couldn’t control every single demon on earth. “But you know as well as I do, there are unruly demons still out there.” 

“That’s okay… As long as they aren’t yours, then we won’t have a problem.” Selina said assuringly, offering him a warm smile which all but had his heart want to leap from his chest. 

Once again their bodies seemed to involuntarily lean forward, as though they were magnetic and unable to stop themselves from connecting. Their eyes found one another and they both knew what was about to happen, yet neither of them did anything to try and stop it. They wanted this, more than anything did they want this to happen but unfortunately for them, the universe was, once again, not on their side. 

“I’m just saying, the sign said they take twenty-five minutes. Ours came out in twenty. That makes it preemie.” 

“It’s a pancake, Dean. Not a real baby.” 

The sound of her brother's nearing voices had Selina step abruptly away from Crowley, despite how hard it was to move her legs away from the gravitational pull they seemed to have towards one another. Not that it mattered as in the blink of an eye Crowley was gone, leaving her to do nothing but think… What if?

What if life didn’t keep getting in the way? Would she kiss Crowley? Or would her conscience get the better of her and stop her because deep down, she knew it was wrong? Selina wasn’t overly sure, but she was sure she’d find out next time as you know what they say… Third time’s the charm.

Chapter 9 ->

[tenaciouschronicler]

August 2 and 3 2024 2009

I fear I really will need to put all my posts into a word doc.

Lets work through the lore shall we.

So, back on page 251 when the Kernel divided it 'hatched' upon arrival to The Medium. These Kernels, one light and one dark, upon situating themselves in their respective Orbs activate the Imps present giving them characteristics from the prototyping, in this case harlequin clothing.

Im gonna put the rest under the cut, this post got away from me.

Again working from top to bottom, These Orbs are situated upon one of Four Spires which make up the throne of either sides Sovereign Power; the Dark throne is purple while the Light throne is gold. The first Kernels arrival is the catalyst that starts the 'true game', increasing the board to a 12x12, adding more pieces and actually placing the kings on opposite corners. Light is also always destined to lose. Im curious if each game can only be played by four players or if only the first four are placed in the spires and subsequesnt players dont have any effect on the Sovereign Powers? Could you play with less than four players and how would that game play out?

John and WV both wonder what the point is then if Light always loses and Nanna says that is The Ultimate Riddle they have to solve.

This part made me remember way back on page 82 when the narrator said:

The game presently eluding you is only the latest sleight of hand in the repertoire of an unseen riddler, one to engender a sense not of mirth, but of lack. His coarse schemes are those less of a prankster than a common pickpocket.

His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well. It is the most diabolical riddle of all.

At the time I wrote, "Googling Absence gives us "the state of being away from a place or person". So his riddle is a state of being away from others... I feel like the following statement gives more but I cant discern what." Could this be The Ultimate Riddle Nanna is refering to? I still cant tell what the riddle is, maybe after I put all the Lore together I can at least try to add more to this. (After stepping back and re-reading it I figured out the 'diabolical riddle'; the nature of Absence is transitory and evanescent, here one moment gone the next. Looking for answers only serves to hasten its absence, obscuring itself with more questions.)

For now, John has to climb towards Skia by passing through the gates utilizing the games building funtion to reach. In that way he can save Dad! And what about Earth?

Nanna drops the bombshell that Earth is done for, regardless of how well they do in this game.

Finally done with her duty, Nanna heads off to bake John cookies! For the first time we see her phase through the walls leaving blue goo on the Con Air poster. We didnt see her doing that earlier but maybe theres more goo around the house.

WV is All About them cookies and pushes John to pursue. We learn John hates any and all baked goods "totally abjur[ing] the hell out of that idea."

Roses Pesterchum image is annoyed now, having tried to get Johns attention this whole time and is now trying to use a box to the head.

Unfortunately for her I think this is Johns last straw and hes having a well deserved scream. After everything hes gone through and learned, I think he needs it.

In the meantime and probably against better judgement, theres still a fire raging Rose, shes gonna update the GameFAQ. And apparently get sassed by a dead cat. It's pretty much all his fault you're in this mess in the first place, so he can just button it.

Whatever you say Rose.

[khaleesikels]

I wanted to send my crazy Throne of Glass/ACOTAR/Crescent City into the universe. Enjoy!

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My Theories- Throne of Glass/ACOTAR/Crescent City:

Kingdom of Ash- Worlds Overlapping

• Mala only held out a hand. In it lay a kernel of white-hot power. A fallen star. “Take it One last gift to my bloodline.” …Chapter 98, Page 794

o This is giving Starborn? Or, at least, a hellacious coincidence to Theia’s line?

• She was falling. Falling and being thrown. The Wyrdgate sealed behind her, and yet she was not home. As it closed, all worlds overlapped… Chapter 99, Page 799

o This almost makes it sound like the worlds did not previously overlap…?

Queen of Shadows- Thoughts on the Bone Carver/ Old Gods

• “Seems like this god of truth,” Aedion called from his wall, “was more of a Sin-Eater than anything. You should read some of the things people wrote- all the horrible things they did. I think this was a place for them to be buried, and to confess on the bones of other sinners.” …Chapter 50, Page 411

o “These aren’t ordinary catacombs,” Rowan said, setting down his torch. “This was a temple.” Indeed, alters, benches, and even a dark reflection pool lay in the massive space… Chapter 50, Page 410

o “There’s writing on these bones,” Aedion said, striding down the steps and onto the bone floor. Aelin grimaced… Chapter 50, Page 411

o “It’s in every language- all in different handwriting,” Aedion marveled… Chapter 50, Page 411

A Court of Mist and Fury

• The boy’s smile (The Bone Carver) was a mockery of innocence. “Are you frightened?” “Yes,” I said. Never lie (truth telling God, anyone?)- That had been Rhy’s first command… Chapter 18, Page 196.

A Court of Wings and Ruin

• (At the Prison-Prythian) “There was life here,” Cassian said, “before the High Lords took Prythian. Old gods, we call them. They ruled the forests and the rivers and the mountains (Throne of Glass world has elemental magic, fire/ice/wind)- some were those things. Then magic shifted to the High Fae, who brought the Cauldron and Mother along with them, and though the old gods were still worshipped by a select few, most people forgot them.”

o Feyre: “The Bone Carver was an old god?”

o Cassian: “That’s what legend says.” … Chapter 22, Page 233

• “Clever, that Fae warrior. Her bloodline is long gone now- though a trace still runs through some human line.” He smiled, “No one remembers her name. But I do. She would have been my salvation, had I not made my choice long before she walked this earth.”

o (Continued, Bone Carver) “She could not kill them in the end- they were too strong. They could only be contained.” …Chapter 23, Page 239.

▪ At first, I thought of Bryce... Until I realized the Bone Carver and his siblings are not Asteri. They were old Gods. Who do we know that locked away “gods” in their story? Not kill… Locked away. Aelin.

▪ Also, Dorian and Aelin are related. Dorian has magic and is also a human. Also- Aelin has both Fae and Human forms... Magic being passed down through a human lineage.

▪ Both Dorian and Aelin are descendants of Mala and Brannon. I have a theory that Lidia is related to Aelin and Dorian through Brannon and Mala somehow.

• Aelin approached the archway of the god’s realm. To where Mala now walked across the shimmering grass, little more than a shaft of sunlight herself. The Lady of Light halted- and lifted an arm in farewell. Aelin smiled and bowed…. The gods began shouting, running towards her, as Aelin ripped open a hole in their sky. Right into a world she had only seen once. Had accidentally opened a portal into one night in a stone castle. Distant, baying howls cracked the bleak gray expanse. A portal into a hell-realm. A door now thrown open… Chapter 98, Page 796, Kingdom of Ash.

o This also becomes important later in my dissertation about who the “Mother” is and where the Cauldron came from.

Final Thoughts on Mala Fire-Bringer:

• Mala Fire-Bringer is also known as:

o Goddess of the Sun

o Lady of Light (STARBORN!?)

o Lady of Fire

o The Bright Lady (STARBORN!?)

o Formerly a god that gave up their immortality to be mortal/human to Forge the lock.

Archesian Amulet/ Witches

• Archesian Amulet described as 3 circles overlapping one another.

• Eye of Elena description (Throne of Glass): The Eye of Elena was a warped metal amulet composed of two overlapping circles inside a greater circle. The heart of the amulet was in the shape of an eye- with a blue gemstone in the middle.

o Rhiannon Crochran created the basis of the Lock: the symbol of the Three-Faced Goddess in an amulet. Rhiannon crafted a witch mirror in the middle eye, absorbing immense power. The amulet had been called the Eye of the Goddess.

This leads me into the Three-Faced Goddess which has been mentioned in all three series (ToG, ACOTAR, CC).

• Throne of Glass we know that the witch clans- all 3- are represented by the Three-Faced Goddess. The Three-Faced Goddess is symbolized as the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. We see this in Throne of Glass symbolically represented by the 3 witch clans:

o Blueblood Clan- The Maiden

o The Blackbeak Clan- The Mother

o The Yellowlegs Clan- The Crone

• In ACOTAR, we get this snippet from Amren when she is assisting Nesta with Scrying (stones and bones as she calls it): She didn’t seem to notice as she untied the small pouch and dumped out its contents. Three stones, four bones. The latter were brown and gleamed with age; the former were white as the moon and smooth as glass, each marked with a thin, reedy letter I did not recognize. “Three stones for the faces of the Mother,” Amren said upon seeing Nesta’s raised brows. “Four bones… For whatever reason the charlatans came up with that I can’t be bothered to remember.”

o The Mother has 3 faces... Where have we heard this? The Three-Faced Goddess. The Maiden, The Mother, and The Crone.

o This also leads me into a statement made by Tamlin in the first ACOTAR book. He asks Feyre, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you anything about us?” Which I always thought was weird. Why would Feyre’s mom know anything about the Fae? Who has a long enough life span to rival the Fae in the Throne of Glass series? Witches.

▪ I think Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s mom was a witch, and by association, them as well.

• Lord Devlon in the ACOTAR series even calls Nesta a witch.

o The Three-Faced Goddess is represented by the Archeron sister’s as well:

▪ Elain- The Maiden (Also- Elain is a Seer- we know this is a gift known to Witches as well. It is mentioned in Crescent City that Witches have gifts that range from Seers to potion-making)

▪ Feyre- The Mother (Literally popped out Nyx)

▪ Nesta- The Crone (Death/ Her ability to have the Silver Flames/ Death Incarnate)

o I know Crescent City has witches, and Jesiba Roga was one, but I am not far enough along in Flame and Shadow to continue my thoughts until I finish the book.

Lastly, the Mother and the Cauldron: My crackpot theory is that the Mother is the Three-Faced Goddess and she created Prythian when Aelin banished them into their new hellscape.

In ACOTAR, Feyre sees a mural in Tamlin’s manor and describes it as: A might black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No- not sparkling, but… Effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. (Wyrdmarks, anyone? Who would know about Wyrdmarks? Someone from the Throne of Glass world).

This would also make sense why Feyre and her sisters seem “blessed” by some. They are powerful… Witches

[fluffyjack5]

This is it! The reveal of main antagonists of Zoophobia, also known as Four Horsemen of Apocalypse. Not wasting the time.....

The first character is Jestine-Deity of Dreams, before known as a Sin of Pride. A long time ago she tried to overthrown Lucifer from throne, but she failed. After this act she was banished from hell. But soon Malvada offered to her to become the Deity of Dreams in exchange for her serving him. She was placed under supervision of second main antagonist-KayCee.

KayCee-The Deity of Chaos with demonic origin, like how Jestine, and like Jestine she's serving to Malvada-Strange and mystical person, She wants only one-to see the whole world in chaotic fire. But she need a help to do this terrific plan, and firstly she was hoping to our third antagonist-Mirage

Mirage is Demon-Oni, which (in my headcanon at least), can take over the body of various species. A long time ago, after Jestine's failed coup d'etat, Oni was subjected to genocide for that, they was supporting Jestine in coup. But Malvada saved Mirage from fate to being killed in massacre. Despite she was owe him for that, Mirage wants something more that just being a puppet in someone's hands. Once she discovered information about Sun Wukong's rod-Artefact, which can gave to his user the power, which subject only for chosen one. So after this, she make the escape plan alongside with Phineas-at this moment, lover of Jestine (Yeah, i used some old canon things in my HC). They escaped because of Gale, in which Mirage take over. Now Mirage and Phineas want to find this artefact to become most powerful subject in the world. But someone also wants to take this power, like how our fourth and last character in this time-Tha-Haarut

Tha-Haarut is a right hand of Jestine. He's a Deity of Fantasies and caretaker of Jestine's daughter. But as a Mirage he's not loyal to Malvada, but wants to not show this. He was obsessed by idea being most powerful deity in Panteon (place where living various deities, like how Autumn or Heff. At this moment the most powerfull deity in Panteon is Father Sky), so when Mirage discovored the existance of Sun Wukong's rod, Tha-Haarut decided to find this artefact for all cost. (Yeah. I know that he looks like how piece of ShiihS, so wait for redesing of him)

That's all. Malvada is only at last guys. The most main antagonist is so important for Zoophobia's universe, that he needs to other page.

[rhetoricandlogic]

Liz Bourke Reviews In the Shadow of the Ship by Aliette de Bodard

June 25, 2024 Liz Bourke

Cover by Maurizio Manzieri.

In the Shadow of the Ship is the latest Xuya universe story from Aliette de Bodard. A short novella or a long novelette, it clocks in at around 90 pages of text, and it has many of the elements I’ve come to expect from de Bodard: elders who should have protected their young people but didn’t; conspiracies of silence; and a protagonist who must decide whether it is more important (or even possible) to shield her family, and especially her parents’ generation, from consequences or to do what her own sense of ethics tells her is right (or the course of least harm). In the Shadow of the Ship veers closer to horror than much of de Bodard’s more recent work, in both atmosphere and sensibility, and its protagonist shares with one of the protagonists of A Fire Born of Exile the ongoing emotional betrayal – the ongoingache and scar – of having a mother who does not love or accept her adult child.

Khuyên ran away when she was sixteen. She left behind the ruined mindship The Nightjar, Thirsting For Water and her entire family, and left behind, too, their loyalty to the ship’s needs and half-mad, unspoken requirements – for a mindship might be intelligent, but Nightjar has been badly damaged for years, able to act but not to speak in words to its occupants. Khuyên found success in the civil service, became an official in the service of the Dragon Throne, and learned how to tend to her duties among the war-ravaged Numbered Planets. She’s only returned now, four years later, because her grandmother has died, and her sense of duty combined with her guilt at abandoning her family in the first place prompted her to pay her respects.

The ship that she fled – Nightjar, an oasis of peace among the devastation of war – eats children. Its own children. They’re sent into the ship’s dead zones, these Tribute, and are never seen again: The price the ship exacts from those who live aboard her. Thirty children since the start of the ship’s flight, and Khuyên, though she’s a magistrate with the right and obligation to pursue justice, has never said anything to any other authority about it. It would destroy her family and the community that she was born to.

Khuyên felt the warmth of Sunflower’s lips on hers, and it was… wrong, profoundly wrong and yet comforting – and as they walked down that corridor it came to her that the reason it was wrong was because no one had ever taught her to value her own happiness.

But the Tribute is happening more and more often, and things aboard Nightjar are more and more wrong. With an unexpected ally and unexpected dangers, Khuyên has to face the very real terrors of her childhood and decide what she can do about them as an adult.

For all its brevity, this is a dense and emotionally complex piece, carrying grief and hope, pain and potential, in equal measure. The ashes of the past meeting the chance to build something different for the future. I always enjoy de Bodard’s work, and In the Shadow of the Ship is no exception: a sharp-edged and glittering science-fictional gem.

[queenelsa567]

what i would name these SJM books if i had to describe how i felt about them in the title (no ACOTAR + spoilers for TOG)

House of Earth and Blood: House of There Was Way Too Much World Building In the First 100 Pages of This Book and So I Need It Redistributed More Logically

House of Sky and Breath: House of I Need To Put On My Fucking Double Seeing Glasses to Even Begin to See the Amount of Storylines in This Book

Assassin's Blade: The Assassin’s Short Story Collection That Was Surprisingly Too Long

Throne of Glass: Throne of This Book Was Actually Pretty Good

Crown of Midnight: Crown of The Fact That I Forgot What Happened Besides Like the Last 10 Pages Is a Problem

Heir of Fire: Heir of Rowan Was Kind Of a Dick In This and I Don’t Know Why We’re Forgetting That

Queen of Shadows: Queen of I Probably Wouldn’t Change Anything About This Because It Fucked

Empire of Storms: Empire of This Book Destroyed Me But Also Why Was Their First Time Fucking On a Beach Because It Seemed a Little Incongruous

Tower of Dawn: Tower of An Impeccable Story That Could Have Been Condensed Fo Shizzle But Should Still Be Its Own Book

Kingdom of Ash: Kingdom of My Heart Has Been Ripped Out and Stomped On But Also Why Do All of the Female Main Characters Always Lose All of Their Power (AKA My Least Favorite Trope)

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hi!! Do you have any fantasy romance recs? I loved IAD

Hello fellow IAD reader!! Sorry for the lateness, blame Thanksgiving.

I do have fantasy recs!

A Heart of Blood and Ashes by Milla Vane--this one has a high fantasy setting, the hero is trying to avenge his parents who were killed by this evil king figure. He almost kills the heroine, the king guy's daughter--but she's the heir to throne and wants her dad dead too. So they agree to work together... and marry for an alliance. SO HOT. So angsty. So emotional. This is the book where she famously gives him a handy using her dead brother's blood as lube. It's GOOD.

The Winter King by C.L. Wilson--the hero is the prince of a winter-magic kingdom, and he inherits when the prince of the sun-kingdom kills his parents and brother. He takes revenge, conquers the sun kingdom, and the book begins with him solidifying a treaty by marrying the daughter of the sun king. The sun king tricks the hero into marrying the daughter he loves least, and the heroine has to give the hero an heir within a year... or else. This is for the Zutara girlies, it's a man with a heart of ice with this defiant princess, perfect enemies to lovers, with a dash of... Elsa?

The next book is The Sea King, which has the first heroine's sister being doggedly pursued by like... Prince Aquaman. From a matriarchal country. Where he was literally trained in the art of pussy. (TW: this one has sexual assault on the page, not by the hero.)

Consort of Fire by Kit Rocha--the first heroine is sent to marry this dragon god, and she must kill him or die. The twist: she and her handmaiden (who's super dangerous) are long term lovers. Twist twist: she and her new husband feel an instant chemistry. Twist twist twist: her husband her lover also have an angry sexual tension. It's hot, it's intense, and it's FFM. Beginning of an ongoing series.

Ruby Dixon's Aspect and Anchor series is GREAT. The first three books have modern women in our world end up in parallel fantasy words, where they must act as the "anchors" for these "aspects" (basically: supernatural gods). The first one is Bound to the Battle God, and it's such a good defiant heroine/stern hero book. There's a scene where the heroine is under the influence of an aphrodisiac and he has to boredly get her off. I live for it.

[asongoficeandthrones]

A Clash of Kings First Read - Chapter 27

(POV: Daenerys II.)

Setting: Qarth.

Favorite character: Honestly, Ser Jorah. Because he stays true to his suspicious nature, and yes, Dany is also being perceptive, but I still have some doubts about some of her reasoning, as I've explained in more detail below.

MVP: Quhuro Mo, for finally updating Dany's knowledge on what's happening in the Seven Kingdoms, which was much needed. Now, hopefully Dany won't rush to attack because of the mess that they're in, because I think she'd still be defeated, but at least she has a whole view of the situation so that might help very much.

Things I loved/liked:

Dany's doubts about being able to conquer Westeros with her present strength, which show she's smart. I mean, a khalasar a few hundreds strong, if that, and three baby dragons? She has to wait or find other people to help her! And her reasoning that if the lords of the Seven Kingdoms are fighting for the throne, they'd be less able to fight against an invasion is probably true... but I would also agree with Ser Jorah when he says to still be cautious.

Dany's dream of a kingdom: Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father. It shows that she is a kind person at heart, and would probably make a good queen - better than the kings we've seen on the throne so far anyway - sorry, Robert. (And also, there's Dany kinda idealizing her father, when I think in AGoT she knew what he'd done, so I'm a little confused...)

Dany being perceptive enough to see that "All the great of Qarth will come to see my dragons" (and not her).

I like Quaithe's character for now. She seems wise and perceptive. And she does warn Dany of the danger that's going to surround her:

"Beware," the woman in the red lacquer mask said. "Of whom?" "Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."

The description of Qarth and its walls. I can't quote it all, but I liked the symbolism: animals, war and love, with the center being love and the outermost circle being animals. Also, the description of Daxos's mance, which is... really impressive (but also reinforces my idea that Xaro Xhoan Daxos is kind of... vain).

Now Dany's up to date about Westeros, which is good.

Jorah's "Ned Stark a traitor? [...] Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honor," because he's right in that Ned didn't betray Robert, but he's also very condescendent (which I can understand since he went into exile because of Ned) and wrong about the fact that Ned wouldn't besmirch his honor: he did, but he died anyway.

(Sorry about the formating...)

Things I disliked/hated:

It's not a thing I don't like per se, but I hadn't realized that Dany didn't know about Robert's death, Ned's imprisonment/death, that Joffrey and Cersei are reigning now, that Tyrion's Hand, that Renly and Stannis both mean to take the throne, etc. Which actually completely makes sense because she's been in the Red Waste and with no way to get information for a long time. So yeah, I feel kinda stupid about that lol.

The descriptions getting far too long. It took almost a page to describe the buildings in Qarth, when it's essentially the same idea: they're beautiful and colorful, and the people are dressed more richly than Dany and her khalasar.

I kinda agree with Jorah when he says, "You would do well to avoid both those men, Your Grace." Pyat Pree (the warlock) seems... far too anxious to please Dany. I guess the same could be said of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, but at least his gifts would be material (if they're ever really given to Dany, because I mistrust both men equally).

The concept of slavery. It was already broached (in depth, actually) in AGoT with the Dothraki, but well, it seems that here Dany is gonna have to put up with it in a more... direct way. I mean, in the previous book, Dany took some slaves for herself, but it was because she wanted to save them from being slaves to men far more brutal than her. It seems she won't have that choice here.

Quotes: "Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones," because Ser Jorah is right and I think Dany should be careful around the Qartheens. Also, Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things, because it's linked to the idea I mentioned earlier, that Dany is intelligent enough to know what her brother didn't: that the Seven Kingdoms probably won't rally to her. And lastly, Dany's "I am not the frightened girl you met in Pentos. I have counted only fifteen name days, true... but I am as old as the crones in the dosh khaleen and as young as my dragons, Jorah. I have borne a child, burned a khal, and crossed the red waste and the Dothraki sea," because it describes her so well.

Thoughts overall: Informative, for Dany at least.

[snappydragon14]

Scenario pt 2: Mictlan and Mortal Soar

P.s this is out of boredom!! Not canon with the story line!

Next page~

Previous page~

"MORTAL!!"

She sighed as she rubbed her dark eye bags, ever since she was kidnapped she was stuck in a land of despair and misery. She considered herself lucky not to be killed, but right now she has to focus on the fussy warlord with his impatience. Speed walking down the halls of the temple as her wild dirty blonde hair gave off a dim glow with the fire's light. Her boots making subtle 'clicks' with every quick step, making it into the throne room full of gods. She despised being stuck down here, she wanted her freedom...but her demands would have to wait, walking past the many menacing gods and kneeling down Infront of the Lord of War himself, noticing Lady Micte's absence.

"Yes? My Lord?" She wanted to take back those words, she didn't serve anyone but herself!

Mictlan, the warlord and god of the underworld, turned his piercing eyes toward her. His imposing figure was seated on a throne made of bones, adorned with dark, intricate carvings that seemed to move and shift in the dim light. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the room as he spoke.

"You have been summoned for a reason, mortal," he said, his tone dripping with contempt. "Your presence here is no accident. You possess something that we need."

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "What could I possibly have that a god like you needs?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

A sinister smile curled at the corners of Mictlan's lips. "Your defiance is amusing, but do not mistake it for strength. You carry knowledge of the world above, knowledge that is invaluable to us. We need information, mortal. And you will provide it."

Her mind raced as she tried to comprehend his words. "And what if I refuse?" she challenged, feeling a surge of rebellion.

Mictlan's smile vanished, replaced by a look of cold fury. "Refusal is not an option. You will do as you are told, or suffer the consequences."

She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of her captivity press down on her. But she knew she had to play along, at least for now. "What do you want to possibly know?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Everything," Mictlan replied, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. "Every detail of the world you came from. You will speak, and you will not leave a single thing out."

She had every right to keep her knowledge to herself! All she had to offer was just knowledge about stars, lights, weather, and even craftsmanship with weapons. If he was Soo ancient why couldn't he just read a scroll and get the knowledge himself instead of kidnapping a singular mortal!

her blue eyes narrowed as she stood firm. Her usual long range of patience cut short at his demand.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no! You listen here-"

She stomped forward, firmly grasping one of his tusks and pulling him down to her level with a firm tug.

"you won't be getting anything out if me, if you want my knowledge you'll have to rip every little detail out of my skull! I don't care if you kill me, but the knowledge you want will have to be worked for. Is that understood?!"

She asked rather harshly, her grip on his tusk tightening as it felt like staring death in the face. She wanted to give this man a taste of his own medicine! And this was his first shot...

Mictlan stared dumbfounded, every god in the room letting out a shocked gasp at her boldness. No one...and I mean no one....has ever been so bold....and has lived to tell the tale....

His blue gaze staring into her irritated scowl despite the dusky skin and wild hair, a mortal like this.....too foolish.....yet too stubborn.....

"S-sí mortal" the gods looks shocked....no one has ever made the mighty god of war crumble with just a singular tug....not even Lady Micte has ever made him act like this....

"It's Soar, not Mortal." She corrected, blowing some hair out of her left eye. Her eyes now focused on the god of war as they remained narrow and firm. Letting go of his tusk and stomping away.