#rowan is alive

[bunnieswithknives]

Im about to go on vacation for a month so I figured I'd get some practice on the old tablet I'll have to use. Lets just say I got a little bit carried away lol!

[weirdcursedvaultkid]

my crack ship is rowan/corey

rowan isn't corey's biggest fan at first but she warms up to her and then they are just nerds together

[bookwxrmish]

The Throne of Glass series is just a group of powerful orphans trying to save the world

[shadowqueenjude]

“You took Ianthe into that cave on Calanmai?” He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “She insisted. Tamlin was … Things were bad, Feyre. I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court. I went of my own free will. And we completed the Rite.” No wonder she’d backed off him. She’d gotten what she wanted. “Please don’t tell Elain,” he said. “When we—when we find her again,” he amended. He might have completed the Great Rite with Ianthe of his own free will, but he certainly hadn’t enjoyed it. Some line had been blurred—badly.

Ok trying not to cry while writing this... Poor Lulu didn't even know Elain was his mate at this point but after he learned she was his mate, he was ashamed of his sexual assault and didn't want her to know about it until he found a way to tell her. He's faithful to Elain even though she has been avoiding him entirely and was happy to fuck Azriel.😭😭😭😭😭 I need a wholesome Elucien moment where Lucien is telling Elain about completing the rite and his continued SA afterward and how embarrassed and ashamed he was when Feyre caught him chained magically to a tree by Ianthe and I need Elain to tell him how brave he was for taking the duty of Calanmai upon himself for his court, that he shouldn't be ashamed of his SA but that she loves him all the more because he's been through all of that and he's still kind, can still feel emotions. Shit I'm crying 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[the-incident-on-show-day]

okay okay but. hear me out. lister bird gets to be a little genderfluid. as a treat.

[hphm-z]

I'm about to reach year 6, but I just couldn't imagine what happened if I reached chapter 18💔

You drive me mad, Rowan😞

[incorrectsinnohquotes]

Cynthia: Dawn is at that age where there's only one thing on her mind. Rowan: Boys? Cynthia: Murder.

[uefb]

Chapter 7 of Older, or Two Brothers and a Train Station up now :)

Summary: In which the Scamander parents get a bit too busy for caretaking; the extended family proves themselves rather useless at babysitting without inflicting borderline-trauma; and Theseus finds himself handling the unwieldy consequences (e.g., Newt). (yes, this is the lull before the storm...)

Excerpt:

In retrospect, Theseus maybe should have noticed earlier than he did that he had been very seriously tasked with watching his little brother on and off for the majority of the summer, far more than his usual elder brother duties. And it wasn't like he was tasked with it because he did not have anything else better to do himself , but because, by July, their parents—almost overnight—became truly and impressively and inordinately busy. 

…Really busy.

With Muggle London’s recent fascination and consequent reliance on the electric tram [4], Helios was dealing with an influx of opportunistic magical troublemakers that pulled him out on investigations and into raids at every hour of the day and night; while Rowan had become rather single-mindedly preoccupied with several of her hippogriff mares (who were having a difficult laying season), all on top of her other preexisting business and family commitments [5]. 

At first, Rowan had roped her younger sister Willow—a mediwitch at the St. Mungo Children’s Ward—into helping Theseus with Newt a few afternoons and evenings a week, but after several attempts at having him stay over at hers entirely on his own (particularly on the nights before his appointments), that method quickly proved disastrous. Newt apparently did not like that he was unfamiliar with Aunt Willow’s flat and customs; and Aunt Willow was disturbed by waking up every morning to a childless cot, which forced her to search Newt out in a state of panic until she stumbled upon wherever he had tucked himself away the night before [6, 6a]

(Theseus never really thought he’d have to listen to anyone receive a lecture on why sleeping in the broom closet or the bathtub or on the floor behind the wood-stove instead of a perfectly suitable mattress was inappropriate, but Newt did a lot of things that made him question his previous understanding of the world.)

Before Helios and Rowan consented to explicitly using Theseus as a full-time third parent, however, they had tried Helios’ siblings. Both sets of grandparents were out of the question because Grandfather Ptolemy was about as warm with Newt as their father’s brother Hesiod was; and Rowan’s mother was frailer even than their Longbottom great great grandparents—even Newt seemed to tiptoe about her house (even if he did so exceedingly unsuccessfully) whenever they visited…

And that left only Helios’ older sister Hippolyta, down at the border of Devon and Cornwall at Rame Head [7].

Theseus knew the very moment his parents decided to ask her that sending Newt there would absolutely not work (which was unfortunate, for Newt could have been very entertained on the Sound under different circumstances)... But, because Aunty Hippa had always adored her youngest brother, she immediately said yes anyway, despite the fact her formerly aristocratic husband Arundel Helston Mount-Edgecombe was—according to Helios—a “piece of work” [8]; and even though Theseus and Newt’s only real cousin Eloise (a very pretty, very poised, and very disturbingly intelligent nineteen-year-old witch) was almost always in as much trouble as Newt was, if for remarkably different reasons… 

Not the ideal location for an inquisitive six-year-old with very little regard for hierarchical respect or social niceties, Theseus personally thought.

But, because Theseus was just fourteen-almost-fifteen, he could only watch as Helios and Rowan approached Newt where he sat on a small boulder near the treeline, gently tugging the illustrated copy of Black Beauty out of his hands—(a book which Aunt Willow had bartered for him at a Muggle Curiosities shop while he stayed with her, in an attempt to bribe him into compliance)—and nudging him until the he’d made room for them to flank him on either side [9, 9a]. They explained in clear and calm language that Aunty Hippa had asked for his company for a few weeks, after which Newt asked if they still lived near the sea, and, upon hearing the answer—while still looking minorly concerned—nevertheless leapt off the rock to tear past Theseus and disappear into the house, where he proceeded to scour every shelf and trunk for "the book about oceans!" and Theseus' now-too-small bathing costume, from when they'd still lived in Dorset [10].

It was very clear his little brother was under the impression he might get to meet a sea serpent, and Theseus wasn’t cruel enough to disavow him of that belief if it made him happy enough to venture off the farm without complaint. Neither of their parents did anything to dampen his spirits either. In Newt’s wake, in fact, Rowan simply caught Theseus’ eye with a wink and a shrug, and then turned back to Helios briefly—letting him tuck an errant curl behind her ear—before rushing off after Newt to supervise his attempts at packing.

Newt was gone the next morning. Beaten-up binoculars hanging off his neck—a crab net woven through the front straps of his pink linen dungarees [11, 11a]—he had tolerated Theseus’ affectionate attention for a full half minute, even promising to write (with Eloise’s help, of course).

Not that the child even had time to fulfil that promise, though, for the owl Theseus received from Eloise six days after his little brother’s departure only proved his initial instincts unfortunately correct… 

[baelavelaryon]

I was tagged by @lestatlioncunt to make some oc kisses in this picrew (I could do this all day I have too many oc ships and this is so addictive)

Wyll and Saera (bg3) / Boone and Rowan (fnv)

Roth and Heather (vtmb) / Morrigan and Oksana (dao)

Tagging: @aztarion @mercymaker @chloefrazer @waterdeep @aeducanthaig and whoever else wants to!!

[currently-evil]

MASTERPOST

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

"Hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of calling in the cavalry."

alternatively titled: haha get supported idiot !!

Tinkering with my Bozja canon, and well. O'ravi's friends aren't about to let her try fighting a war alone

[4ce-of-2pades]

The name “Rowan Underwood” suddenly appeared in my mind, and now I really want to read a Marauders-era-type story about the brash and daring satyr named Rowan, alongside his wisecracking and clever younger brother, as they go on adventures defending the Wild, helping and being helped by demigods, and attacking monsters with seed bombs that actually explode, all the while trying to do great deeds to prove themselves worthy of their searchers licenses. They dream of one day setting off as a team and finding Pan together! Definitely nothing bad ever happens to them.

[acourtofquestions]

A flash ruptured from where Fenrys had been sniffing at a trunk of jewels, and then a male was standing there. His gray clothes worn, but intactin better shape than the hollowed-out look in his eyes.

Aelin paused her looting.

Fenrys's throat bobbed, as if trying to remember speech. Then he said hoarsely, "We needed more pockets." He patted his own for emphasis.

Aelin's lips curved in a hint of a smile. She blinked at Fenrys-three times. “Are you okay?”

Fenrys blinked once in answer. “Yes.”

A code. They'd made up some silent code to communicate when he'd been ordered to remain in his wolf form.

Aelin's smile remained, just barely, as she walked to the golden-haired male, his bronze skin ashen. She opened her arms in silent offer.

To let him decide if he wished for contact. If he could endure it. Just as Rowan would let her decide if she wished to touch him.

A small sigh broke from Fenrys before he folded Aelin into his arms, a shudder rippling through him. Rowan couldn't see her face, perhaps didn't need to, as her hands gripped Fenrys's jacket, so tightly they were white-knuckled.

A good sign—a small miracle, that either of them wished, could be touched.

"Thank you," Aelin said, her voice small in a way that made Rowan's chest crack further. Fenrys didn't answer, but from the anguish on his face, Rowan knew no thanks were in order.

They pulled away, and Fenrys cupped her cheek. "When you are ready, we can talk."

About what they'd endured. To unravel all that had happened. Aelin nodded, blowing out a breath. "Likewise."

[puzzlevisiondarling]

Hehe angst

[souenkun]

If I were to choose soundtracks to play as my background music for the rest of my life, I'll pick dppt's soundtracks in a heartbeat because it's just that good for me. I'm not even choosing it because it happened to be my first pokemon game or because of pure nostalgia; the range that this whole game's soundtracks have is just that wide and pleasant to enjoy anytime anywhere :')