#Throne of Glass moments

[acourtofquestions]

"I stopped caring," Asterin said at last.

"About anything and everything. After that, it was all a joke, and a thrill, and nothing scared me."

That wildness, that untamed fierceness ...

They weren't born of a free heart, but of one that had known despair so complete that living brightly, living violently, was the only way to outrun it.

[brainrotcharacters]

What was that about a nasty dog?

I have the fucking receipts ☝️🤓 https://www.thesprucepets.com/dog-body-language-bared-teeth-1118207#:~:text=In%20most%20cases%2C%20when%20a,precursor%20to%20more%20serious%20aggression.

[pergaminaa]

ok for the sake of being true to canon the valg prince possessing Dorian did get scared of Manon and retreated for a few moments allowing the real Dorian to finally gain control.

And what did my man do? You'd think he'll ask for help or something along these lines, but nope. The only moments of freedom he had he used to rizz up the witch I mean priorities right???

[morganofthewildfire]

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Stolen Moment

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Just wrote this in an hour lol, don’t know what to say, but I like the vibes 😊 it reminds me of Ivy

~ 1k words

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The Terrasenian Countryside, 1839

The orchard was quiet, like it always was. The silence was only punctuated by the lilting sounds of the outdoors: the birds singing in the flowering blooms, the insects buzzing around and floating in the summery breeze, that same breeze flitting through the branches of the trees, and of course the sounds of his paintbrush darting across the canvas.

There were no words that passed between him and his muse, though her blue eyes were trained on him with the whisper of a thousand hidden secrets.

Rowan Whitethorn knew they were playing with fire, but the risk made the moment that much more charged. If anyone were to discover them… for multiple reasons it would lead to either his banishment or his death.

There was no other possible consequence should anyone happen upon them. Not that there should be; they were out at his small house in the countryside, tucked back in the corner of his sprawling acreage, the hidden garden behind the fields of farmland. It was not harvest season, there’d been no need for field hands in the recent days, no one had any reason for being in the vicinity of them.

He did most of the labor himself, saving his art for the few spare moments he could manage to wrangle for himself. It was a secret he didn’t share often; only a few people knew of it. His friend and main field hand, Lorcan, who he’d served in the war with, and Lorcan’s wife Elide both knew.

The painting had started as a way of processing after the war, and Lorcan was the only one who could really understand the horrors that had driven him to this outlet. Elide worked on the farm as well, and had stumbled across his collection of paintings when delivering some of the milk from the cows one morning.

They lived together in a cabin not far from him, and Rowan considered the farm theirs too; they felt more like the true owners than him, though he’d been the one to inherit the land from his father. He didn’t want it, it wasn’t his dream, though he preferred the solitary life it provided.

He didn’t need the pains of social interaction, nor the struggle of trying to constantly pretend. He was fine being alone… or he had been. Until he met her.

Rowan’s eyes lifted from the canvas, landing on the feminine form sprawled on her side on the chaise he’d dragged out here for this purpose. Her head rested on her arms, one leg curled over the other to showcase the delicate curves clothed in a satin chemise, the neckline slipping down her shoulder to show miles of creamy skin. Her golden hair was smoothed in gentle waves, flowing down her back, and those blue eyes of hers remained trained on him.

Aelin Galathynius - Miss Aelin Galathynius - was forbidden to him. It was an idea he couldn’t even dare to foster, and yet here she was, half dressed and alone with him as he studied her form closer than likely anyone ever had.

The Galathynius family was one of the most esteemed families in all of Terrasen, not quite nobility but close to it. They were wealthy, and high ranking, and untouchable for someone like him.

But when it came to their only daughter, Rowan simply couldn’t stay away.

Their country estate wasn’t far from his land, a few miles or so, but it remained unoccupied most of the time. He’d known it belonged to them, but it wasn’t until a few seasons ago that he’d laid eyes on a member of the family. And it just so happened to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Miss Galathynius - Aelin - had been out for a ride on her Asterion mare nearby when an unexpected storm had struck. Her horse had spooked at the crack of thunder, throwing her rider off onto the muddy ground. Rowan had been out assessing damage to the crops when he’d come across her sprawled form.

After helping her up and checking to make sure she was okay, a conversation had struck. She’d been charming, and witty, with the widest smile he’d ever seen, and he’d fallen head over heels practically immediately.

He hadn’t realized who she was.

He learned soon enough, but that didn’t stop her from continuing to reach out to him, and he didn’t have enough self control to stop himself from reaching back out to her, so here they were. He’d confessed his love of painting not long into their acquaintance, and she’d finally convinced him to let her pose for him. He couldn’t say no, no matter the consequences.

If anyone caught them right now, she’d be ruined. If anyone ever found this painting, then he’d be dead.

Because she was to be married soon. She’d told him, though she hadn’t needed to. He’d seen the ring on her finger.

He couldn’t expect anything different. She was eighteen years of age, from a distinguished family. She was sure to have offers by the plenty. Her family had just seemingly finally found the perfect one.

At twenty one, Rowan knew he was likely closer in age to her than several of those offers, but he knew he would never have even been considered. A few decades ago, he’d be beheaded for even daring to put forward his proposal.

His heart ached as he dragged his paintbrush along the canvas, smoothing out the perfect curve of her hip, and the dip of her waist where his hand so perfectly fit. They hadn’t done anything, had never even kissed.

If Aelin were to be discovered as anything but a virgin on her wedding night, then Hellas would rain down on them both.

So Rowan ignored the aching in his chest and the urges of his hands and just enjoyed the stolen moment the best he could. This was leading to ruin, and they both knew it.

But he would savor whatever little piece of her he could get.

——-

Taglist:

@wordsafterhours

@romancinghollywood

@superspiritfestival

@wishfulimaginings

@larisssss

@punkassbookjockey26

@shyvioletcat

@aelinchocolatelover

@s-uppertime

@leiawritesstories

@elentiyawhitethorn

@backtobl4ck

@goddess-aelin

@fromthelibraryofemilyj

@justreadertings

@rowaelinismyotp

@live-the-fangirl-life e

@swankii-art-teacher

@tomtenadia

@highqueenofelfhame

@firestarsandseneschals

@thegreyj

@mariamuses

@house-of-galathynius

@rowanaelinn

@llyncooljones

@story-scribbler

@charlizeed

@bookcide

@elizarikaallen

@slytherhys

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@rowaelinrambling

@courtofjurdan

@peppermint-fae

[lilyharvord]

It ain’t my business to come up with another AU cause I’ve got four in the oven cooking and one that almost done rising and is waiting to go in the oven, but I’m a feral gremlin and I love Red Queen so its not my fault. Anyway the Star Wars AU is once again on my mind, so I will pull a chunk of my brain out and somehow project what I see to you all. 

- Mare is a smuggler/pirate who works for a medium sized smuggling organization that specializes in playing both side of the divide (Rebel and Imperial). They’re clients kind of know but because they are so good at getting their hands on everything (information, tech, weapons, codes) they’re allowed a free pass from both sides to do what they want so long as they don’t try anything serious. She gets to wear sick ass pants with lots of pockets that she likes to put things in (steal more like), a hip gun holster (the kind that sort of wraps around both legs and the waist) and a white loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Sometimes she wears a cool hat with a low bun that lets her hair fall out in chunks on the sides. Aka she’s a sewer rat that somehow got into a fancy organization and made her way up to the top levels by just being fucking ruthless and also very good and getting people to give her what she wants (aka she has the Force but has no fucking clue). 

- Cal is an Imperial Colonel for the Navy who comes from a very, very wealthy and important family that is very close to the Emperor. He is young, and everyone says he has a super bright future ahead of him. He’s good at war, and that makes him dangerous. Secretly, he’d rather be in his garage tuning up older speeders and racing them. And he may or may not be soft to the Rebellion’s cause, on an ideological basis of course. He’s a stauch believer in the Empire and “what they do for the galaxy by providing protection, support, and management to what would otherwise be a system riddled with anarchy and collapsing infrastructure”. Someone did start a rumor (which may or may not have actually been true, but the grunt was very drunk in said cantina and their word was very suspect) that they saw him in disguise listening to what was Rebel propaganda in a backwater cantina while they were planet side. He mostly plays by the rules but he’s not afraid to get his hands a little dirty or bend the rules to win. He finds out about a smuggling organization that straddles the line and hires them to get him information that he needs for an up coming campaign. Which is how he meets a scrappy, no nonsense smuggler who he believes is more like a pirate, that makes his start to question exactly what the Empire does. 

- Maven is from the same wealthy, prosperous family as Cal. He holds a military position (much lower level, he does not see much action), but is more involved in the government (or the sham of it provided to the people to keep the placated). He is very close to the Emperor, and for good reason. He has unique talents of his own that he keeps to himself but uses them when and only if they are needed. He is a spy, and his mother has brilliant ambitions for him and their family. He may have his own ambitions though, and his teeth while sharp are hidden well... 

- Diana Farley is a leader in the Alliance, who has been fighting most of her life against the oppression of the Empire. She fights with her teeth and her claws, but when a seriously dangerous bit of information is stolen along with a datapad that holds Alliance base locations and other important information from a member of her squadron, she enlists the help of a member of a smuggler organization that’s not afraid to go behind Imperial lines to retrieve things. She refused to be left in the dark though, and ends up joining the hunt, even against her superiors wishes...

- Shade Barrow is given orders to retrieve a data pad with invaluable information on it. Deeply sympathetic to the Alliance’s cause, he is more than willing to go behind Imperial lines in his beat up ship to save them all. He’ll need to enlist the help of his little sister who has a deep foothold in a certain Colonel’s camp to retrieve the information which could put them both in the line of deadly fire, that is... if he doesn’t get killed by the beautiful and dangerous Rebel stowaway he somehow managed to pick up. 

[sserrafeim]

Yrene showed up just a little before the series ended and stole the show and I respect her for that

[vices-aand-virtues]

@ all the women in the Throne of Glass series: I love you. I would die for you.

@ all the men in Throne of Glass (except Sartaq): eh take you or leave you ig.

[acourtofquestions]

“Aelin took a step forward.

One step, as if in a daze.

She loosened a shuddering breath, and a small, whimpering noise came out of her—a sob.

And then she was sprinting down the alley, flying as though the winds themselves pushed at her heels.

She flung herself on the male, crashing into him hard enough that anyone else might have gone rocking back into the stone wall. But the male grabbed her to him, his massive arms wrapping around her tightly and lifting her up.

Nesryn made to approach, but Aedion stopped her with a hand on her arm.

Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hood buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in.

"Who is that?" Nesryn asked. Aedion smiled, "Rowan."”

credit: @charliebowater (go check out their work it is absolutely beautiful & full of many of my favorites)

Very early colour progress! THIS. SCENE.

On a side note it kind of kills me giving Aelin red hair rather than her natural blonde but I am a stickler for the details!

WIP.

[noobsydraws]

I can't stop thinking about the last battle from Kingdom of Ash.

[acourtofquestions]

“"You taught Aelin." Again, silence. Then, "Aelin is my heart. I taught her what I knew, and it worked because our magics understood each other deep down— Just as our souls did."

Dorian nodded his thanks. "The first time you met Aelin, did you know ...?"

A snort. "No. Gods, no. We wanted to kill each other." The amusement flickered. "She was ... in a very dark place. We both were. But we led each other out of it. Found a way together."”

credit: @ALICEMARIAPOWER

[brainrotcharacters]

tell me I'm wrong

[pergaminaa]

In a modern AU Aelin would not believe that Dorian’s daughter, at the ripe age of fifteen months would simply walk to her crib and lay down to nap without making any fuss. She has kids of her own, she knows it’s a scam.

She was visiting Dorian one afternoon, and true to what he described: the small child started sucking on her fingers, a sign she was getting sleepy.

“You want to sleep?” Dorian asked his daughter while walking her to the nursery, Aelin in tow.

Arriving at the nursery, Dorian placed the small child in her crib, and she laid down and closed her eyes, falling asleep without as much as make a fuss.

Aelin still didn’t believe it, even though she was seeing it with her own eyes. She has multiple children and nap time is never this peaceful and children naturally reject naps??? Why is Dorian’s kid like this???

“How do you do this?” Unable to contain her curiosity she asked him when they left the nursery a moment later. The infant not making any sound or being upset that she’s left alone. To Aelin, this is not normal.

“Do what?” Dorian asked.

“That. She just goes to sleep without a fuss?”

“Usually. She knows when she’s tired and when we suggest sleep she’s compliant,” Dorian explained. “Although she has her moments, sometimes she refuses to sleep and end up being fussy and cranky,” Now that sounds like a normal infant behavior, not the compliant child that listens to her body’s needs.

“Dorian, you know that cranky is the default when it comes to sleep, right?”

“I guess we got lucky,” Because he appreciates that his child isn’t like most. It could be because of how they parent her, or it’s just her temperament.

Although, if he’s being honest, he knows that his little daughter takes after her mother in more than just looks. It is a fact he is aware of, one that never fails to bring a smile to his face.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

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It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

--------------------

[acourtofquestions]

@the-unseelie

Aelin x Rowan - Throne Of Glass

Artist: imjenndove

“She smiled at last. And damn if it didn't kill him, the quiet joy in her face.

They had walked out of darkness and pain and despair together. They were still walking out of it. So that smile... It struck him stupid every time he saw it and realized it was for him.”

—Queen Of Shadows

[hidiustd]

sometimes i want to use this profile for silly little posts about books i'm reading or just as a digital diary and then i forget i have a tumblr for a few months

and here i am again :)

[thestuffedalligator]

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.

His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.

"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."

"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.

She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.

"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."

The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.

It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.

She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.

Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...

"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."

The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.

"I mean you're about his height-"

"No."

"It would just be for a-"

"Absolutely not."

"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.

"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."

The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."

"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."

---

It had been a very strange year for the Empire.

Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.

Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.

"Your empire flourishes, Your Unholy Majesty," the magician said over her wine glass. She looked down from the tower's balcony over the gleaming stone battlements. Some work had been done to line the castle and surrounding city with sizzling, crackling alchemical lights at night. The whole thing glowed like something dangerously radioactive.

The suit of armor waved a languid, glittering gauntlet over to the goblin, who bowed.

"His Abominable Gloriousness Thanks You," the goblin recited. "The Prosperity Of His Empire Can Only Be Achieved Through The Prosperity Of His People."

"If I may be so bold, I am quite pleased that you had chosen to take my counsel under consideration," said the magician. "We have accomplished many things together."

Another wave. Another bow. "The Overlord, May His Presence Swallow The Sun And Stars, Thanks You As Well."

"It was quite gratifying to see you change your mind, after so many centuries of denial." The wine was swirled. "Tell me, what was it that finally gave you cause to listen to me?"

There was the slightest hesitation. The goblin's eyes flicked to the armor, then to the magician. She puffed out her chest. "Do you question the wisdom of His Austere Lugubriousness?" she asked.

The magician looked at the goblin. She looked at the armor. She tipped her head back and drank the wine too quickly.

She looked back at the armor. "I know you're the orc, you moron," she said.

The room went deathly still. An alchemical light fizzled.

The orc pulled off the helmet, sending long, untied hair down tangling, and said: "How could you possibly-"

"Because you're both idiots!" the magician said. The goblin jumped. The orc jumped with a noise like a dropped stove. "What kind of a plan was this?! If it wasn't for me, you would have been turned into fertilizer months ago."

She closed her eyes. She took a long, dramatic breath. She set the wine glass down on the balcony rail.

"How did the Overlord die?" she asked when she seemed like she had gotten a hold over herself.

"Choked on an olive," said the goblin.

"Threw his body out the window," said the orc.

"You don't have to mention the window," said the goblin.

"Right," said the orc. "Sorry."

The magician looked out over the city, hand curled thoughtfully under her nose. "Who knows about this?"

"Just us. And, uh. You. Apparently."

"And why did you accept my counsel?"

The orc blinked. "Sorry?"

"Why did you accept my counsel?" the magician repeated.

"Well," the orc said. "Well - you seemed like you had good ideas-"

"Great ideas!" the goblin said with an edge of desperation. "Don't know why the old bastard didn't listen to you!"

"Right - right," said the orc. "And when we figured we were stuck doing this - well, it just made sense, really."

The magician seemed to absorb this. She nodded. "All right," she said, striding between the two and grabbing the crystal decanter.

"Um," said the orc. "Sorry. What happens now?"

"What happens is that you two will continue to serve as Overlord," said the magician. "You will continue to take my counsel. We will continue to reform this bloody country, and gods willing, we will turn it into the crown jewel of the world by next Midwinter."

The orc looked at the goblin. The goblin looked at the orc.

"Really?" the goblin asked.

"Oh yes," said the magician. "I've worked hard to be counsel to the Overlord, and I have no reason to stop now. And besides-"

She looked the orc up and down with a deliberate slowness, poring over every microscopic detail, eyes tracing over every jagged line, and grinned like a panther.

"You look much better in the armor than he ever did," she said. Dark robes swirled like a becleavaged thundercloud, and she strode out through the high iron doors, decanter in hand.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.