#note : he can be nice at first..

[starry-bi-sky]

new Danyal al Ghul au just dropped! --or at least some art of it did. I call it the "Stillborn? No, no, still born" au (or stillborn just for short)

it's based off a batfam comment I saw that mentioned in the early comics Bruce knew about Talia's pregnancy and was ecstatic to be a father. So much so that Talia feared he'd give up being Batman for it, so when she gave birth she put the baby (Damian) on a doorstep and (seemingly) told Bruce that the baby was stillborn.

I saw it, thought "mm, tasty!" and thought what if that baby was Danny instead of Damian? By default I was thinking of making him a few years older, however, it works just as well with demon twins. I need to think it over. Meet Daniel Brown! 14 year old foster kid whose been with the Fentons for the last two years! He has SO many issues haha. hah. lmfao even.

Danny's theme song is literally just "Good Kid" from the Percy Jackson musical, to sum him up.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

From the same Storm mini-series 🥹

THE FAM 🥺

[totheidiot]

love misa. she never does that weird dramatic flick of the wrist insane motion that light and mikami does when they're writing on the death note. she is so normal about it, what i love to see.

[idon-twannabeperceived]

My. Class. Won't. Start. And it's been aFUCKING HOUR

[pushing500]

Got any favorite Side Characters in BG3 yet? Since you’ve done multiple playthroughs, I assume you’ve made it decently far. I got super attached to Barcus to my surprise. Abdirak less surprised. Love a faithful freak. (Guess that’s why I love Barcus too).

Blurg and Omeluum will have my heart forever. I'm also particularly fond of Sovereign Spaw for some reason—maybe because it's so pretty.

I'd die for Mol, as well, and she would be the only beneficiary of my will. She's one in a million. I love her so much.

Barcus is an absolute delight. I wanna hang out with him and talk about explosives forever. I wish he stayed in my camp for longer, and I wish he had more dialogue while he was there. He's great.

The only time I've ever actually met Abadirk was in my Vanic run, and I felt robbed that I'd somehow missed him every other time. He's so fun!! Reminds me of all the characters I used to get crushes on as a teenager and still do on occasion

Special mentions to:

Stonemason Kith. He's so friendly??? All the other Duegar are such pricks, but Kith is so nice. He just wants to talk about rocks and I would happily sit down and listen to him for hours on end. He's a treasure.

Varsh Ko'kuu. He's trying his absolute best for that egg, and he has a very nice beard. I also like his boots.

Kar'niss. I wish I could give him a hug and a flower crown or something. He's such a sweetheart.

That one dragonborn shopkeep in Baldur's Gate who sells instruments. Alulin (my Dark Urge gnome bard) had a lovely chat with him about instruments and performing and they seemed like they got along so well. It was a lovely bright spot in the heaviness of Act 3.

[erinravenseeker]

Just had a middle-of-the-night “ohhhh” moment as I just figured out that Kim Dokja needs the Fourth Wall not because of the scenarios but because it was essentially his survival mechanism for life.

Now I have only read the novel once so I could totally be forgetting stuff & way off-base but this is what I remember. Inane rambling under the cut, major spoilers included.

We know he’s generally antisocial, placing himself outside of society like a reader, and he internally smoothed over Sangah’s rough points even before the scenarios, making her into a ‘character’ (a caricature of herself) that fit into an archetype.

Dissociating from reality & viewing himself as a reader is his coping mechanism & “WoS coming to life” provides a convenient excuse to keep ignoring that fact.

This kind of ties in with an idea I’ve been forming about the Fourth Wall, which is that KDJ is fundamentally incapable of believing that “The Characters” (read: everyone) can experience growth as a result of his actions. He exists outside of the story, he is in the audience beyond the fourth wall, so he cannot affect the characters.

Hence the paradoxical nature of the Fourth Wall. For as long as he is a Reader, the Fourth Wall is maintained. And as long as the Fourth Wall is maintained, he will continue to be a Reader.

(Warning this is where it gets incoherent and messy.)

Kim Dokja fundamentally NEEDS the Fourth Wall to be maintained. Not just because of the OD stuff, but because it’s the way he’s learnt to cope with existing. It’s also why dying is so easy for him—we know he cannot deal with the guilt of making people he cares about suffer, but if he’s just a Reader, that means he can’t really have any meaningful impact on their lives, so it’s fine for him to just… disappear.

Kim Dokja is not actively suicidal, he’s just invested himself so far into the worldview of himself being a Reader that to him, his temporary deaths no longer register as dying. More like… stepping out of the theatre for a bit.

It gets complicated when we hit OD. Because then we realise the KDJ we’ve been accompanying is essentially a self-insert OC. So we can ascribe the way he thinks to OD, including all the coping mechanisms and self-distancing. But where OD manages to escape the narrative along with SP, at the same time the KimCom Crew escape the narrative, KDJ actually kind of… doubles down?

Like, OD does what any Reader does and learns from the book. When KDJ says “I, someone of no redeeming quality, could be loved by the others.” It’s not just him learning this lesson. It’s actually kind of the opposite. OD is Reading this lesson so he learns that he’s allowed to accept the mercy of SP & the 999 crew. So they escape the narrative.

KimCom also manages to escape the narrative but KDJ… can’t. He comes to the conclusion that he was actually backstage all along. But that means he’s still not ON stage. A Character can’t feel for the Script Writer or Director or Stage Manager. So he doubles down on his separation from them, stepping into that role. And then then KimCom comes banging on his door backstage because they’re not just characters, they’re the Actors now, and KDJ disappears because he can’t deal with that, because he fundamentally cannot exist on the same plane as them.

I think that’s why I’m hopeful at a post-epilogue ending. KDJ The Reader exists at essentially a higher tier than the people around him, and so he believes he cannot be loved in a way that has a lasting impact on them. But he DID spend years being affected by WoS, by Yoo Joonghyuk. If he becomes the Character, and them the Readers… maybe, just maybe, he can actually accept that love.

[amelikos]

Grusha, huh.

[stillprettyunoriginal]

I realized I never like dropped this publicly-

hi!! I made a big ol list-style document of every episode and the possible connection to plant based symbolism and the victorian flower language!! I may try to keep up with it, however it won’t be like a chapter update per episode, it’ll be one page added that I’m editing with each episode I’m guessing, so it’s not a million pages long :•>

[front-facing-pokemon]

[orionchildofhades]

steddie swapping soulmate au part 5

part 1 |[...]| part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | Ao3

---

when he wakes once more, Eddie is back in his body.

he knows because he is not hurting. and thats something.

he shift in his bed, enjoying the lack of aches and thinking over the previous day.

now that his mind is not as hazy, he tries to put the informations he learned in order. he wants to keep everything in, and make sure he understands his soulmate.

for a second he lets himself dream of waking up in his soulmates bed once more. but with his soulmate. with this person, his person, by his side. and it's stupid because they are fifteen, and Eddie is sixteen and they probably won't meet until much later when they both, hopefully, would have moved out.

he frowns. he didn't learn much though.

they can't see well, and they have a big bed in a big room in what is probably a big house.

and that's it.

I mean, they're also sick but that's only temporary, he adds, unless it's not? maybe they have, like, some disease?

he panicks for a second, not sure to be able to just leave their soulmate alone at home while suffering, everyday at every hour, without even company

he breath a little, reminding himself that both of them will be fine and that there is pretty much nothing he can do at the moment.

but it's okay. it's alright because he knows he has a soulmate know and he can carefully plan their wedding while acting cool and collected on the outside.

all thoughts are cut off when Wayne barges into his room, in very un-Wayne fashion.

"Patricia?" Eddie asks, trying to come back to earth from his little daydream

"What? No, son, why didn't you tell me you swapped? I just read over Patricia's note!"

"Patricia met my soulmate?" he jumped out of bed and almost fell over the pile of book that was not there the previous day. or the day before that perhaps.

"Yeah, and barely said nothing about them! she wrote, and I quote, 'it seems to me that Eddie has a very nice soulmate and I hope I'll can spend the day with them sometime again soon'" Wayne said before looking up from the paper he held in one hand.

Eddie on the other hand was walking to his own desk where he looked for a couple of books, which were now in the pile by his bed, before coming back and checking more titles. he could swear the last one was at the bottom of his laundry basket last time he checked. which had been a while, admittedly.

"I think Patricia and my soulmate cleaned my room..." he told Wayne with big eyes, full of both wonder, and terror.

seeing how clean and peaceful his other half's room had been, he couldn't muster the will to wonder about what his soulmate thought of him and the mess - organised mess!- of his bedroom.

with something akin to pity and understanding behind his eyes, Wayne nodded once, "that's tough kid, but at least they made cookies?" he said with a shrug before leaving the room

it's only once Eddie got back in his room, done with mopping about being shamed in his own space, and his belly filled with the delicious cookies Patricia had baked, that he saw the small note on his bedside table.

he was thinking over the fact that his soulmate had cooked him something, relishing in the addition of the sweet taste of cinnamon in the usual recipe, before he made a go for the furniture and took with careful hands, almost worshipping, the tiny piece of paper.

sorry you had to go through my flu, I didn't touch under your bed (that's personal), I enjoyed spending the day with your aunt(?), until next time ;)

Eddie lets a squeal escape his lips before falling, swooning really, on his bed, clutching the thin layer of matter witholding so many of his emotions.

he couldn't wait to meet them, he only whishes he had a name to put on them

[braceletofteeth]

Thank you, and nice to meet you, The One And Only.

[bmpmp3]

tbh the biggest thing that drives me towards synthv and cevio/voisona 2.0 isnt even the smoothness and clean "realism" of it all, its actually the fact that said realism allows for more variation in vocal provider pronunciation mouth and tongue positions etc to shine through. i know people in da vsynth scene often use "character" to refer to a voice's robotic or engine noise-y elements (i assume because of piapro and such) specifically but i think the character that comes directly from the vocal samples/training itself is a little underappreciated. cevio ia's か゚-y がs <3

[triangle-strategy-notes]

The first batch of the Seven Saints: Idore and Kamsell! Translation notes under the cut.

The word for "God of War" is almost always used in quotes or parentheses or otherwise set apart. In dictionaries, it seems to just be a common noun, but in this usage, it seems more like a proper one. I kinda wonder whether it might be a reference to a work of literature or Japanese history, but I had a hard time finding anything on it.

For the caption on the first page, I feel like the jack-of-all-trades description didn't really make a ton of sense, and I kinda have the feeling it might have meant something more like "Kamsell was once a god of war and has now become a jack-of-all-trades character instead." However, to the best of my knowledge, it really was saying that the God of War was the jack-of-all-trades character. Related to the above note, I wonder if there's some connotation I'm missing here.

[mobbothetrue]

Spotify prompt! Knuckles and tails, an 19 :)

Oh hoho! You managed to land FightSong by EVE (<- YouTube link), a song that by all rights shoulda been #2 (<- I refuse to pay Spotify money).

Hmm…. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything with Super Sonic Speed, but I always did intend to write follow-ups…

.•.•.•.

The city is unbelievably loud. They’re in what Sonic had called a shopping district, and it’s apparently very popular. Knuckles would kind of like to go home, a lot, actually, but Tails is flirting from one shop to another and he doesn’t have it in him to shut the kid down. Sonic is somewhere on the periphery of their little group— he and Tails had bonded, thick as thieves, and Knuckles— well, he tolerated the guy.

Tails gasps like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time, excited enough that he’s lifting off the ground. Knuckles ambles over, grabs him by the ankle, and pulls him back down. He’s looking at some sort of… thing. Knuckles can’t make heads or tails of it, but it’s definitely saying something to Tails.

Hmm. He is, at least, familiar with the idea of shops. Chao liked to set them up, sometimes, selling fruit or handmade crafts for rings, but Knuckles has no idea if their idea of currency and everyone else’s aligns. Would the shopkeep accept a fruit? Most chao did. It isn’t like rings are a problem, so…

Knuckles turns, seeking out Sonic in the crowd. There he is— stiff as anything, glancing frantically back and forth between Knuckles and some other hedgehog, a pink one. One of his friends, maybe? They look irritated, maybe not. Knuckles steps away from Tails, invites himself into their conversation.

“and you just RAN OFF—“ the hedgehog is shouting. Sonic cracks his mouth open, a faint wheeze escaping.

“Hey,” Knuckles says.

“—do you have ANY IDEA how WORRIED I was—“

This looks like a battle Sonic is better off fighting on his own. Still, Knuckles needs his question answered. “Hey,” he repeats, slightly louder.

“—I mean, I knew you were alright because my cards said so, but—“

“Hey Knuckles,” Sonic manages to crack out, “this is Amy.”

Amy tilts her head at him, and then gives him a sharp, discerning once-over. “Are you one of his other friends?” She asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Knuckles says, and then “do rings work as currency down here?”

She blinks at him, as if this is a weird thing to ask. “Yes?” She says.

“Okay,” Knuckles says, nodding, “try not to scare him too bad.”

Any lingering confusion evaporates, and she whirls around to find Sonic trying to sneak away. “AGAIN!” she shouts, full of conviction, and Knuckles makes his way back to where he left Tails. He isn’t pressed up against the glass anymore, so Knuckles steps into the store. Yeah, there he is. Hovering— literally— over the same display.

Knuckles takes a moment to properly observe, rooting around for the terms Tails would use, in an attempt to ensure he gets the right thing. There’s a looping track, and a few other gadgets on the sides. A switch, one of them looks like, and some barricade, and a few blinking lights. On the track itself is a… sideways cylinder, set on wheels, connected to a few boxes, puffing out smoke— or steam, maybe. Tails is absorbed enough in watching it chug along that he doesn’t even realize Knuckles is standing right next to him. Knuckles’ll just have to make sure he comes up for air, occasionally.

He casts about the rest of the store, vaguely lost. There are a lot of displays, and a lot of colourful boxes. Knuckles picks up one, flips it over, and realizes swiftly he is out of his depth. He brings the box over to Tails, handing it to him. Tails holds onto it for a full few seconds, watching with bated breath as the cylinder switches tracks, before he looks down. His fur all along his spine puffs up, and he turns to look at Knuckles so fast he has to wonder if Sonic hasn’t started to rub off on him in more ways than one. That’s the right box, for sure.

“Really?” Tails asks, voice breathy with excitement, and Knuckles ruffles his fur instinctually.

“‘Course.”

Maybe the shopping district isn’t that bad.

[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.

[gunpowder-gemini]

Controversial statement since I know it's super popular (at least on booktok for whatever that's worth) but I finished Acotar and it was mid