#trouble inherited

[lazylittledragon]

she's a terror. obviously

[franzsiska]

i like to think that telemachus inherited none of his father's smooth-talking wit and none of his mother's intelligence. instead what he inherited from penelope is her kind heart and gentle demeanour and what he got from odysseus was orange cat brand of stupid, resulting in telemachus being this boyfailure ball of anxiety with a heart of gold and braincells that are only intelligent in the direst of situations

[thexgrayxlady]

Thorn: I would follow him to hell and back, but I wish he would stop going there.

[umunschaas]

Just throwing a question in here since I know there are people here who read the Werecat AU; Anything (scenes, conversation topics, characters interacting etc.) you'd like to read? Or read more of?

I've got a few ideas but they are vague for now. Open for suggestions! (But no guarantees of course ... and yes I'll be working on a new chapter for side by side soon).

[veilbornmoon]

𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𓆩 𓆪 an independent & highly selective portrayal of the original character 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 — an assassin raised in legacy, killing with the grace of a spring breeze and the silence of the moon. Her name is whispered like a forgotten prayer: beautiful, terrible, and inevitable.

Born in Busan to a South Korean father and an American mother — both assassins trained in rival guilds — Chunhee Selene was the child who should not have been born. Instead, she became the perfect hybrid. Her father, once known as the “River Fang,” trained her in precision and bladework, while her mother, a psychological operations specialist turned hitwoman for the U.S. government, taught her the art of disappearing — into systems, into masks, into silence. Chunhee never had a real childhood. She memorized poisons instead of poems, and practiced kill-forms before she could spell her name. But in her journals, written in a delicate mix of Hangul and cursive English, there are flowers pressed between pages and haikus about rain. She is lethal, but she is not heartless. At 22, she faked her own death in a staged betrayal to leave the family business — only to become a ghost killer operating across borders, taking contracts that serve justice rather than coin.

𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖞 𝖎𝖓 𓆩 𓆪 : blades kissed by moonlight ∘ mercy mistaken for weakness ∘ ghosts that bleed quiet ∘ daughters shaped by duty, not love ∘ red ribbons tied to broken things ∘ silence sharper than any scream.

crafted for fakevz but not bound to it. single muse, multiverse friendly. minors do not interact. writes in english and german. for more info and rules click on my carrd. muse controlled by sunny, she/her, 30+ (CET) ©

[murtagh-thorn]

Murtagh: *pokes head in sideways through Eragon’s study door* so, um… don’t get too mad…

Eragon: what happened?

Y/N: *slowly pokes their head in sideways beneath Murtagh’s head* 👀

Eragon: oh no…

[plumbewb]

ｅｘｐｌｏｒｅｒ - ｍｔ. ｋｏｍｏｒｅｂｉ ｓｉｇｈｔｓｅｅｒ

eat food at the fesitval of light, snow or youth

take a selfie with the mt. komorebi mascot ☆

collect a simmi by popping open a simmi capsule ☆

swim for 1 hour in wakaba’s river

[philtstone]

so heres what i need the psych crew to do.

they eventually make psych 4. im not picky about when, so long as they give shawn and jules their baby (not strictly necessary from an objective standpoint but critical to this bit). THEN. an unspecified number of years into the future, psych 5 is announced. it will be streaming exclusively on walrus (all the sitcoms are now owned by walrus). fans wait with bated breath for the films release. the day has finally come. it’s out. you the average viewer presses play. fifteen minutes into the movie it suddenly dawns on you. its plot is almost to a T a perfect rip off of disneys “the incredibles”. except they’ve altered just enough key details throughout that they can claim parody and thus get away with perfectly to a T ripping off the plot of disneys “the incredibles”. no one comments on this in cast interviews. press is entirely dedicated to dodging the issue but in so obvious and hamfisted a way that it can surely -- surely! -- be nothing but an extended bit. declan rand is the syndrome analogue. and right at the end of the movie there is a cameo from samuel l jackson

[everythingloveandanimated]

Something I realized about Murtagh, a factor of why he got into fights in or behind a bar, is because he’s flaunting his coin!!!

Dude! I expected you to be smarter about this!

Yes, you need information, and gold payments (Fulsome Feast in Ceunon), and offering to pay for a bar-wide round (Gil’ead) is a good way to get to people talking. However, it’s signifies how much coin you have in your purse and makes you a target of possible attempted murder and robbery! You know this! You grew up among the young couriers in a capital city! You. Know. This!

Lack of a decent information network as an excuse, only works for so long.

(Also, it is not good to distress your dragon! He gets worried about you and he will break a town for you.)

[thexgrayxlady]

WIP Whenever

Thorn stretched out on the sun-warmed mountain side. It had been a peaceful, lovely fall day. So far, he’d gone flying, hunted a large stag, and requisitioned some paints to start a new mural on one of the lower floors of the academy. His beloved, wonderful, far too clever and stubborn human had caused no problems, on purpose or otherwise.

He spread his wings to better catch the early afternoon sun and lifted his head to feel the gentle breeze on his scales. It carried with it the smell of turning leaves and bread baking in the academy kitchen. Perhaps later he would go for a swim in the deep lake to the north and in the evening, he and Murtagh could read together or continue their chess match from the night before.

A wave of righteous anger crashed over the dragon and so he had time to make peace with whatever chaos followed long before he saw his precious menace to society, polite or otherwise, storm up the path with a shovel slung over his shoulder and his dictionary in hand.

The dictionary never meant anything good.

Perhaps his day had been too peaceful and quiet.

“Do I even want to know?” It was probably the elves. Very quickly upon arriving at the academy, Thorn decided that he did not care for the way they spoke to humans. And if he simply didn’t care for the way he spoke to other humans, the way they spoke to and about Murtagh left him reconsidering his promise not to eat sentient beings.     

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Stabilize, pt. 1 (Multi-part story, extended war timeline)

PART 1 (you are here) // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4

(A/N: Heads up. We've got some Gil'ead content mixed in with lots of blood an' stuff. Durza being himself. The usual, really. Except if you don't like broken bones {specifically those of the chest varity} or mentions of what's pretty much extra extreme flail chest {only funky moves for a little bit thankfully}, then this isn't the story for you. Next chapters are Eragon's and other POVs of the event since Arya is not exactly comprehending things going on.)

Summary: What should have just been an outreach mission to help heal and treat citizens of a recently captured city goes wrong. Arya finds herself tossed into her own mind with little to no control over anything around her, watching confused and in pain as the world whips by. Outside her body, Eragon, Saphira, Glen, Blödhgarm and the other spellcaster guards work franticly to stabilize her, uniting as a family Eragon and Saphira had not quite realized had formed around them.

~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: STABILIZE, PT. 1: BACK AND FORTH

Dim light assaulted her eyes as Arya blinked them open. She took a deep breath, tensed in preparation of cracked bones and torn muscles protesting…but nothing came. A few twinges of nearly healed wounds at her back, red scars pulling at…skin. She had skin on her back again.

‘Just get up. Think later, get up now.’

Arya grit her teeth and, a phantom of soreness remaining, gingerly pushed up from the ground. It felt…odd. To not taste blood upon waking. Why didn’t she? 

The answer fluttered into her mind like an afterthought, all her faculties focused on drawing her legs under her body and starting the cautious rise to standing. ‘Healed. Why am I healed?’

And then something slammed into her, and a hand slid around her neck

The world spun and shifted and it felt as if someone had grabbed her by the back of her shirt and yanked her to the side. As if she was being thrown through open air over the Crags, breath ripped from her lungs and

“–on’t move, don’t move. Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Blurry shapes. Nothing hurt. Besides her head, really. A headache more powerful than the worst thunderstorm she had ever encountered bashed and exploded behind her eyes every time she struggled to move them. 

An odd brush of feather light pressure at her forehead. Trailing down, smoothing those wild fringes back. A familiar voice, calm, just the hint of a distressed warble at the very end of each garbled word. 

Couldn’t move. Even though they said not to. Tried to speak but lips barely parted and something warm rushed out of her mouth. Slid, cooling rapidly, from the corners of her lips to the edge of her jaw and tickling her ears before settling along the back of her neck. 

More shushes. More pronounced warbling. More gentle stroking of her hair. 

Other…hands? Maybe. Pressing on her chest, at her sides. Something felt off, a tug and a vibration felt inside her body. Muttered words, soft. What should have been an alarming sudden flare of energy, magic being worked, and the tugging eased significantly.

The world suddenly darkened as the figure above lowered their face to hers, pressed shaking lips to her forehead. 

“I’m s–––. I love you.” She felt her eyes rolling back, back to

He slammed her back against the cell wall, one clawed hand around her throat. Smiling a smile that would have been perfectly at home in one of the human fairytales, wolfish and sneering and just begging to be wiped off his bone-white face. 

If it was a fight he wanted, she would give it. He had healed her, and she would not let the opportunity slide. Get up. Cause trouble. Any way she could. 

He caught her right hook as she swung for his exposed armpit, pinned the offending wrist to the cold stone. The amused laughter died in his throat when her left, two knuckles raised, impacted squarely in his solar plexus, air whooshing from his lungs. He would have doubled over had she any more strength, but as it was her blows were still pitifully weak for people of their calibre.

He released her right wrist and slammed his palm down behind the knee that shot up to take him between the legs. Bone snapped, he snarled loud as her freed hand tangled in his hair and yanked as her head went back with a silent cry, a ragged growl all that escaped her.

Cold fingers finally clamped down at her throat. Success! 

‘Take me seriously you flaming headed fuckwad! I’ll dig your rotted heart out with the next spoon I s–’

Another wave of nauseating movement. 

Someone was screaming. It couldn’t be her, she still…still couldn’t move. But someone was moving her, she could feel pressure at the bent crooks of her knees and roughness at her cheek and something supporting her upper back. 

She felt…oddly weightless. It almost felt good. 

A cacophonous clatter, the unmistakable sound of ceramic shattering. “–here–. Down, gent–, gently.” Lowered, tipping back, world spinning. Eyes wandering, trying to take in something, anything. 

What was happening? Why couldn’t she move….

Eragon. Oh shit, Eragon! And Saphira, they

They were in danger. 

Screamed at her muscles to move but nothing worked. 

And just like that the surge of fear, the surge of energy to do something, it vanished. Everything was floating again. Everything was

Sparks flickered in her eyes. Arya came back to herself as her body dropped to the ground where he had thrown her into the opposite wall. 

She couldn’t tell if she should be amused or just a little bit frightened by the clump of bloodied hair in her reflexively clenched fist. She bared her teeth and chose the former. ‘Trouble caused.’

Durza seized her collar and yanked her body to the center of the tiny cell. Sat on her snapped femur, eyes blazing as she yowled in pain at bone grinding against bone, instinctively tensed muscles trying to rip the breakpoints past each other with each contraction. 

‘Least his bony ass is keeping them aligah fuck.’ Honestly. Arya was starting to wonder if she was simply delirious all the time now as the man-shaped monster settled his hand around her throat again. ‘I think he has a thing for that.’ 

Ah yes. Very delirious. Everything shouldn’t be so funny right now. She really would have laughed if she could get any air in. A Shade. With a thing for choking! Well, maybe it wasn’t so unusual, Shades were bloodthirsty and manic at the best of times, genocidal and mad with devastating power at the worst. 

Morbid curiosity drifted through her mind. ‘What makes him different? He’s got some self control…’  Things were getting hazy again. Durza had well and fully settled now, sitting on her legs, hunched over her like some rabid dog. Stars burst in her fading vision when he lifted his grip slightly, let her gasp in and out for a handful of seconds. 

“I want you to remember this one, little elf.” His smile was back, a new darkness to it. “I had…a spark of inspiration after I left you last.” 

One of his cold hands slipped under the prison tunic, gliding over the bruises left as he grasped her side and squeezed. Slid up to her ribs, grinning like an excited child as he felt the muscles shift and undulate under his touch. Her skin was blazing, an obvious fever having taken hold. No matter. It should not interfere with his plan. 

Arya frowned, teeth snapping. ‘Knock it off, I’m not for that.’ Her chest rumbled, the deep connections to the dragon pact awakening again. ‘Hands…to yourself.’ 

And he still smiled. Stroked the spaces between her ribs with the utmost care. 

“It would be…dangerous. To attempt something so extreme in your previous state, as lovely as it was.” He mused. “Extreme, and yet…remarkably simple.” That altogether far too toothsome grin stretched further. “I’m sure you’ll agree. Shall we begin?”

She spat at him. Struggled to sit up against his weight and the forces he applied. 

Durza clicked his tongue. “Shh, shh, shh. Now, now, little elf. So impatient.” 

His hand slipped from her ribs. A cold chuckle filled her ears as he pressed his palm between her breasts, flat to her sternum. “Don’t look so disgusted, little elf. I am not here for that.”

‘Wonderful, then wha–’ He was muttering the Ancient Language. When he finished, she didn’t feel anything different, but the words floated in her mind until she latched on to their meaning. ‘Wards? Why ward–’

He released her throat. Pressed his now free hand beside her head, leaned over her. Watching her face with a glint of utter anticipation in his maroon eyes. If she wasn’t busy sucking in air and trying not to squirm away from him as his other hand slipped down to wrap around her side, clinging to the curvature of her ribs as if he could lift and hold her like the spine of some old tome, she would spit at him again. 

She really, really wanted him to stop making his stupid smile even bigger. It had to be some hallucination, no one could smile that fucking b–

Durza tightened his grip around her ribs. Lowered his face till the tip of his nose brushed hers.

And whispered, “Jierda.”

“–lease what––r y–– did, –– interfe––. Now! Quick–”

A harsh growl of frustration, cracked with a contained sob and an apology and something clicked inside her mind or her brain or whatever and

The world exploded. The rabble of voices shot spikes into her ears as she instinctively tried to arch her back, tried to get away from the source of the pain. And there was so, so much pain. Hadn’t felt this in so long, really felt it, not just in her mind, it was here and now and everywhere and nothing was spared. 

There was so much yelling and hands were pressing her down as she thrashed and tried to just get. Away. A ragged voice above her was screaming in anger, that was probably it, anger, before another set of hands gripped onto her shoulders and what had to be forearms clamped her head and neck in place. 

Warmth bubbled up from her throat instead of the scream she wanted. Choked on it. Something jammed into her mouth, a muttered spell, and the…stars, was that blood? That had to be blood, she could taste it–

The Ancient Language was flowing off someone’s tongue so rapidly it all blurred together. 

The pain stopped. 

Cold. 

She was so cold. 

Blood was still being pumped from her mouth, she could feel it at the back of her throat, endless. She still couldn’t…couldn’t breathe. 

“––orry, I– so sor––.” The hand from before slid over her forehead, shaking. “Slyth–”

No, wait, no she knew the feeling from before. Her chest, her ribs, everything was sha

A thud of overpressure. That’s what it felt like. For just a split second, time the width of a fragile hair, a pulse of overpressure rushed her chest and felt as though her lungs and heart were squeezed as it passed. 

And in its wake her ribcage, each and every piece of it, shattered. 

Arya went blind. There was only white. A keening whine in her ears. A weight settled on her chest as all her muscles seized and spasmed as just…

Pain. 

For a moment, that was all that existed in the world. For eternity. It was all she had. 

And the pain remained as her eyes cleared, wide, wide eyes, staring up into his as she could feel just barely through it all the chill touch of his fingers stroking her face, mapping the agony of her expression. 

“There there, little elf.” He cooed, wandering over the slope of her cheek, her lips parted in a silent scream that wouldn’t come, the bridge of her nose, the hollows beneath her eyes. “There, now. It’s not over yet.” 

His own face held fascination, eyes hooded, tip of his tongue tracing his thin lips as he watched the explosions behind the green fire, the confusion, the beautiful pain. All for him. 

Durza settled back on her legs, tucked his heels tight to her knees to further jostle the lump of her broken femur. The fresh shock among the waves of agony snapped her up, back struggling to arch more than a scant handsbreadth off the floor.

A pitiful wail, strangled and disbelieving, trickled from the elf’s throat. Oh, she had never made that sound for him before. So confused, so afraid, so much delectable pain and misery. 

The soft thud of her settling back to the concrete ground rolled her eyes into her head. Her throat spasmed, blocked her airway out of shear pain. And he couldn’t have that. Not yet. 

So he seized the wild hair at her forehead and pulled her head down, tucked her chin and hissed a word to wake her. 

His growl was fire in his veins. “Breathe, little elf. Breathe, and see what is left of your pitiful body now.” 

And Arya…Arya tried. She was so dizzy now, the blanket heavy on her mind, on her broken body, and she tried to wheeze in a single breath.

Her chest rippled as she watched. Rippled. Like ice-splintered water. Her ribs sagged–

And then the pain of the barest attempt hit and everything

Black. Something over her eyes. It was damp, too, and smelled like…like sharp herbs, all pungent and smoky. 

So cold. Shivering in fits and bursts. 

It didn’t hurt as much as before. Something…dulling. Unlike the first absence of pain, it wasn't complete but was...soothing. And there was…was someone hovering over her head, something brushing her face. 

Tried to speak again. A dusty, barely there croak that died before all of it could escape. 

Light, flaring and painful against her still-closed lids. 

Stormy curls. Brow pinched in concern. “–on’t mo–. St– –ill.” Small hands cupping her face, the frown forcibly easing. “Good w––k. Er–gon a– Saphi– –– safe.”

Eragon. And Saphira. 

Had to help, had to get up, go–

“No! No, no y– mal––na–!”

Locked in place. Her chest wasn’t…wasn't moving when she tried to breathe but…still could feel air coming in. How…

The world fumbled into focus. For just a handful of seconds, she found herself staring up. Staring up at…

‘Angela?’

She could hear others in the room. Murmurings of the Grey Folks’ tongue, a massive pool of energy swirling and surging and sinking and dissipating in pushes and pulls. All…all gathered over her body.

Her shattered body. 

Stars above. 

What…what happened?

The herbalist flickered a new light over her eyes. She couldn’t flinch away. The small woman seemed put more at ease by whatever she found, and Arya could feel her nails gently scratching her scalp through…blood. Dried blood. As she combed her hair back from her face. Like her mother had…so long ago…or not so long? 

It felt nice. Angela wiped the pungent rag across her forehead, murmuring something that she couldn’t quite hear. Someone was sleeping. More than one. Back soon.

That…that was good. Maybe she could 

Something on– in – her chest tugged. Slowed. Warmth surging, spilling over her hip, down her side. A different type of heat replaced it, glowing in her stomach, warming her insides. Another tug. Serrated. 

If she could have cried out, she would have. Not that it…it hurt, not quite as much but the feeling of it–

“Shh, shh, elfl–ng. We ha– y–. Sleep.” Angela’s fingers softly swirled at her temples, skin damp from the blood wiped away. Arya couldn’t help but see the worry still embedded in the witch’s eternal eyes. “Slytha.”

He left her on the floor. 

Sat on the cot and watched her. 

Watched her struggle. 

Sometimes, when it all was too much, when her lips had to be dusky and she couldn’t…couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel anymore because there was…there was so little air…he would lift a hand in a most permissive gesture, and her chest would rise without her command. Crisp, fresh oxygen would flood her body and mind and lungs and she would scream it out in an instant because…because she could feel all of it moving. Shifting. 

But…

She couldn’t move her eyes. Dropping her gaze…it moved her body just slightly. Just enough to ripple her shattered bones and oh it was…it was too much. 

But he hadn’t won. 

Because she could still feel it. Clamped in her sweaty hand, sticking to her clammy skin. 

A clump of blood red hair. 

A small…small victory. 

A small vict

Or

Y

A deep breath. Twinges of settling across her chest. Cartilage tweaking and popping as it finally, finally took proper shape with a nice, big inhale. 

And out.

“...Oww….”

It was barely a wheeze, but at the pathetic sound slipping from her lips a chorus of chairs ripped back and clattered to some poor, abused floor. Arya winced at the rush of footsteps, still blinking and trying to clear her eyes as halos of light splashed across her vision. 

“Don’t! Don’t move, don’t move.” Glen already had a hand on her shoulder, damn near skidding his legs out from under him as he pivoted into her line of sight. What the hell was wrong with his voice? Low, concerned, urgent. Shit, he only used that voice when someone was really in a bad way. “Just stay down.” 

Arya worked her mouth. Her tongue was dry and sticky. She could taste iron. A lot of it. “Gllnn?” Little more than a croak, but it was something. “Wha…wha’appn.” She swallowed hard. It didn’t help. “Er…an’ ‘Afira?”

A curly mess of dark brown and honey. Something, a…window maybe? Clattered and crashed and a great whumph of air, snuffling and sniffing, filled the room. And it was a room. Arya could see crossbeams above, could hear a small fire crackling somewhere. The sounds of others sleeping. Hushed whispers in another portion of the house. 

 “We’re here! We’re here.” Oh, that silly Rider. Eragon leaned in and, pushing Glen’s warning hand aside, touched his forehead to Arya’s from where he stood behind her. “Saphira and I are fine. You…you took the hit. You saved us.” 

Arya blinked. 

And in a rush, the…day? Week? How long…

It all came back.

They were all in the city. Going through the streets at Eragon’s insistence, helping to heal and tend to the fallen friends and foes and civilians alike. Knocking on doors, offering aid. 

She had been out front, ahead of the others. Glenwing had been held up at the last house, showered with gratitude for healing the eye of a poor girl who had been caught in the crossfire. 

If he had been there it would have ended badly. In some way, it did, but in her eyes…in her eyes it was a small victory. 

Because she felt the surge, heard words flying from spittle flecked lips, wild eyes and robes swirling as the half mad mage had darted from his hiding spot between hovels. Arms outstretched towards the Dragon and Rider over her shoulder, the last syllables so very close to leaving his lips.

Wyrda had sprouted from his chest as she barreled into him, both of their bodies slammed to the ground and skidding in the bloodsoaked dust on the road. 

Then a snap like static turned to lightning, a wave of overpressure. The energy had nowhere to go but outward, the guidance of the spell lost, a sphere of pure force rippling and radiating and

Wyrda’s hilt ripped from her hand. A childlike rush of panic at losing the sword before a half realization of just what was happening, was going to happen, touched her thoughts. 

Weightless. Wind ripping, clawing past her head.

Emergency wards flared. Protected her neck, her spine, skull, heart, liver, most arteries, her brain. Drew power from the diamond sewn into the hem of her combat jacket at a prodigious rate.

That was fine. It would hold, could hold against damn near anything but now she had to worry about

Dust exploded outward.

Primaries flared BRIGHT as the energy allocated to protect the rest of her bones was instantly sapped away from her body’s reserves. Failed. 

Bits of…cinderblock? Brick? She must have already been through the wall by the time the primary wards winked out. The stone raked across her face, scratching. Rough. A scream from some poor, poor woman simply minding her own business in her own house. 

It felt like she went quite nearly through the other wall. There was something between that one and the first, some flimsy, wooden thing that burst into pieces. A dull hope that none of them hit the woman who now had a person sized hole in her front room. 

Secondary wards around the other organs ripped off like so much tissue paper. When…. Not important.

She felt her back strike another plastered wall. Solid. At least it…stopped her. Hard. Sudden. 

There was a lot of crackling and crunching. When she tried to breathe. Slumped to the ground as friction lost to gravity.

Her neck wasn’t broken. Her heart…it was definitely…beating. She could…kind of see…things.

Her chest…and her stomach…felt…warm.

Could still feel…fingers. Toes…. Wiggled for good measure.

Her vision winked out for a…was it just a few seconds? It had to be, because the woman was still screaming. 

Damn. What a set of lungs.

Arya slowly lowered her gaze. Dropped her chin to her chest. Visual check for damage.

Legs splayed out in front. Armor, marching bare bones kind, guard duty kind. Stops over-flex kind. Feet pointing. Right ways. Not broken. Then. 

Her hand bumped against something as she tried to pull her arms in.  Everything was…spinning. 

She leaned over the chunk of…wall? She was draped over on her right. Vomited. 

Vomited red. 

Arya looked up and mumbled an apology to the shrieking resident. Looked down again.

Hm. Possible…abdominal…injury.

Wood. A piece of wood, twisted up with some…metal? A…‘stud plate,’ she remembered Simon, all those years ago, calling it while they helped…to rebuild that little town…in Surda….

Against…regulations. For it to be stuck…in her chest…like that. Big…fine. For sure. Other little… bits…sticking out. 

Shouldn't…shouldn’t it hurt?

She blinked. Something changed.

Eragon was clasping her face in his hands, a wild, horrified look to his dark eyes. Blue, big, Saphira through the hole behind him.

“Don’t move! Don’t move.” He was already chanting words. Stabilize? No, no. She was…she was fine. It didn’t hurt. No hurt, no…problem.

She smiled at him. Big, broad smile. “Are you…two…okay?” 

Huh. Speaking was…why was it hard?

He finished the spell. The feeling of warmth spreading across her chest slowed. She almost missed it. Crackles almost stopped.

“Shh, I’m fine, Saphira’s fine.” Eragon snapped his head around, his voice a screech. “BLÖDHGARM! GLEN!” He turned back, wiped something off her face with his thumb. “You did so good, Arya. You…you kept us safe. Good…good job.” More words tumbled from his lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay, you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

She wanted to laugh and tell him, ‘of course it is! You two are safe!’ but she…she couldn’t get the air to say them. 

Maybe if she just…closed her eyes for a second. 

“Arya, no, no, please, no.” Eragon grabbed at her face, pushed wild hair from her eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead as if trying to breathe into her skull. 

Hm. Hopefully there wasn’t any wood there. And that wasn’t how he was supposed to do CPR at all. They had taught him better than that, and she…she didn’t need it, her heart…was still warded….

“GLEN! BLÖDHGARM! I NEED HELP HERE! THERE'S TOO MUCH BLEEDING!” 

Bleeding?

Glen’s face was white when he saw her. 

Blödhgarm…he hissed. Like housecat. As he ran over.

Their hands were covered in blood when she saw them move them away from her chest. 

…Oh. She must have…gotten cut by the wall.  

Well…if it was bad….

Maybe whatever they saw would…would heal faster…if she just…took a nap.

[no1bookgirl]

y’all, why is my tumblr acting up? on my other blog it keeps changing my pfp and banner to some default thing and i’m getting really annoyed 😒…like, i made it all custom and now it won’t stay?? and i searched it up and found a reddit post that’s just saying to try a few times and i’ve probably tried over 10 times and it still won’t work. It isn’t changing for this blog, only the other one and i don’t have a computer to change it on! help!!!

[deiiamorte]

Can't stop thinking about Rookanis + Bellara's friendship, like, Bellara found a ride or die little brother in Mirghilanan; an assassin who will happily stab people for free for her.

However by doing this, she unwittingly also got a second scary brother-in-law in the shape of the First Talon Lucanis.

[veunho]

Playing Elnea kingdom as if Knights and Scholars are sort of like nobility, and trying to figure out arranged marriages between them (and also my character) on first gen to get the best talent odds on future generations is a NIGHTMARE

[opera-ghost]

erik to andre and firmin after carlotta leaves and the opera company is in shambles:

[allyriadayne]

i understand aegon and viserys's existence is a threat to jace just based on the fact they're legitimitet and he isn't but i find all the discourse around the fandom about there inevitably being a succession war/crisis between them a bit silly since we know aegon and viserys weren't interested in being king. aegon was famously a very reluctant king only getting the throne as a child because there was literally nobody else and viserys was perfectly content rulling as hand without the title. i'm just not getting usurper vibes from them either in a scenario where jace succeeds rhaenyra after a peaceful reign or in a jace survives the dance scenario. the next generation after them however is a different disscusion.

i agree with you. it doesn't seen likely aegon and viserys would raise banners to usurp jace, esp in an scenario where they are the only surviving sons of rhaenyra after the dance. if anything it'll make them closer. i also think jace seeing all the threats to his crown would do something to curtail the influence his brothers might have in court, he can trust /them/ but not greedy advisors whispering in their ears. it's honestly a tricky situation where there is no winner because he either forces his brothers into celibate orders or insults them by marrying them into very minor houses without much power. and /those/ children will be assimilated into the main line asap.

and the next generation....assuming viserys marries larra and has aegon/naerys/aemon. tricky! esp if you consider the theory 4egon poisoned viserys and that the rogares might want more control and influence in court.