#rowan chatter

[sollucets]

ohhhh by the way i love so much that aylin, who has been dispensing good and correct relationship wisdom this whole series, does in fact just straight up take her own advice and confess to luna herself without fuss. incredible. my brave girl

[poppysplace-edits]

dream team blinkies! made with blinkie cafe (had to shorten your on cody’s so it would fit haha)

[fjorrd]

cleaned her for the first time and fr she reminds me so much of ellie’s tattoo that it makes me love it even more 😭😭💕

[daffodi1]

Using Rowan to do some shading practice 🌦

[ponds-of-ink]

All this lore buildup for the @willynillynonsense/@rowan-of-the-ravenwood crossover is making me wanna draw a Rowan-ized Glitchtrap fusion

Orr… Whoever’s in that profile pic idk.

[bxtsence]

@troublewithvampires said: “….Why is it makin’ that fuckin’ sound?” (X)

[ ✞ ] - ❝ That’s his only way of verbally communicating. He just does that. ❞

[juniemoe]

everyone commenting how gay loghain was for maric on my gif set is so right and you should say it <3

[blcssom]

ok but i’m just wondering.... did anyone who watched c.rush actually like it or are we just making gifsets bc we’re starved for wlw content????

[lilyway]

Icarus {Alastor x Reader} Part 1

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Sequel

Part 1: The Road Back to You

The town was cloaked in a dimly lit embrace as a young woman emerged from the confines of the jazz club alongside her coworkers. Their rising star, a vision of elegance and charm, illuminated the night with her radiant smile, her presence akin to that of a belle of the ball, her heart as vibrant as the melodies she sang.

As they stepped onto the cobblestone streets, the camaraderie among them blossomed into animated chatter, punctuated by laughter that danced upon the evening breeze.

Tonight was special, a rare occasion when the jazz club closed its doors early to commemorate the birthday of their esteemed boss. The air buzzed with anticipation, the promise of celebration lingering in every corner as they made their way through the labyrinthine streets.

Their songstress was quick as she pulled her purse to her side and started walking away while saying her goodbyes. She had some very important plans with her husband, perhaps she was too excited as she practically skipped her way down the street. 

As she traversed the dimly lit street of New Orleans, she couldn't shake the nagging sense of caution that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. The presence of a serial killer, a phantom lurking in the shadows, cast a long shadow over the once-vibrant city. 

Each night, as she tuned in to her husband's somber voice on the radio, recounting the grim details of yet another victim claimed by the darkness, she couldn't help but wonder if she, too, danced perilously close to the edge of danger.

The danger that would come and soon claim her own life to their ever-increasing number of victims. But, there would be nothing in the world to stop her from returning to her husband. Her husband said he had something planned for their anniversary and that she would need her best dress. 

She was beyond excited.

"(Name)! Sugar, are you sure I can’t give you a lift home?" Rowan's voice called out from the doorway, his Southern drawl carrying the warmth of a bourbon-soaked evening. (Name) turned, her smile as dazzling as a string of pearls, her curls bouncing with the rhythm of a Charleston beat.

"Thank you kindly, Rowan! My husband will be meeting me halfway," She replied, her words dripping with honey. With a graceful wave, she turned on her heel, the click-clack of her heels blending with the syncopated melody of the night as she made her way toward the radio station.

The dim glow of the radio station beckoned in the distance, the building was a beacon of safety amidst the dark empty city streets. With each hurried step, (Name)'s heart quickened, the anticipation of her husband's waiting embrace urging her onwards. 

As she rounded the corner, her gaze caught sight of the alleyway, a narrow passage veiled in darkness, where the plaintive cries of a woman pierced the stillness of the night. Without hesitation, without a second thought, she veered from her path, drawn by her concern for the unknown woman.

There, amidst the shadows, she found them – a young girl, trembling with fear, and her mother shielding her from a group of thugs that loomed over them. 

She should have turned away, and retreated to the safety of the main street, where she could’ve asked for help. Her husband knew his way around self-defense and they would have a phone to call the police.

But (Name) had a terrible feeling in her gut. If she left them now, these women might not be alive when help arrives. 

"What do you gents reckon you're up to?" That seemed to get their attention as they turned to face her. As she walked towards the two women, she couldn’t help feeling so small as the men dwarfed her in size.

"Turn back, doll," one of the men jeered, his tone dripping with menace. "We ain't lookin' for trouble."

(Name) positioned herself between the two trembling women and the menacing thugs, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. "Leave these poor dames be! If it's coin you're after, I can see you compensated," Her declaration must have seemed like a bluff. Her voice quivered as she placed one hand on her purse. 

The thugs, their laughter echoing in the narrow alley, closed in on her, their intentions clear as the moonlight filtered through the darkness. "This ain't about the scratch, sweetheart," one of them sneered, the glint of malice dancing in his eyes. (Name)'s breath caught in her throat as she took a cautious step back, her resolve tested by the looming threat that surrounded her. "This is about settlin' scores."

"Please, just let them be," (Name) pleaded, but her words fell upon deaf ears, drowned out by their laughter. Their leader pulled out a blade as he approached the crying women. 

Before she could react, one of the men seized her arm in a vice-like grip, wrenching her aside with a savage force. "Just watch, my dear," Another man sneered, his voice dripping with malice as (Name) struggled against his hold. 

With a surge of adrenaline, (Name) pushed his hand toward her mouth, her teeth sinking into flesh with a ferocity that seemed downright foreign to her. As he howled in agony, she wrenched herself free from his grasp, her heart was beating loudly in her chest and she wasn’t thinking straight. 

With trembling hands, she lunged toward their assailant, her fingers grappling for purchase upon the blade. The metal bit into her skin, drawing blood, but she was beyond desperate, driven to protect the helpless young women. 

“Run!” (Name) shouted as they stared at her like deers in headlights. 

Even as she fought with every fiber of her being, the odds stacked against her, (Name) refused to yield. She could feel the sharp sting of pain as the blade cut into her hands, but she pressed on, fueled by sheer determination and the fierce resolve to survive.

Meanwhile, the two women forced themselves to their feet and ran, their cries for help echoing through the alleyway. (Name) couldn’t help but feel a smirk on her lips, before another man pulled her hair back trying to claw her hands away from the blade. 

With every ounce of strength she could muster, she battled against the relentless onslaught, her hands slick with sweat and blood as she grappled for control. But in the end, it was a futile struggle, a desperate fight that meant nothing. As the assailant's blade found its mark, plunging deep into her flesh. 

As (Name)’s body fell to the ground, there was the sound of fleeing footsteps and gunfire. All she could do was close her eyes and pray the pain went away. All she could do was lay there and feel her blood pool around her as she choked on the blade as her blood suffocated her lungs. 

She was so close to seeing her beloved radio host too. 

The sound of footsteps running towards her and her name came after. The voice was too distant to hear as she drifted off and prayed she’d see her beloved radio host when she woke up. 

💟

As (Name)'s eyes fluttered open, she found herself standing before majestic golden gates, their brilliance illuminating the ethereal surroundings with a celestial glow. A wave of disbelief washed over her as she pushed herself up, half-expecting to feel the sting of pain or the weight of wounds that should have marked her body. But there was nothing – no trace of blood, no lingering ache – only a sense of surreal tranquility that enveloped her being.

Clad in a flowing white dress reminiscent of the ones she wore during her performances at the jazz club, her hair cascading down her back like a river of silk, she realized at the start that this was no hospital. It wasn’t a place that could be built by man and that started to make her panic. 

"Where am I?" Her voice trembled with uncertainty as she spoke aloud, her eyes searching the expanse before her. And then, as if in response to her query, an angelic figure with a thick book turned towards her, his presence confirmed her fears. This wasn’t New Orleans. 

"You're in heaven! Congratulations, you're a winner!" His words, spoken with pride and joy, hung in the air like a gentle breeze, filling the space with a sense of awe and wonder. But for (Name), the revelation struck like someone poured ice water all over her. 

"No. No. No, no, no, no." Her voice cracked as felt her legs turn to jelly. This was not a dream, not a figment of her imagination – she was dead. She died saving those two women on the eve of her anniversary. “I wasn’t supposed to die like this! I have to go back! My husband! Good heavens, I’m not ready to leave him yet…” Her begging seemed to have no effect as the angel got up out of his chair. 

(Name)’s tears seemed to touch the man, but it didn’t faze him whatsoever. “This is the end of the road, miss. There’s only joy from here.” 

"Please, let me go back!" Her plea, filled with anguish and longing, echoed through the hallowed halls of heaven, a desperate cry for a second chance, for a return to the life she had been torn away from. As she crumpled to the ground, her hands pressed against her tear-streaked face, she grappled with the cruel irony of her fate – a life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

As (Name) crumpled before the gates of Heaven, her sobs seemed to never end. "Please, let me return to my old life," she implored, her voice choking on her despair of dying so easily. 

"Shh, my dear," came the gentle reply, a soothing murmur amidst the tumult of her anguish.

"I'm begging you. Let me go back," she persisted, her voice trembling with a fervent plea for a reprieve, for a chance for a rewrite, for her to choose something different. 

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible. This is the end of the road, the culmination of the life you were promised for all the good you've done in this world," the angel explained, his tone tinged with a solemn finality that brooked no argument.

"Let me see my husband! I haven't said goodbye!" (Name)'s words, tinged with desperation, hung in the air like a prayer unanswered, her heart aching for one last embrace, one final moment of solace in the arms of her beloved.

"Again, I'm sorry. But that isn't possible, "The angel replied, his voice tinged with sympathy. "But, may I ask your name?"

"(Name)," she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she pulled herself up off the floor. 

"Full name, please," the angel persisted, his gaze unwavering, as he started flipping through the book and sighed at all the names on the page. 

"(Name) Winters," she confessed, her last name was a reminder of happier days. The day she joined her husband's family and took on his last name. 

With a gentle rustle of pages, the angel consulted the book before him, his expression softening as he found her name inscribed upon its hallowed pages. "There you are, on the list," he confirmed, his voice tinged with reassurance. "Dry your tears, my dear, and come on in."

"But, my husband-" (Name) was quickly interrupted by the angel. 

"He might show up in heaven someday," the angel offered, “As long as he doesn’t end up in hell. There’s a chance he might come back.” 

As (Name) gazed upon the gates of Heaven, her heart was heavy, wanted to be able to greet him with a smile. “Okay.” 

💟

The celestial streets of heaven bustled with the vibrant energy of joyous winners, their laughter and song echoing through the golden expanse. Yet, amidst the revelry, (Name) found herself perched on her rooftop, a quiet observer of the lively scene below. Today, the usual melodies and dance numbers failed to lift her spirits. 

As she leaned over the balcony, the celestial breeze playing with her hair, (Name) contemplated the passage of time, and how meaningless it truly was. There was no sense of actual time in this place. She would’ve been here for a week or twenty years. 

How long had she been in this place of eternal bliss? The passing of time seemed to blur into an endless expanse of moments, each one blending seamlessly into the next. Her parents had found their way here, as had her little sister, their laughter and love echoing through the hallowed halls of heaven. 

And yet, her brothers remained conspicuously absent, their absence a silent ache that gnawed her. Enough time must have gone by for them to show up. They couldn’t have ended up anywhere else other than in heaven! They were around the same age as her husband and would come up around the same time. 

As she leaned over the balcony, the angels below danced and sang of pastries and delights, their voices like honeyed nectar amidst the gentle breeze. But for (Name), their songs felt hollow, their melodies unable to penetrate the veil of sorrow that pulled her under. 

Even in her sorrow, there was a little flame of hope that flickered brightly. Perhaps, she thought, a song could indeed work wonders, lifting her from the depths of her melancholy.

As (Name)'s voice trembled with emotion, her words carried her pain along the wind. "I never needed anybody in my life, " As the notes danced upon the wind, images flickered in her mind.

Her husband's brown fluffy hair, tousled by the gentle breeze, his charismatic smile lighting up the streets as they walked arm in arm. How her days were bright and simple back then. With the minor inconveniences and the small pleasures it held. 

"I learned the truth too late, " she continued, her voice wavered as the tears threatened to fall. With each verse, the distance between them felt like an impassable chasm, one that would pull her into its lonely depths. 

As she pulled herself away from the edge of the balcony, her eyes remained fixed upon the golden gates. How she was starting to despise herself and her self-pity here. 

Her words became a lament, a melody of longing and her pain as she wished for her old life back. " I close my eyes but he's still there, " Her voice trembling as the image of her beloved husband materialized before her. 

He was bathed in a golden light making him appear as a gift from God himself. She craned her neck up to look at him and there was a surge of hope. (Name) reached out to hold him and cry into his arms. Only to watch him vanish in the wisp of glowing smoke at the smallest touch of her fingertips. 

“Even as he fades from view,” Her voice quickly got louder with every passing syllable. 

You’re never fully dressed without a smile, my dear. His voice echoed loud and clear in her mind as she forced a smile on her face as the tears forced themselves out. "He will still inspire me, and be a part of everything I do," 

As she pulled herself onto the balcony railing, her wings unfurled and she jumped off the edge. She watched the other winners sing and dance below her as they enjoyed their eternal life. However, (Name) had another plan in mind. She set out for the gates as she stumbled her landing as she arrived. 

"Wasting in my lonely tower, awaiting by an open door," she sang, her voice rising like a prayer into the heavens above. And as she reached out towards the gates, her fingers brushed against the gilded bars, and her small flicker of hope died instantly. 

There wasn’t anyone at the gates and she was just being delusional. He wasn’t coming up here anymore. That her dear, Al was still back on earth and it was a place (Name) wished he stayed. 

"I'll fool myself and he'll walk right in," she whispered, her voice breaking as she tried to maintain some level of internal harmony. Her hands clung to the bars hoping the gates would open and let her out. Just five more minutes on earth and she would gladly join the rest of the winners.  “Waiting here for evermore…”  

But her solitude was shattered by the harsh voice of an angel, her words cutting through the silence like a blade. "You're pathetic," she sneered, her tone dripping with disdain. "If he isn't here by now, he's in hell."

"That was quite uncalled for.” (Name) spat as she walked past her. She could tell this woman had something up her sleeve and she wanted no part of it. 

“I call it as I see it,” the woman retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. No, that wasn’t right. This woman was downright looking down at her like she was a piece of garbage. 

(Name) scoffed as she tried to keep herself focused on just walking away. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” 

“Better than singing her problems,” The woman shot back, her words stabbed daggers into her feet and rooted her in place. 

(Name) crossed her arms, she was getting fed up and there wasn’t a point in picking a fight in heaven. “You're quite the piece of work, aren't you? Do you need something?”

The woman’s response was curt. “No.”

“Okay, I'll be on my way then,” (Name) replied, her steps quickening. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of the woman’s eyes boring into her back. “What do you want?”

But before she could receive an answer, the woman’s voice taunted her, sending a shiver down her spine. “With that obsession of yours, there’s only one place you’ll end up.”

(Name) wished that her voice didn’t shake and give her away. She didn’t want to kiss her place in heaven goodbye for her stupidity. “What are you saying?” 

“You look like you need a purpose.” 

“I don't need a purpose,”

The woman laughed as (Name) felt a chill going down her spine. "The rate you’re going, you won’t need one and burn with the rest of the sinners in hell."

"I earned my place here," (Name) countered, her voice trembling, as she tried to keep herself from shaking. She couldn’t ever go to hell and become a fallen angel. 

"Keep telling yourself that,"

(Name)'s mind raced with questions, her unease growing with each passing moment. "What are you getting at?" she demanded, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. She wouldn’t ever end up there. 

"I'm offering you a deal,"

"I don't want it,"

"Suit yourself, but you'll be back. Come and find me when you've run out of options," With her business done, the woman took to the skies and (Name) shouted for her to wait. 

She didn’t mean to yell her question at her. “If that ever happens. What's your name? So, I can find you.” 

“Lute.” 

💟

Another decade passed in heaven and (Name)’s search for her husband and some clue of his whereabouts were fruitless. Every passing year that she searched a small part of her died, first few years it was her hope and later it was her love. (Name) having to come up empty-handed every single time took its toll. 

In the quiet moments of solitude, (Name) grappled with the bitter truth that her love may never return to her side. The echoes of his laughter and the warmth of his embrace seemed like distant memories, fading into the recesses of her mind like whispers carried away by the wind.

In her solitude, came the truths she refused to face. That her soul was becoming consumed by her envy and prayers to see him again. She longed to feel his presence once more, to hear his voice echoing through the golden streets of paradise. There was something about being condemned to paradise without all your loved ones that was driving her insane. When did he become her world? When did she corrupt her pure unconditional love for him? Why was she so hung up on him even now? 

Alastor,  her dear husband. 

Her beloved husband and her world. He would never come, and her prayers wouldn’t be answered. Alastor would forever be beyond her reach and never be someone she could hold again. 

Alastor would never come, because he was in hell. As much as she refused to believe it or admit it. Deep down? She knew. Her husband was being tortured in hell for reasons that were foreign to her. 

Alastor would never be here. He would never come. (Name) would never hear him play his piano as she sang or snuggle up to him when he read the morning paper. Or touch his hair and wear his glasses. 

He was in the worst place now and that was final. The place that tortured those who lived vile lives. A pit with killers, cannibals, terrorists, and abusers. 

She wanted nothing more than to forget. 

Which lead her here, in front of the Exorcist’s main building with a meeting in place with Lute. She did her homework and quickly learned she was a fearsome fighter. But, more importantly, she was Adam’s right hand. 

She did exactly what Lute said she would do. (Name) would come back for that deal. She would screw everything she had ever hoped to do here. As long as Lute would give her a purpose and a method to prevent her from falling to hell. 

(Name) was going to take that damn deal. 

And so, with a heavy heart and a steely resolve, (Name) made her decision. She would embrace the deal offered by Lute, no matter the cost. She would forsake everything she had ever known, everything she had ever hoped to become, in exchange for a chance at redemption.

Her heart ached as she pushed the doors open and saw Lute and Adam awaiting her. Adam looked bored as she ate his lunch and Lute seemed to have a wicked grin on her face. 

"Took you long enough," Lute might have been grinning, but her tone was anything but one of joy. She seemed more annoyed than anything else.

(Name) straightened her posture as she held her hands tightly.  “You said you had a deal for me.” 

"The deal to prevent you from becoming a loser?" Lute sneered,

"No," (Name) retorted, her gaze narrowing. "Make a deal with me to forget him."

A wicked grin spread across Lute's face, sending shivers down (Name)'s spine. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you," she declared, her eyes glittering with malevolent intent as she extended her gloved hand toward (Name).

With a deep breath, (Name) reached out and grasped Lute's hand in a firm shake, sealing her fate. There was no turning back now, no retreat from the path she had chosen. She knew the road ahead would be fraught with peril and pain, but she was willing to endure it all if it meant escaping the clutches of damnation.

It was a price she’d pay willingly if she could avoid joining the ranks of the sinners. 

"Deal," Her voice was one of determination as her heart wept at her decision. 

"Welcome to the exorcists,"

(Name) offered a silent nod of gratitude as she clenched her hands into her dress for something to calm her nerves. She had picked her fate and would find herself in the care of these two sadistic angels. But, she wouldn’t let herself be down on the first step of her journey. 

“It’s a pleasure to be here.” 

There was no going back now,

No escape that she was willing to take. 

The only escape was forsaking her place in heaven. 

And she would rather have a permanent death. 

This was cross posted on A03!

The song she sings is Evermore from Beauty and the Beast from the live action.

[simpforboys]

can u do xavier and reader being enemies/rivals and theyre roommates and they have like a heated fight but when theyre sleeping reader gets cold so they wake up xavier for cuddles and xavier confesses to reader and maybe some making out 🧎‍♀️

not so bad after all

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

summary: when your rival and enemy xavier thorpe stands up for you, it leads to an argument. and maybe a few confessions.

warnings: swearing, fluff ending, some angst, enemies/rivals to lovers, sexual comments/harassment

combining this request with this!!!

this is kinda cliché but its cute so idc!

when rowan left nevermore academy, principal weems approached you with a room change.

you, who had put in a room change request a few weeks ago, immediately accepted it.

unfortunately you didn’t know your new roommate was going to be xavier thorpe.

xavier thorpe. he had been your academic rival and turned enemy ever since your first year.

he purposely pissed you off and it annoyed you like crazy. his dumb art, smarts, face.

he drove you nuts.

you guys have been roommates for about two months now. there was always a fight every day and it would result in you closing off the make-shift wall you created.

but for now, you sat on the outskirts of nevermore. there was a little grassy area you liked to hang out on, a nice blanket to protect your skin from the cold grass.

laying on your stomach with your feet in the air, you flipped the pages of your book. the place was quiet enough for you to read and get some fresh air, you claimed it was your “get away.”

unfortunately, since it was kinda secluded, that also meant some unwanted company from time to time.

“what’s up, y/n?”

you turned your head and looked up to see a boy named greg. he was around 5’10, short blond hair, with an oval face.

he loved making you uncomfortable, worse than xavier. it didn’t help that his friends were jackasses too and only egged greg on.

“the hell do you want, greg?”

“what’s a pretty mouth like yours talking like that for?”

“go fuck off.”

greg and his friends began to circle your little blanket. you quickly stood up as the four boys stared at you, like animals looking at their prey hungrily.

“now now, y/n. that’s not really nice, is it?” greg’s crooked teeth smirked at you and it made you nauseous.

“can you just leave me alone?”

“no can do. see, you have something i want.”

“i can’t imagine i have anything you would want, you fucking egg head.”

your anger was starting to get the best of you, and you can tell greg was getting heated the way his pale face went red.

when greg grabbed your wrists harshly, you immediately knew you were in trouble.

but before you could fight back, a tall figure pushed greg onto the grass. you looked at who the boy was in complete shock.

xavier thorpe.

“stay the fuck away from her, understand me?”

greg got up and scurried away along with his friends.

“the hell are you doing out here, y/n?”

xavier’s hair was half up half down, a frustrated expression on his sharp features.

“none of your fucking business, xavier.”

“you made it my business by being stupid. there’s plenty of other places in nevermore.”

“so then what are you doing out here, asshole?”

xavier stared at you.

“just- just don’t hang out in this area anymore, okay? it’s where the assholes hang out.”

you rolled your eyes, grabbing your blanket and book. you quickly walked away and felt xavier’s eyes on you.

➽─────────────────❥

that night, you were curled up in your bed trying to find warmth. the freezing jericho air crept through xavier’s window and it was making you freezing.

you hadn’t spoken to xavier since the argument. he appeared to be sleeping over in his twin bed.

you were shivering with your two blankets, pj pants, and sweater. for some reason, you couldn’t keep warm.

your teeth began chattering when you checked the time on your phone. 2:14am.

without thinking, you walked over to xavier’s bed and gently opened the blanket.

he was sleeping in lamb pajama bottoms and a grey shirt, his hair unkept and messy on the pillow.

you quietly got in his bed and immediately you were engulfed by the body heat.

it felt amazing to finally have some sense of warmth. when xavier’s legs accidentally met yours, it felt like a shock of electricity went off and you jolted in bed.

xavier woke up to your jolt and jumped.

“what are you doing over here?”

he groggily asked.

“it’s fucking freezing and you’re warm. shut up and go back to bed.”

surprisingly, xavier complied and you soon heard little snores coming from his mouth.

maybe it was the way he seemed so at peace while he slept, maybe it was the way his long hair was so gracefully placed on his pillow, or maybe it was the way you were staring at his face that was illuminated in the moonlight.

feelings began to erupt in you, feelings that were kept deep down inside you. but, you tried to ignore it and turned over, closing your eyes and softly drifted off.

➽─────────────────❥

unfortunately, you didn’t sleep long. you woke up an hour and a half later to xavier nearly pushing you off the bed.

“stop moving, asshole.”

“you’re in my bed, y/n.”

you didn’t even realize the way xavier began to hold you in his half-asleep stature.

you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice. “xavier, you’re cuddling me.”

“can you just shut up and go to sleep?”

his voice was soft and you could tell he wasn’t being mean. you hesitantly laid your head on his chest, hearing the way his heart beat began to speed up.

“am i making you nervous, xavier?” you whispered out, not fully expecting an answer.

“of course i’m nervous, a pretty girl is in my bed.” he mumbled back to you.

xavier could feel your smile against him and he moved his hand to gently scratch the back of your head, trying to get you to fall asleep.

“you know… as much as you like to believe i purposely piss you off, you’re wrong completely.”

you gently lifted your head. your eyes made direct contact with xavier’s, the moon reflecting off the blueish-green color.

“then why do you always gotta be better than me?”

“i’m not better than you, y/n. i do it so i can talk to you.”

“is that why you came out of nowhere earlier?”

“i was coming back from my art shed and saw those dickheads harassing you. i helped you out.”

“what, are you in love with me or something?” you joked, trying to ease the tone in his voice.

“i think so.”

his answer was so nonchalant you almost didn’t hear it correctly.

“huh-“

you went to question him, but xavier gently grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a kiss.

his lips were soft, gentle, and warm. he didn’t force you to stay, and you easily could have pulled back if you wanted. but you didn’t.

you didn’t want to be away from him.

xavier held you against him as you kissed him like your life depended on it.

after a few minutes of plain making out, xavier pulled away from you. his eyes were big and full of admiration.

“let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

you nodded, sleep overcoming your body as you laid back on his chest. he began to rub your back and you closed your eyes.

“you’re not so bad after all, xavier.” you tiredly joked.

he laughed, the vibration against your head making butterflies erupt into your stomach.

“goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, xavier.”

[throneofsapphics]

old faces, part four 

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again, and deal with the fall-out of your secret

Warnings: drinking, mentions of death and injuries

Word Count: ~6.4k 

A/N: sorry this took longer than expected! I appreciate all of your support so much <3

series masterlist

There had been a few … discussions over who would greet them. Eventually, they decided Rowan and Aelin would meet them first - and the rest of the court the next day at breakfast. Evangeline made the most logical argument - that they would completely overwhelm them. Lorcan added they were stuck with Fenrys’s company for weeks and might already be approaching their limit. 

Rowan had a feeling you and Fenrys got along just fine, you certainly seemed to be back in Antica. An uncomfortable but familiar emotion surged in him. Jealousy? Jealousy that Fenrys got to spend that much time with his daughter, not that he spent that time with you, he convinced himself. 

The carriage rolled up, the doors swung open. Fenrys first, followed by Reya, you, Ani, and finally Ceri. Who hid behind you again, just like the first time they’d met. Rowan tried not to frown, he knew it would take time for her to warm up. 

“You can say hello, if you’d like,” you murmured quietly, hair falling so it shielded half of your face. Were you shy all of the sudden? Ceri took another step forward, stopping a few feet in front of you. She looked back at you, you sent an encouraging nod her way. She paused, shifted her body to the side, and grabbed Ani’s hand - dragging her friend with her. 

Rowan’s mouth curved in amusement as they both paused in front of them. Then, he realized he had no fucking idea what to do. 

Aelin crouched down, arms opened, and the two looked at each other - some kind of silent communication passing through, before they both launched themselves at his Queen. Her laughter echoed through the courtyard, arms wrapping around the two of them. 

Rowan watched them for a moment, Aelin asking them about their trip - the two of them chattering about this and that, about a new card game, something about ‘self-defense’ lessons, etc. 

But, you were quiet, and Fenrys … Fenrys looked like he was about to deliver bad news. You’d turned slightly away from him, hair shielding half of your face and your focus on Aelin and the girls was pointed. Avoiding looking at him. 

“You’re early,” Rowan finally said as Aelin rose. 

“It’s because of the bad man,” Ani said - before Ceri could shush her. 

Bad man. Bad man. Bad man. 

Rowan saw red, crouching to look over Ceri - no injuries, scars, bruises, anything to show something’s amiss. His daughter leaned towards him, cupping her hands around her mouth. “It’s mum that was hurt,” she whispered pointed towards you, in what she probably thought was a discreet way, “not me, but he’s dead now and it healed.” 

“Thank you,” Rowan forced a smile onto his face, clamped down harshly on his anger. 

“I think we have things to talk about,” Aelin said, voice calm and steady. 

“We do.” Fenrys said, you nodding in agreement.��

“I know the perfect guide for you,” Aelin smiled warmly at the two girls, and Reya. It was obvious this conversation needed to be between the four of them, and Reya seemed relieved to be excluded. Aelin led them back, stopping just before the entrance hall before disappearing. 

Minutes later, she returned - Evangeline in tow. Aelin murmured a few instructions to her, referencing the specific wing and rooms for your group, and they took off. 

“Are you going to tell me what the hell happened?” Rowan directed at Fenrys. 

You cut in, “it didn’t involve him.” Your cheeks flushed as you found yourself the center of attention - but you kept going. “We went to the park, on our way back I noticed something off - shoved the three of them behind the wards, and kept the attacker away long enough for an archer to shoot him. A mortal magic wielder.” 

Kept them at bay. Against a mortal, you should’ve been able to kill them within the first minute. “You were trying to get answers from him.” Rowan observed, not asked, but you confirmed that with a nod. Fenrys laid a comforting hand on your shoulder, and from the corner of his vision, he saw Aelin’s eyes narrow. 

“The archer killed him before I could.” 

As a nervous habit, one hand brushed your hair away, tucking it behind your ear - you froze, palm over your cheek, white rings around your eyes. 

“They’ll see it eventually,” Fenrys said quietly, squeezing your shoulder. 

Aelin was bristling next to him, and he wasn’t much better. See what? 

Slowly, so gods-damned slowly, your hand lowered down to your side. A nasty looking scar sliced across your cheek. It looked painful, and for it to scar like that … 

“The cut wasn’t bad, but the blade was iron and enchanted. Not a curse, just to leave a mark,” you tugged your bottom teeth between your lips, debating your next words. “I think it’s obvious, the knife wasn’t meant for me. We left the next night.” 

“If there’s any updates, they’ll send word.” Fenrys added. 

“How did it happen?” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice and words steady. Someone tried to kill his daughter. Aelin’s warm hand against his shoulder kept him anchored, kept him steady. Tried to kill you, his … the mother of his child didn’t feel right. A friend, he settled on for now. Tried to kill his friend, and succeeded in injuring her. 

As you explained the story, his temper flared. He wanted to ask how you could be so stupid, how you could put the two … four of you at danger like that, but Fenrys was glaring at him and he held his tongue. 

“You’ll need to see a healer and get that checked,” was all he could manage. 

“We,” Aelin emphasized, squeezing his shoulder, “are glad you both are safe.” 

“Thank you,” the words were soft before your eyes narrowed, a subtle bite edging into your tone, “I don’t need a healer, it’s fine.” 

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” 

“For fucks sake,” Fenrys muttered, “I’ll take you to the healers, let them poke a bit, and it’ll shut him up.” Rowan’s eyes promised vengeance, and Fenrys ignored him. You were biting back a laugh, which he supposed was a good thing, considering the news you’d just dropped. 

“We’ll go tomorrow,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into your side. The way you looked at him - completely friendly and platonic, but an ugly feeling surged in his stomach. They should be the friends that were there for you. “Unless your majesty and highness have an objection,” the male challenged him. 

“No objections,” Aelin glanced down at her nails - a tactic she uses to divert frustration, “but we’ll be meeting the rest of our court for a late breakfast,” she looked up at you, a wicked amusement gleaming in those eyes, “I imagine it will be interesting.” 

“Should I be nervous?” your tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip, Aelin’s watched the movement, but she caught herself and met your eyes instead. Rowan noted that little moment, something to think on later. 

“I think you’ll be nervous no matter what I say.”

A huff, but you agreed, and Fenrys carted you off towards your rooms. He knew exactly what you’d be seeing -  a suite, complete with a bathing room, bedroom, sitting area, and breakfast table, connected to a small hall - two bedrooms with private baths on either side, perfect for Ceri and Ani, and straight across the hall was Reya’s suite, identical to yours. 

Aelin took the time to hunt through the castle for the perfect set of rooms for the three of you, and decided on these. 

The two girls couldn’t leave without having to go through one of your rooms, and they’d made sure the hinges on the doors all squeaked loudly. Rowan was proud of how much thought they’d put into it, and part of him hoped you would be too. 

He shouldn’t care that much about your opinion or approval. You shouldn’t be taking up this much of his mind, shouldn’t be echoing in his thoughts like this. 

-

Rowan and Aelin had thought of everything, down to the extra loud doors, the twin desks stocked with paper and various colored pencils and paints, the snacks in the small cabinets, the layout of the rooms … you’d walked in to Reya and Evangeline, a teenage woman maybe seven or eight years older than your daughter,  you guessed. But … she was already sitting next to them, another piece of paper out to draw, making encouraging comments to each of them. 

“They’re getting along well,” Reya leaned back on the loveseat, a glass of wine already in hand. “I was kicked out of the drawing circle.” 

“You don’t look too upset over it,” you took your cloak off, carefully slinging it over the back of a chair. 

The trunks were stacked against an opposite wall, backpacks balanced on top of them. 

“I told them not to put anything away,” Reya followed your gaze, “I figured you’d want to do it yourself. I know I do.” 

“Thank you,” you collapsed into the couch next to her. Putting things away felt a bit … permanent. Would you? They’d promised you could explore different parts of Terrasen, but had never given you a timeline.

Couch cushions rustled, glass clanked, and a hefty serving of wine was pushed into your hand. For the first time since you’d seen Rowan again, you let yourself relax.

-

Aelin watched as Rowan paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, wearing down the carpet. She liked that carpet. His fists clenched, on and off. It had been ten minutes of letting him stew in silence, and she was done with it. 

“They’re safe,” she emphasized, “and here, with us.” Evangeline had reported back that they all seemed in good spirits, and the two girls were heading to bed as she left. 

“She has a scar,” he ran one hand through his hair, his eyes meeting hers; and it’s my fault. 

“We all have scars,” Aelin tried to keep her voice gentle, “and it takes two to make a baby.” 

He pinned her with a look that said; that’s not the point. Aelin scented Fenrys, and seconds later she heard a knock on the door. Holding her hand up to Rowan, him freezing in place, she opened it herself, mouthing over her shoulder; be nice.

He shut the door behind him, and leaned back against it, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Go on, ask your questions.” 

“What did you see?” Aelin spilled the words out before Rowan could.

“Not much,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “She was trying to subdue him - as you know, the archer across the street killed him instead. There was an enchanted blade - iron, with some marks carved into the handle. She destroyed it.” 

“Was he one of the men watching?” One of the lurkers that hung around her house for several days. 

Surprisingly, Fenrys shook his head. 

“We don’t know anything else,” his onyx eyes shifted from her, over to Rowan, “dead men can’t talk,” he deadpanned. 

Gods, the last thing she needs is the two of them getting into it tonight. Fenrys made a quick exit, promising he’d bring you by the healers before breakfast. Then, he and Evangeline would bring you down to meet everyone. 

Rowan, however, was still tearing a hole in the fucking carpet, and she tried a different tactic. “What would y/n say, if she saw you like this?” 

He paused, slowly turning his head to meet her; like he was looking for some kind of trick or trap. There was none, she was just trying to get his head out of his ass. Not seeing one, he finally answered, “I don’t know anymore.” 

-

The healers weren’t concerned, didn’t sense any kind of malignant magic or poison, and only confirmed what she already knew; a blade designed to leave a scar, and that’s it. She was still seething at Rowan’s ‘not a suggestion.’ Overprotective Fae bullshit. He had no claim to her, no need to protect her. The little nasty voice in the back of her mind told her it’s only because she’s the mother of his child, just as he was the father of hers. Co-parents, that would be the extent of their ‘relationship,’ anything else might complicate things - and she doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to think she might end up as a homewrecker. 

Reya linked one arm through hers, your daughters ahead of you - each holding on to one of Evangeline’s hands, periodically looking over their shoulders to make sure the two of you were still present. Not that you could go anywhere, trapped between Fenrys and Reya.

Steadying your breathing, you followed through the oak doors into an informal, thank the gods, dining room. Large windows showed a beautiful view of the city, the table already stacked with food, and what must be the rest of her court.

Ceri had retreated, half hiding behind you now, Ani doing the same to your right. 

“It’s alright,” you kept your voice low, “they’re the new friends Fenrys told you about.” 

“All horrible things, I’m sure,” the female with an ever changing scent. A shifter. Lady Lysandra. 

Fenrys made an exaggerated ‘shh’ noise, drawing a giggle from Ceri, who stepped out from behind you. Evangeline swooped in to take over introductions for the girls, everything happened almost in a blur around you as you shook hands - told preemptively not to bow or curtsey, and ended up seated at the table. 

You watched as your daughter shedded her shy skin, quickly chattering about anything and everything, answering every question shot her away, returning with one of her own. 

Aedion was studying you carefully, and you felt almost like you were put on display. Some kind of relic from the past, dragged up to Terrasen, and you couldn’t tell if your presence was entirely welcome or not. Last night, Evangeline said they’d only found out about you that morning, meaning less than half a day to come to terms with your existence - and Ceri’s. 

“So you’re from Wendlyn,” he finally said. 

“I am,” you sipped your tea. 

“Why did you go to the Southern Continent?” 

Glancing towards your daughter - currently caught up in conversation with Rowan, you noticed Fenrys pinning Aedion with a nasty look. It seemed to say; you know why. You were grateful he was there, without him your nerves might’ve already gotten the best of you. 

“It was not safe to be there. My mother was from Antica, and for honesty’s sake, there’s few places where our kind are well received. You traced a finger over the curves of your pointed ears, “I couldn’t hide my heritage, neither could she.” 

“Were you ever going to tell him?” 

Lysandra, quite obviously, jabbed her elbow into his side. There was something else here … more personal. 

Fenrys had said; “Aedion’s father is … was Gavriel. Like you, his mother kept it a secret for his sake.” 

“I won’t lie to you, I wasn’t sure. I told her that her father’s a Fae warrior and Royal, when she asked, but she never pressed for his name. If she did, I would’ve told her.” Silver hair flashed in your peripherals, and you were aware she was listening in now. “I believe our paths would’ve crossed at some point.” 

Aedion seemed satisfied by your answer, and stopped that line of questioning. The pointed stare from Aelin might have helped as well, because he shot a sheepish look your way, before asking more pleasant questions. It didn’t bother you, you were a stranger, and it’s natural they'd want to assess if you were a threat to their country or Queen. With your daughter, you’d undoubtedly do the same thing. Still, the idea that you would have to prove yourself turned your stomach. 

Everyone kept glancing between your daughter and Rowan, and seeing the two side by side - again, re-iterated just how alike they looked. At first, every look at the silver tufts of hair, the deep green eyes, had been a reminder of him, but over the years the two separated. Sure, you still thought of their resemblance, once in a while, but he’d slipped to the back of your mind, your entire world existing outside of him, two circles far away from each other. Until a few weeks ago. 

Everything will be different. Your fingers tapped against your thighs. A better world.

As long as Ceri was happy, you could find happiness too. 

-

Rowan quickly learned what his daughter was like. Wild was the best way to describe her. Either the best or the worst combination of him and his mother. 

The first time he spotted her at the top of a tree, he panicked. 

“Ceri, come down,” he pleaded. 

“It’s nice up here,” she countered, and sat her ass down, obviously intending to stay a while. 

“She’ll come down when she’s ready,” a soft voice murmured, the scent of roses flooding the area. Roses … without your voice - he might not have recognized it, you’d always chosen Lilacs for perfume, soap, anything. He’d been distracted enough by his daughter balancing on a precarious branch, he didn’t hear your approach. 

“Is this … common?” 

“You get used to it,” you walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, a good twelve inches of space between you. “Evangeline is waiting, she brought you and Ani chocolates.” 

Leaves shuffled, a few branches creaked - Rowan winced and tensed - but Ceri was down from the tree in less than a minute, sprinting back towards where Evangeline waited, looking thoroughly amused. 

Everyone seemed to be amused at how his daughter shot his heart rate to dangerous levels. 

-

Three weeks passed, and you grew more and more on edge. Eager to leave Orynth, to see somewhere else in Terrasen. Everyone seemed to watch you. Eyes on you at all times, everyone who passed you in the hall. Their eyes lit up as they saw Ceri, only to narrow slightly as they crossed over to you holding her hand. 

A stranger, who looked nothing like the small girl a carbon copy of the King. 

-

A year and a half passed, and you were still in Terrasen. Everyone else was thriving, and although you didn’t quite feel at home yet, you were getting there. 

The entire court, and the country really, had been more than welcoming - but, you made sure to put a certain distance between you and the King and Queen, keeping it exactly as you’d intended - co-parenting. You and your daughter’s every move was watched, although she didn’t seem to mind or notice, it kept you hyper-aware and a bit paranoid. 

The mother of King Rowan’s daughter. 

That’s what you’d been reduced to. Being her mother was an honor, of course, but you lost a sense of your identity. Reya, sliding more under the radar, helped you sell your goods - that way you knew they weren’t buying just because of who your daughter was. Because of who managed to stick a babe in you. 

-

Your entire group decided to stay in Terrasen, but Rowan barely saw you throughout the last two years. 

For fucks sake, Fenrys saw more of you than he did, and it shouldn’t have bothered him this much. You’d been friends of sorts eight years ago - not long considering an immortal lifespan, but now it felt like you were barely a step up from strangers, like you both didn’t share one of the most important people in your lives. 

“Why is she so distant?” Aelin asked Lysandra, and Rowan started paying attention to their conversation. The two were inhaling impressive amounts of chocolates and wine, lounging in their sitting room. They’d chosen to live in Caraverre, and the shifter definitely boasted, lightheartedly, about it once in a while. If he had his way, which rarely happens anymore, he’d have both of you here in Orynth. 

“You haven’t put that together yet?” Lysandra purred, tipping her glass back as Aelin scowled. 

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking you.” 

Lysandra faked exasperation, letting out a long exhale. “Even in Caraverre, there’s always eyes on her. She’s very careful of how it can be perceived, if she gets too close to either of you.” 

“She’s staying away to keep her reputation clean?” Rowan cut in. 

“And yours,” she ran her finger around the rim of the glass, “but maybe that’ll change some, now that she has someone to herself.” 

His teeth clenched and Lysandra’s head tilted - but Aelin had tensed next to her. “Who is it, Lys?” 

“None of my business,” she smirked, enjoying that she had some kind of knowledge Aelin, and he, wanted. 

“You make everything your business.” Rowan cut in. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’ll be here next week, won’t she?” 

“If someone’s going to be around my daughter, I should know of it.” Rowan knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that it wasn’t really about that. He trusted your judgment, trusted that you wouldn’t let anyone dangerous around her. Still, he wanted to be a part of your life. Wanted to know these kinds of things about you, and wanted to spend more than twenty minutes with you twice a month. 

“I doubt it’s permanent,” Lysandra laughed and dodged the pillow Aelin tossed her way. 

“Maybe I should visit more often.” Aelin mused, “If I go to her, alone, it might not be as … reputation damaging.” 

Aelin spit the last two words out like she didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her reputation, of her being friends with you. 

Rowan wanted to know why you cared. 

He didn’t get a chance to. You avoided being alone with him as much as possible, rarely giving him an opening to ask any sort of questions like that. When he managed to lead the conversation in that direction, you deflected with such ease that by the time he realized it was off topic, you were gone. Aelin visited you on her own, but apparently you either deflected or shut down when she brought it up, and his wife gave up on that - not wanting to push you away further.

-

Something was wrong, and Aelin knew because Ceri was quiet, and she certainly hadn’t inherited her father’s distaste for words. 

Rowan caved first, putting his spoon down. “What is it?” 

She huffed and copied his movement. “My mum’s sad. She thinks she’s good at hiding it, but I can tell.” 

“Why is she sad?” Aelin asked gently. 

Her lips pursed together, debating telling them something. “Aunt Reya and Ani are probably leaving soon.” Aelin met Rowan’s gaze, that was news to him as well. Probably, meaning they were probably waiting to tell anyone until it’s official. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I thought you should know.” 

“We can keep the secret,” Rowan assured her, “how do you feel … about that?” 

The way she stabbed the piece of fruit told Aelin enough about how she felt. “I’m mad, and mum says it’s fine to be angry, but to try and be happy for them too. Ani’s grandmother wants them to come home, and she always complains about the snow.” 

Ceri switched to a recounting of her latest ghost-leopard sighting. She was obsessed with them. “And her partner is going to take her -” 

“Partner?” Rowan cut in before he could stop himself. 

Ceri rolled her eyes, “yes, mum’s partner, is taking her -” 

Rowan stiffened next to her, fist clenching around his glass, and Aelin stomped on his foot, dragging him back to the present. 

“What’s his name?” 

“I don’t know,” her green eyes narrowed. 

“Have you met them?” She tried to ask as casually as possible. 

“No,” her nose scrunched up.

“Your mum told you?” 

Mischief shone in her eyes, “I heard her conversation with Aunt Reya.” 

More likely she feigned sleep and snuck out of bed. Rowan had taught her how to redirect her scent, and she’s putting it to good use. Aelin stomped on Rowan’s foot again - at the smug look on his face. 

He caught her gaze, he’s not good enough for her.

We don’t know who he is.

Maybe Fenrys does.

We shouldn’t interfere … but Aelin wants to, and it makes no damn sense to her. 

-

“Who’s y/n’s partner?” Rowan asked Fenrys - bluntly. 

The male smirked, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his hands behind his head. “Who says it’s not me?” 

Rowan snarled, and Fenrys barked out a laugh. “I’m not, relax. We’re just friends” 

“But you know who he is?” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. Fenrys looked far too amused at this. 

“I know who she is.” 

He’d forgotten that particular detail. “And what’s her name?” 

“I’m not the one you should be asking. Besides, I doubt it’ll last. None of the others have.” 

“Others?”

“If you asked her these things, she’d tell you.” 

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” he growled, tempted to kick him out. 

“Too bad, you got it anyway. Tell your daughter to stop eavesdropping if you don’t want to know.” That’s the problem, he does want to know. Fenrys know’s that too, but he’s just being a bastard for his own amusement. “And Rowan?” He stood, heading towards the door. 

“What?” 

“Neither you or Aelin have a claim to her.” Rowan opened his mouth, as if to protest but … he doesn’t have a claim to her, not now. “Until you do, let her live her life.” 

The door shut behind him. You or Aelin. Until you do. The bedroom door swung open, revealing Aelin, a towel wrapped across her chest. 

“You heard everything?” 

“I did.” 

-

“If you like mum, why aren’t you with her?” Ceri questioned. Fenrys’s fork dropped, clattering onto his plate as he shot an incredulous look at Rowan. 

“We like her as a friend,” Rowan clarified. 

“Aren’t friends supposed to stay with each other?” 

Fenrys and Aedion were barely holding back laughter, and Rowan looked to Aelin, she could handle this question. 

Coward, she said. 

“Lysandra and I are friends, and we live just as far apart as your mother does.” 

“But Evangeline says only special friends make babies,” she pointed her fork at Rowan, “that’s different.” 

The other males gave up holding back their laughter, getting a scowl from the little hellion. Aelin watched Rowan’s cheeks flush as he tried to figure out how to answer this. Your turn, she said. 

He was saved as Ceri launched two grapes towards Aedion and Fenrys, using a bit of wind to make sure they hit their targets; “We’ve talked about this. No throwing food at the table.” Still, he admired the two small splatters on each of their foreheads, “but your aim is getting better.” 

“You never answered my question.” 

Rowan was not prepared for this. Centuries couldn’t have prepared him for this, but he prayed his answer would be enough. “We are not … special friends anymore.” 

She looked ready to ask why, but returned to her food instead. He finally felt like he could breathe again. Someone needs to make a book on how to deal with this. 

-

Aelin was excited, both you and Ceri would be arriving soon, and she was hoping to convince you to stay at least overnight. They had about a fifty percent success rate with convincing you to stay in Orynth at least a bit longer. Since your friend left, it became more frequent. Plus, considering the massive snowstorm looming, Aelin would raise her odds. 

“If I leave now, I should miss most of it,” she knew you were looking at the clock behind her, your teeth were worrying your bottom lip. Even you were doubting it. 

“Or you’ll be stranded in the snow,” Rowan countered, arms crossing over his chest, head tilting to the side. 

“I can handle myself.” 

“Not if you freeze to death.” 

“Just stay,” Ceri groaned, tugging on your sleeve. “She’s not there anyway.” 

Who is she? 

“And why is that?” You raised a brow, and your daughter shrugged her shoulders, but didn’t quite look apologetic. 

“Because they-I didn't like her.” 

“You never met her.”

“I didn’t have to,” Ceri’s wicked grin sent a shiver down her spine. Aelin recognized the look on her face, she’d seen it all too frequently in her husband. You sighed, but abandoned the argument, instead watching as she ran off, spotting some of her friends down the hall. A long time ago, they gave up trying to get her to stop running in the castle. 

“What did she do?” Aelin forced amusement on her face. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “One day she showed up at my door - while Ceri was at school, told me it wasn’t going to work, and Ceri came home looking very pleased with herself.” 

“How long were you together?” Aelin linked an arm through yours. 

“A few months,” you hummed, admitting, “It wouldn’t have worked long term.” 

-

You’d been here for three days, trapped by the storm. The longest amount of time since you’d arrived in Terrasen, and the most at peace you’d felt. It should be the opposite, really, considering how much effort you’ve put into avoiding Rowan specifically, but their company was enjoyable and put you at ease. Aelin made herself difficult to avoid. She developed a habit of randomly showing up on your doorstep, for book exchanges or to ‘get a break from him.’

Aelin let you borrow some clothes, considering you hadn’t planned to spend the night, and convinced you to let her braid your hair. 

“You’re not horrible at it,” Ceri informed Aelin and you winced. 

“Not horrible?” Aelin smiled at her, taking the ‘compliment’ with ease. “Last time you said I was doing great.” 

“I said you were doing better.” 

“Then who’s the best at it?” You teased, already knowing the answer. 

“Evangeline.” 

Now, it was just the four of you in a small hearth room - a fire roaring in the corner, an oak table filled with warm and heavy food, three pints of ale and one hot chocolate. 

“I want to move here,” Ceri announced at the table.

Gods, maybe she could’ve mentioned you to this before - not in front of them as well, backing you right into a corner. Eyes shuttering closed, you let out of a slow breath, giving yourself a few seconds before opening them again. 

“We can talk about it,” you promised her, sending an apologetic look to Rowan and Aelin. But they … they seemed excited about it. It makes sense they’d want Ceri closer. A few years ago, you told yourself you’d go where she wanted. If she wants to be here … there’s not much holding you to Caraverre really. Not much holding you anywhere, besides your daughter. That haunting sense of loneliness crept back into you. 

“What’s there to talk about?” 

“It’s a big change,” Rowan swept in, “something we can talk about later.” 

“I want my whole family together.” 

Family. 

It was impossible to miss the excitement in Rowan’s  eyes, the same one echoed in Aelin and Ceri’s. In everyone but yours. Yours were filled with trepidation and concern. 

“Quit worrying so much,” Reya told you, in the days before her departure. “You’ll make yourself miserable.”

-

“Are you moving to Orynth?” Aelin asked later that night, convincing you to share a bottle of wine with her. Rowan was in the corner, reading some kind of report, but his eyes stopped moving, head tilted slightly to listen in to the conversation. 

“Ceri wants to,” one finger absentmindedly ran over your scar, “wants both of us to.” For a bit, you thought she may have worded it wrong - that she just wanted to reverse the roles and live primarily with Rowan. But, she’d insisted both of you come here. 

“There’s not a chance she’d move without you,” Aelin plucked your empty glass out of your hands, filling both of yours halfway. 

“Thank you,” your fingers brushed as she handed it to you, and you could’ve sworn she lingered for a second. It’s the wine. Blinking heavily to bring yourself into focus, you admitted, “I’m glad,” and hoped they’d interpret your flush on the cheeks as alcohol-induced. 

“We’ll be glad to have you here,” she countered. 

“We’ll have to start looking at homes.” 

“Live in the castle,” Rowan said from his corner, papers now resting on his thighs. 

There it was, the demanding tone. If he thought he could bark an order and bring her to heel, he didn’t know her as well as you thought he did. Then again … he’d changed, and so had you. 

You shook your head, “It’s not a good idea.” 

“Why?” Aelin was facing you now, legs curled up under her. To give yourself time to think, you took another drink.

“We all know how it’ll -” 

“I don’t care how it looks,” Rowan cut you off, “you’re the only one who does,” he added - a tad gentler. 

“I like to keep a low profile.” 

“You like to hide,” he countered, “we haven’t kept Ceri a secret.” 

“There’s a difference between just our daughter, and both of us living here.” 

“What will it take for you to stop being a damn coward? To stop hiding?” 

“Rowan,” Aelin warned, her voice sharp. 

Tense silence filled the room, but Rowan didn’t seem to regret his words - not one bit, and that incensed you further. 

“I’m not a coward,” you snarled, chest tightening, cheeks turning red. Oh, he knew the right words to light a fire under your ass. To push you into enough anger to get a reaction. Calm was your default. Always calm, always composed, always steady. The current of anger and resentment, the feelings you buried so deep inside, threatened to sweep you under.

“Rowan,” Aelin snarled, louder, as his mouth opened. His jaw slammed back shut, giving you a chance to get the rest of your words out.  In. Count to four. Out. Count to four. 

“There’s a good reason for my fear,” your voice shook, despite your best efforts, hand trailing over the scar again. “Hiding has saved me more often than not.” 

Aelin’s brow furrowed, but Rowan’s eyes flashed in recognition.

The top of a hill, crouched in a tree, the magic your mother bent - the wards last minute designed to keep you out, to keep you away from them. Away from the slaughter. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get past them, but couldn’t convince yourself to run away either. Instead, you watched as the soldiers fell, watched and hid. 

A warm hand squeezed your shoulder, and you jerked, lower back hitting the arm of the couch, “sorry,” you murmured, still half in a daze, trying to shake the memory away. Turquoise and gold eyes peered at you with concern, her hand slowly retreating, body posture pointedly relaxed and unthreatening. 

“Aelin doesn’t know,” Rowan cleared his throat. You’d spilled that story to him one night, both of you plied with a good amount of liquor. It surprised you he hadn’t shared that with her. “It’s not my story to tell,” he added, reading the look on your face. 

“It is safer for the two of you to live here.” Aelin said quietly. Maybe it was unintentional, but she played the right card. Swallowing a bit of discomfort for safety is a sacrifice you could make. Maybe free yourself too, to stop worrying so much. If they didn’t care about public perception, you had no reason to. 

“If you still care about how it looks,” Aelin continued, ignoring the look Rowan tried to pin her with, “think of it this way; people will be happier to see a family together, considering how many were torn apart.” 

You could see exactly how she made a great queen. A few phrases from her changed your mindset enough you were on the verge of agreeing, but you made them wait in a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. But … you weren’t ready to let go of it, not just yet. 

“Do you really think it’s that unsafe? For us to live outside of the castle?” Unintentionally, you were drawn to the three kingsflame preserved on the mantle. Beautiful small red and orange flowers, encased in crystal. Selfish, a nasty voice in your head crooned at you, they’re trying to help. 

-

Rowan didn’t detect any kind of accusation in your question. The short answer would be no. He didn’t believe Orynth was unsafe in general, but he didn’t … trust anyone with you or Ceri’s safety. Any chance, even infinitesimal, was too much of a risk to him. 

When the silence dragged on, you stiffened, “or is it me, that you don’t trust to keep us safe?” 

“We trust you,” Aelin rushed, thankfully without hesitation, sensing the anger creeping back in, and Rowan nodded his agreement. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen you truly angry, and a small part of him liked poking these reactions out of you. To do something most others couldn’t, to break the careful calm you’ve built over the years. It was there when he knew you, but now it was nearly unflappable. Still, he didn’t want to do that if it would hurt you. 

He thought about if he’d answered “no” to your question. He does believe in you, but if he’d said that … you might have lost the confidence you’d built in your work, and trust in yourself. Real wards and protective enchantments were difficult to come by, and rumors of your work reached Orynth - under a false name, but he knew exactly who it was. 

You glanced down at your lap, tapping your fingers against your leg. Either deep in thought, or nervous.

“I don’t know if it would be good for her, spending all of her time here. She doesn’t want to be a princess.” 

Rowan had heard that before, from his daughter, what felt like hundreds of times by now. 

“I’m aware,” he deadpanned, watching the corners of your mouth turn up. 

“I’ll speak to Ceri, before we make any decisions.” Aelin couldn’t hide the relief on her face, neither could he. Now, just to get his daughter on their side. At the hint of challenge in your eyes, he had a suspicion that might be more difficult than he expected. 

[sollucets]

you guys have gotta stop calling nidabambam old woman yuri in my notes. listen this is just. regular woman yuri. godji & golf are both around 40 if im getting old woman yuri i need Grandmothers ok. dream bigger dream braver

[poppysplace-edits]

“i’m just loving life, loving love.” a misty/rowan moodboard as a surprise gift for @shipsthatcouldshowyouthestars, welcome back from camp :3

[danikamariewrites]

Hi! I love your stories. Could you please write a story where the reader is very sick and Rowan takes care of her? Thank you!

Keep You Cold

Rowan x reader

A/n: thank you anon 💕

Warning: fever and fluff

You woke up to a violent shiver running up your spine. Wiping at your forehead you feel the sweat collecting in your hairline. How were you freezing and hot at the same time?

You turned to Rowan who was still sleeping soundly. An arm outstretched toward you. You pull yourself across the bed, gripping his shoulders as you lower yourself onto his chest.

Still shivering you try call out Rowan’s name. Your head was killing you along with your sinuses. Rowan’s arms gripped you as he stirred. “What’s wrong my sweet? You’re shaking,” he said, his voice groggy with sleep.

He adjusts to sit up, still clutching you to his chest. The back of his large hand comes to rest on your forehead and he lets out a small hiss. “Gods, you’re burning up.”

Rowan rips the covers off of you, rushing you to the bathroom. He sets you down on the floor next to the rub as it fills with cool water. “Lift your arms for me,” he says gently. You raise your trembling arms so he can remove your sleep shirt.

You heard the water shut off but you don’t remember getting in the tub yourself. You feel Rowan’s bare chest on your back, absorbing any warmth his skin can give you in the freezing water. Rowan holds you to his chest and scoops water with his hand letting trickle down your face and scalp.

“R-rowan,” you get out through chattering teeth. “Yes,” he says in a soothing tone. “Can we get out soon?” “Just a few more minutes, my sweet.” You feel yourself drifting off again as the water sloshes around you.

When you woke next, you were alone in bed. You still felt feverish but it was more bearable. Rubbing at your eyes you tried to sit up but failed. Your whole body felt weak and tired. Like you had just fought a thousand battles.

You laid in bed for what felt like hours. You tried to yell out for Rowan, all attempts unsuccessful. Your throat was scratchy and your voice kept coming out quite and broken. It is rare that Fae get sick. You had always been a rare case, getting sick every year since you were a child. And always at the same time.

This isn’t the first time Rowan has taken care of you when you were sick. You must’ve scared him last night when he woke up to you clinging to him. Rowan, whether he’d like to admit it or not, is a worrier. He’s always worried about if you’re safe and he gets worse when your sick. But he dotes on you and you can’t lie, you love the attention from him.

Before you try to sit up again Rowan comes back into the bedroom. A steaming bowl of soup in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. “Morning, my sweet.” Rowan gives you a sympathetic smile as he sets the bowl and mug down on the table.

“Morning,” you groan out. Without asking, Rowan gently cradles you to his chest and helps you sit up against the headboard. “Thank you.” You mumble out.

Rowan kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger just a little longer to feel your temperature. He lets out an unsatisfied hum. “Still too warm for my liking.” He reaches over for the soup, blowing on the first spoonful for you.

You give him an annoyed look. “I can feed myself Ro.” He rolled his eyes at you, “I know, my sweet. But I want to take care of you so will you please let me.” You let out a huff as he brings the spoon closer to your mouth.

You let Rowan feed you the whole bowl and he lets you drink your tea on your own. When your done a couch wracks your body. “Rowan,” you croak out. “Yes my sweet?” He softly strokes your cheek.

“Will you stay in bed with me?” “Of course my sweet.” Rowan climbs into bed next to you, wrapping an arm around you. As you drift off again you feel a cool breeze caress your hot skin.

[clearwinged]

"[ 09 ] intermission at a broadway show." for @rowan-revelry

there's quite a lot of chatter -- which is what gives yu minwei away.

the musician himself doesn't do any of the talking, but the theatre is alight with intrigue, with curiosity surrounding his presence. and oliver, whose attention is for once -- tearing away from the scene before him, catches minwei's sheen of light hair, and knows the whispers will be unlikely to ease. (they're too visible, his visuals too prominent even in the dark.)

still, oliver tries to focus, ears attuning to the force -- the calibre of the lead ingenue and her crystal clear vibrato. she sings the house down, head tilted up and beaming with light. and as soon as the intermission is called, people whistle, holler, applaud with abandon, and oliver smiles -- pleased -- to himself. he claps along, drinking in the way she saunters off the stage, chest heaving with effort.

he'd invited minwei to join him.

scheduling had taken longer than he'd expected -- given management expectations and creative endeavours -- but it felt appropriate. he owed him a proper message. and his late night interview with the actress behind martha, would benefit with yu minwei's musical prowess. or so he assumes.

he sinks further into the seat, lungs tight, as if he himself had belted the last chord. "i like this show. this is -- thrilling," oliver muses, legs stretching outward to shiver under the buzz. the crowd mills around the theatre, the occasional whisper cracking into an excited yelp.

he peers over his shoulder, scanning, before turning to meet yu minwei's eyes. "maybe we should get you a baseball cap."

[ponds-of-ink]

The blog intro’s back, babyyy.