#((with charts and footnotes

[random-arcane-fan]

tags via adorascake (bold mine):

#the way you can see her come to the conclusion that she’s going to go after vi just from looking at the resolve in her eyes #reminds me very much of vi calling her out for expecting people to give her exactly what she wants #here i feel like she’s thinking something along the lines of ‘im going to take what i want bc i don’t give a shit’ #and she wants to go after vi

[ghoulmore-girl]

🌙 Some love for your Moon by House🌙

Bestie, listen. Listen to me!!!! I’m gonna hold your hand through this because your Moon sign by house deserves HYPE, tenderness, and possibly a snack!!!!!

Your Moon isn't just what you feel — it's where those feelings live. The little emotional apartment in your chart.

Some of us have our Moon sobbing in the group chat (3rd house), some of us have it ghosting everyone to astral project into a forest (12th house).

Both are valid.

This isn’t a diagnosis (do I look like a Doctor to you bestie????), this is a love letter.

Your Moon placement is not a problem to fix — it’s a part of you that just wants a blanket and someone to say “yeah that made sense even if it didn’t.”

So here’s some cosmic praise for your softest self!!!!💗

1st House Moon

You are the vibe. You feel first and think later — your face is a live feed of your internal weather. You might try to hide your feelings but baby they’re showing up in 4K. You’ve got “I’m fine :)” energy with a dramatic moonlight glare.

You’re not dramatic — you're emotionally fluent in real-time. It’s brave. It’s raw. It’s honestly iconic. You teach people how to feel out loud. Your emotions aren’t a mask; they’re a mirror. People feel safer just being near your realness.

You’re a lighthouse in a storm, even if you are the storm sometimes.

2nd House Moon

You want feelings to be tangible. You don’t feel safe unless things are soft, steady, and maybe taste like cinnamon. You express love with snacks, cozy lighting, and high-quality emotional stability.

You want people to show up and prove it — not with grand speeches, but with consistent care. Your vibe is “I love you so I made you a sandwich and also paid your car registration.” Your inner child just wants a warm blanket and no surprises.

You are the definition of emotional security with vibes. Let yourself want the comfort you give so freely.

3rd House Moon

Your feelings come with footnotes, hyperlinks, and at least one meme. You need to talk it out, text it out, make a Google Doc about it. You probably process emotions in the group chat and make people cry laughing with your pain.

You’re emotionally quick and so smart about it. You feel safe when you’re understood, when things are explained, when someone listens and says “wait, go back to that part again.” Your inner world is a wordy whirlwind with a podcast voice.

Your thoughts are feelings. Let yourself ramble. You’re not “too much.” You’re emotionally multilingual.

4th House Moon

You are the soft place. Home isn’t just a place — it’s a feeling, and you carry it with you. You feel things like ancestral echoes. You're the kind of person who cries while baking cookies because it “feels like love.”

Privacy is survival, and you only let people in when they’ve earned it. But when they do? You love like a weighted blanket with emotional backstory. Your heart is half lullaby, half nesting instinct, fully precious.

You are allowed to rest. You are not responsible for being everyone’s sanctuary — you deserve one too.

5th House Moon

You feel through creation. You don’t cry — you start a chaotic new art project at 2 AM, write a poem that makes people emotional on Instagram, or flirt in the middle of an existential crisis.

You are dramatic, delightful, and emotionally performative on purpose. Because you know feelings deserve an audience. And sometimes, attention is love. Your inner child is loud, sparkly, and wants to be clapped for just for existing.

Let her. You are joy in motion. Your feelings are art.

6th House Moon

You do emotional logistics. You’re sad? Time to do laundry and alphabetize the spice rack. You love someone? You check their appointment reminders and refill their water bottle.

Feelings need a schedule in your world — or they sneak up behind you like a raccoon with a grudge. You feel safest when you’re useful, but you’re allowed to need help too. You deserve softness that isn’t earned by labor.

You are care disguised as routine. You are worthy of rest even when the dishwasher isn’t empty.

7th House Moon

You are the human version of “I just want someone to get me.” You process life through connection — the safe kind. The kind where someone texts you “do you want me to come over or leave you alone” and you cry either way.

Your emotional life starts in the mirror of others. Relationships aren’t just important — they’re your personal therapy + warm blanket combo. You give your all. You listen like it’s an art form. You want peace, but also? If they breathe wrong during a fight, you will silently spiral.

You deserve reciprocal love. The kind you give. The kind that doesn’t vanish the second you need it.

8th House Moon

You don’t just have emotions — you summon them. You’ve probably cried during a romantic scene and then wondered if love is just codependency in drag. You want depth. Meaning. Obsession, but in a healthy way. (We’re working on it.)

You feel things most people run from. You understand the hidden pain in someone’s offhand comment. You love like a secret poem. You’re healing generational trauma in your sleep and making shadow work look like a mixtape.

You’re not “too intense.” You’re just fluent in soul stuff. You deserve people who can meet you in the deep end.

9th House Moon

You’re the philosopher crying on a train. Your emotions are big, but they need a sense of meaning. A belief. A reason. You need to understand why you’re crying before you feel okay about it.

You feel safe when you’re learning, exploring, or planning your emotional escape route to a city you've never been to. You love through ideas. You crave conversations that get existential halfway through and end in group hugs.

You are allowed to not have it all figured out. Your journey is the answer. Let your heart be curious.

10th House Moon

You’re the CEO of “it’s fine :)” with a nervous breakdown in your drafts. Your emotions are always performing just a little. You feel safest when you're useful, admired, or emotionally composed in public — and that’s okay.

But you don’t have to earn love with excellence. You are not your image. You don’t have to prove your feelings are valid by achieving healing faster than everyone else. You are soft beneath the ambition, and that softness is holy.

You deserve emotional success — not just career wins. Your public face deserves private peace.

11th House Moon

You feel feelings collectively. You probably joined a group chat just to talk about your niche hobby and now you’re emotionally bonded for life. Your heart wants to belong somewhere — not just be understood, but belong.

You care about people. The world. Your weird little internet friends. You want love that feels like a community garden: mutual, chaotic, and made of inside jokes. You feel safest when you know you’re part of something that matters — even if it’s just a shared playlist.

Your emotions matter even when they’re not “useful.” You don’t have to hold the group together alone!

12th House Moon

You are feelings incarnate. You cry for other people’s pain like it’s your own, and you dream in entire metaphors. You are soft like sea foam and emotionally spooky in the best way. You don’t always know why you feel things — you just do.

You process life sideways, like a dream sequence. You crave solitude but fear abandonment. You give away your care like you have an unlimited supply, even when you’re secretly drowning a little. You’re intuitive, gentle, and deeply magical.

You don’t have to disappear to be loved. You don’t have to suffer to be valid. You are real even when no one sees you!

I hope you read yours and went “aw. yeah. that is me.” Because babe it IS.

Your Moon placement isn’t dramatic or broken or “too much.” It’s just the tender part of you that feels first — before the logic, before the mask, before the deep breath.

You are allowed to feel big feelings. To want comfort. To be a little emotionally feral on a Tuesday.

This world needs softies who feel deeply and still show up. You’re doing amazing!!!!

✨ Give your Moon some love today. Let it cry or laugh or eat something nostalgic. Let it exist without fixing it. You deserve that much softness, at the very least.🌙

_ Ghoul

[studioeisa]

worship in the bedroom 🍏 joshua x reader.

joshua believes there's no sweeter innocence than some gentle sin. that's why he got his tattoo, isn't it?

★ word count: 952 ★ genre/warnings: suggestive (no real smut), cussing/swearing. joshua has a tattoo, established relationship -ish, references to the bible's creation myth, inspired by hozier's from eden and take me to church. yes, a & i just wanted an excuse to think of christian boy hong jisoo. ★ footnotes: @chugging-antiseptic-dye & i are late to the joshua rib tattoo discourse, but better late than never. this one is for her— the giggle at my funeral, et cetera, et cetera. <3

You hadn’t believed it when you first heard about it. 

Joshua Hong, of all people— a tattoo? 

Unlikely. Impossible.

But now he’s pulling off his shirt, and you can’t even bring yourself to admire his toned abdomen. You’re far too distracted by the very thing you last expected to see on him. Holy shit, you think dazedly. They weren’t crazy. 

Joshua— who had gently shoved you back on to his bed, who had kissed you stupid before starting to undress— notices your dumbstruck expression. 

“Ah,” he says, the word coming out more like a laugh. His tone is edged with mirth as he sinks down onto the mattress, right by your feet. “Oops?” 

Despite your shock, you manage to shoot him a half-hearted glare. It only makes Joshua giggle.

“Forgot to mention it,” he chirps. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, still a bit breathless from his earlier kisses. “No kidding.” 

You know it’s stupid to be so stunned. People get tattoos all the time.

Joshua’s fingers wrap around your ankle. He gives you a gentle shake to snap you out of your thoughts, that infuriating smile still on his face. “Is it really so out of character for me?” 

You could lie. What’s the point, though? He would just clock you, maybe even punish you a little for trying to give him anything but the truth. 

“Just didn’t expect it,” you manage, which is technically true. 

He lets out a thoughtful hum before making his way up his bed. He hovers on top of you, his arms bracing himself on either side of you. By the time he’s done shifting upward, you can see the details of the inked artwork despite the dim light of his bedroom. 

“Better view,” he teases. 

You would probably threaten him with bodily harm if you weren’t so damn distracted. Tentatively, you raise your hand. 

Your fingers brush against the punctured skin. It’s not by any means a new tattoo. The dark ink is already a little faded, and Joshua doesn’t flinch like one might if it were fresh. 

But he does hold his breath. 

Joshua tenses above you, his eyes flicking to your hand. You pause. He shakes his head. 

“S’okay.” All humor is gone from his voice now. In its place— something low, something reverent. “Go ahead.”

With his permission, you begin to trace. 

Your touch ghosts over the delicate tattoo smack dab underneath his heart. It’s a rendition of a known piece of art. Outstretched hands with fingers barely touching. 

“The Creation of Adam,” you finally say. This time, it’s your turn to sound amused. 

Joshua at least looks pleased that you understood the reference. He gives you an affirming ‘mhm’ as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your jaw.

“Now that,” he says against your skin, his tone matching yours, “is something you’d expect, hm?” 

The quip draws a laugh from you. Your free hand instinctively goes to entangle in his hair and you can feel him preen above you. Still, nothing seems to affect him as much as your absentminded plotting of his inked skin. 

You should let this topic drop, let Joshua take you like he’s probably dying to, but you can’t help the nagging queries. 

“Why here?” you ask, pressing the pads of your fingers a little more firmly against his skin, as if emphasizing his choice of placement. 

His breath stutters. His answer is quiet, muffled by his lips charting more kisses down the column of your neck. “Easy to hide,” he murmurs. “No one has to know.” 

“No one has to know,” you echo. 

You can feel the upward curve of his mouth as he moves over your collarbone. “Except you,” he says, saccharine sweet in his easy flirtation. 

Your eyes flutter close. Give in, your body screams. 

You can’t resist one last jab. 

“Shua.” 

“Mm?” 

You give his hair a gentle tug. He whines a bit, but he gets the message. He tilts his head up so he can meet your gaze. 

“What,” he asks flatly. His supposed annoyance is belied by the warmth in his honeyed eyes. The look of a man who will always indulge you.

“If I asked,” you say softly. “Would you give me your rib?” 

Oh. Oh. That gets him. You can see the way Joshua’s pupils dilate, the way his face flushes. 

And so the story goes— Eve, created from the rib of the first man. 

You, underneath a man who’s a pagan of the good times.

Joshua doesn’t answer at first. Not with words, anyway. 

Instead, he leans down to capture your lips. It’s the type of kiss that robs you of all rationale, and the press of his chest against yours does very little to help your case. You’re reduced to fleeting thoughts, to single words that can barely scratch the surface of what it feels like to be with Joshua. 

Absolution. Heaven. Creation. 

Joshua’s teeth nip at your lower lip as he pulls away to breathe. His next words are spoken right against your mouth, like he can’t bear to part from you for too long. Like a part of him is already a part of you. 

“You are my apple of Eden,” he breathes. “And now I will live with the guilt.” 

So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man... Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame. — Genesis 2:21-25

[holyblonded]

dumb and dumber: babysitting | blue stars

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: against her better judgement, olga leaves you and azulita to babysit valerie

notes: in estrella’s pov this time!!

“Okay, now remember that Val needs to be in bed by 7:00. 7:30 at the latest. Sometimes, just sometimes we go on to 8:00, but only if she’s had a nap, and you have to make sure she’s had the nap first, don’t just assume. And no, rubbing her eyes isn’t enough, she has to actually close them, because she fake-naps sometimes. She’s sneaky like that.”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, Valerie tucked between your knees and currently trying to fit her entire fist into her mouth. Across from you, Azulita’s letting the baby stack squishy blocks on her head. Neither of you are listening. Not even a little bit.

Olga’s pacing back and forth behind you with the binder. The sacred, terrifying, overly annotated Baby Binder of Doom. Color-coded tabs. Page protectors. Laminated bedtime routine chart. You swear it has footnotes.

“She gets her bottle at 6:30, but not too hot! Shake it and test it first, on your wrist, not your tongue, because that’s not sanitary. Bath starts at 6:45, but only if she didn’t eat too slow. If she eats too slow, you can adjust the bath to 6:50, but no later than 7:05 or the whole schedule gets thrown off. I swear to God, if you throw off the schedule—”

Valerie lets out a shriek of joy as Azulita sticks out her tongue and pretends to sneeze. You grin and toss a stuffed giraffe at Azulita’s face. It bounces off and hits Val in the arm. She’s delighted. She kicks your thigh and drools in victory.

“She needs the bunny,” Olga continues, flipping a page like she’s briefing you for combat. “The bunny, not the bear, not the raccoon, not that weird dog Estrella got her from that random shop in Portugal. She needs the bunny or she won’t sleep. If the bunny is missing, I swear—”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, offering Valerie a crinkly octopus. She throws it at Azulita’s head.

“Storytime must be one book. No more. She will manipulate you. Don’t fall for the pouty face. That’s how we ended up reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear six times in a row last week. We all suffered.”

“Totally,” Azulita says, balancing a plush cow on her forehead. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Olga doesn’t even pause. “No TV before bed. She only has 30 minutes left of screen time anyway. No fruit after six. And don’t let her near the remote. She knows how to change the channel now and she keeps turning on Spanish soap operas and mimicking the crying.”

You clap once. “Iconic.”

Then comes The Silence. You glance up. Olga is no longer talking. She is staring.

You and Azulita both look up slowly, like maybe if you don’t move too fast she won’t attack. She’s standing there, binder to her chest, face pure exasperation. She looks like a woman who is desperately trying not to scream.

That’s when Alexia walks down the stairs. She looks stunning, hair done, blazer over a fitted shirt, matching slacks. If Olga looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown, Alexia looks like she wants the breakdown to happen so she can laugh at it.

“Everything alright?” Alexia asks, sauntering up behind the couch.

Olga doesn’t answer. She just continues to glare at the two of you. You start sweating. Azulita stops breathing. Valerie throws a block and says, “Taaa!”

Alexia leans forward, taps the back of both your heads like she’s knocking on a door. “Hey. Idiots. Pay attention.”

“Hey,” you say with offense. “I am a professional athlete.”

“You drooled on her sock ten minutes ago.”

You scowl.

Olga takes a deep breath. She sets the binder down with a finality that shakes you to your core. Then, she steps around the couch, stands over you, and says in a tone you’ve never heard before:

“Listen to me very closely. I am ten months postpartum. I have not left my baby alone for more than two hours since she was born. And tonight— tonight I am trusting you two, Dumb and freaking Dumber, to take care of the child I carried for nine months and pushed out of my vagina.”

You flinch. Azulita flinches. Valerie freezes mid-foot chew.

“You are all I have,” Olga says. “And if anything, and I mean anything, happens to my child, you will not be able to hide. I will find you. I will ruin you. You will wish for death. And then, after you wish for death, I will hit you with the binder.”

You nod. Azulita nods. You nod again. You can feel sweat sliding down your back. Your mouth is dry. Val blinks up at Olga and goes, “Ma?”

Then Olga brightens like none of that just happened. “Okay!” she chirps. “Love you girls.”

She kisses you on the forehead. Azulita too. Then Val.

Alexia’s dying. You can see it. She’s holding in laughter with her whole body. She kisses each of you like it’s a funeral, whispering “Good luck,” in your ear like you’re about to go to war. Then the door closes behind them.

You and Azulita just sit there in complete silence.

“…Did she say vagina?” Azulita whispers.

“Yup,” you reply, staring into the void. “She did.”

Valerie, unfazed, claps her hands and lets out a fart noise with her mouth.

You sigh. “Alright. Let’s not die tonight.”

Azulita picks up the bunny and nods solemnly. “For Val.”

You’re lying on the carpet, half-propped up by a pillow you stole from the couch, scrolling through the comments of the live chat with one hand while trying to pick a decent filter with the other. Azulita’s sitting cross-legged beside you, hair in a messy bun, hoodie halfway on, vibing hard as Lil Baby blasts in the background. You can’t lie, Valerie has taste. Kid’s been bouncing in her little baby bouncer for a solid ten minutes like she’s at a festival.

“She’s got rhythm,” Azulita notes, nodding with pride as Val bounces up and down on beat, plastic keys in one fist, sock in the other.

“She got it from me,” you say without missing a beat.

“She got it from her mother’s.”

“Semantics.”

The comments are coming in fast:

"Why are y'all babysitting?? Where is Olga??"

"Alexia left two teenagers with a baby I'm scared."

"IS THAT LIL BABY IN THE BACKGROUND."

"Please show Valerie dancing again I'm begging."

You ignore the comment asking to show Valerie, but take a peek at her, bouncing away like she’s been possessed by the spirit of the beat, drool flying, hair in her eyes, sock now hanging from her mouth like a cigar.

“She’s busy,” you narrate. “She’s got moves. Don’t worry about her.”

And then, mid-bounce, mid-glory, tragedy strikes. Her toy falls. There’s a two-second pause. You make the fatal mistake of thinking she’ll let it go. And then, WAILING.

“OH MY GOD,” you flinch so hard your phone nearly flies out of your hand. The chat immediately blows up.

“LMAOOOOO”

“HELP HER????”

“THE SCREAM??????”

Azulita launches up like she’s on a mission in a spy movie. “I GOT HER,” she shouts, diving for the bouncer.

You remain frozen on live like a deer in headlights, Val screaming bloody murder off camera while Azulita picks her up and starts doing the panicked baby rock. “Shhhh shhhh shhhh,” Azulita mutters. “We got the toy. It’s okay. Life is pain. Let it out.”

“Chat SOS,” you beg into the phone. “How do we get a baby to stop crying?”

"Did y'all feed her????"

"She hungry girl what time is it??"

"Why is Lil Baby still playing turn that OFF and give her a bottle."

"Y’all are literally the worst babysitters l've ever seen and I love it."

You glance at the clock. Your heart drops. “…It’s 6:30.”

Azulita gasps behind you. “FEED THE BABY.”

You end the live so fast. Phone down. Panic mode engaged. “Why didn’t you check the time?!” you shout, sprinting for the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you check the time?!” Azulita shouts back, still holding Valerie who is now actively trying to scream her way out of Azulita’s arms.

“I thought you were on top of it!”

“I’m on top of her! That’s enough!”

You yank the bottle out of the sterilizer and start pouring boiling water into it like your life depends on it. Which it might.

“Do you even know how to mix formula right?” Azulita accuses, hovering near your elbow like the world’s most chaotic nanny.

“Do you?” you shoot back. “I watched Olga do it once. That makes me basically qualified.”

“She was measuring things!”

“I measure with vibes.”

“That’s why I don’t trust you!”

You shake the bottle aggressively, cap it, and turn around to give it to Valerie, but Azulita steps back like you’re holding a weapon.

“Did you check the temperature?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

You glare. “She’s screaming!”

“She’ll scream harder if you give her lava.”

With the most dramatic eye roll in history, you tip the bottle and splash a few drops on your wrist. It’s fire. You scream like you’ve been shot in the arm.

Valerie goes completely silent. And then bursts into laughter. Like real, belly-deep baby giggles.

You stare at her in disbelief. “You enjoyed that?!”

“Iconic,” Azulita grins, rocking her gently. “She laughed at your pain. She’s one of us.”

You mumble something under your breath and start all over again, this time making sure the water is cooled, the formula is right, and no one ends up with second-degree burns. Finally, finally, you hand the bottle to Azulita and she slides it into Val’s tiny hands.

She drinks like she’s been stranded in a desert for days. Ten minutes later, she’s full, burped, and looking at you with those big, innocent eyes like she didn’t just try to rupture both your eardrums.

You and Azulita are collapsed on the couch in exhausted silence.

“…So, bath time?” you say weakly.

Azulita groans. “Binder says yes.”

You scoop up Val, who immediately tries to headbutt your chin, and take her to the bathroom. Setting her on the bath mat, you begin the struggle of undressing a baby who thinks everything is a game and nothing is real.

By the time she’s in the tub, the floor is a crime scene— clothes, toys, a lone sock, a giraffe for some reason.

Valerie, on the other hand, is having the time of her life.

She slaps the water like it insulted her. You are soaked within seconds. Azulita is trying to save her jeans. You’re trying to figure out how a rubber duck made its way into your hoodie.

“Why is she stronger in water?” you demand.

“She’s evolving,” Azulita whispers.

There are bubbles. There is chaos. You are playing with the little stacking cups and suddenly realize Valerie has abandoned her toys to splash the two of you mercilessly.

“She’s targeting us on purpose,” you say, blinking through water.

“She’s smart,” Azulita agrees, shielding her face with a frog toy.

Valerie grins. You’re both doomed. Soaked, exhausted, and humbled, you glance at the clock. It’s only 7:05.

You look at Azulita. “We follow the binder now.”

“Binder is law.”

Val slaps the water in approval. You salute and let the night continue.

Bedtime. It should be easy. That’s what you told yourself. You survived feeding. You survived bath time. You survived the Binder (capital B). Surely putting Valerie to bed is the victory lap. Spoiler: it’s not.

You’re standing in front of the dresser, holding a plain white onesie like it’s a gift from hell itself. “This is boring,” you declare. “She’s not a tax accountant. She’s a baby.”

“It’s soft,” Azulita argues, holding it up to your face. “Feel it. It’s got little clouds.”

“She deserves better.”

“She’s literally going to sleep.”

“She deserves better while she sleeps.”

And that’s how the two of you spend 12 full minutes rifling through her baby clothes like you’re styling her for New York Fashion Week. At one point Azulita tries to convince you to let her wear just a diaper and a cape “so she dreams she’s a superhero.” You tell her to shut up.

Eventually, you both gasp at the same time when you pull out a fuzzy cat onesie in Barcelona colors— dark blue and garnet, complete with little ears on the hood and a tail.

“Look at this masterpiece,” you whisper.

“She’s going to look like a tiny feline queen.” You high-five.

Valerie, for her part, squeals when you show her the onesie and kicks her feet. She knows style. You wrestle her into it with the grace of two people who clearly don’t know how baby limbs bend, and then immediately start a full-blown photo shoot like she’s Baby Beyoncé.

“You’re serving,” you tell her, snapping a photo.

“She is giving feline fashion excellence,” Azulita agrees, angling the light just right.

You post nothing because Olga would actually murder you if her baby ended up on your story without approval, but still, those pics are going in the archives. You send one to the youngsters group chat and Pina sends back seventeen heart emojis while Patri send an odd voice note of her making a cat sound.

Once the fashion show is over, you carry Val to her crib, carefully swaddled, looking like a sleepy little purring Culer. You sit down beside her and look at Azulita.

“Want to tell her a story?” you ask.

Azulita raises an eyebrow. “We don’t know any stories.”

“We make one up.”

“What kind?”

You think for a second. “The Three Little Pigs. But it’s us.”

She grins. “And the big bad wolf is Alexia.”

“Obviously.”

You lean over the crib dramatically, dropping your voice into a narrator tone. “Once upon a time, there were three little pigs. One was Estrella Pig— gorgeous, talented, the favorite.”

“Excuse me?” Azulita interrupts.

“Second was Azulita Pig—cranky, loud, and wore too much attitude.”

“You’re gonna catch hands.”

“And the third was Patri Pig, who was probably just chilling somewhere eating fruit.”

“Valid.”

“And then came the big bad wolf,” you growl, voice low. “ALEEEXIAAAA.”

Valerie is staring up at you both with eyes the size of dinner plates.

“She huffed!” Azulita says, getting into it. “And she puffed! And she told them to get up and go to training!”

“And the little pigs said NOOOO,” you wail dramatically.

Valerie blinks. You blink back. She blinks. Then she claps her hands.

You and Azulita beam. “She loved it!” you whisper.

“Maybe we should just read the Binder to her. It’s got chapters.”

You start flipping through the pages, trying to find the section on babies not sleeping, and find a line that says: If baby is struggling to fall asleep, try singing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ softly.

You and Azulita exchange a look. You try it.

“Rock-a-bye baaabyyy…”

“On the treeee tooooppp…”

Valerie screams like you just stepped on her dreams.

“ABORT,” Azulita yells, rocking the crib back and forth.

You panic and lift her out of the crib. “Okay okay okay! You hate lullabies! Noted!”

The three of you migrate to the couch like refugees of bedtime failure. You’re bouncing her gently. Azulita’s rubbing her back. Valerie is still sniffly and grumbling. You’re losing hope.

“Fuck it,” you mutter. “Alexa, play something.”

“Now playing: Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar,” the Echo says.

You and Azulita freeze. But then… Valerie quiets. Like, completely. She blinks. Looks around and listens. Very intently.

You and Azulita exchange another look.

“Is this her song?” Azulita whispers.

“She’s unbothered. She’s vibing.”

By the second verse, her eyelids are drooping. Her grip on your hoodie loosens. By the third verse, she’s snuggled into your chest, breathing soft and even. You don’t dare move.

“Don’t move,” you whisper.

“I know,” Azulita says. “I think she booby trapped me with her foot.”

Eventually, you feel your eyes getting heavy too. The couch is warm. Valerie’s head is heavy on your shoulder. Azulita’s arm is pressed against yours. Kendrick is still going. You drift off.

When Alexia and Olga come home, it’s quiet. Too quiet for two teens and a baby in the house.

Alexia steps into the living room first, heels clicking softly. Her hand goes to her mouth when she sees the sight:

You, Azulita, and Valerie all passed out on the couch. The baby is still in her cat onesie, curled on your chest. Kendrick Lamar is playing Not Like Us on repeat.

Alexia is so amused. Olga comes in next, expecting disaster. When she sees you all asleep, her mouth opens.

“I don’t want to know,” she mutters.

Alexia shrugs. “They kept her alive. That’s all I asked for.”

Olga sighs, takes the fuzzy blanket off the back of the couch, and carefully drapes it over all three of you. She kisses Valerie’s forehead, then Azulita’s, then yours. Alexia does the same, grinning the whole time.

“Idiots,” Olga whispers fondly.

The lights are dimmed. The door to the hallway closes quietly.

And in the background, Kendrick keeps rapping softly into the night.

[outromoony]

I see someone saying Sirius abandoned Regulus one more time, and I swear I will write a whole dissertation, complete with charts, footnotes, and maybe even a slideshow. I'll start a podcast, a newsletter, maybe even a TED Talk. I'll organize a full-blown seminar, with guest speakers, a Q&A session, and complimentary snacks where no one leaves until they can recite the top ten reasons why that statement is completely wrong. I'll make "Defending Sirius Black" my full-time job if I have to.

[hotdigitallegend]

✶ decans: the secret spice of your chart

so you know your sun sign, your rising or moon too. but have you heard about decans? a few years ago, my astrologer friend taught me about all these cracks and crevices in a birth chart and gave me a lesson on decans.

if you’re into psychological/spiritual readings, or writing poetic, archetypal descriptions - modern elemental decans can add a lot of nuance and beauty.

imagine each zodiac sign is a 30° stage, split into three acts these acts are called decans, each about 10°. depending on the system you use, the meaning shifts. both are valid. so let’s get into it:

🪞 system one: modern elemental decans (pop astrology)

this one’s sexy + simple. each sign is broken into three decans ruled by signs of the same element:

aries (fire)

• 0–10° → aries decan (mars) – car crash in heels.

• 10–20° → leo decan (sun) – main character energy, performative rage.

• 20–30° → sagittarius decan (jupiter) – philosophical firestarter, joy as weapon, fast exit queen.

virgo (earth)

• 0–10° → virgo decan (mercury) – pristine logic, perfection with receipts.

• 10–20° → capricorn decan (saturn) – ruthless efficiency, dry wit, builds empires.

• 20–30° → taurus decan (venus) – grounded hedonist, overthinks everything beautifully.

→ this system’s great for archetypes. you feel like your sun sign with a twist from its elemental cousin.

🕯️ system two: traditional planetary decans (chaldean order)

this system is older and follows the chaldean planetary sequence (saturn, jupiter, mars, sun, venus, mercury, moon). each 10° of the zodiac is ruled by a planet based on this order - not necessarily tied to the sign’s element.

for example:

virgo sun (chaldean decans)

• 0–10° → mercury decan (detailed, classic virgo)

• 10–20° → venus decan (aesthetically driven, hyper attuned to beauty and harmony)

• 20–30° → saturn decan (reserved + meticulous, needs boundaries to live)

so a 22° virgo sun is in the saturn decan → more stoic, hyper-aware of time, prone to internalizing pressure. a perfectionist with a melancholy core.

→ this is more of that hidden information in the back of your chart that matters because each decan has its own ruler that adds a unique flavor to your sign’s energy. think of it as astrology’s remix - same base track, but different beats. knowing your decans is basically finding the footnotes to your spiritual biography.

wanna find your decan?

take your degree in the sign (like 14° leo), google the ranges, and see which ruler is remixing your energy.

✦ doing $10 full birth map readings - dm your birth date + time + location to start. think cartography for the soul. ♡

[followerofmercy]

Oh my God I just realized the reason Arlecchino is Like That is because she's never known a parental figure as anything but an antagonist. Essay incoming:

I saw some really good analysis pointing out that Crucabena's existence was almost certainly a retcon for the Knave/Director of the House of Hearth's unforgivable behavior, and I agree. Nobody's ages make any sense without having to do a mental contortionist act and there was a distinct vibe of the Chasm Hearthlings being particularly brutal.

(That is part of why I don't usually get into super long-running stories. There will inevitably be some half baked ideas that you have to introduce early on for foreshadowing, but then the rest of the story moves in a way where there's a better option, and then you have to find a way to make the new idea work with the groundwork already laid. Personally, I think a footnote saying "We changed our minds - this is the edited version" is perfectly acceptable. A story is a conversation between the audience and author but whatever)

ANYWAY! It feels so fucking weird saying this because while I'm on the "they should be Worse, Actually" train 99% of the time, this is that 1% where I think Arlecchino being on the very very light side of morally gray makes for a way more interesting story than if they had've kept her true to the original idea.

I love evil women more than the next guy but I think the continued operation of the House of Hearth being a spit in the face to the Fontainian government and the Fatui and the idea of how a 'normal' family should look - because none of these kids are normal and that has directly led to their abuse - and that being a good thing is. Idk. Refreshing? I think it's a much more powerful message that Arlecchino was the only goddamn person that actually got results trying to do something about all these abused children. She is actually doing some incredible work in a terrible situation. In a world where these kids’ options are “being trafficked” and “Fatui pawns,” I think “Independent child soldiers operating under the Fatui banner but staying true to themselves” is a pretty damn good alternative. 

It’s also important that the rest of society’s lack of care is directly responsible for the continued existence of the House of Hearth as it is. I mean fuck’s sake, Fontaine has a community of people living in the SEWER. If there was a public orphanage that wasn’t operated by predators, I’m sure most children would be there instead! But no. Nobody wants these kids. And, God forbid Wriothesley decided to do something about being sold. The victim blaming is off the charts. There is no way for Arlecchino to operate peacefully within the existing system, so she made her own. 

So the actual point of this essay: It’s everywhere in Arlecchino’s story, dialogue and actions that she wants her children to support each other, but because of how Crucabena raised her, she can’t really envision herself as part of that family (even if she actually is part of it and the majority of the kids love her dearly.) A parent is something to be feared, eventually killed, and removed from the path of their successor. Everyone likes to highlight little Perurere asking if it’s normal for biological mothers and daughters to argue. On some level I think she knows it’s wrong, but still. Literally all she’s ever seen is a parent as an obstacle to overcome. None of the children in her care had good parents and, if they did, the parents are dead. 

(Also hot take that Crucabena probably thought extremely highly of Arlecchino and gave her special treatment. She felt that Clervie was holding her actual favorite daughter back. I imagine Arlecchino also has very complicated feelings in Crucabena’s role in raising her to be as strong as she is while also being an objective monster, but that’s a topic for another time.) 

Even Arlecchino’s constellation talks about her being alone while instructing her children to care for one another. That separation ties into her being outwardly contradictory about rules. In her story quest, she spends the majority of it aware that her children are disobeying her, but as long as she doesn’t catch them, she can’t rightfully punish them now can she? Now excuse her while she makes herself scarce so they can get up to their mischief. She lip services - and by that I mean lies - about the importance of rules. She Actively Encourages her children to disobey her so long as they do it smart, which is a way to teach them how to circumvent the unjust laws of Fontaine and the Fatui without getting caught. If her kids fuck up bad enough she’ll “punish” them before they get actually killed by something worse than her, and if they successfully trick her (with her blessing), then there’s a good chance they’ll live. (Or, yk, if they wanna leave she’ll let them asldfj) 

So, again, I'll keep preaching that Arlecchino's whole MO is that she is setting herself up as an antagonist for her children, and her children's allies, to test themselves against. She actively encourages rebellion against her, unfair rules, the system, the Fatui, Fontaine, etc, because that's how she survived her own upbringing and the only way she knows for her family to protect themselves. She is keenly aware that she is Not Gentle, Not Fair (even if I do neglect that part in my own writing), and that there probably is a better way to do things. That’s why she wants Lyney specifically to succeed her. She cannot envision a perfect Hearth with her in it because she is the Parent, and historically, Parents are obstacles to be removed. 

Arlecchino’s greatest wish as the King of the House of Hearth is to be dethroned, and I think that is WAY more interesting than the abusive, violent tyrant Hoyo teased at first.

[emilykaldwen]

FFWAD 24 - Sins of the Father by @selfproclaimedunicorn

For my first foray into this yearly celebration with @renegadeguild, I picked the brilliant and fantastic story, Sins of the Father by @selfproclaimedunicorn. Misa has taken the fantastic AU premise 'What if Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce had kids?' and has run with it in the most delicious and satisfying way. The story isn't complete, but the first 'arc' has a good stopping point at a whopping 160k words, which made for the chonkiest book you could imagine.

This was the twelth book I've bound (both fic and rebinds of old favorites) and I tried several new techniques for it including rounding and backing the spine. I also stretched my legs in the formatting department and went all in with the interior. That meant ordering some special springhill paper to do these fantastic maps for the endpages. Full details behind the cut!

Typesetting: Normally I've kept my settings pretty minimal as I got used to the ins and outs of InDesign (during this, I did purchase Affinity Publisher and might end up moving to that, but I'm finally getting the hang of ID and you can pry it from my cold hands). I really wanted to mimic some of the interior of Fire & Blood for this, so I hunted down the fonts used and took an image of the decorative banner you see on the sides to use for the chapter openers. I also wanted to include timelines and family trees in true historically inspired fantasy tradition.

The family tree was created based off of the author's spreadsheet in Google Drawing, which I found to be the easiest thing to use when it comes to creating chaotic family trees like this (In the past I'd used lucid chart for a printable version, but google worked better here).

the timeline is honestly my favorite thing and I learned how to use tables in ID for the first time. I'm incredibly pleased with it. The formatting is based upon the line of kings in the source. The timeline covers the events of the first arc as printed in this particular story.

The chapter openers are some of my favorite! As the children are proud to be House Royce, I wanted to reflect that. The runes you see behind the Chapter number and title are the Floki font and name the character whose the POV for each chapter.

Since there's plenty of High Valyrian spoken and the author doesn't include the translations within narrative, it was the perfect moment to set up footnotes. I'll absolutely be doing this for my own story when I bind it!

Rounding and Backing: So this was a total adventure, but I really wanted the old book feel. I made the mistake of pressing the book for too long and lost a lot of the swell in the spine to round but it worked out AND I managed to back it a little bit. Since I wasn't doing cord tapes for the spine (this was a version of the three piece bradel), I had to troubleshoot. I ended up cutting strips of the leather cord I bought from michaels and laminating those pieces together and placing them on the oxford hollow on the spine (given how thick the book is, I wanted to give it as much structural strength as possible). The 'leather' covering you see is actually the craft leather (polyester) from Dollar Tree and it's pretty awesome but definitely has difficulties staying put with glue. I followed the normal procedure and slathered both sides up and used twine to compress the bookcloth along those leather pieces. there's a little gaping in some places which I think would help if I'm able to properly apply backing paper to the polyester.

HTV do's and don'ts: Hi! don't be me and forget to apply your teflon sheets before applying the HTV because then you fuck with the polyester but it's not too bad. The other pro-tip is to gently apply the iron to the cover so it's warm before applying the HTV so it can start to stick. I had to apply the front cover in three pieces and do the title twice. Also, it's really difficult to apply HTV to a rounded spine so I'll have to figure out how to set up the spine and cover before applying (since there's a certain amount of stretching the bookcloth over the spine). The spine might end up having to be regular adhesive vinyl for that. Also, it's stupidly hard to find metallic HTV in bronze.

Front matter and final thoughts: The bronze dragon was a lucky find through an extensive google search, and the runes surrounding it are 'we remember with fire and blood', a combination of House Royce and House Targaryen's words. Seems fitting four Yorick, Ella, and Aemon! The copyright page is mimicked off the source's style, including the AO3 information, the creative commons and fair use information, the guild stamp, a QR code to the AO3 page, and my own press stamp! The summary is pulled from AO3 as well.

All in all, I made this book twice and I loved it and learned so much every time.

I'm so happy with this project and I'm so excited to do the next arc! Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful story, Misa!

[comfymoth]

i have plotted a small additional chart of my oc’s general jolliness. milo’s placement should come with a footnote that says *makes someone else drive him around, but frankly i was lazy and he had enough text already. greedy

[ink-flavored]

65 Question OC Polycule Ask Game

Do you have a bunch of OCs in a polycule? Do you have the burning desire to answer questions about them? Look no further for an excuse to talk about it!   There are footnotes under the cut to explain some potentially unfamiliar terminology. Remember to send an ask to the person you reblog it from to make sure everyone gets to play!

How many members are in the polycule? How are they related to each other? Feel free to draw a flow chart.

Did the relationship start polyamorous, or was it a monogamous relationship that eventually opened?

If it started monogamous, how did the process of opening the relationship go?

Are there any mono-poly1 relationships in the polycule?

What “shape” is the polycule? A triad, a “V”, a straight line of metamours2, or incomprehensible?

Where do each of the members land on the “solo poly” to “entwined” spectrum?3

Where do each of the members land on the “free agent” to “community oriented” spectrum?4

How did each member realize they were polyamorous? Did they always know, or was there some sort of epiphany?

Do any of the current members practice hierarchical polyamory5? Who are the primary partners?

If the polycule is hierarchical, what differs in the boundaries set for primary vs secondary partners? Tertiary partners?

Have any of the members been in a hierarchical polycule before?

Have any of the members been in a non-hierarchical polycule before?

Do any of the members have a preference between hierarchical and non-hierarchical polyamory?

What’s the craziest polycule drama they’ve experienced so far?

Have any of the members been the unicorn6 of a relationship?

Have any of the members been unicorn hunters7 in the past? Were they successful?

How does each member like to engage with their metamours? Do they want to meet every potential addition, or do they not care at all?

What are their “vetoes” for potential metamours? Do they have any at all?

Which of the members want to live with their partner(s), and which prefer to live alone?

How do each of the members deal with jealousy? How intense is the feeling?

How intense does each member feel compersion8 toward their partners and metamours?

Who has the strongest communication skills in the group? Who has the weakest?

Who does the most scheduling out of all the members?

How do they deal with feelings of loneliness if their partner(s) are spending time with their other partner(s)?

Does the polycule ever have get-togethers or dates where everyone is present? What are they like?

Of the members who live together, what are the household dynamics like? How do they split chores, manage finances, etc.?

Of the members who live together, do they all sleep in one bed too? All separate bedrooms? Something in-between?

What are their sexual dynamics like? Is group sex frequent, or is it purely one-on-one?

Do boundaries shift depending on which partners are involved in sex or romance?

What kind of boundaries exist outside of a romantic dynamic? Are friends-with-benefits considered metamours? Hook-ups?

Are any of the polycule members aromantic? How does that influence their relationship boundaries and their relationship to polyamory in general?

Are any of the polycule members asexual? How does that influence their relationship boundaries and their relationship to polyamory in general?

Do any of the polycule members consider their relationship(s) to be queerplatonic? How does that influence their relationship boundaries and their relationship to polyamory in general?

How have their members’ respective family relationships influenced their polyamorous dynamics?

Were any of the members raised in a polyamorous family?

Are any of the polycule members parents? How many kids do they have?

If there aren’t any kids yet, will there ever be?

How would the polycule deal with one member wanting kids, but another member never wanting kids?

If the relationship opened up after children were already in the picture, how was the change explained to them? Was it explained at all?

Do all members of the polycule raise children together, or are there designated “parent” members?

How does being in a polyamorous relationship influence how boundaries are taught to their kids?

How do the kids feel about their parent(s) being polyamorous? Are they supportive, indifferent, or actively opposed?

Have cultural dynamics played a part in how the polycule operates?

Are any of the members keeping their polyamory a secret? Why?

For mono-poly relationships, how does the monogamous partner see and experience their relationship with a polyamorous person? Their relationships with their metamours?

How did any monogamous partners deal with the idea of opening up a previously closed relationship? Was it a difficult change?

Did any monogamous partners discover they were polyamorous after the relationship opened up? How did they find out?

Do any monogamous partners still struggle to cope with polyamory? What gets them through the hard times?

Were any monogamous partners completely fine with polyamory from the beginning?

How do the polyamorous halves of the mono-poly relationships feel about dating a monogamous person? Is it a unique struggle or smooth sailing?

Do the mono-poly relationships have different boundaries than the poly-poly-poly-poly-etc. relationships?

How well do the metamours get along? Do they even know each other?

Do any of the metamours dislike each other? How does that impact their shared partner(s)?

Do any of the metamours hang out when their shared partner(s) aren’t around?

Do any of the metamours have specific dynamics and/or boundaries with each other? Why?

How do the members feel about marriage? Do they live in a society that recognizes polyamorous marriage at all? If marriage isn’t an option, what about legal protections?

What do any monogamous members think about their polyamorous partner potentially marrying someone else (either in addition to or instead of them)?

How does the polycule celebrate anniversaries?

How does the polycule celebrate birthdays?

If one of the members gets sick, who takes care of them? Is there a rotation of caretakers lining up, or designated partner(s)?

Has anyone experienced a particularly messy break-up while in the polycule? How did everyone handle it?

Which of the members, if any, would be happy in a monogamous relationship if having a polycule wasn’t possible? Would any rather be single than monogamous?

How insecure was each member when starting their polyamorous journey? In what ways?

How did each member overcome their insecurities about relationships? Have they at all?

Wild card! Ask anything you can imagine!

[1] Mono-poly: a relationship that contains both a monogamous and polyamorous person; the monogamous person is only dating one polyamorous partner, but that partner might have other partners in addition to their monogamous partner.

[2] Metamour: the members of a polycule who are dating the same person or people, but aren’t dating each other.

[3] Solo: presents to the world as single at first glance; may not want to live with any partner, or if they do, they may not choose to share finances or property.

Entwined: prefers relationships that are more entwined practically, financially, or both; values sharing living space, spending time in close proximity, sharing financial or household obligations, etc.; may see themselves as part of a unit, a single family that shares responsibilities together and approaches life together.

Definitions taken from “More Than Two” by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert

[4] Free Agent: values personal autonomy highly, places importance on the ability to make their own decisions, and presents to the world as able to act without requiring permission from others; places responsibility for decision-making, and for bearing the consequences, on each person individually.

Community Oriented: focuses on the interconnectedness of their relationships and their community; decisions are made with an eye toward how they might fit with the others.

Definitions taken from “More Than Two” by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert

[5] Hierarchical Polyamory: a kind of polyamory in which the members of the polycule are split into “primary” partners, “secondary” partners, “tertiary” partners, and so on. The higher “ranked” members are given more priority when it comes to spending time together, living arrangements, major life decisions, and overall have more control over the state of the polycule than the lower ranked members. This is in contrast to non-hierarchical polyamory, in which there is no ranking system, all relationships are treated with equal weight, and decisions are made as a group. There is no one proper way to practice polyamory, and both methods can be fulfilling for people who have different needs for their relationships.

[6] Unicorn: stereotypically, a young bisexual woman that is equally attracted to both primary members of a hierarchical polycule or a recently opened monogamous relationship, agrees to give both members equal attention, and agrees to have no additional partners. Referred to as “unicorns” because these strict requirements for a dynamic are basically impossible to find.

[7] Unicorn Hunter(s): stereotypically, the primary members of a hierarchical polycule or a recently opened monogamous relationship who relentlessly search for a “unicorn” to perfect their ideal polyamorous dynamic. Often have very strict requirements of their unicorn, which is why they’re constantly hunting for someone who can fulfill them.

[8] Compersion: the opposite of jealousy; the feeling of joy experienced when seeing your partner happy with their other partner(s).

[studioeisa]

LOVE&LETTER REPACKAGE ୨ৎ celebrating 10 years with SVT!

i said it once, i'll say it again: caratblr is populated by some of the most talented individuals you will find. incredibly lucky to be in the presence of these greats, whose writing change and challenge the ways we think and the stories we tell. here are some of my all-timers. ‹𝟹

footnotes: some of these work may contain explicit content. please heed the warnings when checking them out. all headers are from u/seventeenzone.

from the vantage point of death by @heartepub

when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed.

there is simply no sugarcoating it: viv is a generational writer on this side of the fandom and beyond. this fic is a bullet point in the long list of reasons why. the tale of hades and persephone is time-worn and sometimes tired; viv makes a version of it that is entirely her own in ftvpod. in a way, this reads like a hozier song—haunting gospel, tender folklore, and understated sensuality. spring has come, and it's because viv has brought it in with ftvpod.

to love and to pound by @pochaccoups

There’s something different about Seungcheol since he got you pregnant.

char's work is never short of genius, but this particular piece strikes a balance between intimacy and smut that you are unlikely to find elsewhere. the time spent exploring the physicality of the couple—while also touching on sentiments that just feel so inherently seungcheol—really reminds you why she deserves to hold a username referencing pochaccoups. it bears repeating: char is one of, if not the, best writers you will ever find if you're wanting to read about choi seungcheol.

jeonghan drabble by @seungcheorry

it started with a "love, can i borrow a towel? i forgot mine" the first time he slept at your place; you gave it to him, a silly smile on your lips when he stepped out of the bathroom with your towel around his neck.

there is romance in the mundane, and cherry reminds us of that every so often. her writing has proven to be love letters to the slow days and the stolen moments; this jeonghan drabble is among her best work. there's sentimentality in this piece that manages to weave jeonghan so seamlessly into the seemingly 'boring' humdrum of daily life—proving, once again, that love can be found somewhere between takeout and shampoo.

‘til god breaks this spell by @joshujin

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

faith is tricky. faith ebbs like the tide; faith finds itself in the oddest of places. some might say faith exists in good writing such as that of trixie's. 'til god breaks this spell is a heart-wrenching exploration of the religions we grow up with, the convictions we grow out of, and the loves we grow around. this is the kind of story that heals something long since forgotten—so, thank you, trixie, for the absolution.

soul like me by @lovetaroandtaemin

You and Joshua have been friends for most of your life, and you thought that you always would be. Turns out, your feelings for each other are stronger than you thought, but love isn't always enough to keep a relationship strong.

to write humane characters in fiction is a feat that ally never seems to struggle with. soul like me bares intrinsic flaws that i'm sure we would all rather forget. it raises a mirror to the people we become when we are hurting and when we intend to hurt. it begs the question: is love the end all be all? the answer lies somewhere in the fic; as for real life, though, ally continues to chart love in all its forms through her writing.

worth it by @chugging-antiseptic-dye

“But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

give a an inch, and she'll take a mile. worth it is reminiscent of the impactful writing one might find from classics like fanfiction.net. to anticipate the ending does not soften the blow. there are no gut punches in this story. just the quiet beginning and end of it all, and the sting that stays in the heartbeats that follow. helpless, thy name is mine, because a is bound to continue with these deep cuts in her future work.

elevatory by @wqnwoos

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

hana treats soonyoung with a level of respect so rarely seen in fics where he is at the center. the inventiveness of this story is noteworthy, but i firmly believe it's the emotionality that really makes elevatory shine. anybody who has loved, lost, and gained is bound to find something here—whether it is closure, grace, or nostalgia. i, for one, found one of the brightest writers you might ever find on caratblr.

wings against the wind by @diamonddaze01

The tide pulls in. The stars burn on. Neither of you move.

every time i think tara has reached the pinnacle of her writing, she puts out another piece that shows otherwise. what makes wings against the wind a fic worth coming back to time and time again is the setting of it all. their summers could easily be mine, or yours; all of us were sixteen, and eighteen, and twenty-eight once. there is comfort in writing that reminds you that you are not alone in the grand scheme of things. tara is that extended hand, charting the friendship and romance that we lose to the sea.

on call by @kkaetnipjeon

you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.

i feel like a broken record who has ranted and raved about mj's writing way too often, but with works like on call, how could i not? this is a stellar intersection of humor, intimacy, and romance, in a setting that is just so utterly apt for jeon wonwoo. i knew this way back when, but this fic has convinced me i'd read 50k words from mj. or her grocery lists, even, if she is ever so inclined. before i'm properly derailed by fangirling: reading on call is the best thing you could do for yourself today.

maestro's muse by @ppyopulii

It’s HYBEHAX’s 10th year anniversary, and as the hackathon’s newest Design Team Lead, you are determined to make this year its best year yet.

jay's maestro's muse is an ongoing series that i can imagine jihoon being proud of. reinventing the form is a challenge few truly succeed at; jay does it, and will undoubtedly continue to do it. the world-building in this is simply lovely, and i'm among the dozens of people who await updates with bated breath.

chunhyangjeon redux by @shinysobi

If I had time, I would learn to love him in a softer way, perhaps, where my hands are bloodied and bruised from trying to hold on too hard.

as someone who has never been particularly well-versed in historical plots, i was pleasantly surprised to thoroughly enjoy chunhyangjeon redux. it might be easy to say that i come from a place of bias—i know how much work ro put into this piece, from ideation to eventual execution. that would be a disservice to the plain and simple fact that this fic is a brilliant period piece with a strong voice and immense soul.

neurosurgeon wonwoo x reader x neurologist jihoon by @thepixelelf

"He's frozen," you tell Jihoon, eyes set on the operating table and the man at the head of it.

there is no fic i think of as often as this. there's one line here—the ending one, specifically—that has quite literally impacted me so much that i continue to revisit this piece half a year (!) after i first found out. this is not an isolated incident; ursa seems to have a penchant for writing fics that truly stick with you. there's a tenderness to her characterizations that you simply can't replicate, which makes much of her masterlist timeless.

wasteland, baby! by @gotta-winwin

they say love can cure infection.

serena, harbinger of heartbreak, was kind enough to preempt me that this fic would rip my heart out of my chest. that did not make things any easier. wasteland, baby! reads like sand in an hourglass. there's a sense of dread that follows you throughout, but it goes hand in hand with hope. it's that heady cocktail of emotion that should convince you serena is worth reading until the end of the world.

golden promises by @diamonddaze01

And so it began. Minghao, who believed in fate, and you, who didn’t.

golden promises is more than just a crash and burn in slow motion. it's the final notes of your favorite song; it's the quiet beginning and end of it all. if you were to look up 'ache' in the dictionary, this fic would be an apt redirection exemplifying the word. while fate is bastardized in this story, it finds a home somewhere else. perhaps in the reminder that tara is fated to write, because golden promises is a fic that demands to be read.

glimpse of us by @gyubakeries

it's all wrong. when mingyu wakes up, a white ceiling presses down on him, the scent of oranges suffocates him, and skin that is brushing against his isn't warm.

you would expect tragedy to shape the form of a fic entitled glimpse of us, but tiya pulls the rug underneath your feet. this fic has a glaring amount of hope despite its heavy angst tag, and i do believe only a write like tiya could strike that balance without it feeling heavy-handed. narrative switches add to the emotional tug-of-war in this piece; redemption is earned, not simply granted. if this is your first glimpse into tiya's work, i urge you to look at the whole picture—it's a gallery worth visiting.

the subtle art of stirring the pot by @miniseokminnies

The kitchen at Quartz and Serenity in New York City runs like a well oiled machine. Then comes Lee Seokmin, the new sous chef, breezing in with a carefree attitude that disrupts your routine. All you've known for the last few years is studying, sleeping, and this kitchen. You try your best to work with the new addition to the chaos but what happens when the pot gets stirred?

if we're talking about the art of something, then let this be the art of writing lee seokmin. bennie nails the buildup and dynamic necessary to execute the tropes in this fic, and it can only come from a place of somebody who knows how to write seokmin. the tension crackles like a livewire in this body of work; much of bennie's writing, i believe, comes to life—whether in a kitchen, a record store, or during a game of chess.

something in the orange by @heartepub

remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love.

it would be a lie to claim something in the orange as anything less than my favorite piece of k-pop fanfiction, bar none. this is the kind of story that you think of years down the line, even after you've left a fandom. i don't doubt i will. in sito, viv weaves a pulitzer-worthy story that simply cannot be boxed into the genre of 'apocalypse au'. this is grief. this is memory. this is what it means to be human, captured in 5k words featuring boo seungkwan. i will scream it from the rooftops, i will reconstruct to hell and back—sito is an absolute headliner.

it gets easier by @mercif4l

fingers off the unblock button or you're gonna regret it, girl.

rowan has a writing voice that is so utterly distinct, i could scroll through the vernon x reader tag for hours and find nothing like this. there is catharsis in hurt/no comfort, especially when done well. it gets easier gives you room to wallow, but it also reminds you of necessary evils that await on the other side of self-flagellation.

hello, darling by @sailorsoons

Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. After a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you.

nobody is writing about svt like hali is. her body of work is an outstanding masterlist of alternate universes, spanning genres that touch on the human condition in ways that will leave you breathless. hello, darling is a prime example. the supernatural and thriller aspects of the fic unfold like a jordan peele plot—deliciously tense, intentionally vague, and loaded with suspense.

here, there, and everywhere by @chanranghaeys

This journal belongs to: me. If found, please contact this number. (And please do not read it—unless you want to read the ramblings of a person who fails to deny their feelings for a certain someone.)

here, there, and everywhere is an unashamed love letter to lee chan, from somebody who undoubtedly cares for him. like the song goes, hani knows that love is to share—and there is just so much of it in this fic. in between expressions of devotion and charting of affection through the years, here, there, and everywhere brings us to the very core of what it means to have a bias. overall, a beautiful ode to the man underneath the myth/legend.

not so loud by @daechwitatamic

You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed…

not so loud is a masterclass in friends to lovers. jo gives all her characters a level of autonomy that makes this fic a living, breathing thing. i remember sending this to four different people the first time i finished it, with a semi-crazed message of you have to read this. that still stands. this piece is gorgeous, not only in how it progresses the relationship, but also in how it resolves it conflicts and brings each scene to life.

MORE & MORE & MORE!

joshujin's we can be all we need (soonyoung)

100vern's while he's gone (soonyoung & vernon)

mylovesstuffs' a song for the ones who leave (vernon)

svtiddiess' the fae in my heart (minghao)

shinwonderful's freedom of choice

vampsol's a cut to remember (vernon)

vampsol's not a bad thing (vernon)

ppyopulii's hoshi + work song by hozier

etherealyoungk's ramen & fate (seungkwan)

shuacore's warm glow (joshua)

miniseokminnies' the boy who lives on the moon (jun)

[shadesofhogwarts]

The afterlife's a group project and everyone's failing

A/n: my version of what it might be like beyond the pearly gates with our marauders+lily

Enjoyyy

Up in the glittery upper-tier of the Afterlife– somewhere between “eternal peace” and “eternal surveillance”–the Marauders are gathered on a particularly puffy cumulus cloud that Remus enchanted to feel like a squashy armchair.

James is standing at the edge of it, arms crossed, posture tight, eyes narrowed as he watches the mortal plane like a disgruntled spirit Netflix-bingeing someone else’s memoir.

“Look,” James mutters, gesturing wildly at the sight below. “Just look. The first kid. Named after me and Sirius. And I was still snubbed. He's got the name, sure, but none of the swagger. That boy brushes his hair. On purpose.”

Sirius is lying on his back, legs hanging off the cloud, head dangling over the edge, dramatically sobbing into the ether.

“Brushed hair, Prongs. Brushed. What kind of shameful legacy is this? We died so a child could voluntarily gel his fringe? Are we ghosts or are we jokes?”

Remus, the only one holding a celestial clipboard because someone had to be sane, rubs his temples. “Technically, we’re both.”

Below, Harry is naming his second son. Albus Severus.

Silence.

Dead, dangerous silence.

James stares. Blinks once. Then his voice goes deadpan:

“He named the kid Albus Severus—ALBUS. SEVERUS. After Snape and Dumbledore. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Not ME. I died for that child and he named him after a man who bullied his mother and another who raised him like a pig for slaughter.”

Sirius makes a sound between a dying walrus and a demonically-possessed accordion. “Snape.”

“Oh I heard,” James snarls. “I heard that soppy ‘always’ nonsense and I almost came back from the dead to hex him into a second grave. ‘Always’? You tried to kill her best friend, mate! You called her a slur in fifth year and now you’re Mr. Tragic Lover?”

Remus has stopped blinking. “He–he didn’t even use ‘Remus.’ Not even a middle name. I got posthumously cancelled without even existing on the chart.”

“And maybe we’d still be alive if one of you idiots had picked literally anyone but Peter!” Lily snaps. “Peter, the man who flinched at cats!”

Remus, bitter: “I should’ve known. He once cried because he stepped on a slug.”

James collapses backwards into the cloud like a man felled by bad decisions. “I trusted him with my life. I said, ‘not Sirius, it’s too obvious.’ I thought I was being clever. Me. A man who lost his wand inside a couch once.”

Sirius, without missing a beat: “And then spent an hour lecturing the couch.”

James: “IT SWALLOWED IT WHOLE.”

Remus tosses his clipboard into the sun.

Lily floats in, radiant, furious, and dangerously glowing. “Excuse me, but I did not die–so young–get insulted by a man who called me a Mudblood and raised my child like a Horcrux-hunting soldier in a YA dystopia, just for my grandchild to be named after the human equivalent of a mildew stain.”

Sirius wheezes. “James, I was literally tortured in the Department of Mysteries! I came back from Azkaban with cheekbones that could murder! And I died in front of him like a goddamn Shakespearean plot twist. But no. No, it’s always bloody Severus!”

James is pacing now. “Dumbledore manipulated the kid like a puppet and he gets a statue. I threw the child in the air and caught him! Successfully! Every time!”

Lily’s eyes are glowing. “You know what? Let’s haunt someone. I want blood. Or at least a mild haunting. Maybe a poltergeist situation. I want that boy to spill soup on himself every time he says ‘Severus.’”

“Oh, I’m ready,” Sirius grins. “I’ll start small. Misplace his socks. Tangle his shoelaces. Make Ginny call him ‘Alby’ in front of his friends.”

Remus, quiet with suppressed rage, adds, “Put copies of Hogwarts: A History in all their bathrooms. The updated edition. With footnotes.”

The celestial pensieve flashes again. Harry is telling his son he is named after the bravest man he's ever known.

...

James, deadpan:

“Okay. That’s it. I’m reincarnating.”

They all collectively sigh.

Sirius nods solemnly. “I want to come back as a howler and scream ‘YOU’RE WELCOME’ at the Christmas table.”

Remus mutters, “I’m coming back as a stray dog just to piss on Dumbledore’s grave.”

James closes his eyes. “You know what hurts the most? We were cool. We were so cool. We died like heroes in a war and somehow history turned us into the sad backstory in some greasy emo boy’s redemption arc.”

Lily throws up her hands. “You think you got rewritten? I got reduced to freckles, green eyes, and a personality called ‘Harry’s mom.’ I died gloriously. There was a scream. I looked ethereal. I had a monologue. And now I’m a plot device with ovaries.”

Sirius claps slowly. “We are going to start a celestial rebellion.”

“And Teddy?” James perks up suddenly. “Teddy Lupin. I forgot we had a nephew. A cool one.”

They all pause.

“…He’s dating my namesake,” James adds slowly. “That’s... that’s a weird familial loop.”

Sirius cackles. “Classic Marauder energy. I approve.”

Lily claps her hands. “Alright, if we can’t fix Harry’s naming issues, can we at least collectively agree to curse that portrait of Dumbledore? I want it to blink every time someone mentions ‘the greater good.’”

Remus: “Make it sneer every time someone says ‘clever boy.’”

James flops onto the cloud. “We were legends. And now we’re the punchline of a badly written epilogue.”

And somewhere below, Harry Potter sneezes. For no reason. His soup spoons have started disappearing. Teddy finds a mixtape in his sock drawer that plays “Teenage Dirtbag” on loop.

The haunting has begun.

And the dead?

The dead are laughing through their heartbreak.

[rubyhellneon]

video game scenery: [38/∞] ↳  cronos station ◁ mass effect: legendary edition [ location: milky way / horsehead nebula / anadius ]

"The MIa red supergiant Anadius is a minor footnote on the star maps of the Horsehead Nebula: a cold, dying star of about 20 solar masses and 1,500 times Sol's radius. Not listed on any charts, an unobtrusive space station is nearly imperceptible in the star's periodic bursts of solar output".

[plounce]

made this chart because i think the role/class assignments are such fun pieces of characterization for story NPCs! information pulled from here.

footnotes under the cut:

many NPCs have fancy titles instead of job names - for example, ysayle is referred to as "oracle of ice", and pre-edw alphinaud is an "academician". the jobs i marked them as are pulled from the icons of their classes + the movesets they use.

i didn't include the nameless fill-in NPCs like "temple chirurgeon" or "scion lancer". i am aware that the ARR duty support npcs have dialogue and mini-arcs, but that isn't relevant to my interest in making this chart. and sorry to j'moldva and any fans she has, but she also does not meet the threshold of character significance to be included in the chart.

thancred, urianger, and alphinaud can only dps in specific duty support instances: thancred in the antitower (if he tanks, this is the only time he can GLD - without a shield equipped! uh oh), alphinaud during hvw & stb, and urianger in the mothercrystal (if the player heals, alphinaud is your other healer). y'shtola will only heal in the burn and edw patch dungeons (funny, since her introductory epithet is "cultured conjurer"). all of these can only be used in duty support and not in trust, so they are on the cusps of their overlaps, not properly in them, as i feel this more accurately reflects their actual roles.

alphinaud functions as a scholar with his special massive carby. urianger also pulls out an even bigger carby to somehow be a summoner ("lithomancer") who can use bahamut and phoenix, but not the other three egis! due to his involvement in the bahamut coils raids?

there are no pure healers, outside of the fill-in NPCs!

DPS is a girl job, tanking is a boy job, and healer is equality. ysayle and venat are the only women who can tank, and both use a sword & shield, which makes me want to eat drywall, also i'm also kissing them both on the mouth.

apparently samurais can tank (🔄Third Eye🔄) and apparently gladiators are DPS.

g'raha is notable outside of being an all-rounder in that all of his jobs are, well, jobs. the majority of characters use class icons, while he gets to be full-fledged versions of all of these things. something something soul crystals / the crystal tower / the exarch / etc etc. frankly i'm a little fuzzy on soul crystal lore. i just think this is an interesting distinction.

if you're interested in this kind of stuff, @trustinsighters is a great resource for character dialogue, actions, and many more interesting details in the characters' programming in duty support and trust dungeons! they have great infographics and videos, including localization differences. one of my favorite accounts. their twitter has charts for every trust dungeon from shb onwards, and high-res versions are available on their kofi!

now look at my wol's adorable starlight RDM fit. isn't she so cute. she's my angel. i think about her lore and i weep. her heart is so Good. tomte peregrin on maduin ♥

that is all.

[marimayscarlett]

LIFAD turns 15 years old today 💿🎶

On this day, the 16th of October 2009, the album 'Liebe ist für alle da' was released. The work for this album started the year prior, as the preproduction for the album took place from February to October 2008. The focus of the band in the beginning period of the production lay on learning how to work together again, playing songs together and gather ideas. In Hermannshagen, over the course of about one month, the band came up with up to 90 recordings of little snippets (like choruses and riffs), which they recorded for later.

After this brainstorming period, the band moved to the Beesenstedt castle in Sachsen-Anhalt to rehearse. The process apparently was less than easy due to tension in the band. The individual members seemingly first had to reconnect with each other, since the last production had been some time ago. Richard described the process of working on the album as difficult at times: "Everyone was involved and interested in everything, which meant the decision-making power was practically zero because everyone wanted to go in a different direction. Six people on the boat and everyone playing captain – that's really tough."

After the work period in Germany, the band moved over to the US for recording. Drum recording took place in the Henson Studios located in Los Angeles, and the final destination were the Sonoma Studios in San Francisco. The studio they had booked there fell far short of their expectations – the band felt cramped and not as comfortable as they had hoped for a successful recording of their new album. Paul describes it as follows: "There we ended up in a studio that was in the middle of a retiree resort. We had imagined that differently, because actually the area was quite cool. There were cougars and deer running around, but we were in the middle of nowhere, and when we booked, we couldn't see the barbed wire that fenced off all the paths. We felt cramped, and on top of that, the studio wasn't exactly inviting. The owner had hung unsightly things everywhere that we had to take down first. However, after de-cluttering the rooms, we started to feel better."

In total, about 20 songs were recorded, of which 18 songs were published (15 on the special edition of the album, plus Mein Land and Vergiss uns nicht on the single for Mein Land, and Gib mir deine Augen on the single for Mein Herz brennt.)

The promotion for this album was done by advertising clips, for example an old lady enjoying "Frühling in Paris" and a bodybuilder lifting weights while listening to "Mehr".

Eugenio Recuenco was the artist behind the album aesthetic - he shoot the pictures for the booklet as well as for the cover of the album. Richard mentioned a similarity to the painter Hieronymus Bosch regarding the style and arrangment in the pictures. In the US, the cover was censored - an additional inlay paper on top of the usual cover showed the cover picture, but without the woman on the table

Less than a month after the album's release, it was placed on the German index. The reasons given for this were the song Ich tu dir weh, which was seen as glorifying violence, as well as this particular image of Richard:

Due to these reasons, from November 11, 2009, the original version could only be sold upon request to adult customers and was no longer allowed to be advertised. On the re-release of the CD following the indexing of the album, there is only a several-second pause in place of the song. On the cover, Ich tu dir weh is crossed out in red and marked with the footnote "Removed after censorship by the authorities of the Federal Republic of Germany." The letters of the song lyrics in the booklet were replaced with Xs except for brief excerpts.

After a lengthy legal dispute, the album was finally removed from the index in October 2011 and can once again be distributed with Ich tu dir weh.

Nevertheless: The album, like its predecessors, entered directly at number 1 on the German charts and stayed there for two weeks. In total, it was in the Top 100 for 83 weeks. It also held the number 1 spot for several weeks in Austria and Switzerland, and even reached the Top 20 of the album charts in the USA and the UK. In the ranking of the best-selling albums in Germany in 2009, Liebe ist für alle da ranked 7th.

Some additional facts surrounding the album:

During their tour for the album, Rammstein performed Ich tu dir weh with altered lyrics.

The album was originally supposed to be called Wiener Blut – like the Rammstein song about child abductor Josef Fritzl. However, they decided against it because there was already a Falco album with the same name.

Richard about the album title: '"Liebe ist für alle da" (Love is there for everyone) is a very Christian thought. Of course, one must ask, is love really there for everyone? I would hope that it is. Can we forgive those who have misunderstood love? I often think about that, and I fail, then make some progress, only to go back again.'

The chorus of Frühling in Paris is inspired by Edith Piaf's chanson Non, je ne regrette rien.

Four years after the album's release, Führe mich was used as a soundtrack for Lars Von Trier's controversial film Nymphomaniac.

The song Haifisch is inspired by Mack the Knife from Brecht's The Threepenny Opera.

Sources: rammwiki metalhammer rammstein.de welt.de noz.de

[profoundlyfaded]

And a further addition to this post - romantic head canons for EmmRook - specifically around Rook’s time in The Fade.

As per all these little snippets, this involves Yaryna Ingellvar; Mourn Watch Reaper. This one contains slightly more explicit spoilers so be warned, it also contains footnotes…

In the immediate aftermath of Rook being pulled into The Fade, there isn’t much time to process what has happened as Elgar’nan rains enough fire down on Tearstone it turns to glass*. It’s Davrin and Taash who all but drag Emmrich to safety but once back in the Lighthouse he walks back to his rooms without a word, shutting the door, shutting them all out.

The silence is an echoing yaw across the Lighthouse because it’s not just Rook, Harding is gone too, dead in a blaze of bravery. Bellara too, ripped through a mirror. And Emmrich feels those losses deeply too; Harding had become an unexpected but firm friend and Bellara was akin to what he imaged having a curious niece might have been like. But his mind swims back to Rook; beautiful, vibrant Rook whose last words to him were cry of relief that he was alright after Ghilan’nain managed to entangle him in Blight. Beautiful, vibrant Rook whom he had told the night before that they probably needed to end it because he’s far too old for her and their future limited. Despite it, however, he woke to her in his bed after she snuck in after he fell asleep.

He stands in his lab, hands on his mortuary slab, bracing himself against the torrent of emotion. The feeling one he remembers as a small boy upon the realisation that his parents are never coming back. But Rook isn’t necessarily dead; she vanished in a blinding flash of light and the taste of the Deep Fade lingered before Elgar’nan rained down his fury.

She could be in The Fade; transported there by factors unknown**. An idea starts to form - he’s looking at his equipment. When he first arrived, Rook had asked him to help them navigate the Crossroads, to try and chart the Fade so they could traverse it. His role expanded, of course, but it was his deep knowledge of the Fade that brought him here. He’d also been studying the prison Solas created, having identified both the one Solas had originally made and the new one he created having found them through readings and valances that were not consistent with surrounding areas.

But he needs something tangible of Rook’s; a deeply personal item with which to give him a baseline of her presence. So he goes to her quarters; as their relationship progressed he spent many an evening here, relaxed with Rook, contemplating the aquarium that he still hasn’t found time to study. In his minds eye, there is moment after moment flooding into him of them kissing, making love, slipping away to the bedroom***. The room smells of her and all the little touches around the room remind him of the things that delight her; the Nevarran Urn, an elven lamp lit with Veilfire. The last set of flowers he left for her sit in a vase, slightly wilted now, it’s been a few days given the rush since Elgar’nan pulled the sun and moon into its diabolical eclipse. Books line one wall - mediations on battle, instruction manuals on hexcraft that he’s afraid to open because she writes in the margins, he finds a couple of the books he’s written in metaphysics in The Fade and he flicks it open to find her handwriting on the page, underlined passages, circled phrases… it’s awful and beautiful at the same time.

There’s also a journal, it bulges, it looks so tantalising. He’s seen her write in it many times. He wants to pick it up, decern something of Rook’s nature just by holding it. Emmrich places his hand on it as if he could feel the beat of her heart through it or the thread of her thoughts. In the back of his mind, he expects Rook, Yaryna, to burst through the door.

In the bedroom, her bed is made because she didn’t sleep there last night, but her cosmetics are strewn across a dressing table. The clothes she wears when they are just at the Lighthouse are thrown across the arm chair in the corner, her velvet day coat on top. A book is on the table beside the chair, open but pages down, and it’s another of his - she’s working through his entire body of published works. There’s also a folded newspaper beside it, the headline reveals it’s actually one of the serials the team all end up sharing - this one is Bellara’s favourite about ghosts.

On the bedside table is what he’s looking for - her hairbrush and hair. Something that contains Rook and all that she is to give him the signature he is looking for.

Lucanis is the first to visit, the following day, with food ‘you can’t keep doing whatever it is you are doing without eating.’

Periodically, the team check on their resident necromancer and then there is news from the Veil Jumpers - Solas emerging from within the ancient ruins of the capital. They tried to question him, but Solas turned them to stone. Emmrich travels to the ruined city, Neve with him along with Davrin and Assan, taking measurements. Here the plan to replicate the knife is born; Emmrich can get a sense of the enchantment well enough to inlay magic into it that it would buy them some time to swap it with the real dagger so they can attempt rescue Rook.

Taash and Lucanis, and to an extent all of them, want to go after Solas but he’s temporarily gone to ground and both Rook and Bellara are out there somewhere. Elgar’nan is nursing his wounds too, clearly deciding on his move now Ghilan’nain is dead. As the dagger comes together, Emmrich continues his search of the Fade and each night returns to Rook’s room to be close to her, one night opening her journal because it’s been days, nearly two weeks and not even a glint.

The flowers he’s given her over their courtship are pressed among the pages, notes about when he gave them to her, what she loves. She’s kept all the ribbons as well. The words speak of love, a connection deeper than can be fathomed, all the things Emmrich has felt but expressed in Rook’s looping handwriting.

And he cries. A deep echoing pain because how could his last words to her have been ones of separation. It should have been love.

Then a few further days later, there’s a glint. The briefest flash. Emmrich doubles down, to his companions he’s become a bit of a mess, the refined clothing, pushed back hair even his speech holds the air of a desperate man.

A few days later again, more flashes of activity, a flurry but not in a location that could be transposed to the real world. Not somewhere they can travel without Solas’s dagger. Elgar’nan makes his move and no one is ready. They don’t have enough resource for an out and out battle on the home turf of the Venatori anyway.

And more flashes of activity; real tangible evidence this time and a location to match - the ritual site where it all went wrong. And they can get there quickly because the location is ‘stored’ within the mirror. The team suit up, hopeful but also scared because what happens if Emmrich is wrong and they’ve not been able to retrieve Solas’s dagger to use.

Blind faith drives Emmrich, more than he had when he retrieved Manfred’s spirit, that Rook can find her way out all he has to do is find the right spot. The weakest point of the Veil. The last thing he hears before he plunges his hand into that tiny gap is Taash saying he better be sure.

And a hand grabs his; warm, familiar. He must say something because the team grab his arm and they pull in a loud shout pulling through Rook. She promptly collapses to her knees and vomits, then a mix of laughter and crying, pressing her forehead to the stone.

‘Darling?’

It’s the most cautious way he’s ever said it. Pausing, Rook wipes her mouth, then looks up, shielding her eyes from bright reality of the world compared to the Fade.

‘I knew you’d find me, my love.’

—

*I think it’s Taash who can tell Rook that Elgar’nan rained so much fire on the island in fury that it turned to glass. You have to interact with them a couple of times during the ‘last conversations’ before going to the final fight.

** I don’t necessarily think that Solas came back through The Fade immediately. I don’t think he returned via Tearstone Island as it would have been too dangerous. I don’t think the gang know Solas escaped for a couple of days or so.

***Look Rook isn’t sleeping on that sofa every night, and Emmrich does not sleep standing up like a horse. I’ve given each of the companions a proper bedroom behind like a hidden door in their respective dens - expect Davrin because that boy has his shit together.