#I love Whitefire so much!!

[eeveonaartz]

Fourth ATTACK on @luxphobic21!!

[prismatic-starstuff]

Speaking of Tavalin; the absolute first thing I'm doing when I get the game is making them, no doubt

Like, I have tons of characters I made for this setting, and I love them all so much; Schera (my tiefling who's so much of a good boy that it hurts,) Mizoth (my good-aligned drow who's on the run from their Lolth-worshiping family,) my bard twins (extremely sweet but not at all bright Blackfire and extremely intelligent but kind of jaded Whitefire) and I also have some various other ideas for playthroughs just because there's So Much Variety in the character creator alxnakxnskxm

Buuuuuut...

Tavalin was my main BG3 OC back in 2020, and they're the one I've fleshed out the most so far! (Mizoth's getting to be close behind though, I've been working on them a lot lately!) Their story and their romance with Astarion have still got a special place in my heart, and, like... idk, I feel like I owe it to 2020 me to finally let them meet Astarion outside of my brain and my ficlets ALSMSLSXKAMXN 😂

[lucy-the-cat]

Lover's Curse Chapter Thirty Nine - Love Alone

Mare

I stand there for far too long, staring at the trapdoor in heart-pounding silence. My lips are warm. So are my cheeks.

Lightning Girl.

Love is meaningless. Love didn’t stop Maven from letting me whither to bones. It didn’t stop me from humiliating Cal when it served my interests. And it didn’t stop Iris from trapping me in a new cage of silence.

Love is never enough.

What spurred her, then, to stand as she did? To shield me against her mother and pretend they might fight on my behalf? Is there another word I should use for her?

Or do I not understand what love is?

“You can be smitten on the way.” Rosalie nudges me forward, chuckling. “For now, let’s get moving.”

Silly. I inch away from the exit, head light and chest aflutter. This is no time to fantasize. “So where does this tunnel lead?”

“I’m not sure.” Her head tilts. “My guess is somewhere outside the city walls, perhaps near a village or river. Might lead outside the country. Or even . . . “ Her voice hushes. “Further.”

“What do you mean?”

“A place I can practice in the open.” Rosalie stares into the distance, cheeks flushed. “Where my abilities can be taught and examined without fear of retribution.”

Montfort.

I sigh. “Do what you want. I, for one, am returning to Whitefire.”

“To your lover.” Her tone is soft, matter of fact, but I bristle anyway. “You could bring him with you, if you wanted. There’s always room in my clinic.”

My lungs tighten. No. He’d never agree to it. And even if he did . . .

Maven won’t bargain for her.

My cheeks burn. So what? I don’t need him. This only proves what I knew all along, and Colors I needed the reminder. He’s not on my side.

Never will be.

A shadow leaps from wall to wall, striking closer with each breath. Rosalie flattens against me, scrambling for a weapon where none lies. Healers make for poor soldiers.

So do prisoners.

Darkness sharpens to depth and dimension as the shadow glides into focus. Eleanora brandishes her gun, then halts. “Rosie?”

“Elle.” Rosalie softens. “I can explain.”

It’s pointless. Their worlds rotate around different axises, too off-kilter to ever be joined. Rosalie should save herself the heartache.

“I’m sorry. It was wrong to do this behind your back, but I can’t--” She clutches her heart. “I can’t live like this! Tell me you feel it. Tell me I’m not alone.”

Eleanora hesitates. However much she loves Rosalie, this is her home. Iris didn’t join me when I asked, and why would she?

Love is never enough.

But she steps forward, gun discarded, throwing an arm around Rosalie’s shoulder. “You’re never alone, Rosie. Besides.” She shrugs. “Never fit in here anyway.”

Talk drifts to memories, private jokes I’ve not the context to understand. I should be happy for them. Should laugh and smile along, not cling to the walls in misery. Should do anything but curse that she is here and Iris is not.

Of course she stayed behind. Of course her family came first. Of course my loneliness is secondary to the army marching ever-nearer, of course I am alone, of course, of course, of course.

“They kept asking if we were sisters.” Eleanora rolls her eyes. “I’d grab her by the collar, kiss her passionately and say--”

“We’re twins.” They laugh.

My heart clenches. I’ll never have that. Never know what it’s like to trust someone so thoroughly.

I look away.

The shadows taunt me, embracing each other in the pale turquoise light of the moss. They know no shame. They know no hatred. Their affection is pure, longing without the need to take or destroy.

I’d told Cenra Maven would come for me, and held up the attack as proof. But I’ve no way of knowing if it’s his doing. And it doesn’t matter. He isn’t worth my tears, my anguish, my obsession, this desperate longing, for someone, anyone to--

I still.

I could’ve sworn . . .

No. That’s impossible.

But in the shadows, something glints, so quick I might have imagined it, something . . .

Blue.

“Hello.” Fingers brush along my arm, slow, tender, and so inviting it burns. Maven meets my eyes with a wry smile. “Did you miss me?”

[pretend--im--interesting]

songs i think maven calore has on his playlists

angst, lowkey spoilers, unorganized

side note! he for sure makes oddly specific playlists, so these are songs that overlap on them

edited this a little bit but i’m lazy. also i’ve never written anything like this so please be nice to me. i’m sensitive asf.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy- Queen

idk i feel like he just listens to it and thinks about seducing a man????

like he thinks of thomas and not in a heartbreaking way but like longingly👍 basically the same thing but whatevs

he’s probs really into queen but the stuff that’s all about being a lil fruity

but bohemian rhapsody makes him contemplate a lot of his decisions so it’s very rare that he enjoys listening to it

other top queen songs are play the game and love of my life

Junior Varsity- Dayglow

#alwaysthesecondchoice

giving very much early teen maven to me

like around 14/15, MAYBE 16

probably reminds him A LOT of when he started making the divide between him and cal

would make him think of training with cal and how he fell behind

he def listens to the whole album and silently cries to this song✋

also cries to dear, friend

Opera House- Cigarettes After Sex

most of the songs from this album give off end of red queen/all of kings cage vibes tbh

listened to this while mare was scouting new bloods in glass sword cuz he missed her

mf was down BAD

he misses the person mare believed he was fr

specifically thinks of the day him and mare went to see a play and made out in the theatre

very touch starved

Sympathy For The Devil- The Rolling Stones

GIRL IK HE LISTENS TO THIS TO GET IN A BAD BITCH MENTALITY

if he were into sports this would be his walk up song

does the little smirk thing because this song makes him feel (if only for a few moments) completely content with where he went.

not necessarily a good thing cuz he’s not the greatest at decisions but it lets him feel free in a sense

but like imagine him walking through the halls of whitefire just OWNING it

505- Arctic Monkeys

maven is so touch starved he literally is barely surviving

mare mare mare mare mare mare

some thomas but this is all about mare 100%

mans just wants someone to love him for who he is🥲✋

he def went through an emo phase and listened to the neighborhood too

if he had a tumblr his profile was all dark 2014 aesthetic

tiberias was probably so confused but supportive

he’d just be like “ok maven idk what you’re doing just make sure your music isn’t too loud👍”

in this scenario elera wouldn’t cut it out. jut for my own peace of mind.

honorable mentions!

loves I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski cuz it’s the song that makes him cry when he’s alone

anything nirvana specifically Dumb, Come As You Are, and Lithium

anything mother mother but his fav is Burning Pile

Crash Test Rating- Remo Drive

All I Wanted- Paramore

Mama- My Chemical Romance

[king-maven-calore]

If I was in the work team and could choose what to show someone who have not read the book it would be a more visual and explicit version of every character. What do I mean: Mare would have to be play not by a beautiful woman who made dirt looks aesthetic but someone rather normal that you would ignored if it wasn't the protagonist. I want Cal to look like the prince charming he is described as and Maven not to be the beautiful tragic boy we all imagined but someone who is the shadow of the flame (someone cute ofc with femenine features but not the greek god that he became after the plot twist, at least of me he did)

Also Whitefire and Summerton as this French 18th century castles that I imagined them to be.

And lastly idk why but I want the scene where Maven leads Mare to Cal's room so he can take her to see her family, I want that Mare enter his room and see a half hidden picture (or small painting) of Corianne with baby Cal, and he being all defensive like "mind your buisness" and Mare being like "who is that woman and why did he got so defensive? "

I love that you feel like Maven morphs into a Greek god AFTER the betrayal, so sexc of you. Of course, Maven will probably be styled as a sweet, pretty boy for the first season to give off the impression of a trustworthy guy. I have my own opinions on how Mare and Cal should look but I get what you mean.

On the palace aesthetic, hard agree 👍. I imagined a polished neoclassical vibe too.

About the last part, I have to disagree, sorry😕 Cal was never standoffish in regard to the topic of his mother because he didn't know much at all to begin with, as Elara erased every trace of the woman from the palace, so I don't see how a whole painting would have survived.

[fynslife]

Post-War Storm Epilogue: Reunion **spoilers for RQ4**

                                                   1 year later

The wind is chill on my skin as I step onto the runway at the edge of Archeon. It’s been a year since I was last in Norta, a year since I said goodbye to Cal. So much has changed since then.

I’ve come alone this time, leaving Farley with Clara and Kilorn with Cameron, even Davidson stayed behind in Montfort - all aware that this is a trip I need to take alone. My family are safe and happy, and as much as it pains me to leave them again I’ve known for some time that my path would lead me back here. At least this time around it’s by choice, and not as part of a cruel game.

Over the past year I’ve explored the world to the farthest reaches and back,  always keeping one eye on my former home, on Norta. The first broadcast we watched together; my family, Davidson, the Red Command and even Evangaline, huddled around to see the first glimpses of the new country. In the weeks following the battle the High Houses started to return. Silvers and reds were shown to be mixing, working together to build the new world with a fledgling government drawn from both bloods. Cal was elected temporarily as the first Premier of Norta amidst the fall-out, as the country sought to find a new equilibrium. Seeing his face, clear of pain but worn from rebuilding was a smart to my slowly healing wounds.

The next broadcast I saw came six months later. Away from Ascendant, away from my family, I watched as Cal was sworn in officially as Premier. A king no longer, but still a leader in his blood. The footage panned to Cal’s government, a collection of reds, silvers and new-bloods alike, all committed to upholding a better future. I didn’t watch the full broadcast, unwilling to see the marks of resistance still brewing amongst bitter silvers. I have to remind myself that for once, the good outweighs the bad, and with Cal at the head of government it will stay that way. Progress has been slow, but as Davidson would say, inches for miles.

I snap out of my memories, caught off guard by the light rain that has started to fall. My Montfort escorts lead the way to my transport and I find myself once again on my way to Whitefire.

***

The palace remains much the same; the marble polished and clean, free from the gore of a battle long since passed. The throne room however has been repurposed for government - the colours of House Calore have been removed, as have those of Marandus and Jacos. Much like in Ascendant, the colours that now line the walls are those of silver and red, interspersed in equal measure. A physical reminder of the unification of the bloods.

It’s here that I find him.

My breath catches as I watch him from the doorway. Cal seems much unchanged; his broad shoulders cloaked in a simple dark jacket with trousers to match, tucked into military grade boots. His hair is longer than I last saw it, long enough to start curling around his ears as it falls forward. I put a hand to my red earring, the one Cal gifted to me a lifetime ago, as the full weight of missing him crashes into me and I find it hard to breathe. In response my lightning crackles to life in my palm, and Cal’s head snaps up at the sound.

His gaze finds me immediately, smoldering bronze in surprise and trepidation. Cal straightens, seemingly searching for the right thing to say and coming up with nothing. “Hi”, I say quietly, never averting my gaze. A startled chuckle bursts from him, “Hi” he says in return.

I suddenly feel awkward. What if he didn’t wait for me? What if this year apart has changed everything? Cal steps forward as I make to step back, reading the questions in my eyes before I can voice them. “Mare”, his voice is soft and pleading, serving as a balm to my nerves. My lighting crackles once more as the heat in the room slowly rises, and I step towards him. With that one step it’s as if a spell has lifted and we rush towards eachother, desperate to close the space between us.

Cal pulls me into his embrace, his body warm and as strong as I remember. My arms lock around his neck as he lifts me, holding me so tightly it feels as though we could become one from sheer determination alone. I draw back to look at him, tracing his cheekbones with one hand before settling it along his jaw, cupping his ear softly. Cal shudders beneath me, the raw emotion roiling in his eyes as he studies my face as if memorizing it, likely checking for any new scars, ever the soldier. Cal clears his throat as he sets me back down, although doesn’t release the circle of his arms, keeping me close, safe within his cocoon of warmth.

“I’ve missed you.” Cal chokes out. “Everyday, I’ve missed you. Every storm I’ve hoped to see a streak of purple. Everywhere I turn I think I see you.” Cal’s breathing is heavy as his eyes bore into mine, afraid to look away even for a moment. “Is this real? Are you really here?” Cal swallows audibly, waiting for me to speak with bated breath.

I try to sound nonchalant and fail spectacularly, my voice wobbling when I reply, “It’s real. I’m here.” Cal’s body trembles against mine, his growing smile threatening to crack my heart wide open as I continue, my voice betraying me once more, “I’m never saying farewell to you again” I whisper, tears leaking from the corner of my eyes, tracking quickly down my cheeks. The temperature in the room spikes, my body curled in delicious heat as Cal burns. He leans towards me, tentatively kissing away the tears running down my cheeks one at a time, his lips feather light on my damp skin, before drawing back to look at me once more.

“Are you going to kiss me properly or have I got to do everything myself?” I tease half-seriously. Cal’s deep laugh shakes through my body, through my soul, stitching together all my broken pieces, filling my heart with such happiness I feel as though it might burst. “There’s my Mare” Cal chuckles, sobered once more by the sight of my smile, before drawing me flush against him and closing his mouth over mine.

***

The wounds still exist. The betrayals and deceits lie between us as they always have, but they are no longer obstacles. The path that brought us here was treacherous, fraught with sorrow and death, but it has forged us into the people we have become, and are still becoming. My physical brand remains, as real as the emotional scars left behind by Maven in both of us, but the time spent apart has allowed us to grieve and find peace in our own way.

Nothing stands between us anymore. With hearts slowly mending we have only hope for a new world and a better life for all bloods. Our choice is simple and made without hesitation; on this day, and every day from now, we will choose eachother.

-----------

Phew, I hope you guys like this! This is my first attempt at writing any sort of fic, let along posting it. I finished War Storm yesterday and couldn’t bear the way it ended, so wanted to continue the epilogue with this. I needed to see Mare and Cal reunited, ok!

Anyway, I’d love to hear any thoughts on this! Is this how you saw things ending up? I need someone to fangirl with, pls and thanks.

[elliemarchetti]

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

@lilyharvord sorry for the long waiting but life got in the way, as always. I hope you like this chapter and stay tuned for the fourth (which, I swear, won’t take that long)

Words: 2335

Wren wasn’t feeling any better. On hearing this, Miss Samos and Lady Haven repeated three or four times how terrible it was to have a bad cold, and how much they themselves hated being sick, but after that, they thought of it no more, and their indifference toward their guest when they weren’t directly around her confirmed to Mare all her previous feelings toward the party, including the satisfaction with Mr. Samos’ ways, since his anxiety for Wren was evident. On her side, Mare received very little attention from everyone: the ladies were attracted to the General like flies with honey, and Lucas Samos, beside whom Mare sat for lunch, wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and when he discovered that Mare preferred simple dishes to elaborate ones, he had nothing more to add until the end of the meal, when Mare apologized and immediately returned to Wren. As soon as the door closed behind her back, Miss Samos began to speak ill of her manners, which were declared very bad, a mixture of pride and impertinence.

“She has neither style, nor taste or beauty,” added Lady Haven. “In short, she has nothing that does her honour but to be an excellent walker. I’ll never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked like a savage.”

“I just managed to contain myself!” exclaimed the other. “What nonsense to go all that way through the mud for a simple cold. Besides, I would never have shown myself around with such sloppy, dishevelled hair.”

“Miss Barrow may not be a great conversationalist, and I guess your description may be correct,” replied the cousin, “but not only did I miss the muddy slip and the simple hairstyle, I can also say that I justify her little desire to chat, when her friend, for whom she feels a palpable affection, is in those conditions.”

“I am afraid, General, “observed Miss Samos, almost whispering, "that this adventure has somewhat shaken your admiration for her beautiful eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied, “they were enlightened by the exercise.”

A short pause followed, and it was Lady Haven who began again: “I have a lot of respect for Miss Wren, she really is one of the sweetest girls I had the pleasure to know, and with all my heart I would like for her to settle down well, but with such parents and modest kinship, I fear there’s no chance of that happening.”

"I seem to have heard you say her uncle is a scholar,” said Mr. Samos, who didn’t seem to have any objection to the words his sister and friend had addressed to Mare, but didn’t like those harsh comments towards of the other guest and wanted to end the topic quickly.

“Yes, and they have another one, who lives somewhere close to Cheapside,” replied his sister, unleashing her friend’s laughter.

“If she had enough uncles to fill all Cheapside”, exclaimed Ptolemus, who was starting to get really irritated, “that wouldn’t make her less nice.”

“But that actually diminishes her chance of marrying a man of some importance in society,” Cal replied quietly, hoping to be able to be a peacemaker now as he always did when they were children. Obviously Ptolemus didn’t like his words, and left the room in great strides, slamming the door behind him. Everything would be back to normal by tea time, he was sure, and in this way he had also managed to dispel, at least for a moment, from Evangeline’s mind the thought that he was in turn interested in one of their guests. After lingering for a while to amuse themselves at the expense of their dear friend’s vulgar kinship, with a surge of tenderness, they went to her room, and stayed with her until they were called for tea. Wren was still very unwell, and Mare absolutely didn’t want to leave her until late evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and judged it correct, more than pleasant, to go downstairs.  Entering the living room, she found them all playing cards and she was immediately invited to join, but suspecting they were playing hard she refused but decided to watch and listen to their conversation about Whitefire, General Calore’s estate, and his grandmother, a woman whose manners was widely praised by Miss Samos.

“It’s surprising to me,” said Mr. Samos, “ how many women have the patience to get to be so well educated as they all are; they can paint, play the piano, dance, sing and even embroider. I don’t know any who can’t do all this things, and I’m sure I’ve never heard of a woman before without being made aware of how well educated she was.”

"Your list of things commonly defined as education is all too true,” said the General. “The world is applied to many women who doesn’t deserve it and I can say it with certainty, after getting to know them better. I have to admit that, sadly, in my entire range of acquaintances, there are no more than half a dozen of really educated women.”

"Neither am I, I’m sure,” said Miss Samos. The more she knew her, the more it was evident that she was trying in every way to create bridges between her meagre personal ideas and those of the General, and Mare was ready to bet, even if she hated it, that she would be willing to trample any friendship or ideal in order to achieve her goal to marry him. If only their descriptions of what was a truly educated woman had been more alike, Mare would’ve said they were meant for each other, but their words were so diametrically opposed that she almost had to restrain herself from laughing, a task in which she was aided by the fact that General Calore described someone who was also very distant from both her, her family and her friends,  a mixture of talent, good taste, elegance and commitment that didn’t even reflect the other two young ladies in the room, who began to protest so much that Lucas Samos had to impose some order on them so they could finish the game. Since the conversation had ended so bitterly, Mare left the room shortly after.

“Miss Barrow,” said Miss Samos, once the door closed, “is one of those young ladies who try to make a good impression with the opposite sex by underestimating their own, and I am convinced that with many men the thing is successful but, in my opinion, it’s a petty system, a squalid artifice.”

“No doubt,” replied Cal, who was the main recipient of this remark, “there is some meanness in all the tricks that ladies sometimes deign to use to seduce. Anything that has an affinity for cunning is despicable.”

Not completely satisfied with that answer, Evangeline dropped the subject. How dare he throw digs at her when he knew perfectly well what had pushed her this far? Not even Ptolemus intervened, and Elane gave her a sideways glance, to make sure she wasn’t making one of her scenes. It was probably the possibility that Miss Barrow or Miss Skonos might hear it that stopped her, but that didn’t prevented her, that very evening, from consoling herself in the privacy of her room with the one that everyone would forever call her dear friend. As always after Elane’s loving care, all tension was smoothed out, and the following morning, when Mare had the pleasure of being able to give a fairly positive response to the request for information she had received very early in the morning from Mr. Samos through a waitress, it was proposed that a note could be sent to Mrs Skonos to ask her to visit her daughter and see for herself the situation, inviting her to take Mrs Barrow and the younger Miss Barrow with her too. If she had found Wren visibly in danger, Mrs. Skonos would certainly have despaired, but felt satisfied to see that the disease didn’t cause any alarm, she didn’t wish she would recover immediately, given that a healing would probably have taken her out of the Hall of the Sun. Therefore, she didn’t want to listen to her daughter, whom proposed to be brought home, and also the pharmacist, who had almost reached the house at the same time, thought it was definitely inadvisable. After spending some time with Wren, the four women were invited by Miss Samos to join her and her brother in the breakfast room, where he welcomed them hoping that Mrs. Skonos hadn’t found her daughter worse than what she had expected, but his hopes were partly dashed, although the woman later took care to compliment them profusely both on their kindness and on the wonderful estate they had rented.

“I hope you’re not going to leave us too quickly, even if the lease is short,” said Mrs. Barrow, who hadn’t yet uttered a word except for the customary greetings.

“Whatever I do, I do it quickly,” he replied, “and so if I had to decide to leave the Hall, I would probably leave in five minutes. For the moment, however, I consider it a stable accommodation.”

"That’s exactly what I would’ve imagined from you,” Mare said.

“I didn’t know,” Miss Samos interjected, “you were a student of characters. ”

“It must be a fun study,” noted her cousin, who had recently joined them along with General Calore.

“Yes, but the intricate characters are the funniest. At least they have that advantage,” she replied, casting a quick glance at Tiberias, who, feeling drawn into question, reminded her that the countryside wasn’t exactly the best testing ground for studies like that.

“In a countryside area one moves within a restricted and uniform social environment.”

“But people change so much that there is always something new to observe,” replied Mare, always ready to change his mind about his prejudices on simple people. If she had addressed any other gentleman like that, her mother would’ve reminded her of her place in the world but since it was General Calore, she was happy to take her daughter’s side, although not in the best of ways, to the point that her interlocutor, after giving her a long puzzled look, walked away in silence and even Lucas Samos found himself embarrassed.

“You have completely misunderstood my friend: he only meant that in the countryside there certainly can’t be the same amount of people you can find in town.”

“Nobody says otherwise, but as for not frequenting so many people in these parts, I think there are few places richer in neighbours. All I know is that we know twenty-four families.”

Nothing but the regard towards Mare allowed Lucas to keep himself serious. The cousin was less delicate, and gave her brother a very expressive smile. Mare, in order to divert her mother’s thoughts, asked her if Diana Farley had been visiting them since she was at the Hall.

“Yes, she came yesterday with her father, but she didn’t stop for lunch because her mother was waiting for her at home to make apple pie for her little sister’s birthday. The Farleys are really good girls, I assure you, and they are also very nice, but if they are with Wren or my daughters… they inevitably end up taking a back seat. That’s what everyone says, I don’t just trust my partiality.”

“When Wren was only fifteen,” Lady Skonos added, “there was a gentleman at my sister’s so in love with her that my brother-in-law was sure he would’ve declared himself before we could leave. Instead nothing came of it. Maybe he thought that she was too young. However, he wrote some verses about her, and they were very pretty.”

“And so his love ended,” Mare said impatiently. “There were more than one, I guess, that ended up like this. I often ask myself who was the first to discover the effectiveness of poem in chasing love away!”

Obviously the General didn’t share her idea, and was more than happy to point this out, interrupting his conversation with Miss Samos. Mare too had the answer ready, and their quarrel was followed by a long silence, which forced Mrs Skonos to thank the homeowner again for the kindness showed to her daughter, and Mrs Barrow to apologize for the inconvenience caused by Mare, who still didn’t have the slightest intention of leaving. Mr. Samos gave a spontaneous and courteous reply, and also forced his sister to behave in the same way, although she didn’t play her part gracefully enough not to allow Mare to notice that hers was all fiction. The two older women, however, seemed to be content and when Mrs Skonos ordered the carriage, Gisa stepped forward as if on command and asked Mr. Samos when he intended to give the ball his cousin had promised he would tell him about when they arrived in the countryside. Gisa was a strong and well-developed girl of fifteen, with a beautiful complexion and a cheerful expression; it was her mother’s favourite, whose affection had led her to make her entry into society at a very early age. She had a bursting vitality, a kind of innate self-confidence, that the officers’ attentions had turned into cheekiness, making her the perfect candidate to address Mr. Samos about a ball which, if not given, would’ve been the worst of shame on his honour, at least in her words.

"I’m perfectly ready,” he reassured her, “and when your friend has recovered, you will set the date of the party, if you please.”

Gisa looked satisfied, and began to fantasize about what other events she would be able to organize and continued to do so even when they were gone and Mare returned to Wren, leaving her and her relatives behaviour at the mercy of the two ladies and the General, who nevertheless didn’t allow himself to be persuaded to join in the criticism despite all the jokes Evangeline made about beautiful eyes.

[flamereigns]

@casterisims​:    “I wanna sleep next to you.” / from sabrina

❝   I  THINK  I’VE  FIGURED  IT  OUT.     ---   why  it  bothers  me  that  we  still  don’t  share  a  bed. . .  officially,  i  mean.   ❞     because  they  do  pretty  much  spend  every  night  together  now.     ❝   my  parents  slept  in  separate  wings  of  of  whitefire  palace  their  entire  marriage.  and  considering  she  killed  him,  i’m  not  eager  for  our  marriage  to  be  anything  like  theirs.   ❞     but  that’s  not  just  it,  is  it?  it’s  part  of  what  nags  at  him,  but  there’s  something  deeper,  more  emotional.  and  he’s  not  so  good  when  it  comes  to  the  emotional   ---   especially  when  it  comes  to  feeling  those  emotions.  he  frowns  at  her,  running  a  hand  through  silky  black  hair  with  a  sigh.     ❝   i  understood,  in  the  beginning.  there  was  logic  behind  your  reasons.  but,  at  this  point. . .  it  just  seems  like  you  don’t  completely  trust  me.   ❞

love  lyric     »     accepting

[ofruins]

@soliitudc​​​:    ❝ Your hold on me is permanent and unbreakable. Never doubt that. ❞

❝   YOU  WILL  BE  MY  QUEEN,  CAMILLE  DIMONT.   ❞     he  declares  to  her,  an  oath  he  very  much  intends  to  make  a  reality.     ❝   you’ll  love  norta,  darling.  the  country  is  beautiful,  and,  when  we  end  the  civil  war,  we’ll  be  able  to  enjoy  all  of  it.   ❞     that’s  right.  when  maven  overthrows  his  father  and  becomes  king  with  his  coven  ruling  the  country,  the  civil  war  they’ve  been  fighting  for  hundreds  of  years  will  be  finally  put  to  an  end.  maven  won’t  stand  a  war  in  his  kingdom.  

❝   i  cannot  wait  to  show  you  whitefire  palace.  it’s  beautiful,  made  completely  of  diamond  glass.  of  course,  that’s  only  the  summer  home.   ❞     he  muses  with  a  wistful  sigh.  he  does  miss  his  home,  and  he’s  eager  for  the  day  that  he  takes  it  back.  building  his  coven  is  a  slow  process,  he  has  to  be  very  careful  who  he  brings  in,  and  camille’s  help  has  been  invaulable.  he  only  hopes  that  it  doesn’t  take  so  long  that  he  misses  his  father’s  death.  of  course,  overthrowing  king  cal  would  be  satisfying. 

the  twilight  saga     »     accepting

[evangelineartemiasamos]

I’ve always been wary of a Red Queen movie but while re-reading King’s Cage, I noticed that Aveyard’s writing is so cinematic and imaginative about its settings on its own that a movie born just from her words started to run in my head. So, as much as I dislike the prospective director Elizabeth Banks, it would be enticing to see the story written like a movie actually become a movie.

I’m afraid of a movie turning into a cheesy action piece with bad or overdone special effects. But a movie paying more attention to the characters than the action, with a more calm, natural and yet strange aesthetic would be wonderful. I don’t want CGI battles and landscapes, I want something artfully shot on location.

Imagine the Ridge House architecture p*rn. Evangeline’s dresses. The beauty of Whitefire turning into dread. The cold and uncertainly of the Scarlet Guard bases. The depression of the Choke, the danger and chaos of the battle scenes. The sudden peace and safety at the Piedmont Base where you can almost smell the vegetation. A montage from the end of chapter 3, where Samson tortures Mare by making her relive her memories in rewinding slow motions, to the beginning of chapter 4 where Cameron wakes from a nightmare about the same events.

And those are only the more visual things, think of the emotional scenes, the love stories, the desperation translated into pictures. Imagine insightful shots of characters without POVs in the book!

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - In The Meantime Chapter 7

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

A/N: FYI, I haven’t read the Shade short story yet, so comparisons are futile. Any canon divergences – or blatant similarities – are happening by pure chance. If there are blatant similarities, I’ll grin up to the moon, and if there’re divergences – well, I’ve been working on these headcanons for two years and can’t throw everything overboard at this point ;-)

Returning

He still had his ability after all, or they couldn’t have had teleported out of Whitefire into the tunnels.

Diana let go of his hand and Shade snorted at his former doubt, which had been stupid to begin with. How could his ability have left him when, just minutes ago, he’d used it to kill a dozen Silvers?

He stemmed his bloody hands against the damp wall. Almost he was able to pretend his hands weren’t stained with blood but only with common dirt. Dried into black, Silver blood looked as ugly as its Red variant, and its smell made him as sick. Shade tried to clean off the worst of it with the condensed water on the tunnel wall, not caring that it was dirty in its own way, if only it helped him not to throw up.

Diana seemed as if she’d like to throw up as well, whether from the horrible battle, teleporting, or due to her numerous wounds, he could not say. She leaned against the wall, exhausted. Her head was thrown back, her palm rested on her stomach, on her bruised ribcage. The older wound on her cheek was torn again.

He took a deep breath, another attempt to calm himself, to get loose from the weight on his shoulders, both from what he’d already done and what he was still about to do. Save Mare.

He had to focus on that, on his ability. But still, she was nowhere he was able to jump to, if she even lived. He sighed. “Come,” he said to Diana, and offered his hand. “If not to Mare, I can bring us to Kilorn.”

Slowly, sheshook her head. “Spare your power,” she declined. “Nor would we get on the train now.” With a groan, she stemmed herself away from the wall and stumbled toward him – again, without talking his hand. “There’s a safe house in Archeon that’s closer.” She looked at him, her gaze once more burning with intent. “Hopefully, with an informant who knows what the hell has happened in the meantime.” She told him where to go, and in the end, she touched his palm with such a reluctance that he barely felt her fingers at all.

“King Maven was hailed even before everyone knew the old king was dead,” Will Whistle told them in the bare, but comparatively comfortable safe house. “And then, it was more important to announce the arrests of the murderer and traitor prince Tiberias, and of Mare Barrow, the fraud. They’re in the Bowl of Bones now,” he added, along with the details of the morning’s shifting events.

“The arena’s cells are made of Silent Stone, negating abilities,” Will finished.

Shade’s eyes widened. “What?”

“To assure no interference, besides from those Arvens. They can tolerate the silence, as they’re somehow involved in its creation,” Will explained.

Shade buried his face in his hands. “That must be why I can’t get to her…” he muttered.

Will cleared his throat and Shade raised his head, seeing Farley nod at Will. As if she could hide any of her own shock coming with Will’s revelations. If anything, she seemed tenser than before. “Anything else?” she asked.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Shade burst out. “Farley, you said the crown prince said no to you, to any kind of coup. Why would he kill his father?”

Farley opened her mouth, but he went on, “Was it brotherly affection? If not Mare, did he want to save at least his brother from prison?”

Will cackled. “Oh no, there’s no love lost between the Calore brothers, Shade. If you let me finish, please?” he chided him, turning serious again. “Just a minute before you two arrived, the execution was announced. Of Mare and Tiberias. Seems like our new King Maven prefers a specific kind of feast for his coronation.”

Shade frowned, but Farley left for the bathroom with a rushed “excuse me”.

He stared after her. “She has to take care of her injuries,” he said.

Will shrugged. “Shade, you see, it probably has to do with the whisper queen. Everything must have. Likely … Maven’s whole recruitment was a trap, planned by the queen.”

Shade cussed, then calculated. It seemed so obvious in hindsight, but … well, he’d never spoken to Maven, only believed in Farley’s reluctant trust in him.

“Then we did everything wrong,” he said quietly.

Will moved over, and briefly touched Shade’s knee in reassurance. He didn’t like that, and suddenly, he understood Diana’s distance that denied any kind of comfort or closeness. He straightened his posture, shaking Will off. “The battle isn’t lost,” he claimed. “We still can – have to – do something.”

Will’s answering smile was mirthless, and Shade wondered how long and full of relapses Will’s own struggle had been.

“Indeed,” he heard Farley say, who was just returning from the bathroom. She’d gotten rid of her bloody and torn jacket, her shirt baring bruised and bandaged skin. She tried her best to appear commanding, although that was obviously difficult for her. She even stood uneven.

“As important as Mare Barrow is,” she glanced at Shade, “our priority is evacuating Naercey. Will you assist us with your skill and connections there, Will Whistle?”

The corners of Will’s mouth twitched. “Sure, Captain.”

Haste and urgency had taken over Naercey. Of course, Shade and Farley weren’t the first to return to Naercey, although they hadn’t been sure if the news of threat and betrayal had reached their comrades. But they had to know enough to warn the inhabitants, so the evacuation could begin. People were moving from dwelling to dwelling and transports were loaded and leaving. Shade offered his help and was put to work fast enough, shortly briefed that transports were sent off single and in irregular intervals to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“The mersives have left too, and will return soon,” a woman told him. “There’re only so many safe houses in the surroundings, and the mersives can go to larger bases.”

Shade nodded and went on to follow his instructions. The road ahead was less important to him than going back to save Mare. He knew he didn’t do as well as he could, with his hands shaking and his thoughts straying off like his eyes that searched for familiar faces that appeared in the distance and flickered away from his blinking, tired, gaze.

He couldn’t believe it was only early afternoon, still the same day, when his group released him. There was no time to rest, and too much to do to save as many as possible. He felt so exhausted, not least because of his teleporting fight in the morning, although the lack of sleep they all had suffered took its visible toll as well.

And the uncertainty about Mare, he thought, then yawned and stretched.

“Hey.”

He flinched too hard. Even as he turned and saw Farley, his heart continued to beat faster. It’s just the exhaustion, he told himself. But that was a lie. He felt unguarded at every moment, his confidence was shattered and he was overwhelmed by danger and forlornness.

Farley hardly looked different, certainly not better. She’d finally changed into fresh clothing, but wore her wounds visibly, including a careful, tired stance.

So different from the woman from last night.

She rolled her shoulders. “Time to talk about Mare,” she said. “Well, I have time. You?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “If not, I’d make some.”

She tilted her head. “Of course.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not of much help here, so all my focus is on Mare now.” He blinked. “You know, since I’m at fault for all this …” Her grimace had to be painful with her injuries, with the way it stretched the old wound on her jaw, re-opening the cut he’d stitched himself.

“What?”  he gasped. She stared him down until he shook his head. “I understand, but … we all agreed to the operation. Especially the other officers.”

“Oh sure,” she hissed. “So far, Naercey isn’t under attack, but once it happens, when Maven, his witch of a mother, or whoever the fuck is in charge now, starts it, I’ll gladly blame them. For now, these people are losing their homes, Shade. Whether they flee or risk staying, I brought this upon them, with my arrogance and foolishness.”

It was easy to see beneath her grim face and dark humour. He knew she had a point. But he also noticed how much she needed to say this, to confess and acknowledge her guilt to someone.

He stepped toward her, reaching out with his hand. She flinched, maybe out of pain, maybe because she was still scared of him. But then she leaned into his touch, let him cup her mostly uninjured left cheek. Her gaze seared him and he believed he saw in it a yearning for his closeness.

“It’s quite self-absorbed and arrogant to take all the blame onto yourself, Captain Farley,” he said quietly, before she moved away. Eyes downcast, she gulped and her expression changed from bitter to sad.

She wants me, he thought, only that she thinks she doesn’t deserve to be with me.

She looked up with a snort. “Mare,” she reminded him.

“How could I forget?” he said.

She irked him, no, almost angered him. She was playing him again with the way she ignored him and their relationship. She freely wallowed in her own guilt and became distant to “punish” herself, but what about him, and his sins? He’d killed today, many people, and he didn’t know how to deal. He was back at the Choke, in the bleakest days of his life, shocked over those Lakelanders he’d killed there. Today, they’d been Silvers instead of Reds, yet they’d died for his self defense as well. It didn’t change the disgust, nor the dark pit of shame he felt that made him doubt he was right to be here, to be a rebel fighting with all he had.

I can do this, he told himself, I’ve proved it already.

I only do not enjoy it.

He wished he could talk to Diana. He was sure, believing he’d already witnessed it, that she wasn’t perfectly okay with all of it either. But she continued to avoid him, so he went to Kilorn who had no such qualms, and was happy to see his friend, to give him a hug and to plan to free Mare.

Kilorn was occupied with packing the explosives that were to be used in smaller amounts, piece by piece. With his nimble hands, Kilorn showed quite a talent for it, one he’d used in the morning too, when they’d destroyed Archeon’s bridge. Shade couldn’t match and Kilorn taunted him about it. Jokingly. Softly. Shade didn’t know how Kilorn managed it, to be funny despite all this, and yet he was grateful for it.

“You’re staring after Farley like some lost puppy,” Kilorn remarked the next time his shaking fingers dropped something. Shade cursed and Kilorn took it away from him, shaking his head. “No use here,” he muttered.

Shade cleared his throat. “What do you mean? She’s not even here.”

Kilorn shrugged. “But you search for every little glimpse of her, instead of looking at the work.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his head lowered in embarrassment, and to hide his blush. He still felt Kilorn’s gaze on him. Then he rose. “Mare is our priority,” he claimed.

Kilorn nodded, “Of course.” Yet his face appeared so curious, so understanding that Shade was tempted to blurt everything out. He opened his mouth, tongue tingling. He wanted to talk about it, about her, about them. But in the end, he lacked the words to describe it. What was between them now? Were they in love? In a relationship? He could say what they did, or had done, but that wasn’t what he really craved to figure out.

Kilorn began to smile, still soft and not making fun of him. He was happy for Shade, whatever for, and for now, that was enough.

Shade squeezed his hand. “If I’m so useless, I better take a rest,” he said and took his leave.

He had every reason to be tired and still, he paced Naercey for a while first. If he was honest, he just wished to encounter Diana again, by accident, so he could claim he kept his distance as she seemed to wish. But the sun started to set and he longed to rest like he’d told Kilorn. He entered the building where most of the Scarlet Guard were staying, if on packed bags now. Shade prowled the corridors, noticing how his steps slowed the closer he came to Diana’s room, where they’d spent the last night together. Although “night” was hardly accurate, given how short the episode had been. It seemed so long ago now, his sense of time warped by the onslaught of the morning.

In front of her room, he stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say, but now he was here, he could at least tell her to go to bed after this awful day. That woman never considered her own needs.

He took a deep breath and entered. Immediately, he froze on the threshold and gaped. Because she wasn’t up and planning or giving orders, but asleep on her pallet. Weapons were placed around her, easy to grab, but she didn’t stir. Shade hadn’t been quiet. If she was as alert as the weapons indicated, she should’ve woken up. Yet she slept on without a tremor, more at peace than he’d ever seen her. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever intentionally let down her guard in that manner, so only exhaustion could’ve taken its toll and she’d relented.

As much as that relieved him, as stunned as he was, it meant he had no reason to stay. He respected her privacy and left to let her sleep.

The next morning, the sky was overcast with foreboding, dark clouds. The air felt heavy with heat and humidity, adding another weight onto the backs of those left in Naercey. All of them, whether soldier or civilian, cast glances around, at the sky, into the distance, as if they expected the assault to arrive from the air or on the ground at any second. Even when Captain Farley roused her soldiers, giving them their orders and instructions for this operation. Shade listened and tried to maintain and show determination, but like the rest, his whole body was tense, and his eyes wandered furtively just the same.

“Rise, red as the dawn!” Diana finished with a shout and Shade and the others fell in.

They’d lost; they’d been down. But they’d go on. Always.

The drive with the undertrain continued in similar fashion, an odd blend of weariness and enthusiasm. When the train reached its hidden stop, the team members jumped off with careful motions. It was a little walk to the Bowl of Bones, but it was also safer this way.

“Kill or take out any patrols you encounter,” Farley ordered, with gritted teeth. Strange to kill on the way to safe someone else. Shade didn’t think her nap had been restorative enough, if anything, she looked worse and he could only hope she felt better.

“We should be fast enough their absence should be irrelevant,” she went on, “but we have to use Maven’s neglect of the tunnels as long as possible. For now, he has other jobs to do before he can – ” She stopped as Shade spun around in front of her, halting as well.

“Why don’t you stay back, Captain?” he said.

“What – “

“Aren’t you injured enough already?” He looked her over, eyes lingering on her visible limp. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Someone has to secure the way back to the train,” said he. She opened her mouth, but he continued. “No need to have everyone close to the detonations,” he insisted, staring into her eyes. “Those are often a strain on bystanders, no matter the precautions.” She gaped, not believing he challenged her, told her, who always walked to the front, to stay behind. But he’d decided he would win this one glaring duel against her. And eventually, her gaze waned.

“Take them and run,” she said snidely. “I guess you don’t need me to carry those two.”

He nodded and before he got on, he took her hand and squeezed it. “See you in a few minutes.”

Her sneer softened slightly.

It took longer than a few minutes. Once they’d reached the space beneath the arena, the techie among the group produced a screen and as fast as he was, he needed a moment to find pictures of the events above. As they watched, the detonation specialist hesitated to act. “Fight’s too unclear,” he insisted, but Shade saw more than one finger on the triggers after the bombs had been placed. It didn’t make him any less nervous. His fingers and toes twitched, and the throbbing pulse of his blood drowned out the sounds around him.

Kilorn touched his hand in reassurance, and after a thankful glance, Shade started to focus back on his comrades’ discussions as his eyes fixed on the screen where he saw Mare dancing in a lethal battle.

Finally, the metal girl ran away, leaving the arena almost empty but for the condemned. “What are you waiting – ” Shade cried out, but a guard held up a hand to halt him.

The techie pointed at the screen; at the darkening sky, to be exact.

“Get ready to trigger ten seconds after the first lightning strike,” the lead detonator commanded. Indeed, the sky was lit up white and purple with lightning before a minute had passed.

Silence fell upon them, only broken by a few gasps until the thunder began to rumble, audible even down here, even over Shade’s hearing protection and his rushing blood.

Just seconds later, another kind of thunder reverberated through the tunnels, the sound of explosions timed to be unremarkable in the lightning storm.

Unremarkable to those above, hopefully. Not to Shade, not to the team. Shade grabbed onto anything he could grasp, and still he stumbled from the recoil. So did the others, and they were shaking and blinking and hugging themselves and each other, hoping the ringing in their ears and the dizziness were temporary.

The detonations were successful, and now, there was a small hole in the ceiling, creating a direct view to the sky and into the arena.

Shade crawled toward the opening. No one followed yet, some of the team had actually been thrown back. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relieved he’d made Diana stay back. Then he reached the hole, pulled himself up, and the first thing he saw was a lightning strike hitting the ground just two meters away from him. His sister Mare was merely another short distance away.

Shade began to grin.

The little distance was still potentially deadly, he knew. Soldiers were marching into the arena, guns ready. Mare, the prince next to her, continued to bring the lightning from the sky into the arena to halt her opponents. But she strained under the effort, not able to go on like this for much longer. That didn’t quench Shade’s amazement at seeing Mare’s power in the flesh for the first time, made glorious rather because it was hard on her. But the threat combined with the rush of his comrades as they joined him sobered him.

Shade hadn’t touched his pistol. But the others, Kilorn being one of them, were less reluctant. They shot the enemy soldiers, taking down many by this absolute surprise, but not enough to eventually defeat them.

We’re back to hit and run.

Shade used the chance of the moment when Mare was out of the center of attention for a second and jumped toward her, grabbing her and the prince to vanish at the next breath.

A few more bombs secured their escape, smashing parts of the tunnels as a result, as Shade couldn’t hope to teleport all of them back to the train. He would if he had to, now that others carried Mare and the prince as they ran. Shade glanced at her at every other second, worried by her unconsciousness. He told himself she was taking her first teleport as badly as Diana, but Mare was no less injured than her either. What the combined shocks had done to her remained to be seen.

The manacled prince had woken, unlike Mare, as they reached the undertrain. They had to shove him forward as he beheld the vehicle, although he didn’t stall in a way that sabotaged them or their escape.

Getting in and getting started was a matter of heartbeats under Farley’s command. She didn’t display excitement over the success apart from the smile that lasted a split second when she saw Mare, now carried in Shade’s arms. Even when she glanced at him every now and then during the drive, she stayed next to the prince, keeping watch over him like he was her personal trophy.

Once, Kilorn touched his shoulder in relief, a tear rolling down his cheek. He needed a moment to look at Mare cradled on Shade’s lap, before he was urged to resume some errand. It was merely to maintain alertness, Shade guessed, as the danger wasn’t over, might not ever be. He leaned back, eyes closed, finally feeling the greatest weight lifted off him, as he and Mare were finally together again.

That small peace, however, vanished as he opened his eyes, and by chance, found Diana’s gaze. It spoke of the gravity of the things to come, and Shade inclined his head in understanding.

Hitting and running and fighting would continue, and they had no idea how the game had changed, now that Maven Calore had taken the throne of Norta by betraying his family, the Scarlet Guard, and Mare.

Then Mare opened her eyes.

A/N 2: And so we've reached the end of Red Queen. There are some holes between the one-shots I wrote for Glass Sword that I might fill, although I believe the canon short story covers similar same points. I don't know if I'll compete there, I guess I might as well simply bow to the perfection it is ;-)

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @carstairsjames @inopinion @sarcasm-and-procastination @eurydicel @selenbean-beany @marecalrandomstuff @thelightning03 @mareven0123 @gisabarrovv

[wisteria-banette]

I Just Devoured a Great Book

GoodReads review on "The Whitefire Crossing"

The Whitefire Crossing by Courtney Schafer My rating: 5 of 5 stars It’s been a long long time since I last devoured a book the way I did. I took my kindle with me to work and read during breaks, I read at home, read in the car. If I didn’t have my kindle on hand, I would be reading it on my computer or my phone. Every second I had to spare went into this book, because it was simply that good. Taking a good break from the modern day PI/mystery thrillers, I bring myself back into the “past” or rather, the fantasy genre. Occasionally, I still dwell on “WHY DON’T YOU JUST CALL?!?” But then I forget where I am. There’s no calling here, hell no electricity either. BUT, there are so many charms in place in this world that I’m surprised. I loved the use of charms here. There were fire stones to start fires. There were these call stones to send messages (albeit very limited of course.) I have to say, the worldbuilding is minimal here (mostly goes between two major places and a mountain) but what there was is pretty good on it's own, including the vast differences in culture and laws between Kost and Ninavel. The author has a love for rock climbing and I love seeing authors put little pieces of themselves into the worlds and characters they build. The descriptions of the mountains, the climbing and setting is so detailed, you can tell the passion is there. “Glorious” as Dev puts it, even when he very much was seconds from death. If there’s a word to put the reasons behind the madness of what daredevils do, it’s that word, “Glorious.” This book starts off with a description and POV of Dev who is a smuggler by trade and uses his outrider (a climber who uses his/her skills to help caravans scout ahead of the trail to see if caution is due) trade as a cover up. After giving his word and promise to an old friend, who has passed, he finds himself broker than broke after a betrayal from his previous partner…smack dab and right when he needs that money the most. Desperate for money to keep that promise, he is willing to take a job that may very well cost him his life. He even questions if this whole job or promise is worth it because “What fucking good was money to a dead man?” He goes from smuggling simple charms through the border to now smuggling a whole person, Kiran. He has never done this before and the risk is high. But to keep his promise and to save a child, what choice does he have? Kiran is an apprentice with just as much desperation. Unable to use magic even to fend for himself in the most dire times, he resorts to having run away and put his whole trust into this Dev guy. Both hide secrets from each other. Both manage to keep those secrets up until something horrible happens and their whole plan goes to shit. They will have to continue the rest of the journey and whether or not they like it, they will have to learn to trust each other. This book gives me whiplash. It goes from desperate times and secrets to trust to betrayal and then back again to trust. The bittersweet cliffhanger ending isn’t helping me sit still at the moment. I can’t stop talking about this book and can’t recommend it enough. I’ve never finished any series I started, even ones that I truly love, but this one, I can see myself finishing. Even my favorite books hardly end on cliff hangers, much like how Harry Potter (at least the beginning because, again, I never finish series) are cliffhangers too…but at least the books end by being home at the end of the school year again. The book switches back and forth between the perspective of Dev (1st person) and Kiran (3rd person) and that’s a first for me. I prefer third persons, but lately have gotten into this 1st person feeling. To have a combination of the two is so delightfully surprising. Dev being first person puts him in a way that the reader looks to be reading from his eyes. We can tell his thoughts and see further into his history. Keeping it 1st then 3rd and back shows that both parties have serious history and secrets to hide and it makes it so that Kiran’s secrets stay hidden, not just from Dev but from the readers as well. Courtney is a great writer and while there are still some things I’m confused about via the magic systems here, like how complex the magic seals are, I still love the way the two cities and character building are written. Coming from frustration of how poorly women characters are written in my past books, it’s such a relief to see Cara as a much better built character. Even those that are marked for death and are a temporary stay have great personalities. Heck, I shed a tear for those mere moment characters here. And man. She does NOT shy from torturing her characters. There are times I had to leave to take a breather because “OUCH!” Glad I’m not the one in their shoes right now. I loved this book so much and would cry to the world to have it read. And with the reviews saying that the following and remaining two books are even better, I cannot wait to pick them up. I need a rest (because my poor soul), but this series looks promising in many many ways. Great job on the debut book. I’ll be back for more Courtney Schafer!! View all my reviews

[war-sword]

maven calore discourse

hah hah my bitch ass decided to post about my feelings about the ending of war storm because this is the public domain and ya know. who cares. so psa this is my opin and i loved this book AND maven calore just as much as anyone else and i just wanna talk about it!! that’s it.

oh, also:

!!!!! SPOILERS FOR WAR STORM !!!!

okay back to business. when I met victoria at her georgia event on the ws tour i got to have a little convo with her while she signed my copies because the people behind me were talking to the other authors (thank u girls) and as I was saying goodbye, she told me “I hope you aren’t too mad about the ending.” and I said “oh, I don’t think I will be. I trust you.” and you know what? I wasn’t mad at all.

I get it guys. maven was my son too, okay. and reading his chapters literally broke my heart because he was just so fucked up from elara and he KNEW IT. but he loved and trusted his mother so he accepted that this was just how his life was going to be. he missed having feelings. he wished he didn’t have to be so cruel, but he had to be because of the position he was forced into. and he accepted it all without question because just like cal was groomed to be king, maven was groomed to overthrow. both of their biggest flaws come from their upbringing. we all knew maven once had it in him to be the sweet, loving, caring and compassionate boy mare thought he was in rq, but it just was not to be. and you CANNOT forget that.

he didn’t have the ability to change. he couldn’t. and as much as it would have been a sweet and fluffy ending for maven to have survived and escaped from whitefire with food and a flamemaker bracelet and gone off to live in the mountains of norta for the rest of his life, we all know it would just be another loose end. and if cal had managed to find a whisper to heal him? what kind of person would he be? surely maven would hate cal for literally taking maven’s brain into his own hands and making him the way he wanted him to be. it could’ve just fucked maven up more.

finally, mavens death was expected. since rq mare has been saying it was going to be her. cal had the same conviction once, but he lost it over the two middle books. I’ll admit there was a point where I thought he would live but the threat of his death would linger or be alluded to in an epilouge, especially when we got down to the last hundred pages. that didn’t make it any less sad or heartbreaking, especially considering the circumstances, but was it going to be easy any way? no. so be sad all you want, mourn his loss of life and lost potential redemption all you want because that’s valid. but maven was insane, and his death was necessary for the survival of everyone and the solution to the conflict of the entire series. he played his part just as much as any other character, and him being dead in no way negates his importance.

[ironchosen]

“you don’t deserve anything. you don’t deserve to suffer. i wouldn’t do anything to you. you don’t deserve that. and i would never, ever just—“

“i wouldn’t hit you,” your voice gets quieter too, and you hear her desperation. you answer it with your own voice. you’re not sitting down anymore. you’re standing and you’re tugging your shirt over your head and you’re pulling it back on. you wouldn’t hit her. your eyes can’t meet hers again. you’re scared. and you’re small. and you cross your arms over the arc. it hurts. you’re too tight. your shoulders are squared.

god. this is fucking painful but you don’t care. you need to close up tight. click it shut. put it away. the pain doesn’t matter. try to walk as tall as you have to.

you want a drink. so badly. it’s all you want. you think about it. you could just make these awful feelings go away and wake up tomorrow and everything will still be awful but at least it won’t be this very moment right here. at least it won’t be this kind of fucking suffering. at least it won’t be this sort of fucking fear.

you go over to the liquor cabinet and you open it, find a bottle of scotch, pour it into a large rocks glass. you don’t even remotely try to sip it. it goes down and it fucking burns and god, you love it, you just breathe so deep and you practically, gasping, drain the whole fucking thing. it goes down like incineration and okay, you get it, you deserve this for being a moron. for being an idiot. for being the person who could just be so goddamn stupid you’ve been tricked.

you think about the glass and you want to drop it. you just want to drop it. you want to hear it shatter. you want to hear it fall and drop and crack. you’re overcome by that old urge— hurt something to make yourself feel better. except you don’t. you don’t ever. you never want to hurt anyone—

you stare into your reflection and you have your father’s eyes and you see them. you stare for so long you feel yourself start to drift. you talk but you don’t look anywhere, at yourself only. just warm, pale skin and your blue eyes.

“i wouldn’t do anything to you. and she’s going to be safe. she’s going to go to school. you’re going to take her to school.“

you couldn’t— you see how much she loves the girl. (loki? loki. you wonder if this is how she was always supposed to look or sound or act. you wonder if this is different.)

you couldn’t take her away.

a hand reaches into your chest. your fingers dig around the inside and the burning pain streaks and it spreads faster and faster. so you squeeze it and you turn it, rip it out with a hard gesture. it makes you stifle a wheeze when you do. light flickers. goes out. you feel that vibrantly open pain again, whitefire, that bloody, gaping wound in the middle of all that pallor. no shirt, nothing. there’s red under your nails from that aggression.

you toss it to the floor and blinky bounces, rolls, drops horizontal. you breathe slow and shallow and you’re clutching with both hands to hold onto the cabinet.

your throat is raw. your eyes are burning, too. and you feel this little trickle down your torso and there it goes. you’d weep your own blood and it would be so easy to do.

the hole is unseemly in there. gruesome and sticky and there’s a heart in there beating and beating. you look at her with red-rimmed eyes and you keep clutching. you’re keeping yourself up. up.

“i’m going to bed.” your blood’s on the carpet. so is your pacemaker. and you know you have forty-four minutes until you just.

die.

die.

ironchosen‌:

it hits you so fast that your fingertips start to tap on your knees. then to your thighs. then to your pants. and you tightly tug it in your fingers, pull on it, knuckles a little bit whiter and whiter and whiter. you keep hearing her talking.

(when she starts to cry, fear overtakes you. grabs you. squeezes you tighter and tighter with each passing moment. it’s a fear that so definitely takes you over and simmers low in your belly because there’s a helplessness, palms practically sweating and sweating.) her tears hang on her cheeks and her skin and you can’t help but feel your chest get tighter. in the dark, you suppose you would be able to do this better. comfort. be gentler or kinder. know or understand.

your head fucking spins. it’s so hard for you to grasp this. you watch her. still. your eyes flit and zip to look. tap tap tap. tap tap tap. TAP TAP TAP. TAP TAP TAP. TAP TAP TAP.

(you remember him. you remember the fear and how you were so cool. a mouthful of liquid courage and it was all you needed. the hot, awful, racing fiery heat and the anxiety and how you’d been so afraid but even blinky was quiet, even you were quiet, and you think constantly about it. the pain, the pain, the pain. it strikes you so hard sometimes in the night, too. you wake up and the pain is another memory on top of the first one. it’s a funhouse mirror of memories, looking entirely into itself over and over and over.)

“loki.”

you’re so pale. the whitest possible. you’re getting paler and paler and paler at the thought. It’s not fear you feel right now, but it’s an old familiar. hurt. it’s hurt. you’re hurting, that’s what’s going on. and maybe you figured this would be different. this wouldn’t be like this. this wouldn’t look the way this does right now. it would change. and she would just be this gentle, kind, thoughtful woman who cares about you. who wanted to do better.

you’re suffering, practically. your brain’s rushing to keep up and your heart’s hammering and your eyes are round and you remember being afraid because no one else had hurt you the same way. obadiah has been the closest, but at the hands of someone without the ability to stop it? fear. just fear.

“i—“ you start and you want to shrink. you want to be so small. you want to get so tiny she can’t see you at all. but she wasn’t loki and this isn’t loki and your eyes are filling suddenly with tears and you just want to. you just. you just want to. fuck. fuck. hands hands hands handshandshandshands you can’t stop thinking about them. and moving and moving.

don’t hurt me. you’re begging it, quietly. not again.

“you’re not loki,” quiet panic slithers into your veins. just kind of creeps in and in and in. and you keep talking thickly, “you’re not loki. you did this to me. you did— no i. i did— you did—“

you can’t breathe. fuck. the arc flashes and your hand clenches again. clenches. you want to drink. you want to drink. oh god you want to drink. you can hardly breathe by now. you’re practically nauseaous— no. you are. there it is. it overtakes you.

her. her. her her her her. you look at her and quiet panic feels more like it’s inside you than the goddamn poisoning is. this is worse than everything else. this is scarier than everything else. you kissed her and you liked it. you kissed her and you loved it. you let her climb on top of you and you’d let her—

and you’d let her. and you still would.

but you feel something. anything. and you think maybe this is a confusion. it pings so hard so rapid. you look at her and you imagine her and you try to imagine him (him? not him) and you can’t see a man twisted so unholy, so out of shape, lightning strikes a tree and it bends and you thought that was him and that isn’t her. you’re choking. practically choking. then you’re breathing in, out, in, out and you’re looking at her. and you’re not angry. you’re not angry.

you’re in pain.

“why—“

you’re struggling.

you want to run. you want to hide. you want to cry. you want to hide under something. anything. you want her to hold you. you want her to never touch you again. you want her to touch you everywhere.

“i don’t have anything for you. the sto— the sto— the st-st-st-st-st— stones aren’t here. but you have— you have a daught—you have a daughter—“

there’s this sensation. it rushes through you like a jolt. and if anything surges through you suddenly it’s one thought and it’s that kid. it’s that kid right up there, the innocent kid. the kid.

“what— what do you want with that kid?”

the moment you stopped speaking,you braced, and you felt guilty about it.

the few moments of silence that hang tense and angry and afraid in the air are torture, torture, torture, and you brace for it. alana is going to hit you, you think, she should at least shove you, she—whatever she wanted to do to you, you would let her, you want her to hurt you, you want it to even out. alana should be allowed to hurt you as much as you hurt her. alana should be allowed to kill you. alana should kill you, it’s her right, it would be justice, it would be karma, it would be everything you’ve earned for being here.

your name sounds so ugly in her mouth. your name sounds different in her mouth. your name is the only one like it and it is yours and you can’t run from it no matter how hard you try. you’re not loki, she tries to say. rationalize. there’s no fucking rationalizing here, you did this, you always do this, you will somehow always do this and odin was right and he should have left you to the cold of jötunnheim and you should have died there along with the thousands of your kin who had fallen under gungnir’s wrath.

but you didn’t die then. you don’t die now. you don’t want anything now, you don’t give a fuck about the gems and if alana had any of them all you would do is tell her to get rid of them, fling them into the farthest corners of the galaxy where no one can touch them ever again.

you don’t want to open your eyes. you don’t want to see alana’s face, you don’t want to see her looking at you, you know you’ve flinched away, your head down, only you haven’t put your arms up the way you used to when you were trying to make it hurt as little as possible or prove to him that you’d defend yourself.

but.

alana touches the one thing that would ever stop you from giving up, she touches the reason you survived any of it, how you stopped yourself from going mad. alana accuses you, even if she doesn’t mean to, and some raw fear awakes in you almost older than you realize it could be, a fear you felt for seven, eight, nine seconds, you had counted before they covered his face and the door closed and there you were bleeding bleeding bleeding and your mother became not your mother but someone else to never trust again. she was telling you she loved you, she was telling you everything would be alright while her servants held you to the bed and she cut you open. she was smothering your screaming and telling you she loved you.

your body was coming apart. your body was not your body. but it is now.

“she’s mine,” you say, and your eyes flash open and your voice comes out hoarse but willful because nothing else in the entire world matters to you and even though you want to undo what you’ve done, if you have to weigh it against eleanor you will choose eleanor every time. you will never abandon her. “she’s my daughter. all i want is—i—i just want her to start first grade.”

now you close in, arms crossing and your hands clutching yourself. you feel exposed. you feel guilty. you are guilty and if you were made to answer for all of it you would take it the way you took it when thor brought you back. you were sentenced before the hall, and you were flogged in secret, and you didn’t cry or say a word either time. you weren’t sure what the difference was between justice and abuse and sometimes you still aren’t but you can take either.

“please.”

it’s softer. this is the voice you use to bargain, the voice you use when you’re desperate.

“whatever you want to do with me, fine. i deserve it. just make sure she’s alright. put her with a good family, don't—just don’t let them take her to asgard." 

you don’t know where the rest of your children are. the other six. but you know your father loves them as much as he ever loved you.

"no matter what you do to me, please keep her safe.”

[archangelgf]

I. and when you kiss me, i am happy enough to die

Maven avoids tapping his fork against his plate.

It was a habit of his. The chink, chink, chink was grating on most people’s ears but strangely calming to him. The sounds of metal had always been fairly appealing to him, smooth and ringing. Lucky for him. Tomorrow Evangeline Samos, with her coy smile and easy metalbending, will probably be announced Cal’s consort, and then he would never be without the sounds of metal again.

Well. Until he was king. Even then, that is debatable. Evangeline is a strong possibility for marriage, after all, her family is powerful and influential enough to be very worth marrying into. He lifts his hand to tap his fork against his plate again, then thinks better of it and starts carefully cutting into the sirloin laid out in front of him.

Maven glances to his father.

Drunk, probably. Or at least halfway there. Elara Mother casts him a scrutinizing look when he calls for more water. She knows what he’s doing, but he knows that in the end it doesn’t really matter.

Thomas slips over from the shadows. It shouldn’t be him. Mother knows this, scoffing lightly to herself, which draws Cal’s attention to her. Good. Thomas reaches over to pour him a glass of water, brushing his shoulder carelessly with Maven’s. Maven’s eyes dart to Cal, who’s sitting across from him and desperately trying to engage his father in conversation about Queenstrial tomorrow.

It’s a good enough distraction for Maven to twitch his fingers against Thomas’s palm when he pulls back. There’s a hint of a smile there, then Thomas vanishes again.

Mother surveys him over her glass of wine with narrowed eyes. Watch yourself, child, her expression says. Maven refrains from sighing just to not draw Cal or his father’s attention. Being with Thomas, she constantly reminds him, is a luxury he can just barely afford. It was just luck that Thomas agreed to be a contact for the Scarlet Guard should the need ever come up, because otherwise he’s sure Mother would have removed him from the castle. Permanently.

“Mavey,” Cal says. Maven’s head turns towards him, twisting his mouth into that annoyed-but-endeared frown that he knows always amuses Cal so much. “Which of the Queenstrial ladies appeal to you?”

Maven snorts. Cal is clearly trying to distract himself from tomorrow. “Not Evangeline, that’s for sure,” he quips, lilting his voice to seem cheery. “Perhaps I will have to interact with them more. I’m not sure.”

Cal nods quickly. Maven lifts his water to his lips and tries not to think of Thomas.

“I don’t know why they’re requiring me to attend,” huffs Maven. He cringes when Thomas yanks on a particularly big knot in his curly hair. “Ow.”

“Well, love,” says Thomas kindly, moving on to brush another section of the prince’s unruly curls, “if I had to take a guess, it’d be wanting to show solidarity.” He pauses, then straightens out Maven’s collar, frowning. “Not that you didn’t know that. But your little high houses are kind of scared of the Guard. He’ll want to impress them, I assume?”

Maven sighs as Thomas shifts around to fix his tie. “Yes, he will.” No doubt about it. Tiberias VI has no room for Reds who aren’t servants in his lif. And Cal, if he became king, would probably follow suit out of pressure from the High Houses. Maven isn’t stupid. He knows the power of the High Houses on the royal family, but for Thomas, Maven would do what he must. Probably not any Reds in government offices, but still, he had promised Thomas....

Equality. Of some sort. And he would do almost everything to make Thomas happy, to make Thomas feel loved.

 The prince takes a quick glance around the room before leaning forward and murmuring, “And with the Guard--”

Thomas’s expression remains light and open. “Whatever you need, highness,” he whispers, pecking Maven’s forehead, “I will supply it.”

He had originally met Thomas on the war front. He was merely fifteen then, and he was cold, and he was desperate to go back home. And one day he had just.... met him. Seventeen-year-old Thomas, that is. There was a period of them being “just friends” until Maven finally realized how much he wanted to be more than just friends with Thomas. Until he noticed how much he was noticing the little things about the boy; his somehow perfectly bright smile, his weird laugh, the freckles on his cheeks, his dimples - all of it.

Maven had resigned himself to never tell Thomas this. Ever. There were just too many reasons not to. They were from completely different parts of Norta, their blood colors were different, he wasn’t even sure if Thomas liked boys like he did, and even if by some miracle the boy he loved loved him back he would have to leave for Whitefire palace sometime very soon.

And when he kissed Thomas - well. That was definitely an accident. Definitely.

He’d pulled away, his cheeks coated in silver blush, and apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry,” he’d blurted, “I didn’t--er, I mean-- oh, no.” In that moment, whatever etiquette training Maven had been put through was out the window. He had never really acted like that before, and he’d soon learn that he really only acted that way around Thomas.

Thomas had laughed. Full on laughed, gleefully, and kind of snorting while he did it. Maven had nearly died then - he was sure that Thomas thought he was stupid and silly and their friendship would never be the same ever again. “You’re so cute,” said Thomas fondly, and then he leaned over and kissed Maven again.

Maven’s sure that he’ll never quite forget it.

And then there was the problem of leaving. It would happen soon. And for a while Maven was in a state between happiness and heartbreak; he would have his love but would have to leave him; until he came up with an idea. It involved getting Thomas’s last name and bullying - sorry, pressuring his brother and mother into giving him what he wanted.

So by Queenstrial, Maven was a relatively happy prince with a Red servant boyfriend that he’d managed to keep a secret from everyone except his mother for two years or so -- there was but one more thing he needed. When the Red girl with lightning fell into the Queenstrial arena, his mother came up with a wonderful plan.

“Marry her,” Elara tells him simply.

Maven freezes. “Marry her,” he says softly, not utterly shocked by the whole thing but surprised enough. Why, Maven had expected a loveless marriage to a Silver girl, an engagement and a child made solely for alliances between whatever house that was and House Calore. But he’d expected that alliance to be one of his choosing - a life where he could make his own decisions and still be happy with Thomas in the end, even if Thomas did deserve a better title than a mere consort. Cal is the one who was supposed to be forced to marry a certain daughter by Mother and Tiberias. Not him!

“Yes, marry her, Maven. And do not whine.” Maven stares bleakly at her. At least there was one good thing her removing all that fear had done. Mother sighs, shaking her head. “My son,” she says softly, taking one of his hands in hers, “you know I love you. I’m only doing this to benefit you.”

Yes, he knows that. Reluctantly he lets his shoulders drop, let her win as she always won. At least he knows that his mother had his best interests in mind.

Mother smiles, pleased. “This could be your chance, Maven. To be king.” To be king, she whispers in his mind at the same time. “This girl is our gateway.” Our. “To your success,” she adds.

He narrows his eyes at her. Carefully he removes his hand from her wrist, and whispers, “How?”

Based off the Thomaven prompt here.

I JUST LOVE MY BOYS SO MUCH OK

I don’t know how long this is going to be. Knowing me I’ll probably never finish because I PROCRASTINATE WAY TOO MUCH. But I’ll try my hardest.

Tagging people. Uhm. @chaoslaborantin @redqueenfandom @maudthebookeater 

I DONT KNOW WHO IN THIS FANDOM LIKES THOMAVEN DKDKADJKDJKDKSF

[flamereigns]

❝   SHOULD  WE  BE  WORRIED  THAT  OLYMPIA  WOULD  RATHER  BE  AT  WHITEFIRE  WITH  HER  COUSINS  THAN  HOME  WITH  US?   ❞     as  soon  as  viviana  pulled  up,  the  eldest  of  their  children  ran  out  of  here  like  her  hair  was  on  fire,  she  was  so  excited  to  see  zach.  magnus,  on  the  other  hand,  took  a  little  more  convincing  to  go.  while  olympia  counts  down  the  days  until  she  gets  to  spend  a  week  with  her  aunt  and  uncle  in  archeon  every  other  month,  magnus  dreads  leaving  his  parents.  and  the  twins. . .  well,  they  don’t  have  much  of  an  opinion  yet,  seeing  as  they’re  just  learning  to  talk.  maven  is  still  on  the  fence  about  this  whole  arrangement,  even  though  they’ve  been  doing  it  since  olympia  could  talk.  he  loves  the  alone  time  with  his  wife,  but  he  misses  his  children  while  they’re  gone.  now,  as  he  watches  the  transport  vehicle  pull  away,  he  wraps  an  arm  around  camille,  smiling  down  at  her.     ❝   i  always  feel  a  little  bad  for  viviana   ---   having  to  handle  her  four  kids  and  our  four  kids  for  an  entire  week.   ❞

@echecisms​​   ♡’d