#not nearly enough ToG

[simpforkhun]

2023 hasnt been much but it was fun i think*

(*several wips crying in the corner)

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Javi’s Playground✨

A/N: Ahhh I’ve been wanting to write a Javi one shot for a while, and I finally got the inspiration after listening to “Sex & Candy” by Marcy Playground. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me come up with a name and beta read so I didn’t chicken out and not post 😘 This is my first time writing Javi, so I’d like as much feedback as I can get 🥰 I tried my best with the Spanish translations.

Summary: Javi decides to blow off some steam at the strip club, but he doesn’t intend to attempt to take one of the dancers home with him.

Pairing: Javier Pena x fem! reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Tags: smut, flirting, Javi goes to a strip club, alcohol, smoking, unprotected p in v, oral, Narcos era, reader is a stripper, reader has long hair, switching POVs, some Spanish (translations at bottom of doc)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The glow of the amber lights swirl above his head as a crystal disco ball spins slowly, throwing its sparkly essence into the crowded strip club. This isn’t his normal place, Paradise Cove. It’s only a distraction, a secret alcove to let go of any thoughts of drug lords, innocent bloodshed, Pablo Escobar, or any traces of misery he’s been holding on to over the past treacherous year. This was a place for forgetting, relaxing the mind, indulging in mere fantasies he could only wish to grasp his torn hands around. So he’d drink, smoke, and indulge in beautiful women in peace on this lonely Friday evening. 

   The red walls are smeared with flecks of sparkles, and the atmosphere is bursting with energy and dim lighting. The cool glass of amber whiskey sits in his hand as he gulps down another swig, letting the burn coat his insides as he flicks the small lighter and lights up another Marlboro cigarette. He lets the smoke surround him, fogging his vision as he inhales the nicotine and lets it sit there dwindling around him in a blur. Just for a couple of seconds, just enough to take the edge off of his growing migraine. 

   He throws his head back and exhales, blowing the smoke out as the music changes over to a tune he knows. “Sex & Candy” by Marcy Playground starts to play from the blaring speakers, the song slowly slipping through his ears as he sits up just a little straighter in the black leather chair. 

   The crowd hollers when the next girl takes the stage, low whistles reverberating off the side mahogany tables as the volume of the music picks up. He doesn’t realize what they’re all making a fuss about until he looks up and sees you. The most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Esplendida. 

   You’re so radiant, the way you strut across the stage in your crystal clear stiletto high heels as you spin in slow motion, running your fingers through your thick, long curls as you look over your shoulder and flirt with the crowd. Your legs are so long, the curve of your thighs begging to be touched as you sway your hips side to side and get lost in the song.

   And then there she was, in platform double suede. Yeah, there she was. Like disco lemonade.

   He can’t help but grip the damp glass in his hands a little too tight as he spreads his legs wide and relaxes into the plush leather, his eyes glued to you as you slide down the pole gracefully. He wets his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip, his cigarette burning his flared nostrils as he oogles the way you please the crowd with every single move you make across the reflective stage. 

   He watches the way you push the swell of your breasts up with your delicate hands, eyes the tiny black lingerie set that barely covers your porcelain skin, assesses the way the lacy thong skims across the curve of your hips, and nearly drowns on his sip of bubbling whiskey as you bend down and show off the thick globes of your ass. 

   Javi sets the half empty glass of alcohol down beside him on the little sturdy table and grabs his denim clad knee as he sinks his nails into the fabric, trying to hold himself together as he listens to the track play through the massive club, watching the way you keep turning and finding his searing gaze. 

   I smell sex and candy here. Who’s that lounging in my chair? Who’s that casting devious stares in my direction? Mama, this surely is a dream. 

   His brown eyes blow wide every time you turn and wink his way, casually flirting as you flip your hair and bite your lower lip, sending him spiraling as he feels the blood rush to his cock in his tight jeans, feeling just how hard he is now as his thick cock presses into the metal of the zipper. It’s like you know what you’re doing, sparkling eyes penetrating his gaze as you flirtatiously bat your long mascara coated eyelashes and eye fuck him from the glowing stage, making sure he’s getting exactly what he came her for. To feel good, to indulge in his fantasies, to make him think you want him. But customers don’t get to take strippers home. That’s not how this business works, not how it’s supposed to run, unless… 

   You slide slowly down the metal pole, ending up on the floor of the lit up stage as you spread your legs wide and tease him just a little as you play with the straps of your panties and press your heels into the floor, giving him a view that just about takes him out. He leans his elbows against his knees, rakes a hand through his thick mustache as he groans into the palm of his hand while sweat sticks to his tanned forehead. 

   He loves the view that’s on display, loves the outline of your pussy as he swears he can see wetness pooling there in between your legs while you sit there and tease him with the biggest smirk on your face he’s ever seen in his life. Those red, plump lips, those glistening thighs that deserve to be kissed, that pulsing core that begs to be lapped up. He can see it now, you splayed out on his bed while he fucks you deep, bottoming out as you scream his name, claw at his tanned skin as you beg for more. He’d take care of you. God he would. And fuck does he want to. Desesperadamente. 

   He can feel the precum sliding against his thick length, can feel just how badly he wants to palm himself through his tight denim as he watches you fall apart on the stage before him. At this point he has no restraint, can barely sit here and watch as you start to crawl on your hands and knees toward him, hypnotizing eyes that lock on his as he leans forward and unfastens the black tie that clings to his button-up white collared shirt. 

   His eyebrows furrow, lips parting unbelievably as you curl your finger and beckon him to come to the side of the stage, your gaze flicking over his figure as he prays you don’t see the erection that’s begging for some kind of release that’d involve hands, or maybe a mouth, a warm tongue…

   He takes another drag of the sweet nicotine and pushes himself out of the leather chair, slowly trudging up to you as he lets his eyes trail generously over your perfect body. When he finally makes it over to the end of the glossy stage, he sees just how beautiful your eyes really are, eyes that were just eye fucking him seconds ago, eyes he’d love to gaze into while he cants his hips against yours roughly. Eyes he could lost in, swim in.

   You smirk his way, letting your hands run through your tousled curls as you flutter thick eyelashes up at him. He digs into the pit of his denim pocket and pulls out a crisp twenty dollar bill as he cautiously slides it inside the lace of your push-up bra, his fingertips grazing the edge of one of your perky breasts as he groans in response. Your skin is so soft, he thinks what you have underneath the lace will be even softer, divine, delicious. 

   You bite your bottom lip flirtatiously and play with the end of his loose tie, letting the silk slip through your fingertips as he watches in a blissed out daze. You could’ve chosen anyone to target, could’ve had attention from any of the sleazy men in this nightclub, but you chose him. The one with the flecks of honey eyes, the one that couldn’t keep his eyes off you for one second, the handsome stranger who must’ve been new to this place. 

   “You new here?” you ask curiously as you eye his stance, watching the way his eyes seem to light with burning fire every time he even dares to look your way. 

   “Been here once or twice before, but this is the first time I’m seeing you, hermosa.” He lets his dark eyes slide down your body, a smirk curling across his plush lips as he leans in closer, until you can smell the tinge of nicotine lacing through his taste buds. “You sure look good up on that stage, amar. Prettiest thing I’ve seen in a city like San Francisco.”

   “Oh? You like what you see?” you blush as you hang your legs off the end of the stage, just enough to brush his thighs as you feel how strong they are. 

   “Oh, I like what I see alright. Jodidamente perfecta.”

   You feel your cheeks burn bright red, feel your thighs clench up as you see how thick his fingers are, how dark and ravenous his eyes look, how hard he is underneath the fabric of his tight jeans. You don’t ever get this wound up about customers, but something about well dressed, smoldering men makes you want to lose all dignity and throw yourself at him. He must be so good in bed. With the way he’s staring at you, all hot and bothered, he may as well just carry you out of this club. Even if it’s technically against the rules. 

   “What’s your name, handsome?” you ask as you brush your heels against the side of his ankles and watch him tense up under your touch. 

   “Javier. Just call me Javi for short, though. And yours, hermosa?” You tell him your name, your real name, not your stripper name, even if that’s against the rules, too. You clearly don’t care about any fucking rules at this point. 

   “Ahh, that’s a gorgeous name. Telling me your real name, yeah? Aren’t you a little rule breaker,” he teases as he cocks up a thick eyebrow and slides his thumb over his lips as he brushes against his thick mustache. You wonder what it’d feel like with his mouth covering your core, his mustache brushing over your swollen clit as he licks and licks until you come apart on his large tongue. 

   You pull yourself out of ridiculous wet fantasies and watch the smoke fall off his tongue. “I live to break rules,” you tease as you pull him closer, catching the end of his black tie as he’s so close now that you can see the embers of brown flecks scatter across his dark eyes. He’s so handsome, you think you want to go home with him. 

   “That right, hermosa?” he asks as he takes another long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face as that smug smirk still encases his playful teasing. 

   “That’s right,” you giggle as you gently curl your fingers over the wrist that holds the burning cigarette. 

   He watches you carefully, eyes full of trouble as he puffs out a breath and fills your nostrils with the stench of whiskey and nicotine. “What do you say, hermosa? Wanna take a tour of my bedroom tonight?”

   You carefully snag his lit cigarette from his outstretched hand and slide it in between your crimson lips, taking a slow drag of the cigarette as he watches you with dark, wide eyes and parted lips that shine with the gleam of amber colored whiskey. You gently blow out the smoke in his face and lean forward as you wrap your manicured fingers around his loosened tie. “You can give me money, yes, but what else? I have plenty of money. What is it that you want, handsome?”

   He grabs the cigarette from your open hand and takes a whiff of the nicotine, letting it blow right back into your face as you smell whiskey, smoke, and trouble fill your lungs.

   “Te deseo…” He says it slowly, meticulously like it’s the most sensual thing he’s ever said to a woman before. You don’t know what it means, but it damn sure sounds like you need to say yes. 

   Your eyebrows raise as you smile wide his way. “I don’t speak Spanish, handsome. But I think I want to say yes. Wanna indulge me in what exactly it is you want?”

   He takes another slow drag of his cigarette as he smirks your way. “I want you, hermosa. In my bed, underneath my body, so I can fuck you fast and hard. Wanna rip off that lace and devour your sweet pussy until I have you coming apart on my tongue. Wanna make love to the beauty that stole my heart away tonight.”

   Your breath hitches as you gasp out of breath, not realizing you clutched onto his leather belt and clenched your sticky thighs together as slick pools warmly in your lace. You should’ve known he was a handsome menace the first moment you saw him sitting there with his glass of cold whiskey and lit up cigarette. You should’ve fucking guessed. 

   His body is now too close to yours, chest pressed against yours as you stand shakily off the stage and feel just how bad he wants you through the fabric of his tight jeans. You can see that way his dark eyes flick over yours, feel the heavy breaths coming from his broad chest, smell the stench of trouble and nicotine lacing around your wrists as he slowly grabs a strand of hair and whispers your name into the shell of your ear. 

   It’s almost too much, almost enough to get you fired right on the spot until the music suddenly changes to a Rhianna song, signaling it was time for the next dancer to come out. You abruptly pull away from him as you feel the tension sit thick in the air, almost like a fog takes over and you can’t see anything clearly anymore. 

   It’s your time to go, to mingle with other clients, and he knows that, you can see it in the understanding of those big chocolate eyes that stare adamantly at you. You give him a flirtatious wave and brush up against his large arm as you whisper up to him, “I get off in an hour. Meet me in the back.”

   He watches you saunter off, half smiling as he realizes he got the girl. He never misses, almost never gets turned down, but this one he might want to see again. He can already tell he’ll want you to stick around, maybe even make you his. Maybe he won’t have to walk this lonely, overbearing life alone anymore. Maybe…. just maybe you’ll stay. Maybe he’ll let you stay. Maybe for a night, a month, a year, forever. 

   The smell of sweat covered bodies, vanilla scents of sensual movements and whiskey clad tongues fill the room as you move at a slow, passionate pace. His meaty hands and smooth tongue are everywhere, sliding down your neck, pulling your pebbled nipples into his warm mouth, and lapping thoroughly at the slick between your sticky thighs. 

   Your moans come in sync. Elated, deafening, ravenous every time he licks a thick stripe over your dripping core. He groans each time you rake your fingers through his mess of dark locks, your pleasurable moans filling the room every time he pulls your puffy clit into his mouth as his thick fingers curl up into the spongy walls that make you see blinding stars in your vision. He doesn’t stop even after the first time you come for him, spilling all your pent up slick as he laps up every single drop between your thighs. 

   He pulls out another mind blowing orgasm with his experienced tongue alone, and he doesn’t even give you a minute to breathe before he’s splitting you in two with the slick cock that fills you to the brim, bottoming out in you time and time again until you feel him everywhere in your system, like the nicotine and whiskey that fill his lungs night after lonely night. He licks into your mouth, his smooth tongue dancing along with yours until you can’t taste anything but the tang of neat whiskey and toxic nicotine that bleed into your bloodstream, tasting like sweet addiction and danger, a lover in disguise. 

   You’re already close again, almost spilling yourself around his thick cock as he bends your knees back and folds you like an acrobatic so you can feel him deep, rough every single time he snaps his hips against yours and buries his face into your neck with furrowed eyebrows as he sucks and bites against the base of your neck. 

   “Come for me again, hermosa. There you go, such a good fucking girl. Let me feel you again. Squeezing so tight around my fucking cock,” he growls as he guides his thumb down to your clit and starts to circle nice and slow, the pressure building in your spine as you start to let go. 

   “Javi,” you moan as you scratch your long nails down his bare back, clawing at his tanned skin every time he guides his slick cocks inside you, reaching that spongy spot that makes you plead and moan with every thrust of his hips. 

   “Attagirl, hermosa. Tan encantadora,” he pants as sweat covers his glistening forehead. Once, twice, three more tight circles on your bundle of nerves and you’re squeezing his cock, spilling yourself all over him as you moan loudly into his ear as he comes seconds after, throwing his head back as he groans with pleasure as thick ropes of white come paint your insides. 

   He topples over next to you in the damp, twisted sheets and pulls you against his broad chest while his free hand lights a cigarette up while he gets lost in the thick cloud of nicotine and musty sex. While he sucks on the addictive stick of nicotine, his dark eyes wade over you as his lips graze warmly over your sweat covered forehead. 

   “Did so good for me, hermosa. You wanna stay the night? I can get you all cleaned up in the morning, and we can go for breakfast. Maybe eat you out on the kitchen counter while I make you coffee. What do you say, hermosa?”

   You shift closer against his side, sliding your fingers over his glistening chest as his deep breaths fill the void in the spacious room. You flick your eyes up to him and study him, watching the way he inhales smoke and stares warmly down your way, like he’s in a lucid dream just watching the girl of his dreams. “You mean like… you want to keep seeing me? This wasn’t a one time thing?”

   His jaw goes slack as his lips parts open, putting the burning cigarette out on the pale blue ash tray on the edge of his mahogany nightstand. “That’s right, hermosa. A sweet, beautiful, gorgeous girl like you deserves more, and I want to give you that. If you’ll let me.”

   You take in his offer, your fingers threading through his as you crawl over him and graze your swollen red lips against his. “Okay then, Javi. Show me your world.”

   He cups the back of your neck and brings you down to his lips as he slots his tongue between your lipstick smeared lips, pulling you deep into him as you taste every shade of red he can paint you, coating you in desire you’ve only ever dreamed of. 

   He tasted like sex and candy, and you were just getting started. 

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging or commenting or leaving me asks 🩷

Spanish Translations:

Hermosa - beautiful

Esplendida - gorgeous

desesperadamente - desperately

jodidamente perfecta - fucking perfect

Tan Encantadora - so lovely

Tags: @keylimebeag @sawymredfox @littlevenicebitch69 @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@vivian-pascal @msjarvis @amyispxnk @jasminedragoon @burntheedges

@akah565 @princesatracionera @rav3n-pascal22 @604to647 @pedrostories

@syd-djarin @tuquoquebrute @r3dheadedwitch

[alexcollix7]

Sarah J Maas: plagiarism or inspiration

In this post we are going to discuss the various and stricking similaries between Sarah J Maas series TOG/ACOTAR with original books she admited to consume, as well as the use of direct lines from movies, books and tv shows in her books, and where do we draw the line in what we consider to be inspiration vs plagiarism.

As some people know, SJM is a big fan of Anne Bishop's work, especifically her Black Jewels trilogy. Some people already noticed similarities between the two series (and in her TOG books as well) in terms of storyline, races and characters, but it's not nearly talked about enough.

It's good to make clear that the first book of "the black jewels" was published in 1998 and the last one of the trilogy was published in 2000, over 12 years before acotar and TOG was even launched. So Bishop's work was around a long time before sjm started to publish her books.

That being said, let's start with the fact that the beginning of her first series TOG is pratically the same as the beginning of the second book of The Black Jewels, Heir to the Shadows, but with a different character:

"After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment—though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan’s most notorious assassin. What she did not usually expect, however, was a hooded man in black at her side—as there was now" (TOG, 2012)

"Surrounded by guards, Lucivar Yaslana, the half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince, walked into the courtyard, fully expecting to hear the order for his execution. There was no other reason for a salt mine slave to be brought to this courtyard, and Zuultah, the Queen of Pruul, had good reason to want him dead. Prythian, the High Priestess of Askavi, still wanted him alive, still hoped to turn him to stud. But Prythian wasn't standing in the courtyard with Zuultah." (Heir to the Shadows, 1999).

So, Sarah's first work begins with a paragraph that is already really really similar to the first one in Bishop's second novel.

Now, let's then move on to the part that shocked me the most and made me sure of doing this post: The extreme and undeniable resemblance between the Illyrians with the Eyriens, a race portrayed in Bishop's Black Jewels books, who one of the main characters, Lucivar (coincidentally or not, Sarah's favorite one) is a part of.

The Eyriens are described to be warriors with tanned skin, gold eyes, and "batlike wings". Eyrien males are trained in hunting camps as children, and the females are forbidden to touch weapons. They are often found in a mountainous territory called "Askavi Terreille", and carry prejudice against half-eyriens. Does all that sounds familiar?

The Illyrians are so much like the Eyriens, it's not even funny. They have bat-like wings, the males are trained in camps, live by the mountains, have their own personalized weapons, and the females are usually mistreated and not allowed to fight. And what does Rhysand suffer from them? Prejudice, because he's half illyrian. Even their physical characteristics are the same: golden brown skin, hazel eyes, black hair. What mainly sets on them apart is their names (which still sound pretty similar) and the fact that the illyrians have tattoos.

"He spread his dark, membranous wings, trying to ease the ache in his back." ( Daughter of the blood, page 12)

"Indeed, it was still Rhysand’s face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black membranous wings—like a bat’s, like the Attor’s" (ACOTAR, page 348)

"Still, it was home, and centuries of enslaved exile had left him aching for the smell of clean mountain air, the taste of a sweet, cold stream, the silence of the woods, and, most of all, the mountains where the Eyrien race soare" (Daughter of the blood, page 16)

"The Illyrians … We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North" (ACOMAF, page 165)

"He had never felt this weary, this beaten. Not as a half-breed boy in the Eyrien hunting camps, not in the countless courts he'd served in over the centuries since" (Heir to the darkness, page 13)

“When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war- camps . To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained" ( ACOMAF, page 168)

”She kept resisting because Eyrien females traditionally didn’t touch a warrior’s weapons" (Queen of the darkness, page 151).

“Some camps issued decrees that if a female was caught training, she was to be deemed unmarriageable. I can’t fight against things like that, not without slaughtering the leaders of each camp and personally raising each and every one of their offspring.” (ACOMAF, page 434)

”There are reasons why Eyrien males are the warriors— Lucivar said, his eyes skimming over the women as he paced slowly down the line and back again.— We’re bigger, stronger, and we have the temperament for killing. You have other strengths and other skills. Most of the time, that works out well." (Queen of Darkness, page 156)

“The  Illyrians— Rhys smoothly cut in, that light finally returning to his gaze — Are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.” (ACOMAF, page 166)

"She wanted to cut the wings off, raise the boy as Dhemlan maybe. But he said no, in his soul the boy was Eyrien, and it would be kinder to kill him in the cradle than to cut his wings" (Daughter Of The Blood, page 138)

“I banned wing-clipping a long, long time ago, but … at the more zealous camps, deep within the mountains, they do it." (ACOMAF, page 434).

"But they’re good boys, and they’ll carry their weight. And they are full-blooded  Eyriens — he added.

— So they don’t carry the stigma of being half-breeds? — Lucivar asked with deadly control." (Queen of the Darkness, page 39)

"He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed" (ACOMAF, page 136)

"Then he called in his Ebon-gray Jewels and the wide leather belt that held his hunting knife and his Eyrien war blade" (Heir to the shadows, page 257)

"I went from physical defense to learning to wield an Illyrian blade, the weapon so fine, I’d nearly taken Cassian’s arm off." (ACOMAF, page 367)

Some people can look at this as simple inspiration, but others consider the races to be almost identical. Their prejudices, the place they live, the place where they train and how they train being the same, with only a few minor key points being changed.

In Bishop's work men and women are adressed and divided as "males" and "females". Their society is based the existence of jewels, where the darker someone's jewel is, the more powerful that person becomes.

The jewels are close to what SJM called siphons, used by the illyrians. They are a representation of the powers of members of the blood, serve as containers, and vary in colors. Siphons, however, are literally jewels who filter Illyrians powers, manipulating magic. Members of the blood can have more than one jewel, and illyrians can have more than one siphon.

"An uncut Jewel is a rare thing, little Sister —   Titian said, removing something from the box.    — Wait until you know who you are before you have it set. Then it will be more than a receptacle for the power your body can't hold; it will be a statement of what you are." (Daughter of the blood, page 71)

"He held up his hands, the backs to me so both jewels were on full display.— They’re called  Siphons . They concentrate and focus our power in battle.” (ACOMAF, page 162)

"The Black-Jeweled ring on his right hand glittered with an inner fire." (Daughter of the blood, page 39)

"Siphons atop his scarred hands flickered like rippling blue fire as he reached for the Attor." (ACOMAF, page 262)

" Your fingers clenched around that Jewel. There was a flash of Red light, and the guards were flung backward." ( Daughter of the blood, page 136)

"Cassian lifted his hand into the air. Red light exploded from his Siphon, blasting up and away" (ACOMAF, page 543)

"Her strength was gone. The Jewel hungaround her neck, dark and empty" (Daughter of the blood, page 399)

"Azriel’s blue Siphons were dull, muted. Utterly empty."  (ACOMAF, page 554)

The Blood possess some ability to sense and mask their psychic scent. The conception of "scent" not only acts as a way for them to recognize each other, but also sense their emotions, and seems to be highlighted between couples, with Daemon for using it in order to fantasize or look for Jaenelle. That matches perfectly SJM's universe where the Fae are able to feel each others scents, sensing their emotions through it, it being stronger between mated couples:

"The psychic scent was almost gone, but he recognized it. A dark scent. A powerful, terrifying, wonderful scent. He breathed deeply, and the lifetime hunger in him became intense".(Daughter of the blood, page 178).

"Like the body that housed it, a witch's psychic scent had a muskiness that a Blood male could find as arousing as the body—if not more so" (Daughter of the blood, page 184)

His  scent  drifted to her, darker, muskier than usual. She’d bet all the money she didn’t have that it was the scent of his arousal. (ACOSF, page 235)

"A room where she had slept would still be strong with her psychic scent, even if it had been cleaned"  (Daughter of the blood, page 182)

"Cassian had flown back up to the House. And found the oak door to the stairs open, Nesta’s  scent  lingering." (ACOSF, page 99)

"No psychic scent of emotions for the guards to play with as they put the sobbing man into the old, one-man boat." (Daughter of the blood, page 149)

"He didn’t need to use a psychic probe to know who was on the other side of the door. The scent of her fear was sufficient." (Queen of the darkness, page 120)

"Their faces were vacant. Not a trace of fear in them, or in their scents." (ACOSF, page 344)

"Those of us who have would notice the similarities in your psychic scents and reach the correct conclusion" ( Queen of Darkness, page 114)

"He didn’t believe me. So he grabbed Catrin, because our scents were nearly identical, you see" (ACOSF, page 652)

The basic unit of Blood society and government is a Queen and her Court. To create a Court, she must be at the age of majority and have twelve males who agree to be in her First Circle. Jaenelle creates hers in the second book, who is  denominated as the "dark court". How is Rhysan's court called? The night court. How is his unity of power named? "the inne circle". Rhysand's court is also referred as "the court of dreams", and Jaenelle is called "dreams made flesh".

"He hoped she'd be pleased to have the use of this place. He hoped he'd be invited when she established her own court. He wanted to see whom she selected for her First Circle" (Daughter of the Blood page 92)

"They’re Rhysand’s Inner Circle.The ones I’d heard mentioned that day at the Night Court—who Rhys kept going to meet." (ACOMAF, page 135)

"The living myth— Saetan whispered.— Dreams made flesh— His throat tightened. He closed his eyes." (Heir to the shadows, page 459)

“And what is this court? — I asked, gesturing to them. The most important question.

It was Cassian, eyes clear and bright as his Siphon, who said — The Court of Dreams.”

Remember Lucivar? The main Eyrien character? Well, it doesn't help sjm's case that he's incredibly similar to Cassian:

Because he's an eyrien, Lucivar was raised as a warrior and has bat wings, together with gold eyes and tanned skin. He also has long black hair and is considered to be well-built. Initially his jewels are birthright red, and later they descent into being ebon grey. Just like his father, he is known as having an explosive temper who often lead him to trouble. Thanks to him not being recognized by Saetan initially, Lucivar is seen as a bastard. This is not at all far from how Cassian is written.

Let's also keep in mind: Lucivar is also responsable for recruting and training Eyrien warriors in the Dark Court, later training the women who live in Ebon Askavi (which, as I will show later, is almost identical to the House of Wind).

Cassian's tragetory is marked by him being underlooked as a "bastard" and not being able to control his temper, and that is further developed in acosf. His appereance is carbon-copy of Lucivar (the only difference being that his eyes are hazel), and his siphons are red. He also happens to train illyrian warriors, and later Feyre, Nesta and the other priestesses from the library. Like Lucivar has a brotherly bond with Jaenelle and waits for her to be his queen, Cassian has a brotherly love for Feyre and respects her as his high lady:

"Unlike the other slaves who couldn't contain their misery or fear, there was no expression in Lucivar's gold eyes" (Daughter of the Blood, page 13)

"Like their High Lord, the males—warriors—were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel and fixed on me as I at last stepped close" (ACOMAF, page 155)

"She looked so pale against his light-brown skin, and he knew it wasn't simply because she was fair-skinned" (Daughter of the blood, page 19)

"She watched his light brown fingers play against her pale skin" (ACOSF, page 367)

"The man wore a leather vest and the black, skintight trousers favored by Eyrien warriors. His black hair fell to his shoulders, which was unusual for an Eyrien male. [..] A wild joy filled Daemon, even as his heart clogged his throat and tears stung his gold eyes. Lucivar." (Queen of the Darkness, page 45)

"Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with the movement" (ACOMAF, page 155)

"Because he was a half-breed bastard, he had no hope of attaining a position of authority within a court, despite the rank of his jewels" (Daughter of the Blood, page 17)

"I can tell you how I hear Eris and Devlon and the others talk and, deep down, I still believe that I am a worthless bastard brute. That it doesn’t matter how many Siphons I have or how many battles I’ve won" (ACOSF, page 434)

"Tears stung Lucivar's eyes. Why, Daemon? What did she do to deserve being hurt like that?  His voice rose. He couldn't stop it. She was the Queen we had dreamed of serving. We had waited for her for so long.  You butchering whore, why did you have to kill her?" (Heir to the shadows, page 31)

"He’d thought about that painting a great deal in the days afterward—how it had made him feel, how close they’d all come to losing their High Lady before they’d ever met her." (ACOSF, page 43)

"Because he was a trained Eyrien warrior and had a temper that was explosive even for a Warlord Prince" (Daughter of the blood, page 16)

"Cassian was lounging in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand, staring at nothing. A brooding warrior-prince, contemplating the death of his enemies." (ACOSF, page 275)

"He could have caught him on the first pass. The young one will have to concede the battle, but it’ll stay in his mind that he put up a good fight. No, Lucivar understands how to train an Eyrien warrior.” (Queen of Darkness, page 103)

"Cassian prayed that the gods were watching over him as Rhys sipped from his tea and said,    

—You’re ready?

He leaned back in his seat. — I’ve gotten young warriors in line before." (ACOSF, page 43)

There's even a line when Lucivar is training the women in ebon askavi that hits very close to one used when Cassian is training the priestesses:

”If you can become half as proficient with this as she is, you’ll be able to take down any male except an Eyrien warrior —  Falonar said slowly. — And you’ll be able to take down half of them as well.” (Queen of the darkness, page 158)

"Cassian continued to train Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn. The rain didn’t let up, and they were all soaked, but the exertion kept the bite of the cold away.— So this can really down a male in one move? [...] He concentrated on the females in front of him. — This move will knock anyone unconscious if you hit the right spot.” (ACOSF, page 385)

Daemon, his brother, is too very similar to Rhysand. He has the reputation of a sadist, after being tortured and used as slave in the hands of Dorotothea, close to how Rhys was known as a cruel fae who had to serve Amarantha (the way they a called is also pretty much the same, as well, being referred as their "pet" or "whore"). Daemon believes to be destined to Jaenelle, even before meeting her, sometimes feeling her touch, and dreaming or her, just like Rhysand talks about knowing Feyre was his mate, and dreaming of her before they met. He, like Saetan, Jaenelle, and Lucivar, is a black widow: which means he can access people's minds and thoughts, as well as communicate telephatically, exactly how daemanti in acotar have the ability to do.

"His face was a gift of his mysterious heritage, aristocratic and too beautifully shaped to be called merely handsome. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He kept his body well toned and muscular enough to please. His voice was deep and cultured, with a husky, seductive edge to it that made women go all misty-eyed. His gold eyes and thick black hair were typical of all three of Terreille's long-lived races, but his warm, golden-brown skin was a little lighter than the Hayllian aristos—more like the Dhemlan race." (Daughter of the blood, page 24)

"I stepped out of the shelter of my savior’s arm and turned to thank him. Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers" (ACOTAR, page 193)

"I had no answer to that—to the tenor in his rich, deep voice. So I examined the tattoos on his chest and arms, the glow of his tan skin , so golden now that he was no longer caged inside that mountain." (ACOMAF, page 289)

"Daemon smiled that cold, cruel smile. "Now you know what it's like to get into bed with Hayll's Whore." (Daughter of the blood, page 77)

"Lucien interrupted — What do you know about anything? You’re just Amarantha’s whore.

— Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons.” (ACOTAR, page 239)

"In his soul, he knew her. In his dreams, he saw her. He never envisioned a face. It always blurred if he tried to focus on it. But he could see her dressed in a robe made of dark, transparent spidersilk, a robe that slid from her shoulders as she moved, a robe that opened and closed as she walked, revealing bare, night-cool skin. And there would be a scent in the room that was her, a scent he would wake to, burying his face in her pillow after she was up and attending her own concerns." (Daughter of the Blood, page 27)

“Three years ago, he said quietly,  — I began to have these … dreams [...] The images were foggy, like looking through cloudy glass. They were brief—a flash here and there, every few months. I thought nothing of them, until one of the images was of a hand … This beautiful, human hand. Holding a brush. Painting—flowers on a table.” (ACOMAF, page 504)

“I saw you through your dreams—and I hoarded the images [...] I’d wake up with your scent in my nose, and it would haunt me all day, every step." (ACOMAF, page 505)

"There was a bitter taste in Daemon's mouth. The ashes of dreams. After all, he was Hayll's Whore, a pleasure slave, an amusement for the ladies no matter what their age, a way to pass the time" (Daughter of the blood, page 267)

"And he would be at that table in the town house, roaring with laughter—never again cold and cruel and solemn. Never again anyone’s slave or whore" (ACOMAF, page 497)

"You're my Queen,he thought fiercely. His body ached. She was his Queen. But with her family surrounding them, watching, there was nothing he could say or do to help her" (Daughter of the blood, page 360)

"My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside  mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen." (ACOMAF, 598)

"He caught her wrists, holding her off with an ease that made her scream. He hit the Black shields on her inner barriers hard enough to make her work to keep them intact, but they wouldn't keep him out for long." (Daughter of the blood, page 302)

"My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge—unless they’re very, very strong, or have trained extensively to keep those shields tight." (ACOMAF, page 59)

At some point Daemon is even called Jaenelle's mate:

"He’s here! Jaenelle’s mate is finally here!  Daemon felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him" (Heir to the shadows, page 117)

His position and title of highlord is parallelled a lot by how Saetan is decribed:

"High Lord of Hell, the Prince of the Darkness, the most powerful and dangerous Warlord Prince in the history of the Blood" (Daughter of the darkness, page 266)

"For what it’s worth, I’m the most powerful  High Lord in Prythian’s history" (ACOMAF, page 145)

Moving on to other similarities, Ebon Askavi, known as the black mountain or "the keep", who is put as a sanctuary, keeping a library containing the history of the blood, matches the form in which the house of wind is developed in sjm's books, with the palace also being embedded into a mountain. The Keep is a safe place where the high lord of hell reserves for the demon dead to rest, same as Rhysand turning the library into a home for the priestesses. And the whole Bryaxis situation? A creature who lives in the pit of the library? Well, Ebon askavi used to be the home of the prince of dragons: Lorn, who guess what? Used to reside beneath it. Finally, Bishop literally describes the palace as the place where "The winds meet".

"Saetan limped across the empty courtyard to the huge, open-metal doors embedded into the mountain itself, rang the bell, and waited to enter the Keep, the Black Mountain, Ebon Askavi, where the Winds meet. It was the repository for the Blood's history as well as a sanctuary for the darkest-Jeweled Blood. It was also the private lair of Witch" (Daughter of the blood, page 59)

"Draca led him through the corridors of  Ebon Askavi  toward a large stairwell that descended into the heart of the mountain." ( Daughter of the blood, page 431)

“Her throat closed at the surge of memories and at the sprawling view—the glimmering ribbon of the Sidra far below, the red-stoned palace built into the side of the flat-topped mountain itself." (ACOSF, page 49).

“I made this library into a refuge for them. Some come to heal, work as acolytes, and then leave; some take the oaths to the Cauldron and Mother to become priestesses and remain here forever" (ACOWAR, page 212)

"She still served the Keep itself, looking after the comfort of the scholars who came to study, of the Queens who needed a dark place to rest" (Daughter of the Blood, page 61)

"—  Who was here before them?

  —  A few cranky old scholars, who cursed me soundly when I relocated them to other libraries in the city. They still get access, but when and where is always approved by the priestesses.” (ACOWAR, page 213)

“There is a creature beneath the library. Do you know it?

Amren shut the book.

— Its name is  Bryaxis.

— What is it.

— You do not want to know, girl.” (ACOWAR, page 452).

"Mother Night, Saetan — Geoffrey said, his breathing ragged.  — The Keep is his lair.

He's been here all the time.

He hadn't expected Lorn to be so big. "(Heir to the shadows, page 476)

As for Amren being a unknown creature who was tuned into a faerie and lived centuries before everyone else? Same thing as Draca. She lived by the time Dragons ruled the world and was later turned into something "human", assisting the high lord of hell:

"When only the Queen and her Prince, Lorn, were left, the Queen bid her Consort farewell [...] When the last scale fell from her, she vanished. Some stories say her body was transformed into some other shape, though it still contained a dragon's soul" (Heir to the shadows, page 375).

  "— Why won’t Amren go in here?

  —  Because she was once a prisoner.

  — Not in that body, I take it.

   A cruel smile.

  — No. Not at all.” (ACOMAF, page 185)

"Spiraling? — Geoffrey thought for a moment and shook his head. — No, but that doesn't mean it can't happen. Ask Draca. Compared to her, you're still in the nursery and I'm just a stripling." (Daughter of the blood, page 243)

"In the countless millennia they had existed here in Prythian, Rhys—Rhys with his smirking and sarcasm and bedroom eyes ...And Amren was worse. And older than five thousand years." (ACOMAF, page 145)

"When they had first arrived at the Keep, Lucivar had given him a cryptic warning: Draca is a dragon in human form.The moment he’d seen the Seneschal, he’d understood what Lucivar meant. Her looks, combined with the feel of great age and old, deep power, had fascinated him." (Queen of the darkness, page 252)

"Because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae … as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide. [...] But Amren’s eyes …Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen; a glimpse into the creature that I knew in my bones wasn’t High Fae. Or hadn’t been born that way."  (ACOMAF, page 158)

"Draca asked. Her unblinking reptilian eyes revealed nothing" (Daughter of the blood, page 431)

You can also find some of the names of characters and places of Anne Bishop's books in Sarah J Mass ones. For instance: Sarah admited Prythian was a trick on Pryddain from the chronicles of Pryddain but that she couldn't put the original name because it belonged to Phillip Alexander, so she choose Prythian. But one of the high priestesses in Bishop's trilogy is indeed named Prythian.

"Prythian, Askavi's High Priestess, couldn't leash his temper enough to serve witches he despised" (Daughter of the blood, page 16)

If you look at the titles of some of the TOGs books, you realize they are alike Anne Bishop's as well:

The thing is: where do we draw the line when it comes to inspiration in books? It's common to have some similarities between author's works, however, to have that many in lines, places, plots, on top of races and characters who are nearly identical to the ones someone created fourteen years before you? I don't know.

I don't appreciate Bishop's work, in fact, I suffered a lot to go through the trilogy, for problems like: explicit sexual violence, mutilation, and worst of all grooming (Daemon meets his so called soulmate when she's a child, and he kisses her when she's 12), which literally made feel sick, but, is clear Bishop came up with a lot of things a long time before SJM did.

Because her series of books came out by the 2000, most of sjm's target audience doesn't know Bishop's work, making it very easy to avoid comparison. This is one of the reasons why this situation becomes a big problem, because most of her fans think SJM work is totally original, and that she came up with 99% of the concepts by herself.

Besides the black jewels, Sarah was said to have taking scenes, plots and quotes from other original productions/books, like the lord of the rings (which she's also a huge fan):

For example, The White Tree of Gondor and Kingsflame.

The White Tree of Gordon only blooms when the rightful ruler sits on the throne. Coming to later bloom in Aragorn's coronation:

"And so the kingdom of Gondor sank into ruin, the line of kings failed, the white tree withered and the rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."

Kingsflame, however, it’s a magical flower that first bloomed when Brannon arrived, proof that was a good king:

 "since those ancient days, only single blossoms had been spotted, so rare in their appearance that their appearance was deemed a sign that the land had blessed whatever ruler sat on Terrasen’s throne. (KOA 686)"

Similarly, the flower also blooms after Aelin’s Coronation:

Across every mountain, spread across the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming. (KOA 984)

We also have the scene when Haldir arrives at helms deep:

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell.  An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance."

While Manon says this in KOA:

"Long ago the Crochans fought beside Terrasen, to honor the great debt we owed the Fae King Brannon for granting us a homeland."(KOA, page 693)

And don't forget, Aragorn saying:

"My friends, you bow to no one"

While Rhysand says this in ACOWAR:

"You bow to no one, was all he replied"

Don't forget, the conversation between Theoden and Gamling in the Two Towers movie:

"Theoden: Who am I, Gamling?

Gamling : You are our king, sire.

Theoden : And do you trust your king?

Gamling : Your men, my Lord, will follow you to whatever end.

Theoden : To whatever end... "

Followed by this conversation between Rowan and Aelin:

“—To whatever end? — she breathed.

Rowan followed her, as he had his entire life, long before they had ever met, before their souls had sparked into existence. —“To whatever end, Fireheart.”

We also have other examples, like treasure island:

"Look at you! Glowing like a solar fire. You're something special, Jim. You're gonna rattle the stars, you are!"  (Treasure Island-2003)

"You could rattle the stars," she whispered. "You could do anything, if only you dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most. "( TOG page 385, chapter 54)

ASOIAF:

A quite similar phrase to "Queen that was promised" was used in GRRM’s ASOIAF,  where an ancient prophecy talked about a "Prince who was promised",  later it being reveleaded that they expected a boy, but the title was said to fall to Daenarys Targaryen (a queen). This is mentioned in " A dance of dragons" which was published in 2011. This prince is also mentioned as being “the Heir of Fire”.

"Westeros must unite beneath her one true king, the prince that was promised, Lord of Dragonstone and chosen of R'hllor" ( A dance with dragons, 2011)

"Perhaps it had all been for nothing. The Queen Who Was Promised" (KOA, page 121, 2018)

"He is fire made flesh, she thought, and so am I."  (A dance with dragons, page 949, 2011)

"Fire - he reminded her of fire made flesh."  (ACOWAR, 2017)

Harry Potter is added to list, as well:

Dumbledore: Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love. (HP and the deathly hallows, page 705, 1997).

Rhysand: Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all. (ACOTAR, page 418, 2012).

"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light." (Harry Potter and the prisioner of Azkaban, 2004)

“Light can be found even in the darkest of hells” (ACOWAR, page 577, 2017)

The movie spirit:

Little Creek: Take care of her, Spirit-who-could-not-be-broken (Spirit, 2002)

Nehemia: I name you Elentiya, ‘Spirit That Cannot Be Broken.' (TOG, page 44)

Shadow and Bone:

The quote "like calls to like" explains one of the most important plot points in shadow and bone, the first book was published in 2012, and Sarah was mentioned in Leigh's acknowledgments as the person who gave her first review. She had used "magic calls to magic" before in throne of glass in 2012, yet the book was published in august, while Shadow and Bone came out before, in june. The principle of "like calls to like" in her books was mentioned by the time ACOMAF came out, in 2016, four years later. It was also used to describe attraction to objects of power, which follows Bardugo's concept.

Shadow and Bone: The grounding principle of the Small Science was “like calls to like" (page 113)

ACOMAF: The box—the Book—was silent. Then it said, Like calls to like  (page 350)

“The Grisha claims the amplifier, but the amplifier claims the Grisha, as well. Once it is done, there can be no other. Like calls to like, and the bond is made.” (page 130)

The movie troy:

"Menelaus : Prince? What prince? What son of a king would accept a man's hospitality, eat his food, drink his wine, embrace him in friendship, and then steal his wife in the middle of the night?

Paris : The sun was shining when your wife left you." (Troy, 2004)

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.

I said quietly, The sun was shining when I left you.” (ACOWAR, page 396, 2017)

The Land before Time:

"Some things you see with your eyes. Other things you see with your heart." ( The Land before Time 1988)

"Some things you hear with your eyes. Other things you hear with your heart."( Crown of Midgnight, page 168, 2011)

Mulan:

"Shan Yu: How many men does it take to deliver a message?

The other Hun: One.

The Hun proceeds to shoot one of the imperial soldiers with an arrow." (Mulan, 1998)

“But it seems like tonight isn’t really your night, Elide said to the ilken, lifting the hatchet again over a shoulder. The ilken might have been whimpering as she smiled grimly.—Because it only takes one to deliver a message. And your companions are already on their way.

The axe fell.

Flesh and bone and blood spilled onto the stones.” (Empire of Storms, page 455, 2016)

There's more to show about the black jewels, but this posts is already huge, so I'm going to finish by talking a little bit about her new series: Crescent city, which people already pointed out to be similar to another series she also talked about before: The Fever series by Karn Marie Moning, published in 2007. Now, I don't think is the same case as the black jewels, because crescent city does follow a much more different story, but is still have matching characters and main storyline.

Darkfever tells the story of MacKayla, a girl who seemingly had a perfect life. After the murder of her sister, she sees herself obligated to make an alliance with the mysterious Jericho in order find her killer, whilst exploring her sidhe-seer powers. Crescent city, on the other hand, is also about a girl losing people close to her: her best friend and her crush, then deciding to solve their deaths by teaming up with the fallen angel Hunt.

Mackayla is a sidhe seer, a person who can see fae, and ends up in the book series as their queen, while Bryce is half fae. They are both extremely attractive girls, who love to party and take good care of their appereance. Jericho, however, is a handsome, tough supernatural being who resources to Mac in order to find answers, ending up getting involved with her. Lastly, Hunt is a fallen angel, who needs to make sure Bryce cooperates with the investigation, and develops feelings for her.

"My sister's whole body had holes in it, Inspector! Not just her arms! The coroner said they looked like teeth marks! — Not of any person or animal he'd been able to identify, though.— And parts of her were just fora!— I was shaking. I hated the memory. It made me sick to my stomach" (Dark Fever, page 71)

"She knew in her bones it was not a hallucination, what lay on that bed, knew in her bones that what bled out inside her chest was her heart. Danika lay there. In pieces" (Crescent City, page 74)

"Grieving wasn't going to bring her back, and it sure wasn't going to make me feel better about whoever'd killed her walking around alive out there somewhere, happy in their sick little psychotic way, while my sister lay icy and white beneath six feet of dirt" (Dark Fever, page 10)

"Briggs planned to hurt people, and he deserved to be in jail, but—he’d been wrongly accused of the murder.Danika’s killer was still out there" (Crescent City, page 145)

"I think I just finally expelled the last drop of moisture from my body that wasn't absolutely necessary to keep me alive. And rage watered my parched soul. I wanted answers. I wanted justice.I wanted revenge." (Dark fever, page 11)

"She didn’t know where to start.But she’d do it. Find whoever had done this.[...] She ground her teeth. She’d find whoever had done this and make them regret ever being born." (Crescent City, page 164)

Once again, Hunt has the exact same appeareance as Jericho, and their personalities are also pretty much alike.

"He studied me with his predator's gaze, assessing me from head to toe. I studied him back. He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it.The room had been full of books before, now it was full of him. About thirty, six foot two or three, he had dark hair, golden skin, and dark eyes. His features were strong, chiseled." (Dark Fever, page 36)

"An angel who reason and history reminded him was an ally, though every instinct roared the opposite.Predator. Killer. Monster. Hunt Athalar’s angular dark eyes, however, remained fixed on the window. On Bryce Quinlan." (House of earth and blood, page 80)

"Hunt nodded once, his golden-brown face betraying nothing." (House of earth and blood, page 81)

"Then the male leafed through Quinlan’s thin file, his shoulder-length black hair slipping over his unreadable face." (House of earth and blood, page 81)

Darkfever presentd V'lane as a third character, an attractive seelie prince, who rules the Tuatha Dé Dannan, and happens to go after Mackayla as revenge against Jericho. In crescent city, there third main character is Ruhn, Bryce's half brother, and who is he? A crowned prince of the fae. And what is his last name? Danaan.

"Even today, after all that I've seen, I couldn't begin to describe V'lane, prince of the Tuatha Dé Danaan." (Dark Fever, page 134)

"Thinking she’d get a nice, sweaty ride with a Prince of the Fae, she’d be sorely disappointed. He was in no shape for fucking right now." (Crescent city, page 199)

“I got a phone call, Naomi said. From Ruhn fucking Danaan. He’s livid that we didn’t notify Sky and Breath about bringing in the girl." (Crescent city, page 96)

The scene where Hunt goes to watch over Bryce in her apartment follows the exact same patterns of the scene Jericho goes to visit Mackayla in her home:

"A moment later, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Right as her show began.She didn’t know the number, but she wasn’t at all surprised when she picked up, plopping down onto the cushions, and Hunt growled,

— Open the curtains. I want to watch the show.” (Crescent city, page 84)

"Someone knocking at my door awakened me [...] I glanced at my watch. It was two o'clock in the morning. I was sleepy and grumpy and didn't try to disguise it.

—Who is it?

— Jericho Barrons." (Dark Fever, page 40)

“Open the curtains.

— No, thank you.

— Or you could invite me in and make my job easier.

— Definitely no.

—Why?

— Because you can do your job just as well from that roof.” (Crescent City; page 184)

"Do you intend to open this door, Ms. Lane, or shall we converse where anyone might attend our business? [...]. If he was willing to trade, I had to open that door. Unless…

— We can trade through the door, I said.

— No

— Why not?

— I am a private person, Ms. Lane. This is not negotiable." (Dark Fever, page 41)

"His dark eyes didn’t so much as blink. Striking—that was the only word Bryce could think of to describe his handsome face, full of powerful lines and sharp cheekbones. — You can make this investigation easy, or you can make it hard.” (Crescent City, page 187)

" When I said nothing, he said softly — If you are not with me, Ms. Lane, you are against me. I have no mercy for my enemies.  

I shrugged." (Dark Fever, page 46)

So, I do believe SJM is the type author whose actions we need to discuss. Even if you see the whole thing with " The black jewels" is just an inspiration, you can't deny the fact there some exact lines of movies and books in her work. Plus: it's not just one quote or just one plot, but many.

If you ever try to read The Black Jewels trilogy you'll notice much more than what I brought in this post, and I do hope more people are able to research it. However, if you have any triggers regarding SA, mutil*tion, abuse, gr*mming, or torture scenes, I strongly recommend you do not read these books. They are not easy to go through, and the same thing goes to Dark Fever, although is a lot lighter.

Now, you can find more about the "Lord of the rings" and "Harry Potter" situation in here:

This is not a post trying to "cancel" sjm or simply attack her without reason. But I do believe we have to talk about her work and the problems with it, especially when it involves the work of other writers. If anyone has any more examples, or articles about this matter, quote this post with them if you can. I couldn't put more because you have a limit for tumblr posts, and it would be way too much. Anyway, thank you sticking here until the end.

[xylianasblog]

Hi! Could you do a Ao’nung x Sully reader where Ao’nung is kind of a jerk to everyone (as he is) but with the reader it’s a more needy kind of attitude? But like still kind of bratty? (If that makes sense?) and Ao’nung and reader get caught by the others doing something cute (like napping together). I don’t know, just like something really fluffy. Thank you

A Different Side of him.

Pairings: Aonung x Sully Reader.

Warnings: Slight bullying, kinda fluffy.

Summary: Aonung is a big jerk, a bratty boy who just wants love from his favorite person.

A/n: This is my first request, the first actual one, and that made me super excited! Soooo, with that being said I really hope I did this justice for you, I’m sorry it’s short Anonie babes! Sorry, it took me so long babes. Enjoy!

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

It seemed like Aonung's favorite pass time was bullying others, and he wasn't bullying someone he was downright being an asshole just for the fun of it. Especially when it came to your family, at least until you came around. His attitude towards you was something completely different than how he normally was.

It was like gone was the asshole you witness bully your siblings for being different and in place was this whiny bratty male who only desired to have you close at all times. With you, Aonung tended to be very sweet and caring. He was attentive and touchy, very bratty when you denied him things like hugs and kisses, overall, he seemed like he'd be the absolute perfect mate.

One day while walking along the beach with your sister Kiri and your best friend Tsireya you spotted him on the beach picking with your twin brother. You watched as he poked fun at your brother for his human features, the same human features that you, yourself have possessed. He never acted this way with you though, always finding your brother and sister to be easy pickings.

Once you were close enough you could hear bits of what Aonung was saying. "Look at that funny hand Sully." and "Those look like hairy bugs over your eyes." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, his jokes were never funny, but it was his thing. You stayed back a little to make sure nothing worse happened, and once you felt it was safe you walked away.

You were tired and needed a much-needed break, so you snuck off to your favorite place, letting the sounds of nature fill your ears. You weren't too far from the village but far enough away that you wouldn't be so easily bothered. You let yourself relax in the sand, the sounds of the wildlife around you putting you to sleep.

Aonung had grown tired of the bullying and picking and was in desperate need of your touch and attention, he searched all over the village for you before he decided to check your favorite spot. Once there he had found you sound asleep on the warm sand, the sigh tog you looked so peaceful, but he wanted your attention. A loud whine fell from his lips, the sound pulling you from your slumber.

"Shh nung, come lay with me." You cooed.

"No i require kisses and cuddles, I do not wish to sleep yawne. I want your attention." His whining continued, his attitude pulling a laugh from you as you opened your arms for him. With much reluctance he finally made himself at home in your arms, his face buried into your neck after stealing kisses from your soft lips. He was satisfied with the closeness and warmth your body provided him.

The steady rising and falling of your breathing paid with the sound of your heartbeat lulled him to sleep, and you soon followed after him.

a few hours had passed, and you were vaguely aware of the sound of people speaking around you, just barely making out the voices of Loak, Tsireya, and Neteyam as they all spoke.

"Let's use this as blackmail," Loak said before continuing, the sound of displeasure heavy as he spoke. "I knew there was a reason he never picked on them." His quiet grumbles nearly made you giggle.

"They look so cute let them sleep!" Came Reyas soft voice.

You were now wide awake as you continued to lay there cuddled up with Aonung on your chest, you knew by the change in his breathing he was awake now as well. "We should wake them before our parents go looking for them, it's nearly eclipse.'' Declared Neteyam until Kiri spoke.

"They are already awake brother."

With a sheepish smile, you sat up slightly with Aonung, your eyes looking over at him before the others standing before you. "We can explain."

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Taglist: @pandoraslxna @neteyamsoare @hiddensnow1 @criticallybella @neteyamsyawntu @tiredmamaissy @headsincloud9 @etherialblackrose @strongheartneteyam @blue-slxt @justcaptainnoodles @neteyamyawne @erenjaegerwifee @oakbuggy @hotdsworld @itchaboi-itchyboy @luvv4j4ybe11

[offtorivendell]

I just recently finished the actors series and I was reading up on the mating bonds and I came across your post about Lucien and Elain’s mating bond from a few years ago and how it potentially could be wrong from the cauldron and I find it super interesting and have seen multiple theories on it! I do think that Azriel might be right and the cauldron made a mistake but that leads me to think about Nesta/Cassian so I was hoping you could help me understand their mating bond! Could this not be considered the same for them? Is their bond not considered made by the Cauldron when Nesta was thrown in as well or how does their bond differ from Elain/Luciens? I could be overlooking but the info on the bonds is also hard for me to wrap my head around 😂

Hi and thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read my nonsense!

I assume you are talking about this post from May 2021 - "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" - in which, to briefly sum up, I suggested that Elain and Azriel were actually meant to be mates, and that Lucien was chosen by the Cauldron as Elain's mate because Azriel was currently "dead" to its senses thanks to taking a poisoned ash arrow in his chest, and Lucien's true mate, Jesminda, had already died.

I know you sent this last week, I'm sorry about the wait - which, sadly, is not nearly the worst wait time for the asks I've been procrastinating on over the last couple of years lol, sorry to anyone who sent something I've flaked on - but funnily enough, there has been some renewed discourse this week.

In addition to this ask, I'd recommend checking out the following (bearing in mind that some may contain spoilers for the entire Maasverse):

The OP and my recent reblog of this post.

This similar ask I recently answered.

This thread and this thread by @silverlinedeyes.

This thread by @elriell.

This post by @icedflames.

This thread by @psychologynerd.

This thread by @wingedblooms.

This thread by @violetasteracademic.

These two posts, here (ACOTAR only) and here (with evidence from the Maasverse suggesting something might've happened to the Cauldron).

It's difficult to explain the entire (hypothesised) lore behind SJM's mating bonds without delving into the worlds of TOG and CC, so I'll attempt a very basic discussion about the Archeron sisters and bat boys (please note that all of these theories are due to a shared effort within the Elriel fandom, not limited to the accounts I tagged above); the following will be based on the theory that there are two types of bonds in Prythian: the original, mutual soul bonds, and offspring bonds for breeding purposes that may be a Cauldron-Made imitation of the original bonds.

In short, I believe Nesta and Cassian's bonus chapter from ACOMAF, and his behaviour towards her while everything was going wrong at Hybern, strongly suggested they already shared a mating bond that would have obviously predated Nesta being Made by the Cauldron at the end of the book; this would have been similar to Feyre and Rhys, who we know shared a bond that predated Feyre being Made by the High Lords. And not to make this Elriel, but for the sake of being complete, the first "family" dinner shared by all six brothers and sisters in the human lands appeared to show Azriel acting differently (in his own unique way) around Elain, just as Cassian was so obviously drawn to Nesta.

Lucien, on the other hand, didn't act in such a way that demonstrated, without any doubt, that he felt anything for Elain in particular before she went into the Cauldron at Hybern (which I discussed in my first mating bond meta that I linked above). Azriel, though? It's definitely murky, but imo his responses at Hybern, while downed with a poisoned arrow, could plausibly suggest he felt something for Elain, assuming SJM wants to go the "true bond" way. As Nesta, who could see through glamours as a human, said to Lucien right after he'd claimed Elain: "She is no such thing!"

Remember this passage between Feyre and Rhys, in the original trilogy?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some … preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.” A smile at me—at the rareness, perhaps, of what we had. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Rhys said that sometimes, the bond is nothing more than "preordained guesswork," which suggests that sometimes it is more than that. I (and many others, but definitely not everyone in the fandom) think that Feysand and Nessian have the "rarer" type of bond, between "true, paired souls," while Elucien does not. I guess there's always the possibility that Feysand and Nessian also share offspring bonds, but given what happened in ACOSF that would appear to be... unwise on the Cauldron's behalf. But who knows.

Anyway anon, I hope this response helps to clear the theory up for you. If you have read the rest of the Maasverse then the posts I linked above are a really good grounding in the theories behind why mating bonds may not all be created equal.

[beetledum]

Madatobi is so unhinged in terms of their bedroom life, I know for a fact that they enjoy cu/ckolding but not for the reasons you think.

If Mito and Touka ever managed to properly back Tobirama into a verbal corner on any of their drunken nights out -- (you'd think Hashirama and Madara loved the taste of toes the way they tried shoving a foot in their mouths while treating with the Hyuga, and after a day of wrangling the two human calamities the trio deserve a drink, okay?)-- he'd say that it was for the good of Konoha, really.

Afterall, if some overly pompous, self-important and unfortunately necessary dignitary suddenly softens in their negotiations after a night in Tobirama's bed, doesn't the whole Village benefit? And Tobirama, for all that he may be strict and exacting in most measures of his life, follows his brother in one exact branch of hedonism and it's this.

And it's made so much better by knowing that Madara is watching, cloaked in the corner of the room by a clever genjutsu that leaves him nearly invisible to even Tobirama's senses (save for the feeling of Madara's heavy sharingan gaze, gliding almost like a second set of hands over Tobirma's body as whatever lucky dignitary does their level best to make Tobirama arch and moan, only too happy at the opportunity to drive one of the most powerful and influential men in all of Fire Nation to blissful ruin).

Even if Tobirama wasn't sensitive to Madara's unique smoldering chakra after years of careful and passionate courtship and could sense the appreciation emanating from his lover, he'd know of it's existence if for no other reason than because of the fact that Madara is a voyeur through and through -- the Uchiha already predisposed to visual stimuli, and the sight of a pale Tobirama spread out across the sheets, panting and blushing from the exertion and desire, never failed to get Madara's own blood flowing.

But what really gets both of them going about the scenario? It's that the sharingan doesn't miss a detail. It catches and catalogues every one of Tobirama's soft sighs, every clench of his toes, every flutter of his carmine eyes as his bedpartner seeks their mutual pleasure in the albino's body. But the moment Tobirama's eyes snap open wide and he nearly chokes on his own gasp? That's what Madara truly lives for: the moment a transitory partner unearths a new pleasure for Tobirama.

Truly a scientist at heart, Tobirama revels in the act of discovery so it came to no surprise to Madara that their bedroom would be the same. And while other lovers might find themselves insecure in the face of such an adventurous libido, Madara is not only confident enough in his own abilities and his and Tobirama's relationship (plus, they're shinobi so honey pot missions are just another day at the office and this isn't too far off from that really), but he also absolutely thrives on competition.

Madara loves to watch Tobirama fall apart and takes even more delight in mining that encounter for every little thing that drove Tobirama wild. Honing in on the theory of it all until every one of Madara's moves are perfectly calculated to drive Tobirama out of his skull in pleasure. And then he gets to apply it to practice.

Madara used to spend hours watching the older soldiers spar in his youth, observing and learning like a hawk until he could knock every one of them down with their own moves, and it turns out that the exhilaration he feels from learning and executing a new move perfectly and taking his partners breath away is the same if he's fighting or fucking--and really, doesn't that say everything you need to know about him? The fact that beyond the physical pleasure, the mental pleasure Tobirama gets from the show of competence and Madara's own genius being on display is half the reason he comes so hard probably tells you all you need to know about Tobirama too.

So yeah. They're into it, but they're mainly thinking about how they're going to use this to get off so hard together later.

[gabilina]

It's funny when ppl in tog fandom hate Chaol for serving King of Adarlan while potraying Rowan as this innocent soul who was forced into blood oath with Maeve, but completely ignoring what he said during his confrontation with Aelin when he said how ppl of Adarlan were forced into this war and that he himself never wanted to serve the King:

“This was my home too.” Aelin snaps. Chaol scoffs, “Some home you must have had. If all you talk about is burning it to the ground.” “Shouldn’t I?” Aelin asks, dangerously low, “Adarlan conquered my people, killed my family, made us slaves!”Aelin stalks closer to him, shoulders tight, “Don’t you think that’s worth burning it down for?” This time Chaol watches her, stares right into her eyes to find her answer—and laughs. Laughs so hard he’s nearly crying, nearly falling to the ground in hysterics. “Ohhhhh,” Chaol says, stretching out the sound almost maliciously, “so that’s what this is?” Chaol takes in a deep breath, that damned smile still on his face and asks, “Just tell me the truth. You just want an excuse for all your rage. You want to burn these streets? Fine. But don’t blame the people of Adarlan. They were just as much slaves to this kingdom as you were.”That rage that Chaol taunted her for boils over into something sharp and the fire in her veins becomes molten. Chaol’s head turns back with such force that she’s almost surprised that she’s slapped him. Almost. After a silent, tense moment, Chaol chuckles and the anger in his eyes almost looks like pain, “Is that the only way you know how to treat me, Celaena?” Her old name whispers against her heart, slithering its way into her soul, biting and poisoning her blood. It feels like an accusation. Horribly, it feels like the truth. “Don’t you dare,” she chokes on her fury, “Don’t you dare.”“Is it?” He asks quietly, all of his previous humor gone like it was never even there, before he begins again with hollow eyes. “My people were forced into this war, and were hunted down when they resisted. Magic was so newly stolen away that they didn’t stand a chance. You’ve forgotten, oh great queen, that the slaughter began here first.” Chaol steps closer, close enough that his breath mingles with hers, “Did you also forget that Adarlan also used its own people in labor camps, to make the war even possible? Do you know what family names were wiped out on that day? What children were put in chains for? Where they were buried?” Quietly, almost like a dying breath, he leans in closer and his words gut her like a dagger, “They don’t have graves. Or records. Or even anyone here left to remember them. To know their lives, to know their fucking names.”Aelin takes in a sharp breath, hating him. Hating him with all her broken heart. Hates the tears in his eyes, hates his last name, hates his grief. She burns and burns and hates. “If you really hate anyone, Aelin,” and something in her rips apart in the way he says her name, “you should at least hate the right people. After all, if you want to hate me for serving a king I never wanted to serve (…)

But you know Aelin is a better protagonist than Feyre and Bryce. She hates injustice. She's even better that Rhysand. Overall throne of glass characters are better than the acotar onces.

[anarchiii]

Worlds apart-4 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part four | warnings: fluff? Hollin, angst | Azriel x Celaena Sardothien

Summary; Pain and suffering one after the other, Azriel decides that maybe he’s not meant for this world, but maybe he is meant for another…

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Celaena’s POV

She groaned as she trudged up the stairs to her room, her client was not very eager to leave this world apparently, slicing her along her forearm for the blow she dealt him to the ribs, Celaena should probably be more worried about the trail of blood and dirt she was leaving behind but she didn’t entirely care. All she wanted was to have a nice long bath and a good hard sleep.

She was still longing for those things when she nearly bumped into Hollin, seriously? She did not want to deal with the prince-turned brat right now, the boy glared at her—crossing his arms and started pouting, “watch where you are going, I can get you executed you maid!” He hissed. Maid? That was insulting.

Celaena put her hands on her hips and looked down and the prince, giving the dirtiest look she could muster, no one glared at the queen of glaring! Not even the prince of Ardalan. Royalty or not.

The staring contest lasted five minutes before Hollin looked like he was about to burst into tears and ran off, Celaena cackled as she revelled in victory, the joy only lasted so long as her arm stung with pain once more, reminding her that she was bleeding. Couldn’t her blood just stay in her body? How dare it have the audacity to think it could leave her.

She’d barely gotten through her bedroom door when Azriel’s head perked up, one of her books in one hand while the other scratched Fleetfoot’s head, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose—where had he gotten glasses? She didn’t own a pair? And why was he so damn cute with them on? What the hell—Cute?—Celaena shook her head, attempting to make those…weird…thoughts disappear. She hadn’t found a man even remotely attractive since Sam…let alone a Fae male. She technically should’ve killed him by now, not healed and cared for him, he was her enemy. And yet. He was so damn cute.

-

“So we are in Ardalan?” Azriel asked, she sighed, how many more questions would she have to answer? “Yes, Azriel, we are in Ardalan and we are in the capital, Rifthold,” she answered, he just frowned. Watching her bandage her arm. Making sure it wasn’t tight enough to cut off circulation, Celaena got up from where she was sitting on the ledge of the bath wincing as her knees shook, she wasn’t even twenty and yet her body was already damaged, she could thank Arobynn for that.

Finding that the male was no longer in the bathing chamber with her, she ran a hot bath and soaked in the deliciously warm water until her fingers turned pruny and the water could barely be considered lukewarm, wrapping a towel around herself, she walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. Barely remembering Azriel was there. Celaena heard his breath hitch as she walked to her dresser, she didn’t dare look at him, grabbing her nightgown and changing in her wardrobe.

The sun had gone down by the time Celaena got into bed, Azriel was already asleep, Fleetfoot tucked into his side with one of her geography books still in his hand—why she had that book, she’d never know,—a quick breath of air had the lone candle flickering and sputtering. The room turning pitch black. And with that, Celaena laid down her head on her pillow and tried to go to sleep.

-

Azriel’s POV

He listened to her breathing turn slower and fall into an even rhythm, Azriel couldn’t sleep, not with the picture of her walking out of the bathroom, in nothing but a towel swarming his mind, how was he supposed to sleep when all he could think about was her beautiful form, he felt Fleetfoot jump off the bed, clearly sick of the no affection that she was receiving, he had never been an animal person but he had grown rather attached to the huffing and puffing of the golden dog. It seemed she took after her mother.

He was finally starting to relax when he heard her take in a sharp breath and wince, grabbing onto her pillow tightly, Celaena buried her face into the pillow, even though he couldn’t see half her face. He could still clearly see the tears running down her fare skin. Her mouth frowning deeply, she must be having a nightmare, there was nothing Azriel could do to stop it—all he could do was watch, it killed him, he knew what it was like to have a nightmare and know no one could or would help you, he had spent most his life that way.

In an attempt to soothe her he started rubbing circles over her back. That seemed to work a bit. But not enough, more tears ran down her face and she grabbed onto her pillow even harder.

“Hey” he whispered in some attempt to wake her up, she didn’t, he didn’t know what else to do so he shuffled closer to her and pulled her into an awkward hug, she immediately grabbed his shirt and put her head in his neck, calming instantly. He was surprised that actually worked. He didn’t exactly have much experience In soothing people.

Azriel and Celaena stayed like that for the rest of the night, holding onto eachother, neither one of them had a nightmare for the rest of the night. It seemed they had more in common than he’d thought.

-

Celaena’s POV

The sunlight coming through the curtains made her hiss, it was too early, groaning, she held her pillow closer until its scent filled her lungs completely, she slept for another twenty minutes before she realised—was her pillow breathing? The hell?

Celaena braved the sunlight and opened her eyes, immediately coming face to face with a sleeping Azriel, what in Mala’s name had they done? And why didn’t she remember it? Oh fuck, she’d slept with him!

She flew out of bed slamming into the bedside table and causing the candle to fall to the floor, thank the gods it wasn’t alight, poor Azriel looked as startled as she was, actually no! Not poor Azriel! He had probably drugged or seduced her! confusion covered his face, maybe she hasn’t bedded him? Maybe she was being a little dramatic… His clothes were still on and she was pretty sure she was still dressed as well…

Then why were they so close together? He was probably touch-starved, yeah, that’s it, touch-starved. Weirdo.

The End.

-Taglist

@azrielslittleslut

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

[avelera]

So I’ve gone back and I’ve been reading some Old Guard fic (as I try to get motivated to write the last damn chapter of my one damn TOG WIP finished so I can finally moved on), and I must admit, one silly and very minor pet peeve I have in some Nicky/Joe fics for the Old Guard that explore their Crusader days is the trope of having them go a really long time without being able to understand each other. Because based on Nicky’s path as a Crusader even getting to the Holy Land, and the various hints we have that Joe has a pretty worldly background, I would suggest they should have had a baseline to communicate already when they met and that bridging the gap would have gone very quickly for one or both of them once they committed to learning.

There’s a few reasons I find them going a really long time without speaking each other’s language (most likely Nicky picking up Arabic) somewhat implausible:

- First, just based on my own personal experience: I went through a full language immersion experience myself and yes it was painful and yes, having textbooks and classes certainly helped, but all told it was 3-4 months from almost zero before I could start doing normal things for my age group like read simple books and do homework. However, the most effective language learning program in the country, Middlebury, does a full immersion program that gets people to baseline functionality in 6 weeks. Yes, learning a language is hard and I will be the first to say that mastery takes years and mastery without immersion is nearly impossible, but if you’re completely immersed there, without options, it goes much faster. You won’t be fluent of course but you will be conversational. Also, by all accounts, being illiterate or otherwise not bothering to learn how to read and write at the same time and ONLY going for verbal communication actually makes things go even faster.

- People who pick up by speaking (rather than reading and writing) and people who speak multiple languages already tend to pick up other languages even more quickly. Once you learn one or two, a lot of polyglots don’t stop there. There is that old joke: the word for speaking three languages is trilingual, two languages is bilingual, and speaking only one language is American. Which is to say I think native English speaking writers might be the ones underestimating how quickly a language can be learned (at least to a conversational level).

- Now throw in the fact that both Nicky and Joe have been recently in multilingual societies or organizations as a requirement of their meeting during the First Crusade, no matter how you slice it. Either as both coming from a merchant trading backgrounds traveling across international (so to speak) lands, or Nicky being part of the pan-European Christian army where multiple languages would be spoken across the camp, to him possibly having a priest background which would mean Latin as well. Not to mention Greek if Nicky picked up anything while in Constantinople (if he came over land). Nicky also would have been on the road to the Holy Land, if he went overland, for as long as 3 years and in Antioch before Jerusalem.

- Now, as an admitted caveat to all of this, I’ve lived overseas and it is absolutely common for expats to live in a country for years without bothering to pick up the local language at all. There were cultural and societal reasons that European Crusaders and the Egyptian Fatimids who lost Jerusalem wouldn’t bother to learn each other’s languages or any of the common merchants tongue or other common languages like Greek to bother to talk to each other. That’s absolutely fair to invoke for why they wouldn’t have a single word of any language in common.

- However, I will say, once both or either of them decided to try, I think some writers don’t give enough credit for how quickly one or the other would pick a language up, especially if it’s the language of the country they’re in (basically, I think once he tried, Nicky would pick up Arabic very quickly if he’s still in the Holy Land by the time he and Joe start trying to communicate). Effort plus full immersion is probably the single fastest way to learn a language, you’d be able to have rudimentary conversations within a few months at most. Really from there it’s just a question of whose country are they in once they start talking and stop trying to kill each other.

TL;DR I will be the first to say an author should go with what makes their story work best BUT there’s plenty of historically backed reasons why Nicky and Joe should have been able to carry on a basic conversation with each other from when they first met, and not be completely stymied in communicating with each other because of a language barrier.

[usernamenotunlocked]

All Falls Apart

[Jotaro Kujo x GN Reader] CW: reader death, mention of past deaths, medical terms, implied PTSD, grief, generally a sad read

Word Count: 1,602

Summary: It was almost ironic that he’d pursued a profession in healthcare. Even now, the stern expression that’d become etched onto his face often intimidated patients and staff alike, and he’d grown accustomed to the general shift in demeanor upon entering a room. But tonight, his main concern was you. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It started as a normal shift; as normal as it could be, at least.

Jotaro stood out amongst his peers, even through adolescence. He was labeled as a delinquent, as a boy that was always “harsh” and “unwelcoming”. He never broadcasted his emotions to the outside world, and when he did it was often depicted incorrectly, as if the wires got crossed somewhere along the way. Over time, he’d learned to accept it for what it was. He’d learned to bury any hint of softness and retreated within himself as he upheld the facade that others had bestowed upon him.

It was almost ironic that he’d pursued a profession in healthcare. Even now, the stern expression that’d become etched onto his face often intimidated patients and staff alike, and he’d grown accustomed to the general shift in demeanor upon entering a room.

He’d been lucky enough to switch to the night shift. No strained interactions with concerned patients and parents, no small talk to sit through. His job had been reduced to checking vitals, making midnight rounds, and occasionally escorting patients to the O.R.

It was simple. Peaceful.

But tonight, his main concern was you.

You’d been admitted prior to the start of his shift, and he was given a brief patient history as he swapped places with the nurse formerly assigned to your case. A sympathetic part of him reeled as he looked over your chart; you’d clearly been through a lot. No one could tell him what had happened upon arrival, either, but even so, the dim lighting seemed to accentuate every cut, scrape, and bruise painted across your body.

He wasn’t incapable of feeling those emotions, contrary to popular belief. It’d happened before, just as it happened now; he saw himself in your place. He saw his friends in your place. He saw everything he fought so hard to maintain as he observed your tattered frame.

He somehow managed to choke down those bitter feelings, tucking it all away with the rest of the emotions he’d buried over the years. It’d be better that way, or at least that’s what he’d tell himself in situations like these. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The biggest mistake Jotaro made was allowing himself to open up to you.

You’d regained consciousness as he was shifting the blankets aside to check the placement of the central line that’d been affixed to your inner thigh upon admission, and he braced himself for the incoming disgruntled reaction he’d come to know so well.

But there was something different about you.

Instead, you talked freely with the man; no nervousness, no forced smiles, no meaningless conversation for the sake of being polite. You stared up at him with a doe-like gaze, without an ounce of terror looming behind it. It felt as though you could peer into the depths of his soul; as if you, and you alone, could simply reach out and touch the soft boy who had been hidden away for all of those years. Around you, he felt the bark begin to soften, the stone begin to crumble.

You’d asked him what drove him to become a nurse. In the four years he’d worked here, no one had ever thought to ask him a question such as that, and though the answer brought up tainted memories of the past, he felt his lips curl up into a faint smile, something that nearly felt foreign to him.

“You know, I wanted to be a marine biologist,” he said.

That much was true, but he didn’t know how much more he’d be able to tell you. He didn’t know how much you’d understand in your sedated state, or even how much you actually wanted to hear, and he certainly didn’t want you to put together the wrong pieces of a broken puzzle, especially while you were struggling enough on your own.

How was he supposed to tell you about the horrifying truths of this world? You were practically sitting on death’s doorstep.

How was he supposed to tell you about Kakyoin, about Avdol? It wasn’t his place.

He’d have to skip the fine details.

“My mother was sick for a while when I was younger, and I remember doing everything I could to help her. That’s when I knew.”

You seemed satisfied enough with that answer, and for what felt like the first time in god knows how long, he received a genuine smile in response. That seraphic smile would forever stay etched into the back of his mind, that much he was sure of.

There was one more thing that stood out to Jotaro in that moment; a simple phrase muttered under your breath.

“You’re beautiful,” you mumbled.

Beautiful.

A three syllable word placed in a short sentence that took up a fraction of a second in his twelve hour shift.

A word that was always used to refer to his lovers but never used to describe someone like him. A word that kissed the tips of his ears and sent a velvety warmth through his cheeks as it fell effortlessly from your lips.

Of course he’d try to shrug it off, telling you to get more rest as he hung antibiotics and pushed fluids, but that word rang through his ears for hours, and relentlessly tugged at his heart. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Jotaro responded to the call light seven hours into his shift.

He wasn’t exactly sure of what to expect upon his arrival, but his breath hitched as he caught your gaze. Your eyes, once filled with nothing but gentleness and compassion, had grown red and puffy around the edges, mirroring that of his mother’s as she nearly succumbed to the grips of fate.

His heart sank as your bottom lip trembled ever so slightly, and his legs nearly buckled beneath his weight as he heard your voice begin to break.

“I’m dying,” you said shakily.

“You’re not dying,” he attempted to reassure you.

“I’m alone-” you swallowed back tears as they flooded your vision, and you would no longer keep your eyes on his. “I’m dying, and I'm all alone.”

Jotaro had always found the human body truly fascinating. Able to withstand some of the worst damage imaginable, yet, still so fragile. Able to recognize when something is seriously wrong, before one’s brain even has a chance to dwell on it. They say people close to death have a way of knowing when it’ll come, and though he didn’t want to believe it, he’d encountered that occurrence far too many times to consider it a mere coincidence.

The worst part of it all was that Jotaro remained powerless in all of it. He could push pain medicine to make you more comfortable, he could push pressors to raise your steadily declining blood pressure; he’d do everything in his power given the chance, but none of it would matter. You were running out of time, you knew it as well as he did.

He found himself instinctively grabbing your hand, and though the ice in your fingertips coated his veins with a deep sense of unease, he plastered on the bravest face he could manage.

“You’re not alone,” he told you. “I won’t leave you alone.” ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The last few hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

You’d peered up at him with a peaceful resignation, a tenderness that seemed painfully familiar to Jotaro by now. He’d sat vigilantly at your bedside, and his fingers remained interlaced with yours even through your final moments, as the two of you exchanged life stories.

He finally told you about Kakyoin, and he told you about Avdol. He told you about his mother, and how much you reminded him of her. He told you about his daughter, about how she was so young, yet so mature for her age, and how he feared he’d been turning into his father.

The soft morning light filtered through drawn shades and cast a cool shadow over your weary face, and he found it harder to remain composed by the second.

Your voice had lowered to just above a whisper as you expressed your gratitude for his kindness, and his heart broke at every labored breath, until you finally took your last.

The silence that followed was deafening, and for the first time since his return from Egypt, he allowed tears to drop as bullets beneath him. His shoulders shook, his chest heaved, and his throat felt as if it was going to close in on itself as he was crushed by the weight of another innocent life lost.

He knew it’d only be a matter of time before the code team would arrive, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to face the rush of it all. He wiped the tears from his eyes as he gently released your hand from his grasp to place it delicately across your chest.

His ears perked up at the bustling sound emanating from the hall, and he knew this was it; he’d once again been forced to leave, just as he’d left his friends in Egypt, just as he’d left his mother at home, and it tore him apart. Commanding Star Platinum to utilize The World, he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead before stepping out of sight.

While Jotaro tried to remain detached from the situation over the coming weeks, there was one truth that remained unspoken. You had become another face imprinted into the depths of his memory, another name scribbled across the surface of his weakened heart. You would not be forgotten, even if it killed him to remember.

♡ This story is a part of a small collection I've got going on AO3. Not all of them are like this, most of them are pure smut, which is why I never really thought to post them here, but feel free to check it out if you want! ♡

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #85: The Old Guard, but make it Assassin's Creed

My brother has always been a big fan of Assassin's Creed, but I never gave the games a shot until recently, when it seemed a natural progression from all the Crusades research I've been doing for The Old Guard fic I want to write but probably never will. Once I realized Isu bullshit could be a perfect explanation for TOG immortality, this (incredibly self-indulgent) crossover was born.

Or: What if Merrick Pharmaceuticals was a competitor of Abstergo Industries?

Just imagine it:

Pharmaceutical research is an expensive, cut-throat business. Viagra is a $2 billion dollar a year industry. Humira, the blockbuster drug of 2018, sold nearly $20 billion in the US alone. So I imagine if you're a pharmaceutical CEO of limited morals and great ambition, it might seem like a better idea to steal ideas from your competitor who seems to hit it out of the ballpark every time instead of pouring billions of dollars into what may turn out to be an unfruitful venture.

Enter Hugh Merrick, father of Steve Merrick and founder of Merrick Pharmaceuticals. Needing a blockbuster and desperate to get one over on Abstergo, he hires a hacker to slip into Abstergo's servers and find him the ripest, juiciest plum they can sometime in the early 2000s, before the (modern) events of the games or the 2019 TOG movie.

The hacker comes back with the schematics for the Animus.

The idea of genetic memories seems absurd, but Hugh figures that if Abstergo has been using the Animus since the 1980s to get ahead, there's no reason he can't do it too - all he needs is a single Piece of Eden and all his problems are solved.

Hugh builds the Animus and has the hacker go back into Abstergo's systems looking for a candidate to put into it. But finding someone with Assassin blood seems dangerous - they're likely to be an assassin too and could be dangerous if they try to escape, plus the Templars killed off nearly all of them. Templar descendants are out because most are Templars themselves and if Hugh's plan is to succeed he heeds to stay off their radar for as long as possible.

The hacker returns with Abstergo's list of people who may be useful if all other avenues fail. It contains a list of people who were peripherally involved during the invents that interest them - mainly high-ranking courtiers close to Popes Alexander VI and Julius II - and their descendants. They might know things about events of Ezio's time.

Enter Joe and Nicky.

For the past few hundred years, their primary cover identities involve being the children or grandchildren of their previous cover story, all the way back to their first deaths. There are fewer questions and you get to "inherit" all your old stuff.

This method has worked quite well for them - until Merrick learns that their "ancestors" were part of the court of Pope Julius II from 1497 (when he was still Bishop of Ostia) until his death in 1513. Nicky was his private secretary, Joe was a court painter, and contemporary sources suggest they were highly placed enough to know whatever Pope Julius II knew about Ezio's apple. Such as where Ezio might have hidden it.

It's not an unreasonable plan, except for the pesky fact of Joe and Nicky's immortality. After all, the animus is designed to draw on genetic memory, not the subject's own memories. And even if it can be used to view memories laid down in their own genes 500 years ago - which is doubtful, - there's a high likelihood of it killing them - and if Hugh were to learn of their immortality, things would only get worse for them. But they have little choice once they're captured and brought to Hugh's secret research bunker somewhere north of Inverness.

What follows is a largely self-indulgent stroll through the more interesting episodes of Joe and Nicky's life together.

Nicky's first go in the animus is a jumbled, confused mess as Hugh's tech minion learns the ropes as she goes. Nicky ends up hopscotching through his early memories - for instance, a memory where he's learning how to use a sword as a young squire jumps to him using the same move during the Siege of Jerusalem. That strand of memory continues on for a bit until another interaction gets him sent into the memory of another battle/training session/conversation with the person in question and so on.

Joe's first time in the animus goes a little better, as Hugh realizes that his minion needs to learn how to program the animus before they put their most valuable subject into it, and so let's her learn with Joe. Hugh's minion (who is really beginning to regret taking this job) succeeds, pulling Joe into the genetic memory of one of his ancestors: al-Kahina, an Amazigh religious and military leader who led indigenous resistance to the Muslim conquest of the Maghreb. There should be suggestions of a Sword of Eden somewhere in events, but since they don't share Precursor knowledge, Hugh's not interested in letting the memory play out.

Nicky's second session gets them to the time period they want, but his memories have next to nothing to do with the PoE. The same holds true for Joe, when his second session puts him through his POV of that time period. And though Hugh has his minion take them up and down every memory of that time period searching for the smallest hint of anything that might point them in the right direction, there's nothing to find.

Or, rather: Nicky and Joe did meet Ezio once or twice, in waiting rooms or reception areas or the like, but they spent that time talking about art, or the weather, or philosophy - nothing about politics, or Ezio's travels, or PoEs at all.

Otherwise, most of Nicky and Joe's memories of early 16th century Rome involve Joe's rivalry with Michelangelo, who among other things persisted in flirting with Nicky even after he made it clear he wasn't interested. (Joe was, among other things, responsible for getting Michelangelo the commission for David in Florence to get him out of Rome and away from Nicky.)

There's some Vatican politics as well - Nicky's part in organizing the Swiss Guard, Joe's in organizing the Vatican Museums, and the removal of the Borgias from power - and some global politics - the 1503 dispensation for Henry VIII's marriage to Catherine of Aragon, etc. But most of their memories are largely Joe and Nicky being Joe and Nicky in the High Renaissance (and rather hating their jobs, as neither of them particularly like working for Julius II but were blackmailed into it to avoid being labeled as Ottoman spies.)

This goes on for several days until Hugh orders his minion to start looking for the memories of other "ancestors" - essentially, to refine the animus and her technique while he gets his hacker to find better candidates for the animus. And if this accidentally destroys Joe and Nicky's minds in the process? So be it. The plan was always to kill them at the end of their usefulness anyway.

Hugh's minion spends a day doing as asked - there's a few tantalizing glimpses of Joe and Nicky at the court of Kublai Khan in the 1270s - before she has an opportunity to act on the guilty conscious that's come to plague her.

The minion helps them escape - destroying the animus, wiping the records, and blowing the place sky high to cover the bloody swath they have to cut to get out of the secret research bunker. Amongst the casualties is Hugh Merrick, propelling his son Steve into position as youngest CEO in Pharma.

Joe and Nicky rejoin Andy and Booker - who'd been doing their best to cut their own bloody swath through anyone tangentially related to the mercenaries who kidnapped their brothers - and decide to turn their attention to tracking down PoE and destroying animus technology wherever it can be found, believing there are no peaceful uses for either. As a glad you escaped present, Booker tanks Merrick Pharmaceutical's stocks so badly the company never recovers, eventually going bankrupt.

As for the minion? Maybe she's a young Rebecca Crane prior to her recruitment by the Assassins and it’s her experiences with Hugh's animus that get her recruited by the Assassin Order. Maybe she's just a random OC who sets herself up with a new identity halfway around the world and watches gleefully as Merrick Pharmaceuticals and Abstergo Industries both eventually crash and burn.

Bonuses include: 1) Joe and Nicky being the most passive aggressive kidnapees in the history of kidnappings - on the face of things, going along with exactly what Hugh asks of them, but doing their best to focus on innocuous memories and figuring out how to purposefully make memories "skip" between similar episodes without Hugh ever noticing the glitch. Also, playing up the Bleeding Effect so that by day three they're only speaking in Medieval Italian; 2) Hugh being a better class of villain than his son. Immoral? Unethical? Yes, but in a sophisticated businessman way, not a jacket and hoodie, stab a man with a letter opener type way. For some reason I'm imagining him as Jean-Luc Picard, if Picard ever had a Mirror Universe alternate; and 3) Interludes of Andy and Booker searching for Joe and Nicky after they've been kidnapped. This should be part action-thriller along the lines of Taken, part buddy comedy, and involve an arc wherein Andy learns of Booker's deep unhappiness with his immortality and helps him come to terms with the feelings that would have otherwise eventually led to the events of the 2019 movie.

And that is surprisingly more than I thought I would have had. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you decide to do anything with it.

More TOG Fic Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[lewis-winters]

I know I should be working on other WIPs-- and just working in general-- but I watched The Old Guard again yesterday so here, have the Winnix TOG Canon Divergence AU

tw for: depictions of death, the effects of mustard gas, gore, trauma, and angst!

"Stop touching it."

Dick doesn't. In fact, just to be annoying-- though mostly on reflex-- he brushes past the newly formed scar of Lewis's brow one more time, prodding and poking until finally, fed up, Lew waves his hand away with a weak growl. "You'll open it back up."

Ah. That gets Dick to back off, pulling away abruptly like he'd been scalded. And maybe he has. After all, there's blood on his mind, now. A memory both too fresh to do anything but hurt; but a situation too resolved to feel anything but indignation at his own continued terror.

It's been nearly a millennia since the beginning of their renewed existence, and while they know their lot of second chances are bound to run out one day, surely the familiarity with Death should have settled in their old bones by now. Yet, when She comes, She brings with her all the fanfare that accompanies all finality. Almost immortality does not always warrant camaraderie with pain and grief.

They were luckier this time, at least.

They hadn't been as eager to join this war as they had been the last. Not that he'd been eager to join that war, either. But just like all things, Dick's need for a cause called out to Lewis' need to make sure Dick doesn't lose his goddamn mind fighting until he drops. And so, in the midst of the 1910s, they managed to find themselves spending long nights in the deep, damp French trenches, huddled together in the dark. For two and a half years, they lived like that, shaking apart with fear, both real and imagined, as the rats nibbled on their fingers and infections slowly overtook their lungs and toes. Any warrior worth their salt would know that it's not the fighting that fucks you over, but the waiting in between. The rotting wounds left to fester. The fear that threatened to eat you whole from within, if the bullets about you didn't get to you first. Together, they passed days watching their boys die, either from sickness or bullets or both, their corpses stacked around them so high, in the dark they looked like fortress walls, caging them in as they waited for the moment it would all come toppling down.

Then, the gas came pouring in.

Lewis had taken the brunt of it, in the end, ripping his gas mask off in a desperate attempt to save what was left of Dick's face. Neither of them had enough sense at the time to hear him scream in agony, clawing at his eyes until they were nothing but pulp underneath his fingernails; but the echoes of it would have a chance to ring in Dick's ears anyway. The screaming didn't stop in France.

And it took Lew years to regain his old self, in both nerves and sight; and it took even longer than that for Dick to stop dreaming of scar tissue, gnarled and twisted and angry red, in place of dark brown eyes. The damage healed a lot slower than either of them have ever experienced before, and required more outside help than either of them were comfortable with. By the time the last of Lewis' sight had been restored to him, a whole decade and several new identities had gone by, and Dick had done his best to promise: no more fighting.

They made it through another decade before he broke that one. It barely felt like a blink of an eye.

And now, here they are again. Huddled together, blanketed by dark night, with each other's blood once again under their fingernails, a new scar on Lewis' forehead, and the tangible memory of a crater in the back of his head, where the bullet found its exit and his brains had spattered out of his skull.

"Hey," Lewis breathes, sensing the dark turn Dick's thoughts have gone and reaching out for him, touching his face with cold fingertips. "I'm sorry. That was a bad joke."

Yes. It was. But Dick is not going to reprimand him for it. He's learned that jokes are Lew's best defense against the weight of their prolonged existence. Just like drink. Just like nicotine. Or just like Dick himself, his only lone companion in this casually cruel world. How could Dick ever deny him this?

Tilting their heads together, Dick guides his lips to the new scar, and resolutely tries not to think about how much longer Lew bears the marks of his deaths, and what that might mean for him. "It'll be gone tomorrow," he says, more to himself than Lew. "You'll see. Like brand new."

"Like brand new," Lewis echoes. Resigned. Going boneless as he leans all his (dead) weight into Dick's arms and buries his face in his neck. "Always brand new."

Even against the heat of Dick's skin, Lew stays cold. Dick doesn't think he's ever known a time when he was warm.

--

Dick and Lewis were made immortal sometime between 58 and 50BC, when Rome waged war against Gaul, as explained in this deleted line: "Lewis was not made for warrior-hood like Dick had been, having gone from the luxury afforded to him by his roman senator father's fortune to a miserable roman centurion on the back of a single mistake alone. He'd known almost nothing the first time he'd fallen under Dick's Gaulic blade; that his own sword had pierced Dick's chest at the same time was a mere fluke he's since been unable to replicate."

[druckkugelschreiber]

Sometimes I feel like „after all those years“ or even „centuries“ does not accurately manage to convey the sheer amount of time Andy has been alive for. She’s nearly 7000 years old!!! That’s insane on so many levels and I know I’ve screamed about this countless times already but how do you even put the weight of the ages in words?

Wait no, that‘s brilliant. Write that down! New headcanon (?) Andy hates to talk about her age because no matter what she says no one can even conceptualize what she‘s actually been through. Like how long that is.

Young immortals might manage to understand a century or a couple of centuries. Nicky and Joe know their millennia but they’ve not seen the dawn of civilization, of the fucking wheel and domestication of a couple of species. Andy cannot convey it and hates the reaction so she does not tell. [Noriko/ Quynh knows but since Andy lost her, she‘s even more adrift (me trying not to drift into that ship angst)].

Of course technically Andy shouldn’t know how old she is anyway considering no consistent time keeping/ calendars back then but that is a different story, but not any less tasty and angsty. How old are you really when no calendar can tell you? How much of a myth and a relic? Does she ever bother to try and find out? Is there some deep seated desire in her to know exactly or is it all muddied in the endless grind of time?

Wow well this post went in a wildly different direction. It was supposed to be short! Literally only the first paragraph was planned. The rest was flow of consciousness. I have not been writing enough of at all and now my brain is vomiting words. Maybe my it‘s gearing up for a new round of ToG fics. That would be fun!

[tothestarsinvelaris]

(please no spoilers if interacting w/ this post. i have somehow avoided all TOG spoilers and know nothing more than the lil blurb on the back of the book and what i have read so far. thx <3)

{Just finished chapter 44 in Empire of Storms}

HELLLO?! Look, I have been a Dorian girly from the fucking jump okay, but hoooollllyyyy shiitttttt!!!

the way that Manon makes Dorian act tf up?! the way Dorian is gonna make me act tf up?!

king behavior 🥵

He literally told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. my guy??

but then she's chained up in bed and wonders if he'd make her beg for the first time in her long life. He looked capable of it-perhaps willing to let a little cruelty into the bedroom. --- HELLO??!

and he says to her "As tempting as seeing you naked and chained might be..." A soft lover's laugh. "I don't think you'd enjoy the loss of control." -- naked and chained?! please ?! Manon is ready to beggggg my guy holy shit

this exchange though: "enough to know how to handle the needs of mortal princelings. To know what will make you beg." Never mind that she was contemplating the opposite. [...] He leaned over her, nearly nose-to-nose, nothing at all amused in his face, in the cut of his cruel, beautiful mouth, as he said, "I don't think you can handle the sort of things I need, witchling. And I am never begging for anything again in my life." --- Dorian??!??

"I need to hear you say yes." His eyes flicked to the chains. [...] "So considerate, princeling. But yes. I do this of my own free will. It can be our little secret." [...] She began to unbutton the white shirt she'd been wearing for gods knew how long, but he growled, "I'll do it myself." Like hell he would. She touched the second button. Invisible hands wrapped around her wrists, tightly enough that she dropped the shirt. Dorian prowled to her. "I said that I'd do it." Manon took in each inch of him as he towered over her, and a shiver of pleasure rippled through her. "I suggest you listen."

ummmm. yes, sir. ohhh my lord. and then the damn tease fucking leaves!?!?? fuckkkkkkkk

a consent king, a kinky king, a down-bad bisexual coded king, all hail King Dorian!!

[gravitysthrall]

CC before TOG? aka Heaven, Hel, and a third barren place.

At the end of KoA Aelin opens a door for the Gods:

"“Summon us our world, girl,” said the one with a voice like steel and screams. “And let us go home at last.”"

So she opens a portal to their world:

The portal to their realm. Sunlight over a rolling green country nearly blinded her. They whirled toward it, some sighing at the sight. But Aelin said, “A trade. Before you fulfill your end.” Sounds just like HOFAS when Bryce see's Danika: "soft golden light... green hills in a lush gentle land" Is this Heaven?

Before she seals the gate, Aelin wants to make a bargain

“I would like to trade,” she said again. And managed to point, with that arm that held all of eternity within it. “Erawan’s soul for Elena’s. But the Gods betray her:

Then she pressed her hands together, Elena’s head clasped between them. A flare of light from Mala, in warning and pain, as Elena’s eyes went wide. As Deanna squeezed. And then Elena ruptured. Into a thousand shimmering pieces that faded as they fell. Aelin’s scream died in her throat, her body unable to rise as Deanna wiped her ghostly hands, and said, “We do not make bargains with mortals. Not any longer. Keep Erawan, if that is what you wish.” Then the goddess strode through the archway into her own world.

So in turn Aelin betrays them :

Aelin smiled and bowed. Far out, striding over the hills, the gods paused. Aelin’s smile turned into a grin. Wicked and raging. It did not falter as she found the world she sought. As she dipped into that eternal, terrible power. She had been a slave and a pawn once before. She would never be so again. Not for them. Never for them. The gods began shouting, running toward her, as Aelin ripped open a hole in their sky. Right into a world she had seen only once. Had accidentally opened a portal into one night in a stone castle. Distant, baying howls cracked from the bleak gray expanse. A portal into a hell-realm. A door now thrown open. Aelin was still smiling when she closed the archway into the gods’ world.

Did Aelin sending the Gods to Hel? Does that place of golden light and green hills no longer exist because Aelin destroyed it? Is TOG actually set after CC? We know in CC they are about to lose electricity and tech, returning to the old fashioned ways of Avallen. When Aelin opens the portal to Nehemia the first time she "glows" in realm of "blackness" - Hel? The afterlife? Not Heaven like Danika, because Nehemia killed herself? The second time she opens the portal

"The void (Where Nehemia was, Hel?) shifted, mist now swirling inside, parting long enough to reveal rocky, ashen ground. (Where Aelin later sent the Gods)" "the world that showed through the arch, depicting a land of mist and rock." The ruined land of the Asteri? A third place? Also what is this? "Or at the monster: a tall, sinewy thing, but definitely not human. Not with those unnaturally long fingers tipped with claws, white skin that looked like crumpled paper, a distended jaw that revealed fishlike teeth, and those eyes— milky and tinged with blue."

[gwandas]

okay things that are kinda insane from ToG reread

Dorian and Chaol constantly entering Celeana’s rooms despite her being a master assassin (Dorian literally calls her out for this in her pov which is kinda funny)

Celeana adding Kaltain (in addition to Perrington, the King, and Cain) to the list of people she’s hoping will get killed by whatever’s killing people

Chaol (and everyone tbh) not being NEARLY worried enough about all the murders for my taste what the fuck (I think they even go like "maybe it was an accident" WHAT DO YOU MEAN people don't accidentally get ripped to shreds and have their vital internal organs removed bruh)