#i do wonder what this could mean for dorian when all this is over

[weatherfey]

I think a lot about the way Dorian used to see Cyrus as the perfect older brother, the perfect prince; the way Dorian felt free to go and find himself because Cyrus was capable and dependable and ready to be a leader. That isn’t the Cyrus we see! But I think it’s a lot more interesting, for both Cyrus and Dorian, to take that seriously. They’re princes, and we don’t know what that means because we haven’t seen their home, but socially a court is an elaborately constructed farce. And of course it can be easier to be competent in any familiar environment, but I also think it’s easier to know how you fit within a court environment specifically because there is an overwhelming number of factors to define yourself against and they all have expectations of you, and if they aren’t suffocating you like some kind of spider’s web then it might be perfect, like being a star in a constellation, or just the right puzzle piece. I think it’s reasonable to think that Cyrus was something like who Dorian thought he was, at home; except that Cyrus, like Dorian, wanted to choose the things he’s defining himself against. And I think it’s meaningful that he got swindled in the immediate aftermath of discarding that constellation of puzzle pieces. He was a fool (beloved), but it happened in the first blush of freedom, when he was just starting to figure out who he was or wanted to be without all that defined expectation, which is also - not coincidentally - the state Dorian was in when the spider queen sunk her fingers into his heart and twisted his alignment. The ‘hello world! uh oh’ of it all is something they had in common.

(Something they both had in common with Opal, too.)

I do think it’s interesting to look at Dorian’s sense of responsibility in light of this. I almost think Orym was a kind of north star for Dorian through parts of EXU prime, and I ship them, but it really felt like one of the things that made him able to reject the spider queen is that Orym needed him to. I think he wanted to be someone Orym could rely on, but I think Orym’s regard mattered to him because they genuinely had that protective urge in common - the pathway the spider queen used to skitter in was Dorian’s desire to protect his friends. And that drive to protect added a lot of poignancy to the in-universe reason that Dorian couldn’t return to bell’s hells after Cyrus’s debts were repaid, not just because Cyrus was still getting his legs under him but also because Opal needed help. That’s responsibility, again - he’s finishing what they started. Duty, obligation, but this time he’s chosen who and what he’s beholden to. Like maybe he’s chosen a new version of a puzzle piece that he might have thought he was throwing out entirely when he chose freedom and walked away from home.

I loved that Fearne’s vision also haunted Dorian; he misses her, and it also feels like a solid way to illustrate the spider queen’s effect on Dorian, that the danger of his own corruption has rarely been something he had the luxury to think about. His friends have always needed him. I don’t know if he had time to process his aborted fall during his time in Zephrah, or if there’s still something underneath, but I think it’s telling that this fear doesn’t look like Opal, the one literally bleeding ichor from her forehead; it predates that, it started before Opal was the one to worry about.

And I think he knows he didn’t fail them - Cyrus, Opal, Fy’ra - accidental thunder damage notwithstanding - but, with the way he felt through that suggestion spell and its aftermath, I don’t really know what to make of his abandoning Dariax. It’s a little hard to look at that and not see a drive to isolate. Determined to leave him with a good memory, but most of all, to leave. He started that one-shot interlude having just admitted to himself that he was longing to be Somewhere Else, but I almost wonder if he still would have gone back to bell’s hells if Orym hadn’t asked.

(God, the suggestion spell. The way they processed it was hurtful to me personally. Dariax immediately shifting from ‘won’t leave Opal!’ to ‘let’s go! Opal has a plan’ kind of broke my heart, and I actually think that the spell could have worked on Dorian by just making what was really happening feel reasonable - the last shred of your friend is trying to save you, and you can’t save her from anything except becoming your murderer, so you should do that. But the spell can’t make sense out of abandoning Cyrus’s body, so Dorian just goes numb with grief and rage. Mass suggestion is 24 hours. That is 24 hours of numbness, and rage, and walking, and walking, and walking, and every once in awhile Dariax’s voice, friendly and steady and sure, ‘Opal has a plan.’ And at the end of it the ability to feel returns, but he’s so tired, and he hurts, and everything hurts too much to think about, and poor Dariax probably stops in his tracks, just ‘Dorian? What was Opal’s plan?’)

And he really was so angry. It’s interesting to wonder if that’s still under the surface. He immediately turned to levity - for their sake, and his own - but that moment where the group tells him who killed Will and Derrig, and Robbie instantly wrote down Otohan’s name, didn’t just read like a player taking notes, to me, it read like Dorian putting a name in a ledger. I think it’s easy to let that go because he learns that she’s dead in the very next moment, but I think Dorian felt a weird kind of relief for that half-second, because so much of his anger at what happened to Cyrus and Opal was from being forced to acknowledge that there wasn’t anyone easy to blame, except perhaps a god; and blaming a god is like blaming the universe. What a relief, however short lived, to be faced with a problem you can solve.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Two

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : Spoiler warning for anyone who hasn't read The Picture of Dorian Gray (though can I really spoil a book that's over 130 years old? idk).

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

This is going to be fun.

That was what he’d told you, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. 

As you laid in bed that night, you wondered where he was, you wondered what he was doing. What had he meant when he told you that he liked you? Did you even want to be liked by him? The more you thought about it, the more you realised just how strange the conversation had been. At the time it felt like he was taking a measure of you, trying to understand you, but not necessarily trying to know you.

At the time you’d felt like you were on the back foot, too shocked by his sudden appearance to really learn anything about him.

But, again, you had to wonder if that was something you really wanted. After all, he was a vampire and there was still so much that you didn’t know about their world and the way that they lived.

You fell asleep that night thinking about his dark eyes and the way he’d looked as he’d sipped your blood.

The next morning you woke with a start, realising that you'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before and you’d overslept. Not that you had any reason to wake up before midday, but you were certain that if you didn’t find a way to keep some sort of structure in your life over the next year, you were going to lose your mind.

So, you got up and got breakfast before spending half an hour on the treadmill, taking a slow walk, imagining you were on your way to the Met. Every day you were going to imagine a new place you’d be able to see in the city once your contract was over. After your walk and a quick shower, you got dressed and headed out into the main penthouse. 

You weren’t surprised that he wasn’t out there - because, of course he wasn’t, it was the middle of the afternoon - but you still felt... something. Disappointment? No, loneliness. 

For a few seconds your eyes caught on his door before you headed into the library.

The next few hours were spent going through his books and his record collection, looking for something, anything, that might tell you a little more about him. But you didn’t know what you were looking for, and there was no way of telling which of the books, if any, held any real sort of value to him. Dorian Gray, you guessed, had to mean something because he’d noticed it was missing from the shelf, but there was everything from the classics to more recent books, spanning almost every genre you could think to name.

(Though you did have to wonder if he’d purchased Dracula before or after being turned.)

Your search for clues seemed fruitless; you couldn’t even begin to guess his age from his record collection. There was everything from classical music to records that you knew were only released last year. Everything was too eclectic. Normally eclectic was something that you liked, you hated the idea of being stuck with only one genre or type or music or book, but it was frustrating how little you’d been able to discover.   

What made it worse, you came to realise, was that he’d been able to read you as easily as he might read one of his books. He’d only had to look at you to understand that you’d taken this job to get away from something.

But you weren’t going to let your mind wander to thoughts of home.

That evening you sat and waited on the sofa realising for the first time that you could get an amazing view of the sun setting over Central Park and the city from there. You’d brought the battered copy of Dorian Gray with you, but every time you tried to focus on it, you found yourself distracted by the view.

To your disappointment, the clock struck 9pm and Mr Russo still hadn’t appeared, so you made your way back to your room.

It was silly to feel disappointed, but you weren’t used to feeling so completely alone. Back home there had always been someone around, even when you wanted nothing more than to be alone. And, the rest of the time, you’d had social media to slake your thirst for connection and companionship. Now there was nothing but the walls of the penthouse, TV and Mr Russo’s collection of books.

The next day passed similarly; you got up, you had a little walk on the treadmill before showering, then you picked out your outfit for the day.Then you headed to the library and started to make you through Mr Russo’s vinyl collection, listening to some of the albums that grabbed your attention, keeping the volume down in case the vampire was sleeping in his rooms.

That was the thing that was really starting to bother you - you didn’t even know if he was home. There was no way of telling if he was just beyond the door to his room, or if he was even in the city. Not knowing just made the loneliness more acute.

That evening, after you’d eaten and drawn blood, you found yourself on the sofa again watching the sunset, his book on your lap and a couple of the muffins you’d made, sitting on a plate on the table. Sugar seemed to help after drawing blood, though you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” his voice pierced the silence so suddenly that you started.

You turned from the window quickly, to find him standing by his door, smiling and very obviously impressed with himself.

“How long have you been stood there?” Not even trying to disguise the shock or annoyance in your tone. 

He didn’t answer, instead he started towards the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass before retrieving today’s blood from the fridge. 

“It’s quite the view,” he stated, his back to you, “I suppose someone should appreciate it.”

“You mean you don’t?” Curious. Why bother having a penthouse like this if he didn’t care about the view?

“Looking at the sunset isn’t exactly enjoyable for vampires,” he shrugged, turning and making his way towards the sofa.

“I thought the windows made the sunlight safe for you?” Or maybe you were just being stupid. You hated how little you know, how little you’d learned before taking the job. And, now, without the internet, you couldn’t even try to learn about it.

“They make it safe, yes,” he stated, sitting down, not directly next to you, but much closer than he had been the first time you met. “But seeing the sun and knowing that I’ll never feel its warmth on my face again, makes it a little unbearable.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect that to get a laugh.

“You apologise a lot for someone who hasn’t done anything wrong yet.”

Yet? You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t think it wise to ask. As far as you were concerned, you weren’t going to do anything wrong while you were there.

“It’s just how I was raised, I guess,” you shrugged, your gaze dropping to his glass, to your blood.

Mr Russo gave a hum, his gaze still fixed on you, looking right through you. It was enough to make your heart beat a little faster, even though Lissa had warned you about such things, but controlling it was easier said than done. 

“Are you still settling in?” He asked. “I know that all of this can take a while to adjust to.”

“It’s -” you started and stopped, wondering if it was wise to be honest about it, “- a little lonely. I’m not used to going for days without someone to talk to. Normally I’d at least have the dog, but...” you trailed into a sigh, reminding yourself that this was what you agreed to. 

“I see,” he nodded, face offering the slightest slither of sympathy. “I’ll do what I can to help with that.”

Silence fell for a few moments before his eyes dropped to your lap, to the book that you’d started to tightly grip at some point after his sudden appearance. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked and you looked down, noticing how white your knuckles were.

“Yes,” your cheeks started to warm, “very much.”

Your fingers flexed, releasing your grip on the book and, instead, you pressed your hands flat on your lap.

“Have you read it before?”

“No, it’s not -” you paused for a second, trying to think of the best way to explain it to him, “- it’s not the sort of book that was deemed acceptable where I’m from.”

“Ah,” he nodded, still looking very amused by everything, by you. “And you’re reading it now as - what? An act of rebellion against the way you were raised? Or are you just curious to see how bad it is?”

“No, it’s not that,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging, “I always thought it was a stupid rule. People should be allowed to read what they want and draw their own conclusions. That’s the point of art; it means something different to everyone that views it. And I don’t like being told how to feel about things.”

The amusement on his face slowly started to turn to something a little more genuine, something a little more interested. 

“What part are you up to?”

“He’s going to ask Sybil to marry him.”

He gave the slightest of nods. “And what do you think about that?”

It was a strange question, but perhaps that was because you weren’t used to people wanting to know your thoughts or opinions on things. You took a slow breath and he didn’t pressure you, giving you a moment to get your thoughts in order.

“I think it’s a bit soon. He hasn’t really known her very long and he seems more infatuated with who she is when she’s on stage than her as a person, but...”

“But?” He prompted gently.

“If he loves her half as much as he thinks he does, then maybe they could be happy together? It seems like he needs someone who’ll love him, someone who he can love more than himself, and someone who’ll get him away from Lord Henry.” Even though you were perfectly happy with your opinion, you still felt your cheeks warming again.

“You think he needs love?” Another unexpected question.

“Well... doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think he really deserves it?”

“Does anyone?”

He paused for a second, looking ready to say something before obviously changing his mind. “So, do you believe in love at first sight? Like Dorian falling for Sybil?”

“I -” you faltered, looking down at the book on your lap, trying to escape the dark depths of his eyes for a moment, “- I don’t know. I find it hard to believe in anything I’ve not experienced myself.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never felt love at first sight,” you avoided the question, forcing yourself to look back up. “Have you?”

“No, not at first sight.”

At that, he seemed to relent, falling silent and letting his gaze drift towards the window again, lifting his glass and taking a sip. You reached for a muffin, almost gasping as his cold fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist and pulled your arm towards him. Your lips parted, ready to ask the obvious question, but it fell dead on your tongue when his thumb ran over the bruising at the crook of your arm from drawing blood. He stared at it for a second before his eyes returned to yours.

“Do I need Lissa to come and help you draw blood in future?” He asked, and you couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed.

“No, it’s fine,” you gave a gentle tug against his grip, but he didn’t let go. “I just bruise easily. I didn’t even notice it.” 

His fingers tightened a fraction.

“While you’re here, you’re my responsibility. I hope you understand that.”

“That’s not -” but he wasn’t finished.

“If anything was to happen to you, it would be my fault. I need to know that you’ll be more careful in future.” There was an edge to his words, something that made your stomach knot. Did he think that you were incompetent, that you couldn’t do the job? Or was he just worried  that he’d be blamed if something happened to you?

“I’ll be more careful,” you told him but, still, he kept hold of your arm, thumb hovering just above the bruising, a ghost of a touch that made your heart race.

“I might be your employer, but you should understand just how much power you have in this arrangement,” his voice turned almost soft as he let you go. Before you could even think to ask what he meant, he’d drained his glass, placed it down on the coffee table and was heading towards the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled out of your mouth almost automatically, not sure what else you were supposed to say.

“You can call me Billy,” he told you as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside.

And, then, he was gone.

Again, he’d left you with more questions than you ever thought you’d get answers to. You wanted to feel frustrated, annoyed even, at the way he breezed in and out of conversations, as if you were a plaything, just there for him when he was bored, but all you could think about was his touch.

His hand had been so cold, like death’s icy grip and, when you looked down, you found your arm was covered in goosebumps.

Tomorrow, he’d said. He was going to see you again tomorrow. (Probably because you’d complained about being lonely.) Perhaps you’d be able to learn a little bit more about him, perhaps you’d be able to ask him what he meant when he told you that you had power here.

Before returning to your rooms for the night, you took a moment to move his empty glass from the table, rinsing it out in the sink and returning it to the cupboard where it belonged. The rest of the evening was spent trying to concentrate on reading, in part because you were invested in the book, but mostly because you wanted to have something to talk with him about tomorrow.

But, again, you found yourself distracted; by the conversation you’d had, by the things he’d said and the way he’d looked when he said them and, most of all, by the way his touch had felt on your arm.

It was silly. Ridiculous. You put it down to being trapped indoors for the last ten days and you having spoken to all of two people in that time. It wasn’t him. He could have been anyone and you’d no doubt have felt the same way. You were just starved for human contact.

(Only Billy Russo wasn’t human, was he?)

You kept thinking about his dark eyes and the way he laughed, the subtle way his lips curled up when he found something you said amusing. There was no shame in admitting that he was pretty. 

Pretty in a way that would never fade or alter. Just like Dorian Gray.

Though, as you continued to read, you realised that that comparison certainly wasn’t flattering.

The next day passed much the same as the days before it and, as the hours ticked by, you found yourself almost looking forward to seeing him. Though you didn’t allow yourself to feel excitement, in case he disappointed you by not appearing. You stayed in your rooms until it was almost sunset.

He was already there waiting for you when you stepped out into the penthouse proper, today's blood in one hand, a pack of cookies in the other, and the book wedged under your arm.

“Oh,” you stopped so abruptly you almost fell over your own feet.

“Good evening,” he grinned.

“Good evening, Mr Russo,” you replied, still not moving.

“Billy,” he reminded you. “If we’re going to be living together for a year, you might as well call me Billy.”

“Billy,” you repeated, nodding before looking down. “I have your - I mean, I’ve got today’s -” you struggled, eyes fixed on the sealed bottle of blood in your hand, fresh and still warm.

You could feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what the protocol was in this situation.

“I’ll take that now,” he said but didn’t move.

For a moment more, you remained frozen, feeling utterly ridiculous - and you were certain that he was enjoying watching your confusion.

“Okay, I’ll - I’ll put this in a glass for you,” he didn’t object, so you made your way to the kitchen and set about pouring him a drink.

It was hard not to feel a little horrified - this seemed as close to offering him a vein as you ever hoped to get - but you forced down the discomfort.

“I hope the long sleeves aren’t to cover up more bruises,” he said softly when you finally approached the sofa and took a seat, near him but with enough space that another person would have fit between you.

“No, Mr - Billy. It’s just been cold today.”

“Oh, I can’t say that I noticed...” because of course he hadn’t. “The thermostat is in the library, change the temperature whenever you need to.”

You handed him the glass, a shudder running up your spine when his cold fingers seemed to deliberately graze yours. Your breath caught as you watched him lift the glass to his lips, his eyes closed as your blood touched his lips and you heard the softest sound from the back of his throat. Butterflies filled your stomach and your eyes fixed on the window, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to a progressively darkening pinkish-orange hue.

Billy lowered his glass and remained silent, his eyes following yours to the window, allowing the silence to linger until you chose to break it.

“I thought you didn’t like watching the sunset?” You asked, not daring to look his way.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen one and even longer since I had someone to watch it with,” he shrugged. “I thought I’d give it another go.”

“So, the others, the ones before me -”

“I don’t think they cared to notice it,” he cut you off. There was something clipped about his tone, something that told you he didn’t want to talk about them. His attention turned to the book and the packet of cookies resting on your lap. “Were you planning on reading?”

“Yes, or - I don’t know, maybe..." you sighed, finally allowing yourself to look at him. He gave you a questioning look, wanting you to elaborate. “You didn’t warn me about Sybil.”

“I didn’t want to spoil it for you,” a hint of amusement slipped into his tone. “Are you disappointed that they didn’t get their happily-ever-after?”

You looked at him for a moment and quickly found yourself feeling a little annoyed at the implication that you had expected it to be that easy, that you were some hopeless romantic looking for a happy ending in the most ridiculous of places.

“I’m not some naive child. I don’t know what I expected - not a happily-ever-after, but I definitely didn’t expect that,” you tried to explain. “I didn’t expect him to be so... so cruel to her.”

“She let him down, embarrassed him in front of his friends,” Billy offered, almost like he was defending it, “he was disappointed.”

“Disappointed that she no longer needed to act to feel wanted and loved, because she thought she’d finally found that with him?” You answer back, unable to keep yourself from noticing the way the glow of the sunset made his features seem softer. “He showed her what real love could feel like, then he snatched it away from her. It was cruel.”

“You’re right,” he conceded before hesitating a moment. “Maybe I should warn you that he doesn’t get any better. There is no redemption for Dorian Gray.”

“Oh,” At that you felt yourself deflate a little, an odd feeling of disappointment gnawing at your guts. While you’d told him that you weren’t some naive child, hearing that Dorian wasn’t going to get better made you almost want to give up entirely.

Again, he seemed to find some enjoyment in your simple disappointment - something that was starting to get to you.

“I take it you’re used to reading... happier stories?” He asked and you offered a shrug. “Heroes and romance and happily ever afters?”

“Books have always been an escape for me. So, yeah, I like things that I know will end well.” You answered and, for a second, you could have sworn his smile turned a little softer. “Why do you even like this book?” You dared to ask, wanting to understand why anyone could find enjoyment in such misery.

“I think you’d need to finish the book before we could have that conversation,” was all he offered before lifting his glass and, again, you heard that soft sound as he drank. Your heart started to beat a little faster. Billy carefully licked his lips, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting a single drop go to waste. The corner of his mouth curled with amusement again. “Are you sure I’m not your first vampire?”

Your lips parted and, for a moment you couldn’t force the words past the lump in your throat. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he really wanted to know, just like you couldn’t tell if it was his intention to make you feel small. But he did make you feel small, he made you feel like you didn’t understand the world you’d found yourself in; like you didn’t understand vampires or the job you’d agreed to, and like you were too naive to understand his taste in literature.

“No. You’re not,” you answered tersely, trying to hold back your annoyance. “You’re just the first one that I’ve let drink my blood.”

“Good,” he replied without hesitation, seeming to completely ignore your change of demeanour.  

“Good?” What was that supposed to mean?

He shifted, turning so he could face you properly, his foot knocking against yours as he did. 

“Good,” he repeated, the corners of his lips still pulling upwards. “If anyone else had tasted your blood, I doubt they would have been willing to let you go so easily.” He licked his lips and your heart continued to stutter in your chest. His eyes closed for a moment, concentrating on the sound before muttering; “like a hummingbird...”

You didn’t dare move, even though every fibre of your being was screaming at you to pull away when his hand reached for you, fingertips ghosting down your cheek to your neck coming to rest above your rapidly pulsing carotid artery. Frozen, you sat there, his hand on your neck and his dark eyes seeming to stare right into your soul.

Does my blood really taste that good? You wondered.

“It does,” he answered and you realised that you’d spoken the question aloud. 

Something prickled in the back of your mind, a warning you’d been given a long time ago, about how some vampires could trick you and control you, how they could bend you to their will. But, you couldn’t tell if that was what this was, or if you were allowing this because you wanted it, because you wanted to understand. Regardless, you didn’t move. Even as he licked his lips. Even as he leaned closer. 

“What does it taste like?” You heard the question but it took you a few seconds to realise that it had come from your mouth.

“Like sunlight and innocence,” he muttered softly, “sweet, like warm honey. Like life...”

Closer and closer, the cold press of his fingers on your neck sending a shiver down your spine, and a heat in your belly. Your thighs gently pressed together. He made it sound so wonderful, so romantic, like it wasn’t some strange and sordid thing. He made you feel special, made you feel things that you weren’t sure you’d ever felt before.

Before you could even consider the possibilities of what might happen next, he was pulling away from you, and you very quickly returned to your senses, taking an uncomfortable breath.

“What -” you started to ask, needing to know if he’d done something to you, if he’d been trying to control you, but he was already on his feet draining the last of your blood from the glass.

“I’m afraid I won’t have time for one of our little talks tomorrow. I have a meeting just after sunset,” he explained and your eyes followed him as he first moved to the kitchen to put his glass in the sink, then started towards the elevator. He paused once he’d hit the call button. “Keep reading the book. I’m intrigued to know what you’ll think of the ending.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled clumsily from your mouth, an automatic response to the man who was your employer, wanting to regain some sense of propriety.

“Billy,” he countered. “Goodnight, little hummingbird.”

The doors slid shut and you were alone again.

You didn’t move for at least a minute, your head spinning. A hand rose to your neck touching where he had touched you, your skin still feeling cold and prickled with goosebumps. Looking down, you realised that your thighs were still clenched together.

Gathering the book and the untouched packet of cookies, you quickly made your way back to your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

End Note : Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter of this story! I hope this lives up to expectations. I'm already really enjoying writing this one. Also, sorry as always that I'm constantly so slow at responding to comments, I'm trying to get better at that

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 7

Tagging: @bloody-mf-bsc, @augustwithquills

Liked by benbarnes, freddycarter1, sujaya_dasgupta and 6,348,672 others

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Wonder where they had gotten these... weirdness?👀

P.S: Continue to laugh. For now. Because one, I'm working my ass off here as you all have fun and two, I'm gonna be feasting on your tears later.😌

View 762,563 comments

freddycarter1: benbarnes, will you please tell your wife to cool down?😰😧

User6: NOOOO, MOMMY Y/N DON'T DO THAT TO US

User7: They were just in a silly mood, they didn't mean it right?!

user4: Ever since that interview with "Never Have I Ever", she is giving them absolute hell and bitch behaviour except Ben( he barelly saved his ass) lol djdbjc

user9: I missed that one! Why, what happened? user2: They answered "Never Have I stolen anything from the set?" which they all replied with yes and were cocky about it. Y/N then answered that it wasn't because of them being discreet and stealthy but because she let it happen, and she told them she knew everything they have ever stolen. user7: Didn't that put her in a rough situation tho? user2: Nah, she just flipped her hair and dramatically said "I'm rich, I payed for them." dındekjn user12: I wonder how Ben, who is usually the one being bullied by her, was able to save himself? user4: Simple. When he was asked what else he "stole" without her knowing, he answered with a puppy eye "Y/N." and that was how he saved himself from the couch.

User7: Smooth... Very smooth benbarnes😏 Still, we were there before you tho😒😐

User5: It's just the way they are mommy, look, we are your precious babies right? Please don't make us cry.

User2: putting the people begging Y/N to spare their fragile mental health, I'd like to say how Callahan looks like a God but is a cutie pie in Real life... please step on me.

jacktwolfe: Danielle the Axelotl and Freddy... I don't know what Freddy is

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Me too boy, me too... I don't want to know how he did that with his mouth

freddycarter1: I have many talents Y/N, not that you know 😎

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: 🫥😶😐😒🤨 Say that to your wife 🍹👎

kittheyounger: 😧😱😨

User9: Ben is such a mood. My life would be in chaos, and the life around me could also be chaotic but as long as I have my tequila and whisky, we are all fine.

User6: Freddy is their New victim lol Love you all💓

User1: I think Danielle is becoming an eagle...

Liked by benbarnes, pascalispunk, tchalamet and 6,921,311 others

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: This man is a lot of things. Husband, father, son, friend... Occasionally cool, but never for too long. He told me to take a photo of him to show how cool he is to our son but instead he giggled at his silly father in his own Darkling costume...🥹💓

View 572,436 comments

user8: With every picture she posts, I gain one year in life. With every photo shadowandbone posts of her, I gain 10 lives.

User2: So precious ❤️

User1: Piercing and charming brown eyes on a man is the sluttiest thing ever.

User5: Y/N, will you ever talk about that first "Lego Date" you and him had that you two became official?

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Maybe in my YouTube channel, if people really want to know, with Ben's permission ofc, I don't see why not? 😊

User3: Y/N the Concent Queen 🙏

User2: Guys, let's not traumatise Ben again with our thirsty comments about him being a real dilf🤣

User13: Darkling: evil incarnate with every possible War crime, perhaps a groomer, manipulative bastard who is obssessed over power... Meanwhile Ben: Babygirlified 42 years old man who simps for his wife and would commit war crimes FOR her and their son and is "the twit with the portrait"

User5: nOoo you didn't just bring Dorian into this djskdjjs

User13: Someone had to

User6: May the lord save us, how were you able to shoot those photos with him so close to you Y/N?

User12: I'd have folded easily

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: A little bit of heart attack, swooning for my husband and then definetly folding, everything was fine. It's easy really 🙃😊

benbarnes: Stop saying those things just like that 😊☺️🤭

User14: Ben is melting hard~😏😋

User15: If this doesn't end up with her pregnant again, I don't know what will. Maybe a girl comes this time sjsjsj

User15: Okay, guessing the little Barnes looks like the exact copy of his dad, the kid will have immaculate looks coming from both his dad and momma. LOOK HOW GORGEOUS THEY ARE?!🥹 *crying intensifies ehiel holding the family picture of them in my hands delicately*

pascalispunk: Want to see my little champ and his reaction as well!

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Just sent you the video!

User7: Ben lost to little Barnes today, the baby ADORES his momma🥹

amita_suman: He looses every time anyways🍷😎

User6: Y/N is winning in everything she does, this is her Barbie world💯

benbarnes: My little girl will definetly think of me cool, just so you wait for a few years,love.🙃😤

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: And what makes you say we are having a girl in the future?? Maybe it will be another boy who adores me???

Liked by freddycarter1, calahan.skogman, emilia_clarke, emmaroberts and 6,893,561 others

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Another day, another chaotic moment!

1.The fuck hoe? Leave my precious camera alone, do you know how expensive is that? I can give you a toy one, just please go and threaten someone with that cane of yours.

2. I'd like to say, seeing a huge man absolutely melt at the sight of these cuties were pretty funny! Don't worry though, we adopted them!

View 652,412 comments

User2: Freddy, Y/N already pays for enough, please stay away from the cameras. Those shits are expensive as fuck!

User9: Have a lovely day you two!

User12: Guys, I just came back from her YT video, and the fact that Y/N fucking Y/L/N-Barnes literally went and visited every single one of the cast members, who are already the biggest simp possible for her and almost fainted when they saw her before their door, to thank them personally for how FUCKING amazing they are and how much of a GOD TIER acting they did is just... Ma'am you shouldn't be THAT FUCKING AWESOME❤️💓

User2: she brought gifts for them too! But her explanation is way funny: I brought something edible to all of them because come on, what am I gonna do with flowers? Eat them like a cow? 😒😉😋😁( her face expressions btw)

User5: and with the straightest face possible to mankind djskdjjeks

User4: Thinking about the fact that we're living at the same time as Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes, Ben Barnes, Amita Suman, Jessie Mei Li, Kit Young, Freddy Carter, Patrick Gibson, Archie Renaux, Daisy Head, Danielle Gallighan, Calahan Skogman, Jack Wolfe and everyone else in the cast is... What a fucking Era to live Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes liked

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Okay first of all, I'm impressed by your sheer dedication of writing every single name... And thank you for being so sweet, we are lucky to have fans like you as well! ❤️

User12: Y/N, the mother of us all, the best decision you had ever made was choosing Freddy Carter as Kaz FUCKING Brekker and Ben as Darkling beyond doubt... We can't thank you enough 🙌🫶

User3: Emma Roberts liked her post... Does that mean the new project is AHS? 👀

User14: That would literally top her(near) every project

User15: Someone please include her in a new emoji game, thirst trap video, interview whatever! I NEED MOMMY Y/N AND HER REACTIONS ON EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM

user6: Unrelated but I want to know what was the hardest scene to film for her?

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: Anything with that damn goat. It kept either distracting us, or head butted someone. Mostly Kit tho

Liked by benbarnes, freddycarter1, archierenaux3 and 5,978,352 others

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: To anyone who calls this cast "A happy and cute family"... I'd like to point out that these six are the worst of them, including yes my own husband.

1. Those little shits after Archie pointed out me tripping on my own feet and my husband daring to laugh( I feel pretty betrayed because why are you cackling amita_suman and jessie_mei_li?)

2. Them, finally able to take a serious photo because damn it, I need to have a decent photo to give to the press! Poor photographers were begging me to keep them serious long enough 🤣😄

View 621,541 comments

User5: We are now at a time when all the women like Y/N had been at least once in their lives...

User8: Wanting to have some appreciation because everyone has been doing exactly the opposire even if we women work hard ASF and even harder than most people?🤨

User5: That too, but no. Homicide. And murder. 😈👹😊

User7: These people + Y/N could break me in half and I'd say thank you mommy/daddy

User5: their laughs are so precious... even if It's at poor Y/N 😁

blakelively: Your husband is there and you are feeling betrayed because of the girls laughing?

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: I'm used to him making fun of me since... I'm the weird one in this marriage lol But not Amita and Jessie, we are weird together, why did you laugh at me? 😭🥲

User3: Is that the way we treat her? Is this what her children(us) and little Barnes wants?🤨

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes: I agree luvie... I was thinking about giving him the couch punishment while my boy sleeps with me.

User2: Mommy Y/N please stoo working too much! Your health matter more and you should spend time with your family and friends!

User13: Y/N, we are grateful you taught Ben the Emoji Language really. Thanks to you, he finally understands the young fans like us and win games 🙃

[throneofsapphics]

Hi! I absolutely adore all of your fics! Your poly couples especially are perfect, manorian is my fav you write them so well

I was wondering if I could request some manorian x Reader fluff? Like Reader is just a little down that day and she’s super cuddly with them so they take her to do her fav things like shopping and get her favorite treat and stuff. Thanks 🧡

a few seconds too long

Manorian x Reader

Summary: Manon and Dorian notice Reader is down

Warnings: not proofread

A/N: thank you! I’m so glad you like them, the poly couples are some of my favorites to write! I tried my best with fluff!

The three of you finally got a day off together and the last week had been mentally draining and taxing. Things going on both professionally and personally had messed with your head, leaving you exhausted. 

Manon stirred, already shifting to get out of bed. Just after dawn. Too damn early for a day off. You caught her around the waist, pulling her back down towards you. She huffed, but complied, and let you tuck your head into her chest, wrapping her arms around you. Manon wasn’t the most … cuddly person, but if you were insistent enough she’d give in. 

“Someone’s needy this morning,” Dorian teased and you grumbled into the witch’s chest, reaching one arm behind you to try and tug him in. He rolled over, spooning you. 

You convinced them to stay in bed for an extra hour, and they both seemed a bit surprised at your request, but didn’t question you. 

-

You could tell Manon and Dorian had picked up on it - the way your voice was a bit less cheery, your movements slower - not in a tired way, but in a not-wanting-to way. Plus, the worried looks they exchanged when they thought you weren’t looking confirmed it. You were hesitant at first, but let both of them drag you out into the city. 

They took you to all of your favorite places, and Manon had to stop Dorian from buying you everything you looked at for a few seconds too long. 

“Just because she looks at it, doesn’t mean she wants it” Manon hissed, before turning to you. “Do you want that?” She pointed at the top you’d been eyeing. 

“No,” you said honestly and lowered your voice, “I just thought it was a bit funny looking.” 

Manon sent a satisfied smirk at Dorian, who rolled his eyes. 

Manon would sneak off once in a while and Dorian ran interference, keeping you from following her or asking too many questions. She’d return with a bag - one she refused to let you look at, darting out of your way and snarling at you half-heartedly when you tried to snatch it from her. 

“I don’t know what else you expected,” Dorian said to Manon, “you’ve seen her at solstice.” You pinched his side. He caught you shaking a box once and never let you forget it. 

Finally, once you returned back to the castle, Manon showed you all of the things she’d been hoarding. 

She bought everything you looked at a few seconds too long, that you’d actually liked. Your jaw dropped. 

“You didn’t need to do this,” you murmured, and she rolled her eyes before shoving a box of your favorite chocolates at you. 

[soppybitorag]

The Captain as Man, Mirror, and Medals.....

a 🚨Red Lever🚨 meta on The Captain appearing in a mirror (and a cracked one at that) in the opening credits of Ghosts and what that could mean in the context of s5e5 and beyond :-D

What do mirrors symbolise?

Briefly, they outer vs. inner perception; who we are vs. what we let people see/want people to perceive us as. Mirrors Cannot Lie, and thusly expose our reality. Reflections are often said to be a persons True Soul, an idea across many early civilisations. It wasn't reflected light rays hitting your eyeballs, it was you seeing your Soul.

But also, we are 'mirroring' people when we copy them, appearing unoriginal and inauthentic.

Captain as Portrait and Mirror -

Now, ghosts can't see their reflections or be captured on camera/film. We don't see Captain looking *into* the mirror, just what is shown to us: the outer self/controlled perception. Also, the way he is framed makes it look like a portrait, something signifying power, virtue, and importance.

What we *see* is a middle-aged man of supposed stature, with a collection of earned medals (reflected, they'd be the right way round, which they aren't irl).

A soldier.

A Truth, as Mirrors Can't Lie.

Portraits can be twisted, however, such as The Picture of Dorian Gray. In it, Dorian's portrait grows more grotesque because of his sins and vices, whilst retaining his external beauty over many, many years.

Captain, likewise, is forever going to look the age he died, much like how Dorian is forever the age of when he got the portrait made. (Not saying they're similar in personality or really any deeper than that, just thought it note worthy.)

It'd be remiss to forget that in the opening creds, Robin is next to the mirror, flickering a lamp.

He is litterally shedding light on the mirror, implying a deeper meaning/more to be understood about what's there. There's also the fact that the mirror is cracked (cracked? definitely distorted).

Cracked Mirror Symbolism -

Cracked Mirrors can be seen as a form of deception: if distorted they can warp the image presented (even when we expect the truth from them), making things appear closer than they actually are (a common occurance in fairytales, for example), or taller/bigger/wider/fractured.

Some people believe broken mirrors weaken the spirit of a departed person. Oscar Wilde famously used this belief to mark a characters' death in, you guessed it, Dorian Gray.

It's worth noting that Dorian Gray is also the story that led to Wilde's imprisonment for homosexuality.

Cracked Mirrors are notably bad luck in many cultures, too. Romans believed that Gods observed them through mirrors, so breaking them was severing that connection, thusly having the Gods curse you with bad luck.

Ultimately, cracked mirrors present a fractured sense of self, where the inner and the outer are at odds with one another, or there is discontent in one or the other. Perhaps both.

What does this mean for Captain?

Well, we *see* a man of stature/inportance with war medals. Virtuous.

In actuality, the medals were always forever out of his grasp (making things look closer than they are) as he never left Britain, as much as he maybe would have liked to. He stole the medals to deceive the Veterans by façading (being inauthentic/copying/mirroring) as one of them, but bad luck had him put them on clearly wrong to all but him. If he had a mirror, he could've fixed it.

He was most likely one of the lowest ranking people in that room, in a house he once had control over, but no longer did.

Those actions directly led to his death, where he forever is entrapped with and condemned to wear unearned medals.

Of course, he most likely wanted to be perceived as integral/noble by people, but he just wasn't. He thinks himself a coward, wearing a mask, and forever will be. It's no wonder that in his purgatory/button house afterlife, he elects to seek control over how people see him. He's just The Captain.

some extra things I wanna throw in here

Captain died looking into Havers' eyes. He could probably see his own reflection at his end. But at least it was in the eyes of someone who truly knew him and loved him. For him. Told him as much. Because Mirrors Can't Lie.

Also, one way to rid yourself of the bad luck caused by breaking a mirror is, apparently, touching a tombstone with one of the shards and burying it deep down innthe ground where spirits can't find it, at nighttime.

So here are some completely random images.

[nolansiegels]

pullpin pacific rim au sneak peek

The moments after your first drift will be rough, Lewis had warned her, that day in his pilot’s room after her victory in the Jeddah sim competition. Fatigue. Muscle cramps. You might get a migraine. And then, of course, there’s the velcroing. 

Doriane stared in confusion. “Velcroing?”

Lewis cocked an eyebrow. “An aftereffect of the drift. Susie hasn’t told you about it yet?”

She shook her head. Lewis sighed.

“Once a neural link is established, it takes a while for it to fully break. You can fall out of sync, yeah, but the connection is still there. It’s just, you know, weakened. Even once you exit the drift, it’ll be a bit before the link fully degrades.”

Doriane didn’t move. Lewis’ tone was measured, careful, calm—even more so than usual. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

“I don’t think I fully understand what you’re getting at here,” she admitted. 

She’d never seen the man this uneasy. Sir Lewis Hamilton was a seasoned veteran with seven Category V kills under his belt. He’d been breaking sim records while she was still in the womb. He could field questions from beat reporters and Defense Corps officials alike with a level of poise Doriane could only aspire to achieve someday. And yet here he was, floundering under the gaze of a twenty-year-old rookie who hadn’t even drifted with another pilot yet.

Lewis shifted in his chair, glancing at her, out the window, then back to her. 

“What I mean is that once you leave the drift, it might be difficult for you and your co-pilot to, er, stay separate. Physically, I mean. The residual link triggers a desire for… proximity.” 

“What exactly do you mean by proximity?”

“Well, it’s different for everyone,” Lewis explained. “Depends on the pair. I’ve got it pretty easy with George, we just need to stay in the same room. I had it a lot worse when I was still piloting with Nico… But that was a long time ago.”

Lewis coughed, and Doriane could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a blush creep onto his cheeks.

“Regardless, it really just depends on the bond between you and your co-pilot. Do you know who yours is going to be?”

Doriane shook her head, a little embarrassed.

“Not yet,” she confessed. “Susie’s still putting us through compatibility trials.”

“Ah,” Lewis said, nodding. “Any idea who you think you’ll end up with, then?”

Doriane shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. Maya, maybe. Or Chloe. I think the Al Qubaisis will end up together, though.”

Lewis chuckled. “Yeah, I’d have to agree with you.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, Lewis spoke.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t mention Abbi.”

Doriane felt a shiver run down her spine. She grabbed her water bottle and took a swig, trying to act natural and failing miserably.

“I don’t think it will work,” she said. “We’ve been jockeying for first in the sims all spring. You can’t drift with someone who’s constantly trying to come for your position.”

Lewis sat back in his chair. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her.

“I wouldn’t say it’s that simple,” he said.

Doriane fidgeted uncomfortably, cursing her lack of resolve. After an agonizingly awkward silence, she stood.

“I, uh… I think I should probably head back to the Academy,” she muttered. “They’re probably wondering where I’ve gone.”

“Oh, I told Susie you were with me,” Lewis assured—but Doriane was already gathering up her things, shrugging her jacket back onto her shoulders.

“Look, I–I just need to leave.”

She strode towards the door and was just about to reach for the handle when she suddenly stopped, burning with shame. Who the hell did she think she was, talking to Sir Lewis Hamilton like that? Was she out of her mind? The most accomplished Jaeger pilot of his generation had invited her over to congratulate her on her win and here she was, acting like a petulant child.

Breathing in, she turned back to Lewis. He showed no signs of having been offended by her outburst, but then again, he had spent decades in front of cameras and being hounded by journalists eager to criticize his every move. His poker face was better than most.

“Sorry, I…” she started, then shook her head. “I, uh… Thank you. For inviting me over. And for telling me about the, uh, velcroing.” The word still felt unfamiliar on her tongue.

Lewis merely nodded. 

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Most pilots don’t like to talk about it. It’s a bit… Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?”

Doriane nodded. “I guess so.”

“Have a good evening, Doriane.”

“You as well, Lewis.”With that, she pushed open the door and plunged back into the blazing heat of the Jeddah Shatterdome, the words proximity and Abbi swarming in her head like locusts.

[marcussour]

Some random thoughts about last night episode:

Loved seeing the Crown Keepers for this 2-part thingy, sad to see them go out like this. I would've loved for this whole storyline to play out over a regular, say, 4 episodes arc of EXU; like, don't get me wrong, I loved this idea of switching parties mid-episode and exploring the other half of the story and how Dorian ended up coming back, but the whole "what they were doing between EXU:Kymal and episodes 92 and 93" felt a bit rushed and condensed due to those restrains.

On a similar note, what happened with Deni$e? I know that having Aimee play 2 characters simultaneously would've been a lot (and also, an incredible power move and probably hilarious). Apparently I misremembered what Deni$e's saw through the portal at her exit in episode 63, 'cause I was sure that Dariax was there in Westruun, but it was more like, she was gonna try and find him, not that she saw him there. Glad that she still got a mention when Dorian reunited with Bells Hells.

Crown Keepers, oh sweet, poor, Crown Keepers. I expected something akin to a bad ending, but somehow they splitting and going their separate ways ended up hurting more than if all of most of them had died, instead of just Cyrus (RIP Cyrus, you delightful himbo with gambling problems).

Something I've been wondering if that we're gonna get some type of Avengers-like team up between the different champions of the gods. I know most people are expecting the big team up to end up happening between Vox Machina, the Mighty Nein and Bells Hells, but this whole idea of the gods talking and taking their champions to join the fight against Predathos got me thinking if we're gonna get some type of god squad EXU going on. We know Opal and Fy'ra are together now and probably on route to somewhere; there's also whatever Morrigan's gonna do now (and is she just an empowered champion but not THE champion of the Matron like Vax, or does she have multiple ones like other gods?). And we know of other champions like Teven Klask and Zerxus for Asmodeus (and come one, who wouldn't want Luis to be back as Zerxus), or Arkhan for Tiamat (tho in this case, considering he's Joe Manganiello's character, and how he was canonized in D&D lore, maybe he's off the table).

On a similar note, it does got me thinking about the fact that Vex, Scanlan, Pyke and Yasha are all champions of their respective gods (though in Vex and Scanlan's case, my guess is that it was only a temporary thing).

Back to the Crown Keepers, sad to see Dariax and Dorian separated. Like, I get the why (tho I would've loved to see Dariax with Bells Hells), doesn't mean I like it. Also, I guess it's kinda telling of Dorian to always make similar exists when confronted with a heavy emotional weight: the way he left Dariax playing in Zephrah felt pretty similar to him leaving the toy floating back in Jrusar when he left Bells Hells. I like the thematic consistency of him leaving a place kinda like a breeze or a gentle gust of wind.

Also, our blue boy is going through some stuff. Seeing him snap like that, love the complexity that Robbie put there, but also, got me worried about some decisions he could make.

Loved the reunion with Bells Hells of course and the brief glimpses of them catching up. Wish it could've gone for a little longer, I get the why (no one wants the live play equivalent of a clips episode).

Excited for next week, and for whoever's gonna be present and the camp in Bassuras and to see if they're going after Ludinus in Aeor or something else (also, I would be shocked if Sam's new character doesn't appear by then).

[aikoiya]

LoZ - Yiga!Link is a Riot

I gotta say that the concept of Yiga!Link is effing hilarious. Especially if it's Zelink.

Because, think about it.

In this situation, Ganon has literally everything lined up perfectly. Link, his eons-long, multi-life arch-nemesis is essentially his minion & he likely doesn't even know it.

Kid's probably deep into the sauce too, man.

Then, either along comes this pretty little princess & he's like, "yeah, sorry bro, but I'm gettin' me some of that." Maybe he was kidnapped as a baby & Link & Zelda met previously as kids? Maybe she did something for him that he'd never forgotten, then when they remeet, she does something for him that seals a huge crush on her, & thus can't bring himself to kill her? I dunno, there's a lot of ways this could go. OR, he learns personally that he's the Chosen Hero, the very person he's supposed to despise & kill. Meaning that if the other members learn about it, they'll likely kill him. His whole life comes crashing down around him. The first blow to the cult's programming.

Like, it'd just be such a power move on destiny's part.

Like, as dangerous as Ganon obviously is, he simply does not win for very long. He always looses eventually.

And this would just cement that fact. Like, he had his effing arch-nemesis in the palm of his fucking hand & didn't even know it & he'll still fucking lose.

I dunno about you, but I'd be pretty damn demoralized after that.

I might just need the next 10,000 years dead before my next reincarnation to mentally recover.

---

At the same time, it does make me wonder. Why do non-Sheikah Yiga stick with them? Like, we know the reason why the Yiga was originally formed. A Hylian King from 10,000 years ago forced the Sheikah to decommission their technology, fearing it'd bring about Hyrule's demise. (Which, despite how unfair it was, he was... actually right. Makes me wonder if he actually learned that the Sheikah Tech could be taken over. Maybe he'd been an accomplished mage & had managed to use his magic to take control of the machines, then realizing that he likely wouldn't be around for the next Calamity, he ordered the Sheikah to find a way to prevent the machines from being possessed by magic. But no matter what they did, they couldn't manage to figure it out, or maybe they did for a while, but the king kept testing them to make sure it was fixed. However, much like hacking in real life, there will always be new ways to exploit the system, thus the king was left with no choice but to decommission them.)

But, anyway, what exactly do they tell their members to get them to want to stay? Hell, why were they even still a thing in BotW? Why hadn't they made their move? There were no more guards, or soldiers, only a few trained Sheikah, all of which were either too old to keep fighting or were swiftly getting there, & there'd been no royal family besides Zelda, who was keeping Calamity Ganon sealed away.

Why didn't they take over the rest of Hyrule, asserting their dominance & killing all the loyalists so that when the Hero returned, he'd be an outlaw, thus making his journey harder? (It certainly wouldn't have been the first time something like that would've happened in the series.) In fact, why reveal themselves to him when they meet? Just wait till his back is turned, then Eightfold Blade him in the back! Or have a Yiga replace the Sheikah & Hylian innkeepers/Stable Managers, then when Link rents a bed for the night, give him a poisoned complementary meal! Then, when he collapses, just execute him!

It's that easy! Or it should be, because they're effing ninja!

I mean, they were perfectly fine with killing Dorian's wife, who Dorian had been a member of the Yiga before, thus they've no issue with the act of killing.

Which, btw, why didn't they instead kidnap her, maybe even his daughters too, & use them as blackmail to keep him under their thumb?

LoZ Wild Masterlist

LoZ My Fanfic Masterlist

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Mementos

Harry Potter lived a simple life. He had one of those tiny houses without a lot of fuss. He traveled a lot but he didn’t bring back souvenirs for himself apart from a picture here or there.

Pictures were, in fact, the closest he got to keeping things, but even then the pictures had just been uploaded to one of those odd muggle frames that rotated images through. Draco didn't entirely understand how it worked, but he always got a pleasant swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach when one of the two of them (or even one of just Draco) appeared in the frame.

Draco, on the other hand, saved everything. He had the ticket stub from the first show at a cinema that Harry had ever taken him to. The petals of a rose given to him on their first date were pressed into the first edition of 'The Picture of Dorian Grey', a book Harry had found for him on one of his trips. He had seashells from beaches that Harry'd brought him, magnets and postcards that the other man had sent him. Hell, he even had a couple of post-it notes that Harry had scribbled notes on and left for him.

They'd been dating for eight months and Draco had kept so many tokens of that time together because it was time that he cherished.

He couldn't help but wonder if maybe Harry didn't quite feel the same. Rolling onto his side in bed, Draco enjoyed the fact that Harry's tiny house didn't have any walls except around the bathroom. The unobstructed view of Harry's bare broad shoulders and tapered waist while he made them omelets made his mouth water.

Harry scratched his hip and his sweatpants rode a little lower and Draco almost lost his train of thought.

Almost.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?" he hummed, glancing over his shoulder at Draco before going back to his eggs.

He swallowed down the nervousness, they'd been friends for half a decade at this point, what was the worst that could happen? Surely he’d asked the other man harder things than this. "Why don't you keep things?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, flipping the eggs with a flick of the wrist.

"Like mementos," he said, "trinkets, things to remember me by."

"Remember you by?" he asked, "Are you going somewhere?"

He huffed, "I don't plan to. I just-" he broke off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding incredibly needy.

Harry flicked off the burner and carried their plates over, climbing back into bed and handing a plate over to Draco once he was sitting. "Just what?" he asked.

"I-" he said, swallowing and trying a different tactic, "Like to keep things from our relationship because it reminds me of you and they make me happy."

"Like what kinds of things?"

He shrugged, "I dunno," he said, even though he could have listed a dozen things off the top of his head, "like the fortune that said, 'contentment will soon find you' that I got on our second date at that Chinese restaurant. Or that pretty green wine bottle from the wine we drank the night you got back from Greece."

"The night I kissed you," Harry said, grinning broadly at him.

"Exactly."

Harry was quiet for a few minutes, chewing his food while he thought. "I don't like things," he said finally, frowning a bit. "I don't like clutter and complications. I feel like I don't know what to do with all of the little things, or how to decide which are important and which aren't if I have to keep some. And when we were cleaning out Grimmauld," he shrugged, "I just kept thinking it was insane for someone to keep this much stuff. Stuff that mattered to them but not to anyone else. And when I die, I don't want to just become someone else's burden, you know?"

He frowned, “you’re not a burden.”

Harry shrugged, it was a battle they had often that Draco didn’t know if he’d ever win. “Maybe,” he conceded and Draco knew it was primarily because he didn’t want to argue. “But I don’t need stuff to remember you,” he continued. “There are so many places and things seeped with you. Restaurants we’ve been to, mud puddles that you’d jump in with both feet. Soft blankets and colorful scarves, the smell of books and earl gray tea,” he shrugged. “I think of you every time I dice tomatoes because I know how much you hate them,” he chuckled. “You’re in so many things in the world around me, I see you everywhere.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment before closing the gap between them and kissing him soundly. “I love you.”

Harry grinned brightly at him, “I love you too.”

And when they moved in together, six months later, it was a transition for both of them. But they both learned to love each other a little deeper because of the different ways they loved.

—————-

Written for the @hdcandyheartsfest prompt ‘mementos’

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 68: No One But Me

Summary: Rose confronts Cullen when she hears a devastating rumor and then is confronted with a bitter truth. With their Winter Palace operation closing in, Rose needs to get solid ground under her feet.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

I recognize his gait before I recognize any other detail— the set and dip of his shoulders as he strides across the yard with determined steps. He disappears into the armory. I follow.

I’ve been feeling ill since Dorian confessed it to me. He said they’d been playing chess, carefully avoiding the subject of me, and it had just sort of slipped from Cullen’s lips. An offhand remark about stepping down. I’d pressed him for more but Dorian said the comment had emerged seemingly out of nowhere. He’d said that he looked exhausted and generally withdrawn, but that I could see with my own eyes.

Fires from the twin forges throw heat clear across the space, searing my skin with sudden radiance as I enter behind Cullen. A pair of blacksmiths repair dented shields and sharpen blades, the grinding and clanking reverberating off the timber and stone walls. The work doesn’t abate for my benefit which I appreciate as it provides enough cover for this prickly conversation.

“Commander,” I say, when it’s clear Cullen is on his way up to Cassandra’s small suite in the attic.

“Inquisitor,” he says, obviously flustered by my sudden presence. He hesitates in his boots but then saunters back toward me, stopping several paces away.

“Dorian mentioned something to me that I thought merited follow up,” I start with a heavy, inescapable sigh. “He was worried and didn’t know what to do. So he told me.”

Cullen shakes his head, grimacing, no doubt abusing himself for saying anything or trusting anyone at all. He motions to the smiths at work to vacate the space.

“He would never betray your confidence unless he thought it was serious,” I add, swallowing back the anxious knot in my throat. “He said you mentioned leaving.” Just saying it hits with the same savagery as it did the first time I heard it an hour ago.

Cullen blinks at me, chagrined. “That is not what I said. Whether he interpreted it that way is another story. And I will not be held accountable for his wild extrapolations.”

“I can see that you’re not doing well,” I press.

“It’s not your concern,” he answers. Too quickly.

“It is my concern. You’re my friend.” I wonder if that’s even true anymore.

Cullen snorts, pacing around in a restive figure eight, eyes searching blankly as he mulls over my words and prepares to parry. He’s building a wall between us faster than I can climb over it. 

“And the commander of my army.” At least that should mean something to him.

He fixes an aggravated, hollow stare upon me. “Has my performance been substandard?”

I’m startled by the question. “No, not at all— I—”

“Then with respect, I assume the discussion is over.”

“Maker, Cullen. Don’t think I don’t notice.” I feel like I’m pleading with him. “I see it.”

“I believe I told you that Lady Cassandra would monitor my performance. And if I recall correctly, you consented. If you would like to redraw the parameters of the arrangement—”

“Stop,” I beg him. “Can’t we just talk the way we did before?”

He grudgingly turns to face me fully and nods, forcing himself to look at me.

“If you’re struggling without lyrium—”

“Are you asking me to take it?”

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[c0ffeeboy]

i've got the most irrational need to be a secretly gay english major at Oxford. like, to read all these famous novels and to study all of these famous relationships, wondering if i'll ever find something like that. wondering if i'll ever find my romeo.

but one day, as i'm walking through the glorious library, trying to find a very specific book, i see him. his collared shirt's untucked on one side and the knot of his tie is at his sternum. he's holding the exact book i was looking for. the book in question is 'The Picture of Dorian Grey', not the most outlandish book but for a boy like him- a handsome boy like him- to be reading this, this could only be a good thing for me.

i walk up behind him and mean to tap his shoulder and ask when he will be done with the book but the back of his hair looks so soft. all i want to do is touch it. i stand there, admiring his hair but before i even know what to say, he's turned around. now i see that he's just slightly taller than me. not too tall, but enough to be able to look down at me.

"I can hear you breathing you know." he's laughing. he's got the book in one hand and one in his pocket. he offers to book to me, which i take with a muttered "thank you".

"The book's all your, pretty boy. it's pretty good. the ending's kinda wild though." so he had read the whole book. he gives me these eyes as i put the book in my bag. like he had meant it when he called me 'pretty boy'.

before i can get up from the wall of the book shelf, he calls out to me.

"Wait, pretty boy, your tie..." he's coming over. he's getting closer. he's practically pinned me against the book shelf. he leans down to tighten my tie. as if my outfit didn't look sharp enough. he brushes a single lock of hair behind my ear. his laugh suddenly bubbled out of him.

"What's so funny?" i ask- my voice, practically a whisper.

"You look like Dorian Grey. Weird coincidence." both of us knew it was a damn lie to think i hadn't read this book before. my judgement told me to take the compliment and leave, i open my mouth.

"Then does that make you Basil?" he laughs again. his fingers are still lightly touching my tie, barely ghosting over the material.

"That depends..." his voice is low, as to not attract attention, though there are not many in the library today.

"On what?"

"Only if I get to kiss Dorian Grey."

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Like a Dream

CW: language, sexual references, light drinking

AN: Happy Yulemas @goddess-aelin!! Or I guess New Year’s now… this is very late but I hope you enjoy it all the same, and I hope your holidays have been lovely ❤️

8047 words

“I’m sure you’ve wondering been wondering what this is about.”

Rowan shifted uncomfortably. Lorcan, his boss, had requested his presence in his office several hours ago, and the day had passed with relatively little worry.

Even upon seeing Aelin Galathynius, someone whom he very much did not want to be in the same room as, waiting in Lorcan’s office as well, he hadn’t felt concern. It was probably just an update to policy or something similar. Hell, maybe the coffee machine had broken and Lorcan wanted them to inform their departments.

But then Lorcan had greeted them, and asked them to sit, and stated that he knew they’d been curious about the topic of this summons.

And a pit of anxiety had opened in Rowan’s stomach.

Lorcan Salvaterre was not a man to make small talk. He didn’t wait for others, he didn’t bother with light conversation, and he wasn’t friendly.

Which meant he was about to tell Rowan and Aelin something that they wouldn’t like, and not a small thing like they’d have to coordinate a client together or share the break room sometimes, because Lorcan had no trouble breaking bad news. Something worse, something bad enough to have the bluntest man Rowan knew stalling to conversation.

Rowan took a deep breath and said, “What is it?” He didn’t dare look to Aelin beside him.

Lorcan leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desk. “You both know of Dorian Havilliard.”

Of course they did. He was one of the biggest names in romance writing in the country. Their publishing house had been trying to get him to switch over from Hamel Inc. for years, but they’d had no luck.

“Yes,” Aelin said, and Rowan jolted at the sound of her voice. He finally risked a glance and was met with startling blue eyes rimmed in gold.

Rowan looked away.

“Well, as you know, Terrasen Publishing has been working on him for years.”

Rowan’s fingers tapped against his thigh impatiently as Lorcan restated what he already knew.

“We’ve finally convinced him to discuss the possibility of switching over.”

Considering the meeting, Rowan was hardly surprised. It also made sense for the two of them to be here; Rowan was head of the editorial department and Aelin was his counterpart in publishing. Together, they represented most of the publishing house and were often paired together when it came to potential clients.

It was the easy explanation for this meeting that had Rowan on edge. This didn’t make clear Lorcan’s apprehension.

“And what do we need to do?” Rowan asked cautiously.

Lorcan sighed. “Mr. Havilliard is working on his next book. He predicts the first draft will be finished soon; he’s using his Yulemas vacation to get it completed. And he doesn’t want any delay on the editing process, which means if we haven’t convinced him to switch contracts by the end of his vacation, he’ll remain a part of Hamel Inc.”

A sinking feeling formed in Rowan’s gut.

“He’s leaving for his vacation tomorrow,” Lorcan continued, “and even if we could have managed a short meeting before then, he needs more time with us to discuss logistics and a contract for him. He needs time to see everything we have to offer.”

“I’m sure he’d be open to discussing it over Zoom or even email,” Aelin suggested, and from the waver to her voice Rowan guessed she’d caught on as well.

“Mr. Havilliard is traveling to a resort in the mountains for his vacation, where there will be no cell service. He says the lack of distraction helps him concentrate. He graciously offered two fully paid tickets for any of my employees who would like to join him. You two will be traveling with Mr. Havilliard on his Yulemas trip. You leave first thing in the morning.”

Silence washed over the office as the pair of them took everything in. Rowan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I don’t recall expressing my desire to join him,” Aelin protested.

“Me neither,” Rowan managed.

Lorcan sighed once more. “Look, let’s face it. You two aren’t going home to your families for Yulemas and you don’t have any significant others to celebrate with. Everyone else, including myself, is not completely void of a social life and has plans for the holidays. You two are lonely as shit and I’m taking advantage of that.”

Aelin’s mouth had dropped open at some point during that little spiel but Rowan was used to Lorcan’s blunt transparency. He was honestly relieved that Lorcan had given up on trying to break it to them slowly. He liked the man, even—if he could manage to overlook the fact that he was being asked to spend his holidays on a work trip with his least favorite coworker.

Okay, maybe he didn’t like Lorcan so much after all.

“You can’t just,” Aelin spluttered, “I, my vacation, it’s my time off, you can’t…”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Galathynius, but this was his only offer and we’re in no position to deny him. If it helps, Mr. Havilliard alloted only a certain amount of time to meet with you as he wants most of the time to write his novel. And as I mentioned, he paid for the tickets and everything else that comes along with them. You’ll be spending most of your Yulemas holiday in a high-end resort doing whatever the hell you like. I’d say it’s a step up from whatever you were planning to do instead.”

Rowan leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Surely not both of us need to go.”

Lorcan glared at him. “Please explain to me the publishing process that Mr. Havilliard will be subject to.”

Rowan just blinked at him.

Lorcan turned to Aelin. “And do you know anything about the editing process?”

“You just… do grammar checks and stuff.”

Rowan cringed at the crass oversimplification of his job.

Facing both of them now, Lorcan said, “He needs every specific detail of every process. Neither of you can do that on your own. Both of you are going. That’s final. Now go home. I’m giving you the rest of the day off to pack, and I’ll email you the information of where you need to go tomorrow morning and at what time. Are we clear?”

Aelin nodded mutely. Rowan was pretty sure he felt himself do the same.

He lived in hell.

First he’d been transferred to a different publishing location six months ago as part of a promotion, only to find an enemy on the very first day. He’d smiled at her and was met with uncalled for distain and malice. The months had passed torturously slowly as the woman who’d shown him so much unkindness on the first day was constantly by his side, coordinating clients, attending work parties at his side, acting as a liaison. And throughout it all she was constantly either bickering with him, or ignoring him, or silently scowling at him. He just couldn’t figure her out.

But of course that wasn’t enough. No, now Rowan was being sent on a Yulemas vacation with Aelin, just the two of them and some eccentric smut writer who would be spending most of his time locked up in a room writing, which left Rowan and Aelin. In a resort with no cell service. Alone.

Only Hellas himself could have been so cruel as to put him in this situation.

—

Aelin dumped her bag in the back of the car with a little more force than necessary. She knew she was pouting, and she knew it wasn’t a good look on her, but how the hell else was she supposed to react to being shipped off on a work assignment for the entirety of Yulemas?

Of course they’d been given a rental car to drive together, just the two of them. Just Aelin and Rowan, a shitty GPS, a map for backup, and six months worth of loathing.

What fun.

“Are you ready?” Rowan asked.

Aelin looked up and was met with something slightly more passive than a scowl. She nodded, breaking eye contact, and slumped inside the passenger seat.

A moment passed before Rowan opened his door and got in the driver’s seat. Aelin didn’t look over, focusing out the window on some obscure building as he set up the GPS, then buckled in and put the car in drive.

This couldn’t possibly be more uncomfortable for her. All of this was just one more thing to torture her after another. But honestly, Aelin couldn’t say she didn’t deserve this. This was probably the gods’ way of cursing her for being such a jackass to Rowan that first day, and failing to apologize every day since.

Why couldn’t she just have the holidays to herself?

The first two hours passed with little fanfare. At one point Aelin had turned the radio on, almost driven insane by the silence, and the soft tunes of some laid-back pop music—not her first choice, but she wasn’t going to risk Rowan’s objection with anything more flamboyant—had helped to ease the tension.

At the halfway mark Aelin asked Rowan if he wanted to switch, but he gruffly told her the driving was a nice distraction. From what, he didn’t say.

So Aelin pulled out a book and spent the following hour consumed in the pages. The turns became sharper after that and she had to put her book away for fear of becoming carsick. Aelin then glanced at the GPS and saw their estimated arrival was still nearly an hour away.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Aelin asked, desperate for something to do.

Rowan glanced over at her. “No thank you, I’m okay.”

Frowning, Aelin turned back to the window and watched the trees fly by. She eventually zoned out as the scenery became greener and the atmosphere much more frigid.

The road become steeper and icier, and their pace slowed to a crawl. Aelin’s boredom became unease, and she gripped the sides of her seat a bit tighter.

The remaining time passed uneventfully: no conversation, no accidents, no nothing except for silence and staring. Finding the resort was fairly simple, and parking was as well. The moment Rowan slid the gear into brake, every muscle in Aelin’s body relaxed. “Thank the gods,” she muttered.

Aelin climbed out of the car. The door shut with a satisfying slam. She stretched her legs, unsure of where they were meant to go from here. Before she could say anything to Rowan, a man exited the large log-themed building and began to make his way over. As he approached, Aelin realized that this was Dorian Havilliard, not some employee. He must have been notified of their arrival somehow; Aelin decided not to ask.

“Welcome!” he called, and Aelin couldn’t help but smile. She waved as he continued to step through the thin layer of snow that coated the ground.

Dorian definitely fit the manic writer stereotype; he wore a sweater vest and wire-framed glasses, and he actually had a pencil—did writers even use those anymore?—tucked behind his ear.

“You must be Ms. Galathynius and Mr. Whitethorn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, and Aelin felt she and Rowan did a decent job of pretending their Yulemas vacations hadn’t been stolen out from under their noses. Dorian’s grip on her hand lingered for a bit longer than necessary when they shook hands, but otherwise he seemed like quite the gentleman, and Aelin found herself thankful that at least their client wasn’t a douche. She’d had plenty of less-than-friendly clientele and was glad Yulemas wasn’t entirely ruined with another.

Really, Aelin hadn’t wanted to meet Dorian. She’d come face-to-face with several authors whose writing she enjoyed and their rudeness had ruined the reading experience for her. Hopefully Dorian remained polite and she didn’t lose the will to read his books.

“So when will we have our first meeting to discuss? Immediately?” Aelin asked.

“I figured you’d want the first day off as you’ve been traveling for so long.” Aelin really just wanted to get this over with, but she could hardly contradict the man. “You two will meet me in my room at nine tomorrow morning and we’ll begin. I’ll show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

Rowan thanked him while Aelin reached for her bags. Rowan turned around to do the same, but Dorian stopped them both.

“We can have someone take that in; you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Rowan said. “I only have one bag.”

Aelin had two for the ten-day trip, but neither was particularly large. She certainly wasn’t in need of a fucking bellhop. “We’re good, really.”

Dorian protested a bit more—he didn’t seem like a man used to doing much on his own—but finally allowed them to take their own luggage. He led them inside a massive lobby/commons room that Aelin didn’t get much of a chance to take it in before they were whisked up a grand staircase, not stopping to check in. They followed Dorian down a well-lit hallway that was surely adorned with enough gold to buy a house. Finally, they stopped in front of a doorway near the end, spaced out from the handful of other doors they’d passed.

“Here’s you go.” Dorian inserted a key in the door and pushed it open.

“Oh, which of us…” Aelin trailed off when Dorian looked over.

“Whose room is that?” Rowan finished for her.

“Both of yours,” he replied simply.

No. This could not be happening. Dorian had said rooms, hadn’t he? Plural? Or maybe he meant rooms as in the bedroom and… the sitting room?

Apparently dissatisfied with their expressions, Dorian continued. “I arranged for one room to be shared; they had limited bookings left when Mr. Salvaterre and I arranged this agreement and I figured you wouldn’t mind, as there is plenty of space to claim as your own.”

As if they were in any position to deny him.

“That’s fine,” Aelin assured him. “Thank you again.” She flashed her fakest smile.

Seeming satisfied, Dorian smiled back. “I’ll leave you to it. Remember, our first meeting to discuss logistics will be tomorrow morning, at nine. My room number’s with the informative pamphlet I gave you.”

“We’ll be there,” Rowan replied. The pair of them exchanged farewells, and then watched as Dorian sauntered off.

“So.”

Aelin glanced over at Rowan. “Um.”

He looked conflicted. “Which bed do you want?”

Aelin sighed, brushing past him and stepping inside the room, their room, at last. “I guess that one?” She pointed at the bed on the left of the room at random.

To be fair, there was a decent bit of space between the beds. And the room was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the beautiful snowy mountains were framed by plush curtains. Carved wooden furniture that Aelin assumed was genuine was placed tastefully around the king-size beds. A wide open doorway led to what appeared to be a sitting room and another open door showing a hint of tile probably connected an oversized bathroom. Aelin figured it’d have some kind of jacuzzi or gods knew what else in there.

It began to truly sink in why Terrasen Publishing wanted Dorian Havilliard so badly. The man knew how to make money.

“So what are you planning on doing first?”

Aelin glanced over. “I’m not sure… I don’t really know what these kind of places have. Like, skiing?”

Rowan shrugged. “I don’t know either. I might just read a book.”

Aelin nodded tersely.

In an effort to distract herself, Aelin pulled the key out of the door and shut it, then set it on a table. She carried her things to the bed she’d pointed at and arranged them neatly on the wooden bedside table, then, with nothing left to do, turned to Rowan.

“Do you want room service for dinner? I’m about to order something.”

Rowan looked up from his book. “Uh, yeah, I’m getting kind of hungry. Is there a menu?”

“Yeah.” Aelin stood and walked over to his chair, handing him the resort’s restaurant’s menu, which allowed room service.

Rowan reached for it and his thumb brushed Aelin’s hand. She jerked away.

Frowning, Rowan started at where their hands had met. “Why do you always…”

“What?” Aelin asked defensively.

Rowan sighed. “Look, this isn’t going to be fun for either of us, but can we just try to be civil? So that this whole trip isn’t as miserable as humanly possible for the both of us?”

“We don’t need to be civil. We can just go our separate ways, okay? You can stay in here and I’ll eat in the other room.”

Rowan rubbed his temples. He looked like he was figuring out how to phrase what he said next. “I don’t understand why you’ve always acted like this, Aelin, why you can’t just behave like a regular person. You’re always trying to stay as far away from me as possible and when you can’t avoid me you treat me like scum under your shoe. I just don’t get it.”

“Is that a question?” Aelin asked, avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, that’s a fucking question,” Rowan snapped. “Why do you hate being around me so much, Aelin? What have I ever done to you?”

Aelin deflated at that. Her shoulders slumped as all the fight drained out of her and she sank into the chair beside Rowan.

“I caught my boyfriend cheating on me the night before you started at Terrasen Publishing.”

Rowan’s lips parted in shock and understanding, but Aelin didn’t stop.

“That first day, I was cruel to you. I didn’t just cold-shoulder you or glare. Lorcan told me to show you around and acclimate you the publishing house and you were right there and I—”

Aelin cut herself off and squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them and looked down, too afraid to meet Rowan’s eyes.

“I was nasty to you, I spent the day belittling you and making you feel uncomfortable, just throwing all the shit on you I could because all I really wanted in that moment was for someone else to be as miserable as me.

“And I was so… I don’t know, embarrassed? That you’d seen me vulnerable, even if you didn’t realize it, so I just started avoiding you. That way I treated you that first day reminded me of the worst parts of myself and I just wanted to forget about it, but we were always forced to work together.”

“Aelin… why didn’t you just explain to me the next day what had happened? Or at least told me you’d had a rough day if you didn’t want to share the whole story? It didn’t have to go on like that.”

Aelin’s finger twisted around a hole in her jeans anxiously. “I’m not good at apologies, Rowan. And the longer it went on, the harder it got to think about explaining.”

Moments passed. Aelin kept her eyes down, barely keeping herself together with sharp breaths as she waited for Rowan’s response.

Finally, it came.

“I forgive you.”

Aelin scoffed. “No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know me, Aelin, and you have no right to tell me what I do and don’t mean. I forgive you,” Rowan repeated. “I’m not saying you treating me the way you did was excusable, or that all those months of bitterness can be forgotten. But you’re apologizing now, and that counts for something.

“Look, you heard what Lorcan said. We’re at a high-end resort at no expense to us. We aren’t working the whole time. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. Let’s try and, you know, start over?”

Aelin finally got the nerve to look over and was met with the intense stare of Rowan’s pine green eyes. Her fingers stilled against her thigh.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she rasped.

Then Rowan smiled, and something deep inside Aelin’s chest began to thaw.

—

“Where should we start?”

Rowan opened his mouth to respond to Dorian, but before he could Aelin reached for her bag and retrieved a small binder.

Aelin pulled a stack of stapled papers out of her binder. “I brought a sample contract to go over with you; it’s all very adaptable to your needs but in preliminary form it still lays out the rudiments.”

Rowan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought to do anything other than show up, and here Aelin was with her organization and a whole fucking binder despite the one night to prepare. Though, Rowan really shouldn’t be as disbelieving as he was; he may have his strengths in overseeing the editing process but Aelin’s strong suits were people and deals.

Dorian nodded at her, and Rowan leaned back, ready to watch Aelin do what she did best and answer any questions about the editing if needed.

The next hour passed with less misery than Rowan had anticipated. Watching Aelin negotiate with an expensive client-to-be like some kind of lawyer was… impressive. To say the least.

Dorian was rushing them by the end of the meeting, seeming keen to return to his new novel, but they’d gotten a decent bit of talking done. Feeling satisfied with their work—or rather, Aelin’s—Rowan followed Aelin from Dorian’s lavish hotel room, even more grand than their own, and out into the hall.

“Do you want to do something together today?” After hearing why Aelin had always acted the way she had, it had been easier to look past her actions and closer at her. They’d spent the evening eating room service dinner in bed and talking—not about anything too personal, but about their work and their hobbies, interests, all the like. Rowan was pretty sure he’d learned more about the prideful woman last night than he had over the course of six months of working together.

Aelin looked over at him, a surprised smile pulling at her lips. “Like what?”

Rowan shrugged. “Like ask the front desk what kind of rich-people activities they offer.”

Aelin laughed, bright and melodious. “I’d like that.”

Upon walking to the front desk, the pair was informed they could go skiing or snowboarding, go snowmobiling, swim in the indoor pool or jacuzzi, ice skate, relax in the spa and/or get a massage, visit the bar, exercise in the full-size gym, or do a number of other activities that Rowan hadn’t even heard of before.

The front desk attendant, Yrene, sent them a friendly wave as they walked away.

Rowan, mouth hanging open, glanced over at Aelin, who snorted at his expression.

“Is it all really paid for?” Rowan hissed. “Fully?”

Grinning maniacally, Aelin nodded. “I read in the pamphlet Dorian gave us that to go skiing or snowboarding you need to have brought your own equipment, but everything else is entirely paid. We can do anything.”

“Maybe I’m not so mad at Lorcan after all,” Rowan murmured.

“So what do you want to do?” Aelin asked, looking more excited than he’d ever seen her.

“You pick,” Rowan said.

Aelin bit her lip. “Ice skating?”

He smiled. “Have you been before?”

She shook her head. “You?”

“A couple times. It’s been years though.”

Aelin nodded and grinned again, and then they were walking back to their room to get coats.

Ten minutes later left them outside next to an iced over pond bordered on one side by the resort, another side by a rock overhang that sheltered the space from the wind, and the rest by a grove of massive conifers. The frozen pond was almost perfectly circular and surrounded by an iron handrail. It seemed like a convenient, authentic location, but Rowan guessed at least some of the details aside from the rail were artificial.

Rowan had no idea how many guests were staying in the resort, or what they spent their days doing, but apparently none of them were interested in skating. The enclosed outdoor area was void of all life aside from Rowan and Aelin.

They’d been provided with skates and then showed out the door. Aelin had been bouncing with energy, seeming quite youthful, and Rowan had realized this was the most unguarded he’d ever seen her.

Rowan watched as Aelin eagerly stumbled toward the rink, her hands out to keep her balance. She placed one blade on the ice, sliding almost immediately.

Aelin fumbled around for a moment, then gave up trying to skate and clutched to the handrail. “This is not as easy as it looks on TV.”

“You’ve only just started. Give it some time.”

She blew a stray tuft of bangs from her face, no less determined. Rowan watched in amusement as Aelin started clopping around the perimeter, most of her body weight on the handrail.

Rowan stepped onto the ice himself. It was a little tricky at first, but after a few minutes his body had remembered how to move and soon enough he was skating upright, albeit with a wobble, decently enough.

The thump of Aelin hitting the ice caught Rowan’s attention and he looked over to find her sprawled out on her back, a pout on her lips.

Rowan chuckled. He skated a smooth line across the ice and Aelin glowered at him from below.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Aelin frowned as Rowan extended his arms. “Yes,” she said stubbornly. She reached for him, clasping her hands in his.

“Careful,” Rowan murmured, holding them both steady as he adjusted his weight and pulled her to her feet. Aelin swayed, but Rowan’s grip was firm.

He could feel Aelin’s grip loosening when she regained her balance, trying to let go, but Rowan kept his hold on her. “What—”

“Let me help,” he interrupted. Rowan tugged her forward and she gasped, but didn’t fall.

Rowan skated backward a few more feet, letting Aelin get a feel for her balance and how her feet needed to move. Her body relaxed a bit as she accepted his help, trying to move her feet in time with his.

As Rowan skated back and Aelin stared at the ground in concentration, he watched her. Her hat was askew and her bangs were falling into her face again. A determined little frown resided on her lips.

After a few laps around the rink, Aelin’s grip on Rowan became less lethal and her feet began to move more steadily. Something had clicked for her, it seemed.

Aelin looked up from the ice and their eyes met.

“I really am sorry for how I’ve treated you,” Aelin whispered.

“I know,” Rowan said simply, and Aelin’s returning smile was answer enough.

“Ready to let go?” he asked.

Aelin nodded, and Rowan watched with a warm heart as she released him and tried moving on her own, one hand hovering over his just in case.

—

Aelin woke shivering.

Her eyes snapped open and she recounted her surroundings, processing the stack of blankets on top of her and the heavy, thrumming feeling of cold.

Aelin slipped out from under her mound of covers, wincing as she was surrounded by freezing air. She stumbled over to the radiator.

There was some kind of error symbol in the corner. Frowning, Aelin tapped at the buttons, unsure of how to use such a high-tech system. Only a thin hint of residual heat emitted from the thing.

“Dammit,” she murmured.

How was she supposed to stay warm in the mountains at night with no heat? The past few days of ice skating—Aelin had insisted on going every day, getting better with each try—had chilled her but not severely. It was the nights that Aelin couldn’t handle, and this one was even worse than the last. She’d already pillaged every spare blanket Rowan hadn’t claimed and still she’d woken feeling a chill in her very bones.

Trying the stay quiet, Aelin reached for the closet doors and started sifting through the various linens. Finding nothing, Aelin rifled through the drawer below, only coming across towels.

Aelin was just reaching for a whole stack of towels, too desperate to care about propriety—and honestly, these towels were nicer than any of Aelin’s bedding at home—when a voice rasped, “What are you doing?”

Aelin winced, not wanting to have woken him. “I can’t find any more blankets,” she whispered.

“That’s because you already have seven on your bed.”

Aelin shot a glare in the general direction of Rowan’s bed. “I’m cold.”

She waited for a witty retort, but all she got was the rustling of his covers and a faint silhouette as Rowan sat up. “Come here.”

“What?” Aelin asked cautiously.

“Come here,” Rowan repeated.

Rising clumsily and kicking the drawer shut, Aelin walked toward Rowan’s bed. She hesitated when she reached him.

Rowan moved over, making space beside him. In the dark Aelin couldn’t make out his expression, but she could see him gesture beside him, faint but unwavering.

Still tentative, Aelin slowly eased onto the bed, breathing rapid. She didn’t dare say a word as she lowered herself onto the bed, jerking backward when her leg brushed Rowan’s.

Maybe he was still half-asleep, or maybe he really didn’t see this as anything odd, or maybe a wave of confidence had washed over him, but Rowan only wrapped an arm around Aelin’s waist and tugged her flush against him, every curve and edge of hers pressed against hard muscle.

Aelin was pretty sure she gasped at the contact.

He pulled his covers over her, cocooning her in warmth. “Still cold?” Rowan asked, and Aelin bit her lip as his breath tickled her ear.

“No,” she whispered.

“That’s good.”

“Mm.” Aelin lay perfectly still as Rowan’s arm went farther around her waist, his hand sliding underneath her from the other side. Getting comfortable.

“Your heart’s beating very fast.” Rowan’s voice was still gravelly from sleep. Aelin told herself the shiver that followed was from the cold.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s definitely is.”

Aelin could hear the smugness in his voice. “Shut up,” she hissed.

He let out a soft, rumbling laugh, and the vibrations traveled down Aelin’s spine. He didn’t say anything more, though, and Aelin pressed her head against Rowan’s chest, seeking his warmth and trying to relax.

It took a while for Aelin’s heartbeat to slow and her heavy breathing to subside, but when sleep finally washed over her, it was more deep and peaceful than it ever had been.

—

Morning hit Rowan in the form of a head of blonde hair.

Blinking away the sleep, he looked over at Aelin, curled into his side. Her cheek was pressed up against his bare chest. His own arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

The drowsiness had obliterated his restraint.

Trying to process the fact that Aelin was really here, in his arms, rather than in some twisted wet dream, Rowan gently let go of her. He scooted away, wincing when Aelin whined sleepily and reached for him.

Climbing out of bed, Rowan rubbed his temples. What was he doing with Aelin? What did all this mean?

“Rowan?”

He pressed his eyes shut and let out a heavy breath, then turned. “Morning.”

“Mornin’,” Aelin slurred.

“We have another meeting with Dorian today. We should get ready.”

Aelin groaned in protest, pulling the covers over her head. Deciding to give her a few more minutes, Rowan checked the time and then grabbed a towel from the linen closet, headed for a shower.

It wasn’t as cleansing as he’d wished it to be. Rowan had thought the cold water would wash away all the inappropriate thoughts, the twisted emotions, the smell of Aelin’s perfume. But ten minutes later he was wrapping a towel around his waist and the confusion lingered.

Rowan left the bathroom to grab some clothes, noticing Aelin’s sleepy gaze snap straight to his bare chest, then his arms. Pretending he didn’t notice, he reached for clothing out of his unpacked bag, then retreated back to the bathroom.

Aelin had finally gotten up when he emerged, and was reaching for an outfit from the neat little stacks she’d set up next to her own bed. They exchanged a heated stare and Rowan wasn’t entirely sure of what he read in Aelin’s expression.

She waltzed past him to change in the bathroom, and he just grabbed some notes on the past few days with Dorian to distract himself.

They’d had three meetings so far, spaced out every other day. The first had been a day of covering the basics of the contract, and the next two had been full of negotiations, shaping Dorian’s potential contract into something he could agree to. Aelin and Rowan had been discussing yesterday and come to the conclusion things were wrapping up in Dorian’s mind; the contract-to-be was close to being fully edited to suit his needs. He was going to give them an answer on switching publishers soon, one way or another.

After each meeting, and on all the off days as well, Aelin had dragged Rowan outside to practice skating, and each time he got a little more emotionally confused. Sure, she’d apologized, and his forgiveness was genuine, but that didn’t mean he could just brush right over everything. A week was hardly enough time to go from hating someone to… not hating that person. Rowan shouldn’t be—

Rowan stopped that thought. So much for distracting himself.

He let out a frustrated growl, clenching his fists.

“You okay?” a voice asked, and Rowan cursed himself to hell for not noticing her leave the bathroom.

He turned to find Aelin leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a cream sweater and jeans.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking about Dorian. Lorcan will be pissed if all this was for nothing.”

Aelin’s face said she didn’t believe a word of it, but she didn’t pursue it. Instead she asked, “Do you think he’s finished the book?”

Rowan shrugged. “He said he was getting close a couple of days ago. He could be. He might even give us the draft today if he’s finished it.”

“If he’s going to sign with us,” Aelin added, wandering over to a dresser.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to start editing right away if he gives you the draft?”

Rowan gave another shrug. “Probably. Or maybe I’ll be able to stretch out the last few days of this vacation and pass it off when we get home.”

“Why?” Aelin reached for a pair of earrings, gaze on a mirror as they made small talk.

“I don’t often edit romance books. That’s Fenrys’ job.”

Aelin sent a smirk in his direction. “Ah, yes. You’re the historical fiction editor. How could I forget?”

“What’s funny about that?” Rowan asked defensively.

“Nothing at all,” Aelin replied, but she couldn’t keep her laugh in.

Rowan sighed. “Historical fiction is good. It offers a realistic perspective on time frames and events that deserve to be delved into. You shouldn’t be laughing.”

Grinning fiendishly, Aelin finished with the mirror and crossed her arms. “If you say so.”

Rowan just shook his head, shooting her an exasperated glare and nodding toward the door. “You ready?”

The walk to Dorian’s room wasn’t tense or silent, but it wasn’t as open as previous conversations between them had been. Aelin had likely picked up on Rowan’s weird mood, he thought with an internal cringe, and they were both nervous about the book deal as well.

Dorian greeted them and showed them into his sitting room as he’d done every other time. He had set out tea again, a habit of his, and Aelin accepted a cup graciously. Less inclined toward the substance but never wanting to offend a potential client, Rowan sipped his as well.

“I’m sure you’ve both realized that my mind is made up by now.” Dorian clasped his hands together and let the suspense linger.

Geez. This man knew how to be unnecessarily dramatic. Then again, maybe the millions his books had made had earned him the right to be a little sensational.

“Yes, we figured,” Aelin replied smoothly. “Is it good news?” Rowan could tell she was just as anxious as him, but Aelin was a hell of a lot better at hiding it.

Dorian smiled. “For you, quite. I made some last edits to the contract. You can look them over here, and if you find everything satisfactory, I’ll sign.”

Relief washed over Rowan in waves. He may have been lying to Aelin earlier when he told her that was what was on his mind, but he truly had been concerned. If Dorian had declined their offer and renewed his contract with Hamel Inc., Lorcan would be furious.

“Then I’ll give you the first draft of my new novel,” Dorian continued. “I finished looking over it yesterday so it’s very rough around the edges, but all the same, you can start editing right away if you so choose.”

Rowan nodded, and Aelin asked for the contract. They looked over it together, finding only minor changes that were acceptable to them. Dorian signed with an expensive fountain pen, and Rowan and Aelin released their bated breaths.

The whole meeting was a whirlwind of suppressed celebration and shared grins between the pair. Dorian sent them off with the draft, and they left, almost skipping down the hallway. As soon as Dorian’s room was out of earshot, Aelin let out a squeal and Rowan whooped.

“Thank the gods,” Aelin exclaimed, raising a hand for a high five.

Chuckling, Rowan met her hand. The contact felt like an electric shock, but Rowan ignored his confliction. They’d gotten one of the best-selling authors in the country to sign with their company. Today was not a day to be moping.

“Let’s go to our room,” Aelin said. “I want to read it.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

Aelin shrugged. “I can help.”

Rowan squinted. “Why?”

“Well…” Aelin looked away. “I’ve been waiting for book four in this series since January.”

Rowan let out a surprised laugh. “Oh, don’t tell me.”

“Shut up,” Aelin hissed.

“You read…” Rowan looked down at the draft. “The Toxic Heaven series?” he asked, scoffing at the title. He hadn’t even realized this thing was part of a series until now.

Aelin frowned. “It’s good. You can’t judge me. And don’t tell me you haven’t read any of them.”

“Um, no. I definitely have not.”

“None?” Aelin gasped.

Rowan crossed his arms. “I’m the boring historical fiction guy, remember? I don’t read this garbage.”

“It’s not garbage,” Aelin snapped, tugging the pages from his grip.

“Hey, that was definitely meant for me.”

“You’ll get your turn soon enough. Just give me a day or two.”

Shaking his head with a smile tugging at his lips, Rowan followed Aelin down the hall and back to their room.

—

Aelin got through the entire draft that day. She had allowed a break for ice skating; she was enjoying it immensely and was actually becoming decent. Other than that though, her eyes were glued to the smutty masterpiece all day long. Rough around the edges, sure, but it still had Aelin blushing.

Rowan had sent her amused glances throughout the day, which she’d pointedly ignored.

Flipping the last page, Aelin closed her eyes and grinned to herself. The main characters, who’d broken up in the last book, were back together. There was I’m-mad-at-you-but-I-still-love-you sex, makeup sex, fluffy sex, dirty sex. And Aelin refused to be embarrassed about enjoying it.

“That good, huh?”

Eyes opening and darting to Rowan, Aelin sent him her meanest stare. “You should try it you know. Maybe you’d get some if you paid enough attention.”

“Who says I don’t already get some?” Rowan’s voice was soft.

Oh, this was dangerous.

“I don’t know,” Aelin said, much more casually than she felt. “I don’t know a whole lot of people who are into historical fiction fanatics.”

Rowan crossed his arms, and Aelin tried not to stare at his bulging muscles. Had the room been this hot earlier?

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? I don’t think there’s a rule that says what I like to read means I’m clueless around women.”

Aelin opened her mouth to retort, but noticed something behind him. “Is that champagne?”

“Yeah, I figured we deserve to celebrate after landing that deal. I didn’t want to interrupt your reading, though,” he added with a grin. “Should we have some?”

Aelin ignored the jest and nodded. “We should.”

She sat up on her bed while Rowan popped the cork poured the alcohol into champagne glasses. He brought two over, sitting next to her on the covers. “You know, not only were we harassed into a work trip over Yulemas, which I’m pretty sure is illegal, we also got a famous author to sign with us. I feel like there’s got to be some kind of raise coming our way.”

Aelin laughed. “Gods, I hope so.” She took another sip of champagne, savoring the way it warmed her as it moved down her throat.

“What is all the fuss about Dorian Havilliard, anyway? There are only so many ways to write porn.”

“You clearly have no creativity,” Aelin replied. She picked up the draft and held it up. “He’s quite decent.”

Rowan squinted. “Let me see that thing.”

Aelin shook her head but he reached for the papers in her hands too quickly for her to draw them back. Rowan set it on his lap and flipped to a random page. “‘Celaena whimpered as Sam fucked her. Gods, she wanted to hate him, and maybe she did, but she could never hate his large, pulsating—’”

Aelin threw a pillow at him. “Stop it.”

“This is shit.”

“It’s not,” Aelin hissed. “Put it down and let Fenrys edit it when we get back.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I never realized what poor taste you have.” He tossed the draft on the bedside table.

“You’re just provoking me.”

Rowan scoffed. “Trust me, I may know nothing about writing smut, but I assure you there are better words to describe a cock than pulsating.”

Aelin sat up beside him. “Do you ever read smut, Rowan? Or do you just criticize people for having more game than you?”

He snorted. “I prefer doing over reading when it comes to certain things.”

Aelin felt her face warm. “Well… that’s just great for you.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow.

Aelin took a sip of champagne to occupy her mouth before she could say anything more humiliating, but Rowan didn’t let it slide.

“Do you ever get laid or is it all fictional?”

“That’s none of your business,” Aelin blustered.

“I entirely agree, but you’ve already asked me. I feel like it’s only fair.”

Aelin scowled. “Of course I do.”

“And when you do is it more or less pleasurable than reading Toxic Heaven?”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

“Oh, I definitely am.” Rowan’s eyes darkened. “We’ve been dancing around each other all week, Aelin.”

Her toes curled. “I guess we have.”

Rowan plucked the glass out of Aelin’s hand and set it with his on the table. “Tell me you don’t want this.” Their knees bumped.

“I do,” Aelin whispered, shivering when Rowan’s hand found her hair, gently tugging on a strand of blonde. He leaned closer and Aelin felt her breath catch.

Rowan’s other hand fell to her thigh, sliding up slowly, giving her every chance to say no. His lips were now so close to hers, their eyes locked.

Rowan closed the last half inch but just before their lips could meet, Aelin turned her head to the side. “Um.”

Rowan leaned back.

“I’m sorry.” Aelin stood up.

Rowan rose beside her. “You don’t have to apologize, Aelin. It’s okay.”

She glanced at him, then looked away, nodding silently.

“If something’s wrong I can—”

“It’s not you, Rowan. It’s not your fault. I just can’t.”

He nodded, not asking her why. Aelin appreciated him for that more than she ever had before.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, you can stay.” Aelin felt a tear slide down her cheek.

She could feel Rowan’s hesitation. “Aelin, I’m sorry I tried to kiss you, I shouldn’t have done that. We can pretend it didn’t happen if that makes you feel better.”

Aelin shook her head, blinking away more tears and feeling ridiculous for crying. “I don’t want to forget. I just don’t want it to happen. It can’t.”

“Why not?” Rowan’s voice was gentle, soothing.

“Because,” Aelin threw her hands up in defeat, “If we do anything now it’s going to be some short-lived fantasy that ends the second we’re home. And I don’t want this to be like some fucking dream that I—” Her voice cracked. She finished the sentence in a whisper.

“That I wake up from.”

Silence washed over the room. Aelin could barely hear anything over the pounding of her own heart, anyway.

For once, Aelin didn’t look away from Rowan. She started straight at him, watching, waiting.

He stared back at her for what felt like an eternity, unmoving. And then all of a sudden Rowan wasn’t still anymore; he was moving forward, and his hands were on Aelin’s face, and then his lips were on hers, and the rest of the world faded into grey.

Kissing Rowan felt like this whole whimsical, expensive vacation had felt. Like some kind of magic thing that was unexpected but not unwelcome, frustrating yet so freeing at the same time. Like every moment she’d had with Rowan prior, honestly.

One of Rowan’s hands fisted in her hair and the moan that left Aelin’s lips sent her mind straight from convoluted metaphors to the rush of heat headed straight down.

Before Aelin could drag him back to the bed and jump him like every molecule of her body was begging her to do, Rowan pulled back.

“I don’t want this to end either, okay?” Rowan was panting. “All the months we spend bickering because of one misunderstanding, one bad day, have been dissipating over the past week. I misjudged you, Aelin. And now that I’m no longer blinded by the idea that I dislike you, I’ve seen that you’re not somebody that I want to have a vacation with and then forget about. I want to get to know you better, I want… I want this to continue.”

Aelin looked up at him in shock. She nodded faintly. “Me too.”

He flashed a smile then, wide and genuine, and Aelin couldn’t help but grin back.

“I hope this means we get to go on a date,” Aelin murmured.

“Oh, it most certainly does.” Rowan pecked Aelin on the lips again, and the casualness of it sent butterflies off in her stomach. “I hope someday I can live up to the standards Dorian’s novel has put on me.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Gods. You’re horrible.”

Rowan twisted a finger around a lock of blonde hair. “You know, you’re going to have to put up with a lot of teasing if you really want me. And gods, imagine what the people will say about you dating a historical fiction editor. It’s not too late to back out.”

Aelin shoved him playfully. “I wouldn’t back out for the world.”

She’d meant it to match the joking mood, but it came out serious. Rowan stared at her silently, then moved impossibly closer. Their noses bumped.

“I wish that first day had never happened,” Aelin whispered. “We wasted so much time.”

“I regret nothing,” Rowan said. “Because things worked out so that I’m here with you, right now, and it was more than worth the wait.”

Aelin beamed at him. “And you say you don’t read romance novels. Who taught you how to charm a lady so well?”

Rowan laughed. “Not everything can be found in a book, Aelin.”

“You’re wrong,” Aelin murmured.

Rowan hummed. “I think I could teach you a few things Dorian left out.”

“Oh yeah?” Aelin tugged Rowan toward the bed. “Like what?”

Rowan grinned ferally. “Let me show you.”

They were laughing as they hit the bed.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@charlizeed

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@leiawritesstories

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@mybloodrunsblue

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@the-lonelybarricade

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[glauconaryue]

Scenes from transprom

I loved my real prom because yeah I was the outcast and yeah the ritual was dumb but at that time I stopped giving a single flying fuck and just decided to show up as a freak and get wasted. I wore the most eclectic messy outfit and wasn't even in the group picture and just danced with myself. That's a part of who I am, but so is trans prom. I'm not going to make a drawing because it wouldn't be half as cute as everything you people posted before. I'd rather do what I do as a writer and write, so here we go.

I'm going to trans prom too. I'm wearing a black, sparkling dress with a twirly skirt, a lot of spooky jewellery and makeup which is somewhere between dark and cute. My hair is long, my legs are smooth, and I'm still only 18. That means it's 2001 I think, and I wonder who else is graduating this year. Most trans people on tumblr seem to have graduated after 2015 anyway. I wonder who I could ask out, if I have to ask someone out, and I get cold sweat again, I don't want to be the one to start things and then feel I'm being too forward and making girls uncomfortable with who I am.

But this is trans prom, and it's okay to be gay, and suddenly I get a call from my long lost sister Turtledove, who had given up on transitioning after she was outed and disowned. But she's back for trans prom, she's my partner even, as sisters, as friends. She looks so pretty in her green satin dress and matching shawl that for a moment I forget myself, I feel cold and nervous not knowing what to do with so much feels. But she doesn't hesitate and pins an orchid onto my cleavage as I pin one on hers.

And as we get to the prom, not only is oneesan and all the women my age there, 18 again. Everyone is 18 and everyone is here. All the people I had interacted with, the ones I write daily with but are in Australia, the ones that I lost contact with for unknown reasons, the trans girls and trans boys and enbies, trans boys wearing suits and trans boys wearing the prettiest dresses just because they like it, trans girls who were so, so angry and full of conflicting discourse all the time but are now just having fun and feeling loved and beautiful. Me and my daughters are the same age, and to them it is just two or three years, so they barely feel the change, but to me it is a lifetime

I still don't know what year it is, or what country we're in. There's a new jiggy song by Will Smith and some old merengue by Juan Luis Guerra and then there's Dorian Electra being flamboyant and suddenly we're back to the Spice Girls, but they are no longer singing about the handful of cis girls who thought they were better than us. The Spice Girls are singing about us, and everyone who joins in and feels like a girl is a part of the song and a girl for the moment, and some continue to be girls and some change genders completely the moment the song is over.

Even when others leave, I stay on the dancefloor, people look at me and perceive me, they smile, we truly see each other. My eyes meet with those of another girl across the hall, and although she, too, is nervous, she looks back at me. Slowly we come closer and hold hands as SOPHIE starts singing It's Okay to Cry. Slowly we get closer and hold each other, and there's nothing more to be afraid of.

[bindi-the-skunk]

More rambling from me about Jekyll and Hyde

Part of the reason I think it is so easy to woobify Jekyll well the other literature classic monsters usually get a good amount of bashing is body count (don't get me wrong there are at least two examples of evil!Jekyll (Penny dreadful and Once upon a time) but no one really talks about Jekyll and Hyde from those series so ....and I thought both where pretty bland and did nothing for the characters but that is for a later date...)

Jekyll gets ONE murder victim, Carew and one girl (who was not named and was stated to have not been hurt, only frightened) And the fact Jekyll was under the influence of a drug when he did both crimes, not an excuse, but something to at least note ) these characters are just a means to an end in the story, we only care about them as far as their respective chapter, we only care as far as "murder is bad" and "walking on a child like their a WELCOME mat is bad"

They are faceless, Utterson cares about Jekyll, so we learn to care for him too, in the end Jekyll is a drug addict who kills himself, both are reasons to also feel sorry for him, we are given just enough about him to build him up in our mind, so when we find out he did bad things, it is ultimately in the back of our heads and the fact he did TRY and quit the potion cold turkey does prove he is not a complete monster and did want to at least try and quit before it all crashed around him.

Dorian Gray caused several young women to be ruined and caused an unnamed guard boy to kill himself (back of the mind atrocities sort of like Carew and the girl, we know it is bad, but we don't KNOW them)

But we do get to see Dorian's fall from grace, we see his mind twist, the book is mostly from HIS point of view, we see him think his picture should go back to being perfect just because he THOUGHT about being good, he sold his soul for something as meaningless as beauty.

We see poor Sybil vane kill herself because of him after being cruelly rejected by Dorian, we empathize with her brother, wanting to avenge his sister's death and knowing he was so close to it, we know Dorian cried tears of JOY hearing about his death, and we know he, in his right mind, no drugs or anything, murdered his best friend Basil who we have grown to love.

Frankenstein refused time and time again to take responsibility for his actions and it led to the death of at least four people, he left his newborn creation to die (already not scoring PO points ) then refused to speak up at Justine's trial leading to her being HUNG (a pretty nasty way to die mind you and the poor girl was SIXTEEN when she was hung, and this was old time shit so she most likely suffocated to death from the noose since she would have been light (which could take over twenty minutes of her kicking and struggling for air) over a broken neck ) when just saying he had a fight with a large man who vowed revenge would have done wonders for her ) his little brother William (death of a child pity points) Henry Clerval and finally Elizabeth, both of which we learn of and grow to look at affectionately

And throughout all this, all Victor can do is bellyache how bad HIS life is (and the fact he thought "I will be with you on your wedding night" meant the monster would come to kill HIM did not win him any intelligence points either...)

But what do you think? What makes Jekyll the go-to for the lovable but flawed scientist? What put him a cut above the rest as far as being loved by so many of us? He is the main character of no less than three webcomics I'm watching and a secondary character in another (and my friend plans on drawing her own comic one day as well) Why is making the others evil not much of a consequence, but Jekyll being evil always seems to fall flat?

[rhysnolastname]

Guys i am fucking distraught I am fucking sad I’m angry I’m so upset I’m so numb I’m so angry im so hurt im going to cry I already cried I’m going to cry again. On one hand, I can’t be angry at him, I don’t want to be angry at him because I really do understand, not because I’m a Solas apologist but because I have real life lived experience of someone taking your culture/country and decimating it, and wanting it back. I understand that desperation. On the other hand, he says my people like Fiera isn’t an elf and it infuriates me, isn’t she your people? And why can’t she go with you? She would like to go, but would never do that because if it’s between her friends and Solas, she’s going to choose her friends. And personally Dorian’s friendship alone means more to me (irl me) than a thousand of Solas’ vhenans ever could. But I can’t hate him at all. I do but I don’t. Even when cruel, he can be so gentle. I’m so devastated, I’m genuinely feeling such sadness over Solas and that there’s nothing I can choose to save him from himself and over my poor girl. I don’t know if all epilogues are like this or if I made the wrong choices or what the fuck, but everything is back to the beginning. Solas is still planning on tearing down the veil, the last 3 years were a waste, it was all circular and he knew it the entire time. Even the mages that were rescued with the intention of being set free, they’re all warring with each other. At least the companions got good endings, they all went on to do wonderful things and even though they’re characters, I hope their life is filled with happiness until the next game. Cullen’s was very sweet. Made me happy. Dorian is amazing, and the bit about continuing to stay in touch with the inquisitor made me tear up. He really has come to mean so much to me as a character. I’m so sad. I spent 95 hours playing this game and it’s over now, and it’s over like this. I didn’t expect a happy ending but I am heartbroken. When is DA:D

[nancys4gf]

first choice | steve harrington

summary: all the best things in life are impossible to predict.

pairing: steve harrington x gender neutral reader

warnings: none

note: okay i know steve had already finished school when he and robin became friends but.. that's what fanfiction is about right?!?!!? also his 'no sequel could ever be better than the first movie' theory is not valid because he hasn't seen high school musical 2. anyways i hope you enjoy :D i really liked this one!

̟ ̇.˚︵‿୨♡୧‿︵˚.✩

“that’s a fancy way to say you don’t want to work with me, robin.”

“no, no!” she exclaimed, waving her hands frantically. “i do! i just think we should broaden our horizons. miss each other for a while, so we can come back stronger.”

steve rolled his eyes. “just say you want to pair up with someone who gets better grades.”

“no! well…” she gave a defeated sigh. 

“i get it,” he raised his hands. “i’m not good enough for you.”

“you’re insufferable.” robin groaned, covering her face with her hands. “i promise we’ll do the next group project together.”

“yeah, yeah.” steve waved her off, and robin stood up, decided to find a new partner.

steve saw her as she approached vickie, taking a deep breath before tapping on her shoulder. he scoffed, shaking his head. sure. better grades. 

he looked around, wondering who he could work with. ever since he had grown apart from his old crowd and started hanging out with robin, he didn’t really talk with lots of people at school. 

besides, english wasn’t a subject he was exactly good at, so he needed someone who would balance it out. unfortunately, all the smart people had already paired up with other smart people, obviously.

he scanned the room again. this time, he saw you, immersed in a book with your headphones on. you immediately caught his interest. you were alone and didn’t look like you had a partner. plus, you were reading. surely you had to be smart. 

he walked towards your desk, and cleared his throat. you slowly lifted your gaze, taking the headphones off your ears.

“hey, i’m steve,” he extended his hand awkwardly. you shook it, a confused expression on your face. “uh, would you like to be my partner?”

you looked around, wondering if he had mistaken you for someone else. but his insistent eyes gazed into yours, the question swimming in his brown irises. and before you knew it, you heard yourself accepting his offer.

— ❀ —

it was a warm, lovely spring afternoon. an afternoon you were spending at steve harrington’s house, sitting on the floor in his room. 

you had to write an analysis on ‘the picture of dorian gray’, and you were currently outlining the essay while steve looked for the main themes in the book.

steve had put on some music you wouldn’t normally listen to, but you would take anything over the awkward, heavy silence.

“i’m confused.” you said suddenly, setting your book down. 

steve looked up, his eyes wide and his hair messy from having run his hands through it. 

“if you’re confused, then we might as well give up now.”

“not about this,” you gestured to the pile of books and papers lying on the floor. “about why you asked me to be your project partner.”

“oh,” he nodded. “well, my friend robin, do you know her? she’s in band–”

“i know who robin is.”

“right.” he paused. “basically, robin bailed on me. and you didn’t have a partner either, so i figured...”

“so i’m your second choice.” you stated.

“no!” he shook his head, even though you both knew it was true. you wouldn’t even be talking to each other if it wasn’t for this project. “i mean, kind of? but i did choose you.”

“it’s alright, harrington.” you chuckled, directing your attention towards the homework again. “you weren’t exactly my first choice, either.”

you weren’t looking at him anymore, and it was clear that the conversation had ended as soon as it had started. but steve kept his gaze fixed on you. 

he noticed you were wearing mismatched socks, and that you used a purple pen, leaving your fingers stained with ink. you were moving your head and tapping your foot to the beat of the music. you hadn’t noticed this, of course. but steve had.

— ❀ —

“we got an a!” steve cried out, shoving the paper in your face.

“of course we did,” you grinned. “no one knows more about oscar wilde than us.”

“i think this calls for a celebration.” he declared. “what do you think?”

you crossed your arms over your chest. “what did you have in mind?” 

“you know that diner near my house? we could go there. they make a sick strawberry milkshake.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, playing with the folded edges of your book.

“you know this was just a regular midterm project.” you said. “it’s not a big deal.”

“you’ve got to celebrate the small victories, right?” he insisted. “come on.”

and so, next saturday, you wondered how you had ended up here: standing outside a crowded diner, waiting for steve harrington of all people. 

but before you could even consider the possibility of leaving, you saw him walking up to you, a huge grin on his face.

“you came.” he said, standing in front of you.

“well, when you agree to hang out with someone, you’re kind of supposed to show up.”

he laughed and motioned to open the diner door, making a gesture for you to go first. 

you sat across from each other in a booth steve chose, and opened the menus. 

“strawberry milkshake, you said?” you spoke, staring at the menu. 

“yes. you have to get one. they use real strawberries. none of that artificial shit.”

“but what if i want to try the chocolate one?” you teased.

“then,” he gave you a sly smile. “we’ll share.”

“the milkshake move.” you smirked, closing the menu and placing your arms on the table. “classic.”

“no, no.” steve laughed. “this isn’t a date. if this was a date, i would have picked you up. i would be sitting next to you–”

“so you could put your arm around me.” you interrupted.

“exactly.” a smile crept across his face. “i would have gushed all about how pretty you look, and charmed you with my incomparable sense of humor. and then we’d end the night driving around and looking at the stars, or something.” 

“the harrington date guide.” you stated entertainingly. steve only raised an eyebrow in response, a smirk dancing on his lips.

after you had ordered and gotten your food, steve leaned in, staring at you.

“tell me something about you.” he said, throwing a fry into his mouth.

“what do you want to know?”

“anything.”

you pondered for a moment, trying to find something about you that would be interesting enough to catch steve harrington’s interest.

“you read a lot, don’t you?”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “how do you know that?”

“you’re always reading at school.” he said obviously.

“right. yeah, i guess i do.”

“so, what are you reading right now?” 

“a mystery murder book. you have to solve the murder along with the main character, a detective.” you immediately perked up, your excitement growing as you spoke. “but the thing is, since it’s narrated in third person, you know some things that the detective doesn't. and you can only hope that he makes the right choice. it’s amazing.”

steve was staring at you. suddenly feeling embarrassed, you shook your head. “sorry, you probably don't want to hear about this.”

“no, no, i do.” he urged, nodding his head, his hair moving up and down. 

“yeah?”

he was grinning at you. a genuine, warm smile that made you feel as if your mystery books were the most interesting thing in the world. your shoulders relaxed, as you took a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

“so, do you know who the killer is?”

you chuckled. “i think i do, yeah.”

“do tell.”

— ❀ —

when you walked out of the dinner, the stars and the moon were already in the sky.

“wow,” steve observed. “i didn’t notice how late it was.”

“me neither.” you said, gaze fixed on the night sky.  

the diner’s parking lot was almost deserted. if it hadn’t been because the waitress told you they were closing up, you and steve probably wouldn’t have left.

you put your hands in the pockets of your jean jacket, waiting for him to say something. 

“so, uh, i had fun.” he said awkwardly, glancing at you.

“me too.”

he nodded his head, distractedly kicking a small rock.

“steve?” 

he had turned towards you before his name was even fully out of your mouth. “yeah?”

“i don’t really…” you started. “want to go yet.”

steve’s entire face lightened up, shining even brighter than the stars. 

“i was hoping you’d say something.”

“what should we do?” you said giddily, not being able to hide the way you were feeling. not wanting to, either.

“follow me.” he said, taking his car keys out of the back pocket of his jeans.

and you did exactly that, walking together with him towards his car. but when you got there, you stopped on your tracks and pressed your eyes shut. 

“shit.”

“what?” 

“my car. i can’t just leave it here.”

steve put his hands on the sides of his waist, looking deep in thought.

“we have two options.” he concluded. “we come back for it later, or we leave separately. depends on how much time you actually want to spend with me.”

you acted as if you had to think about it, your heart fluttering against your chest. finally, you broke into a smile, opening the passenger's seat door.

“let’s go.”

“i’m not saying the second movie is better, i’m just saying it’s better written.”

“no second movie is better than the first. ever.” 

“oh, is that an actual hypothesis? you’ve got enough proof to back it up?”

“i just know i’m right.” steve shrugged and glanced at you, lying by his side. “when the third movie comes out, we should go see it.”

“none of your friends would want to go with you?” you joked, and steve stared at you.

“no,” he spoke softly. “you’d be my first choice.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you gazed at him. he was wearing a green sweater which made him almost disappear into the grass he was lying on. he had covered your legs with his jacket, claiming you’d be cold otherwise. you really weren't. but you let him do it anyway.

it was incredible, how you had been strangers only a few weeks ago. steve was so easy to talk to, and he complemented you so well that you almost felt as if you had known him for much longer.

“did i tell you how pretty you look?”

you snorted, and steve burst into laughter. his laugh broke through the quietness of the night, and even though the entirety of hawkins existed underneath the hill, in that moment, all that mattered was just you and him.

“i mean it!”

as warmth rose to your cheeks, you turned, staring up at the sky. 

“stargazing.” you stated. 

“stargazing.” he repeated, a smile creeping up on his face. 

you didn’t notice, but he was staring at you with the same captivation you were looking at the stars with. 

like all the best things in life, you never saw him coming.