#tog au

[thimbleandakiss]

hey! Could you write a fanfic based on the dreamscape Maeve created for Aelin of she and Rowan courting in doranelle? It was one of the dreamscapes that showed how things might have been had Erawan not been re-awoken. I recall a steamy bit in a natural pool?

Painless Paradise

Rowan Whitethorn x Aelin Ashryver Galathynius

Summary: In a world where Erawan is never awoken, and the Galathyniuses settle their differences with Maeve long enough to allow her to visit Terrasen, and later train Aelin under the skillful hand of Prince Rowan Whitethorn, how different would things have turned out?

Content: fluff, mild cursing, romance, suggestive ending

Cross-posted to Ao3

Playlist 1 used to write and Playlist 2 used to write

Aelin watches them arrive from the balcony of her room in the palace at Orynth. 

The envoy from Doranelle stretches for leagues. Fine horses–Asterion, no doubt–wagons of treasures Aelin can’t imagine, and more fae than anyone in the west have seen in their lives. 

She wonders what kinds of magic they brought with them. How many of them possess a fire like hers? Water, like her mother’s? 

“Your highness!” The exasperated huff from further in her room has Aelin turning and grinning. 

“Elide,” She hums, stepping back inside and closing the glass doors behind her. 

“Don’t give me that look.” Her handmaid, and closest friend, plants her hands firmly on her hips. “You know as well as I that you should’ve been in the throne room ages ago.”

“And miss seeing them arrive?” Aelin protests, even as she allows herself to be dragged through her palace chambers and out into the hall. 

“You’re third in line,” Elide reprimands, looking Aelin over. Her lack of comment about her appearance tells Aelin she’s put together enough to spare her that lecture, “Your appearance reflects on all of Terrasen-”

“Elide,” Aelin laughs, shaking her head. “The flag bearers haven’t even reached the gates of Orynth.”

The dark-eyed lady raises an eyebrow. “These aren’t the envoys you’re used to, princess.”

Aelin stares at her as they walk side-by-side down the sprawling palace halls, various staff members running back and forth in a scramble to get all last-minute preparations ready. 

“Are you going to elaborate, or…?” Aelin prompts. 

Elide rolls her eyes, “These are fae , Aelin.”

Aelin blinks again. 

Elide groans, nudging her toward corridor just behind the throne room. “They sent a few ahead in their animal forms. At least two of which were birds.”

Aelin purses her lips in understanding. She hadn’t thought about it. 

Elide’s about to shove her through a door before she pauses. “Oh! Shift.”

“Excuse me?” Aelin cocks her head, looking at the woman over her shoulder. 

“The king decided it would make a good impression if all royal members who are able were in their fae forms.”

Aelin frowns, but punches through the thin, metaphysical veil that separated herself from her immortal body. She barely has time to process the change, the elongated ears and canines, the sharpened senses, before Elide shoves her through, and Aelin picks her way between the members of her family behind the antler throne. 

Several annoyed glances are tossed her way and she just grins at them in return before taking her place beside her cousin, Aedion. 

“How kind of you to join us,” Aedion whispers in her ear and Aelin replies by subtly kicking his shin. 

Aedion chuckles and grins, shoving her shoulder. 

Before either of them can escalate it out of control, the throne room doors swing open, and Aelin and her cousin straighten with a snap. 

Two wolves, one white, one black, strode in first, shifting into two powerful males as they passed the threshold, a blonde and a raven-haired respectively. They split apart in perfect unison, falling to their knees, one fist to their hearts. 

Then comes a male who radiates a sort of darkness, a golden lion at his side, and an osprey on his shoulder, who follow in the footsteps of the previous two, shifting the moment they cross the threshold and fall to their knees. 

Aelin cocks her head in curiosity. The one hadn’t arrived in animal form. By choice? Or is he like Aedion, lacking one? Did Maeve accept demifae into her inner circle?

The questions that fill Aelin’s head come to a sudden halt as a white-tailed hawk soars into the room, shifting and kneeling a few paces ahead of the five others in one fluid motion. 

He catches Aelin’s attention immediately, and she subconsciously straightens. With his silvery-white hair and green eyes that she swears briefly flicked to hers before he fixes them on the marble floor, Aelin decides in that moment that he’s the most beautiful male she’s ever seen. 

“Welcome, Prince Rowan,” Orlon begins, his deep, kind voice filling the space, “And all of Maeve’s inner circle.”

The six took that as permission to rise. They’re all dressed in fine, exotic fabrics, the silver-haired prince–Rowan–sporting a tunic of silver, embroidered in emerald. 

Pleasantries and courtly speech Aelin can’t be bothered to pay attention to are tossed back and forth, all the while she can’t stop staring. 

Thanks to the heightened senses of this form, Aelin can scent this new male from where she stood. He smells of pine and snow. He smells of home. Something in her chest tugs forward. 

She’s jarred suddenly from her trance when she hears her name. 

“...Aelin, my niece, would be happy to show you the grounds.”

Aelin barely restrains herself from spouting I would?

Instead, she strides gracefully forward, stepping off the dais and dropping into a curtsey before the foreign prince. Silently, she thanks the gods for Marion Lochan, and all the lessons on courtly appearances she’d taught her, even if she’d spent every single one of them complaining. 

When she rises, Rowan takes her hand and brings it to his lips in a practiced motion. Something in Aelin tells her that he, too, hadn’t enjoyed whatever lessons in court he’d received. 

The muscles shifting beneath his tunic, and the tattoo curling across the side of his face speak of strength. Power. Danger. And some wicked little part of her, buried deep in her heart, stirs at that promise. 

~*~*~

“I… trust your journey was smooth?” Aelin asks, leading Rowan through her favorite part of the palace: the gardens. 

Roses, carnations, marigold, and more types of flora than Aelin can name are flourishing in the sprawling courtyard. 

“Not a bump,” Rowan replies, a sparkle of hidden humor in his emerald eyes, his voice a deep kind of rumble that has Aelin attempting to memorize the exact cadence with which he spoke. 

She curses herself for this awkward tension. Both of them seem determined to keep up the kind of manners expected of them, and both also seem to feel just as suffocated as the other by those expectations. 

Rowan’s five bond-brothers have forgone the tour in favor of assisting their queen in her own arrival. Aelin is excused from being present to greet her, in part because of her duty escorting the foreign prince around the palace, but mostly because the grand banquet officially welcoming their guests from Doranelle wasn’t for another couple hours. 

Aelin turns, grasping to find some way to keep up a conversation, to find Rowan watching her curiously, hands clasped behind his back, posture impeccable. Looking at him, Aelin subconsciously straightens her own shoulders, determined to impress. 

Even still, she cocks her head, a slow grin spreading her lips. “...What?”

“Nothing,” he says, quickly pretending to admire a nearby hydrangea. 

“Don’t give me that,” Aelin demands, striding forward and bending to try and catch his eye again. “I can almost hear your thoughts.”

When Rowan’s eyes meet hers, she gasps. I’m thinking you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen . 

Forget almost. She can hear his thoughts. 

Rowan’s lips twitch. He pulls his arm out from behind his back, a sunset rose resting delicately in his scarred palm. 

After a moment in which he seems to be contemplating something, he lifts that flower, fingertips scraping against the skin of her forehead as he sweeps her golden hair aside, tucking it behind her ear and leaving the rose in his wake. 

Aelin turns her head, trying to pretend to be unaffected. 

But Rowan sees the way she subtly brushes her fingers over the soft petals when she thinks he’s not looking. 

~*~*~

That evening, sitting beside her cousin at the high table, Aelin marvels at the spread before her. She’s never seen anything quite as grand, not even when the king of Adarlan had come over a decade ago. 

“So…” Aedion begins, glancing at the flower still tucked into her hair, fork scraping on his golden plate. Aelin groans internally. She knows whatever is about to leave her cousin’s mouth will make her want to punch something. “I take it your garden frolic with prince-”

“One more word out of your mouth,” Aelin cuts in with a purposefully polite tone, “and I will set your trousers on fire.”

Aedion gasps with mock offense, laying a hand on his chest. “In front of your new friends? That’s awfully un-princess-like.” 

Aelin can’t help but snort. 

The noise in the grand hall is so much louder than usual. Seldom in her fae form in such crowded places, Aelin’s unused to being able to clearly hear the conversations from even across the room. And, of course, she immediately decides to use this to her advantage. 

Tuning in to her parents’ and older relatives’ conversation with Maeve down the table, even their hushed voices are as crisp as if they’re sitting right next to her. 

“She has such potential,” Evalin is saying, “but no one in Terrasen is skilled enough to help her tame that explosive a power.”

Aelin has a sneaking suspicion they’re talking about her, and she subtly nudges Aedion, telling him he’d better start listening. 

She can hear the smile on Maeve’s perfect mouth as she replies smoothly, “Doranelle has many masters willing and happy to teach the young princess. Some of my own have already volunteered for the position.”

“We’d have to send Aedion with her,” Rhoe muses. 

“And Elide,” Aelin’s mother adds. 

“Who are among these volunteers?” Orlon asks.

“Two of my blood-sworn. Fenrys was the first,” Maeve takes a sip from her wine, “but I think the position better suits Prince Rowan.”

Aelin chokes on the water she’d been casually sipping, causing several heads to briefly snap in her direction. The tips of her pointed ears burning, she slowly sets down the chalice, ignoring her cousin chuckling beside her. 

“Your offer is generous,” Orlon says carefully, “I’m sure Aelin will be pleased to hear of it.”

“We will have to consider it,” Evalin adds tightly, like she’s worried about something. 

Though she dares not look, Aelin is sure her father has gripped his wife’s hand. She does, however, look up at Aedion. His turquoise eyes shimmer with a mix of apprehension and excitement, reflecting what she feels herself. To be allowed into Doranelle, trained by one of Maeve’s most powerful warriors… The idea feels like a fever dream. 

“This is the best thing for her, my love,” Rhoe murmurs soothingly. 

Aelin glances over to where Maeve’s blood-sworn sit together just to the side of the high table, only to see Rowan already looking at her. He has a small smile on his lips, like he, too, has been listening in. 

“I know.”

~*~*~

Face set in a wild grin, Aelin races through the woods after the white-haired prince a stone’s throw in front of her. 

She’s been on the eastern continent for almost four weeks now, and it’s better than she could have ever imagined. They’ve been staying in a fortress called Mistward, tucked in the forested foothills of the mountain separating Doranelle from the mortal lands. 

Rowan pushes her harder than anyone’s ever pushed her before. To him, she isn’t a princess, isn’t untouchable. 

And gods, it is refreshing . 

Already, she has more control over her wildfire than ever, able to keep bonfires lit without much thought at all. She knows how to make it all light and no heat, or hone her fire into a blade so hot the air around it wobbles. 

But by far, her favorite has to be these romps in the woods. When she meets Rowan in their usual clearing, he beckons her with a little smile before taking off into the trees, and she has little choice but to shift and chase . 

Last time, he led her to a meadow blooming with more wildflowers than Aelin could name. 

This time, as she breaks through the treeline, hardly out of breath, Aelin finds Rowan already perched on a large stone bordering a forest pool as clear and blue as her irises. 

“And here I was, thinking catching you would be challenging,” Aelin teases, trying not to gaze around with too much wonder. 

“Trust me,” Rowan says, slowly removing his belt and the impressive array of weapons he carried on his person at all times, “If I wanted to challenge you, I would.”

He peels off his shirt, and Aelin can’t help but admire the way his tattoo spills across his face, over his shoulder, and down his arm. Well, that and… a few other things. 

Kicking off his boots, Rowan slips into the water, moving to tread in the center of the pool, staring at Aelin as if daring her to follow. 

Smirking, Aelin strips until she’s left only in her underthings, not bothering to turn away, and taking immense satisfaction in watching the immortal fae warrior’s ear-tips dust with pink. 

She briefly debates running and jumping into the pool, but opts instead to slowly walk in until her feet can no longer reach the bottom. In fact, despite being able to perfectly see hers and Rowan’s bodies suspended in the water, Aelin cannot see the bottom. 

Aelin dips her head back to soak her long, golden hair, slicking it away from her face, and looks up again to see Rowan staring at her in a way that makes her skin feel warm. It’s not the same kind of look she’d seen in the eyes of oily foreign court officials, who gazed at her body and imagined all the things they could take from it. 

No, as she looks into his eyes, she can see him picturing all the things he’d lay down for her, the cities he’d raze, the armies he’d demolish. 

“You’re the most perfect creature I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, eyes flicking back and forth between her own. 

Aelin subconsciously drifts closer until she can feel the water displaced by his swishing legs. That unbearable tension that’s existed between them since the day he arrived at Terrasen pulls taut again as she lifts a dripping hand to his face, fingertips brushing over his tattoo. 

“And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Aelin whispers in reply, eyes drifting to his lips a moment before his calloused fingers brush underneath her chin, and he pressed those lips against hers. 

The first thing that strikes her is how right this feels, and a thought tickles the back of her mind. A thought so delightful, she places both hands on the sides of Rowan’s face and pulls him closer to her, drifting back over to the rocky bank of the forest pool so he can press her against one of the large, sun-warmed boulders. 

The thought that this male is hers . Hers on a level no human connection can ever hope to reach. 

And there, back against the stone, Rowan’s body over hers as his pointed canines sink into the tender flesh where her neck meets her shoulder, Aelin feels the mating bond snap into place.

[zairaalbereo]

When he was young, Joe cast a spell to fall in love with an impossible man to make sure he would never fall in love at all…

But the spell found its goal, and when years later magic brings trouble to Joe’s door, it also brings Detective Nicolò di Genova.

It’s the spooky season once more and so it’s time to rewatch one of my favourite movies. Luckily for me, @gallifreyburning is also writing an amazing Practical Magic TOG AU:

a love even time will lie down and be still for

Read it, it’s beautiful! I can’t wait to see it finished.

[shadowhandss60]

“Hey! Watch where you’re going-“

“I’m fairly certain you ran into me.”

*

*

*

A little Manorian meet-cute moment 🖤

(Art by me)

[leiawritesstories]

When We Think of Love

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 11 & 12: Song Fic & Forbidden Love @rowaelinscourt. inspired by "Soul Tied" by Ashley Singh

Word count: 3k

Warnings: angst. and pain. the song is quite sad. i'm so sorry.

A/N: this is a sort-of Regency era AU, so the language might be a little weird hahaha. also, Frederick got out of the basement. enjoy...?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though the gown was the latest fashion and only had two layers of skirts with a single underskirt and lightweight wore structure holding up its shape, Aelin felt weighed down by the fine silk that draped her frame, its rosy pink color completely at odds with the grey numbness clouding her mind. 

“You are a vision,” her mother announced, sweeping elegantly into Aelin’s dressing chamber. Evalin Ashryver, Duchess of Orynth, never walked. She floated, and she had taught her only daughter to do the same from the time she could stand. “But why are you pensive, my dear?”

“Simply lost in thought, I suppose.” Aelin painted a soft smile onto her lips. “Mayhap I am a bit nervous for tonight.” 

“As it is well you may be.” Evalin touched her daughter’s satin-gloved hand with her own. “I recall clearly the day my own parents announced my betrothal to your father. I declare I may not remember anything else from that evening.” 

Aelin gave the skirts a gentle shake, letting the fine silk drape more fluidly over the subtle hoops rounding out its shape. “Let us hope His Majesty is pleased with the arrangement, yes?” 

“Of course he is,” Evalin said, brushing away Aelin’s underlying concern. “The prince is the most advantageous match we could have made for you, Aelin dear, and Orlon has long been looking at the benefit of a military tie with Anielle. I know the two of you have only met a handful of times, but there will be ample time for you to become acquainted during the wedding preparations.” 

“I suppose there will be.” Aelin shifted her gaze back to the mirror, resisting the urge to reach up and rip the delicate silver tiara from its perch atop the coils of her hair. She was fourth in the succession for the throne of Terrasen, and she had grown accustomed to the ways in which her family demonstrated their royal position, but there were ever so many moments when she wanted nothing more than to abandon the crown and its weight and flee into the depths of the Oakwald. 

There, parted from society, she could be with her love. 

A soft knock rapped on the door, and Aelin’s lady’s maid entered, curtsying politely to Evalin. “Pardon, milady, Your Grace, but His Grace is ready.” 

“Thank you, Kaltain,” Aelin said. She turned to her mother. “We likely should not keep Father waiting; we know how quickly he disappears into his study if he does not have to make an appearance.” Evalin laughed softly and led Aelin out into the hallway and down the stairs, finding Rhoe waiting at the base of the sweeping staircase, fidgeting with his gloves. 

“Ah, there you are,” he said, looking up. “You look so lovely, my Fireheart.” He squeezed Aelin’s hands and leaned in to whisper into her ear. “I would embrace you, but your mother might strangle me for crinkling your dress.” 

She snickered. “She very well might.” 

“None of that unladylike noise,” Evalin hissed, prodding Aelin with her paper fan. She nodded at the pair of footmen by the double doors leading to the ballroom. “Shall we?” 

“I am as ready as I can be,” Aelin whispered as she placed her hand on her father’s arm. “Only help me not to fall.” 

“Of course.” Rhoe let Evalin glide into the ballroom, nodding and smiling and exchanging greetings with the swarm of beautifully dressed nobility gathered there, and at the swell of the small orchestra in the corner, he led Aelin into the throng. 

She fixed her smile firmly in place but coasted her gaze over the sea of blurred faces, seeking an anchor in the pair of pine eyes that seared into her soul. Catching Rowan’s gaze, she let loose a fraction of her anguish, silently crying her grief to him across the sea of elegantly clad gentry. 

Please forgive me.

~

Rowan Alexander Whitethorn, heir to the Duchy of Doranelle, had known Aelin since they were both small children. His family estate bordered her family holdings, but his father had only recently been elevated to the title of Duke, honored for his many years of service to King Orlon. Rowan vividly remembered the day he had first met Aelin—he was ten and she was seven, and she was a golden-blonde blur of motion on the back of a silvery mare galloping through the forest between their lands. 

“Whoa, there!” he cried in his childish voice, and he caught up with her as she managed to rein in her horse. “Are you quite alright?” 

She gave him a stare far too imperious to be coming from a young girl and tossed her hair with a sniff. “Kasida and I are perfectly fine, even though we are alone. I do not need to slouch along at a snail’s pace like my governess insists.” 

Rowan couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Pardon me, but I can’t imagine you…slouching along like that, miss…” He trailed off. “Um…” 

Her stare melted into a bright smile. “I’m Aelin. My papa is the duke of Orynth.” She held out her small hand, and he shook it. 

“And I am Rowan. My father is the duke of Doranelle.” 

“So we’re neighbors!” Aelin beamed. “I ride away from my governess very often, and I like this forest quite a lot.” 

“I like the forest too,” Rowan admitted. “It’s quieter than the manor.” 

“Sometimes I dream about living in the forest forever,” Aelin said, an odd kind of yearning flickering across her face. “But anytime I even mention it, my mama scolds me for reading too many faerie stories.” She shrugged. “I still like riding here.” 

“Miss Aelin!” The high-pitched cry echoed through the trees, and Aelin sighed. 

“That’s my governess. I ought to go and find her before she gets lost.” She smiled at Rowan again, and he felt the warmth of it in his soul. “It was nice to meet you, Rowan!” 

He managed to mumble some kind of farewell as she turned her horse around and rode off, only forming proper words once she was out of sight. It was nice to meet you too, Aelin. 

She had told the truth about riding in the forest often, and it became a habit of theirs to ride through the woods together, trading stories of what they were doing and wondering what the Oakwald, the near-mythical forest that spanned western Terrasen, would be like. As they grew older, Aelin’s stories turned from school lessons to etiquette lessons, and she had such a knack for imitating the stuffy old people at her family’s banquets that she made Rowan cry from laughter. Still, he allowed her to practice her lessons and her dancing with him, ignoring how frequently she trod on his toes when she was learning a new dance. 

And their childhood friendship turned into a partnership of sorts, a series of stolen moments of freedom and secret glances across a ballroom or dining room when their families were at a gathering together. Since she was not yet out in society, she was still largely overlooked during those events, and she was free to send him into stitches of laughter with her impersonations of the visiting nobility. He even asked her to dance several times, and she pretended to be a simpering debutante but still counted the music under her breath. He caught her any time she stumbled, and he caught each of her smiles too.

He was eighteen when he realized he had fallen in love with her. 

But she was only fifteen, so he kept it to himself, forcing himself to stay within the lines of friendship yet falling more in love with her every time she flicked a hidden glance at him during a long, boring dinner. She grew a bit more distant over the next few years, caught up in her mother’s constant lady lessons and working so hard—too hard—to be the portrait of a perfect lady, but at her eighteenth birthday ball, he worked up the courage to ask her for a dance. 

The smile that broke across her face, as bright and warm as it had been since the day he met her, kindled a wildfire in his heart. And late that night, hidden in a little-used gazebo in a corner of the Galathynius estate’s gardens, Rowan Whitethorn kissed Aelin Galathynius for the first time, and his heart surged towards hers.

Aelin made her debut at twenty, a few years later than traditional, but her parents had wanted her to wait a while longer so that society would be anticipating her debut. After all, she was fourth in line for the throne, and her marriage would undoubtedly be a topic of gossip and news from the moment she became eligible. Rowan longed for the day when he could bring her flowers and walk beside her in public, when he could finally bring the years of his love for her into the light of day, but he hesitated at the thought of exposing that delicate piece of his heart to the scrutiny of society and of Evalin Ashryver. For Aelin’s mother was a well-respected duchess, but he had seen the effects of her demanding nature on her daughter, and he feared the repercussions of her disapproval. 

He suspected, as he knew Aelin did, that one day their secret courtship would either have to be brought into the light of day or be torn apart by circumstance, but neither of them had wanted to address it. The unspoken bond between them was too precious, too beloved to be so shattered. 

Since her eighteenth birthday, he had courted her in secret, stealing precious moments and pieces of her heart beneath starry skies, foggy mornings, and shaded corners. He guarded every tiny bit of her with his life, from the letters in her tidy script that he kept tucked into his jacket pocket to the faint trace of her perfume that lingered on his collar when she kissed him. Although he could not shout his love for her from the rooftops, he reveled in their masked touches, in the flicker of humor in her eyes when she caught his gaze, in the echo of her laughter when he took her to the empty greenhouse on his family’s land and danced with her there under the sunset. With every encounter, he felt his soul drawn more and more towards hers, felt more and more as if his life were irrevocably tied to hers. 

And when he saw her across the ballroom that evening, when he caught sight of the tiara in her hair and the proud smiles on her parents’ faces and the man in the military jacket standing beside her mother at the front of the ballroom, when her eyes caught his and an ocean of anguish opened in them for a brief, wrenching moment, he felt that tie fracture. 

~

Aelin’s first kiss had been Rowan. 

Her first everything had been Rowan, the only one close enough to her heart to hold its fragile pieces and treat them with tenderness rather than callousness. From laughter-filled memories of her childhood to secret, stolen moments in the gardens during banquets and balls before her debut, to the all-too-few snatches of time she had been able to steal with him after her debut, when she wanted nothing more than his kisses and his gentle, reassuring words. 

She’d known for a long while, deep in the back of her mind, that her marriage would be a political one, for she was high in the line of succession. While it was unlikely that she would ever inherit, since Orlon could just as easily name someone else as his successor, her parents still strategized over which eligible noble could marry their daughter. They had settled on Prince Chaol Westfall of Anielle, the third son of the Prince of Anielle and a well-respected military officer. For him, marriage to Aelin was a massive step up, because he was so far down in the succession for the throne of Adarlan that he’d probably never known he was in line. For her, the marriage would secure military ties between Terrasen and Adarlan, a powerful alliance of nations. 

She did not know the man save for a few cursory meetings. 

At least, she supposed as she walked up to his side, he was not terribly hard on the eyes. He was even passably attractive, if a lady was drawn to brown-haired men in military uniforms with all the apparent personality of boiled potatoes. 

“Your Highness,” Aelin murmured, dipping in a graceful curtsy to Chaol. “It is an honor.” 

“The honor is entirely mine, Your Royal Highness,” he replied, bowing low. 

With a flourish, Rhoe and Evalin turned out towards the assembled crowd, Aelin still with her hand on her father’s arm. The crown quieted, and Rhoe smiled warmly. “We have delightful news for all of you this fine evening. Our daughter, Aelin, has accepted the hand of Prince Chaol Westfall in marriage, and with all good hope, they shall be married in two months’ time!” Applause rippled through the ballroom, and Aelin mentally prepared herself for an evening of simpering congratulations. Beaming at her, Rhoe lifted her hand from his arm and placed it ceremonially into Chaol’s hand, linking the hands of the young couple. 

“Would you like to dance?” Chaol asked, polite but also perceptive—he’d picked up on her unwillingness to be faced with a string of saccharine compliments from the noble ladies. 

She flicked him a crooked grin. “I would love to.”

He led her onto the polished parquet floor and swept her into a waltz, his steps sure and practiced, quick and light on his feet. She must have murmured in surprise, because he grinned, the expression almost boyish. “I took dancing lessons too, once upon a time.” 

“I almost forgot you were nobility under all that military regalia,” she teased. To her pleasant surprise, she found it easy to make conversation with Chaol, albeit mostly small talk and nothing about important issues. As the dance drew to a close, she skimmed her gaze across the ballroom and, once again, caught Rowan’s tormented eyes, his look a caress of her heart. 

Determination sparked suddenly in Rowan’s expression, and he meandered through the crowd, joining the queue of congratulatory nobility, but when he reached Aelin, he bowed like any other eligible gentleman and reached for her dance card. “Might you have a dance for me, my lady?” 

“I believe I do,” she said lightly, pretending this was just another ball and he was just another man who had asked her to dance. Chaol, who had no idea who Rowan was, simply shook Rowan’s hand and accepted his civil words, not noticing the well-concealed grief beneath the congratulations. 

Rowan escorted Aelin onto the dance floor, and he placed one gloved hand at the curve of her waist and took her hand in his free one. As he led her through the sweeping, intricate curves of the dance, he subtly tugged her just a fraction closer than appropriate, just an inch nearer to the unsteady pulse of his heart. “Did you know?” he murmured, and her fractured heart cleaved further at the anguish that pierced his words. 

“No,” she whispered, and she looked into his eyes, baring the depth of her own anguish to him. “I did not.” 

His gaze flicked out the open windows, glancing for an instant towards the expansive gardens, knowing the privacy they could steal, if only for a moment, out there. “One moment?” he asked, turning her smoothly in a circle so her skirts flared out in a perfect arc. 

“One moment,” she agreed, and she folded the mask of happiness back across her face. Rowan bowed over her hand as the dance ended, his lips just barely skimming the satin of her glove. He let her walk back towards Chaol, towards her parents, and he took an opposite course, stopping to dance with another young lady before he covertly stepped out a side door and disappeared into the gardens. 

Aelin waited a few more minutes before she touched Chaol’s shoulder and whispered to him that she needed a moment for relief, and she quietly slipped out a different side door, one that led directly to a refreshing room. Before she could reach the powder room, though, she turned down a different hall and went outdoors, entering the gardens through a little-known side gate. Her heart guided her down the familiar paths of the labyrinth, and she found Rowan in an alcove near the center, seated on a stone bench cast half in shadow by the faint sliver of moonlight. 

“Rowan,” she breathed, heart thumping unsteadily. 

In a rushed blur, his lips were on hers, his arms firm and strong around her waist, supporting her as her legs buckled. She cupped the back of his head and kissed him hard, desperate, the ache in her heart poured into the press of her lips, the curl of her tongue. When she drew back, tears shone in her eyes, but she tipped her head back so they could not fall. 

“I love you, Rowan,” she whispered. Simple, true, broken. 

Tenderly, his thumb stroked the line of her jaw. “I love you, Aelin.” Simple, true, ruined. “But you are betrothed.” He took a single step back, wrenching himself away from the woman who had brought warmth and healing and love into his life. Wordless, she could only nod, every regret and wish that shone in her eyes tamped down by the force of duty. 

She straightened her skirts, righted the dainty tiara in her coiffure, adjusted her gloves, and with one final lingering heart-searing gaze, she left the alcove, heading back into the manor, back towards her family and her betrothed and her duty. So too Rowan turned and walked out of the gardens, but he circled the side of the manor, went into the drive, and signaled his coachman. He climbed into his carriage, closed the door, rapped on the roof, and set his course for home. 

Where his own arranged betrothal awaited him.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

[linaxart]

Guitarist Joe for @theartguard July theme Music 🎸

[lewis-winters]

do you have preferences when reading about dick or lew getting wounded? for me personally it's hard to choose---i love the idea of dick going bonkers when lew is wounded and he can't get to lew especially, but like dick getting wounded is unimaginable and lew being a caretaker..especially if dick is trying to downplay how bad he feels? love it. i guess it also works if dick is ill, that's fun because dick can be dumb and stubborn.

Oh, man, my rule of thumb is if I love a character, I immediately want to put them in a blender to get fucked. So my preference is almost always Lew getting his ass handed to him, and Dick going batshit over it. It's why Lewis is always the one dying first in my The Old Guard AU, ya know? I want to see that man BLEED!!

Also if you just look at all my Winnix stuff, I'm always putting Lew through it physically, whereas Dick's the one in constant emotional turmoil. Hehe.

Though I do love how Lew takes care of Dick, and I love to see it happen when it's a bit more lowstakes, like as you said, when Dick is ill. Or when he accidentally cuts himself gardening or cooking. Or if he accidentally pulls his back lifting something because he doesn't remember that he's an old man now. I love those kinds of fics.

[the-messenger-hawk]

Zahard and his 'disguise' in the Dad AU

[shallyne]

Tog AU

Red riding hood AU where Manon is little red riding hood but eats the wolf

[justreadertings]

Till Death Do Us Part (???)

don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me... but I miss writing fanfiction for you guys. And I ended up writing a lot of Till Death Do Us Part. Would you all be interested in me continuing this fic? I have the whole story mapped out in my head. I know it’s been a while so there may have to be some rereading... just let me know and I’ll post again! 

Taglist: 

@leiawritesstories

@tomtenadia

@fireheart-violet

@backtobl4ck

@morganofthewildfire

@rowaelinismyotp

@aelinchocolatelover

@thegreyj

@foughtconquered

@swankii-art-teacher

@booklover242

@stardelia

@numbers-colors-fashion

@bookcide

@viajandosinalas

@rowanaelinn

@elentiyawhitethorn

@emily-gsh

@athena127

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship

[lokislytherin]

Chapters: 4/7 Fandom: 신의 탑 | Tower of God, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Khun Aguero Agnis & Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Khun Aguero Agnis/Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Androssi Zahard & Khun Aguero Agnis, Androssi Zahard & Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Rachel & Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Khun Aguero Agnis & Ship Leesoo, Anak Zahard Jr. & Androssi Zahard, Anak Zahard Jr. & Hatsu & Ship Leesoo, Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace & Rak Wraithraiser Characters: Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Khun Aguero Agnis, Androssi Zahard, Ship Leesoo, Anak Zahard Jr., Hatsu (Tower of God), Rak Wraithraiser, Serena Rinnen, Rachel (Tower of God), Ja Wangnan, Yeon Yihwa, Karaka (Tower of God), King Zahard (Tower of God), Lo Po Bia Shilial Zahard, Lo Po Bia Lilial Zahard, Ha Yuri Zahard, Ha Jinsung, Garam Zahard, Khun Eduan, Headon (Tower of God) Additional Tags: Wizarding World (Harry Potter), Prophecy, Triwizard Tournament, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Ilvermorny, Durmstrang, Hufflepuff Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Bellefeuille Khun Aguero Agnis, Ombrelune Androssi Zahard, Horned Serpent Ship Leesoo, Durmstrang Student Hatsu, Durmstrang Student Anak Zahard Jr., Slytherin Rachel, Legilimens King Zahard, Death, Dark Magic, Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace is a Ray of Sunshine, Supportive Rak Wraithraiser, Khun Aguero Agnis is Whipped

Summary:

born of gold on the twenty-fifth night, the chosen one shall be brought to light. alongside the bearers of the rings, war will rage, spill fresh blood of the king. if the son of blue leads him astray, the chosen fate will end in decay.

jue viole grace and khun aguero agnis should never have become friends, not when they are destined to be enemies, one fated to die by the other's hand.

[seaselkie]

The Old Guard

.

Janson has been tasked with tracing a group of immortals through time, to find and apprehend them. But they're good at staying hidden, which makes him think they've been doing it long, long before they started getting caught on camera. He's only been able to find fragments, glimpses of them here and there across history. He's putting together a story - headed up by Newt and Thomas, partners that have never been recorded far apart, though generally under the radar and at times under married aliases - the group is rounded out by Minho and Gally who tend to crop up in disaster zones including notable wars, and Sonya and Harriet, who have been connected to social justice and activism endeavours since the 50s. Janson won't give up, too much rides on it, but the group are still lost in the wind.

.

This was first seen Here as a gift in the @mazerunnersecretsanta event 2023. I don't often post, but I'm sharing this via my own blog now Santa reveals have gone live.

If you like it, reblogs are appreciated so others can see it easier, and do check out the fandom event if you like Maze Runner. It's been running for 6 years now and always a lot of fun.

.

So, this was a little last minute addition for @dream0fspring (mostly bc @harveylovesmike I knew she had yours covered! but I adore you both) and I know that The Old Guard is a huge love right now. The idea came for putting together a collage kind of like the one Copley has in the film, trying to trace Andi's immortal group across the years. Only... make it TMR. For all its rush, and for all the other things I'd love to have crammed in there, it was fun to put together. Part of the joy here was finding some good pics of everyone that looked like they were taken without knowledge, since they'd be avoiding cameras, and trying to show some possible variety of time and walks of life. I'm particularly fond of Hacker Harriet and that one of Newt I think fitted my mental image so well.

And the best headcanon that came from this, thanks to the tmr discord, is all the hundreds or thousands of marriages newt and thomas have accrued over many many years. They have a collection of certificates from just about everywhere, some more than once and a growing collection of wedding and engagement symbols and tokens since their ring collection got truly obscene and they decided to branch out.

[thimbleandakiss]

How do we feel about a really angsty probably long one-shot fanfic AU where Fenrys and Asterin were mates?

Yes, I will rip your hearts out with this one

[zairaalbereo]

Room for Love — Part 7

I know It’s been too long, but there’s finally a new chapter of Room for Love!

All available pages of of the comic can be found here on tumblr (some are adult only), or you can read the comic plus some additional written snippets on AO3.

[shadowhandss60]

Chaorian AU in which training gets out of hand 🤭

[sonics-atelier]

𝐒𝐉𝐌 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

𝐒𝐉𝐌 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Veil of Deceit - Day 1 Villian Origin Story

Echoes of a Shattered Heart - Day 2 Weakness

The Conman's Masquerade - Day 3 Secret Skills and Deception

Shadows of the Crown - Day 4 : Behind Closed Doors

Thorns of the Huntress - Day 5 The Villain Wins

Dark Lords, Lattes and Couture Chaos - Day 6 Sense of Style

The Greatest Foe of All - Day 7 Free Day

- All works are licensed under @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form.

Dividers by @rookthornesartistry <3

[lewis-winters]

I miss the Winnix Old Guard AU.........

that is to say: time to kill Nix in all the most gruesome ways possible.