#maa love status

[acourtofquestions]

Thank you Chaol for once again another male character trope being broken in Throne of Glass by clearly stating: “I don’t want you to think I’m agreeing to keep it secret because I’m ashamed in any way.”

[tootalltech]

Nine People I’d Like to Get to Know Better

ty to @vxyablr for tagging me! i’m sorry we haven’t talked in a while, i still haven’t finished suits 😔😔😔 but maybe i will once moved into my dorm and everything…

Currently watching: modern family! i haven’t watched as much the past week or so but i started it like a couple months ago maybe? and i’m on season 11. so.

Spicy/sweet/savory: savory. this is funny because for some reason i was just thinking about this last night. but i will always prefer snacks like that… unless it’s after drinking gymnema tea. which i have had to do. don’t do this.

Current obsession: good question. probably dnd (like specifically the campaign i have going with my friends) and also tlos. it’s never not time for me to be insane about lloyd and conner bailey.

Relationship status: married to lloyd bailey (single and in too much of a transitional phase to even really be looking rn)

Last song I listened to: mothman by alex maas and UNEQUAL

as for who i’m no pressure tagging it’s tlos mutual round up time @does-not-have-milk @fourayedasshole @theenemyod @tinyattack09 @ivy-is-chaos (i think that’s why i started following you? but i actually am not 100% sure) ik not all of you guys post primarily about tlos but i genuinely love seeing posts about the other stuff you guys are interested in currently, never change <3 and also @flock-of-cassowaries @letsunity @skyyguy and @prfury i don’t necessarily talk as much with all of you guys but i love seeing all the stuff you all put on my dash as well whether ramblings about hannibal or frustrating workplaces <3 and also as usual tagging anyone who wants to do this!

[theweeklydiscourse]

Many people have made the point that Sarah J Maas describes her female characters and characterizes them in a manner that feels specifically “male” and objectifying. I believe that the kind of strange male spectatorship she employs in her writing is meant to be one of the pleasurable elements of the stories she writes and one of the features that makes her writing popular. Here is a passage from John Berger’s book Ways of Seeing that explains what I’m talking about.

“Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed is female. Thus she turns herself into an object of vision: a sight.” (John Berger, Ways of Seeing)

With this in mind, I understand Feyre and Rhysand’s relationship as one that gives the reader-identified character a kind of pleasure as a result of them being objectified and sexually admired by a high-status figure. The exhibitionism that Mass frequently uses to create sexual tension (ex. Feyre being scantily clad and groped under the mountain and portrayed as Rhysand’s “Harlot” in Hewn City) operates both as a way for the male love interest to demonstrate his pride in objectifying the heroine’s body, and establish her status in relation to his. In Hewn City, Rhysand’s reactions add doubly to this pleasure when he violently attacks Keir for insulting Feyre. It does not matter if the action was illogical and contrived, what matters more is that through this action the reader can see themselves being looked at and reacted to by male characters. This in turn strengthens the reader-identified character’s worth as a desirable object.

[marciaillust]

What discworld books have you read so far? I've been wanting to get into the series for a while but I never now where to start 🥺

My dear best friend is overseeing the whole process as I began reading the books as a part of a pact/challenge

They made me start with Going Postal as that would introduce me to "the most shaped guy out there that you'll love" and they were right I loved the guy and the book too. It's sorta a trilogy so I wanted to immediately go into the second book (Making Money) but I was forbidden from doing so as that includes Sam Vimes which is like a whole guy from the Nightwatch books, and my friend's big fav.

So then I was made to read Guards Guards. I didn't enjooooy GG all that much but later I was informed that Going Postal is Pratchett at his high point well into writing Discworld while GG is one of the first books in the series so he is still finding his footing there. But it did a great Job of introducing Sam Vimes, Carrot, Sybil the dragon lady and all the other Nightwatch characters.

While I'm not a fan of GG I think reading it was kinda necessary to properly enjoy the next Nightwatch book aka Men At Arms (I'm still doing my prep work for Making Money). Without reading GG I don't think Carrot growing up, or the conflict between Sam and Sybil, or the whole idea that the watch is getting new recruits would be anywhere as meaningful because how would you know what the status quo even was. I am really enjoying Men At Arms, I am currently mid-book! It came out like 4 years after GG so the writing style somewhat ripened in the meantime and resembles the quality of Going Postal (it has more pathos and new lovely freaks!!).

After I finish MAA I'll finally indulge in Making Money! And I've already set my eyes on Rising Steam (third book in the series). After that I might go back to the Nightwatch books but I've also been curious about the book with the Death's assistant, I am blanking on the name rn.

So that was my journey. I was told partially it was curated like that because it gives you the "potential blorbos" on a silver plate, as my friend knows I am no bookworm and I will require something to stick around for.

I am no expert on where to start either, I just know I am neck deep in the investment pool of Moist Von Lipwig

[isnotwhatyourethinking]

The Warrior & The Healer - Chapter 3

Cassian x Winter Court Healer Reader

Summary: Y/n's healing powers are unparalleled, a gift from the Mother that she wields with precision and care. Sent to Velaris under the guise of a diplomatic mission, Y/n is secretly bound by a darker duty—spying for the Winter Court's ruthless war general, Isarn, to protect her imprisoned mother. But as she works to heal the wounds inflicted by Hybern, a chance encounter with a certain Illyrian warrior changes everything.

Word Count: 5.8K

A/N: sorry this took so long, I had to organize an auction T.T though I loved loved loved diving more into the plot and introducing new characters! hope u like this one, angst and all xx

Warnings: girl can't catch a break, angst, mentions of family abuse, blood, violence, waterboarding, language if you squint, some fluff at the end, sorry if I missed anything!

All ACOTAR rights to the genius of Sarah J Maas✨

Upon arriving at the Winter Court, I was greeted by a too-familiar frigid air that clung to my bones, making me long for the warmth of Velaris, and by a structure before me that loomed like a minatory giant, challenging me with its sheer presence. 

The Hailstone Citadel stood majestically atop a rocky hill, its towering spires piercing the frosty air. Constructed around a grand meeting hall where the leaders of the Court gathered for official events, and made from spotless white marble with delicate veins of silver, its walls shimmered like freshly fallen snow under the pale winter sun. The battlements, adorned with intricate carvings of long-forgotten runes, were fashioned from pale blue quartzite, their surfaces glistening as if perpetually coated in a thin layer of frost. 

Inside, the grand halls were lined with smooth alabaster, casting an ethereal glow that mimicked the natural luminescence of ice. Blue calcite pillars rose to support the vaulted ceilings, their icy hue deepening the castle's wintry ambiance. Even the floors, polished to perfection, reflected the cold beauty of the surroundings, with inlaid designs of glacial stone that told tales of ancient winters. 

I stared at the mythical beasts that welcomed me, standing as majestic statues at the base of the blue pillars, symbols of the Winter Court’s strength and ferocity. Great white glacial bears, their fur eternally pristine like the marble walls, were carved to perfection. Snow griffins and frostfang wolves, their watchful gazes following my every move, guarded the halls with silent vigilance. They had always made me feel so small, as if they might jump and shred me to pieces at any second.

The entire structure exuded an icy aura, both in temperature and in its hauntingly beautiful design, perfectly encapsulating the essence of my court. I was caught off guard by the subtle shudder that thought caused.

As I made my way to the tactical wing, I felt a shiver run down my spine, and not just from the cold: a large group of soldiers greeted me with their imposing presence. Isarn might be playing the role of a vigilant warlord, but the overabundance of soldiers spoke volumes about his paranoia. Still, they were a formidable sight, their uniforms a mixture of elegance and intimidation. Each soldier wore a long, icy blue tunic of thick wool embroidered with delicate silver snowflakes. Over this they wore white, fur-lined cloaks, fastened at the shoulder with silver clasps in the shape of direwolves—the well-known beast form of our High Lord. 

Trying to shake off the thought of what Kallias would do to me if he discovered what I was doing, I shifted my attention back to the formation of the soldiers, the details of their armor gleaming in the pale light, silver breastplates intricately engraved with frost patterns and beasts, polished to a mirror-like finish that reflected the icy surroundings. 

I slightly nodded at the formation, heading to Isarn’s office. I raggedly filled my lungs and held my pendant before walking into my cursed fate. No fear. One deep breath. No hesitation. Another deep breath. I knocked once announcing myself, and opened the door.

❄❄❄❄❄❄

Isarn's office bore none of the elegance of the grand halls of the Citadel. The walls were adorned with detailed maps of Prythian, some marked by battle plans. Shelves lined one wall, filled with tomes on warfare, tactics, and the history of the Winter Court. Weapons of all kinds—swords, daggers, and axes—were meticulously displayed, the room was lit by a single obsidian chandelier, its dark crystals casting sharp light across the space. 

In the corner, a fireplace donned with a shiny grease black tile crackled with blue-tinged flames, the firelight casting eerie, flickering shadows across the room. The hearth was decorated with carvings of snarling beasts, and despite the warmth it provided, the fireplace only seemed to add to the cold, merciless atmosphere. A large desk dominated the center of the room, made of dark, polished ebony that looked almost black in the dim light. Behind it sat a high-backed chair, its design as austere and commanding as the man who occupied it. 

Despite his stature, the General's presence was overwhelming, his authority radiating with sheer force. He was a short, chubby male with skin so pale it almost appeared gray, the black ponds of ink he had for eyes missing nothing—a cold, calculating gaze that seemed to see through any facade. His gray hair, balding at the crown, was meticulously combed straight and sleek in a strict military fashion that only added to his stern demeanor. Dressed in the immaculate regalia of a warlord and topped with a prominently displayed black onyx blade, he projected an aura of intimidation and behest. I loathed this visit, though I was looking forward to hearing news of my mother.

"Sit down", he commanded in his screeching voice. 

"I’d rather stand", I spat back. An evil smile crossed his features. 

"Y/N… You’re in no position to negotiate, and I’m not in the mood for insubordination. Sit. the fuck. down". 

Prick.

My back tensed as I reluctantly sat in one of the chairs located in front of his desk, hands still in my pewter cloak’s pockets. 

"I hope, for yours and your mother’s sake, you’re not wasting my time."

I nervously looked at his chubby hands, adorned with rings shaped like bears, tapping rhythmically against his desk. Every other plump finger was wrapped in a band of platinum, a showy attempt to command respect, as if a reminder of his authority had to be displayed at all times, I thought. 

"The Night Court is heavily secured since Hybern’s attack," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thanks to the Ancient One’s powers and the Cursebreaker defending the city, Hybern did not stand a chance." 

Isarn’s expression remained inscrutable as he leaned back in his chair, calculating. "Go on," he pressed, his voice a dangerous murmur.

I took a deep breath, the weight of the pendant around my neck grounding me. "Amren’s powers are… unlike anything I’ve ever heard of. She can seamlessly control mind and body, the Cursebreaker herself was impressed by her skills."

"What about that winged bastard? Did the treacherous High Lord reveal anything useful about their plans against Hybern?" he said in a mocking tone, each word a poisonous blade cutting through the tension in the room. 

I hesitated, the memory of Rhysand mentioning a book to Feyre flashing through my mind. I knew, I knew this was wrong, and I hated the thought of putting the Night Court at risk. But the desperate need to gain leverage gnawed at me. No, I couldn’t reveal this information before negotiating my mother’s release. "Where is my mother?" I asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Isarn’s eyes narrowed, and he stood, moving around his desk with the grace of a predator. "Information first," he said, his voice unyielding.

A power struggle unfolded as he circled me, each step calculated. "Your dear mother is expecting you to fulfill your side of the bargain." He hesitated for a second, carefully measuring his next words to avoid giving anything away. "And the Night Court is not your concern," he added with a tone of casual malice, as if the subject was of little importance to him. 

Interesting.

In a blink, he was beside me, and before I could react, I felt the cold touch of his onyx blade at the nape of my neck. Isarn was faster than I had anticipated, his military training evident in his swift, lethal movement.

I summoned a burst of chilling force to my upper body, just in case, trying to remain grounded. 

"Tell me… what you know," Isarn demanded, slowly pressing the blade harder against my neck.

I felt a warm liquid trickle down my back—he had pierced my skin. The pain was sharp, but the realization of my vulnerability was even more cutting. My wound was healing quickly, though the gash hurt like hell. 

He kept pressing with intent and what felt like... pleasure? I fought back tears until they finally broke. 

"I heard Rhysand and Feyre talking about a book the Ancient One is working on. It could be a weapon, I don't... I don't know anything else." 

Isarn’s smile was victorious as he released the blade from my neck. "A book?" His eyes gleamed with greed. "See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?" he taunted, his voice mocking and triumphant. Then the bastard licked my blood from the tip of the blade, never breaking eye contact. Repulsive, dishonorable, evil shred of a male. 

I forced a gag down my throat and kept an impassive expression on my face to avoid giving him a reaction, but I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I was disgusted, enraged, frustrated and tired. How much longer did we have to put up with this prick? From the moment I was recalled from the Boreal Retreat to the Citadel a few weeks ago, Isarn had made it his personal mission to humiliate me every chance he got. The Commander, Gods only knew how, had managed to convince Kallias to assign me to aid the Night Court, so I hadn't even had time to delegate my duties, and I often wondered how my patients at the Retreat were doing. 

Fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted my torment.

"Sir?" A soldier peeked his head in with hesitation and fear. He had been summoned by the Commander but clearly did not want to disturb him. He knew better than that.

"Alfson. Take the lady here to the lower chambers. Make sure she sees how her mother is being well cared for." Isarn snarled with disdain. Then he pinned me down with his resolute obsidian eyes as he reclined on his desk, their fixed stare anchoring me in place. 

"We are done here. You're to remain in the Night Court until I say otherwise, and you better not try any funny business." He tapped the ebony with his fat fingers, emphasizing the last three words. "I've got eyes and ears everywhere."

"I've got eyes and ears everywhere," I scoffed in my head. Honestly, what was his interest in the Night Court? 

What is your endgame, Commander?

A surge of strength coursed through me, a defiant fire igniting in my chest. While my resilience had always been a silent force, manifesting through actions rather than words, this newfound courage startled me. 

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

"You mean Hybern’s?"

His head suddenly snapped up, a shadow crossing his face. Without warning, his hand lashed out, striking me across the face with a force that sent me reeling. The sting of his platinum rings bit into my skin, and before I could even touch my cheek to ease the pain, his gaze shifted to the soldier. With a slight nod and a silent command in his eyes, he conveyed his next order.

A sudden, searing pain exploded at the side of my head, and my world turned black.

The barren, snow-covered ground crunched beneath our feet as we searched for anything to stave off our gnawing hunger. It had been two weeks since my father had left us to fend for ourselves, his absences a common trial we had learned to endure. The biting wind whipped through my thin clothes, but I barely felt it, my focus solely on survival. 

I ran ahead of her, a small figure stood out a few meters away in the sea of whites and grays around us.

“Mama, look!”

We had stumbled upon a rabbit, its fragile body barely clinging to life. I looked at my mother with young, inexperienced eyes, searching in hers for an answer to the rabbit's pain, though knowing this could be our dinner. 

She knelt beside the animal, examining it with gentle hands despite the harshness of our surroundings. Her eyes, a blend of resolve and sorrow, met mine with a weight that belied her calm exterior. She cupped her hand on my left cheek, a mother's heart breaking at the lesson she was about to teach her little girl. 

"You must choose," she said gently, her voice trembling yet firm as strings of mist came out of her mouth. "Help it get better, or let it go peacefully. The decision is yours, my love."

Her tone carried not just the necessity of our survival, but a plea for understanding. 

I hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on my small shoulders. The rabbit's labored breaths filled my ears, and I felt a pang of empathy for the creature. But the growling of my stomach and the desperate look in my mother's eyes forced my hand. With trembling fingers, I reached out, knowing that this choice meant survival.

I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my strength, then made the call. 

I snapped the flimsy neck, ending the rabbit’s suffering to provide us with a meal. The act felt heavy, its significance settling deep within me.

My mother’s gaze hardened as she stroked my hair and looked into my eyes. 

"You did good. Sometimes we must do not what our hearts desire but what our needs demand, without fear nor hesitation” 

Her words replaced the feeling of guilt and grief, they had etched themselves into my soul, becoming a cornerstone of my resilience and determination.

I bolted upright on the cold stone floor, my mother's voice echoing in my mind. The nightmare, the memory, had faded, but the longing for her warming presence remained.

As my senses returned, I realized I wasn't in my bed but in a dark, dank dungeon. The chains binding me were a deep, otherworldly blue, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Each link felt like liquid metal solidified into an unbreakable structure, wrapped tightly around my wrists and ankles. The subtle chill from their touch seeped into my bones, sapping my strength with powerful magic. 

I groaned as I tried to reach for the back of my head where an intense headache originated, pounding behind my eyes, likely from the blow Alfson had delivered in Isarn’s office. My vision was still blurry, but as I blinked rapidly trying to clear my sight, the full extent of my situation became painfully clear: I wasn't healing.

I struggled against the chains, my movements slow and sluggish. Each effort to free myself only seemed to tighten their grip. Panic began to set in, my breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Then, amidst the silence of the dungeon, a familiar whimpering voice reached me over the ringing in my ears.

Across the cell, through the dim light and shadows, I saw her. She was huddled in a corner, her once-vibrant form now frail and broken. 

No. No, no, no–

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the horror of her imprisonment. Isarn hadn't been keeping her in some quarters as I had hoped; all this time, she had been held captive in a dungeon cell. 

"My child," she murmured. 

It pained me to hear her voice barely audible carrying the weight of all the suffering she had endured.

"Mama," the call came from the bottom of my heart, out to my lips, hoarse and desperate. The sight of her, more than the chains, more than the cold, more than the headache, shattered my core. I fought against the bonds with renewed desperation, my mind racing to find a way to free us both. A thousand questions swirled in my mind, and I could see the same confusion and urgency reflected in my mother's eyes.

I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady, "I've been out assisting the Night Court."

Her eyes widened, a spark of shock briefly flickering through her weariness. I wanted to tell her everything, about the beautiful city of Starlight, the people I had met, the mission I had undertaken, about my mate, but there was no time. The sound of boots echoed faintly in the background, so I continued.

"Mama, I’ve been well, but I can't talk for long," I said, my words hurried. "They're coming."

She nodded, understanding the urgency. Despite her frail state, she reached out to me as if she could hold my hand from a distance. "Bjorn," she said, her voice dry and raspy, "he's been aiding me."

Bjorn. The mention of his name brought a flood of emotions. My uncle, my mentor, the one who had always been there for us. While my father abandoned us, Bjorn had stepped in, teaching me everything I needed to know to survive in this frozen hell. As the Captain of the border forces with the Autumn Court, he had been a figure of fortitude and tenacity, walking alongside me every step of the way, from treating soldiers in makeshift tents to becoming indispensable to the court. He was more of a father to me than my own ever was. 

"He sneaks in when he can... Isarn still doesn’t know," my mother continued in a whisper, forcing a gulp. "He doesn’t know you’re related. It’s our only advantage."

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. The thought of seeing Bjorn again gave me a glimmer of hope. I had kept it together up to this point but gods knew I needed a lifeline. 

"Do what Isarn says for now, my love. Find Bjorn. He’s been looking for you, too."

My mother fought a cough, struggling to talk. As her eyes met mine, I silently pleaded with her to stop, to save her strength, but she pressed on, defying my unspoken request. 

"He mentioned tensions at the border are growing, and that he’s been looking for a way to undermine Isarn's influence, to exploit his vulnerabilities."

The sound of boots grew louder, the guards getting closer. Panic surged through me, but I held on to my mother’s words. "We’ll get through this," I promised. "I'll find Bjorn." As soon as Isarn grows bored of this hissy fit and sends me back to Velaris.

The Mother must’ve heard my prayers, as two soldiers finally approached the cell’s gate, each carrying a large bucket filled with what looked like water, and two thick linen cloths. This couldn’t be good.

"Rise and shine, ladies," one of them sneered.

Fuck, how long had it been?

The soldiers walked into the cell with a menacing air. "This is a mercy from the General, a little reminder." one of them said, his words dripping with that characteristic malice of Isarn’s personal guard.

Before I could react, they grabbed us and forced us to the cold stone floor. The first splash of icy water hit my face like a thousand needles, the shock making me gasp for air. The cloth was pressed over my face, and the torture began.

I struggled to breathe as they poured more water on me, each inhalation bringing it into my lungs. Panic and pain overwhelmed me as I heard my mother's muffled cries close by. I fought against the restraints, desperately trying to break free, but the chains held me fast.

Just when I thought I would drown, they stopped. I laid there, coughing and gasping for breath, my body trembling. The soldiers laughed, their eyes savoring their making.

"If you don’t comply with the General’s orders," one of them said, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "or if you dare to question him again, he will personally stab you both with faebane, bathe you in cold water, and leave you out to freeze to death."

The other soldier removed the dark indigo bonds and spat on my face.

“Scum.”

But I ignored it all as I crawled towards my mother, every movement a struggle. "Mama, please," I begged, "stay with me."

Darkness was closing in, my strength fading. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was my mother’s frail form, her eyes filled with love and desperation. 

I drifted in and out of awareness as rough hands grabbed me, dragging me out of the dungeons. My body felt heavy, my limbs barely responding. Through blurred vision, I saw the dimly lit corridors of the lower levels of the Hailstone Citadel pass by, the cold seeping into my bones.

"Keep moving," one of the soldiers muttered, his grip tightening on my arm.

They hauled me through a hidden exit at the back of the citadel, into the freezing night. The biting wind stung my face, jolting me closer to full consciousness. They dragged me into the bailey, the snow crunching under their boots, until they finally dropped me unceremoniously onto the ground.

I laid there, shivering, hardly breathing. I had to move. Summoning the last of my strength to heal the tightness in my muscles, I pushed myself up, staggering towards the stables I knew were nearby. Each step was a battle as I reached a horse conveniently saddled, its breath visible in the cold air. I had always prided myself on being self-reliant, I’d been taught to never depend on a male for strength or comfort. But now, as my body temperature kept dangerously dropping, I found myself wishing for Cassian’s warmth, his strong arms wrapping around me. I held onto that feeling for solace, while focusing on mounting the animal. 

I urged the horse south, towards the Autumn Court border where I knew Bjorn was positioned. The ride was a blur of icy wind and snow-covered trees. I fought hard to stay awake and to listen to the rhythm of the horse’s gallop—it was the only thing keeping me from slipping back into unconsciousness.

When I finally reached the border at dawn, the outpost where Bjorn was stationed came into view. It was a watchpoint where the soldiers of the Winter Court kept an eye on the shifting lines between territories. Tents erected around a tall brick structure dotted the landscape as far as I could see, blending into the snow-covered ground.

A soldier approached as I dismounted, recognizing me from past encounters at the recovery camps. "Y/N," he greeted, his voice filled with concern as he saw my condition. He helped me unmount, his hands steadying me as I stumbled. 

"I have urgent business with the Captain," I muttered as I could.

The soldier nodded, understanding the urgency. "This way."

He tied the horse to a post and guided me through the site as I made my way to Bjorn's tent. The sounds and faces of the outpost, once familiar and comforting, now felt distant and blurred as if they were fading away. At last, we arrived at Bjorn's tent. The soldier stepped inside first, clearing his throat before speaking, "Captain, someone’s here to see you." I followed, my legs barely holding me up.

Bjorn turned around, shock registering on his face when he saw me. "Y/N," his voice broke, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and worry. 

I couldn't contain my tears any longer. I ran to him, collapsing into his embrace. He wrapped me around tightly in a fatherly comfort I had longed for since I left for the Night Court.

As we stood there, memories of our time together surged through my mind. I recalled the countless hours we spent in the training grounds, his voice calm and steady as he instructed me on how to hold a blade, how to keep my balance even on treacherous ice. He drilled me in the military structure of the Winter Court, ensuring I understood the hierarchy and strategies that could one day save my life. 

His patience never wavered as he guided me in harnessing my healing powers, teaching me to channel my energy and focus it precisely where it was needed. Every lesson, every word of encouragement had shaped me into who I was today. He had been there for me in my darkest moments, offering his support and wisdom when I needed it most. Our familial tie was forged in those early days of hardship, and it had only grown stronger over the years.

"I thought I'd lost you," Bjorn whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I pulled back, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. "My mother…" I pleaded, "she needs help."

Bjorn’s face set with resolve. "We’ll take care of her."

He turned and called for the soldier who had brought me to the tent. As the soldier approached, Bjorn drifted to his work table, quickly scribbling something on a piece of paper. He handed it to the soldier. "Take this to Eirik," he instructed. "He’ll know what to do."

The soldier nodded and swiftly left the tent, leaving me sighing with a sense of relief. Bjorn finally faced me, studying me with worry. 

"I look like hell, don't I?" I managed a weak smile.

Bjorn chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. "You always did have a flair for understatement," he teased, his teal blue eyes scanning me for injuries. He quickly urged me to sit, gently helping me as I sank onto a nearby stool. As he helped me remove my wet cloak, no longer pewter but a light charcoal due to all the dirt, and my boots, he gazed at my wrists where they were still hurt. My powers were almost depleted.

When he took off my boots, he noticed the bargain tattoo. His lips pursed. "Your mother told me about..." He pointed at the tattoo with his chin. "When you left... I couldn't, I haven't forgiven myself. I should've been there for you. I'm sorry." 

I reached out for his arms, like I always did many, many times when I was younger and none of this mattered. 

"You had no way of knowing, and I won't let you carry the guilt of Isarn's doing," I whispered in our embrace.

I took a deep breath and slowly let go, still holding his hands. "I was in the Night Court, sent to work as a healer, but I was spying for Isarn. He..." I looked down at my wrists, cuts from the chains still open, "did not hold back when I returned. The moment I mentioned the King of Hybern, he snapped. I don't get it, why is he so interested in the Night Court?"

Bjorn's face hardened. "Because he’s an ambitious prick. I have spies within Isarn’s close circle. He's working with Hybern. He’s promised him the Winter Court in exchange for his help." 

He saw the blood leaving my face as my heart sank, waves of blame and dread suffocated me. 

Dear Mother. What have I done?

"Is that even possible?"

"The fool is a loyalist. He’d gladly sell his own pathetic life to bring back the days of human enslavement."

Weariness was creeping in. I hadn’t slept all night, though the gravity of the conversation was enough to keep my mind alert. 

"It gets worse," Bjorn continued. "Isarn plans to help Hybern destabilize the Night Court by kidnapping the Cursebreaker. Apparently Hybern wants to use her powers against all humans down the Wall, though we still don’t know how."

"Feyre... But why would Isarn do this?" 

Despite his cruelty, Isarn was a military commander through and through, his loyalty to the Winter Court woven into the very fabric of his being. Betrayal felt out of character.

Bjorn's eyes locked into mine, his demeanor to the brink of desperation. "Isarn has long harbored resentment towards Lady Viviane for commanding the Winter Court armies during Under the Mountain. He felt..." 

The soldier that brought me to the tent interrupted, bringing two steaming bowls of stew, the savory aroma filling the tent. 

"This might not be a feast, but it'll keep you going," he remarked while he offered me a shy smile, approaching me with a bowl.

Ever the overprotective parent, Bjorn grabbed both from his hands, dismissing the soldier with a nod, and continued. 

"He felt small and undermined—no surprises there." He winked at me conspiratorially. I would have laughed at the joke if the guilt within me wasn't drowning me.

"Especially after discovering Lady Viviane's leadership role. His supposed captivity by Hybern was a ruse; he was collaborating with them all along."

I felt a sickening twist in my gut. I lowered my head into my hands, resting them on my legs, overwhelmed by exhaustion and frustration, and unable to process any more information. Telling Isarn about the book had been a mistake. A grave mistake. But I couldn't burden Bjorn with the weight of my call, I'd rather keep him focused on my mother's well-being. Then there's the safety of my mate… I had to fix this. I knew what I had to do. 

"I have to go back to the Night Court." I uttered with a stammer. 

Bjorn's eyes blanked with a resolve that startled me, he’d seen right through me and instantly knew my intentions. He stood up and started pacing around the tent. 

"If you plan to share any information about Isarn and his plans with the Night Court, you need to be prepared, Y/N.”

He was right. If I approached Rhysand and Feyre, laying out everything I knew about Isarn while also proposing a solution, they could not only be warned but might also offer resources and intelligence to our advantage, in a joint effort. A pang of gratitude hit my core when I realized that, in the rush of the moment, Isarn wasn’t too specific with the terms of the bargain. 

A fool, indeed. This might just work. 

I felt a hint of pride in my chest.

"Not bad for an old captain," I winked at him, and replied with a smirk when I shared my conclusion. 

"I'll need to devise a plan that ensures Isarn can't retaliate. If I can present them with a strategy to counter his, they may be able to support us."

Bjorn agreed, his expression serious. 

"Exactly. They have as much at stake as we do."

He slowly leaned towards me, placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes, his gaze full of emotion. I knew this moment would come once more, the moment we part without knowing when we’ll see each other again, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It seemed like all we had now were these fleeting moments, and there was still so much I wanted to share with him.

"You can do this, Y/N. But remember, you must keep up the facade with Isarn until the very end. Any slip, and he will come down on you hard. On both of you.”

"I understand," I said firmly, taking his calloused hands in mine. 

Then he searched my eyes for the tenacity he'd taught me to maintain in these situations, and found another emotion seeping in instead.

A longing for the male I'd been relentlessly pushing away, leaving him behind at the Night Court.

"Alright, spill it, child. What’s going on?" Bjorn pressed, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated, my thoughts a whirlwind. I wanted to tell him about Cassian, but how could I explain this to Bjorn when Cassian himself didn't know about the mating bond? Not that I was planning to tell him either. 

The risk of exposing such a deeply personal truth made me feel incredibly vulnerable. Still, I wanted him to know. I needed his guidance and support, now more than ever.

"I..." I started, struggling to find the right words. "There’s someone at the Night Court. Someone... important to me."

Bjorn's thick eyebrows burrowed, but he waited patiently for me to continue.

"I think... I think I've found my mate. He's very well known and a person of trust in the Night Court. He doesn't know though, about the bond."

Bjorn's lips drew a line. 

Oh, Gods. 

I hadn't been this nervous since the first time I met Kallias. I forced a swallow down my throat and continued, the words coming out of my mouth in a hurried tirade like a child who had been caught being naughty.

"I cannot, will not risk this mission for a male I barely know, though," I continued, determination hardening my voice despite the pounding in my heart. "There's too much at stake, and I need to focus on what matters now."

Bjorn’s lips twitched, and for a moment, I saw the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. 

"So, you’re just telling me now that you found your mate?" he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "And here I thought you were keeping all your secrets from me."

Despite the tension, a small smile crept across my face as I lowered my chin and looked at my bare foot. "It's not like that."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I know, child. I’m just teasing. But seriously, a mate? And an important one in the Night Court, no less,” his hands reaching his hips. “You sure know how to pick them."

I mentally sighed as all the light-hearted taunting eased some of the anxiety gnawing at my insides. 

"I didn’t exactly choose this, you know." 

Bjorn’s expression turned more serious, though the warmth didn’t leave his eyes. "I admire your determination, Y/N. And I’m happy for you, really. But you need to be cautious. Especially if he’s a significant figure in the Night Court."

He elbowed me with complicit eyes, "Can I know who this significant other, I mean, figure is?"

I rolled my eyes, tempted to fall into more of his tease but instead I hesitated, thinking about the answer. 

"You’ll know, Bjorn. In time. If everything goes well after Isarn is dealt with. For now, we move forward with the plan."

Bjorn nodded, understanding the boundary. "Fair enough. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And be smart. Remember your training."

"I promise," I said, knowing that I would cling to those words when the moment demanded it. I stood there for a moment, trying to hold on to this precious instant with him. His concern for me was evident, and it mirrored the worry I felt for him. 

"Good," he replied with a reassuring smile. Bjorn’s blue eyes softened as he pulled me into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of mist and pine enveloped me, grounding me in the moment. 

“Please be strong, petal,” he murmured, his tone carried a hue of anguish. I nodded against his shoulder, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall upon hearing the affectionate nickname he’d given me since I was a child. “I will.”

We pulled back slightly, our hands still clasped together. His rough palms were a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I looked into his eyes again and recognized the unspoken devoted love that had always been there. 

"This isn't goodbye," I said softly, squeezing his hands. "Please keep her safe. Who knows, the next time we meet I may bring some allies, Mother willing."

"I'll hold you to that. Now go," he held my chin up gently, with a caress. "Go back to the Night Court and show them what you're made of," his eyes shone with affection. 

With a final nod, I gathered my now somewhat-dry cloak, and some clean clothes and supplies for the journey he'd packed for me. 

Before I walked out of the tent, he called after me.

"He better be good with a sword."

I hid a grin, knowing the answer. "Something like that."

taglist:

@bravo-delta-eccho @yamisuke @randomperson1234sblog @anxious-cactus @lilah-asteria  @darkbloodsly @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden

dividers by @estrelinha-s

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

Made it to chapter 16 today which means Feyre and I have both had our first impressions of Rhysand's Inner Circle and ohhhhhhh boy

Its hard to pinpoint why exactly, but theres something so discomforting about watching them interact. I think the main thing is that for all their "casual-ness", theres still clearly a rigid hierarchy between them and they all seem to 'know their place' so to speak, its not at all like Lucien and Tamlin's relationship in the first book which genuinely felt like a friendship that was unburdened by their status or positions. Like, theres this one moment where Mor and Amren are like kinda bickering with each other i guess, and Feyre remarks that Mor is probably super powerful if she dares talk back against Amren (in an incredibly minor matter Im pretty sure but I already forgor ngl) and because this is the book where Feyre's perspective starts being Objectively Correct all the time, I guess that's true, I guess the only reason someone would dare voice their opinion on something to this friend group is if they were physically more powerful because otherwise you just level a fucking mountain during an argument

Anyway, Im gonna switch topics for a short moment but I promise this diversion is relavant to the point above. So, sometimes when I go into the anti-tags on here looking for criticisms or complaints of the books, I instead find anti-ship posts that are mainly just about trash-talking some ship, mostly ones relating to that whole Elucien/Elriel/Gwynriel shipwar, which I already have thoughts on but I'll save those for later. In any case, one day I stumbled upon this pretty long anti-elriel post about how the gifts Elain gives Azriel on winter solstice arent actually cute and it describes how she gave him like, herbs that help with headaches "because his friends are always giving him headaches" apparently. And then that post went on a whole rant about how insensitive that was of her and that she doesnt actually understand Azriel's dynamic with his close friends, but honestly, judging from this chapter Elain was absolutely spot on

And I usually wouldn't say this because yknow, its only one chapter and we're probably gonna get the nuances of their relationship later, but this is a book written by Sarah J Maas, her characters and their relationships are rarely particularly deep and, more importantly, her writing is incredibly unsubtle. If Azriel was in any way fond of his friends shenaningans I wouldve noticed it, because Feyre wouldve noticed it like 15 times during that whole dinner. But she didnt.

Its especially bad for Cassian and Azriel because it feels like Cassian thinks they have this great rapport but Azriel just genuinely kinda dislikes him. Not to mention that whole fucking mess with Azriel and Mor and Cassian and Mor having sex so she wouldnt get married off or whatever, good god how is every conversation between them not insanely awkward

Even beyond that, idk man, theyre all just so insufferable. I dont understand how Amren, ancient eldritch being trapped in a fae body that she is, can stand to be around them, I wouldve left them 5 centuries ago if I was her. I guess the explanation is that she finds the government position interesting but its like, youre SECOND to the most boring and annoying man on the planet only kinda ruling over a court that you dont even actually care about from everything Ive heard. Again, if I was in Amren's position I would not be hanging out in an APARTMENT in a boring ass city at the behest of a quartett of stupid bozos, I wouldve weaseled my way into being the personal advisor of Beron or some shit so I could watch the Vanserra Family Drama unfold live

There was one good thing about this discomforting dinner though, and that was how inexplicably gay Cassian was for Rhysand. He was really out there, looking at him with such love, calling him pretty twice in like two minutes being all "I knew I wanted a piece of him the moment I first saw him, the high lord's pretty son" like okay. I know what you are

[itmeblog]

WE ARE LIVE!

You can currently find The Unusual Courtship of Pax the Faerie on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and on my ko-fi! (In both EPUB and PDF)

And now I get to talk about it!

TL:DR This is how I wrote a novella with

Genderqueer faerie

A human who fae find attractive but not for the reasons you'd think

A couple that is endgame and a couple that is very much not not endgame based on two very different relationships with our titular character.

A deep and surprisingly thoughtful search for oneself and soul

A lot of religious references, just so many references

BDSM vibes

You can enjoy the madness with me. Below. Because this is not what I set out to write. I had intended to follow the standard romantasy script and determine if I wrote something that appealed to major markets if I'd manage to snag myself an agent. This is not what happened.

I wrote this book because I became fascinated by ACOTAR. It is imperative that I make it very, very clear, at the point that I started thinking about Pax, I had never read nor picked up anything written by Sarah J Maas. This story will make no sense if I did. I was only vaguely aware of her existence. I had heard some withCindy rants and then decided to get an overview from someone who genuinely enjoyed the book.

I went into this knowing it was a story about big, sexy, well-endowed men and a girl with perhaps too little fire power between her ears. It is also the book that I consider ground zero of the maleness ("he felt very male"? Girl what does this mean??) epidemic.

And I had questions.

If the fae are beautiful, sexy, and promiscuous then why have fated mates? Why make them stop being promiscuous? Wasn't that some of the fun?

If sex does not have the same weight in their society (presumably) then why is it saved only for romantic partners?

In a world where everyone can shapeshift why so much misogyny? If there is misogyny why do people not shapeshift or dress to pass as male in order to gain some modicum of protection?

Wouldn't it have had to develop in a completely different fashion than we're used too?

Why are the gendernorms so human?

Why would a faerie be interested (romantically and aesthetically) in a human?

So. Many. Straight. Faeries.

Why make the love interest the exception to the cruel nature of the fae when you can just make the human so much worse?

Angels???? ANGELS?????!!

NOTE: At this point I still had not picked up the book.

ALSO PROBABLY IMPORTANT: I am very aro.

Here's what I knew:

Horny

Faeries

Religion??

These are the rules I stuck to. So, while developing Pax, he was meant to be pretentious and very deeply wrong in her understanding of religion and the passages he quotes. I called a friend (from an old school Italian Catholic family, very old school) for some direction.

I explained the premise and she went, "no, you're not looking for passages, you're looking for the Ecstasy of St. Teresa"

This, my friend, is where things got out of hand.

This is the Ecstasy of St. Teresa

Considered one of the most risque statues of the Baroque period. Inspired by this

"I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying" - St. Teresa of Avila

Needless to say I became obsessed, which is great because St Teresa of Avila was a fascinating woman who sat in Spain, a mecca of Abrahamic religions, during the Spanish Inquisition (there's a lot of overlap in beliefs here). And she wrote a lot.

NOTE: Very important, I had intended to write this as a sexy l'il romp with a slightly toxic pairing, k? Like Pax's infatuation was 110% meant to be a little tongue in cheek. I wanted this to be marketable, I wanted to maybe get published. Yeah? I went wrong immediately when I decided Pax would be genderfluid but shut up. It's fine. We're here, everything is queer, we are rapidly sinking into a mire of 500 year old esoteric religious subtext. You with me? Cool.

I read several dissertations on sensuality in religion as well as many many things about the unintentional yet constant eroticization of pain (it happens so much omg, I cannot look at crucifixes the same anymore). And the break down of St. Teresa of Avila's 7 mansions of the Interior Castle (which I've also read), which explains in detail how to find god within oneself. Some of these papers were 100s of pages long. The pile of research I did for this was honestly bigger than the phone books of my youth.

As I said, this got deeply out of hand.

It also became the foundation for Pax's personality and the lens through which he experiences the world. Note: the woman Pax falls in love with is very much not God, she is also very much not safe.

So now I have this very raunchy book about faeries, religion, and sex, and finally FINALLY only after I finished, did I attempt to read ACOTAR.

And I fucking overshot.

I overshot so, so, so far.

I was aiming for Mars and I've ended up on Pluto. When all you hear about a book is how explicit it is and how it's the fairy porn book you assume it's more than 2 scenes.

You assume a lot of things about those scenes and the responsiveness of the heroine. Tamlin if that was the best you've ever had... what pray tell was the point of making you fae?? Are none of your lovers responsive or could it be you're a pleasure dom? Please, little fae man who has wild spring orgies, speak to me. What is your story?

So now I have a novella with

Genderqueer faeries

A queer love interest

A human who fae find attractive but not for the reasons you'd think

A couple that is endgame and a couple that is very much not not endgame based on two very different relationships with our titular character.

Way too much sex

A deep and surprisingly thoughtful search for oneself and soul

A lot of religious references, just so many references

BDSM vibes

[sadlybluespirited]

Scrambled Hater Thoughts

Maybe this is just me being an absolute hater but I have to say that I hate when white authors make a race or group of people to be these "senseless violent killers/warriors" because it is rarely (if ever) done well.

I'm thinking about this because I'm thinking about SJM and the Night Court again. Maas does very little with the Illyrians that's interesting to me. It reminds me a bit of when I read (a while ago), Veronica Roth's 'Carve the Mark' and I was reading about the Shotet people. Albeit that book was much more racist and egregious in hindsight (language being described as guttural for a group of people who are mostly represented by darker skinned main characters), I still don't like what Maas attempts with the Illyrians. Rather than having Cassian, Azriel and Rhys being characters where we can explore the implications of being born in such a society, the Illyrians are instead just a background for essentially how exceptional the three dudes are (very much feeling like "not like other guys"). Unlike those violent males, these ones are good. I just really feel uncomfortable about that because it feels so pointless to the narrative. Maybe this is also my own personal experiences as a black woman but characters like Rhys, Cassian and Azriel who want to divorce themselves from their own people can develop a complex about it. They may want to be in some proximity but too close. For example, seeking measures to distance themselves by dating a partner who is far enough from them culturally. Interestingly, Maas doesn't make it a deliberate choice for Cassian and Rhys to have their partners, rather they have their predestined mates. Which....I have not nice thoughts about.

There's just things to explore here that Maas honestly doesn't have the capacity to do but I wonder about anyway. For example, whether Rhys feels some type of way if (to outside courts) his evil mask is chalked up to him being half-Illyrian (does it make him hate them more? Feel guilty? Perform more/less?). Perhaps even having a conflict where Cassian wants to be more stringent or punishing and Rhys only sees the value of the Illyrians as his military. What about the theme of change? I know Rhys says at some point that change takes time and human perception of time is different from fae time. However it would be interesting to me if that was explored as potentially Rhys stalling, hesitant about changing the status quo because he cannot see the Illyrian males as redeemable or that his own traumas of being in the camps so young have shattered any potential positive idea he has of them changing. They're the court of dreamers but what the hell does Rhys even dream about when it comes to the other half of his identity? I mean he orgasms to Feyre having wings so there must be something there? Right? (or is just Maas sexualising and being weird...again). Perhaps he wants to be more accepted by his Illyrian side because he was seemingly closer to his mother (and sister) than his father.

As a final muddy note, I wonder what each of these characters (Rhys, Cassian, Azriel) would've done or thought had any of their mates been an Illyrian female. I wonder if Rhys is happy to have Feyre be close enough (don on wings) but not actually be Illyrian. I wonder what exactly Rhys was thinking when he called Nesta (a non-Illyrian Made fae) Illyrian as a 'compliment'. I wonder if that's what Cassian loves about her (I refuse to read ACOSF. That book sounds horrible). I wonder if he loves having spats with a female fae who is Illyrian-like but never truly one. I wonder if that makes both Rhys and Cassian feel better that they could treat their mates with the utmost respect and love freely and not seem hypocritical because again...their mates are not Illyrian. They can still be attached to their culture, their society by their positions of power and explaining their culture to their mates but still maintain distance from the parts they may never want to face.

[blackknight-100]

May I request another prompt, this time Ramayana??

Where after Sita's bhumi pravesh, Luv -Kush live at Ayodhya's palace. They are merely 8, feel scared at this new place and battle resentments against their father for abandoning their mother. Who love their mother but are angry at her for forsaking them. Grappling with loss of their familiar forest and pleasures of simple lives, find the city walls strangling them.

Hi there, and sorry, this is a little late. This is also a little depressing, and I do not apologise for it.

Prev ask: Karna and Arjuna character swap is here

 

1.

 This day Luv is eight years old, and the world is gray.

“You may play here if you wish to, you will be safe,” the King, their father, says, gesturing at the gardens. The trees are trimmed and gray, the walls are high and soot.

Their father leads them to the throne room; he doesn’t know it is their birthday.

“This is where we talk about... er, important affairs,” Rama explains, stilted and awkward.

High on the dias, a sculpture sits hard and cold upon the Queen's seat. It looks to him an ashen thing, but Luv has learnt it is a golden memorial to Sita's enduring place at Rama's side.

There is gold of the coin, and the gold of the wheat, and then there is the gold of Sita's smile. He thinks of his mother at the aashram, bent over the flour mill with calloused hands and crinkled eyes, and pities the statue that seeks to compare.

“Your eyes deceive you, Your Majesty,” he tells Rama. “That is not my mother.”

The King looks stricken, and Luv turns away. Perhaps this is what the King needs, a statue that is silent and chaste and dear.

“I know,” Rama whispers, kneeling by his side. There are tears in his royal eyes, and Luv has never loathed anyone more.

 

2.

Angada's mother is tall and beautiful, and the quietest of all his aunts. She sits on the steps to her husband’s room, and beckons them closer.

“Greetings,” Kush bows, and Luv follows.

“Sit by me, my dears,” she says. Her hair is coiffed up in a high bun, and Luv imagines the pins in them gleaming with gems.

Urmila notices him watching, and plucks one from her head. It is gray in her palm as she holds it out to him, like all other things, and he takes it in silence.

“May I help you?” Kush asks, ever polite and well-mannered, and she laughs.

“I am not doing anything,” she says. “Do you want-”

The door opens, and Lakshmana appears at the end of the hallway. He rubs a hand over his haggard face, spots them, and staggers.

Kush jumps up, bows. “Greetings, uncle.”

Luv remains seated, staring at the soft gray carpet and the forbidding gray walls, and thinks of Lakshmana swooning at his arrow's end.

“Forgive me,” he says abruptly, “I have to go.”

He holds out the pin, a flower atop a long straight needle, and bows. Kush touches his arm in concern.

“Keep it,” aunt Urmila says. “It was your mother’s.”

Luv looks down at the little trinket in his palm, turns it over. Kush peers over his shoulder with hungering eyes.

“It is red,” his aunt says, as if she knows about the gray, “and there is a ruby at its heart.”

Luv clutches it to his breast, watches the colour spill across it like the red sun bleeding on a newborn dawn. The world is gray and he is a colourless blot, and Sita sits at the centre of it, burning in the fire's test, bright red and lost.

 

3.

 In his dreams, Luv is a weevil in the flour. Someone is shifting through it, running vivid gold fingers through the dusted grains. He bites at the right and bites at the left, lets the starchy sweetness flood his tongue.

Then there are great gold walls closing upon him, and it is his mother who hauls him out, who throws him to the grass to starve and die.

“Maa!” he calls, clinging to her hands, but he is weak, and he is lost, and he falls, and then he wakes up.

The walls are gray, but no less imposing, and he clutches at Kush's arm. His brother is draped in a blanket as black as a washerman's heart, and Luv crumples the fabric in his fist.

Kush sits up beside him, an ashen smear against an ashen world. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Luv twists the dark cloth between his fingers, contemplates on how to answer. Their uncles claim Kush takes after Sita; Luv knows he needs a little brother to lean on, just like Rama.

“You had a bad dream too, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” Kush hums, and Luv takes his hand.

“You first, then me,” he says.

Kush taps his lips and stares at the dark ceiling. “In my dream...” he recounts thoughtfully, “I was a weevil in the flour.”

Luv tugs on the blanket, wraps himself in their shared sorrow. The world is gray, his mother’s love is a flame, and his brother’s blanket is night.

 

4.

At the furthermost wing of Ayodha’s palace sits a sunroom of dramatic proportions. The windows here are wide and open, facing the east, so mornings are warm and evenings cool, and Luv could stay here forever.

Uncle Bharata, who leads him with a hand on his back, settles on one of the footstools before a large canvas. Luv watches as aunt Shrutakeerti follows, and their spouses settle on the big couch to the side, pretending to be annoyed at having their portraits done.

“I feel like I should have Luv with me,” aunt Mandvi says, swinging her legs. “And Shatru can have Kush. The heights match that way.”

Luv does not want a portrait done, not when he would never know the colours again. Uncle Bharata beckons him to get another stool and says, “Next time perhaps, darling. Let him observe first.”

Luv plops on the stool with a thump, and studies his uncles and aunts. Shrutakeerti is sketching rough outlines, unlike Bharata, who meticulously draws one eye, then the other.

“Do you want to try?” she murmurs quietly. “You can say ‘no’.”

Luv twists his fingers, feeling warm and shy. He can say no, even though he has no mother and knows none of his family.

“I can try,” he mutters.

Shrutakeerti gives him a conspiratorial smile. “Let’s use brown for the walls,” she says conversationally, as if she knows the grays.

Luv takes the brush and swipes at the corner. It is the colour of earth and mud, of dates and cows and a potter’s clay. The world is gray, but his mother’s love is red and his sorrow is black, and his family is reliable and brown.

 

5.

Rama wears a yellow dhoti – Luv knows this because the washermen mutter about it all the time. He keeps a close eye on them – they hate how easily the cloth stains, and they hate his mother.

Kush’s condemnation of this practice falls on unheeding ears. His brother is too sweet and too trusting, and Luv must protect what their mother could not.

Brinda, who is some washerman’s wife, brings them lunch at the river everyday. She bows when she sees him, all flustered with shame, and walks faster.

That day he returns from the river with quick steps, excited to see the browns on the barks and the black of Kush’s hair. He has found a pebble on the banks, a pale, smooth rock, and uncle Bharata, he knows, will tell him the colour.

Outside, the gardener burns a heap of fallen leaves, dried by the passing of the rains, and dead with the sorrow of oncoming winter. Some of them are red like his mother’s flower, stark amid the grays. They crumple in the flames and burn, and for a moment he sees Sita engulfed in heat, smiling.

“Maa!” he screams, throws himself at the soaring column of fire.

“Put that out! Now!” someone says, hard and commanding. A hand snatches his shoulder, draws him close and away. He can see no higher than their waist, but their dhoti is the yellow of sunshine and an oriole’s breast, a hundredfold more vibrant than the paltry fires.

Luv lifts his head and finds himself swung up in the air, to where his father’s cheek presses against his. Rama’s face is the brown and black of alluvial earth, and he smells of lotuses and rain.

 “It will be okay, little one,” he murmurs, voice quivering. “I am here.”

The world is gray, but it recedes bit by bit, like hope rising from sleep; it is red with his mother’s love and black with his grief, brown with his family’s presence, and bright with his father’s refuge.

 

+1

His cousins play in the royal gardens all day, unbothered by walls that choke him, unafraid of a parent dying. Luv sits in the shade with his bright red flower and dark black blanket, stroking a brown bark. The world is gray, and Luv’s dhoti is hay, and does not care.

Uncle Lakshmana comes to sit beside him with a huff, ruffles his hair distractedly.

“Will you not join them?” he asks, blunt as ever, and Luv sighs.

“Everything is gray,” he says, as if that makes any sense, but uncle Lakshmana shakes his head as if he understands.

“That is not,” his uncle says, pointing at a lonely little sapling poking out of the earth.

The ash leaches from it like rain clouds fleeing from sequestered plains, and it is the green that defies the winter’s chill.

“It is a weed,” he says weakly. "I have seen the forest."

Uncle Lakshmana scoffs. “Weeds, weeds, weeds,” he grumbles. “All arrogant words made by men who think to tame who grows where. There are no weeds, dear one, and no season either. You grow where and when you will, like all things in this world.”

It is too great a thing to hope for, but the gray is fading like dust blown off an old painting, and it is true. There is green on the leaf and green on the grass, green on the bower and green on the bough. The barks are brown and the flowers are red, and the sun of the Raghu clan shines bright yellow.

“Will you wait till the gray goes away?” he asks Lakshmana.

His sorrow is black, and Sita is gold; when he looks up, his uncle kisses his forehead with a smile. “Always,” he says. “Always.”

[msbrownwithacrown]

I'm back from MIA status.

Missed you all! And, I'm looking forward to diving more into Maas-Verse theories, while also working as Tamlins' and Nestas'Defense Attorney.

The firecracker to accompany my return is, as follows:

Papa Archeron wouldn't have been able to do shite if it wasn't for Tamlin fixing his leg and bestowing wealth upon him. No Vassa. No 3 Ships. No turn in the Battle of Hybern.

It reminds me of when Aelin gave money to Yrene and then what transpired from that. Acts of kindness reaching far beyond the character seems to be a common theme. I think there is going to be more to Tam's story. That this kindness will find its way back to him full-circle.

Hopefully with a Vassa love, rescue, and healing story. (The wolf and the firebird reference from Queen of Shadows).

[cherphadetseuk]

Get to know me! 👋

Thank you for the tag bestie @first-kanaphan 🖤💜

Last song: Blind - Ateez

Favourite color: Black & Purple 🖤💜 (who would have thought)

Currently reading: A Court of Wings and Ruin - Sarah J. Maas

Currently watching: Not Me ¦ The Eclipse ¦ Sugar Dog Life ¦ Monster Next Door ¦ First Note of Love ¦ Love In The Air ¦ A Tale of Thousand Stars ¦ Peaceful Property ¦ Happy of the End ¦ Kidnap ¦ Jack & Joker ¦ The Hidden Moon (copied all from my intro post lmao)

Last Movie: Wish Dragon (animated movie on Netflix. I barely watch movies lately)

Sweet, spicy, or savoury: depends on my mood. I eat everything (almost)

Relationship status: Single and keeping it this way

Tea or coffee: coffee ☕️

Last thing I googled: about indigestion because I had this this week and I wanted to check things about food and stuff

Tagging: @hwanwooyoung @hongjoongpresent @jinxiaobao @gawincaskey @uniteds

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter Three (Loki x fem! Reader series, A Court of Thorns and Roses Hiddlesverse AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series is reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him. Opening you to a world of more magic and danger than you ever could imagine...

Chapter Summary: Your first week to live your end of the bargain. It brings you an awareness of "variants" and you meet another prince with the same look as your fiancee. Then your worst fears and doubts about your fiancee are proven true...

Chapter One//Chapter Two

Content Warnings: Cheating (not Loki, but...* takes a long sip of a fun little drink with a straw*...dealing with Will Ransome's canon cheating and portraying it as bad so Will fans and Lusty Vicarettes you have been warned). Period Typical Attitudes. Mentions of sex and religion and grief and angst. But some fluff and humor.

Word count: 8K

A/N: Oh, the sweet irony of revising this while traveling as my brother drove and the playlist playing "Getaway Car" as I work on this. Heh heh. And of course, I figure out how to use my babygirl, Prince Hal! Here, he's the stand-in for the character of Mor for those of you familiar with the ACOTAR books! I hope you like it! Comments, DMs, asks, and reblogs are always appreciated! :)

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss

Loki began to strut forward like he owned the church. Eyes were wide over him. Any who tried to step forward to block him, Loki flung his wrist and sent a bit of magic their way. Whoosh! They were knocked over. A couple of people screeched and ran away from the church.

He approached you with a wink and then turned to see the congregation and wedding party.

“I hate to interrupt such a lovely ceremony, but this lovely, stunning, ravishing lady here wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me..."

He turned to you, fidgeting with his bow tie again.

“I’m not too overdressed am I, Y/N? Well- what should it matter to a god.”

William stepped forward; he put his arm protectively over you.

“Who are you!? Leave her alone!” he threatened.

Loki raised his eyebrows, never losing his smile.

“Why-she told you outright! I am Loki- God of Mischief and rightful heir of Asgard and your world too, perhaps.”

William’s face turned red and then white. There were a crash and a few people rushed over- the bishop, at the sight of a pagan god before him, had fainted.

“What…what is going on!?” your father demanded. He added to the protective party to put an arm over you. You stood there like a statue, eyes wide.

“You see here- Y/N made a deal with me. She was about to die of consumption. I offered to heal her in exchange for just one short little week every month where she’ll stay with me. Well, it’s now one month since I saved her from death- time for me to call in her end of the bargain. Y/N, it’s time for a little trip!”

“Let us finish the ceremony, please!” Father insisted.

Loki pulled out an ornate gold pocket watch from his jacket and checked the time.

“If I am correct, it has been exactly thirty-one days to the minute of Y/N being healed. Maybe I’m a few hours off. But it’s time to collect my deal with the About to Be Mrs. Ransome…”

He glanced over at the unconscious bishop as guests fanned and fetched him water.

“And I think this ceremony is about over.”

He turned over to the people who had remained in their seats, gesturing to them. He spoke loudly, keeping his hands in his pockets. But still spinning around to make sure everyone got the message.

“Oh-by the way-no serpent, everyone! I checked and rechecked- There never was a serpent!  And no Leviathan, either. No giant, magical, fanged, man-eating, girl-abducting snake. It’s just a dead whale! Thought I might save all of you the trouble while I was here! Don’t get yourselves in a big fuss over nothing- Just a whale carcass!”

They gasped and murmured among each other. Your jaw lowered to where you could have eaten a fly and not noticed. William’s lips quivered and he looked around with big eyes. He tightened his grip on you.

“This…this is real? Are you seeing this too?” he asked you.

You felt tears brim your eyes.

“Yes, Will…it is real…I told you the truth. And now it’s happening.”

You then looked at the god. You kept shaking and processing all of this was real.

William stepped forward. “We’ll…. we’ll compromise. Think of a bargain!” he said.

Loki folded his arms, “And what kind of bargain are you proposing? I have to warn you- I’m not in the mood,” he said the last word like a snarl.

“No…” you murmured. The first words you spoke.

They all looked at you. Not a passive pawn to be tossed and turned around. But a real person is deciding their fate. You broke from the arms of the men.

“Papa, Will, stop! I promised him I would go-and I will go. It’s only a week. I gave Loki a promise as he gave me his. It’s only a staying over somewhere else- I’m not being sacrificed or anything!”

You stepped forward. Loki smiled, keeping his hands in his pockets.

“Well…say your goodbyes and come along, Y/N darling,” he said.

William gave Loki a glare.

“If you try to harm her-.” He threatened.

“Don’t worry-I’ll return her safe and sound and unruined…. unless she would like that…” Loki interrupted.

You shot Loki a look with a stubborn frown, despite a couple more whispers from the people sitting down.

You looked at your parents, your friends, the bridesmaids. Stella’s own eyes were big too and she was quiet. Despite slight trepidation, she looked at Loki in fascination. As did the few others.  You approached them.

“It won’t be long; I will be right back. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

You then turned to your parents.

“You-you cannot do this!” Your mother cried.

“I must. I’d be dead if I said no…” you replied.

You then looked up at William. Part of you wanted to touch his face, take his hand in yours…. but you couldn’t. The letters, the words still swimming in your mind. It kept you from giving him a farewell kiss. You only looked at him, tears in your eyes. You felt his grip tighten like he was going to pull you back to him.

“I’m so sorry…Will…”

Sorry that your own emotions, your weakness, your doubts made your feet stop from completing the marriage. Sorry you went into his office. Sorry you saw those letters. Those were the words you wanted to say. But instead, you said more.

“Please, Will…there’s no other way…and he won’t hurt me…I told you this would happen. I’ll be back soon.”

Your fiancée said nothing but gave a curt nod.  He let you go. You then turned to Loki. The god reached out.

“Take my hand, Y/N.”

You took it. From his pale skin, you expected a cold touch. But then he wrapped an arm around you- soft and warm.

“Hold on,” he whispered.

You squeezed onto his hand.  White and golden magic swirled over all of you. Before a single person could yell out “what the hell actually happened?!?” The white and brown church and everyone in it faded away in it. You felt weightless for only a minute. The colors of the rainbow swirled around you, and you gasped in shock.

You wondered, even dreaded what Asgard looked like. Would it be dark, like Loki? Depraved? Full of all sorts of trickery- fruits that would turn into beasts and whatnot? Why didn’t you read that book about Norse mythology further?! But when the colors faded, you saw somewhere…light. There was the glow of the sunset. It was a lovely palace. Comfortable even. Golden and majestic. There were tall marble columns and outside was a whole city with buildings like tall spikes. But the columns of the building shone. And the marble floors showed your reflection.

Loki swept out a theatrical arm.

“Welcome to Asgard,” he greeted. You took a few steps out to look around.

“This is not quite the place I imagined….” You confessed.

You tipped your head up to see the ceiling.

“This is my home, the palace itself. What were you imagining?” he asked.

“Something….dark and dangerous…” you shrugged.

Loki swirled on his heels, putting his hands in his pockets.

“We do have dark, and we do have dangers like any other place. But not here-there are guards everywhere…”

You turned and saw a flight of stairs leading up to a large golden throne room. It shone so much it almost hurt your eyes.

“Will you ever tell me a ‘thank you?’” Loki asked.

You turned around, blinking at him.

“What do you mean? For healing me?”

 “Y/N, my dear, I thought you would be grateful for calling in the bargain when I did.”

“Grateful?!” you asked, turning around.

“I heard you. You were begging for someone, anyone to help you. To get you out of here,” he said. Though there was earnestness in his voice.

“What do you mean you heard me?” you asked.

“I heard your own voice- clearly in your head as I hear your words now. You were practically crying out for someone to get you out of your own wedding….”

You widened your eyes.

“I didn’t say anything! I didn’t say a word when the ceremony began!” you refused.

“You were…upset. But you didn’t want to reject William right in front of his entire congregation. But you didn’t want to go through with the marriage. I thought the timing was perfect-and  I wanted to give you as much time as you would need. Not call it in until the last minute…and if I recall, you did call me ‘a sweet, handsome fellow’ when you were a cat…where is that attitude now?”

“I hate to tell you, but I didn’t know that cat was a bloody trickster god!”

With a tit of his head, his tuxedo was melted to his normal green, black, and gold robes. Then he folded his arms. He circled around you, looking you up and down. You couldn’t help but follow him.

“Hmmm…what is that thing you’re wearing?” he asked, his nose scrunching.

“It’s a wedding dress,” you answered.

“This is a wedding dress?” he scoffed in disgust.

He went behind to the skirt in its back and picked it up. You swatted his hand away.

“And what is that skirt?” he asked.

“It’s a Bustle. Every woman wears one. Me included,” you explained.

“Is this what Midgard women wear when they get married from your time? This…this is not a wedding dress it’s…it’s a monstrosity of lace,” he insulted.

You then jerked around.

“I bet you will enjoy having me as a prisoner in your dungeons clad in nothing!” you cursed. If you had to go here, you would not go without a fight.

He chuckled for a second, and then smiled.

“You honestly think I am that callous to throw you in the dungeons!? Oh no-you are no prisoner here. You’re definitely no servant or slave. You’re a guest here at the palace. And you will be comfortable. You will have your own rooms, be fed, and you may spend your free hours however you would like. And have some clothes other than this…bustle thing you call it.”

“So, a gilded cage then?” you asked.

He raised an eyebrow.

“And your upcoming marriage was not a gilded cage?” he asked.

You shook your head, tightening your jaw.

“I understood the responsibilities of being a clergy wife when I said yes to Will’s proposal-I’m not naïve and I’m not a fool. I was ready…” you argued.

You bunched your hands into fists, holding your ground before him.

“I did this…for William. It was a sacrifice I had to make for him!” you said.

Loki frowned. His eyes serious as he spoke.

“And would William sacrifice himself for you?”

You had had enough.

In a rage, you took off your slipper and hurled it at Loki. He ducked it over his dark head, and it crashed into the floor. You did your best to ignore the tears in your eyes.

“I guess you’d rather have the servants take you to your rooms than me. And I won’t ask for that ‘thank you’…I can guess you aren’t willing to give one now…”

“You’re a pig,” you spat.

Sure enough, there were servants who led you over to a bedroom. It had golden walls and marble floors. There was a door leading to a bathroom. It had a bathtub the size of your old room. When you turned on the water, it came out hot. Taking off your shoes and stockings, you had to dip your toe in to make sure it was not too scalding. But as you peeled off each layer of your clothes and got in, it was so relaxing you felt yourself sigh from it. There were soaps that smelt of honey. You rubbed yourself clean and sat in that tub, watching the suds over the water. It was so peaceful with the steam and the sound of the rushing water and perfumes of the soap, you forgot for a moment about the letters.

A servant knocked on the door and you jumped. But they only spoke from the privacy of its closing.

“Would you like to dine with the prince tonight?” asked a light, female voice.

“With Loki? No thank you!” you said.

 You were not in the mood to deal with him now. The wedding, or attempt at a wedding, was done. The course of your adrenaline was done, and you felt too tired. He was not going to bat at you like a toy for him to torment. Or let him ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. Ready to deal with.

“Well, would you like a tray delivered?” she asked.

“Uh…yes…” you replied.

“One shall be brought to you,” she confirmed.

After taking a moment to soak up that warm tub, you emerged and dried yourself. A robe was made available-silky and golden. Once you went out to your bedroom, you peeked through the curtains to see it was now dark. There was a sky full of stars littered across the sky. Like sparkles on diamonds. You felt your breath stop at its beauty. On the bed was laid a nightgown- a long, light pink dress with long sleeves. There were even silk ribbons tied into a bow at the collar. Far silkier than the cotton ones you lived in when you were sick and far prettier. It was hard not to feel princess like as you put it on inside the palace.

The servants brought a large dinner over to you on a tray. There was even wine brought up to you so strong, you could only sip a little of it at a time. Only half of that meal and you were stuffed to bursting. As your dinner digested, you enjoyed a glass as you admired the stars. It was strong enough, that it washed away your worries about what you read-about this horrid possibility of Will’s. And soon you crashed asleep onto the soft bed.

When you awoke the next morning, the sun shone through the curtains like melted gold. Out the window, you saw a city like no other. How…beautiful it all looked. Opposite of what you thought Asgard would be like. You gasped to see two planets floating in the sky. Like they would kiss the ground, yet they didn’t.

It wouldn’t do to stay inside. For your insistence to not be treated like a prisoner, you were about to turn your room into a prison. No Loki influence needed. You had slept well-you were refreshed and re-energized- even to deal with him.

They brought you a gown of green. Perhaps it quoted him. But how…strange it felt! Silky and long and flowy! Where was a shift? Petticoats? Corset? Stockings? Buttons? Gloves? Hats? No-the servants brought you none of those. Those weren’t part of Asgardian fashion. It felt wrong, it felt out of place. But when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Even if it felt odd to wear them. Though…they were comfortable. And light to walk in, too. As you walked out, they took you to a dining hall. You were seated on the side of the table as plates arrived. In strolled the swaggering footsteps of the prince Loki.

“Good morning-and don’t you look lovely, Y/N.”

There was no one else arriving. You looked around nervously.

“Where is a chaperone?” you asked.

“We don’t have every move of a young woman being constantly watched here,” he said.

“So, I must eat with you and be with you unchaperoned?” you asked.

“You will be fine…we have another coming up. No one is going to take advantage of the honored guest of the palace…” he said.

He sat himself onto the chair next to you. You felt as if a bird was flying around in your stomach. He did lean closer, with that same smirk.

“Rest well Y/N?” he asked.

“I…I did…” you admitted.

You went over and sat at dinner with them. Though as you passed, a strong, metallic smell caught your nose. Loki’s eyes glimmered as you turned your head. There was a servant carrying several brushes and a can of grey paint. They walked by and then vanished into the next hall.

“What…what’s going on? Is everyone in Asgard a painter?” you asked.

“Oh…you are not the only guest here. There is someone else…a troubled gentleman. It seems that painting on walls right now is his consolation. But! We do have another guest joining us…perhaps. He does love a good party. Might still be sick.”

There was the sound of footsteps.

“Ah. Here he is,” Loki smiled.

In walked another gentleman clad in more strange clothes. He had a red leather jacket and a red cap over his head with dark pants. Beneath his cap was a head full of beautiful ginger curls. Though he had a smirk on his face, there was a dagger to his side. He plopped himself on the chair.

“Did you rest well…unless you’re still drunk,” said Loki.

“To your shock, I stayed here last night. And only went to one tavern,” the stranger retorted.

He picked up an orange from the table and began to peel it with his dagger. Though something was undeniable- he had long, curly auburn hair, high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes. His face, his hair, his eyes…it seemed you never left Will.

“Oh, I should introduce you both- Y/N, meet his royal highness, Prince Henry…” Loki began.

“Bosom companions call me Hal. And my brothers call me Harry,” he said.

“You might know him from your time as his majesty Henry the Fifth,” Loki continued.

You almost dropped your fork.

“Henry the Fifth! The warrior king who won Agincourt!?”

“What is Agincourt?” Hal asked.

You backed down. Loki did say he was a prince- so he was not the king yet.

“And Hal, meet the beautiful, generous, and charming Y/N.”

You bobbed your head in greeting and Hal smiled and acknowledged it. But your yes darted between them, astonished.

“It’s not polite to gape, Y/N.” Loki said.

“I know but…Hal, I’m so sorry. You look a little…familiar…” you apologized.

“Oh, yes. We’re all supposed to look alike, my lady. The reason- we’re all apparently variants,” Hal replied.

You widened your eyes. Loki waved his hands, explaining.

“My variants- variants of me across time, across space. Yet each becomes different people, makes different choices and even take on different looks. Well, at least, in their hair! Why do you think Hal and I resemble your dear vicar so much?”

“A vicar? Dear lord and lady, may I ask-what is a vicar?” Hal asked.

“He’s a priest, he’s my…my fiancée,” you explained.

But soon you’d have to return…but why were you dreading it? Dreading completing the marriage?

“Why is a priest getting married? I thought they never could!” Hal asked.

“Oh, dear. Your country is still entirely Catholic. Your split and the ability for priests to marry won’t happen for another good century…” you reasoned.

“The church shall split! Fie-who would ever imagine!” Hal cursed.

 Loki laughed with a toothy grin. Hal still looked with a tilted head and hypnotized eyes. He would ask more, but you would have to discuss the four hundred years of events later. You took a napkin to your lips and wiped off your mouth.

“Why are you gathering your variants?” you asked.

“It’s not to have a good drink and celebrate…if only it could be,” Hal cut in.

Loki’s eyes hardened. He folded his hands and looked at you.

“Because a war is coming, Y/N.”

You paused.

“A…a war?”

“Wars between worlds. Between planets,” Loki said.

“And you are gathering your variants because of this war?”

“Precisely.”

Hal wiped off the orange peel from his dagger and set it aside it. He tore apart the fruit, chewing on it solemnly. He leaned in his seat and kicked his feet on the table.

“Then why haven’t you kidnapped Will and brought him here instead?” you questioned.

“You looked like you needed help…. desperate help. Far more than he did. Think of your wedding day- you were crying for it. Begging for someone to take you away.”

“I didn’t say anything! I didn’t say one thing aloud- remember! What are you going on about?” you insisted.

He then looked up. Hal raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“When I arrived, you didn’t look particularly happy at your wedding,” he replied.

“Most marriages I know of aren’t for love, Loki,” Prince Hal suggested.

You curled a fist on the table.

“It was for love! I love Will! I do! More than anything! And I wanted to marry him!”

The letters. The blonde hair and grey coat of her-the one who chose with Will to uproot you. The hot, stifling wedding dress. The words of the mothers around you. The oppressive smell of incense and candles. Will in a tuxedo. You felt your stomach sour at the memories. Perhaps you only saw the letters. They were a dream. A vision. Or they were old letters. But…part of you knew the truth. You didn’t want to face it. You realized you were looking forward to this. One more minute away from your fiancée, another minute of hoping, another minute he was your faithful Will. To dream. To give into the illusion of hope and the peace it brought.

But right now, you didn’t feel peaceful.

“Not want. Wanted. Was there a change?” Hal asked innocently.

“It was just…It was because…because…I…” you began to mutter.

They looked at you. Faces so much like his. Eyes like his. It was too much. You felt tears well up. Then you pulled yourself from the table.

“Excuse me gentlemen-I’ve had enough. I need to go,” you excused yourself.

You ran down the hall. You felt yourself crying despite yourself. You didn’t want to seem like a hysterical, emotional, irrational woman in front of these men. You took one of the long sleeves of your dress and wiped them. Wondering if there was one corner to be left alone.

Then there was a booming, deep voice, and heavy footsteps so loud it made you stop your tracks.

“Brother! Where is she? Where have you been hiding her!?  I must meet her!” the deep, masculine voice announced excitedly.

In ran an incredible specimen of a man. He was only barely taller than Loki and Hal, but he was ginormous with ripped, bulky muscles and bright blonde hair and blue eyes. You looked up like him. Then he smiled with the enthusiasm of a rather friendly bear.

“Why! There she is! The woman from Midgard! Our guest!” he cried in his theatrical baritone.

He went up to you and wrapped you in a hug, picking you up like you were made of paper and giving you a hug that crushed your bones. You gasped from the contact from both a stranger and a man! Then he set you down.

“Hello there! You are this Y/N, right?!” he checked.

“Yes! Yes, I am! But sir- we-we haven’t been introduced!” you insisted.

“Oh, right! I am Thor- Prince and Future king of Asgard and God of Thunder, of course!” he laughed, hands on his hips. Oh, how his laugh itself was like thunder and echoed down the castle!

“It is nice to meet you too, sir!” you replied. His joy was infectious.

You heard two footsteps right before you heard Loki and Hal run up to you.

“Ah. I’ve seen you met my brother,” Loki commented.

Thor continued, gesturing to the tall marble columns.

“But Y/N, I SHOULD take you on a grand tour! I gave one to Hal and I should give one for you! Asgard is a beautiful place here- would you like that?!”

You nodded, “yes, I would. But I’m…I’m just a little…a little frazzled. I only arrived yesterday.”

“Hm, yes. That is understandable. But do not hesitate to ask me should you need it, little mortal Y/N! I’m sure you would love it!” he added.

You held your hands and began to fiddle with your thumbs. It would be very boring here. You had to have something to do this week.

“But…could you show me to the gardens? And is there a library here? I do like to read,” you said.

Thor lit up.

“Ah! Yes, of course! I shall show you the way! The garden’s mother’s domain but you can go there any time! And the library! I’ll take you there right away! And I’ll tell you ALL about the history of Asgard!”

He offered his arm, and you took it, walking by him as he chatted away. Hal folded his arms and laughed a little. But you did notice Loki scowling slightly.

It was hard to sleep that night. You found you struggled to drift off. You tossed and turned constantly. Then you finally got out of bed. With a large sigh, you got out of bed. You wrapped a blanket as a shawl and wandered over to the library. You still remembered the way; your ears were still ringing from Thor’s excited chatter.

Though as you walked down the halls, you heard footsteps. You kept turning. You saw no one, but that didn’t mean there was no one there. But you could almost hear a grunt. Then as you turned-there was a flicker. A figure-in the dark! Your heart picked up. Clutching the blanket, you hurried over to the library and shut the door behind.

It was incredibly warm. The fireplace crackled and it smelled old, musty-safe. To think even in another universe, people (and gods) still loved books and stories and knowledge, too.

But as you turned around, you saw no one else on the red seat by the fire than the prince himself-that is, Prince Loki. With a hardcover on his lap. He looked up but did not jump. He only smiled.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he greeted.

“Good evening…what are you doing here?” you asked.

“It’s a late night and without the solace of sleep, I have the solace of books.”

You didn’t want to admit it was the same as you. You only walked forward, going to a book you noticed on the mantle of the fireplace. You opened one book, and to your surprise it was full of writing. Writing about Loki:

“Loki is the handsomest god.

Loki is the most charming god.

Loki is interesting.

Loki is gorgeous.

Loki is flawless.

Loki is a fierce warrior.

Loki is the best lover in bed.”

Scowling, you slammed it shut. But you heard the slight stifle of a laugh from behind. You turned around.

“I would rather not spend it reading about your praises like it was scripture,” you hissed.

“We do have stories here. I’m not as full of myself as you think,” he replied.

“You’ve done very little to prove it,” you dismissed.

He softened his gaze.

“Y/N…are you having trouble sleeping? How come? Is something…something troubling you?”

The letters. The letters. The letters.  But he…he wouldn’t understand. After all, it was Will’s variant, and it was pure luck he chose to whisk you away instead. Maybe another face about to laugh at you.

“I’m…I’m not ready to talk about it. Much less with you,” you answered.

“Very well then. Y/N…there is something here-a special drink. It has a little magic in it, and it helps with sleep…should I ring for a servant to bring one to you?”

“I…uh…yes. Yes, it would be,” you replied.

You didn’t want to be the one he beat every time. But it would be foolish to refuse his help. He fetched a servant outside the door for the drink. Soon, there was a chalice with a dark purple drink inside. It smelled like fruit and had the consistency of wine.

“This should help you, Y/N darling…and of all the books here.”

His curled black head looked around at the shelves.

“This one! I recommend this one.”

He gave you a small black one.

“Should I trust your taste?” you asked.

“It’s not about me. Unless you would like to read that too. Should change your mind about me.”

You said nothing but accepted the book. You got the chalice in your other hand, but before you tuned out, you went to him.

“Loki…I thought I heard something. I thought I heard someone going around right before I got inside. Someone’s…someone’s sneaking around! It could be an enemy…or…or something!”

He let out a half smile and put his hands in his pockets.

“Aren’t you concerned?” you asked.

Loki let out a half-laugh, “oh- must be him again! Old habits die hard! I’ll have a chat with him- he doesn’t mean to scare. Don’t give me that face, Y/N! Here-I’ll escort you to your rooms.”

As you turned around and returned to your room, you realized you forgot to ask who ‘he’ was. Shrugging it off, the drink was semi-sweet like milk. You felt it lull you into a deep sleep quickly.

The week was very quiet and eventless. Though Thor did give you a grand tour of the castle and even some of the city of Asgard. You got to observe court in session a few times and you were introduced to the king and queen. King Odin was only polite. But Frigga was warm and curious about you. Often, she would be in her gardens and would ask you every question about Midgard one could ask. You ate your meals. You went to the gardens and the libraries. Even Hal, when not nursing a hangover, asked you questions about what would happen to England. Before you knew it, seven days were done. Thor, Hal, Loki and you had gathered in the hall.

“Do you have everything?” Loki asked.

You nodded, your wedding dress and clothes in a box for you to take home. You insisted to not get rid of your old clothes. You were dressed in a pink dress that flowed down you like a sunrise. Even Hal nodded and smiled at it.

“I’m sure you would have loved the taverns here. I already found and filtered the best one, Y/N!”

“No thank you-but I appreciate the thought,” you dismissed.

“May your travels be swift, and safe, little mortal!” Thor wished.

“Very good. I will miss your company, my dear.” Loki said.

You gave him a scowling frown. Loki only smiled back, unfazed by your look.

“See you next month, Y/N,” he wished as he snapped his fingers.

There was a rustle of golden light. The castle and the men disappeared within its mist.

 Suddenly, you realized you were back. You were in the middle of Aldwinter-your home. Yet how…ordinary and plain those white houses looked in comparison. Rather than the marble floors, beneath you were the dirt streets. Instead of a sunny day where the sky showed two planets, there were only grey clouds. It was starting to rain, and the dirt was turning to mud, staining the end of your skirt. You fled to your house before you could get the worst of it.

You knocked on the door. Your parents ran forward with a shout. They both embraced you at once.

“Y/N! What are you doing?! And what in heavens name are those clothes?!” your mother questioned.

“Dear heavens! We should have believed you! I’m…I’m sorry my girl,” your father apologized.

“It’s alright. I forgive you. I forgive you all…” you said, hugging them back.

Your father had run out to alert Will. Mother raised an eyebrow at the pink dress. Though she led you into the parlor and sat you down, insisting on a blanket for warmth. She looked at your dress curiously. You didn’t have the usual parts of dress you were used to, but it had a long skirt and long sleeves and was by all accounts appropriate.

Father returned with Will-both soaking wet from dashing out in the rain. The news of your return seemed to make them forget to grab an umbrella. Will’s dark sweater clung to him, his curly hair dampened from the storm and clinging to his face. They set you down and fixed you tea and biscuits. Will grabbed two in his large hand and stuffed them in his mouth.

 You explained to them everything that happened.

“I dined with him in a palace. I had my own room. I met Thor, Frigga, Odin, and even Henry the Fifth himself- alive. I know I sound mad-but I am serious. And after the wedding, all of you should know I am serious.”

 They nodded; glad you were unhurt. They asked questions. You spent so much time talking that the sky soon became dark.  Will gave you a kiss on the hand and said his goodbyes-no word on when the wedding could be rescheduled. You returned to your old room after dinner. As you got back into your old familiar nightgown, your mother entered the room. She patted your bed for you both to sit on it beside her. She rubbed her hands nervously.

“Now Y/N…tell me. You can tell me and be honest. You don’t need to fear pleasing your father or William right now. Did this Loki…Did he…force himself on you?” she asked.

“No,” you answered plainly.

“Did you lie in bed with him?” she pressed further.

“No! I’d never do that! He didn’t lay a hand on me,” you insisted.

She let out a deep breath, but her eyes never faltered.

“I am glad. But Y/N, you went to the house of another man. You stayed there though you are still…still engaged to another. Whatever may or may not have happened, there will be talk, you know…” she warned.

“I understand…but I will tell William. I know he’ll believe me and Mother…I only…I…”

The lie sputtered out of you.

“I was feeling unwell. And I was worried about Loki, was all. We will reschedule the wedding.”

She embraced you and kissed the side of your head.

There was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps it was just a misunderstanding. No- not William. Not Will. Not Will who confided of his secret swims in the ocean. Not Will who you sat beside as each person lined up and presented their yearly tithes to him. Not Will who was good with children and spoke of wanting to be a father someday. Not Will who pet his dog and whistled for him to return with a wagging tail. No- it was a misunderstanding.

Yes, it was a misunderstanding. You didn’t see anything- just some papers. Maybe it was long over, even. He did write-it could be a novel, perhaps. Maybe it was just a small infatuation that faded. He knew what the right thing to do was- he studied and preached the Bible after all.

Or he would…would have ended things. Something felt but never acted on. Or a vision of your wedding nerves projected to where your imagination ran wild. Or maybe…Loki! He must have planted them to fool you into running into the god’s arms!

Scoundrel, you cursed silently.

But sleep was hard to achieve that night. And the few nights after that. And no Asgard medicine to help. When you did manage to fall on the third night, you awoke the next day very early-while it was still dark. And you could not fall back asleep. Your mind racing despite those thoughts of hope.

Maybe you needed some air. Especially as the sun was still rising. The grey clouds made their journey over the pink-orange sky.  Wrapping yourself warm in a shawl, making sure there were slippers on your feet. You walked outside and you sighed with the beautiful, crisp air of the morning and the sound of the ocean. The kiss of a spring morning. You did miss this place, after all! You went down to some of the woods and its walking path- a carved pathway through the grass. The sound of birds and squirrels and animals stirring through the trees comforted you.

Sometimes you saw a rabbit darting across. You heard the grass bend and itch against your bare legs. You missed the shade of the leaves and everything. The smell of the wind and feeling the sun made it warm as it rose. It greeted as it peeked over the horizon. Now that it was confirmed no Serpent was slithering, you could walk about in peace. Maybe it was another trick of Loki’s. Maybe even he himself was the Serpent in the first place, the villain! Despite the heaviness and fog of lack of sleep, you found yourself at peace.

You knew the marshes and fields were not too far away. It felt nice-perhaps you would just drink strong coffee when you returned. That along with the air would make you feel more awake.  You found a path full of beautiful wildflowers growing free, and you began to pluck them. What a nice little bouquet it would make. You kept an eye out for any blue ones- gifts for Stella to press into books. You went over, gathering them. You went along it like it was a path-just as you once did as a little child. It did feel good to be a child every now and then.

You thought you saw one blue one growing, right near where the fields started. What good luck! You walked over there, bent to pick it up. You heard the beating of wings of the bird above you. Out of instinct, you turned your head up.

 You shouldn’t have looked.

There was William- extremely handsome as always. His white shirt was open. His tan coat. The sight would make you giggle and grin with swooning love and even lust.

Usually.

But he was with Cora, dressed in red.

They were embracing. She grabbed his face and kissed him in the field.

You felt your heart begin to race and your stomach turning, the shock making you see stars on the fields of your vision. You felt as if you were stabbed in your stomach. Your throat turned into a lump. You watched as he kissed her back. They kept on kissing. And kissing. Him. Your William. Your Will. You paused as you watched in horror, blinking, rubbing your eyes- realizing what you were seeing wasn’t a vision. But real. Would…would this be a prank of Loki’s? It had to be. You looked around.

But it struck you. The truth you didn’t want to face. And here it was right before you.

William was having an affair. He was unfaithful to you.

You were so filled with utter grief and shock that you couldn’t move. You couldn’t take another step forward.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to barrel yourself forward. You wanted to take your fingernails and claw it into Cora’s pale face. Until bloody scratches ruined her lovely face. To rip out each golden strand of hair on her head. To pluck out her small eyes with your bare hands. To punch and slap her round, ivory face until it bruised. You wanted to strangle William where he was. To run on him and punch his handsome face as tears ran down your face. Or find a stone and finish the deed until he was nothing but a handsome, bloody corpse on a field.

No-that was being a typical, hysterical, emotional overreacting woman.  And you still on the spot. Then, turning away, you immediately began to run. Yes- run like your Will used to like to do.

Only he was not your Will. Not anymore. He would never be your Will.

You ran so hard you nearly tripped over some rocks on the ground. You caught yourself on the trunk of a tree. You hugged it and then sank down to the dirt. You let yourself cry. You rolled yourself into fetal position, hugging your legs, and sobbed so hard you were gasping for breath.

You rushed back home and immediately ran up to your room. You fell on the floor again. Your heart racing. Trying to forget it, but not able to. Not letting yourself even cry. Crying meant someone would knock. Someone would ask what was wrong. And having to tell someone what had happened. But one thought made you feel sick again.

They were probably doing more than just kissing by now.

If he acted like this when you were engaged…how would he act when you were married? You should break it off now. You wanted to break it off. But… If you broke it off…it would mean your reputation as a woman would be tarnished. It happened to a girl named Jane who lived in the next town and now she was labeled as forever ruined and unmarriageable. There was enough talk for it to sweep from her place to here.

But how…how could you marry a man who was unfaithful? Which was it? Damned if you did, damned if you didn’t.

You had to talk to him. Had to discuss it soon. Confront him.

You sat in a daze all day. Speaking to no one. Only saying “yes” or “sure,” to your parents. Not speaking of what you saw. Your parents flitted around you, chatting about perhaps rescheduling the wedding and what might happen. To make sure it was soon so it would be done and there would be no interruptions. It was at noon when you said to your mother you both were embroidering.

“Could I…could I talk to Will? In private?” you voiced.

“Not in his house, Y/N!” father dismissed.

“I know but…I just…want to have a word with him…”

“Only if you both are walking.”

Walking. Walking like you used to. Only now, he walked with…with…with…No. You didn’t feel like walking with him today. Not when you knew he would rather be with.

And you were the one to permit his searches with her! You encouraged him to dance with her when you were sick! You practically threw him in her direction! How could you have been so stupid? You swallowed back another tear as you kept embroidering.

Your mother then turned to you.

“We will meet with Reverend Ransome to see about rescheduling dates. Tomorrow is Sunday, Y/N. You will sit in the front row, as always. Won’t you? There will be a luncheon and the other women will discuss your duties as a rector’s wife more in detail. They’ll let you know everything,” she announced.

You thought since William was a priest, he would be a faithful man. But how did the horrible truth of how the world worked not show you in its face?

Yes, he was a priest…but he was also a man. And men were free to take who they wanted when they wanted. And it was women who had to stay behind, make every sacrifice, and do every bit of work back for them. It was men who had romance and valor and glory while women suffered in silence at their expense.  

And when night arrived, you still couldn’t sleep. Your parents snored safely in their own rooms without a care in the world. Past midnight, you couldn’t take it. You got up and dressed. You put on a warm coat for the night’s chill.

You had to see him. You had to talk to him alone.

 You went over to his house and knocked on the reverend’s door. William opened it up, warm and handsome in his dark sweater as always.

“Y/N, what are you doing up so late?” he asked.

“I could say the same of you…Could I…could I speak to you, Will? I wanted to speak to you alone. But I couldn’t find a minute of privacy today,” you blurted.

“Yes, of course!” he said.

He led you in. This small, dark brown house. The house that was going to be your house. No- his house. For once you married, everything that was yours would become his. His house. His property. And his money. If he wanted to spoil Cora with his money-money that could be used to provide for you and any children from the marriage- he could. And any money you made for yourself would go to him to spoil Cora more. None for your own- it was the law for a married woman. And if he wanted to run off with Cora and not leave you a penny, he could. As a man, he legally could. Your foundation was as broken as your heart.

With those thoughts, you both sat at his table, the light just over his head. He smiled warmly and in ignorance. The dog went up, tail wagging, to greet you. You scratched his soft head until the dog sat by you. You noticed papers with an open book about theology on it.

“No wonder you’re still awake. You work too hard,” you commented.

“Had to revise my sermon until it was right. What can I say- my job is a serious one. I take my own position and my place in the town seriously.”

But not seriously enough, you thought. Will, do you understand the scandal that would erupt if I were to tell one person right now? This is a small town. News gets around quick. People like nothing more than talking.  All I need to do is tell one person, and your reputation and Cora’s and even mine too are done for, you thought.

But you held your lips shut. You wanted to do this. Here you were at last. So why was it so hard?

You squirmed in the chair, then let out a deep breath. Try to think of any way you could approach this subject. He sat across from you.

“I understand that it’s part of your ministry. I respect that. Your family didn’t approve of your choice to join the seminary…now here you are…and it’s…it’s fragile…” you began.

He took your hand. You once melted into the touch. And you should. You did in a way. But now…seeing the grass. The marsh. The field. The early morning. The red dress and blonde hair. The tan coat. The kisses.

You let out another deep breath and continued.

“I’m sorry I made that bargain with Loki. I know it would hurt you. But I wanted to be alive…for you. Don’t you understand? I did it for us, our marriage…and you…”

“I’m sorry-I should admit, I don’t understand what it is to be dying,” William admitted, keeping your hand in his. Two large hands overpowering your own.

“It will be a challenge…. I know what I signed up for when I agreed to marry you. That it was a calling for me as much as it was for you. To look after the town by your side. To represent God as best as I could. To be the leader among women, a role model, an example…William, do you even understand the immense pressure it takes to be the wife of a clergyman? To have every eye watching me every minute? That I must prove to be a godly, good, upright woman to everyone every day and to be-be…”

To be perfect. Perfect for you, you wanted to add on. Yet you could not.

He smiled. Such kindness. That was what made it worse. If he was cruel, wicked, unfeeling man to you all the time, it would make hating him easier. It would make confronting him easier.

“And I don’t doubt you will live up to them…you need only be yourself. I’ll talk to them.”

Then he put a finger to his lips and smiled. You raised your eyebrows.

“I have a gift for you, Y/N…”

You felt a little nauseous when he turned around. Perhaps it was a book. A book on faith he loved and found fascinating. A book that you would use as a vicar’s wife to show your great understanding, to the ideal woman in town everyone looked up to and admired because of your husband. Perhaps a small piece of jewelry like on your birthday. Something beautiful and shining and perfect- like you had to be.

 No-it was worse.

 They were flowers. Wildflowers. Wildflowers you saw in the forest, wrapped up in a red ribbon. The flowers you recognized in the valley. The valley you saw him betray you for Cora.

“I know how much you love flowers, Y/N,” he said.

He brought them to you. But you froze, looking at you. You felt heavy and dull, a slight buzzing in your ears. Your heart raced up. You couldn’t take them.

“You…. you don’t like them?” he asked.

You blinked, and then took your head. You forced a smile on your face.

“Oh, no! I love them. I do!” you said with the pretense of the old you. The you that didn’t know.

You took them, smelled them, and then set them down.

“How were things this week while…while I was gone?” you asked.

“Same old things, you know. Everyone managed to find the whale carcass discussed,” he answered. He kept smiling with his blue eyes alight.

“Then there should be a little relief…your search for consecration is done…”

“Oh, and Mrs. Seaborne!”

You froze in your tracks. He said her name right before you. You were just sitting, but your heart began to pound fast. Your stomach turning sick again. The words, the nice, quiet version of that phrase, “William, I saw you both kissing and found letters. Are you having an affair with her?” were there. But that couldn’t be said. He spoke more.

“Mrs. Seaborne accepted the evidence with grace. She is a magnificent woman, and she-she has suffered so much through her life, but she is learning to enjoy her life again!”

Yes. She is learning to enjoy life again. By taking away yours. Knowingly. Willingly.

And the audacity this man had to sing her praises to your face. You looked down at the table, at the flowers. But you heard him chat on.

“She is…an interesting woman…” you mumbled.

“She told me of how she grew up…” William continued.

How long of this could you take. All the praise. All the laudations. All hailing Cora Seaborne as a queen. A pedestal to beat you with. Something you could never attain, never reach.  A joke waiting to be made in Will’s altar and bed. Because you would never be her. Because you would never be perfect- you would never be Cora.

“And to think, for years, they tried to train her and teach her to be a lady! She does so much to free herself of what ladies should do and be!”

You could practically see her before you. Smiling smugly. Ready to grab your beloved’s face and kiss him before you again and again and again. Wiping her superiority in your face.

You also saw the bitter irony. You had to be the proper vicar’s wife. Cora was the wild, spirited, unconventional woman. And yet it was Cora William preferred. Another person you had to force yourself to become. Another role to play. Because you own self wasn’t enough for William. Your own self was too boring. Too imperfect.

If you were imperfect, let you be imperfect. If you were a demon to Cora’s angel, so be it. If you were a monster, a hag, a freak, an abomination to Cora’s beauty, then so be it. If you were the bad to Cora’s good, you would go down as the absolute worst.

You looked at Will. He was smiling and leaning down to pet his dog. You were breathing fast. Your false smile dropped.

The words boiled in you. Before rationality, before self-control, and your better judgement could stop you, the words boiling inside you overflowed as he leaned down.

“Cora isn’t a lady- she’s a cunt.” You said.

He blinked rapidly, jumping up. His eyes squinted, making sure you said what you said. The aftertaste of the word felt bittersweet. Freeing.

“What did you say?” he repeated softly.

The cruel, harsh words- the cruelest, harshest words you ever heard yourself capable of- poured out of you- a dam long contained. You felt the cold fury in your own voice.

“Cora Seaborne is a cunt, and a bitch…”

You squared him in the eye, your gaze hardening.

“And a whore.”

[dataentryspecialist]

Thanks, @tanyayoung-322 for the tag ☺️

Getting to know you 🎶

Last song I listened to: Peaches - Presidents of the United States

Last book: recently finished A Court of Mist and Fury. Now reading A Court of Wings and Ruin (both by Sarah J Maas)

Last movie: oh jeez... In theaters? I think it was Inside Out 2.

Last TV show: Recently finished Kaos. My current nighttime, wind down before bed Trek show is DS9

Sweet/savory/spicy: Sweet!! 🍪 (Unless we're talking romance novels 😏 🌶️)

Relationship status: single. If anyone knows any cute guys in SoCal that are in their 30s/40s, send 'em my way 😆

Last thing I googled: ACoTaR fanart

Looking forward to: continuing to read these ACoTaR books. They sucked me in good.

Current obsession: ACoTaR if that wasn't obvious 😆 Rhysand, my beloved. (Don't worry, Data and Lore are ever present in my heart 💖). In fact, I think I love Rhys so much because he's so Lore-coded to me. My king. 👑 💜

I don't tag when I do these things because I don't wanna pressure anyone, but anyone who sees this, take it as an open invitation.

[oh-munda-kukkad-kamaal-da]

How tf do you guys post "no one loves me" as a status on WhatsApp? Tumhare maa baap nahi dekh rhe kya??

[twistedpagesbookblog]

My July TBR

My July TBR

Hi, guys! Thank you for all the love on my first blog post! Today I am making a list of books that I want to read or finish in July. 

Shadow Of The Fox By Julie Kagawa (Status Unread)

This is a fantasy book that is written for Young Adults. It pulls from Japanese mythology, and has a heavy romance plot. It has magic and an epic adventure plot. I haven't read this book yet so I don’t really know what its about. But this is the blurb from goodreads. 

One thousand years ago, the great Kami Dragon was summoned to grant a single terrible wish—and the land of Iwagoto was plunged into an age of darkness and chaos.

Now, for whoever holds the Scroll of a Thousand Prayers, a new wish will be granted. A new age is about to dawn.

Raised by monks in the isolated Silent Winds temple, Yumeko has trained all her life to hide her yokai nature. Half kitsune, half human, her skill with illusion is matched only by her penchant for mischief. Until the day her home is burned to the ground, her adoptive family is brutally slain and she is forced to flee for her life with the temple’s greatest treasure—one part of the ancient scroll.

There are many who would claim the dragon’s wish for their own. Kage Tatsumi, a mysterious samurai of the Shadow Clan, is one such hunter, under orders to retrieve the scroll…at any cost. Fate brings Kage and Yumeko together. With a promise to lead him to the scroll, an uneasy alliance is formed, offering Yumeko her best hope for survival. But he seeks what she has hidden away, and her deception could ultimately tear them both apart.

With an army of demons at her heels and the unlikeliest of allies at her side, Yumeko’s secrets are more than a matter of life or death. They are the key to the fate of the world itself.

Assassin's Blade By Sarah J. Maas (Status: Reread)

This is a Young Adult Romance with elements of high fantasy. This is a novella which has five different short stories from before the events of the first Throne Of Glass book. I wanted to reread it since it’s been two years since I first read the Throne Of Glass series. Here is the blurb: 

Celaena Sardothien is her kingdom’s most feared assassin. Though she works for the powerful and ruthless Assassin’s Guild, Celaena yields to no one and trusts only her fellow killer for hire, Sam.

When Celaena's scheming master, Arobynn Hamel, dispatches her on missions that take her from remote islands to hostile deserts, she finds herself acting independently of his wishes—and questioning her own allegiance. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies alike, and discovers that she feels far more for Sam than just friendship. But by defying Arobynn’s orders, Celaena risks unimaginable punishment, and with Sam by her side, he is in danger, too. They will have to risk it all if they hope to escape Arobynn’s clutches—and if they fail, they’ll lose not just a chance at freedom, but their lives . . .

A prequel to Throne of Glass, this collection of five novellas offers readers a deeper look into the history of this cunning assassin and her enthralling—and deadly—world.

Infinity Kings By Adam Slivera, Book number 3 (Status currently reading)

This is a fantasy book written for Young Adults. This book has LGBTQ+ characters and other Queer Representations. This book has an urban fantasy setting and has some elements of sci-fi. Another perk is that this book has really cool magic. 

This is the blurb for the first book, since the third blurb contains spoilers of the series. 

Growing up in New York, brothers Emil and Brighton always idolized the Spell Walkers—a vigilante group sworn to rid the world of specters. While the Spell Walkers and other celestials are born with powers, specters take them, violently stealing the essence of endangered magical creatures.

Brighton wishes he had a power so he could join the fray. Emil just wants the fighting to stop. The cycle of violence has taken a toll, making it harder for anyone with a power to live peacefully and openly. In this climate of fear, a gang of specters has been growing bolder by the day.

Then, in a brawl after a protest, Emil manifests a power of his own—one that puts him right at the heart of the conflict and sets him up to be the heroic Spell Walker Brighton always wanted to be.

Brotherhood, love, and loyalty will be put to the test, and no one will escape the fight unscathed.

Well that is it for today’s blog post. Don’t forget to show it some love! Bye!