* AMONGST THE DUNES &&. STARS

update ! it’s currently the month of ramadan which means i’ll typically be around after sunset ( i’m currently in egypt ! ) &&. available only then, typically ! i’ll be back in the states this week, however, so there’ll be low activity even until then ! on a side note, i started reading the grisha trilogy and boy, am i in LOVE.

BOLD what applies to your muse. ITALICIZE what they like / what they would like

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake-up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colors.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and ac units. a phone call to mom / dad.laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys.noise canceling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. the clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favorite pet’s fur / feather. wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against the skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

SMELL. morning glories and honeysuckles. freshly cut grass. hot chocolate in the middle of winter. nail polish. acetone. hospital rooms. smoke. hair spray. your favorite shampoo / conditioner. the scent of home. perfume. cologne. mint. something burning. wet “dogs”. copper. metal. unemptied ashtrays. something familiar yet different.

          𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐌.     Living  or  not,     he  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  it.     Valg.     Even  if  it  was  a  lingering  shadow,     there  was  a  piece  of  them  lurking  within  himself.     He  can  no  longer  fight  off  the  flashes  of  the  day  the  glass  castle  shattered.     Chaol  is  forced  to  relive  seeing  his  friends  faces  on  the  posts  he  walked  past,     knowing  the  torture  they’d  had  to  endure  before  they  were  brought  to  their  deaths.     His  stomach  churns  and  even  the  calming  oils  and  the  relaxing  movements  of  her  hands  can’t  draw  him  out.     He  remembers  the  pain,     the  sound  of  his  scream  and  how  when  he  came  to   —   he’d  believed  he  had  died.     He  should  have  died.

          He  forces  himself  back,     slamming  the  door  shut  as  her  words  settle  into  his  thoughts.     Brown  hues  shift  in  her  direction,     silently  weighing  his  options  before  he  decides  which  path  to  take.     ❛   I  can’t.   ❜     The  words  are  a  breathy  whisper  as  he  looks  away  from  the  healer,     taking  in  a  sharp  breath  as  he  shifts  in  his  seat.     ❛   And  even  if  I  could,     I’m  not  sure  you  would  believe  it.   ❜

       she refuses to withdraw at those words, hands still kneading, working away before she meets his gaze. she’d been young doe in this very room a day ago ; unsure &&. unsteady, but today she is a STAG. he will have to brave the mental wounds and face them along with the physical ones for healing is not one or the other but rather both.       ❛     we’ve seen or heard of strange things.     ❜    she breathes, unable to tear her gaze away.  strange things . . . such as the golden-haired stranger who had given her a way out of the hellhole that was INNISH, stating it was because the world needed more healers. she didn’t believe it herself, at times, pausing only once she felt the rub of the familiar paper between calloused fingers.       ❛     it wouldn’t make anything less real.     ❜   in others words, she’d believe him.

sc. | elide - yrene | @silbasheir

            “ Should I worry she’ll have outgrown me the next time I see her? ” A laugh played around the lips of the lady of Perranth, glittering eyes peering at the toddler, grown so much already, peeking around her mother’s skirts at her. It hadn’t felt like three years since she’d hatched that plan, since the two of them, along with Dorian, had stood atop that tower and had healed Erilea from the darkest stain in its history. And yet it had been. The only slight curve of her belly, only faintly visible for any keen eye through the wool of her cloak, a testimony to the time that had passed. The laugh in her heart, on her face, a reminder.

            “ I thought I’d come to see the Torre — and you and Chaol, and the little one. ” She’d left Lorcan behind, much to his chagrin, though she’d insisted that her being with child didn’t mean he’d have to practically carry her everywhere. And he, as lord of Perranth, had business to attend to, in her absence.

       the sight of elide within the colorful, rambunctious streets of antica is enough to draw out the beginnings of a smile from her, tugging insistently at the corners of her lips. she opens her mouth, perhaps to state that josefin’s  ❪  her daughter had been named after her mother &&. it seemed well taken seeing as she possessed the same curls and gleaming eyes  ❫  growth only seemed sped up due to the long months she’d spent away from their companions and in the southern continent, before she pauses. at first she drinks in the stance of the Lady of Perranth, eyes gleaming before they flick towards her belly, slightly rounded and telling of what was to come within the upcoming months.

       her answering smile is more radiant than the SUN.        ❛     and to tell me you’re with child, hm ? to believe that I’ve been unaware for so long . . .    ❜   she trails off, shaking her head. one of the downsides of being in the southern continent, it seems, is the delay in receiving news. she loops one arm through elide’s before taking josefin’s hand in her other and guiding the two towards the torre courtyard, where they’d at least be able to bask in the filtered sunlight and swap tales.   ❛     chaol is within the palace, tending to business with sartaq.     ❜   a lingering look is given behind them, as if she can see past the towering palace walls and well into it’s halls.    ❛     which gives us time for us to speak to one another, hear what we’ve missed. you must tell me more about lorcan.     ❜

                 Bristling at the tone she reared, the wolf of the North raised a single brow. “ I won’t let the Bane fight alone. ” Without its general. Even if he’d torn the stitches in his side at the effort, even if he might be swaying on his feet by now, a headache forming behind his left eye, throat parched, and blood staining his side, and the hand with which he applied pressure to what had been courtesy of a valg grunt. 

                        “ So I listened — and then decided not to heed it. ”

okay ngl as a north african writer i was ecstatic at tower of dawn + how it seemed to promote diversity but now . . . i’m going to say what was wrong with it. first of all , , , why does sjm FAIL to directly address the color of someone’s skin and mark them as PoC ? why tf is everyone GOLDEN TAN ? say they’re a PoC and GO !

second of all, there are various cultures meshed within the book while sarah tries to describe it as if it’s middle eastern. nesryn faliq ( faliq is a standard last name within Levantine countries such as syria, palestine, jordan, &&. lebanon ) is described as south asian perhaps but that’s where any sort of direction ends, save for the name farasha, arabic for butterfly. it would be enough to make me think that this country is middle eastern save for numerous other pointers that make me think it might also have desi ( bengali, pakistani, indian ) influence. it’s problematic that numerous culture are meshed together so that sarah can finally point out that there’s DIVERSITY in her book. if it’s half assed we don’t want it.

 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.     He  was  no  Lord,     he  lacked  honor.     Oathbreaker.     Liar.     Coward.     He  deserved  this.     He  deserved  to  live  his  life  within  the  confines  of  that  chair  that  he  hated,     to  never  be  able  to  stomach  looking  into  the  eyes  of  guards,     of  soldiers   —   all  better  men  than  himself,     to  never  be  able  to  stand  with  his  head  held  high.     Further  and  further  he  sunk  into  the  shadows  of  himself,     losing  grasp  of  the  life  around  him  until  the  pain  of  her  searching  causes  the  shadows  to  shutter  in  around  themselves.

          There  is  no  disappointment  on  his  features,     no  waves  of     crippling  shock     found  rushing  through  his  veins  because  he  knew  that  coming  here  might  prove  him  to  be  right.     Chaol  draws  in  another  sharp  breath,     shifting  his  upper  body  as  she  lifts  herself  away  from  him.     If  it  weren’t  for  Nesryn,     for  Dorian  and  all  those  who  counted  on  him   —   he  would  have  sent  her  away,     would  have  screamed  that  this  was  nothing  but  a  lost  cause,     that  he  was  nothing  but  a  lost  cause.     But  instead  he  sat  quietly,     tensing  slightly  as  her  careful  hands  found  the  places  on  his  back  that  had  knotted  the  most.

          Relief  is  short  lived  as  her  words  brush  quietly  up  against  his  ear.     Blood  turns  to  ice  inside  of  his  veins  as  he  tries  to  calm  his  features,     anything  to  hide  the  fear  that  rooted  deep  in  his  gut  and  had  his  stomach  churning.     ❛   Is  it  inside  me?   ❜     The  words  are  spoken  softly  enough  so  that  the  prying  ears  that  surround  them  can’t  hear  but  he  can’t  stop  the  terror  that  clings  to  every  letter.

        she stills at his words before resuming, easing away whatever ache lay between his shoulder blades.          ❛     it is alive &&. it isn’t.     ❜   she admits, refusing to answer his question outright. better to leave him without worry.          ❛     more an echo of whatever had struck you. we’ll work around it.     ❜   yrene declares firmly yet somewhat comfortingly ; she will not fail her test . . . and as of now , she will not fail the adarlanian lord either. no one, she decides, deserves to fall to such a fate, to succumb to the magic of cruel, forgotten gods and their vile magic. 

        yet she cannot forget the cold and darkness as it had bit into her, colder than the gap between stars, devoid of light, SMOTHERING her as if it had meant to suffocate her until she had released the damper on her power and let it flare as a warning. until it had shrunk back and she had recoiled. may silba help them all.

 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒     is  enough  to  make  him  go  frigid,     teeth  brushing  against  the  skin  behind  his  shut  lips  as  brows  furrow  together  and  muscles     strain.     Flashes  of  memories  best  left  forgotten  burst  into  view  and  just  as  quickly  as  they’d  come,     Chaol  had  forced  them  back  into  the  silent  shadows  where  his  shattered  heart  still  beat  within  his  chest.     He  won’t  go  down  the  path  that  leads  to  those  memories;     within  the  throne  room  where  he’d  meant  to  give  his     last  breath     if  only  to  buy  them  more  time.     Chaol  draws  in  a  sharp  breath,     allowing  the  taut  silence  to  fill  the  room  enough  that  he  can  feel  the  pressure  of  its  weight  upon  his  shoulders.

          ❛   Is  it  necessary  for  you  to  know?   ❜     His  words  are  rigged  and  cold,     distant  as  they  fall  from  his  lips.     If  he’d  been  smart  he  would  have  watched  his  tongue,     chosen  his  words  more  carefully  in  hopes  that  it  might  convince  her  that  he  was     worthy     of  helping  but  hatred  roiled  in  his  gut  and  Chaol  couldn’t  see  past  that  darkness.     Another  sharp  breath  is  exhaled  as  he  turns  his  gaze  towards  her,     allowing  it  to  linger  for  only  a  moment  before  turning  his  attention  elsewhere.     ❛   Can  you  fix  this?   ❜     Brown  hues  grow  distant  and  each  passing  moment  feels  like  a  lifetime  within  itself.

        not only a man who is unused to seeking help but one who might even despise it.         ❛     I have never healed an injury of this . . .     ❜   she trails off for a fleeting moment, reforging the light that she possesses before coaxing it into a mold, tendrils that are meant to be tentative in their probing lest they summon something that isn’t entirely of this world.          ❛     I have never healed anything inflicted by magic, Lord Westfall. so I make no promises, no guarantees.     ❜   the healer from southern fenharrow does not fault him for the tone that now accompanies his words, not when the scars are visible when he speaks ; not only a physical wound but a mental one as well. she would do well to remember that despite his service to the BUTCHER that had slaughtered her people, he had been promised to another royal, the heir himself, &&. that she was to help him in that as well. to accompany him on the path that recovery would require.

       tall, broad-shouldered. whorls of some sort of tattoo etched upon one side of his face, in stark contrast to sunkissed skin. always, from the first moment she’d laid eyes on the fae male, had she felt some sort of . . . calling. not of the human sense, but it was as if silba herself had laid a hand on her shoulder and PUSHED her to him. he possessed some sort of healing magic, that much was evident ; it sang to the light she possessed, as if there were more to learn.

       ❛     aelin said you possessed knowledge on healing.     ❜   amber eyes seek his tentatively, perhaps in an attempt to see if the answers he possesses are of some sort of sacred trade ❪ perhaps their knowledge is guarded zealously &&. not for human knowledge ❫.  ❛     if it wouldn’t bother you and you have time, whether it be now or in the future, consider me a student.     ❜ 

        ❛     what manner of injury is this ?     ❜   fingertips brush against the nape of his neck, probing. they trail lower, lower. then still at the splotch atop the base of his spine. her magic ❪ it is light ; blinding. her gift is purity for that is what is achieved when healing - - - to rid the body of what is unwanted. ❫ recoils, near roaring against what lays beneath the surface of an otherwise impassive adarlanian lord.  ❛     this is magic I haven’t encountered.     ❜

         it is darkness, the void, swirling and swallowing what approaches it WHOLE. it is not the darkness of lovers, smothering and warm. it is death ; reeks of carrion and shows nothing but glimpses of the menaces that preyed upon their people in the dark, long forgotten &&. sent by a forgotten god.

below the cut are all of the throne of glass  verses available for yrene !