#And was asking if I had made my wish yet

[sparrowatheart]

A stroll through Fantasyland alongside the Mistress of All Evil

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[blujayonthewing]

Hi I'm OCmaxxing right now and obviously that means I have to inflict that upon others too, so I wanna ask!

Now that you've had a decent chunk of time to play and develop Felix, is there anything about him that surprised you as you've warmed him up? Any details or traits that you had originally planned, but organically became something else once you started playing him? Any details that you hadn't planned, but somehow came out anyway? How has he changed since you first came up with him?

He's playful!! I guess I don't know that it's extremely surprising that he's playful and has a sense of humor in general, and he's still generally reserved/quiet among company, but he's definitely got a cheekier vibe than I expected him to-- he's a bit of a tease when he's relaxed/ comfortable, adding little quips to discussions and such. Part of his whole concept is that he likes people, but it turns out this applies very much to individual people as well as People In General-- he is constantly amused (affectionate) by the rest of the party, for the most part as endeared as he is intrigued by them. I was a little surprised at how much he smiles-- just leetol grins to himself, but I think I expected more Resting Neutral Face? But he (mostly) really likes the people he's around right now, and he wears it on his sleeve. He's not as flustered by conversation in general as I think I'd originally imagined, as long as he's not the center/ focus of it. On the flipside, he's not as bad about blurting out unfortunate things as I expected or intended, although admittedly I think this is as much to do with my player cowardice as it is his character choices, lmao. He's still not, like, being polite (voluntarily says something diplomatic rather than whatever he's actually thinking), but rather being polite (not saying Anything, controlling the impulse to verbalize thoughts as they enter his head).

He handles failure worse than I expected-- or, rather, he's comfortable with failure on his own, which I knew, but feeling like he's letting others down is something he takes really hard, it turns out. We had a situation where 1) he blamed himself (understandably, but incorrectly) for things breaking bad in the first place, and 2) he couldn't roll for shit and contributed Absolutely Nothing to the ensuing encounter, and afterwards he took it upon himself to banish himself from the group for awhile when we got back to town, partly out of shame and partly, I think, out of an assumption that Fucking Off would just be the best or most preferable thing for him to do, given the circumstances. I feel like there's sort of an emerging picture with him, through gameplay and also thinking more about his backstory since I started playing him, that part of the reason he's habitually on his own is that he feels (for [reasons]) that he doesn't have much in particular to offer anyone else, which of course is fine if he's just on his own doing his own thing for his own gratification but becomes a problem when he finds himself thrust by fate into A Group Dynamic, with people he immediately likes...

Big ol acts of service love language guy. He's gonna notice and remember tiny things about you and then quietly-- anonymously, if possible-- do something nice about it, which is the kind of thing I think I really had to find out by putting him with other people and watching what happens. Felix will see an opportunity to do a small and very personally tailored kindness and say 'is anyone gonna act on that' and not wait for an answer

[goblin-enjoyer]

*draws something for the first time in a while. “Man I suck at drawing! Maybe go back to being good at it if I draw more!”

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

“Oh I got a neat idea for a drawing! Surely I have gotten better by now!” Loop post

[blitheringbongus]

Can't believe Scar saw a rapidly approaching, dishevled mumbo and went "he's so cute." I need to run unorthodox experiments on them.

IKR SAME OMG

They’re literally perfect for each other <- delusional

But seriously they have so much lore together in my silly brain and the few interactions they do have (WHICH HAS BEEN INCREASING A LOT LATELY MAY I ADD) has been FUELING the fire rapidly and gods gods GODS do I have many thoughts about them

[garrettwrites]

When someone tells you they don't like hugs, that's not an invitation for you to "cure them". It is not a "you" thing, although sometimes it might be. You thinking "they have to get used to it" because "your hugs are different" and "that's how you show love" is not a valid argument. Hugging them out of the blue as a goodbye is not cool either. Fuck off.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

why the fuck do i miss pigeons

[five-star-stay]

jisung probably doesnt WANT solo activitues. we know he struggles with social issues

I hate this ask actually. If you follow me, i hope you unfollow. I won't block because I want you to read this.

Han has said he'd work on an ost if given the chance.(in his live stream about 13)

Han has expressed interest in fashion while chan has explicitly stated in an interview that ALL members even ones that haven't gotten the chance to attend fashion shows yet are very into the idea of it and would love a chance like that. (In their vogue(?)interview for met gala)

Han shot his portion of WKorea magazine solo as did the other members from what we can tell by the behind the scenes videos so he is fully capable of doing it.

Han was a guest on lmj two years ago (his last solo schedule) and he was very happy about the opportunity. Proving he can do it. And you know something? Skz official twt account never said anything about han's appearance on that show. He was requested to be on show by stays when lmj asked which idol they wanted to see.

Han JUST performed in front of like 60k people at I-Days Milan.

Even when he went on hiatus, he never stopped performing and doing shows or schedules that you think he's not interested in or capable of doing. The only thing he took a break from afaik were fansigns. Which since then he's continued regularly. So I really hope you reconsider and see the blatant mismanagement for what it is.

Han literally makes his skz records with producers he has to approach himself because they get no company help for skz records at all, and he's always doing it with someone new. So do not tell me he will turn down doing an ost.

It's quite obvious that he's not being given the same opportunities and exposure by the management that others get to varying degrees.

Instead of thinking "Maybe he doesn't want to do it." And assuming "He can't do it because of xyz." Why don't we look at the facts I laid out: Han is talented, interested and waiting for opportunities in different areas and yet he hasn't gotten any solo ones since 2022.

Once again, find me 1 instance where han explicitly said he doesn't want to do the things others are doing before you say that he doesn't want it. Stop running defense for jype, a lot of ex jype idols have complained about it's mismanagement.

Of course I'm upset that skz are at their peak and han still gets paid dust in terms of exposure. I hate that you guys call yourself stays, but don't actually believe in han at all and are fine with no opportunities being given to him because of your preconceived notions about the capabilities of people with anxiety or mental health issues. Why does he need to prove himself every time before people support him? For the longest time people said han won't be able to manage a solo magazine shoot that's why he's not getting it. But he shot alone in WKorea for balmain and his cover version sold out multiple times from multiple stores even after multiple restocks. He performed his solo "don't say" performance in their Japanese dome tour night after night in front of thousands and he did it with ease. So just stop. If you don't care that he doesn't get anything say that and don't say that he's the reason why he isn't getting anything because han is always trying his best, and he rarely gets rewarded for it.

The following hanpop lyrics come to mind tbh.

Wanna fly high the older I get

It all keeps slipping away.

-

No lie thought my life would be full of starlight

For now, no more dreams, everything gets shut down

-

Even if it'll all burn up in the end I want to see it with my own eyes

[thedailydescent]

So wait are there actually people out there who think Dreamstat is actually Lestat, or are people just complaining about other people voicing concerns about how Dreamstat might be handled/overused to point where it might continously take us out of the moment?

Because yeah no duh we all know this is happening in Louis's head. But there are other ways to handle a haunting that doesn't feel potentially jarring/cheap/an obvious way to give Sam Reid something to do this season. A good show doesn't need to literally always show us what a character's thinking in order to get a grasp on their mental status. A good show will enable us to infer it well enough through subtler means, while also leaving room to look at other things happening in a scene. IWTV has so far handled that aspect well, because despite the constant commentary, there is still a lot more under the surface with these characters.

Also, saying people complaining about Dreamstat are just people with shipping issues just blatantly misses the point.

[dontmeanyoudontmissit]

So anyways my plan for the next two months is to kickass at work while I get another job and then leave their asses.

[girlscience]

well. I added my recent work stuff to my resume today, but then got stressed and didn't even manage to edit it. the day isn't over so maybe I'll get more done, but aaaghaghghaghag

[ostwitchsheart]

Sorry to start complaining but its my tumblr

[wanderingpages]

You know what you should write?? More Jude/nicasia 😩😩

Omg I wish but I don’t think I do nicasia justice at allllllll

[nightly-ruse]

Dang this song is amazing but kinda makes me want to burst into tears

[anothermonikan]

I don't think you can actually tell the difference between someone having a legimate issue or difficulty completing work vs someone 'just being lazy' that easily actually.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash

Chapters 36-37

Had it been like that in the iron coffin?

Aelin gave no indication that the smothering dark bothered her, and had shown no inclination to illuminate their way. Hadn't even summoned an ember.

But the Little Folk, it seemed, had come prepared. And within heartbeats of entering the pitch-black river passage, blue light had kindled on a lantern dangling over the curved prow. Not light, not even magic. But small worms that glowed pale blue, as if they'd each swallowed the heart of a star. They'd been gathered into the lantern, and their soft light rippled over the water-smooth walls. A gentle, soothing light. At least, for her it was so.

Before Aelin had been given an ancient Faerie Queen's crown, her birthright and heritage.

The queen had stashed Mab's crown in one of their packs, as if it were no more than an extra sword belt. She hadn't spoken, and they had not asked her any questions, either.

Instead, she'd spent these past few hours sitting in the back of the boat, studying her unmarked hands, occasionally peering into the black waters beneath them. What she expected to see beyond her own rippling reflection, Elide didn’t want to know.

He'd crawled after Maeve on the beach to save Aelin. And he had found her during her escape-had ensured Aelin made it out. Did it wipe away what he'd done in summoning Maeve in the first place? Even if Maeve had set the trap, even if he hadn't known what Maeve intended for Aelin, did it erase his decision to call for her?

The last time they'd spoken as friends, it had been aboard that ship in the hours before Maeve's armada had arrived. He'd told her they needed to talk, and she'd assumed it was about their future, about them.

But perhaps he'd been about to tell her what he'd done, that he'd been wrong in acting before Aelin's plans played out. Elide stopped twisting the ring.

He'd done it for her. She knew it.

But the queen sitting silently behind them, no trace of that sharp-edged fire to be seen, nor that wicked grin she'd flashed at all who crossed her path ... Two months with a sadist. With two sadists. That had been the cost, and the burden that Aelin and all of them would bear.

That silence, that banked fire was because of him. Not entirely, but in some ways.

The collar had not been real. But the army Maeve had summoned was.

A blink into the gloom was the only indication that he was aware of her every movement. Aelin breathed in his scent, let its strength settle into her a bit deeper.

Their paths would meet again, or they would not. And if he found the final key and then brought it to her, she would pay what the gods demanded. What she owed Terrasen, the world.

Yet if Dorian chose to end it himself, to forge the Lock ... her stomach churned. He had the power. As much as she did, if not more so.

It was meant to be her sacrifice. Her blood shed to save them all. To let him claim it ... She could. She must. With Erawan no doubt unleashing himself on Terrasen, with Maeve's army likely to cause them untold grief, she could let Dorian do this. She trusted him. Even if she might never forgive herself for it. Her debt, it was supposed to have been her debt to pay.

Perhaps the punishment for failing to do so would be having to live with herself.

Having to live with all that had been done to her these months, too.

The blackness of the subterranean river pressed in, wrapped its arms around her and squeezed.

Different from the blackness of the iron box. The darkness she'd found inside herself.

A place she might never escape, not really.

Her power stirred, awakening. Aelin swallowed, refusing to acknowledge it. Heed it.

She wouldn't. Couldn't. Not yet. Until she was ready.

She had seen Rowan's face when she spoke of what his deception with the collar had prompted her to do. Had noted the way her companions looked at her, pity and fear in their eyes. At what had been done to her, what she'd become.

A new body. A foreign, strange body, as if she'd been ripped from one and shoved into another. Different from moving between her forms, somehow. She hadn't tried shifting into her human body yet. Didn't see the point.

Sitting in silence as the boat was pulled through the gloom, she felt the weight of those stares. Their dread. Felt them wondering just how broken she was.

You do not yield.

She knew that had been true—that it had been her mother's voice who had spoken and none other.

So she would not yield to this. What had been done. What remained. For the companions around her, to lift their despair, their fear, she wouldn't yield.

She'd fight for it, claw her way back to it, who she'd been before. Remember to swagger and grin and wink. She'd fight against that lingering stain on her soul, fight to ignore it. Would use this journey into the dark to piece herself back together-just enough to make it convincing.

Even if this fractured darkness now dwelled within her, even if speech was difficult, she would show them what they wished to see.

An unbroken Fire-Bringer. Aelin of the Wildfire.

She would show the world that lie as well. Make them believe it.

Maybe she'd one day believe it, too.

Days of near-silent travel passed.

Three days, if whatever senses Rowan and Gavriel possessed proved true. Perhaps the latter carried a pocket watch. Aelin didn't particularly care.

She used each of those days to consider what had been done, what lay before her.

Sometimes, the roar of her magic drowned out her thoughts. Sometimes it slumbered. She never heeded it.

They sailed through the darkness, the river below so black that they might as well have been drifting through Hellas's realm.

She hadn't asked him why he remained in his wolf's body. No one asked her why she remained in her Fae form, after all.

Rowan straightened, eyes sparking at her question-or at the fact that she'd spoken at all.

He'd kept by her these days, a silent, steady presence. Even when they'd slept, he'd remained a few feet away, still not touching, but just there. Close enough that the pine-and-snow scent of him eased her into slumber.

Silence at the order, even from Rowan. Aelin pointed to the lip of shore by the cave mouth. "Stop the boat," she repeated.

The queen had been reckless before Cairn and Maeve had worked on her for two months, but it seemed she'd had any bit of common sense flayed from her.

"Well, I don’t have any, so forgive me if I remain alert." No, she'd once told him that while magic flowed in the Lochan bloodline, she had none to speak of. He'd never told her that he'd always considered her cleverness to be a mighty magic on its own, regardless of Anneith's whisperings.

"It will take time for her to readjust."

She stared at him with those damning eyes.

He braced his forearms on his knees. "We got her back. She's with us now. What more do you want?" From me, He didn't need to add Elide straightened.

Elide straightened. "I don't want anything." From you.

This was where they'd have it out, then. "How much longer am I supposed to atone?"

"Are you growing bored with it?" He snarled.

She only glared at him. "I hadn't realized you were even atoning."

"I came here, didn't I?"

"For whom, exactly? Rowan? Aelin?"

"For both of them. And for you." There. Let it be laid before them.

"I told you on that beach: I want nothing to do with you."

"So one mistake and I am your eternal enemy?"

"She is my queen, and you summoned Maeve, then told her where the keys were, and you stood there while they did that to her."

"You have no idea what the blood oath can do. None."

"Fenrys broke the oath. He found a way."

"And had Aelin not been there to offer him another, he would have died." He let out a low, joyless laugh. "Perhaps that's what you would have preferred."

She ignored his last comment. "You didn't even try."

"I did," he snarled. "I fought it with everything I had. And it was not enough. If she'd ordered me to slit your throat, I would have. And if I had found a way to break the oath, I would have died, and she might very well have killed you or taken you afterward. On that beach, my only thought was to get Maeve to forget about you, to let you go-"

"I don't care about me! I didn't care about me on that beach!"

"Well, I do."

This was what came of opening that door to a place inside him that no one had ever breached. This mess, this hollowness in his chest that made him keep needing to make things right.

"Resent me all you like," he said, damning the hoarseness of his words. "I'm sure I'll survive."

Hurt flashed in her eyes. "Fine," she said, her voice brittle.

He hated that brittleness more than anything he'd ever encountered. Hated himself for causing it. But he had limits to how low he'd crawl.

He'd said his piece. If she wanted to wash her hands of him forever, then he would find a way to respect that. Live with it.

Somehow.

Gratitude shone in her eyes.

Rowan only gave her a nod. Don't worry about it.

Yet Aelin turned away, shutting off that silent conversation as she surveyed the space.

Time. It would take time for her to heal.

Even if he knew his Fireheart would pretend otherwise.

So, Rowan looked, too. Across the tomb, beyond the sarcophagus and treasure, an archway opened into another chamber. Perhaps another tomb, or an exit passage.

"We don't have time to find a way out,"

Rowan murmured as she strode into the tomb.

"And the caves remain safer than the surface."

"I'm not looking for a way out," she said in that calm, unmoved voice. She stooped, swiping up a fistful of gold coins stamped with forgotten king's face. "We're going to need to fund our travels. And the gods know what else." Rowan arched a brow. Aelin shrugged and shoved the gold into the pocket of her cloak. "Unless the pitiful clinking I heard from your coin purse didn't indicate you were low on funds."

That spark of wry humor, the taunting … She was trying. For his sake, or the others' maybe her own, she was trying.

Rowan gave the Lion a slashing grin. "You heard the lady."

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

Aelin paused her looting.

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

Aelin's lips curved in a hint of a smile. She blinked at Fenrys—three times.

Fenrys blinked once in answer.

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

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

To let him decide if he wished for contact. If he could endure it.

Just as Rowan would let her decide if she wished to touch him.

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

A good sign—a small miracle, that either of them wished, could be touched. Rowan reminded himself of it, even while some intrinsic, male part of him tensed at the contact.

A territorial Fae bastard, she'd once called him. He'd do his best not to live up to that title.

"Thank you," Aelin said, her voice small in a way that made Rowan's chest crack further.

Fenrys didn't answer, but from the anguish on his face, Rowan knew no thanks were in order.

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

About what they'd endured. To unravel all that had happened.

Aelin nodded, blowing out a breath. "Likewise."

She resumed shoving gold into her pockets, but glanced back to Fenrys, his face drawn. "I gave you the blood oath to save your life," she said. "But if you do not want it, Fenrys, I ... we can find some way to free you—"

"I want it," Fenrys said, no trace of his usual swaggering humor. He glanced to Rowan, and bowed his head. "It is my honor to serve this court. And serve you," he added to Aelin.

She waved a hand in dismissal, though Rowan didn't fail to note the sheen in her eyes as she stooped to gather more gold. Giving her a moment, he strode to Fenrys and clasped his shoulder. "It's good to have you back." He added, stumbling a bit on the word, "Brother." For that's what they would be. Had never been before, but what Fenrys had done for Aelin .. Yes, brother was what Rowan would call him. Even if Fenrys's own—

Fenrys's dark eyes flickered. "She killed Connall. Made him stab himself in the heart." A pearl-and-ruby necklace scattered from Gavriel's fingers.

The temperature in the tomb spiked, but there was no flash of flame, no swirl of embers.

As if Aelin's magic had surged, only to be leashed again.

Yet Aelin continued shoving gold and jewels into her pockets.

She'd witnessed it, too. That slaughter.

But it was Gavriel, approaching on silent feet even with the jewels and gold on the floor, who clasped Fenrys's other shoulder. "We will make sure that debt is paid before the end." The Lion had never uttered such words not toward their former queen. But fury burned in Gavriel's tawny gaze. Sorrow and fury.

Fenrys took a steadying breath and stepped away, the loss on his face mingling with something Rowan couldn't place. But now wasn't the time to ask, to pry.

Aelin continued picking her way amongst the treasure, however. She'd been more selective than the rest of them, examining pieces with what Rowan had assumed was a jeweler's eye. The gods knew she'd owned enough finery to tell what would fetch the highest price at market.

"We should go," he said. His own pockets were near to bursting, his every step weighed down.

She rose from a rusted metal chest she'd been riffling through.

Rowan remained still as she approached, something clenched in her palm. It was only when she stopped close enough for him to touch her that she unfurled her fingers.

Two golden rings lay there.

"I don't know the Fae customs," she said.

The thicker ring held an elegantly cut ruby within the band itself, while the smaller one bore a sparkling rectangular emerald mounted atop, the stone as large as her fingernail. "But when humans wed, rings are exchanged." Her fingers trembled-just slightly. Too many unspoken words lay between them. Yet now was not the time for that conversation, for that healing.

Not when they had to be on their way as swiftly as possible, and this offer she'd made him, this proof that she still wanted what lay between them, the vows they'd sworn ...

"I assume the sparkly emerald is for me," Rowan said with a half smile.

She huffed a laugh. The soft, whispered sound was as precious as the rings she'd found for them in this hoard. She took his hand, and he tried not to shudder in relief, tried not to fall to his knees as she slid the ruby ring onto his finger. It fit him perfectly, the ring no doubt forged for the king lying in this barrow.

Silently, Rowan grasped her own hand and eased on the emerald ring. "To whatever end," he whispered.

Silver lined her eyes. "To whatever end." A reminder-and a vow, more sacred than the wedding oaths they'd sworn on that ship.

To walk this path together, back from the darkness of the iron coffin. To face what waited in Terrasen, ancient promises to the gods be damned.

He ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I'll make the tattoo again." She swallowed, but nodded. "And," he added, "I'd like to add another. To me—and to you."

Her brows flicked up, but he squeezed her hand. You'll have to wait and see, Princess.

Another hint of a smile. She didn't balk from the silent words this time. Typical.

He opened his mouth to voice the question he'd been dying to ask for days now. May I kiss you? But she pulled her hand from his.

Admiring the wedding band sparkling on her finger, her mouth tightened as she turned over her palm. "I'll need to retrain."

Not a single callus marked her hands.

Aelin frowned at her too-thin body. "And pack on some muscle again." A slight quiver graced her words, but she curled her hands into fists at her sides and smirked at her clothes—the Mistward clothes. "It'll be just like old times."

Trying. She was dredging up that swagger and trying. So he would, too. Until she didn't need to any more.

Rowan gave her a crooked grin. "Just like old times," he said, following her out of the barrow and back toward the ebony river, "but with far less sleep."

He could have sworn the passageway heated. But Aelin kept going.

Later. That conversation, this unfinished business between them, would come later.