#that's something like “i never realised how much having children means standing up” ?? i can't remember exactly what it is but it is VALID

[catboii]

.

[eluxcastar]

The little sisterfication of Signora

── ୨୧：la signora & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: we're back with the little sibling headcanons let's GOOO

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, young signora, use of signora’s real name, it's more ambiguous how much older reader is, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 1.1k

this has been planned for so long, but I struggle SO bad writing Signora tbh Idk why it's not like I don't know how to write arrogant anguished women. I love arrogant anguished women 😭 while I'm on that thought I came to the realisation reader is probably dead with Rostam which was just what I wanted to think. BUT BUT I DID try to sneak some details in so it can still be cute cough witch's flower of blaze

it feels weird every time I use their real names but also calling them by titles when we know their names feels wrong because if it's from the perspective of their sibling who would know and use their name 😔 I think because I'm not used to it I'm like who the hell is MILBURN PENNYBAGS that's PULCINELLA (I had to look up the Monopoly man's name for that joke you BETTER laugh)

all little siblingification posts

Rosalyne was, as children are, young and interested in learning, eager but never quite aware. She loved to trail along by your side as you took her up the mountains to find a patch of flowers, at which point she would plop down in the grass and get to work making herself a flower crown with an extra one so you could match. Since your mother taught her the secret, she had happily taken to it and off to the races she was, linking flowers and matching colours in pursuit of the prettiest arrangement she could make to be her crown.

She long ago decided that Windwheel Asters are among the best, with an interesting shape and fiery red to contrast her blonde hair. Calla Lilies have a similar colour but a bad shape for flower crowns, and Cecilias are too pale to stand out the way she'd like them to. Windwheel Asters are bold and show off her hard work better than any delicate flower could.

Of course, that means she must also find the perfect flower for you, and that's hard work, but she'll never stop trying. Rosalyne read in a book about an extinct flower called the Padisarah, a beautiful purple flower that even the Dendro Archon couldn't perfectly replicate, and decided it would've been perfect for you if it still existed. You suspect that it's only because she can't have it that she wants it, the allure of something mystical that exists only in the imagination.

She settles instead on the legends of a Liyue flower that blooms at the sound of beautiful music—Glaze Lily or something to that tune. Each time Rosalyne makes a flower crown for you with the next best thing she can find, she claims that one day she'll travel to Liyue, and when she does, she'll bring you back one to see how pretty they are as if she has some greater understanding looking at the same picture in her book as you did. Maybe she does.

There is no dream too big, not for Rosalyne. She is desperate for your approval at every turn and wants you to think she's as cool as she thinks you are. She wants to hear you smile with her despite seeming so far away at times. Her phase of being petty and squabbling with you is over at last, and she seeks the comfort of the one person she looks up to more than anybody for a guiding star to turn to—you.

Your parents are both far away future ideals for an older Rosalyne to aspire to be, maybe with that boy she likes, but you are not so distant. You're like her, if only older and barely wiser. She sees all that she wants in you, and it makes her look up to your guidance above all else. Her parents are the annoying rule makers who preside over her life and ruin her fun; you're the fun troublemaker who sleazes the both of you past the city guards and takes her headfirst into the danger of the mountains just so she can play.

Rosalyne thinks of an ambitious future, and your parents tell her to be careful; you tell her to chase it. Become a scholar and do as she pleases. She's more inclined towards your indulgent way of thinking. You have yet to stifle the burning passion she holds but recognise it, and in your mind, it's about as cool as dragons could ever be. It is not the worrisome uncertainty of instability and hardship that your parents think it is.

Her heart is set in a far-off place—Sumeru, the Akademiya, where she feels everything will fall into place like a fairytale. Rosalyne has it all figured out, down to the number of boys she'll reject in pursuit of that boy she has had a crush on since she was twelve.

Even you're not privy to that, subject to Rosalyne quickly closing her diary or turning away from you, hiding the gifts she managed to get him and letters she wrote out but never could quite work up the nerve to send. It used to be only one of the many instances that would have her yelling at you not to snoop, though it has dwindled to being only one of the very few instances, save for accidentally discovering her in the process of procuring your birthday gifts.

It used to be that you would be searching for your missing things, a few of which had disappeared suspiciously close to your birthday and were found the moment you were proudly presented those very items as gifts from your little sister, sometimes with a daring tale of how she acquired it for you. Most of the time, you acted surprised and grateful, maybe even added a comment about how you were glad you didn't have to get a new one since Rosalyne had gone out and done it for you. You hid your annoyance at her habit of stealing your things behind thoughts of how cute your mother thought it was that Rosalyne didn't want to be left out of getting to give you something.

Rosalyne does, however, realise the possible benefit of asking for your help with this boy once she gets over the embarrassment-driven beet-red cheeks and yelling at you. You cannot find her boy and drag him by the ear to her, but you could help her write a letter to him or teach her to wrap that gift she was holding onto. You can do any number of things to help her chances— except talk to him. You can't do that, or you'll give it away with that big mouth of yours.

You're not quite sure how she came to that conclusion.

Her acceptance to the Akademiya came all too quickly. Years seemed to fly by, and her quirks evened out into a young woman your parents were more comfortable sending away to another nation. Their fears of her immaturity and fiery passion dragging her down settled as she did. By the time you were ready to send her away, the encroaching elegance you had seen forming in her younger self blossomed until she carried herself with more confidence and grace than ever. 

Like your parents, you are ready to watch her pursue that dream and come home to see the boy she likes still waiting for her. You make sure she knows you'll be there too, maybe even come visit every now and then and see Sumeru for yourself.

As she leaves, you reveal what you've been hiding for her—a single red flower. You're not as practised at the art of making flower crowns, but you found her this. This is all you can offer that she can carry with her until it wilts away.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[handsomemilo]

Asking on anon cause nerves but could I maybe request headcanons on Jack having a sort of more familial bond with for example his assistant :3? I'm curious to see your take on this idea?

Omg that's such a cute idea! Tysm for the request!

Borderlands Imagine #2

Character/s: Handsome Jack and Gn reader (Platonic)

Warnings: it's borderlands. So expect anything you'd know would be in there, there's bound to be some mention of it. A little angsty to begin with.

A/n: I'm giving them a kind of parent and child relationship, yk? dw it'll get explained a bit more. Also please feel free to request anymore Headcanons/imagine ideas whenever. There's no need to be shy, I won't bite (through a screen at least)

Masterlist

Ko-fi

----------------------

So you're Handsome Jack's assistant, usually he'd go for someone he could easily have a one night stand with but not you

He saw how well you did your previous job, and you remind him of Angel. Not in a bad way, never in a bad way

He sees the cheerful smile you give to those around you and he's taken back to the carefree days with his little family, when he was just Jack.

He's definitely hiring you as his assistant whether you want to do the job or not.

I mean it's one hell of a pay rise, so what's there to complain about.

You swear he doesn't even need you there sometimes, anything that could be considered work that's sent to you just gets taken on by him.

He doesn't want to stress you out, he wants to just keep you smiling

He knows he's messed up bad with Angel, more than messed up in fact, but as a way of avoiding that guilt he basically adopts you.

He'll spend lunch breaks with you to just chat, and even sometimes you'll go into his office to watch something on a big screen.

You both definitely watch trash TV together and are just so judgy about it. It's like you bring out a different side to the other

"Did you just hear what happened with ____ and ____ ?". "No? which ones are they?"

You actually pay some attention to the shows whereas Jack is only there for drama so easily forgets the names and it's hilarious when he just makes his own names for them

"Oh Fishlips?" "Fishlips!? Her name is Jessica!" "Doesn't look like a Jessica to me, oddly enough."

He secretly does pay attention though, he just knows you'll find it funny when he gets it wrong.

Gift giving is big for him.

He loves to get you anything you want so he can see the way your face just seems to glow with joy

He struggles with his temper and does his best to not bother you with it, he's been known to kill the people that piss him off

There's times when he's been snappy but he'd never take his anger out on you and risk scaring you off too

You're the last family that actually seems to care about him still, even if you don't realise it

You can't swear. He does his whole disappointed parent, "Language", thing. He in turn trys to turn his own language around.

You're forbidden from going to Pandora, he'll take you anywhere slightly safer, but he's not risking the raiders snatching you up. He wouldn't be able to take it.

You're the last thing he can think of before his life ends. He's filled with guilt and sorrow for how he wished he could've been a good father to both of his children. Angel and You.

----------------------

This isn't proof read so some of it might not make much sense, I wrote it fairly quick

[localplaguenurse]

ūwū

There’s tears in my eyes

Just thinking about how the gingko family has to watch childe and his family grow old, watching them grow watch childe stop being the “pretty young prince” watch as they grow so old that they no longer can care for themselves. And wifey…. Wifey would come to the realise what being immortal truly means, and why the adepti have always kept to themselves. Because to beings whose time is endless until their own bad memories get to them… a measly 100 years of a human life is just a blink of an eye…

And that’s just childe… a new addition to the family…. What about lilei? How does one cope with the fact that your loved one can’t cook anymore because standing became too painful?

Ivy I'm trying to do wholesome dad fic-

That is tragic, but unfortunately Childe and his family would not be the first group of mortals the family would come to love and ultimately outlive. There have been many friends and families, so much so that sometimes they quietly wonder why they keep doing this. Why risk the heartbreak when they know they'll be gone before a century has passed? Wifey should have learned this with their father, that you will outlive people you love one day. That was only hammered in when...

Originally at the end of ginkgo trees, the chat with Morax and Wifey about how they might actually start to grow old, and how worried they are for their children, wifey was going to say something about how one day, parents will have to leave their children. This was going to be in reference to Li Lei. This also tied into my og ideas where the twins were actually significantly younger than their siblings by like a century, where wifey was especially nervous because Li Lei wasn't there to support them or meet her newest grandchildren. The only reason I never mentioned it was because beta and by extension the rest of the readers would've been mad if I outright said Li Lei had died. Not even a vicious death, it was just old age.

But yeah, that enough was upsetting to Wifey, but they at least knew it was coming because, well, Li Lei is old enough to have raised them. She can't live forever. It's also another thing when someone dies tragically young. It's unfortunate, yet common enough that there are guides and communities of people who know what that pain is like. Nothing can prepare you for when you meet someone unfathomably younger than you, and yet you are there when not only they pass, but are around long enough for the funerals of their children and children's children.

Even still, they open their hearts up knowing the cycle of heartbreak will continue. Even when Childe sprouts white hairs, when his dull eyes grow weak, the children still tease him about how young he is compared to them. He graduates from young prince to young king, and Childe says something about how he looks like a raisin while Yanjiang hasn't aged once since the two met, and Yanjiang was a grandfather when they first met!

Even knowing it was inevitable, there's not a dry eye at his funeral.

[yourstrqly]

✰ TO BUILD A HOME, L. HAMILTON

[ preview ] Lewis has grown softer, more domestic and slighty more protective of you since knowing you're having a baby, and you're absolutely loving it whenever you shower together or travel to races.

[ tw ] pregnant female reader, showering together (but not sexual!!)

[ req ] hi can I request for lewis. Where y/n is pregnant and him being so protective and domestic and soft with her. No smut if possible just fluff. You may add some angst if u want thank youu

. previous | masterlist .

home | the domestic side of him

The day starts off fairly normal as Lewis gets up before you, gently kissing your forehead that causes you to shuffle closer into his touch, and tries to move Roscoe, who's tangled between your arms, to go out for a quick morning jog. Through the dog has other plans, lowly growling at him, a sign that he much rather spend time in your presence — you have always shared a close bond but since falling pregnant, rosc wouldn't leave your side, even before Lewis or you knew of the baby. It's endearing to your partner, seeing you with his first child, all cozy in the family bed.

So Lewis decides to go on a jog alone which doesn't take him more than half an hour. He much prefers more being home with you and he has undertake the task of making you breakfast and shower your hair, something he has never realised could be so romantic and domestic. There was a time you both showered together but it was after having sex or to have a quickie, however it was never with the pure intention of taking a shower to get clean and fresh to start the day. But he loves the change, and he likes to take care of your hair, be it massaging your scalp, de-tangeling or whatsoever. And he's quite serious about styling your hair to whichever style you prefer.

In fact he hopes to get very good at it to do his child hair's, through you say he's already unbelievable fantastic with his fingers and claim that he has the eyes for it. You'll giggle and exclaim happily of his hidden talent, and talk on and on about how he should be a hair stylist after ending his racing career. His response is without a doubt everytime the same. "Get your facts straight, pretty girl, I'll only do your and our children's hair", to which you'll react with a shy smile and an i love you. You truly mean those words. There's no one you've ever met in your life that has captured your heart like him, takes your breath away like him, touches you like him and loves you like him. He's passionate about life and your romance, never backing down when your relationship hits a rough place, is strong willed and loves deeply. Loyalty, trust and communication are the big three in your love bond, and you push each other every day to the best version, to feel confident and appreciated.

The man besides you is your equal and you're his, without a shadow of a doubt.

You can confidently speak of each other as your home because home is not a place but a person and Lewis is your person and father of your unborn child. Its the truest form of love and peace, comforting and warm, healthy and free. With him, there's no pressure, he stands throughout every problem on your path, let it be work or small silly things like a broken flower pot — he'll offer his companionship, idea and listens, doesn't matter if he actually has the time to do so with racing and media stuff going on, he makes the time.

Its funny actually which lengths you go for another without being married — something that irritates your father greatly as he believes you have to put a ring on the finger when you love someone this way. He can't understand how it's working for you and Lewis but he reluctantly respects it. Has to, he has no other choice because Lewis and you are endgame as Charles, your man's future teammate, mumbles whenever he's joining you for lunch or a small getaway. The monegasque has a soft spot in your heart.

Returning home, Lewis is still catching his breath as he steps up the stairs towards your bedroom. You sit there, Roscoe's head on your thight as you turn a page over your newest reading over, eyebrows knitted together in wonder of what's going to happen to the protagonist. A certain calmness flots the room, the lightness of the sun dips you in a glow and Lewis thinks you look like a mystical goddess. He really broke every possible imagination and desire with you, his darling pretty girl.

"Good morning, pretty girl, slept well?", he asks, moving forward to give you a kiss on the lips. You're welcoming it, hands looping around his sweaty shoulders as he sits down next to you, tilting your head to the side to get better access. "Slept very well but missed waking up next to you", you pout after breaking the kiss, "want to shower together, handsome?"

"Thought you'll never ask", he laughs,"up you go." He stretches his hand for you to grab, helping you sit up and then stand on your feet. Then, unexpectedly, one of his bulky arms wrap around your middle and the other under the back of the knees, manhandling you in his arms. You squeek like a little girl but you recover fastly, mushing your face between the space of where his shoulders meet the neck, and nip on the skin playfully. Lewis' grip only tighten, smacking a kiss on the crown of your hair.

In the bathroom, he puts you down with ease, watching you carefully while doing so. "Everything's fine baby, thank you for your service", you mutter sleepily, the corners of your mouth lifted. Wordlessly, he takes the hem of his your t-shirt, waiting for your consent to pull it over your head. It makes your heart flutter — after all this time Lewis is still a gentleman. "Please do it", you consent, arms in the air. He does and he also removes your shorts and underwear before getting nude aswell and taking your hand in his to guide you to the shower.

Said shower is large and has a small seating space, something Lewis insisted on adding when you announced your pregnancy. It's an incredibly good investment and lifts up the shower space.

Lewis takes the showerhead and turns on the water, waiting for it to hit the temperature you like (and doesn't burn him) before rinsing his body hastily and wets your body and roots of your hair. After that he puts the showerhead into the intended holder in a way it waters your head and stands right in front of you, stomachs touching. You look him in the eyes, leaning in. "Give me a kiss", you plea, lips puckering for his to meet yours.

"Only because you asked so nicely", he mumbles, breath fawning over your face, causing heat to creep up your cheeks. Without asking, Lewis takes the shampoo bottle out of your hand. "Let me do it", he says softly, gazing concentrated on the blop of clear shampoo in his hands, which he then rubs in his hands, causing it to bubble.

You peek his cheek, grabbing his body shampoo and massage it into his skin, his broad shoulders first and move on to the abs, only stopping when Lewis fingers work the product in circular movement into your hair.

"Can't wait for breakfast", you sheepishly declare as your stomach rumbles loudly, breaking of the quiet humming you have started since his hair are in your hair. "What's on the menu today, Lew?"

"I made blueberry muffins yesterday—"

"With chocolate on top?", you interrupt him, excitement glistening in your eyes as you drown in his rich brown ones.

"Yes, knew you'd want them like that."

Smile lines draw in the corner of his eyes, and dimples show, and maybe, just maybe, you fall in love with the man in front of you a little bit more — if that is even possible.

"Oh I love you", you hum, feeling the water spray on your head to wash the shampoo away. After, Lewis applies conditioner to the ends of the hair.

"I love you", he sincerely answers, and he truly means it, you can see it in his eyes and body language aswell as the feeling — the whole vibe of the room screams of love. You can't explain it but it is the truth. "And the little one", Lewis continues, hands leaving your scalp as he bends down to kiss your bump, taking away your breath with how loving he is.

Back in 2008 when you first met, Lewis wasn't delicate and even in the beginning of your relationship it lacked, resulting in you feeling not as appreciated as you should've been — the man had been too focused on his job and was wild in a sense that sometimes made you slightly uncomfortable. You in return couldn't communicate openly, scared he'd break your heart in thousand pieces, and let him get his ways. It took you a while for opening up, growing together and fall in love even more. But all the pain and stress paid off, now you can't imagine not walking those milestones of growth hand in hand.

"Might be a house-husband after 2026 and make you stay at home too. We could have more children if you want, and enjoy retirement together with our babies."

Its truly a dream, however you know that this is not going to be your future in a few years yet.

Shaking your head to the side, you signal him your answer. "No baby, you'll race your car to the top and gift our baby the eight championship trophy, alright? You can't just stop your passion, I won't allow it", you firmly share before taking on a much calmer tone . "But I'd like to not work for a while, take care of the babe and visit you whenever we're ready."

"I don't even know if I want to keep racing but you can't definitely stay home and maybe write that book you always wanted to."

"You have enough time to decide, don't pressure yourself, okay?", you hush, relaxing as he untangles the knots in your hair.

A low sigh vibrates in his chest. "Okay."

"How do you even know I write on a book?"

Lewis stiffles a snicker. "I'm your man, of course I know when you're up to something and you have said to the Lilys that you're working on a novel based on formula one. Hope it is inspired by me, pretty girl."

"And if it's inspired by the rising star Ollie Bearman?", you tease, making him laugh.

"Both of us know that the books about me or the technical stuff", he responds in confidence. "Have to say, you really do love that kid, huh?"

"He's a great kid, and so young", you stretch the 'o' of so long, "really want to pinch his cheeks whenever I see him."

"He is and you're such a mum to him."

"Ollie says I'm his grid mum which makes you his grid dad. Ain't that cute?", you tell him, closing your eyes as he rinses the conditioner off and puts body gel all over your body.

Your partner doesn't reply but you know how much he likes the brit, going as far as giving him tips for his f2 season. To you it's another confirmation that he's capable of having children.

Australia | the protective side of him

After ranting on and on of how you are still allowed to travel by plane, Lewis gave finally, even though he was visibly not alright with it, but he shut his mouth to hinder upsetting you. The pregnancy demands enough of you already and he doesn't want to be the person, who's taking away the fun. Also he's selfish, wants to have you and your unborn child by his side as long as possible.

But in his mind roams the thought of if you would've been better off in England with your families around to keep you company as he races against time, trying to be home as much as his job let him. He despites the many races on the calender that keep him away from his family that consists of you, his lovely girlfriend, the baby inside you and his first child Roscoe. Truly devastating.

Currently you gather everything you need for the day, stuffing a pack of tissues, lip balm and whatnot in your colourful totebag, Lewis had bought you in Mexico last year because he thought it was fitting and now you carried it everywhere you could. Somehow the colours blend quiet nicely with your outfit that considers of a fan made vintage styled shirt with his name, racing number and face on, and a pair of black pants. Between the space of your collarbone rests a necklace with the number 44, something quite possessive — revisiting the memory, Lewis can't help but bite his lips.

Two days before taking you to your first ever red carpet, the fia gala, a rather stupid man had flirted with you as you were waiting for Lewis to finish up business. You had worn a lovely dress, causing his eyes to follow your ever movement as you separated from him to get a drink (he wanted to rip that dress off you later on, too) and then that man came onto you, smirk etched on his face, trying to lure you in a conversation. In that moment Lewis felt incredible jealous and promised himself to mark you somehow — to which you unknowingly agreed as he gifted you a necklace with his number on it. To you the gesture was very lovely, a promise of being each others keeper, but to Lewis the necklace bought him satisfaction and calmed his nerves.

"Don't look at me like that, Lew", you laugh, catching his gaze in the mirror as you put on your earrings.

"Don't know what you mean, pretty girl", he husks, eyes fixed on your butt. Those pants show your curves off and if it wasn't for the time pressure, he'd spend the day in bed, loving you.

"You're a horny bastard", you mutter, catching him stare. "My ass looks great it them pants, no?"

"Sure thing", he mumbles, crossing the room to give you a hug from behind, chest pressing against your back, making you all mushy. He gently lifts your bump and you hum happily. It feels unbelievable good.

"You should do this everyday, baby."

A sigh tumbles in your boyfriend's throat as he sees the time of the clock — you're already behind schedule. "I should. 'M sorry to break it to you but we have to go now, pretty girl."

You moan. "Don't want to, this is so much better."

"I know", is all Lewis says, letting go of your bump before grabbing your chin to face him. You closed your eyes when his lips crash down on yours, the scent of his perfume filling your nostrils. The scent isn't too strong and is fairly new because you can't stomach the old one. "Love this perfume so much", you share after breaking the kiss, foreheads touching.

"Better be, you've chosen it, pretty girl. Let's go, hm?"

"Okay if you insist."

Arriving at the paddock, you're quick to lose Lewis to his engineer for a quick snack, you know the paddock club makes. The walking takes you just under ten minutes, but it's long enough to make you slightly sleepy again, a regular occurrence that started back in the early stages of working full time. The pregnancy only adding a bit to it.

As you stand waiting in line, you strike up a conversation with vcarbs reserve driver liam lawson, a funny guy, and let him vlog your conversation with the promise of him paying for your snack. The talk is all silly, your chest heaving strongly as he cracks another joke.

Though the vibe breaks when a man rushes besides you, shoulder bumbing against yours forcefully and sending your body stumbling into the driver, who's quick reflexes save you from a nasty fall.

Regulating your breath and removing your hand from Liam's arm, your anger comes through. "What a fucking wanker, next time I'll see him he'll fly straight in those bushes." You point to your left where a row of yellow blooming bushes sit in pots.

Liam's booming laugh attracts the attention of a few guests but neither of you care. It takes him a minute or two to stop, however the amusement is still painted on his face.

"Understandbly, call me if it happens, yeah?", he says, moving up to order himself a coffee and your snack. "Can I put this in my vlog?"

"Yes why not", you shrug, sole focus on the vegan treat in your hands.

"Let's go back to Mercedes, y/n, don't want Lewis to rip off my balls if he gets to know this situation."

You agree and guide him to your man's garage, greeting the buzzing flow of employees and fans alike. A smile adores you face as you make your way to Lewis, grasping Liam's arm in the process, causing some people to raise an eyebrow and the kiwi to blush slightly under their stares.

Sliding under Lewis arm to shuffle closely to him, he wordlessly accepts, listening to Bono's rant. He doesn't even notice the blonde kid next to you, way to absorbed into Bono's talk.

Eventually he does greet you, kissing you till a tiny moan escapes your mouth, and looks away from you, eyes falling on the Kiwi, who's side is pressed to yours — right besides him isn't any space left, just the wall and he guesses you must have pushed him into the space. It doesn't make him less dominating, arm pressing you further into his side to create more space between them, and he grabs the necklace to correct the way it lays, so the 44 can catch the attention if anyone is stupid enough to look at your tits in his presence.

The younger man doesn't react to his attics, but he's respectfully keeping his distance.

"Hey man, all good?", greets Lewis, handshake included.

"Nah yeah, fine."

Shallowing your bite of the treat, you bring up his vlogging. "And then he promised to buy me this in turn for vlogging our conversation. Maybe I should do that too, your fans would love it, Lew", you gush.

"We could, but we shouldn't. Want to keep you all for myself, pretty girl of mine", he mutters into your ear, hot breath fawning over the sensitive skin, "won't share what's mine."

Heat creeps up your neck and you're glad your hair isn't styled up today.

"You silly man", you giggle like a school girl, loving how he calls you his.

"I don't want to interrupt you by whatever you have going on but I wanted to tell you Lewis, that some cunt, shouldered her. Nothing happened, I catched her, but you should know", Liam rants, waiting for the older man's reaction while your wide eyes hang on your man's face, which morphs into a harden expression.

"Thanks Liam for telling", he grinds his teeth," because this one", he sends you a pointed look, "wouldn't have told me."

Swallowing, the kiwi presses a no worries mate and steps away, probably going back to his garage. Meanwhile you wait for Lewis' lecture and he doesn't disappoint. "You should've called, y/n, how often do I have to tell you that? If something happens, you instantly call me and I'll answer."

Before he can get really into it, you speak up. "Liam was there, wasn't he? He helped me and I'm not hurt, see?" You move your arms to let him inspect it. There's no sign of bruising.

"He was but next time you'll call, okay? I don't care if anyone is there to help you, you will call me, okay?", he voices his demand. "Don't want anything to happen to neither of you."

"Fine", you huff, face mushing into his muscular chest.

"And don't bring any boys here."

"Not fine", you groan, "he's like a younger brother. Fucking annoying but can't wait to send gifts for the baby and us."

Lewis stays silent, angling his body to hug you fully, and peeking your head.

The loudness of the race weekend suddenly quietness and all he hears is your relaxed breathing, that comforts him like nothing else can.

[broccolydia]

felt like putting lydia and eirwen together for no fucking reason.

She likes pretty things, but she hates her. In all honesty, she hates all of her patients. This one makes her want to vomit.

They take her to Lydia because her master refuses to leave her side. This young girl, a child, is utterly disfigured. Her face is not a face anymore-- it's not a scar, not an ugly mark but the total anihilation of her features. The explosion spaired her eyes. Eirwen is glad-- she remembers her. All silence, modest and concealing outfits. But no one could forget those eyes. Sorceresses don't have those, bright and expressive and filled with things she doesn't say.

It's not the gore that makes her want to throw up, she has seen worse. What she hates about this child is her absolute disregard for anything that isn't that man. Eirwen opens her mind so Lydia can use telepathy, and she's asking when can she go back to work.

Eirwen loves chaos-- hates being a puppet for chaos, but likes witnessing it from a safe distance. And Vilgefortz is and will always be chaos' favorite pet. She's delighted by that. She wants to see it all unravel, even if it means the world's ending. It's a sick thought--- Eirwen is twisted, but she knows that already.

Lydia? She's just a girl. She's just a stupid girl who is in love. The most common tale in the book. A boring one.

She doesn't know the depths of it. She doesn't know half of it. If she knew---

She's seen love. When her patients die, she sees it in their husbands, wives and children. The same expression. The one Vilgefortz has. Eirwen knows, and he doesn't. She doesn't say it. Love can bring chaos, but chaos has bigger plans for him.

The elven anathema turns out to be a powerful curse. Eirwen is the best there is, and even she can't regenerate tissue when it comes from such a powerful curse. Lydia telephatically says she understands, and Eirwen is tempted to roll her eyes out of pure disgust. It takes her a week with Lydia to understand that statement did not come from plain disregard of her own safety, but because of her knowledge about the curse. Turns out, Lydia is smart. They talk about it for hours while Eirwen judges her wardrobe. They both analyse the possible repercusions on her body. They both realise there could be more. Eirwen has a job to do.

"I need you to undress. Completely."

Something in Lydia's eyes tell Eirwen she'd rather get disfigured again than comply.

The fact that he convinces her makes Eirwen want to puke again. So much potential, as Philippa once said, and it's all wasted because she dances to the beat imposed by him. A stubborn love. It's disgusting. It's cliche. It's boring.

She's sitting on a chair and Lydia stands with her back to her. Eirwen works the laces of the corset with ease and expertise. She's done it so many times and for so many different reasons. The fabric pools around Lydia's ankles and she shivers. She's uncomfortable. And Eirwen's jaw drops. Lydia turns around.

And Eirwen kicks the door open.

"Oh, no, oh, no no no! WHERE IS HE?"

She's a hurricane. The servants stare at her in disbelief. He's there, with a raised eyebrow. Eirwen knows it has to be his fault.

"HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY TAKE THAT AWAY FROM THIS WORLD?"

The confusion remains. She yells.

"I've seen naked people! It's my job! I see them all the time! I work with naked bodies daily! Dead and alive! I've fucked plenty! Men and women! A fucking dragon once! I'm a sight whenever I'm naked! NEVER in my LIFE have I seen a body like THAT"

She has to be restrained. Physically.

"And you, you dangerous lunatic, you let her run around IN THOSE DRESSES? That cover ALL of it? That HIDE all of that?! You should be PUT TO TRIAL AND EXECUTED! YOU'RE MAD!"

Eirwen loves chaos. And turns out, hates him more than she hates her, now.

"OH THE FUCKING NERVE OF HIM! THIS IS WHY NO ONE LIKES YOU, VILGEFORTZ!"

Years later she's going to be the one that nurses him too. She's going to hear tales of his wickedness. And, in Eirwen's mind, none of it would compare to the atrocity of the dresses.

[inspirationjyoti]

Feminism... Female rights... equality...these are the topics that I started hearing and observing when I was in my undergraduate college. Before that I never noticed that the women around me are always busy in household chores. They rarely complain, usually listen to male members without objecting and still stays happy. And then, I realised that they were being dominated, not given their rights, were refrained from equality, and many such things. This all was the HD impact of what I read, and what I heard.

Now, try to understand my point. A married couple, where one is the bread winner, whereas other one is the homemaker. They are happy with their roles and are living peacefully. Then one fine day, their grown up children introduced feminism to them. Everytime the couple argued, the children supported mother (impact of feminism) and left their father alone. This was all because he shouted at her, or even lift a hand against her. The children took stand of their mother, and obviously they should. The children took their mother away from father and provoked her against their father. The father, who is not given a chance to apologise, to explain anything, is left all alone. Everytime he tried to talk to his wife, their children came midway and didn't let both of them sit and talk. They just decided on their own that father is wrong (feminism). It was like, the father is held guilty without even a hearing. Obviously violence in any form is unacceptable. Now, mother is with her children, away from his husband. Yes, the children love and respect her. They try to fulfill all her needs, and try their best to make her happy. But, will she be really happy, away from her husband? Also, the father is now with his mother who obviously loves him a lot and takes care of her. But also, is he happy, away from her? Obviously the children will have their family one day. No matter how much they care for her, how good they are, obviously they would also expect their privacy with their spouse. They would go on family trips with their mother, but also would enjoy their friends party without her. After marriage- children, parents, friends, or anyone else couldn't replace the life partner, never ever. Yes, the upcoming generation talks about equality and feminism, but in many ways they are ruining the kind of long term relationships that used to exist in past days. (I am talking about healthy families with no domestic violence). In those days, there were not much rules about the equality and rights, but that time also decisions were taken. I don't know much, but as per my knowledge, if the men disrespect women, he was denied the pleasure by the women, leading him to apologize.

Obviously feminism can bring positive changes in society but..but..but.. this doesn't mean that we take a flag and start embarassing men at every point. Not only women needs supports and rights, but men also need the same. Obviously we have seen male dominant society, that not at all care about respect and equality of women. But this doesn't mean that we want something opposite to that. Imagine, a female dominant society where males are the one being exploited. I am totally against that too. Infact, there should be no dominance at all. As their duties are divided, they should respect their roles in the society. As men can't carry a fetus inside their body, females lack the ability to fertilise. No matter how much noise we make for the equality of men and women, they are not at all equal. They are obviously very different - physically, mentally and socially. No matter how much women take part in body building, weight lifting, boxing, it's just not a female nature to be so harsh to anyone. Also, no matter how much men try to become gentle and soft, they are not just that way to have much patience and softness. In case any men becomes this way in a society, we all know how we percieve them. Just as women are known for peace and calmness, men have that aggression. It should not be taken as a challenge that ok... If he can do it then why can't I. Nah... Even men can't compare themselves to multitasking done only by women.

If both the partners are working, then obviously they divide their duties and both should help each other in paying expenses and household chores. And..if the man is earning and woman is a housewife, then how can one expect the man to help in household chores. In that scenario, the way a housewife can't help a man in earning, the man cannot help woman in household chores and raising children. It's always hyped that a housewife is a full time worker without a salary and off days. But it is also true that a housewife gets relatively more time to take rest as compared to men. On the other hand, men are always portrayed as the ones overburdened with responsibilities and expenses of whole family. But it is also true that they always have the opportunity to buy their dream car, or anything that comes under their budget. So, in short, i just want to say that both men and women cannot compare their capabilities and worth in the society. They have their own niche and they both are expected to respect the space of each other. Not only mother, sister, wife or daughter deserves respect. Even father, brother, husband or son do so.

[spiky-bees-knees]

Hello? Is this thing on? I'm sitting on my throne at my workplace now and want to just talk to the void.

What makes a successful life? I've always thought that I didn't want a lot and that it would be easy to attain the few things I wanted in life. Perhaps if I was born a few years earlier.

I wont make this a complaint, I don't think even the void wants to listen to that sob story.

I think my simple dreams are just that. A small home where I can scream at my computer screen in peace without disturbing anybody else.

A place I can modify at will, and be alone as much as I want. Don't mistake my desire to be alone for someone who doesn't want to have a social life, I most certainly love talking (despite my poor conversational ability) to people, as well as making new friends.

I think it's probably mostly about control, I *feel* as though I've never been in control of my life. Though, I know I can really do whatever I want as a 29 year old able bodied man.

Woah, slow down, I'm already laying down the tracks for multiple directions I want to go and we're just at the start.

Before I start with the idea of control I think I need to talk about my relationship with my parents.

First and foremost I'll just state that I love my parents. Now that I've got that out of the way, I will say that I've definitely become disillusioned with my parents.

Growing up and until young adulthood I always saw my parents as perfection. My parents always knew everything. If I asked a question, whatever my parents answered is what I thought was the universal truth, why would I think otherwise?

However, now that I've reached my late 20s I've started realising that this really isn't the case. My father was someone I aspired to be. He was a genius who was also really funny, he worked very hard and made good money. Now in that place previously on a pedestal, I see a man who always has an answer, but states opinion as fact, and often says things that I know are incorrect. he so confidently just says things which is sometimes baffling. correcting him with factual information is disregarded, and It's gotten to the point where I don't even try to correct him anymore because there really isn't a point in doing so (as a side note, this is probably something people on the internet should do more often).

I often cannot stand being around my father anymore unless he's just making jokes (he is a funny guy), but if he starts making conversation it becomes less and less pleasant.

As for my mother, she is a fantastic, considerate person. She cares deeply for everyone and is also a very smart and hard worker...when she's sober.

My mother has a bit of a drinking problem which became exacerbated after she finished her struggle with quitting smoking.

When she's drunk she becomes a very petty and mean person who will often just flat out ignore you and give you the cold shoulder if you talk to her.

As someone who has never smoked or really even drunk alcohol, I can't imagine the struggles she has, but at the same time it is not an excuse for her behaviour and attitude.

This has caused a big rift between my sister and my mother (maybe I'll tell the void about this sometime).

With a lot of that out of the way I can give some context to the feeling of no control.

Earlier in my life I was quite the hyper kid, and my parents were always scolding me. I don't think that's an inherently bad thing, after all you have to direct your child in a direction in life (side note: I won't be having children so try not to jump down my throat about how to raise a kid because I won't be doing it anyways).

I would say the problem was that my parents ended up raising a kid who follows instructions and rules. Once again, this doesn't sound like a bad thing on the surface, but when all I know how to do is follow rules and instructions, then I'm awful at making independent decisions.

This even affects my relationships in life. If a friend asks me what I want to get for dinner, all I can really do is shrug and say whatever is fine. Or what activity I want to do "idk, whatever you want is fine". I know this is frustrating, but honestly I can't bring myself to make independent decisions. I have no idea what I am and am not allowed to do as ridiculous as this sounds.

Recently I've been trying to give myself permission to do things and this has been quite useful, but these things are usually small in scope.

This inability to make decisions has left me just kinda shuffling along in life every so often.

In my early 20s my mom told me some place was hiring nearby and so I applied and stayed at this awful job for 5 years. 12-14 hour shifts with no lunch breaks. I just stayed because I didn't know what I was allowed to do other than that job. They paid me only slightly above minimum wage and my year end "bonus" was a company wide lunch (as long as we rated well on our health inspection (which we did by being perfect little employees and following all the rules when the inspectors were around)).

Now I'm at a different, much better job (once again advised by my mother that this place was hiring). I've worked here for 5 years as well now and I'm starting to feel trapped, it is a nice job but I don't want to live in this city anymore, however, as someone with no education, I can't really move somewhere else and expect to get another job with equal pay. Not to mention Canada's housing prices (a topic for another time).

So let's circle back to where we started. What is a successful life? I just want a small home and a quiet life, while owning just a fancy computer and a decent internet connection. Unfortunately this seems to be out of my grasp ultimately. I also wish to make lots of friends online and expose myself to lots of new communities that I never even dreamed of, but where do I even begin with that? I've never been part of a community before.

This has gone on a lot longer than I was expecting this to but I'm glad I could just say this to the void. Can the void even read this? Hello? Ah well, until next time void.

[chill-that-ur-inmyhead]

How much did your senior prom dress cost you? It was £450 and that didn't include the shoes... it was extravagant

What dreams have stuck with you since childhood? I want to visit New York still!

Have you ever been in a serious romantic relationship? yep

Did you ever take your dog to school? Wouldn't have a dog to take but how cool!

If you had had a baby in high school, what would you have named him or her? For sure Lorelai or Christopher or any of the Gilmore Girls names but those two are my fav names.

If you had a baby now, what would you name him or her? It is probs the same haha

Have you ever seen someone throw up on a plane? Nope, thankfully

Do you get motion sickness? I can do but not severely

Has God ever healed you of anything? If so, what? Caring what others think but maybe that was also me maturing as well haha.

What is the most boring church you have ever attended? Welp growing up catholic I can tell you they weren't as fun as I know some churches can be but I kept my faith so it did something right.

What is the most lively church you have ever attended? I haven't attended any other church but catholic.

Do you find church fun or boring? It was boring when I was a child for sure.

What do you hate the most about summer? When the temperature reaches an oppressive heat where you're just constantly uncomfortable.

Which part of your body is the most muscular? Calves lol.

Did you ever take Latin in school? Nope

Which major holiday is closest to your birthday? Valentine's day if that counts as major

What is your favorite Japanese name? Never thought about it

Have you ever ran a cash register? Yep

Did you collect Bratz dolls when you were younger? I had a couple but my collection was mainly Barbie.

Do you think your mom is attractive? Yep.

What was the last thing that disappointed you? Realising that ft. Lana Del Rey just means backing vocals and not a verse.

Do you like the feeling in your stomach on a big drop on a roller coaster? Bleurgh nope

Skeletons or scarecrows? Scarecrows

Do you own pumpkin earrings? Nope

What computer game did you used to play all the time? Dolphin Olympics omggg throwback

When was the last time you read a book? I read every night before bed, or at least I try to.

Would you allow your children to date prior to 16? (assuming you want any) Yikes. I haven't thought about this much but I shall ponder it. I'm going to say yes because if my kid is wanting to date then I can't stop them and I want them to confide in me to ensure they're being safe.

What was the last restaurant you made a reservation at? Ohhh I can't remember the last but I will be making one tomorrow for Tuesday meeting a friend in London!

Which app on your phone do you tend to get the most notifications from? Mail or the BBC haha

Do you watch political shows? Not recently, but I would do

Do you play any fantasy/roleplaying games? What? Nope

Do you like salami? I don't think I have tried it.

When was the last time you ate meat? For dinner earlier on tonight.

What was the last hot drink you drank? Peppermint tea

Have your parents met your boyfriend/exes? yes

How about your boyfriend’s parents? Met them? yes

Do you know how to say I love you in at least 4 languages? I had to look up Italian so that makes four now haha

Do you find the sound of a cat’s purr relaxing? Not personally since I haven't been around cats much.

Do you know your mum’s first pet’s name? Tufty, a rabbit.

Would you ever want to be famous? If so, for what? Nope, but I would like lots of money that usually goes with the fame ahah.

Would you ever get a heart tattoo or your back? Nope

What fruit can’t you stand? Watermelon is too watery and tasteless for me

Do you know anyone autistic? Yep

How about someone bipolar? Yep

What do you consider private to you? Surprisingly listening to music - it is very personal but I am slowly learning to enjoy listening with others.

Name somebody you know who deserves a better life than they have: All my friends and family pretty much

Name something that you’re good at but don’t like: Being straightforward but it can come across as blunt and rude sadly.

Name something that you’re bad at but DO like: Saving money hehe

Name somebody who has tried to help you and ended up hurting you: Oooooo my one of my exes for sure

Name a date that has a lot of significance to you: 21/10/22 - midnight ;)

Name something that you’ve done that would be considered rebellious: Skipped school in the afternoon to go to a concert in the city

Name something you wish you had enough money to do: Buy multiple properties in the major cities, London, Paris, New York etc

[fairycosmos]

being angry at your parents is so freeing. Recently I keep seeing takes about how we should all try and heal our parents trauma and intergenerationally heal but with all due disrespect this only works if your parents only sucked slightly and not if they actually were abusive. In what world does an abused person need to stay behind and 'fix' their abuser! Just because they're family! In what world does having trauma make ruining your children's lives, children you chose to have, less morally reprehensible!!! When in reality it should be parents waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat realising all the damage they've done to their children and begging for forgiveness. Blood means absolutely nothing to me if there's no actually love and care to back it up and I'm tired of family being held to a different standard

omg literally! i wish i could get this tattooed on my billboard forehead. i think the narrative that the hurt child has to be the one to forgive in order to heal is veryyyyy convenient for the abuser and it's basically just bullshit through and through. healthy anger and rage that stems from KNOWING you deserved better is way more productive and natural and understandable imo. ugh i can't stand parents who really expect their kids to just bury the hatchet after causing them so much pain during their most formative years too like it's almost. scary. that they don't feel any genuine guilt or they don't have any true awareness that they don't necessarily DESERVE forgiveness! that they thoroughly failed the being they chose to bring into this world! swear some ppl are just so blinded by their own stupidity and cruelty. the audacity the ego the entitlement the ignorance the gall the gumption! the weird expectation that you owe your family something or that theyre the exception to your boundaries is just wild to me and almost inherently toxic. i don't get it at all, either. i couldn't agree more and i hope you scream at everyone who hurt you for all eternity if that's what you need <3 like u said. they should never sleep well again after all

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 3

Here is act 3!!! Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm so far! Hope you enjoy :)

8.6k - masterlist - ao3

--

Aelin has never really thought of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She’s always had Elide, Aedion and Lysandra, but they almost fall into a separate category. Like what they’ve been through surpasses friendship, and she thinks at this point Elide and Lysandra are as much her family as Aedion.

Throughout her years in the industry she hasn’t made many friends, Chaol and Dorian are probably the only two, but she's learned how things work. It didn't take her long to realise that all the girls she met at auditions, and bonded with over all of the things they had in common, would have stabbed her right in the back at the earliest opportunity.

It's cutthroat, but she can't say she's never succumbed to the temptations.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never pretended she was there to audition for another character just to get the other actress to spill her analysis of the character. She can’t say it was unintentional when she’d leave the audition room and then pretend to take a phone call where she’d discuss how pleased the casting director had been with her take and had promised to call, watching the faces fall of the other hopefuls she waltzed past.

She can’t say she’d never do it again.

That said, she feels like she has a good thing going with Fenrys, Manon and Rowan. They've hung out a couple of times and she likes them admittedly more than she thought she would at first. The dynamic is fast and snappy, funny and sarcastic, and she can feel herself getting back into the old motions.

Aelin knows they’re friends now, and it feels really fucking good, but she has one concern. She’s not entirely sure that what she feels for Rowan can be described as friendship and she’s kicking herself for letting it happen. The physical attraction she can excuse, he looks how he looks and she’s defenseless against that, but the rest? The rest is where she’s really let herself go.

He’s opened up to them a lot more now, and they spend a lot more time together than they did at the start. Just last week she had thrown herself into her seat at the end of a long day of shooting and plunked her feet in his lap. She had expected him to throw them off and growl something at her, but he had simply rested his left hand on her ankle and continued to scroll through his phone with his right.

It had felt far too easy to settle into his touch, and far too enjoyable to have the heat of his skin against her own.

Even so, there’s a level of detachment to his interaction with them. He falls somewhere between bemused dad and despairing lecturer tasked with herding a group of unruly children through a life or death venture. He curses actors all day long but he’s just as dramatic. There are moments when she catches him beginning to smile at a comment from Fenrys or the bickering she and Manon do before he halts himself and seems to rein it back in.

She wants to see him grin.

It’s kind of weird to think back to the first week of shooting and how unsure she felt around them, how insecure she was of her own ability compared to theirs, but by now she’s pretty sure she’s past the worst of that and she doesn’t want to waste any more time doubting herself, at least in comparison to them. It helps when Rowan makes little comments like nice job, Aelin or when she catches the nod he does after she nails a scene, especially when he tries to hide it.

She posted a picture on Instagram of the four of them from set last week, her and Manon crouched at the front wrapped up again in the massive coats they give them on set, their faces almost completely covered by the puffed up collars, and Rowan and Fenrys stood behind them, their arms crossed across their chests and faces twisted into overly dramatic imitations of anger. It had taken some pleading and possible bribery from Fenrys to get Rowan to agree to the pose, but they had succeeded in the end.

She had captioned it so we stole their coats… and tagged each of them, watching as the likes came flooding in. Only seconds later the comments had begun to run a bit wild.

This is going to be so good I can already tell.

fenrys looks so hot fuck me up

ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!

Are they dating?

She stopped reading the comments pretty quickly after that.

They’re about a third of the way into shooting, and Aelin knows what she’s accomplished so far is some of her best work. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s put hours and hours of her time into understanding her character and she feels like she truly knows Feyre, and almost sees some of herself in her. There are differences of course, Aelin isn’t quite as naive as Feyre or as forgiving, but they’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and Aelin likes to think she’s working just as hard as Feyre to pick herself back up.

She finishes the take, and slaps her usual high-five against Fenrys’ palm and sends her regular nod over to Rowan. Good? Her nod asks. Good, his own gesture returns. She tucks her smile away as she begins to wander over to where he’s stood chatting with a producer.

She’s built a habit of going over to him once they finish shooting, she wants to seek him out constantly, and she feels drawn to him in a way that she’s beginning to lose the fight against. She’s about halfway towards him when she spots a tall head of brown hair making its way towards her.

She barely has time to process before there are a pair of strong arms around her waist and she’s being lifted up and swung around, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

“Hello, superstar.” His voice is deep in her ear and she can feel the vibrations where she buries her face into his neck.

“Gods! I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.”

She gasps as he places her back down on the ground and she can finally smile up at Chaol. Taking in the chestnut-brown of his hair and the faint creases beginning at the corners of his rich brown eyes. Gods, she’s missed him.

She’s known he’d be visiting the set at some point. The Crescent City is his baby, a script he’s been working on for years, and she knows he couldn’t stomach leaving it all to Rowan without any supervision.

He had first mentioned it to her a few years ago, but back then it was nothing more than an idea. Aelin knew he had been chipping away at it in the background for a while and it wasn’t a surprise when he first sent it to her. It’s different now though, now that there’s a budget and a set and actual progress made in getting it on screen.

It feels like a big deal to her; she can’t imagine how Chaol feels.

She had never dreamed though, through all of their midnight conversations about it and their half-dreaming out loud discussions, that she would be the one to star in it.

Chaol just grins at her, a twinkle in his eyes that she knows means he’s happy, and says “thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.” She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck for a second time. She squeezes him tight and breathes him in, his smell is comforting and it makes her feel young again. “How long are you here for?”

He gives her waist a short squeeze, reminding her that his hands are still resting there with hers still up on his shoulders. It’s not the closest she’s ever been to him, and it doesn’t cross her mind for her touching him so freely to be an issue.

“A couple of days.” He smiles down at her again. “Lunch?”

“Of course, let me change first?” She asks, releasing his shoulders and turning to walk back to her trailer. He holds a hand out, as if to say lead the way.

She sets off as he follows, and she can feel the lightness of the wide smile across her face. It’s a kind of comfort now that Chaol is here, he’s taken care of her for so many years and his presence grounds her in a way she hasn’t really found with many other people.

Rowan still stands with the producer behind where some of the team are tinkering with the filming equipment. His brow is drawn into a frown and the producer standing with him has begun to look profoundly uncomfortable.

The take was good, she knows that, and when he runs a jagged hand over his face a jolt of concern strikes her. He looks anguished, or frustrated, and she wonders how he’s soured so quickly after the silent exchange they shared mere moments ago.

His gaze snaps to hers and it’s a powerful thing. His stare weighs heavily into her, so much so she wants to look away and her steps falter. The stumble is barely perceptible, but she sees it and thinks maybe he does too. There’s something thorny in the pull of his brows and the twist of his mouth and she wants to go over, ease his troubles, but that’s not her place. And Chaol is inches behind her following her lead.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Chaol and his mouth twists further. And not to get ahead of herself yet again, but surely not, right? His gaze switches back to rest on her, only for a second longer before he mouths something short and sharp to the producer and disappears.

Aelin shakes it off. She might think they’re friends, but as has become her mantra, he’s her boss. What she needs is something gentle and simple and uncomplicated. In the real world, everything she wants from Rowan is decidedly complicated.

Sitting opposite Chaol is a place she’s been many times before. More often than not, Dorian would have taken up the mantle at Chaol’s side, the pair of them closer than brothers. They have the kind of relationship she thinks truly cannot exist for people other than the two of them.

The level of understanding they share, the lengths they would go to for each other, it’s unparalleled and she longs to find a bond like that one day.

When she was younger being sat in a position like this, opposite Chaol, so close they could whisper to converse, would have been a dream. She had a bit of an infatuation with him when she first met him; he was a few years older than her, charming, handsome and calming. He had been her entrance to the world she lives in now and he had kept her safe and taken care of her.

She had thought he was everything she wanted.

She had realised pretty quickly, after going in for an ill advised kiss that he had swerved, that that would never be an option for them. He had let her down kindly and gently, which she appreciates now, even if it felt like a blow at the time.

He hadn’t let her pull back from him though, he had kept her close until she eventually got over the embarrassment and was able to look at him without blushing. It’s not something she dwells on now, she was young and naive and she could have done a lot worse than Chaol.

He was who she had gone to when she had met Sam. She had waxed poetic to him about the boy with the curly brown hair and the shy smile. She smiles lightly to herself at the thought of him, what he would make of where she’s at now.

He’d kiss her cheek with his arms around her waist, boasting how his girl, his baby, was a star in the making. She swallows the thought, struck by both the image and the lingering pain it brings, but also by the knowledge that she’s gone a couple of days without thinking of him.

She hasn’t thought of the boy with the brown eyes in a few days, hasn’t woken up screaming in even more. She breathes past the panic that threatens in her throat, both at the idea that she hasn’t thought of Sam for a while and the reasons there could be for that.

“How is the love of my life?” She focuses back on Chaol and watches him try very hard not to choke on his mouthful of his drink.

He had picked the cafe, even though she’s been in Rifthold for a while it is still far more his space than hers, and he knows the hidden gems like this that she isn’t privy to yet. It’s rustic and cosy, the brick walls have colourful bunting draped between them and none of the chairs inside match. She’ll have to come back if the food is good, the atmosphere inside is relaxed and busy enough that she can feel completely anonymous. She doesn’t want to leave, maybe next time she can bring a book.

“My beautiful wife is well,” he manages once he swallows, and she smirks at how he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Almost past the second trimester now, and still refusing to slow down.”

That sounds exactly like Yrene. She says as much and Chaol nods wearing the expression of a man who, if he didn’t love his wife so much, would be tired of chasing after her.

Yrene is a whirlwind of energy and efficiency and it’s why she’s one of Aelin’s favourite people. She’s full of exciting tales and inspiration, that is, when she can get Yrene to slow for a second enough to catch up. She probably doesn’t need her high paced job as a doctor in Rifthold General Hospital, like, Chaol’s scripts are successful, he’s won a number of awards that sit in a special cabinet in their house, but that’s just how Yrene is.

Caring and kind and so, so smart. If Aelin didn’t do what she does, she’d love to be like Yrene.

“Second trimester?” She cries. “He’s almost here!”

Chaol is again at risk of choking. “Aelin, please. I still have a few months left to get ready.”

He looks almost panicked and she scoffs. “Chaol, please.” She mocks his tone perfectly and ignores the eye roll he gives her. “You were born ready. You’ve basically raised me for the past few years and look how well I’m doing.”

He laughs, and she smiles, it’s exactly the reaction she wanted.

“I’m not sure that’s the glowing compliment you think it is,” He says dryly and she just pokes her tongue out at him.

“Chaol,” she begins, seriously this time. “You are already the best dad I know, you’ll be fine. And if not, the baby has Yrene, so he’ll definitely be fine.”

He doesn’t bite on any of it, just looks bashfully to the table cloth and nods. She can’t resist one last comment.

“And even then, he’ll have me and Dorian.”

“Gods, Aelin. The thought will send me to an early grave.”

She tilts her head to the side and sketches a flip of her hair over her shoulder. The combination of her and Dorian and a baby probably would give Chaol a heart attack but she’ll embody her role as the cool aunt, and Dorian can more than handle the cool uncle.

“Do you not want your child to be cool?” She knows he’s barely finding her funny at this point but she’s missed him and she loves winding him up.

He’s saved from having to respond by the arrival of their food. She stares longingly at his burger and greasy side of fries and forces herself to take a mouthful of her wilted salad.

After a few bites she notices his expression, something pinched around the corners of his mouth, and she knows there's something he wants to say.

To say that Chaol is less invested in her sobriety than Aedion and Lysandra would be a lie, but he doesn’t question it as openly as they do, so she doubts what he wants to say is anything to do with that. She’s ordered an orange juice to spice it up, and he has a tap water that he ordered without question so she thinks he mustn’t be concerned.

“What?” She says slowly, whatever it is she wants to know, and the pain of waiting for him to spit it out was almost too much.

He shakes his head and pops another fry into his mouth. She can’t resist stealing one and a swipe of ketchup off his plate.

He begins carefully, after using his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. “How is it going? You read the script pretty early on, do you think…”

He trails off, and seems to pause while he considers his words, but she doesn’t need him to finish.

“Chaol, I think it’s going really well,” she says and it’s sincere. “And it’s not just because I’m in it.”

It’s far easier to crack jokes and reassure others than it is to be the one being reassured.

He shoots her an unimpressed look, but she knows her words have done their job. Even through her faults she knows he trusts her judgement.

“I feel like you asked that in a way that meant you thought it wasn’t going well.”

She’s fishing a little, but Chaol is a gossip at heart, even worse than Dorian despite how he’d deny it.

He sees right through her, but relents as he takes another bite of his burger. She stabs another bundle of lettuce, dipping it in a pool of dressing resting in the bottom of her bowl as he swallows and speaks.

“I didn’t think it would go badly, but Fenrys Moonbeam has a bit of a reputation, and I just hope he’s taking it seriously. I put a lot of work into it.” He pauses and Aelin just waits. It doesn’t seem like he’s quite done. “Rowan Whitethorn too. But I think his reputation is a bit different.”

It puts her in a bit of a weird position with a sharp taste in her mouth, wanting to defend her new friends to one of her oldest, but Chaol has to understand that how he sees them isn’t right.

“I don’t think either of them is quite how you think.” She says it gently because she doesn’t want to risk irritating Chaol with this. “Fenrys works really hard, you know. He’s putting a lot of work into understanding Rhys, Rowan too. He puts a lot of thought into what he does, he’s really smart.”

He’s watching her silently, his eyes shining with a question she doesn’t want to answer.

“You’ve written an incredible story Chaol, we all want to do it justice.”

The quirk of his eyebrow is somewhat impressed as he takes her in, but maybe there’s something more in there. Something that catches the difference between the way she talks about Fenrys compared to the way she talks about Rowan.

“I’m glad,” is all he says.

“It’s going well,” she says and truly believes it. “I’ve said it before, but it really is a work of art, Chaol.”

She pauses, her next words thick in her throat. “Thank you… for writing it, I mean. It means a lot to me, and I am honoured to play this part.”

He nods thankfully, and she knows he appreciates the compliment but his response is typical Chaol. Quiet and understated but shining with sincerity.

There’s a moment before the corner of his mouth pulls upwards and she knows he’s just about to turn the game around and tease her now.

“A part of me wishes I hadn’t written so many intimate scenes between them, the thought of you and Fenrys Moonbeam…” He trails off.

She tugs her lips inwards between her teeth, pleading with the blush on her neck not to rise. They haven’t got to those scenes yet, and she’s been avoiding the idea of them. She doesn’t want to think about what she’ll have to do with Fenrys in a couple of weeks.

Fenrys isn’t the problem though, she knows he’ll be professional and respectful. The problem is that Rowan will be there, watching them, watching her, and the idea plays with her in a dangerous way. Everything about Rowan feels dangerous to her, and gods if that isn’t half the draw.

“I know we joked before, but you do know you’re not my father? You’re worse than Aedion,” she laughs.

Chaol just shakes his head, “I’m allowed to look out for you.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you’re only, what? Five years older than me?”

“Six. And Rowan Whitethorn is older than me.” The way he says it is noticeable, like he has a point to make.

“He is?”

So she didn’t know that, but it worries her how it doesn’t change things even a little bit. It doesn’t change how attractive he is, or the fact that she should be going nowhere near the idea of the two of them. She needs to call Elide, or her actual therapist.

“Yes, I think he was in the year above me at the Royal.”

She really doesn’t know all that much about him, hadn’t even known he went to the stage school in Adarlan.

What she knows is the fleeting moments she sees of him behind the camera, the expressions he makes when he’s impressed and when he’s not. She knows things like his coffee order, his hatred for the little pastries the catering department provide and how he doesn’t seem to drink alcohol. She knows about Lyria, but it’s from the internet, not him.

She doesn’t know him.

“Oh,” is all she manages.

Chaol eats another fry, watching her the whole time, and she wants him to look away. She has nothing to feel guilty about; they haven’t done anything. She has one, probably inadvisable, crush on her boss that she’ll speak to Elide about and get over. Then the movie will be done and she won’t ever have to see him again.

The dropping sensation in her stomach at the thought is less than desirable.

Chaol stays for a few days. He hangs around on set and sits in her chair while she films. It’s a pleasant kind of relief, tinged with an element of nostalgia, to have him around. He makes her feel like a kid again, and she feels herself looking towards him for approval when she desperately avoids how she wants to do the same to Rowan.

He relents on the second day, after having met Fenrys and Rowan properly, and admits to her that he thinks his baby is probably in good hands. She just says “I told you so,” because she’s a child and annoying Chaol is fun.

She’s sitting in Manon’s chair next to him, and they’re talking about Aedion. He and Chaol have a friendship she likes to pretend doesn’t stem from a mutual concern for her. Chaol is saying something about how he doesn’t envy Aedion’s schedule, but she’s barely listening.

Aelin’s watching where Rowan stands a few feet away. He’s wearing a soft-looking black sweatshirt and jeans, and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel to slip the sweatshirt on herself. How it would still be warm from his body, how the sleeves would trail way past her fingertips, how the smell of him would surround her.

He’s directing Manon, gesturing jaggedly with his hands and she’s nodding along. The shades of their hair almost match, Aelin notices absently, but she prefers the silver shine to Rowan’s compared to the clean-white of Manon’s. Rowan makes a gesture with his right hand and his fingers flex in a rhythmic movement, the elegant lengths of his fingers flowing freely in motion.

She wants to take that hand and put it on herself, she wants to run it down her side and between her thighs. She wants to take his fingers into her mouth and suck.

And like, what the fuck Aelin?

Texting Rowan is, objectively, a bad idea. Not that it’s a bad idea to text a colleague and ask to hang out, it’s just that that isn’t exactly what she wants to get from texting him. So yes; it’s a bad idea, and Aelin knows this, but she’s been thinking of doing it for a couple of days and the desire to do so hasn’t faded. She’s thought about it for long enough that she’s rationalised it, it’s not rash.

Aelin wants to know Rowan.

She taps away at her screen, hi rowan… No. That's not right. Aelin deletes it.

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Nope. Not right either. She bites her lip while she backspaces the string of letters.

She wants to seem casual, so if he’s not into it it’s not awkward. Aelin’s a feminist, but she still doesn’t want to outright ask him out until she’s tested the waters a little more, got a bit of a better read on him and whether he could be into it or not.

She thinks he is, at least a little bit. She knows his eyes linger on her sometimes, sometimes her face, sometimes her arse. She likes it, but whether all he feels is attraction, or whether he feels the same as her is a mystery.

She still hasn’t spoken to Elide about it, but there’s a devil on her shoulder whispering that she’s probably past the point of no return already.

i’m sick of takeout, she types. want to go and grab a bite somewhere???

Aelin taps send before she can overthink it. She can always invite Fenrys to come along too if Rowan doesn’t seem keen on doing something just the two of us.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes with a response. You’re sick of takeout, so you want to go and eat out?

She chews the inside of her cheek, his response doesn’t really give her much. And while it’s not a rejection, it’s not a yes. Maybe her text was stupid, gods, why didn’t she think-

Her phone buzzes again. How about I cook something instead?

Much better. She smiles as she writes her response.

i don’t really want food poisoning :/// my boss might be a bit pissed if i can’t work

The bubble with the three dots pops up immediately, and her thumbs hover over the screen as she waits.

Ha. Ha. He sends, and she can’t fight the little laugh that escapes her as she imagines him rolling his eyes at her. His next text comes through pretty quickly. I’m on board with going out if you want, just thought something more private could be better.

And shit. There are a number of ways she could interpret that. Aelin’s trying not to read into things, things like Rowan saying he wants to go somewhere private with her, he could just be talking about paparazzi. Damn, he probably is just talking about paparazzi.

oh yeah sounds good actually but pls don’t poison me

He just sends a straight faced emoji.

Aelin leans back into her couch as he sends another follow up text.

Do you want to come here?

She could, but he hosted last time. And while she liked the atmosphere at Rowan’s house, she can’t deny that she likes the idea of him here. She likes the idea of seeing Rowan making his way around her kitchen, likes the idea of Rowan sitting opposite her at the end of this couch.

or you could come here????

She bites the corner of her nail as she stares at her screen, waiting for his response to come through.

Sure. I’ll swing by the store to grab some ingredients. How many people am I cooking for?

Aelin pauses, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

was thinking 2 but i can invite others if you want

She thinks that’s pretty clear, but it also puts the ball in his court. She’s the most nervous she’s been so far as she waits for his reply, and the three dots pop up before disappearing again. They pop up again, before finally his message comes through.

Don’t. His text reads. I’ll pick up enough for two.

His response is pretty clear too, and she smiles as she sends three thumbs up emojis.

Her apartment isn’t dirty, or even messy, but once she’s locked her phone she’s up and full of nervous energy. It’s probably presumptuous to make sure her bed is made, but she does it anyway. She leaves the leggings and oversized sweater she wears on, it’s casual, she’s chilled out. Or she can at least pretend to be.

She’s doing her last round of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray socks or underwear that she could have left anywhere. A blush threatens her cheeks at the thought of Rowan and her underwear, but she forces it down when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

She swings the door open and there he is.

He looks good, as always, but today it’s highlighted by the deep green military-style jacket he has thrown on over his plain white t-shirt. The tan of his skin always looks good against bright white, and the green of his jacket draws out the depths of his green eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes as their eyes meet.

He smiles, a slightly crooked thing, and he just looks even more attractive. “Hey.”

He’s carrying a brown paper bag pressed against his side in his left hand, and she reaches out to take it from him as she steps aside to let him in. He steps in, but resists her grab for the bag, instead wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her into a brief hug. “Thanks for having me.”

His words take her back to the first time she visited his house. The time with Fenrys and Manon and the football game. The visit with her and Rowan in his kitchen.

She’s nowhere near as stiff with him as she was then and she lets herself relax into the hug.

“I only let you in on the promise of food,” she says into his chest and feels more than hears his reluctant snort of laughter.

Every time they touch she’s struck by how much she likes it. How much she wants more. But then he pulls back, twisting to push her door shut.

“I feel like I should let you know now before we go any further that I can’t cook.”

Rowan only raises a brow.

“Seriously, when I was in college I set off the fire alarm in my residence at least three times.”

“Three times?” His eyes widen in playful disbelief. “What were you making?”

“Well,” she laughs. “The first time I was trying to make Lysandra a birthday cake but then I got distracted and left it in the oven for three hours. The fire department got called but it was not that big of a deal, there wasn’t a fire.”

There’s laughter dancing in his clear green eyes as she regales her tale of youth. She practically beams at the knowledge that she has put it there.

“But our kitchen did smell like smoke for the rest of the year.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re bad at cooking.” Rowan tilts his head down at her and she realises they’re still standing in her entryway. “That sounds like you don’t pay attention.”

Aelin shrugs at his teasing. “The third time was the worst. I was trying to do that thing where you put vodka in pasta sauce.”

“Gods,” Rowan’s laughing now and she loves the low rumble of the sounds. It pricks the hairs on her arm as the sound washes over her skin.

“There were some flames,” she confesses and he winces.

She didn’t have a completely normal college experience, she was acting part time in very minor roles during her time there but she managed to make some memories in her short time there. After Sam she dropped out and the memories always leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Talking about this with Rowan and laughing at her silly little anecdotes is one of the first times it hasn’t hurt.

“Sucks to be an actor,” he says mockingly with a nod into her apartment as she finally leads him into the kitchen. The apartment she’s staying in is fine, more than fine, it’s actually a really great apartment and she tries to fake a frown through her smile.

Aelin shrugs. “We can’t all be big, household-name directors, living in glamorous mansions, too famous to go out to eat.”

She shoots him an amused look, and Rowan just smirks, tilting his head to the side in a way that exposes the length of his throat.

So maybe this was a fucking dangerous idea.

Inviting Rowan to her apartment had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s here, now he’s in her space, looking all… damn him, he looks so fucking good she feels flushed.

She used to think brunettes were her type, Chaol and Sam were both brunette, with tanned skin and brown eyes. Recently though, as much as she wants to resist it, her type has pretty much become Rowan.

Rowan with his silver hair, and green eyes. His low voice with it’s lilting accent from across the sea. His skin is tanned too, but she knows it comes from spending hours outside rather than genetics.

She hasn’t thought seriously about another man since they started filming, or more likely since the moment they met in the hallway.

And if she allows herself to admit it, probably a lot earlier than that.

She shakes herself as he watches her.

Rowan smirks at her as he places the bag on the counter. “We’ll have to try not to set this kitchen on fire.”

She’s perched atop her counter, with one knee crossed over the other, as she watches Rowan unpack the items from the bag. He’s shucked off the jacket by now, and the t-shirt he wears gives her uninterrupted access to the image of his toned arms and the tattoo that swirls down his left side.

She realises a moment too late that he’s asked her a question.

“What?”

She can tell Rowan knows why she didn’t respond, she just hopes it’s not too much for him. From the smirk he wears she thinks maybe not.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable skill, it may help to pay attention.” She flips him off and revels in the dark flash of a smile he offers. “I asked if you have a frying pan.”

Aelin pulls a face, she hasn’t done a lot of cooking here past the basics like pasta and soup. Her microwave has been a trusty companion.

“I don’t know.” She waves a hand to the cupboards that line the side of the room. “Have a look in there.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s deciding whether or not he likes her giving him orders, but then he turns to rummage through her cupboards before returning triumphant and waving the silver frying pan in her face.

“So, what are you making for me?” she asks as he finds a chopping board and unloads the hoard of vegetables he brought with himself.

“Veggie burgers,” he states simply, and she knows she pulls a face because he laughs. “Before you complain, they’re good for you. And they’re tasty.”

She still wrinkles her nose at him, unconvinced.

He cocks his head as he pauses his rhythmic chopping of the leafy green vegetable he has on the board. She’s trying desperately hard to make eye contact and not just stare at the motion of his hands, and his arms, and the ink swirling down his skin.

“Didn’t I promise not to poison you? Do you not trust me to take care of you?” Aelin doesn’t think she’s reading into things to hear the flirty tone to his voice.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried the burger.”

Rowan shakes his head at her, the ghost of a smile floating across his face as he resumes his chopping. “Ye of little faith.”

Aelin just shrugs, making a show of being sceptical by turning her nose.

“You could always help,” Rowan comments. “Or do you regularly invite guests around expecting them to make you a meal?”

“Tell me what to do, chef.” Aelin holds her hands out, ready for instruction. “I am yours to instruct.”

Rowan nods and reaches back into the bag and pulls out a can, he turns to find a bowl and a fork and places them in front of her. She’s impressed that in under half an hour he knows his way around her kitchen far better than she does.

“Mash these,” he says.

Her disgust isn’t pretend this time and her lip curls. “Mash these beans?”

Rowan nods.

“Mash them?”

“Yes, you do know what that means don’t you?”

Aelin hits him with the fork on the bicep and he laughs again, the sound smooth and rich in her stomach. “Shut up. You’re not convincing me this is going to taste good.”

Even so, she opens the can and is about to tip them into the bowl when Rowan grabs her hand. His fingers are warm and solid where they wrap around her own, and she snaps her eyes to his face at the contact.

“Rinse them first. You warned me and yet I still overestimated your ability in the kitchen.”

He’s smiling slightly, exposing the whites of his teeth, and he’s so close to her face. They’re almost level where she sits on the counter and Aelin swallows. His eyes are bright as he looks at her and she feels her smile grow involuntarily. Something flickers across his face before he clears his throat and steps back letting go of her hand. She misses his touch immediately after it’s gone.

Aelin slides off the bench and turns towards the sink to compose herself, she rinses the beans under the tap and Rowan stays silent while she does.

She turns back and tips them into the bowl and begins to mash as Rowan grates a carrot. Aelin really didn’t know her flat even came with these things.

“This is actually fucking disgusting.”

She’s managed to turn the bean mixture into a grey-ish mush. There’s no way this can taste good, she’s going to struggle even putting it in her mouth without retching.

Rowan snorts. “It’s good for you.”

Aelin wrinkles her nose again, but keeps going. It speaks volumes that she’s willing to trust Rowan on this.

It feels weirdly domestic to be here with him in her kitchen, and they move with an easy kind of synchrony. He adds his chopped vegetables to the bowl and she mixes them together as he readies the pan.

“Up for getting your hands dirty?” Rowan asks her once he’s done, and hell if Aelin doesn’t read far too much into that. The answer is yes.

“Always.” Sue her if she makes sure to look up at him through her lashes, and to bend forwards towards him as she rests her forearms on the kitchen counter.

“Grab a handful of the mixture,” He points to the contents of the bowl. “And shape it into a round patty.”

Aelin goes to put her hand tentatively into the bowl, it’s now a grey-ish mush with flecks of orange and green and she’s dreading it getting under her nails.

“Wait,” Rowan says, and he reaches out to roll the sleeves of her sweater up. It’s such a sweet gesture that it kind of takes her by surprise. The gentleness with which he holds her wrist as he rolls the fabric is nice, and she finds herself watching his face as he does it.

His brows pull together, in an expression she assumes is concentration, as he makes the careful motions. He looks good, she notes, not for the first time.

His thumbs and index fingers move down to squeeze the junction where her wrists meet her hands as he finishes and says, “there you go.”

“Thanks,” she breathes.

Aelin turns back to the bowl, attempting to somehow calm her heart. Rowan really needs to stop touching her if she wants to get over whatever this is. But now that he’s here, and he’s looking at her the way he is, and specifying that he wants to spend time with her, just the two of them…

It’s the first time she allows herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t something that’s only dangerous. She finally allows herself to consider the idea that this could be fun, this could be something she could really enjoy. And here, in her apartment just the two of them, he doesn’t have to be her boss. He’s just Rowan and she’s just Aelin.

She really likes that thought.

Rowan clicks the pan on, and the sound startles her out of her head. Aelin hesitates before finally plunging her fingers into the mush and gods, she has some faith in Rowan if she’s going to even consider eating this.

It’s gross, but she manages to shape it into two round patties, and she places them into the pan when Rowan instructs.

Aelin washes her hands as Rowan pays attention to the burgers, and she retakes her seat on the counter after sorting out their plates and condiments. She might not be a great cook, but she can be a good host.

She watches him flip them a couple of times, taking the opportunity to ogle without risk of being caught staring. He has strong arms, and the tattoo snaking down his left makes her mouth water with every flex of his muscles. He has wide hands with long, almost elegant fingers that she wants to link through her own. Aelin is reminded, as he lifts the pan, of the thought she had the other day when he was directing Manon.

It wasn’t the first time she had considered Rowan in a sexual way, but it was the most direct, and she’s not complaining, but sometimes it makes it a little difficult to concentrate in his presence.

Finally, he switches the heat off and turns to place the patties in their buns. Aelin has to admit they look a little better now that they’re cooked, but she’s still not convinced.

He presents her with the plate, wearing a bashful little smile, and she’s taken by how adorable she finds it. He’s actually nervous to hear what she thinks.

She slathers it in ketchup, hoping to make it somewhat palatable and lifts it to her lips, about to take a bite when he speaks.

“We’re eating here?”

Aelin pauses, putting the burger back on her plate. “Where else would we eat?”

Rowan shrugs, still holding his own plate. He doesn’t put any ketchup on his and she’s trying not to be disgusted. She taps the bench next to herself, and Rowan seems to deliberate for a moment before finally hopping up at her side. He towers over her again now that they’re on an even playing field and she likes it. She likes how much bigger he is than her, and likes it even more how she still feels safe with him.

“Okay, now go,” he says, still apprehensive of her reaction, and Aelin makes a big deal of taking a deep breath before her first bite.

She chews it all silently before swallowing, working to keep her expression neutral, and Rowan doesn’t look away from her face the whole time. She purses her lips afterwards, and waits for him to speak.

“So?”

“It’s not terrible,” she admits with a small smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.

Rowan quickly takes his own bite, and she watches the way his fingers dwarf the same bun that fills her hands. He hums his own pleasure.

“Not terrible,” he repeats. “Admit it, it’s good.”

She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder before she takes another bite. She was sceptical -- more than -- when it was still a mush, but she has to admit it’s tasty, and very Rowan. She doesn’t know for sure he’s a health nut, but based on the parts of his body that she’s seen and his distaste for all things sweet, she can guess.

“Maybe,” is all she says before taking another bite. He watches her with a smug smile, one she desperately wants to get rid of. It isn’t helpful that the way she wants to do so is by kissing him.

“Oh!” She jumps down from the counter, throwing her plate to the side, suddenly reminded. “You know what I have that would go perfectly with this?”

She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sets them down on the bench in between where she’s been sitting and Rowan. Aelin turns to the fridge before pulling out the small bottle.

Rowan groans, and she tucks the sound to the back of her mind. “Aelin,” he starts. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Come on,” she cries. “A milkshake is an essential with a burger and this is the best I have to offer. If I’d thought ahead I could have at least found a bottle of wine to go with the dinner you cooked for me.”

She’s not entirely sure why she said it, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s deduced that he doesn’t drink, and the reason for it, but it feels like an automatic apology that just slips off her tongue whenever she’s in a setting where alcohol could be a presumption.

Rowan’s expression locks down at her comment and she immediately regrets it.

“Um-” she starts but Rowan clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, avoiding her gaze, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Aelin all but whispers, and it surprises her when Rowan lets out a dark huff of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you know why.”

His voice has a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hates.

“I wasn’t-”

She stops when he finally looks up at her and she sees his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says again quickly and he only shakes his head and pats the counter at his side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes her retake her seat at his side and pick her burger back up, taking a bite as he takes a breath.

“It’s not something that usually falls into casual dinner conversation.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

It’s something she isn’t sure she realised the importance of at first. The offer of whether to share or not. She fights a desperate war inside of herself every time conversations head down a lane like this. The desire to scream her story from the rooftops squaring off against the desperation to remain closed up where no one will ever know what bubbles just below the surface.

Usually privacy wins. Usually she swallows those words down and stays quiet, keeping this reel of pain and loss and tragedy buried deep within, but here with Rowan, tucked away in the kitchen of her temporary home, the words don’t feel so daunting.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s often something that makes other people feel uncomfortable. They pity the guy with the dead fiancée”—Aelin blinks past the way his voice wavers—“but they don’t want to actually hear about it. I’ll spare you the gorey details but after that I couldn’t bring a drink to my lips again. I’ve never so much as considered it — never wanted to.”

There’s an ache beginning in her chest, and she puts her burger back down on her plate. Rowan hasn’t touched his since his first few bites. She desperately wants to comfort him, wants to place a hand on his shoulder and take the pain away any way she can, but she knows from experience that it can’t be done.

This kind of pain, this grief, is something that can’t be taken away. She lives with her grief and her guilt after Sam every day of her life, and she thinks she will forever. No matter how many therapy sessions she goes to, no matter how many days and weeks and months pass, Sam will always be a part of her. Scrawled across her heart in his messy penmanship.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “More than you’d think.”

This is the moment where she could probably finish, where she could twist the conversation back to Rowan and pat his shoulder sympathetically, or where she could tug it to somewhere new and safe.

But she doesn’t often get opportunities like this, in the dim light and the quiet of her flat where the only other sound is the noise coming from the hood above her cooker. She doesn’t often get to talk about this with someone who truly understands.

All of her friends tried in the months after Sam, and gods bless them they still do, but none of them were as close to Sam as she was. They were upset for Aelin and her loss, not at the loss of Sam. And Rowan, who sits next to her staring at the floor, she thinks he could understand.

His gaze lifts from the floor to meet hers as she begins to speak.

“His name was Sam,” she says and Rowan nods.

“I know.”

Aelin feels her breath leave her chest in a whoosh.

“I saw some of the headlines at the time, Aelin I’m so sorry.”

Her jaw works as she tries to find the words, any words, to respond to that. But she’s shaken. She didn’t think anyone knew, or even noticed, outside of her immediate circle. But then she thinks back to the dinner they shared, the way his gaze had burned into her when the conversation had turned to her break. He knows — he has known — and he gets it.

She shakes her head, composing herself enough to speak. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His lips twist as she repeats his words back to him.

She doesn’t mean to say, “I knew about Lyria too,” but Rowan just nods, breaking their gaze to stare down at where their hands lie beside each other with an expression she can’t read.

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, for any number of reasons, but she reaches out to twine their fingers together atop the marble of her countertop. His fingers are rough and calloused between her own but the thumb he rubs against the back of her hand is gentle and reassuring.

He doesn’t speak, but there isn’t anything Aelin feels the need to say. It’s a kindred kind of silence, one borne of more pain than either of them could bear to speak aloud, and there’s an awful feeling of comfort in it. She knows he’s thinking of Lyria the way she’s thinking of Sam. But there is a part of her mind, a part that’s like a rising sun creeping above the horizon to break the shadow of night, that’s thinking of Rowan too.

Eventually she picks her burger back up again, it’s cold now but she can reluctantly admit it doesn’t taste horrendous. Their fingers stay linked as they each eat single-handedly, building themselves back up to sharing short stories and playful quips.

She’s glad she invited him, her boss or not.

[muchymozzarella]

I know y'all just want an excuse to harass people for literally no reason but I'd hope you could at least figure out some critical thinking skills

@grossularia it literally means you're ok with any ship, it's in the name.

@vellicour have you ever considered that you're accusing someone of something they never did because you don't know the difference between "people who like shipping and have no issues with other people's ships" and "pedophiles"

@mergaliscious genuinely you should have stopped before "but" and you would've been correct

@anythingbeatsnothing you're basically justifying why you piled on an innocent person who's done nothing wrong because you chose to misunderstand a basic ass word whose meaning is in the name. From where I'm standing all I'm seeing is an internet rando harassing someone over fictional characters. Also - comparing it to a war instead of something you're just doing to be a dick and for your own selfishness, that's very George W Bush of you.

@agospos you don't need to tell everyone you assigned a meaning to a word without bothering with critical thinking, because that's not what that word means, and now you have to grapple with the idea that you were a shitbag to an innocent person for no reason beyond you being an idiot who got brainwashed by assholes on the internet who actively make abuse victims' lives worse.

@anarchenby lmao that's rich coming from someone who's on the side of those who actively help pedophiles by preventing CSEM organisations from doing their jobs by flooding them with false reports over fictional characters and fake drawings. Good on you for making the world objectively worse by not only harassing innocent people, but also ruining the lives of children who need help.

Makes you a real hero.

The truth is if you can't find anything the op did wrong beyond being "proship" then you must realise you attacked someone for exactly no reason. You've made up a reason in your head but I'm here to tell you you lied to yourself.

Even if you had something against being proship, the reasonable, adult thing to do is simply avoid someone. Ignore them. They're literally not doing anything except use a label you don't like. But instead, you decided to show your ass.

-

It's amazing how much every single person in these have convinced themselves they're doing the right thing. They do nothing to help others, they claim to care about pedophiles but 100% do nothing to stop them or prevent kids from getting hurt.

This is how it looks when a bunch of zealots on the internet want to play act being good people while doing exactly what conservatives or major religious organizations do - openly harass innocent people for what they've decided a word they don't understand means. They piled on an artist who's done exactly nothing wrong and want to justify themselves. But in the end they're just looking for a target for their own issues. They'll never help kids, they'll never help anyone, because this is purely about their ego and nothing else.

I don't feel sorry for them because they can get fucked, but I hope y'all are able to avoid them.

[sunjaesol]

juke | human au | title: fearless // taylor swift

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As they were walking up the front lawn of her childhood home, nerves wrecked her body. Even her hand, snug in Luke's, felt clammy and sweaty and suffocating. God, this was such a mistake — going home, not him. He didn't even realise what he had gotten himself into by falling for the youngest darling of the matriarch.

Or rather, she shouldn't have fallen head over heels for the swoon-worthy Luke Patterson, but she never really stood a chance.

But everything had happened so fast! One second banter easily flowed between them, warm and easy flirtatiousness without consequences, the next she was at IKEA helping him pick out a bookshelf while he somehow knew whenever she needed pizza and a good cuddle. They were very much in a committed relationship, something the Molina women very much frowned upon.

It wasn't as if they were all deeply scared of love and relationships, but the Molina family was a matriarchy. All women raised families on their own, no man to help. Divorced, cheated on, died, a donor, infertile and therefore adopting children — men were of zero priority.

So, coming home with her boyfriend whom she deeply loved? Definitely a risk. She was surprised he was still standing, that she hadn't scared him enough yet.

Spinning on her heels in front of the door, she shot him an anxious smile. "Are you... sure you wanna do this? We're, like, really intense."

Luke smiled, tender. "Do I wanna meet the family of my girlfriend? 'Course I do." When her expression didn't change, he added, "Jules, just 'cause they all did the 'no guy' thing, doesn't mean you have to follow that, right? And I'm not scared."

Oh, God. His courage was as admirable as it was stupid.

She chuckled, antsy. "You haven't met my mom though."

His smile widened as he dipped down to kiss her, gently, hands caressing her cheeks. For a moment, stress fled her system.

But then the door flew open.

"There you are!" Mom exclaimed, a glass of red wine in one hand and music booming over her shoulder. "And is this the boy toy?"

"Mom!" Julie grumbled, embarrassed to be caught kissing (God, she's twenty-three!) as well as putting Luke in a bad position.

First impression of him: seeing him kiss her beloved daughter on the doorstep. Great.

"Hi," Luke said, dazzling her with a smile while he stuck his hand out. "I'm Luke. And I'm, uh, older? So..."

"Meh," Rose trailed, lamely shaking his hand. "Still a boy toy. Anyway, come in! Food's warm!"

Following her mom inside, Luke shot her a strange look, like it was only registering now all her tall tales were, well, true. Shrugging with a sheepish grin, she placed their shoes and jackets in the wall closet and then made the agonising trek to the loud, jumbled chatter.

As expected, all the California-based Molina women were present. Which meant ten, including her, all staring at Luke like he was a weird specimen. Her hand squeezed his beneath the table in support, and he was finally squeezing back just as tightly.

Was it bad she felt some sick pleasure he understood how fucked he was? Probably. It seemed warranted.

When everyone had their plates filled, the interrogation began.

"So, Luke, how old are you?" Victoria asked.

"Twenty-five."

"Going around town with a twenty-three year old?" She sniffed. "Interesting..."

"Do you have any siblings?" Donna inquiried.

A wry grin ticked up his lips, sensing the irony of the situation. "I, uh, I'm an only child, actually. Mostly raised by my dad, 'cause my mom worked long hours."

Shoving a fork of meatloaf in her mouth, Julie withheld a guttural wince at his words. Luke Patterson was the poster child of everything the Molina's didn't like and she brought him in their cave.

"What do you do for a living?" Abuela croaked, peering intensely.

His smile didn't falter, but instead widened. "I'm in a band, but I also bartend a couple of nights a week."

"A band, huh?" Mom leaned forward, intrigued. "Has Julie told you I used to be in a band?"

"How can I not, mom?" Rolling her eyes, Julie added, "You'd tell him anyway..."

"I was in The Petal Pushers, the best protest punk-rock feminist group of the 90s." Her fist punched in the air as she spoke and Julie could imagine the fingerless leather gloves and purple streaks as she did. "What kinda... band do you have?"

Her endearing Luke didn't read the warning signs humble himself, so he enthusiastically perched himself at the end of his chair as he said, "Punk-rock too, actually! Yeah, we're really killing it right now at all the clubs."

She smirked. "I'm sure you do."

"What are your plans with Julie?" Elena asked, one of her cousins.

Both her and Luke froze at that. Shit. That... was not something they've discussed. A relationship of seven months was still pretty fresh, not ready for a confrontational talk about futures and plans.

He scraped his throat, briefly let his gaze flicker to her, and then uttered, "I'm, uh, a one day at a time kinda guy."

Julie cringed, not hiding it this time. To her, it was an alright, albeit lame answer. But to her family? Horrible. So, so horrible. Gah, she had to put an end to this!

Abuela scoffed, nearly choking on her hard seltzer. "One day? At a time? What is this, the 70s? My little girl deserves more than carpe diem!"

Mimi hissed. "Wrong, wrong answer, boy toy."

The questions kept shooting at lightning speed, each one more outrageous than the other, while Julie's grip on her fork tightened and tightened in anger.

"How many times a week do you shower?"

"What's your least favourite colour?"

"Do you pick up women? Is that how you make extra money?"

"What's your view on children?"

"Can you handle spice?"

"How did you even find our darling, huh? Did you lure her into that bar of yours?"

"Is Luke short for Lukas, or Lucrative?"

"Alright, enough!" Julie screamed, standing up with a stomp of the foot.

A hush crossed the table, aghast and surprised, her mother perpetually amused as always (too many in drugs in the 90s, she presumed) while Abuela feigned to be sleeping. 'Resting her eyes' would likely be the excuse.

"This is insane! Stop acting like this and start treating Luke with a little respect!"

From the corner of her eye, she vaguely noted he was staring at her, gobsmacked. He did well, given the circumstances, but she couldn't just idly sit there and let him take all this shit.

Mom puffed, leaning back in her chair. "We haven't been disrespectful, Julie."

"You have, mom! Can't I just have a boyfriend without—"

"We've invited him," she interrupted. "That's enough of a courtesy."

And before Julie could fire back, furious beyond belief, Rose added, "You know how the Molina cookie crumbles, honey. No men stay. Not for long, anyway."

That smug response made her explode. "Mom! Can you just for once—?!"

"I love her though," Luke quipped, shy.

The fight halted instantly, all ten women gawking at him like he just spoke a new language.

And he did, to Julie at least. Luke loved her? Even after all of this? She obviously knew he wasn't impartial to her, those seven months equalling tenderness and partnership like nothing she's ever experienced before, but... love? He was in love with her?

How could she abide by the 'Molina Women Rule!' rules when he confessed that, no hesitation or stutter heard?

And so, Julie's heart melted. "You love me?"

"Of course, I do," he whispered. "Why else would I be here?"

Elena nodded, sympathetic. "Good point."

Unable to stop her smile from becoming a dazzling, lovesick beam, she repeated his words with as much conviction as she could muster. "I love you too, Luke."

Abuela shot up from her sleep with a cough and a snicker. "Yeah, right."

Mom waved her glass around, congratulating them. For the first time tonight, her tone held kindness instead of poorly veiled contempt. "That's very sweet, Luke. Tell me in seven more months how you're feeling then."

Though Julie couldn't expect her to suddenly change her ways. Damn.

Mimi scowled. "We're letting 'I'm a one day at a time kinda guy' slide?"

Disgruntled chatter rose again, and that was her cue to go. Tapping Luke's shoulder, she mouthed home — something she hadn't done before and wasn't sure which apartment she meant either, but it left flutters in her chest regardless — and he nodded in understanding.

Oh, God. He loved her. That still hadn't set in.

"And if you'll excuse us, me and Luke are going," Julie continued. "Thanks for dinner, mom."

The woman laughed, baring all her teeth. She clearly had a fun time. "See you at Victoria's birthday, mi amor. And Luke? Who knows!"

He forced a chuckle at her remark. Awkwardly bouncing on his heels, he waved at all the ladies. "It was really cool to meet you all. Now– now I know why Julie's so incredible. So... thanks." A true smile appeared. "This was great."

No one said anything after that. Abuela gurgled her drink and her cousins prodded at their leftovers, mom peering at her like she was trying to find something. Sometimes, Julie and Rose were so alike, and other times, they were complete strangers. She liked that. It kept dinners like these exciting, she supposed. Mom seemed to think the same.

They bid goodbye one last time with a kiss on the cheek, and then they hurried out the door. A giggling breath left as the cool wind hit her skin. Luke was buzzing with adrenaline, unable to keep his limbs still.

Clambering in her car, the comforting quietude wrapped around them as the doors slammed shut. A beat passed. No one spoke.

"What the fuck," he whispered, horrified. "What the fuck. What the fuck did just happen? What the fuck—"

Julie squealed. "You love me!"

"That's what you got from that?!"

"Of course!" Her arms curled around him, teasing. "You love me!"

"That shouldn't be the most surprising thing tonight, Jules," he grumbled, though a playful shimmer sparked within his beautiful eyes. "I thought I was, y'know, obvious."

She shrugged, bashful. "It's always nice to hear, no?"

"Oh, man," he sighed, eyes flickering across her face as though he couldn't decide what to focus on, as though she was indescribably stunning. Her heart swelled tenfold at the thought. "I love you, Julie. So fucking much. Even with your crazy family."

Laughing, she reached forward and kissed his lips, fingers pressing in his neck and their silly grins preventing them from deepening the warm touch.

"Let's go," he mumbled, noses nudging, eyes hooded and pouring with the love she somehow hadn't noticed before. "Before they're ready for round two."

But before he could move away, she kissed him again, better this time, and cherished his sigh when they slowly seperated.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Like, a lot."

He grinned, breathless. "Good to know."

Victoria's birthday was four months later, and Luke attended as well. And also for Mimi and Elena and mom and Abuela and Donna and every other Molina member. And when Julie got surprised with a 24th birthday party, she figured out Luke and mom combined their powers to host it.

Molina women were independant and lived life by their own rules... which included Julie.

Loving Luke Patterson unconditionally probably made her the most unique Molina of all.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @ourstarscollided @thedeathdeelers @pink-flame @constantly-singing @willexx @unsaid-emily

[nervousladytraveler]

Another wee bit from Duty (Chapter 3? 4?)

---

A single drop of water dripped from the crack in the ceiling, hit Demelza’s cheek, then rolled onto her pillow. At first she thought it was a tear--her own--then realised it was a leak coming from the flat above.

Now wasn’t exactly the proper time for any tenant to be asking any landlord for repairs. They all felt lucky each time they woke to find their buildings still standing; the growing piles of rubble in the city reminded them every day of this good fortune.

Ross hadn’t noticed the leak, but then again he didn’t visit her flat for the ambiance and decor. She made a mental note to shift her bed closer to the other wall after he left later that night.

“We haven't spoken of plans,” Ross said suddenly. He’d been so quiet she’d thought he was asleep. Now it seemed he’d just been lost in thought or trying to find the right words for whatever it was he had to say.

“Plans?” she said and sat up slightly. Of course she knew exactly what he was referring to.

“What’s to come next. As much as I enjoy my nights with you, and want nothing more than to enjoy the present, each moment, we can’t ignore it anymore…” he said.

“I know,” she said softly, “and believe me, I’ve found it rather impossible to ignore.”

“Have you been that sick?” he asked and laid his hand on her arm. It was both a protective gesture and also his go-to defensive move, when in truth there was nothing he could do for her.

“Not always. It hasn't been morning for me but early afternoon,” she explained.

Recently there had been bad headaches as well. She’d see floaters then vibrant lightning flashes at the edges of her vision, before it would all go black--just for a moment. Unlike the nightly blackouts enforced by the ARP wardens, her blackouts never lasted long. But they scared her nonetheless, especially when they occurred at work or on the street. She hadn’t told Ross about them, and suspected they were merely the result of not eating much. In time they’d surely pass.

“Do you want to be rid of it?” It was a bald question, but one she’d anticipated. Another drop from the crack fell on her face--this time she wiped it away.

“Do you mean…?” she asked. She knew exactly what he meant.

“Yes,” he said simply then exhaled. He was so used to smoking during difficult conversations that often his breathing followed the same patterns, even if he didn’t have a cigarette in hand.

“Is that what you want? Would that be easiest for you?” she asked.

“It wouldn't be easy for you, and not necessarily safe even with the best of doctors…” he said. The hand on her arm tightened yet again. “And no, I don't want that. But I can make arrangements, if that's what you…”

“No, Ross. That's not what I want either.” It wasn’t really something she could put into words but nothing made much sense to her these days.

“I had another idea, speaking of arrangements,” he said, and sat up so he was level with her. “What if we got you a spot on an evacuee train... to the countryside?”

“The countryside?”

“You'd be safe--both of you--and it could be rather anonymous. You wouldn't have to explain the details of your circumstances to anyone once you were there,” he continued.

“And then you wouldn't either,” she laughed.

“Yes, well that's not my driving motivation.”

“But Ross, to evacuate? Where would I even go exactly?”

“My family has an old farm with a house. In Cornwall. You could go there,” he said.

“Cornwall? Isn't that where your wife is now? Are you proposing I go live with her?” Of course she didn't believe that. He’d clearly given this some thought.

“No, she’s with her parents. Their estate is miles away from my farm,” he said quickly. “You’d have your privacy…”

“Privacy? Is that code for ‘all alone’?”

“I could engage a servant so you wouldn't be by yourself. That way you’d have help as things progress…” He put his hand on her belly which still showed no signs of thickening.

“The stoutness will come, Ross. Don’t fret,” she laughed lightly. “But tell me, don’t most evacuees become the servants?”

“Some but not all. Not you. And then…”

“Yes?” she asked.

“Then, when I can, I’ll come and…”

“And?”

“We’ll be together. Stay together. Raise our child together.” He put his lips to her forehead.

“In Cornwall?” she asked but closed her eyes and allowed the thought to grow in her mind.

“Yes, I’m done with London. It's no good for a child.”

“Neither is a war, Ross.”

“That won’t last forever, Demelza. It can’t,” he sighed.

“It won't if we lose…”

“We won't. And when I get my divorce, we can…” he went on.

“Don't say it, Ross,” she said, and put a hand to his stubbly cheek. She knew he’d shave it close before he went into the office tomorrow but she liked the growth that crept over him in the hours he lay in her bed. It seemed a secret part of him.

And after all, secrets were their stock and trade.

“Don't make too many promises,” she whispered. “Especially not ones out of your hands. You can't win this war and you can’t be sure Elizabeth will agree to your terms. Just one promise at a time.“

“Okay, one promise at a time.”

“Tell me, how can you even get me on that list?” she asked. Her mind was not letting this idea go. “That whole operation is for children and those women with children or who are expecting children. They’d need my real name--these committees aren’t mucking about with false identifications--but in order to be eligible, I’d have to reveal my circumstances--that I’m actually expecting, and then that might be embarrassing for us--at least for you. And if I’m not married, might I not even qualify? I don't think they are keen on shipping out all of London’s ‘unlucky’ girls who just happened to find themselves in the family way.”

“You’re correct, you'd have to be upfront about the child. And to explain that would be a complication. We wouldn't have to name me as father--not yet--but I’ll see what our options are. I have a...man...I can talk to,” Ross replied.

“You aren't exactly filling me with confidence when you put it like that,” she laughed.

“Which part?”

“Your man…”

“The less you know about that the better.” Another secret. “But the other part…”

“Yes?”

“When the time comes, you will name me as father. You can rely on that,” Ross said and pulled her into his arms.

“As long as you stay alive,” Demelza said.

[shadowturtlesstuff]

Enchanted

finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2? 

Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.

~

I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.

My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell. 

The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead. 

I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation. 

“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again. 

The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money.  I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them. 

“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’. 

I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne. 

“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”

“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.” 

“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from. 

“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.”  we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst. 

Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.

“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”

“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party. 

“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now. 

“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice. 

“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her. 

“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”

He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.” 

Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind 

me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil. 

“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met. 

“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely. 

“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.

He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives. 

“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud. 

“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.

“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion. 

“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen. 

“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”

“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”

“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.

His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.” 

“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”

“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile. 

The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again. 

We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see. 

“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.

“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.” 

“Bedazzling?”

“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.

“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie. 

“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”

His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be. 

“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it. 

My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both. 

I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance. 

I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean,  I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.

~

I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.

I'll see you tomorrow. 

What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start. 

Enchanting…

Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff

[ladykatakuri]

Coming Home to You

Echo x F Reader

Word count: 2363

Warnings: None really, it has some mentioning of nightmares and sadness and some fluffyness

I used the lyrics of a song to enhance the story i wanted to tell here.

Song: Sleep well my angel by We are the Fallen

Summary: Echo never thought he would ever dance with someone again, until you. He loved you there and then and it only became more

Watching you sleep for so long,

Knowing I can't turn the rain into sun any more

I've given you all that I have,

Now I stand here, too scared to hold your hand.

Afraid you might wake to see

The monster that had to leave

Echo stood in front of you, staring at your soft face with a sad smile. This beautiful person, soft smile on her face while asleep and his greatest love. But despite the deep and intense love that only grew stronger with each passing day, he felt he had to leave, deep inside himself. He was not the same man he once was, the Techno Union made sure of that.

When he was taken by them and they changed his body, something inside of him died. There was no escape, only the off chance of death for him and it was what he longed for the most. He had given up on being rescued and made peace with himself. If he could stop them from abusing his body and mind by dying, then it was alright. He might have even safed his brothers with his death.

Then one day he was found. Found by his brothers, by a crew of misfits and his captain who he admired greatly. Broken and no longer the man he once was, he was safed and had the smallest amount of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to live again. It took a long time to really recover physically and at times he still would find himself wondering how he could have adjusted to the loss of limbs and a normal body. But here he was, alive and with a new family. He still had nightmares and many regrets. His closest friend and brother had died without him around to at least say goodbye. Fives was no longer there to lift his spirit when he felt down in the dumps, but the memory of his fallen brother was greatly treasured and could at times still put a smile on his face.

Then he met you. A waitress at 79s, always kind, smiling  and always ready to make him and his brothers feel welcome. Make them all feel like actual human beings. You never treated them as nothing more than canon fodder or throw away human replicants, clones. To you they were all normal people with names and personalities. You even helped them find their own uniqueness and expres it at times, by painting their armor or figuring out what kind of tattoo would suit them. It blew him away when he first spoke to you and you just smiled at him with that bright and soft smile of yours. You grabbed his comp link as if it was his normal hand and dragged him to the dancefloor. Echo never thought he would ever dance with someone again, until you. He loved you there and then and it only became more, a deeper love and a deeper respect as well. From that moment on it was you and him. You helped him through his nightmares and his insecurities, helped him fight off the flashes of memories that sometimes came all of a sudden and would paralyze him in his tracks. You gave him his space when he needed to be on his own to work through his pain and personal hell, but always nearby when he needed to be caught after falling deep.

' Cause you see the shelter as the storm

Holding wind to keep you on,

You are everything to me, this is why I have to leave,

So sleep well my angel.

“Echo….. Don't leave me….” Four words, muttered in your sleep, but to Echo it was heartbreaking. You had felt something coming, realised that he was struggling more than ever before and even though he smiled and loved you as before, there was something different within. He kept a part of him hidden away from you and though you never said anything about it, you did know. Now, Echo was standing there, staring at the only person in the galaxy he loved more than life itself and he was drinking in your features for the last time. He had to go, you have sheltered him, acted as his shelter through all the storms raging in his mind, but now it was time to protect you from the last person he thought would be hurting you, himself.

Gently bending over you, Echo brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and softly brushes with his lips over yours. You sigh and a smile forms on your lips once more. As you automatically reach to the pillow next to you where he usually lays, Echo whispers. “Sleep well my angel.” One tear slowly falls down his cheek as he turns to leave the room and the only place he truly called home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Under the ash and the lies,

Something beautiful once here now dies,

And the tears burn my eyes,

As you sit there, all alone.

I just want to come home,

It had been several weeks since you last saw Echo. The only explanation you had for his sudden disappearance was a small note and a dried flower that he left on your desk.

Y/N,

I can never tell you how much you mean to me, how much you healed my heart. You stayed with me in the good times and when I went through my darkest moments. I love you more than I could ever say, that is why I had to leave. This is the only way to keep you from falling with me. My love for you is eternal, my wish for your happiness is the reason I ask you to think of me, not with hate but with the gentle smile you always have when thinking about the good times. Be happy my angel.

Always,

Echo

You kept the letter and the dried flower in a small wooden box in your desk. Sometimes you would look at it and cry, most times you tried your hardest to ignore the nagging feeling to take it out and hold it against your heart while in bed. At times you would just sit at your desk when memories flushed your mind and your tears fell without you even noticing it until much later. You would wonder why your cheeks were wet and then remember what it was you were thinking of. “Echo…” Just the mentioning of his name could be enough for you to be withdrawn all day and night, to stay in bed for hours or not get dressed and just sit on your couch as you blankly stare at a holo. Sometimes you would forget to eat and if it were not for your caf addiction, you would also forget to drink, but most times it was just the memory of pain and sadness, mixed with deep love and missing him that were ever present within you as you continued your daily life.

Now you were sitting at a table in a small diner somewhere on Coruscant. It was a nice and calm time to be there and you enjoyed those moments where you could calmly sip your caf, take a bite from your food and doodle away on a padd with the person sitting in front of you. “You know, it would help if you had a better picture of Numa. Now I can only guess the colour of her headdress.” Smiling, you look at the man in front of you when a shiver runs down your spine. You had those at times, at first you believed it was because Echo would be nearby and you would look around the place to find him. Then, when you realised he was never around, you just shrugged it off and moved on. Boil reached over the table and handed you a small piece of paper. “This is it Y/N, thanks for helping me out. I really want to have it on my armor.”

From a small distance. Echo was looking at you. Staring would be a better word to describe it. From the moment he left you behind with only his letter and small gift he felt terrible. His nightmares seemed to have gotten worse and not even his brothers were able to calm him anymore.

Hunter urged him to go back to you and finally talk to you, really talk to you, about everything he went through and still is. But, how could he explain to you that each time he would wake from his nightmares, he would be parazlyzed with fear? That he would see couples happily walk along the boardwalks, holding hands and smiling, dancing to music while in the back of his mind, he knew he was not all man and never enough of a man for you? How he saw you smile when you would see children play and he did not even know if he could ever make you a mother?

Tech would come with explanations as to why he felt this way, why his emotions were all over the place and even came with options for treatment, without having to report it to the doctors back at Kamino. If they were to find out how deep his emotions went, he would most likely be decommissioned or mind wiped. Neither were options to him, because they would mean losing you permanently. At Least now, he could still see you , even if it was from a distance and it pained him immensely.

Wrecker pulled him into a strong hug while he mentioned being his brother and always being there for him. That he could always find him if he needed to talk or wanted to vent by hitting him, or blowing something up. He might not seem like it, but Wrecker had many layers to him and the happy go lucky, destruction loving man was only the surface layer of him. He was always good at cheering up people and making them feel safe.

It was Crosshair that actually helped him decide what he truly wanted. “Just go to her and apologize. You wanna go home right? Stop being a coward and go home.” Flicking his toothpick at him while smirking, Crosshair walked off and left Echo at the diner where he saw you. Crosshair had brought him exactly where he needed to be and the moment he saw you, he knew, he did want to come home. And home is you.

Boil was happy with the work the two of you had done to his helmet. He finally had a small drawing of Numa on it that you helped him draw and color to honor the little sister he and Waxer had pretty much adopted back on Ryloth. Hugging you goodbye, he left with a grin and proudly pulled his helmet down over his head. Now you are back on your own again, ordering another caf. Suddenly a shadow falls over you.

When you look up, you stare into brown eyes, eyes that look at you with deep emotions of regret, fear and love.

“Echo….” Mouth open in amazement you see the man you missed for so long, you longed for and hated at the same time and who is now standing  in front of you. “What…? What are you doing here?” You don't know what to make of this, he left you with a letter and a dried flower as a goodbye and while his brothers did stay in touch as much as they could, he never contacted you again. The guys could not tell you exactly what had happened but you knew they did not agree with his actions either, though they would never tell you.

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

You see the shelter as the storm,

Holding wind to keep you on,

You are everything to me, this is why

“I`m sorry. I`m sorry,  I`m so sorry…..” A tear falls from his eye as he stares at you and his body seems to tremble. You look up at the love of your life as he keeps on apologizing to you, body shaking, head almost exploding with all the emotions that run through you. You do the only thing you can do, you grab his hand and pull him down to your level and kiss him. Full on the lips with the diner as your witness you kiss this man that has been the love of your life all along, who you knew was going through more than you would ever be able to fully understand.

Surprised by your actions, Echo returns your sudden kiss and pulls back. A watery smile forms as he grabs for a chair and sits down next to you. “I…. I don't know how to explain….”

You raise your hand and stop him from talking. “Echo, how could you think I wouldn't understand? I knew my love. The nightmares, the anger and how sometimes you just had to be on your own or with your brothers? I knew and I know.” Suddenly, to his great surprise, you punch him on the arm. “How could you think I wouldn't understand?! I hated you when you just left in the middle of the night! I mean…. I know why you did it, even if you hadn't explained in that letter, but you should have known I understood! You kriffing idiot!” Tears freely fall as you lash out lovingly and Echo quickly grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his arms. Sitting you on his lap, not paying any attention to the other guests of the diner he kisses you. Arms wrapped around you, your head tugged against his neck, you feel his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “I love you my angel. We`ll work through it, I`ll work through it. Always.”

The diner guests clap when they realise what had happened and outside, just out of sight, four men grin and high five as they walk off towards a well known bar to celebrate the happy ending for their brother.

@loth-wolffe @hellothere-generalangsty @reluctant-mandalore @nahoney22