#;raven's posts 💜

[arklayraven]

Mephisto: I wish to love a demon with intelligence and grace. And nothing less!

Me, a human, who isn't that bright and graceful: And now to plop the half defrosted chicken into the hot oil...I'm sure it'll be fin--OH FUCK! *attempts to control it but causes a fire instead* FIRE!! *PANICS, FALLS BACK AND JUST CAUSE COMPLETE CHAOS AGAIN*

Mephisto: ...I need them.

[andthendk]

some practice doodles for my next post - simplifying characters do not come easy 😭🫠 and yes I'm an advocate for 💜soft grunge/ goth/ graceful goddess/ disney princess 💜 Raven and everything in between because shoving her into one category is lazy.

[violetsiren90]

Send Me to Hong Kong

Yoongi/Reader (fem reader)

Genre: One-shot; established relationship; smut

Summary: Yoongi discovers one of your major kinks.

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!!), explicit smut, kissing, biting, hickeys, neck-grabbing, dirty talk, slight-dom Yoongi, spontaneous desire, studio sex, clothed sex, quickie sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (established relationship context), multiple orgasms, cream pie, cock warming, talk of kinks, talk of wet dreams, talk of sharing intimate partner information (with permission), hardcore smut with some humor and slight fluff

Author's note: Hello, my dear reader! This is my very first time posting a fic on this platform, as well as my first time posting for BTS, and a hardcore smut. *whooshes out a sigh* So, I'm nervous. I've had this in my archives for a while now, so I decided to just throw it out there after a couple small changes in honor of our bad boy's tour launch. I don't have a big presence here, so if you discover this and read it, I just want to thank you so much for taking your time to peruse my humble scrawlings. Have the absolute best day, and remember that as Yoongi says, you're worthy of love as you are! 💜

==============================

  He dropped to his knees and pulled your leg up over his shoulder, but you grabbed his shirtfront in both hands and slid him up your body, hitching a bent leg around his waist to bring his hips flush with your own.

“No, Yoongi…I’m ready,” you insisted. His brow furrowed in confusion as you took his hand and guided it to your panties, which he instantly bypassed, slipping two fingers into your soaking folds. His eyes flicked up to yours when he felt the bountiful evidence of your intense arousal. He raised his brows.

“Just from…” he mumbled, but you cut him off.

“You - your rapping…I…I was ready halfway through that second demo,” you insisted breathlessly. At your words, something his eyes changed from lustful to ravenous, and in a nanosecond he was pinning you against the wall, biting at your neck as he ripped the panties from your thighs in a few strong yanks. You spread your legs wide as you whined desperately against his shoulder,

“Fuck me, Yoongi. I need to feel you inside me." He let out a moan that was almost an animalistic growl before disposing hurriedly of his belt and jeans. You reached your hand down to stroke his hard length over his cotton boxer briefs, cursing to yourself, and capturing his mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and heat and primal desire. You pushed impatiently at the band of his underwear, and he stumbled out of them, his mouth leaving little pink marks across your chest and breasts. You tossed your head back against the wall, gasping and writhing under his touch. All at once you felt the smooth warmth of his tip touch your aching entrance.

“Oh, god, Yoongi, please!” you whimpered desperately. He slid his left hand up to your neck and brought his lips to your ear, rasping out, shaky and with effort, yet dominant and demanding,

“Tell me…why.” A shudder ran through you, as you realized what was happening…and you rose to the task.

“Because you’re the mother-fucking king,” You felt him tense against you as you moaned out the words, “When I listen to you rap I don’t even need to touch myself - ah!" He squeezed, "It’s as if your tongue is fucking my pussy while you spit those fucking bars - oh, fuck!" He squeezed again, "And now I just want your cock in me so I can make you cum - hah!” He squeezed his shaking hand around the back of your neck one final time and groaned as he pushed into your throbbing cunt. He immediately started moving with urgency, and your slick walls accommodated the pace, as they swelled around him and you matched his bucking with your own.

“Oh, fuck, Yoongi, fuck!” You cried out as he had you cumming already, just from his presence in your core in a few quick strokes. He picked up his pace, pounding into you, his tip grazing over your internal nerves at an incredible speed. You felt a climax mounting in you again as his thrusts grew shaky, at frantic stuttering intervals. He was about to cum. You pulled his face to yours so you could take his mouth in a heady kiss, moaning onto his lips as your second orgasm took you. As you rode the wave of your own pleasure, you felt him explode, his cock shaking and pulsating as he pumped his cum into you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his forehead soaked in sweat and his heart pounding into your own rapid pulse point. You ran your hand through his damp hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. You held him tenderly as his breathing slowed and his body weight seemed to shift back into his own stance. You realized, glancing down, that you were still connected where your bodies met. He dragged his forehead onto yours, fixing you with half-lidded warm, dark eyes.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered. You answered him with a languid kiss, not pulling away until you had pulled a groan from him by sucking on his soft pink tongue. Licking your lips, your smiled at him.

“No one turns me on like you,” you murmured, grinning, “You know I came twice?” He huffed a breath of surprise in response.

“You did?” he smirked, looking more than a little smug. You nodded. He glanced down between your bodies. “You gonna let me go now?”

“No!” you protested with a sudden pout, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. He was soft inside you, and you loved the feeling of just holding him. You squeezed firmly once around him and he took a sharp breath.

“Aish, naekkeo, if you keep that up I’ll be hard again…” You giggled, and tugged him into another kiss as he unwrapped your legs and withdrew from you, leaving your body to feel the lack of him as his cum began to seep down your thighs and onto the desk.

“I’m glad I have at least a fraction of the effect on you that you have on me,” you teased, chuckling. He shook his head, then looked up at you with a genuinely curious expression.

“So…my rapping?” You nodded, unabashed. “Since when?” You shrugged.

“Since always. I remember the first time I watched the one of your sets…you know how in some songs you're going hard, and then you switch up the flow and start going really soft and fast?” Yoongi nodded. “Well, the first time I heard you rap like that I ruined my panties. And I didn’t even know you. It was just so fucking hot, I couldn’t help myself.”  Yoongi chewed his bottom lip as if trying to process what you had just told him.

“You’re gonna have to be careful or you’re going to give me a nasty ego,” he scrunched up his lips and nose in that adorable endearing way and you smiled.

“Good, I don’t care. If you’re the best, you’re the best, there’s no denying it,” you shrugged, leaning back on your elbows. “Oh, yeah, and once, in a dream, I was watching you rap at a show and it brought me to orgasm. Like, I had a fucking wet dream because that tongue of yours invaded my sleep,” you divulged, smiling wickedly. Yoongi’s mouth hung open a little, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Oh, that was after I got to know you, though," you continued, "Not too long before…you know…we gave in.” Yoongi smirked and looked up at you teasingly.

“You’re kinky, you know that?” You shrugged.

“Maybe a little. It’s not like you’re super vanilla yourself,” you shot back, cocking an eyebrow at him while remembering his very enthusiastic reaction to your revelations. Yoongi smirked mischievously. You chuckled and kissed him on the nose.

“Happy birthday, nae sarang,” you murmured warmly, sliding off the desk. After collecting your panties and turning toward the restroom, you shot a coy glance over your shoulder and added, “And by the way, if you get drunk with the guys tonight and want to brag a little…you have my permission.” You tossed him a wink, and stuffed the panties into his pocket before slipping into the bathroom and clicking the door shut with a smile.

-Fin-

[opscuritas]

Mitu's 1.5 K DTIYS 🥳

Hello everyone! I'm so excited!!! 🎉🤭🤭 In celebration of my blog reaching 1.5K in here and 666 on Instagram, I wanted to invite everyone to participate in a fun DTIYS challenge, featuring my reverse!omens Raven and Father Anthony.

This is my way to say thank you to all of you, especially to my Ko-fi supporters and all the followers who leave funny/nice tags and comments, I always read them and they make my day! ❤️ 💙 💜 Go ahead and reblog so it can reach more people!

Rules, prizes, deadlines, and FAQ ⬇️

Rules:

To participate, you have to do your version of this drawing. The colors, clothes, style, etc, it's up to you! Just try to keep the same characters and a similar pose 😊

No tracing! It's okay to use the original as a pose reference, but it can't be a full-on trace. You must put in your unique style! It's a challenge, after all!

Once you've finished your art, post it on Tumblr or Instagram and make sure to mention me so I can see it! You can also use the tag #mituDTIYS

It can be digital, traditional art, photography, cosplay, literally any type of art is OK! 🎨 🖼

You don't have to be following me but it would be awesome for me if you do hehe 😜

Prizes:

There will be 2 winners, one I will pick out myself and the other one will be chosen at random

Each winner will have a free commission from me of up to 2 characters of their choice. I will contact the winners and private chat with them so they can tell me their requests. (I won't take any commissions with the following topics: furry, underage, non con, loli, mecha) >Click to see my art<

The winners will, of course, have a special shout-out in a separate post, and I will promote their socials! 📸 ⬆️ 🚦

Deadline:

All submissions are open now, and they'll close on April 20th at 12:00 AM (GMT+1)

The winners will be picked out and announced the next day 🙌

FAQ:

In case you want to do my characters exactly as they are I suggest you check out my Reverse!omens tag for reference!

That's it! If you have any questions feel free to ask me! My inbox is always open 📥

[strawberryhospice]

Meet Spry (he/him)! This guy is a huge hit everywhere I post him, and for good reason! Look at this silly little man! He’s one of my oldest furbies and is still somehow in pristine condition despite having been in the council for four years!

I hope you enjoy him as much as I do 💜

His full name is Sprite Cranberry Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way btw…

[ariluna91]

Where is your raven costume? That’s one of my favorites

sorry it took so long, but she's back and spicier with lots of toys to play with!! 💜💜💜

💜https://onlyfans.com/ariluna91💜 💜https://fansly.com/AriLuna91/posts💜

ask me for my discord link or snap💛

💜https://ohh.me/ariluna91💜

Cash App $arinm91

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

[vivi-designs]

ANGSTY RAVEN POST! + mood board and head cannons below !!! 💜💜💜

The last slide is her kingdom !

[konniesreality]

Shifting Tips!

Hey loves! Back with another post since I’ve been on hiatus for a bit! So today I’m gonna give you shifting tips! Why it’s easy, how to make it easier and stuff like that. Y’all just love to over complicate things and it’s getting on my NERVES! Let’s go ✨💜

1. Don’t over complicate it

Oh gosh, the number one thing y’all struggle with. Shifting isn’t hard unless you make it hard. That literally applies with anything in life, honestly. Shifting is literally the easiest thing ever, and because you guys say it’s hard for you, and it’s not working, it’s not going to work. Haven’t you ever thought of that? Come on! So the mindset that I have about shifting and what mindset you should have about shifting is - it’s okay if I don’t shift. I have plenty of nights where I can do it. It’s easy and fun. Look at shifting like a fun little sport, like you’re going to basketball practice. And you want to become better at it, but you have fun with it! See what I mean?

2. Find what works for you

This is an important one. So many people have said this before but some of y’all choose to ignore it. Find what works for you! Oh my goodness, stop asking people what method they used, what subliminal they used, what their routine was, yadayadayada! It’s okay to be curious and ask questions, but you’re literally trying to do something that someone else did. And you’re your OWN PERSON. You’re not THEM. For example, I’ve always had success with the Julia method. I used to do the raven method because other people did it. I hate that method, but I did attempt to use it because I thought it was the exact method for me. I use brown noise instead of subliminals because it works for me. You don’t need subliminals, you don’t need to lay on your back, do what works for you.

3. Don’t listen to everything you see on Tiktok

Shifting TikTok both has good information and bad information and so many misconceptions. Shifting TikTokers I recommend you watch are Liz (I forgot her @) @starkortmall777, and @shiftingwithreya. They have good information and amazing motivation! But yeah, don’t believe everything you see on TikTok. I seen this one girl say that she scripted she had clear skin, and when she shifted her skin was transparent. …🧍🏾‍♀️girl what? That’s not true and won’t happen. You can script anything you want, and your subconscious will KNOW. YOU DONT NEED TO REPROGRAM YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS, YOU DONT NEED TO DRINK WATER AND FLY TO MARS AND ASK AN ALIEN FOR A MAGIC POTION!

So yeah loves, find what works for you, have fun with it and don’t over complicate it. Shifting is apart of our life. This also applies to everything in life. If you make something hard, it will be hard. Just tell yourself you got this! It’s a fun thing I get to do and not many people know about about! YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE! I love you guys! 💗

[offtorivendell]

Is an oily residue corrupting Azriel's hypothetical mating bond and making him feel off kilter? Is it related to Valg-type magic?

Disclaimer: this theory is a continuation of a few of my others that I've been too lazy to post until now - first I was going to post it for Elriel Month 2023, then Azriel Week 2023... it never happened - but like everyone else I'm having massive FOMO before HOFAS, so here we finally go, even though I know I've forgotten something lol. As usual, this makes no claims of being accurate, it's just theorising for fun.

A massive thank you goes out to @wingedblooms, @tswaney17, @silverlinedeyes, @psychologynerd, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and anyone else I've forgotten (sorry!) for all of our discussions that finally became this post. Love you guys. 💜

Spoilers: this is a Maasverse post, and draws from the ACOTAR series, CC 1 & 2/HOEAB & HOSAB, and the TOG series. It is CC 3/HOFAS spoiler free, as I'm waiting to read it in its "original English" 🤓 on the 30th of January. Please be respectful of that if engaging in the comments before it's published!

Plenty of people, including @silverlinedeyes, @icedflames and myself, have posted our thoughts on mating bonds in the Maasverse, and this theory builds on those previously established - though again, as yet hypothetical - ideas. Specifically, this post about the use of “oily” throughout the ACOTAR series is recommended reading.

What we do know is that:

Mating bonds contain threads, and so do spells.

Mates are the song/music of the soul, and their laughter is likened to music.

Different fae, and magics, contain different scents, be that personal or regional

First, let's go back to ACOWAR, when Feyre described the Ravens' entrance into the library as being like an off-kilter chord:

I felt it at the same moment she did. The ripple and tremor. Like … like some piece of the world shifted, like some off-kilter chord had been plucked. We turned toward the illuminated path that we’d just taken through the stacks, then to the dark far, far beyond. - ACOWAR, chapter 30

Initially, I had wondered if the King of Hybern had had Jurian use the Harp to infiltrate Velaris, but it was @merymoonbeam (I think) who theorised that the Cauldron might be mimicking the Harp, and maybe not doing the best job of it. Which made me wonder, could it do the same with mate bonds?

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. - ACOSF, Azriel's bonus chapter

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

What if the Elucien bond, as either a spell or piss poor Cauldron-Made approximation of a bond, causes Azriel - and maybe Elain, possibly Lucien - nausea when Lucien is around because it's constantly changing, or reverberating over the top of, what remains of a hypothetical Elriel bond?

What if it's making the Elriel bond off-kilter, out of whack, imbalanced?

Does this make Azriel feel sick, nauseous, or simply overwhelmed/overstimulated?

When people are feeling off-balance, for whatever reason, they can feel sick or nauseous. It's one of the symptoms of vertigo, which can be triggered by severe headaches such as migraines. And guess who rubs their temples? Azriel!

Alternatively, certain chords played loudly enough on a string instrument can really mess with your chest - and where do mating bonds attach - if you're standing close enough for them to vibrate through you (at least, they do for me haha). It can be weirdly disconcerting, and I'd imagine that if Azriel or Elain feels something like this, no wonder he describes such severe discomfort that he needs to leave, and she shrinks away from Lucien, the unintentional cause of her pain.

Same with the smell; if the magic of the Cauldron, in whatever way, is messing with the smell that should be there? Contaminating it? Unbearable.

Is this too crack for you? Well, let's get even crazier.

I have previously suggested that the Cauldron's actions throughout the series could be tracked, in part, by SJM describing a feeling or quality as “oily,” and I've also wondered if the dark maker of the Cauldron - Koschei? - could have hijacked it in some way, as the Book of Breathings being made from leftover iron gave me “One Ring” vibes. I still stand by that, but with a clarification (and here is where the TOG and CC spoilers come in, FYI). I think it's only half of the magic belonging to the Cauldron that is "oily":

Throughout TOG, the Valg are heavily associated with “oiliness,” in terms of their blood and magic. The smell “reeks” and always results in the involved characters experiencing extreme revulsion, including headaches. Sound familiar?

Wyrdstone has an oily, hideous aftertaste.

Even in CC 1/HOEAB, Danika was described as oily when she came into Griffin Antiques.

Celaena looked at the sealed door, her stomach turning. A half-dried pool of blood lay at the base of the door, so dark it looked like oil. She crouched, swiping a finger through the puddle. She sniffed at it, almost gagged at the reek, and then rubbed her finger against the pad of her thumb. It felt as oily as it looked. - COM, chapter 45

“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.” No, it wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to— “This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if … what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they were now … ready? - HOF, chapter 45

The overseer roared, thrashing as her magic swept into him, melded with him. But there was nothing inside to grab on to. No darkness to burn out, no remaining ember to breathe life into. Only— Aelin reeled back, magic vanishing and knees buckling as if struck. Her head gave a throb, and nausea roiled in her gut. She knew that feeling—that taste. Iron. As if the man’s core was made of it. And that oily, hideous aftertaste … Wyrdstone. The demon inside the overseer let out a choked laugh. “What are collars and rings compared to a solid heart? A heart of iron and Wyrdstone, to replace the coward’s heart beating within.” - EOS, chapter 15

* Side note, it's giving Tamlin and his stone heart.

Danika didn’t just look like she’d been rootling through the garbage. She smelled like it, too. Wisps of her silvery blond hair—normally a straight, silken sheet—curled from her tight, long braid, the streaks of amethyst, sapphire, and rose splattered with some dark, oily substance that reeked of metal and ammonia. - CC HOEAB, chapter 1

The Hind held Ruhn’s gaze as the game began. She was the spitting image of Luna, with her upswept chignon, the regal angle of her neck and jaw. As coldly serene as the moon. All she needed was a pack of hunting hounds at her side— And she had them, in her dreadwolves. How had someone so young risen in the ranks so swiftly, gained such notoriety and power? No wonder she left a trail of blood behind her. “Careful now,” the Harpy said with that oily smile. “The Hammer doesn’t share.” The Hind’s lips curved upward. “No, he doesn’t.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 33

I think the dark maker of the Cauldron could have been Valg, whether that's Koschei or someone else I don't know though Koschei currently makes the most sense. I also don't know when the dark maker would have had the chance to influence the Cauldron; was it always made from dark and light, or - as @fawnandshadows theorised a while back - did Koschei bastardise it after the fact? Where the Valg would fit in with the Daglan and the Asteri is also a mystery, though my current train of thought is that they could be family names or allegiances, like different clans of the same parasitical species, thanks to the description of Danika in HOEAB.

But, back to Azriel and his severe reaction to the Elucien bond.

I know I'm not the only one who wonders at the very Valg-ish themes with which Rhys and Azriel's powers have been described - maybe one day I'll post my thoughts about the possible link between lightsingers, shadowsingers, daemati and the Valg (but it is not this day lol) - and how that may have come about. For example, are the Valg interwoven, genetically, with the Avallen people, or is it because the Princes of Hel are also involved, and have similar magics? Are the Princes of Hel a similar species as the Valg, Asteri and Daglan, or completely different? Ugh, let's stop this spiral here.

Oily: the obvious train of thought being that oily things are slippery, which can lead to an imbalance… ie. becoming off-kilter.

Sounds like Azriel could be suffering from some sort of vertigo, of which symptoms can include nausea; severe headaches, such as migraines, may trigger an episode… and who rubs his temples enough that Elain noticed it?

Maybe Azriel can sense the corruption in the bond, either the current Elucien bond, or the hypothetical original bond between Elain and himself; if like calls to like, and his shadows are Valg-ish, maybe it is because his OG bond was fucked with. So, what if:

Azriel's shadows can slip away from spells and binding magic (Slippery > oily > Valg).

The guards at the prison know what he is.

Valg magic making Azriel nauseous and Elain sourcing/making a healer's powder for him? It's giving Chaol and Yrene. Especially since Elain (and Mor) make his shadows brighten.

So, we have in-text mentions of Azriel feeling overwhelmed due to the proximity of the Elucien bond, as well as Elain shrinking from Lucien - an action that parallels Azriel hanging out in the doorway, and even Lucien retreating to the human lands, if he feels any bond-related discomfort around Elain. But what about his initial response to seeing Elain, and thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen? The quote that sent me down the “oily” rabbit hole to begin with?

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Well, Aelin felt oily disgust at the thought of marrying someone who wasn't Rowan:

“There are no allies,” Darrow said. “Unless Her Highness decides to be useful and gain us men and arms through marriage”—a sharp glance at Rowan—“we are alone.” Aelin debated revealing what she knew, the money she’d schemed and killed to attain, but— Something cold and oily clanged through her. Marriage to a foreign king or prince or emperor. Would this be the cost? Not just in blood shed, but in dreams yielded? To be a princess eternal, but never a queen? To fight with not just magic, but the other power in her blood: royalty. She could not look at Rowan, could not face those pine-green eyes without being sick. - EOS, chapter 5

This example from Aelin could describe Azriel and Elain’s potential future if Elain accepted a theoretically Cauldron spelled bond to Lucien, but also for Lucien and Jesminda, if they were originally true or fated mates before she was murdered.

Some final thoughts:

We know from TOG that healing light is known as the Valg executioner. In a parallel to Yrene killing Erawan with her healing light in KOA, Elain killed the King of Hybern - who I suspect was possessed or assisted by a Valg, as Feyre described his magic as a “galaxy” in his palms - with Truth-Teller, which had recently devoured the (her?) sunlight; does this mean that Elain could heal or purify Valg possessed things, with or without the magical, Made dagger? Could this be extrapolated to Azriel's magic, the Dread Trove, or even the Cauldron (possibly with Feyre and Nesta for the bigger ticket items)?

If the Asteri are the same species as the Valg, and the Valg somehow had a hand in making or twisting the Cauldron, it could follow that they used the Cauldron to create offspring bonds for a more powerful food source. If this pans out then Elain, bright light, could hypothetically heal the Cauldron. Maybe that is why Azriel describes her with purity language? Not because SJM wants to display Azriel's apparently toxic thoughts about her (🙄), but because she, along with her sisters, will be his/their salvation? Rhys once said as much to Feyre!

@mrspettyferr has suggested that Azriel's shadows ability to hide him from binding magic - see: the High Lord's meeting in ACOWAR - could have prevented his true bond from snapping with Elain when she came out of the Cauldron. This could be supported by any Valg/shadow link.

Thank you for reading! Please don't mention any CC HOFAS spoilers in the comments or reblogs until after it has been officially published. 💜

[jokodoesstuff]

🌕Damiraetober 2023🌕

Hello! This is something I've been thinking about doing for a while and decided to create an October challenge that is Damirae themed // I'm mainly doing this for the fun of it. No one needs to follow the exact dates, anyone can join whenever they want, at their personal pace and leisure

Prompts: 💚Day 1 (23th) - Switcheroo 💜Day 2 (25th) - Metaphysical 💚Day 3 (27th) - Whatever Idea You Want!!! 💜Day 4 (29th) - Shakespeare 💚Day 5 (31th) - Halloween

Rules: 🎃 Use the tags #damiraedrawtober #damiraedrawtober23 #damiraetober, or #damiraetober23 🎃 tag @jokodoesstuff 🎃 Make Damirae the main ship 🎃 No tracing or AI 🎃 If I didn’t share your post, please tag or message me 🎃 Have fun!

#damirae #damiraeweek #damiraeedit #damirae4ver #damiraeedits #damiraeforever #damiraeintherebirthtimeline #artchallenge #artchallenge2023 #inktober2023 #drawtoberprompt #inktober23 #inktoberprompts #damianwayne #raven #dccomics #teentitans #titans #dcu #robin #rachelroth #damirae #damianandraven

[arklayraven]

Guess I'm married to him now. pfff *finished playing the game and loved it* 💜💜💜

[temporary-tats]

Hey I'll take you up on that offer of a list of your favourite Bees fics 👀👀👀

Always looking for more. I feel like I've barely scratched the surface though. And if they're half as good as the Midnight Bees fic then yes please!

Oh Anon do I have a list for you.

A Note Before We Begin: Most of these Bumbleby fics are lengthy, multi-chapter pieces, often coming in at 70k+ words. The majority of these recommendations are not light reads because I am a sucker for emotional journeys full of ups, downs, and angst. If you're looking for more lighthearted recommendations, then I am unfortunately too much of an emotional masochist for you! (But, considering you've come here as a fan of MM, I have a feeling you'll enjoy these)

I'll also be updating this post with new fics occasionally, and to update my Top 5! So if you ever need something new to read, come back and check out this recs list :]

~ 💛💜 Now, let's begin 💜💛 ~

My Top 5 Favorite Bumbleby Fics (as of April 2024)

Paring down this list is Incredibly (TM) difficult, but these are 5 fics that brutally obliterated me, emotionally, physically, spiritually, etc.

when I dream of dying I never feel so loved by lescousinsdangeroux - Mature; 73k Words; Alternate Universe - Edge of Tomorrow/RWBY Fusion (Sci-Fi, Time Loop, Grimm, Semblances); TW: Repeated (Temporary) Major and Minor Character Death and Mild Gore

I Know You by Monochrome_Gray - Mature; 238k Words; Alternate Universe - Witches; Semblances as Magic; Clairvoyance; Poly Raven, Summer, and Taiyang; Slow Burn; TW: Minor Character Death, Depression, and Minor Dysphoria (NB Yang)

hear her in the wind by lescousinsdangeroux - Mature; 109k Words; Alternate Universe - The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/RWBY Fusion (Remnant = Hyrule, Maidens = Champions, Adam = Ganon; Yang = Link and Blake = Zelda; Grimm) TW: PTSD

Gunslinger by pugoata - Mature; 218k Words; Alternate Universe - Western; No Semblances; Sheriff Yang; Politics; TW: Intense Faunus Racism (it's 90% of the plot), Public Execution, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Abuse

you're a mountain, full of glory by lescousinsdangeroux - Explicit; 111k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern/Snowboarder and Skier; No Semblances; No Faunus; Friends with Benefits; Found Family; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse

The Hall of Fame

These are fics that, at one point, touched the Top 5 list. They may have been nudged out by another work, but they're still top tier.

They Can't Steal the Love You're Born to Find by timeespaceandpixiedust - Mature; 101k Words; Alternate Universe - Courtroom, Childhood, College/University; Non-linear Timeline; Adam on Trial; Very Emotional Conversations; Healing; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Brief Depictions of Violence, PTSD, Depression;

Compass by pugoata - Mature; 74k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern, Roadtrip, Soulmates; No Semblances; Hitchhiker Blake; Tense Tai and Yang Relationship; Healing; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse;

Shelter by pugoata - Mature; 73k Words; Alternate Universe - Farm; No Semblances; Runaway Blake; Farmer Yang; GOATS; Healing; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Brief Depictions of Violence, PTSD;

Brighter by y8ay8a - Explicit; 212k Words; Alternate Canon; Events from Volume 2/3 - Beginning of Volume 7; Very Emotional Conversations; Blake and Yang in the Before and Healing Through the After; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Depression, PTSD;

let you see my wilder side (if i can see your bones) by explosivesky - Explicit; 107k Words; Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Rockstar and Movie Star; Actress Yang; Rockstar Blake; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Brief Depictions of Violence;

take it from your grave by explosivesky - Mature; 48k Words; Alternate Universe - Gothic Horror; Monsters; Curses; Forbidden Romance; Forbidden Found Family; TW: Brief Depictions of Violence, Depression, PTSD;

Other Amazing Works

Didn't quite reach the Top 5, but these fics were still phenomenal.

Midnight Menagerie by Kaelidascope - ONGOING; Explicit; Currently 289k Words; Alternate Universe - Future Dystopia, Sex-Industry, Crime Syndicates; No Semblances; No Faunus; Bartender Yang; Dancer Blake; Street Racing; Gritty Fic, but with Lots of Fluff; Slowburn; Gunning For the Top 5 Once Finished;

NOTE: This fic tackles VERY emotionally intense and gritty topics. While done (in my opinion) very masterfully and with great care, please proceed with caution. TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, R@pe/Non-Con, Human Trafficking, Past Abuse/Assault of a Minor, Death, PTSD, Emotional Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts;

Praeludium and Allegro by yangsbandana - Mature; 68k Words; Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Conservatory; Viola/Violin Blake; Cello Yang; Healing; TW: Depictions of Abuse, PTSD;

Best Laid Plans by Sawrin - Teen and Up; 10k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern; Dog POV; Fluffy;

Expecting by Sawrin - General Audiences; 8k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern; Best Laid Plans Part 2; Dog POV; Baby on the Way;

From the Heart by Softlight - Mature; 77k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern, Bakery; No Semblances; Baker Yang; Bookstore Owner Blake; Healing; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Brief Depictions of Violence, Depression, Grief

what if it's all just a black abyss (and lips that kiss you) by lescousinsdangeroux - Teen and Up; 30k Words; Alternate Universe - Star Wars; Force Bond; Found Family; Smuggler and Pilot Yang; Runaway Sith Apprentice Blake; TW: Brief Depictions of Violence;

it's not living (if it's not with you) by explosivesky - Mature; 10k Words; Alternate Universe - Pop Punk/Rock Band; No Semblances; No Faunus; No Angst Just Fluff;

Crash Landing by kienava - Mature; 43k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern, College/University, Text Messages; No Semblances; No Faunus; Crack but with Serious Moments; Slow Burn; TW: Implied/Referenced Drug Use;

roads that lead you home by lescousinsdangeroux - Teen and Up; 15k Words; Alternate Canon/Future RWBY; Weiss POV; Bumbleby Included but Not the Full Focus; Found Family; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse;

you've got me seeing stars by explosivesky - Mature; 25k Words; Alternate Canon; Beacon Never Falls; Happy and In Love Bees; Pining; Partial Sun POV;

shake us together like a snow globe by explosivesky - Mature; 34k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern, College/University, Fake Dating; No Semblances; Home for the Holidays; Mutual Pining; More Emotional than Angsty; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse;

Mixed Melodies by EmpressOfEdge - Mature; 25k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern, Rock Band; No Semblances; Drummer Yang; Bassist Blake;

Waiting (on You) by Mikotyzini - Teen and Up; 133k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern; No Semblances; No Faunus; Ultimate Slow Burn; Yang is Oblivious;

You and Me, and One Hot Summer by EmpressOfEdge - Mature; 98k Words; Alternate Universe - Modern; No Semblances; Summer Romance; Ultimate Wingman Sun; TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse;

[mikasrave]

Kori Anders

i never posted my finished Kori design so here’s that! more to come soon!! probably gonna post raven & damian together next 💜💚

her dress was inspired by the dress she wore in the Teen Titans 2003 series episode “Date with Destiny” that was one of my favorites as a kid 😂

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #4 | 07.31.23

Ahá! What is this?! Ravenstar Games' fourth devlog?! More likely than you think!

Before we start, we want to apologize once again for the inactivity and thank you for your patience. Our master degree has ended as of today, but September 15th is the day on which we must hand in everything we have done during the year. That means that technically, we still have to work until then—BUT we are back on track with Lost in Limbo and our plans for the game, and we are beyond excited!

Without further ado, let's jump right into it! 💜

So of course our most important milestone has been finishing our first key art! Yaaay! 🎉

We'll use this piece as a header for our socials, as well as an overall banner for steam, itch.io, etc. Raquel did an amazing job as always with this piece, and I had the pleasure to assist her with a few details and post-editing! We are so so happy to finally have this in our hands, it has made us feel like FINALLY we can work on our game again! :')

There's also of course the Barbie artwork, which was in the making for a long, long time. It was a silly little thing we wanted to do since Barbie was announced, and Kayden worked super hard to finish it right on time!

<<The Midnight Tower. It was there before our kind took its first breath, and it will be there after the last one is long gone.>>

Not really a background, but not a CG either—let's say this is a small sneak-peak of the demo! This is one of the first things you'll see while playing, and a core part of LiL's adventure; the Midnight Tower, a mysterious entity that seems to be somehow connected to you.

I'm already working on animating this piece; the inky fragments will float around, the fog will move, and you'll be able to join this little raven on his journey to the top! Special thanks to Kayden who was in charge of this one!

You can also see the tower in our key art, if you haven't noticed. It's great to see how LiL's lore and story is evolving and seeing the light slowly but surely! 💜

This month we are happy to show you the provisional main title screen for Lost in Limbo!! 💜 As per usual, I will animate the stained glass wheel to make it spin (like the logo in our webpage, hehe), and the fog will dance around with some nice particles!

All the screens for the game are done and we are waiting for our UI artist to send the files over so we can start programming and do some screenshots. We would have liked to do this during May, June and July (the months we knew would be packed with school work) but this has not been possible as the files have not been sent over to us yet. We hope we can get them soon enough!

These past months have been a rollercoaster thanks to our master degree, but we can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Things have been mentally draining for us all because we wanted to work on our game, and there was always the fear of people "forgetting" about our project, (or worse, thinking we had suddenly vanished to never come back), but we had to focus on our grades.

When we started two years ago, we knew this would be difficult, but I think none of us expected the hardships to be this way. To avoid writing a wall of text, let's just say that when you create something, you want to protect it; you want people to see it bathed in the sunlight you see it under, and the fear of it being disappointing or not enough is something that has hit us hard recently because of our inability to work on it. BUT THAT'S OVER!

To end this on a happy note, we have to give our endless thanks not only to you all, for still being here ready to welcome us back, but specially to @crescencestudio (and I, Seyl, am incredibly grateful to them) for being one of our biggest supports during the past few months! We have been struggling besties and talking to them has been one of the few things keeping us sane. SO THANK YOU!!! 💜

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP snippet special re: 'holy shit those clips from The Uninvited'

So my writing progress has been a mess all over the place lately / this month, but a ton of y'all were actually so sweet to tag me this past week either for WIP Last Line or WIP Wednesday. Thank you @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @idolatrybarbie @magpiepills @qveerthe0ry @frenchiereading @jeewrites @mysterious-moonstruck-musings! 💜 I wasn't quite sure what to post... but then that video of The Uninvited dropped today:

Yknow, Lucien kissing his ex against the wall like that (click to watch if you haven't seen it yet!) . Specifically, the way he bends down a little to kiss her and then straightens up against her body. And everybody is all (rightfully) 'shit, look it's Lucien x reader' but literally all I can think of...

... is the scene at the end of Nothing That I Didn't Know - Part I, where Frankie pushes Santi against the wall in the restroom as they're making out and groping (earlier Santi had him pressed against the wall in the hallway):

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So....

...rather than do a WIP last line, I thought I'd throw in this bit from NTIDK Part 2, from reader's POV when she gets into the restroom where the guys have each other all worked (after Santi had told her to come find them), with Frankie still having Santiago pressed against the wall. Hope y'all will enjoy 😈 I appreciate y'all hanging in with how incredibly long it's taking me to finish part 2 but I promise it'll be worth it in the end! (this is still unedited + unbeta-ed)

Nothing That I Didn't Know - Part II (snippet) Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x reader You slip into the restroom as you close the door right away, your eyes immediately on the guys. Frankie has his back turned to you now, apparently unaware of you having slipped in here with them. Meanwhile, Santiago is pressed back against the wall by him, head tipped back and breathing heavily, Frankie’s mouth against his throat. You can’t see what Frankie’s hands are doing, but there is no doubt in your mind that they are occupied somewhere on Santi’s body that currently is out of view for you. For a moment you find yourself mesmerized as you watch Pope cradle the back of Frankie’s head with his hand, deft fingers combing through the messy brown curls. It’s striking how they look wrapped up into each other, and some small part of you worries that maybe you shouldn’t be here. Maybe you should give them the privacy to finally do what they’ve obviously been wanting to do for over a decade and a half - no matter that the mere sight of them together already had you feeling incredibly flustered. When you flick the door lock to ‘occupied’, you see Frankie flinch for a moment, seemingly only now aware that someone else is in the restroom. In sharp contrast, Santi is all easy languid moves without any concern. He tilts his head to the side - looking at you over Frankie’s shoulder, a smile breaking through as he holds your glance with heavy lidded eyes.  “Hey, hermosa.” His voice is deliciously hoarse, lips swollen and slick from eager kisses, and you notice the words immediately easing Frankie’s tension. He straightens up as he removes his mouth from Santi’s throat, about to turn to you - but the motion earns him a growl from Pope, who shakes his head adamantly, fingers now tightening in Frankie’s hair. “Fuck, don’t stop”, Santi croaks as he gives a short, hard tug at the brown locks, which earns him something between a laugh and a low whimper by Frankie.  “Don’t you dare, pendejo.” Santi gives another tug and this time Frankie’s head tips back slightly, a quiet moan escaping from his lips. For a moment it seems like he wants to mouth back, but when Santi pulls even more at the curls, the words seem to die in Frankie’s throat, fading into a hiss as he just leans back into the touch. The lust in Santi’s eyes turns into something ravenous, his eyes now almost glassy as he takes in the sight of Frankie, then leans in, his tongue marking a glistening slick track up Frankie’s throat.  You’re so mesmerized watching it that you almost miss the gesture Pope makes at you. His hand, for just a moment letting go of Frankie’s hair, beckoning you to come close and get involved.

I think everybody has already been tagged for the WIPs this week, so I'm just gonna tag a bunch of y'all who I know are/may be interested in the NTIDK snippet (and who I haven't tagged above yet): @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @morallyinept @rhoorl @linzels-blog @heareball @5oh5 @nerdieforpedro @alltheglitterandtheroar @qveerthe0ry @lotusbxtch @writefightandflightclub @ghostofaboy @immarocketman @prolix-yuy @survivingandenduring @pimosworld @ohforficsake @theywhowriteandknowthings @wardenparker @senorabond @little-sister-reblogs @astroboots @bonezone44 @onevolon @virtie333 @melodygatesauthor @marisferasiop

ALSO.

Related to that snippet, click to see a mini spoiler re: Lucien/the movie that actually made me squeal in excitement:

(hidden under the cut)

(don't read further if you don't wanna know anything about the movie yet!)

FUCK YES

TODAY IS A WIN FOR US QUEERS 🙌 Bi!Lucien was not on my 2024 bingo card but I'm thrilled about this!

Throwing in that Sundance bi lighting picture just because <3