#the orynth ballet

[leiawritesstories]

Partner Swap

Rowaelin Month 2022, Day 8: Rowaelin Dancing. Ballet dancer AU! also yes @rowanaelinn and i may have something planned for today but here is a little fic before we smack you with that ;)

Word count: 1,631

Warnings: ballet talk, some language, lots of naughty jokes

Enjoy!

@rowaelinscourt

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

Pointes faintly clomping against the smooth marley of the studio floor, Aelin internally grumbled again at Peter and Delaney’s sudden decision to swap partners. The Orynth Ballet’s beloved pas de deux coaches were famous for asking partners to switch for a rehearsal or two, just to see how the alternative pairings worked. Thankfully, most of the partners defaulted to the original castings and only performed with the other if an injury happened. 

She could only hope the same would be true for her and Whitethorn. 

Not that she disagreed with the thought of dancing with him. In fact, she most definitely agreed. Perhaps too much. But his technique was flawless, his partnering the same, and…well, she wouldn’t deny being possibly the slightest bit attracted to the unfairly handsome Doranellian dancer. 

As she marked her way through her steps, she saw Rowan enter the studio, set his bag down, and stretch his arms over his head. Then he ambled over to stand behind her, marking his own steps in time with hers. 

So, like any good partner, she launched into the first partnered pirouette, managing three complete rotations on her own before Rowan’s warm, steady hands caught her waist and guided her through three more, supporting her in the attitude devant that followed. 

Maybe she held it a beat too long.

Then she stepped out of his arms and continued to mark through the rest of the pas de deux, not doing any of the other steps. She smirked to herself when Rowan prepared for the next pirouette as if she was going to do it, then dropped his hands, embarrassed, when he realized she was truly just marking. 

“So you’re a humorist, are you then?” he murmured after she had finished marking through the steps.

Aslin gave him an angelically innocent smile. “I was just testing out these pointes on this floor. New pair, always a little different. But they seem to turn well enough.”

“Testing out, my ass.”

“And a fine one it is,” she smirked. 

Rowan’s head jerked around. “What?”

“You heard me, Whitethorn. That spandex and those glutes?” She tossed him a lewd wink. “Good luck trying to keep the coaches in professional mode.”

He sighed. “You really are impossible, Galathynius.”

“Please, call me Ace. They all do.” Pretending she didn’t notice his visibly frustrated exhale, she bent over to remove her legwarmers and toss them into her bag, fully aware that her rehearsal tutu hid none of her backside. As she stood, she noticed the glint in his forest-green eyes had turned darker. 

“Listen here, Ace. You’re my gods-damned partner for this rehearsal, and if you keep teasing me, I—”

Peter and Delaney entered the studio, closely followed by Nesta and Dorian. “Afternoon, Kitris and Basilios! We apologize for the short notice on today’s partner swap, but we only decided this morning after company class that we would like to see the opposite partners. We hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience,” Delaney remarked. 

Dorian shook his head. 

“Inconvenience?” murmured Aelin. “Now why might I be inconvenienced by the chance to dance with such a promising partner?” She gave her hips a bit of a swish for emphasis, noting Rowan’s frown with glee. “Now now, don’t be a Debbie Downer. Or should I say, Debbie Upper?” Rowan flushed scarlet and took a sizable step backwards. Aelin smothered her cackle. Oh, this was too fun.

Rowan Whitethorn was nearly at the end of his patience and the rehearsal hadn’t even started yet. Aelin Galathynius—she was impossible. And despite everything his rational mind told him, his damned male instincts refused to listen. He might not have been that impressed with the young first soloist, but gods burn him, his cock most definitely was. Luckily for him, Peter and Delaney asked Nesta and Dorian to dance first. Dorian, of course, protested.

“Perils of arriving last, Havilliard,” retorted Delaney. “This is why you arrive early.”

“But Nesta didn’t get here early--”

Nesta coolly slid off her warm-up booties, stretched her arms above her head, and walked to the corner. “I warm up before I get to rehearsal. It’s practical. One never knows what the coaches will ask and how soon they want us ready.” She smirked. “Now hurry up, Dor. The pianist is getting bored.”

Rowan smothered a chuckle as Dorian hurriedly pulled off his sweats and took his place next to Nesta. The British soloist, for all his clean technique and impressive turning, was more than a bit of a diva, and he hated having to perform from the start of rehearsal. 

“Much as he whines, he does better going first than second,” remarked a low female voice, “which is, as we both know, a highly desirable quality in a partnership.” Rowan nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice so close to his ear. A devious smirk crossed Aelin’s face, and she tossed him a distinctly lewd wink. 

“How in all hells did you manage to stay silent in those pointes?” Rowan hissed.

“Practice.”

“You practice scaring people halfway to heart attack?”

“It’s fun.”

Rowan shuddered. “Not for your poor victim.”

“Oh you poor little thing,” crooned Aelin, a wicked spark in her turquoise eyes, “unable to withstand even the smallest little scare.” She rolled down off pointe, leaving her high bun barely level with Rowan’s shoulder. 

He blinked, never having realized she was that much shorter than him. Naturally, she noticed the path of his eyes. And rolled hers.

“I’m not short, Whitethorn, you’re just freakishly tall.”

“Bet you love a height difference,” he murmured, using her own tactic against her. 

It backfired.

“And if I do?” she returned, her voice dropping to a sultry purr, a finger trailing down his arm. “Would you take me home and show me just how much height it takes to make a difference?”

Rowan clamped his mouth shut, lest he say something he might very much regret. Aelin stepped away from him, quietly snickering, and turned her attention back to Nesta and Dorian. Rowan took the chance to subtly adjust himself, concealing it by bending down to get a drink of water. 

Peter and Delaney had Dorian and Nesta run a couple of lifts over again once they finished their run- through. Rowan watched carefully, knowing Peter’s pickiness about lifts. Considering his experience as a partner, he thought he could hit the lifts with Aelin, provided she wasn’t going to spend the entire pas de deux trying to make him lose the very short rein he currently held on his temper. 

And his hormones. 

“Thank you, Nesta; thank you, Dorian. Excellent work. Take a rest, hydrate, and we’ll see if we should run you again.” Nesta and Dorian gave a reverence to the coaches and headed straight for their water. “Aelin and Rowan! Spots, please!”

As the pianist started the entrée, Aelin stepped gracefully into the tombé-pas de bourrée, her footwork lining up with Rowan’s. He lifted her into the pas de chat, and the pas de deux began. 

“Smile, smile! You are Kitri and Basilio! This is your wedding!” called Delaney, in true Delaney style. Aelin obediently pasted her stage smile onto her face; it shifted into more of a smirk when Rowan tried and failed to produce stage happiness. He must have been feeling…frustrated, though she simply could not imagine why. 

To both her and Rowan’s surprise, their partnership worked even better than Aelin and Dorian’s. And she and Dorian had been dancing together since she entered the TOB corps. She wrote some of it off to Rowan’s years of partnering experience, but even she couldn’t find an explanation for how well the two of them just clicked.

Neither, apparently, could Peter and Delaney. Yes, they’d commented and called corrections while Aelin and Rowan danced, but after they were done, catching their breaths in center, the coaches were oddly silent. 

“What did we do to make them silent?” whispered Aelin. “Gods, how bad did I mess up?”

“Ace,” Rowan murmured, resting a hand comfortably against her shoulder, “you didn’t mess up and you sure as hell didn’t scare them into silence.”

“You sure?” She knew her eyes betrayed her insecurity, but she couldn’t help it. “They’re never quiet. Never. So either this partner switching was a horrible idea, or--”

“Whitethorn, Galathynius, why have we never even considered pairing the two of you? There are simply no words for what we saw.” Peter even looked incredulous, an expression rarely if ever on his face.

“I believe we’re going to request that the Don Q directors consider pairing you for this show,” broke in Delaney. “Aelin, it’s your debut as Kitri, and while I mean no disrespect to Dorian, you and he never quite got that fiery Spanish spark. But in just one run of the grand pas with Rowan here…incredibly enough, both of your characters jumped almost to perfection.” High praise indeed.

Aelin glanced sidewise at Rowan, who looked as shocked as she felt. 

“Pardon, but did you say we could be cast together?”

“I recommend it. You and Aelin make an eye-catching pair.”

“Not as eye-catching as Dorian’s pair in those godawful orange tights of his,” Aelin muttered under her breath. Rowan tried and failed to smother his snort of laughter. 

“Don’t berate the poor Brit, Ace, that pair of his attracted more than one companion, if what Nesta says is true,” he whispered back.

“Poor Brit my fine ass,” Aelin sniffed, grinning wickedly when Rowan’s eyes inadvertently dropped to her tutu. “My eyes are up here, Whitethorn.”

Rowan flushed scarlet under his Doranelle tan. Gods damn the woman for being so easily able to provoke him, and gods damn him for falling for her. And if they were cast together in Don Q… 

Gods save both of them.

~~~ TAGS:

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[lemonade-coolattas]

two left feet

rowaelin month day 21, prompt: “Rowan, Aelin, and their toddler princess”

post-canon

wordcount: ~2.7k

Rowan took one look at the ensemble laid out on their bed and shook his head. “No.”

He felt Aelin approach from behind him, peeking over his shoulder. She snickered at the sight. “Oh, yes.”

Rowan shook his head again, closing his eyes, but the image of the outfit was burned into the back of his eyelids. “Absolutely not.”

“Even if I have to issue a gods-damned decree, it’s happening.”

Her voice sounded from farther away, Aelin likely having backed up to lean against the doorframe, but the distance did nothing to dim the smug satisfaction lacing her words. 

He opened his eyes and reached out to run his fingers over the fabric of the pants, if they could even be called that, wincing as the stiff fabric rustled loudly with the movement. He inhaled sharply through his nose, desperation creeping in. “Why couldn’t you do this, again?”

His mate barked out a laugh. “Buzzard, you nearly have a panic attack every time I try to go down the stairs by myself. You really think your fussing, brooding ass could handle me performing in a dance recital?”

He knew if he turned, he’d find her with one hand rested on her rounded stomach, the other propped on her hip. Their second child wasn’t due for several weeks, but she already looked ready to pop. He groaned, knowing deep in his soul she was right, not that he would admit it.

“Just think about how excited Eliora will be when she sees you,” Aelin continued. 

When Florine had shown up at the palace entrance years ago, demanding to be taken to the queen, the sharp-eyed dance instructor had taken all of them by surprise. 

Or, almost all of them.

Rowan had been standing at Aelin’s side, the queen sprawled in her throne, when the woman breezed in, straight-backed, preceded by a wide-eyed court messenger who had darted out of the room nearly before being dismissed.

At the brisk pace of the woman, who had focused in on Aelin, Rowan had stepped down from the dais, placing himself between the two women with his hand on the pommel of his sword as Florine glided to a stop. She had merely looked him up and down, clicked her tongue, and told him he needed to work on his posture, rapping a few fingers on his shoulder, before brushing by him to address Aelin.

Aelin merely cackled, clapping her hands together. “Took you long enough.”

Rowan had turned to find the woman gracing Aelin with a small smile. “I once made you a promise, Majesty, one I don’t tend to renege on.”

Needless to say, the dance instructor terrified a small part of him.

And four months of parent-child dance ballet classes had done very little to change that. 

Though, he never thought in that moment, when he stared after Florine after she had dismissed him so thoroughly, that the woman’s arrival would lead to this. 

Rowan cringed as he picked up one of the pieces—a gods-damned leotard from the looks of it—pinching it between his fingers to keep it as far away from him as he could.

“You planned this, didn’t you? You’re a demon.”

Aelin huffed a laugh. “Nope, just good fortune that I’m enjoying the hell out of.”

When Aelin had sicced their five-year old on him months ago with the plea to join the parent-daughter dance classes that Florine was hosting in Orynth, he had been helpless to resist the princess’s wide, pleading eyes, the exact same color green as his own. What Aelin had failed to mention, however, was the performance at the end of the season, celebrating the hard work of the children and their parents. When she had finally deigned to alert him of the recital he and Eliora would be participating in, she then had conveniently forgotten to mention what would be the costumes for the performers. 

He really had to learn to stop caving to his daughter’s every whim. 

“Too much for your precious Fae male ego? Worried about turning soft?”

He ran his free hand though his hair. “No, it’s just…” He didn’t mind the dancing, not really, thought that being ability to control his body with precision and grace wasn’t all that unlike the dance of weapons he so often engaged in. But, with another look at the outfit before him, he couldn’t resist one last desperate plea.“What will everyone think when they hear about their king consort, a member of your blood-sworn cadre of warriors, a general in Terrasen’s army, flouncing around on a stage in tights?” Because those were tights that had been folded on the bedspread. Bright silver to complement the deep green of the top. Terassen’s colors. 

It had been bad enough dealing with the ogling from the other parents in the class when he had walked into the first lesson, and then, he had been wearing a loose pair of trousers and a tunic. But this ensemble, with its frills and bright colors and tightness that left absolutely nothing to the imagination… he would look like a fool. 

Aelin was quiet for a few long moments, and finally, he turned to face her. 

All traces of mocking had disappeared from her face, replaced instead with a softness that made her eyes gleam.

“They will think…” She pushed off the wall, crossing the room toward him, and those were indeed tears glimmering in her eyes. “They will think that they are lucky to be blessed with a king with such compassion and humility. Who is willing to move mountains for his wife and wear a ridiculous outfit for his daughter.” At this, she laid her hand on his chest, and he bent his head toward her, leaning into her warmth. “They will see your heart, Rowan. I’ve seen it. Eliora has seen it. Is it really so bad that the rest of the world does, too?” 

No, it wasn’t so bad at all. 

He supposed after so long encasing himself in ice, opening up still took some getting used to, even decades after he had met his queen.

She raised herself on to her toes so she could brush her lips across his own, but before he could turn the kiss into something deeper, they both heard the pattering of light footsteps running down the hall, skidding to the stop in front of their door.

“Mama, Papa, look!”

Their daughter burst into their room, launching herself at Aelin’s legs. She stumbled into him with an oof, and he wrapped his arms more firmly around his mate to steady her. Then, once he was assured she wouldn’t tip over, he crouched down to get on eye-level with his daughter. 

She looked stunning, her golden curls tamed into a bun at the top of her head, dressed in a leotard and tights identical to his own, only in miniature and adorned with a flowing skirt that swished with her every movement. 

There weren’t many things in the world that Rowan would admit to being adorable, but his daughter was definitely one. 

“You look beautiful, Eliora.” She beamed, then pulled back a little from her mother’s legs to look at him more closely. 

“Papa.” Her little brow furrowed as she took him in, took in his usual gray tunic. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Yeah, Papa.” He looked up to find Aelin smirking down at him, seriousness long gone. “Why aren’t you in your costume yet?”

He sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and reached behind him to grab the leotard and tights. “I was just getting ready, little love.”

Eliora squealed at the sight of his matching costume, clapping her hands together, an action her mother mirrored. She threw her little arms around his neck, squeezing tightly, allowing him to meet Aelin’s amused gaze over her head. She blew him a mocking kiss. 

His two girls would be the death of him.

~

As predicted, the costume was too tight in all the wrong places.

As he waited in the wing of the small theater, hand-in-hand with Eliora as they waited for their turn to go on stage, he resisted the urge to just tear it off, but he figured striding out there in nothing but his skin would be worse. 

Aelin might enjoy that though.

He supposed he was lucky that it was a private performance, just for the families of the participants in the class. Though they had taken the class as a group, for the recital, they all had put together their own choreography for a short dance, just the parent and daughter. He nodded in congratulations to one of the mothers who ran by him to exit the stage after she finished her performance, her daughter a demi-fae around Eliora’s age with dark hair and a shy smile. The mother beamed in thanks, and gave him a thumbs-up. 

It had taken a while for the other parents in the class to get past the awkwardness of learning to dance in the same class as their king consort and crown princess but, he had managed to make friends with the other parents. 

Eventually. 

Florine, though, still hadn’t warmed to him, and only gave him a brusque jerk of her chin to let him know that they would be next as she strode by them onto the stage to introduce the pair.

“Papa.” He had been so caught up in his thoughts, the potential embarrassment, that he hadn’t noticed Eliora going still and quiet beside him. He bent down to look at her. Her face had drained of its rosy color, and she had begun to worry on her bottom lip, not meeting his eyes.

“What’s the matter, my love?”

Her voice wobbled. “I’m nervous.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure, for a moment, how to console his daughter, who looked close to tears.

He decided the truth would be best.

“Want to know a secret?” At that, Eliora’s gaze snapped to him. He gave her a soft smile. “I’m nervous, too.”

“Really?” Her voice was still small, and he squeezed her hand tighter. 

He nodded. “But want to know what makes me less scared?” She bounced her head up and down, and he smile widened. “Knowing that you’ll be out there with me, that we’re doing this together.”

At that, his daughter gave him a shaky smile and leaned forward into his chest. He pulled her into a brief hug, stroking his hand up and down her back, hearing the applause from the other side of the curtain as Florine finished announcing them. 

He pulled back so he could read the expression on his daughter’s face, tightness in his chest easing when he saw that she had calmed a bit. 

“Ready?” She nodded resolutely. “That’s my girl. Let’s do this.”

With that, they darted out on stage, the lights dimmed. A catcall sounding suspiciously like Fenrys cut through the air as one of the stage hands adjusted the sconces lining the theater, the blooming light revealing their forms. 

They had planned their dance to a soft classical tune, one that Aelin played on piano during her free time, and as the first few notes trickled into the theater, Rowan felt his muscles relaxing despite himself. The embarrassment and the nerves and even the audience faded away, leaving just him and his daughter and the music as they glided across the stage, executing the dance they had spent weeks perfecting, his daughter’s tenaciousness never wavering despite her young age. 

Pride bloomed in his chest as he took in his daughter, her radiance as she flowed across the stage like silk in the breeze, and he blinked back the beginnings of tears. 

The dance was going flawlessly, every spin and leap and twirl according to plan until—

He had just finished spinning Eliora, and was preparing to step back as she did her solo, when her slippered foot slid, her little ankle rolling. 

She fell, hitting the hardwood with a thud.

She froze, hands and legs splayed, and Rowan’s breath caught in his throat, already moving toward her.

Her head whipped to the audience, eyes wide in horror, before she turned back to him, her tiny pointed ears a furious red. His heart lurched when he saw the tears already forming in her eyes. “Papa?” Her voice broke. 

In that moment, he wasn’t king consort, or Aelin’s second, or a member of her bloodsworn, or a fierce general and warrior.

He was a father, with his little girl staring up at him, humiliation lining her face and tears leaking down her cheeks. 

Together, he had told her. They were doing this together.

So Rowan, praying to the nonexistent gods that Aelin (and the rest of their court, for that matter) would one day let him live this down, stood on his tiptoes to execute a pirouette—

And purposely let his feet slip out from underneath him, falling on his ass.

As he fell, he heard Eliora gasp. 

His tailbone barked in pain, breath whooshing out of him, but he ignored it, instead rolling to face his daughter, who gazed at him, eyes wide. “Papa.”

He only shrugged, grinning at her, only for her. “Oops.”

The smile she gave him could rival the sun.

And then he stood, pulling her to his feet. In the time they had been on the floor, the song had ended, but he nodded to Eliora anyway, having her finish the routine from where she had left off, and then they faced the audience, and Eliora grabbed his hand as she curtsied and he bowed.

As they walked off the stage, Eliora refusing to let go of his hand, they passed Florine again, and Rowan could have sworn the woman gave him a nod, a hint of respect glimmering in her eyes.

~

Needless to say, he suffered a lot of teasing from Fenrys. And Aedion. And even some from Lorcan, the traitor.  

Aelin, though, was quiet. In the lobby after the recital, she had hugged Eliora as close as she could with her rounded stomach, told her how proud of her she was, and their daughter had preened under the praise. Then, she had brushed her lips against his cheek, her expression unreadable. She said little on their way back to the palace, Eliora resting her head in Rowan’s lap, the the steady rocking of the carriage lulling the princess to sleep while he stroked her hair.

When he looked to his mate sitting across from him, he was surprised to find her eyes lined with tears. He gave her a soft smile and reached across the space between them with his free hand to twine their fingers together.

“We were that bad, huh?” he teased.

“It’s the pregnancy emotions, hush,” she retorted, wiping at her eyes.

He squeezed her hand, and after a moment, she spoke again. “Seeing you with her, seeing you as a father…” Aelin motioned to the little girl in his lap, her voice choked. “There was a time I thought I couldn’t possibly love you more than I did. Every damn day you prove me wrong.”

His throat tightened, and he could feel the prick of tears forming in his eyes, because he knew the feeling, and he told her as much. She gave him a watery smile in return, and slipped from the seat across from him to the one next to him, so she could lay her head on his shoulder and rest their entwined hands on her stomach, on the little babe growing inside. 

Seeing his mate as a mother to Eliora, whether it was braiding her hair in plaits, or running barefoot through the palace with the little girl, or teaching their daughter how to pilfer chocolate cake from the kitchen when Emrys wasn’t looking… it struck him stupid, every time—the knowledge that he was theirs and they were his. That this, their family, was real, and it wasn’t going anywhere, and was only growing. 

And if he had to wear a leotard and tights every day for the rest of his gods-damned life to keep it that way, then he’d do it with pride. 

a/n: I’m thinking of turning my tag list for how this is gonna go to into a general rowaelin tag list, but if you would prefer to just be tagged for that fic and not everything rowaelin, please just let me know! thanks for reading :)

tag list:

@morganofthewildfire

@hellasblessed

@backtobl4ck​

@1islessthan3books​

[charincharge]

Hello! Can you give us a headcanon or just your favourite Aelin/Rhoe moment from IDWTW? I just feel like your version of Rhoe Galathynius is very much canon and if we’d seen him in ToG he’d be the best dad everrrrr💞

Oh man, I love him so much. I didn't know when I started writing IDWTW how much I would love him. I had just lost my own dad right when I started, and we had... a very bad relationship. After he passed, I gave Rhoe all the things that I wished I'd had in my own dad.

So, one of my favorite moments is Aelin's most horrible night ever (Sam, the rooftop, etc). I just love that Rhoe drives all the way out to University of Orynth to pick Aelin up after midnight and gives her the space she needs and doesn't push, even though he knows something bad just happened. He trusts that she will come to him when she is ready and allows her the time she needs to process on her own. But, when the rooftop kind of flings her over the edge, he immediately races to comfort her and makes her feel loved and protected. When she throws herself into his arms and just cries, I feel like we see Rhoe's relief that Aelin isn't too grown up for hugs or to call him daddy. It's like all the memories of the last decade, of just them two, of him being her superhero and super-parent come rushing back to him. That he suddenly sees the precocious six year old, who needed help putting her hair into a slicked back bun for her ballet classes and the eight year old who insisted on wearing a pair of Maeve's old high heels around the house for a whole year or the ten year old who messed up her piano piece three times and got so frustrated that she just walked back to her seat in the middle of her recital... And that's what has him stand his ground when Rowan shows up at their door. He knows he needs to be there for Aelin, and staunchly proclaim himself Team Aelin, and send Rowan away. Because he knows that his baby needs to be protected in that moment. I don't know. There's just something so dadly about that whole sequence of events. The ebbs and flows of fatherhood are so clearly in there -- that it's a renegotiation of boundaries for them, too, who have been alone for the last decade, growing up together. But he still innately knows when she needs some extra dadding and when she just needs room to be. To me, that's the best thing a parent could do.

[julemmaes]

Pinky Promise - Chapter One

A/N: It’s currently midnight here and believe me when I tell you my brain is fried right now. I just wanted to finish this and post it. The real story starts with the next chapter and here we have a little more info dump cause yeah. Hope yall enjoy!

Fic Masterlist

Word count: 3,802

Rhysand had to stop by his house for a short break to change and take off that uncomfortable shirt he was always complaining about. Cassian had tried to tell him several times that being an elementary school teacher he could dress as he wanted and no one would ever tell him anything, but the youngest of the brothers didn't seem to get the message.

While they were waiting for him, Cassian had tried to start a conversation with the other two, but both had answered monosyllables and he had enough problems of his own without getting involved in whatever had happened between Elain and Azriel.

Despite all this, when they got to the Archeron house, the older had a lopsided smile on his face. The smile widened even more when they entered the apartment and saw his cousin gobbling a cracker with some cheese on it. Morrigan got up in a flash and went to greet them.

"Took you long enough." said the blonde, "We were waiting for you."

Cassian snorted, taking off his shoes and jacket so as not to wet every surface of the house, "I can tell."

"Don't be an asshole." he heard from the kitchen, Amren. She was also sitting at the kitchen table, where Nesta was chopping parsley and eating strangely long, fried things.

His girlfriend looked up at him and smiled. She had to be feeling better because she had a much more relaxed expression on her face than only an hour or so before.

He approached the table, followed by Rhys who was staring with a confused look at whatever that strange food was in front of their friend.

"What the hell is that?" Azriel asked once he had freed himself from Mor's hug.

Amren arched an eyebrow, taking another fried thing and eating it whole, "Frog legs."

Cassian, who was about to kiss Nesta, stopped, looking at her in shock, "Sorry, what?"

"Yeah, a new French restaurant opened on my street and I've been getting the weirdest stuff for a couple of weeks," said Amren smiling. "I even tasted the snails last Monday." the guys all seemed shocked.

Nesta made a confused grimace, "Actually they're not as bad as you'd think, they taste a lot like chicken."

"I'm not sure I want to kiss you anymore," murmured Cassian as he walked away slightly from the girl. Rhysand nodded beside him, pouring himself a glass of wine and passing one to Azriel.

"Oh, stop being a baby, it's just food." Amren muttered, casting a hard look at him.

He kissed Nesta on the cheek anyway while she finished cutting the onions and poured everything into a pot. The smell of meat that came out was enough to make Cassian fall in love a little more.

"I'm gonna go change," announced Elain, who had been particularly quiet the whole time.

Nesta lifted her head, looking in her sister's direction, who was already in the hallway, "Did you get my stuff?" she asked loudly.

Elain's reply didn't take long to come, "Yes, I'll bring it to your room."

Nesta shook her head, even though she couldn't see her, "No don't worry, I'll take care of it, just leave it in your room." a faint okay came from the other room and then the conversation resumed.

"One very important thing before I forget, next week Manon should come here," said Mor, clutching her shoulders, "I'd like to arrange a little something at my house, with everyone. If that's alright with you," she hesitantly concluded.

Mor and Manon had met that summer when the former went on vacation to the other continent alone. She'd stayed in Erilea for almost two whole months, going from city to city and stopping only when she deemed it necessary. Once she reached Orynth she immediately made friends with a large group of people there and when they introduced her to Manon it was hate at first sight.

More than hate, actually, Morrigan felt awkward.

Manon stared at her with that seductive look of hers that she couldn't really decipher and only when the other one had explicitly told her that hes was flirting with her, Mor understood that she could enjoy that vacation and have a summer fling with the white-haired goddess. One thing led to another and they ended up getting together at the end of August and after only a month of relationship no one had had the chance to meet her yet.

"Finally we get to know her." smiled Amren.

Cassian took a beer from the fridge and put two more on the table in case someone else wanted more than wine. "Where did you say she studies?" she asked for what was probably the millionth time.

"Oh, she attends the Academy of Fine Arts in Adarlan. Rifthold precisely." said proud Mor, smiling.

"Does she study art like Feyre?" Rhysand asked, taking another cracker and putting a slice of salami on it. Cassian saw Nesta shake her head in disbelief and had to hold back a laugh. It was impressive how he managed to squeeze Feyre into his every conversation.

Mor didn't give it much thought anyway, "Nono, she dances. She studies ballet. She has a- I always forget what they are called, but she has a group, with whom she always dances. They call themselves the Thirteen," she continued nodding, "They also have a channel on You Tube, if you're interested."

Elain walked into the kitchen at that moment, wearing only a pair of pajama pants and a VHS lacrosse team sweatshirt, with the name Vanserra on its back. She took a beer from the table, opened it and drained half of it in one long sip. She made a disgusted face and then took one of the fried frog's legs off Amren's plate, who was looking at her alarmed.

Nesta gave him a confused look, mentally asking him what had happened on the way here, Cassian shrugged.

"Hey Ellie everything's alright?" asked the older sister, turning off the stove.

Elain nodded, helping her set the table while everyone took their seat. "Everything's perfect."

Azriel laughed, not even looking at the girl, "As always." Elain's head snapped in his direction.

Elain gritted her teeth, "Maybe you should learn to mind your own business."

"And you should learn what self love is and stop letting others treat you like that," Azriel said to her in an equally harsh tone.

Cassian understood then, Lucien was involved.

Nesta sighed, placing both hands on the table and bowing her head, "Can we please have one dinner without arguing?" Elain sat down with abrupt gestures and nodded, apologizing. Azriel seemed to think about it for a second, looking at the middle sister, nodding in turn and sitting next to Rhysand.

They ate quietly between jokes, and the tense atmosphere that had created immediately dissolved. Elain and Azriel bickered so often that the group was used to it and they'd become good at pretending nothing had happened.

***

Nesta was sitting on the floor next to Cassian, practically lying on top of him, while he kept his arm around her waist. Whatever Morrigan was explaining she couldn't understand. Her brain was already clouded by alcohol. They had just finished the first game of the evening and she couldn't figure out how they were all still relatively sober after all the alcohol they had ingested. Or maybe it was just her impression and in reality they were all wasted.

She looked up at her boyfriend and put her hand on his cheek, making him turn towards her. Cassian smiled at her and gave her a peck. When she kept looking him in the eyes even after they had parted, he raised an eyebrow. What is it?

Nesta shrugged and kept following Mor's speech.

"And who draws the last king drinks the whole cup, got it?" the blonde looked around the room trying to figure out if everyone understood at least one word of what she had just said. Nesta took a sip from her glass and Mor groaned, "Come on Nesta, you don't have to drink now."

Azriel chuckled, almost as drunk as she was, "Stupid drunk."

"Fuck you, Az." she giggled, clinging closer to Cassian.

Elain nodded, raising her drink to the ceiling, "Yes, fuck you Az." she hiccupped and smiled in her best friend's direction, who gave her the middle finger. They all burst out laughing, knowing perfectly well that there was no grudge in those gestures.

She couldn't follow the game properly, but someone had just drawn a seven and Nesta knew that she had to raise her arms to the sky before the others or she would have to drink again, and although this evening was putting her in a good mood, she wasn't sure that her head would thank her in the morning. Elain ended up drinking.

When it was her turn, Nesta drew a nine and thanked every god present in that moment because if she had to find a rhyme for anything the others would say, she would surely throw up from the effort.

"I picked a nine," she said giggling, falling on Cassian, who laughed and helped her up, "and since I'm feeling rather nice tonight, I'll say orange," she slurred.

"You don't play like that," said Amren annoyed beside her, taking a sip from her soft drink. It was her turn to take everyone home that night.

Mor nodded, agreeing with the girl, "You can't take the one word that doesn't rhyme with anything."

Rhysand cleared his voice, "Sporange." he said at the same time that Elain screamed the same word. The boy brought his hand to his chest, opening his mouth wide, "I said it first."

Elain shook her head, pulling herself up and bending her legs underneath her, "No. That's not true." she said snickering, "I said it first."

Cassian burst out laughing, making Nesta's back flutter. She looked at him and winked, nothing sexy in that gesture at all and it only made the boy laugh more.

"Azriel tell him that I said it first." the girl complained, pouting. "Cassian tell him too."

"Nah ha, you have your family, they're with me." said Rhysand, getting up and staggering until he was between his two brothers. He circled both their shoulders and slapped Nesta in the face unintentionally.

"Ouch." she mumbled, pulling herself up and rubbing her nose.

Elain seemed on the verge of tears, "It's not right. I was faster than you." she practically screamed, "And I only have one sister here, it isn't fair."

Rhysand shrugged, "That's not my problem."

Their little argument went on for a few minutes before the boy surrendered and admitted that she was the one who said the word first, "But only because you don't have enough sisters for backup, otherwise we'd solve it physically," he concluded, winking at her. Elain giggled and Azriel muttered something about the physical part of the hypothetical fight that made Cassian laugh.

They all turned towards the entry of the apartment when they heard the door open.

"Speak of the devil," said Mor with a smile, "Feyruuh! Join us."

Rhysand had stood up and was smiling like an idiot, "Yes Fey-Fey join us," he repeated, approaching the small threshold.

Nesta saw the boy stiffening and immediately realized that something was wrong. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"Feyre," breathed Rhysand, "what happened?

From where she was sitting she couldn't see the hall, but even Amren, who had a perfect view of the whole room, had a hard look on her face. Perhaps she should have stood up.

The alcohol in her body did not allow her to stand up without the risk of falling. It was already much that she hadn't blacked out.

"Nothing, don't worry," said her sister, finally entering the room. Nesta could see her face and understood what Rhysand was referring to. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. She had been crying.

"Feyre..." she said, trying to pull herself up with Cassian's help.

Her younger sister raised her hand to stop her, "I didn't want to ruin your evening, I just came to say hi." she gave everyone a faint smile. Rhysand, next to her, held his breath. He suddenly seemed much more sober, more aware of what was happening. "I'm sorry... goodnight everyone." with this she turned around and walked out of the room. Mor moved to get up, but Amren placed her hand on her leg to stop her.

Elain was the first to break the silence, "That piece of shit." Nesta gasped hearing how much anger she uttered those words with. She turned towards her sister and before she could ask her, she had already started talking again, "I can't believe it." she stood up, swaying too much and falling on her knees.

Mor was immediately beside her, "Be careful."

"It's alright." she ran her hand over her legs and then looked towards Feyre's room sighing.

"Can someone explain what the heck just happened and why no one is going to see how she's doing?" asked Amren slightly annoyed. Rhysand was out of the living room before she could finish the sentence.

They all turned to Elain, who seemed to be thinking about what to say.

"I'm too drunk for this," whispered Nesta, massaging her temples, "Ellie can you please tell me if this is a life-or-death issue?" she asked again. She felt a hand on the small of her back and turned to Cassian, who looked at her with a sad smile on his lips.

Elain laughed without amusement, "No, of course she's not dying, it's always the same old arguments with Tamlin. She should just break up with him," replied Elain surprising everyone. It was very rare that her sister said something so sincere when it came to Tamlin. The only times she had done so she had risked ruining her relationship with Lucien.

"I don't think I should tell you the details, it's her business and I'm not here to gossip," said Elain after a few minutes in which everyone had started to clean up the mess they'd made, "All you need to know is that Tamlin is a piece of shit," she whispered the last part, as if she was afraid her boyfriend might hear her.

"Nothing new." Amren said, getting up and starting to pick up the cups scattered around the room.

They heard Feyre yelling something, but Nesta couldn't understand just what she said. They waited a few seconds, to see if they needed to intervene or not, when they heard nothing more Azriel spoke.

"Do you think we should tell her something?" he asked again, still sitting on the floor, tilting his head back so that it was resting on the couch. "I mean, it's already been a few weeks since I've seen her cheerful, I'm getting worried."

Nesta was surprised. It was nice to see how much Azriel cared for the youngest of them. Of course, she knew it was true, but it was rare for the boy to express his feelings so openly.

Cassian shook his head, reducing his lips to a thin line, "Not tonight," he said as he looked down the hall, "She's probably insulting Rhys in every possible way now. I guess it's a good way to cool off," he added when they heard Feyre screaming again. Rhysand answered equally loudly.

"Maybe we should get Rhys out, he is drunk after all," Azriel said standing up. Nesta did the same, following him into the corridor.

"They know that Rhys would never lay a hand on Feyre, don't they? Even if he is drunk. And angry." whispered Elain, even though they all heard very well. Nesta giggled and Azriel shook his head smiling. She was so drunk.

Cassian answered her, "No Ellie, it's not that. It's that drunk people tend to say things they don't really mean." they heard a whisper of agreement.

Azriel was about to knock on the door, Nesta right behind him, when it opened wide and Rhysand rushed out, shoving his older brother aside. Nesta couldn't see his face, but he must have been pretty upset because Azriel followed him right out of the apartment.

Nesta blinked a couple of times and then turned to her sister, who was pacing back and forth with her hands in her hair.

"Fuck!" cried Feyre. Nesta entered the room, closing the door behind her.

Feyre looked at her and grimaced, "What? Did you also come to tell me how to live?"

Nesta shook her head, crossing her arms, "I gotta be honest with you, I'm really drunk right now, so I'm struggling a little bit to understand things, but if you want to talk to me, I'm always there. You know." she said to her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, yes. I know." Feyre murmured, "But right now I just want to sleep and be alone."

Nesta glanced at her and saw that she had mascara smeared on her cheeks. She had cried again.

They could not face this conversation now.

She sighed, "Alright, if you need anything call me, I'm sleeping at Cass's, but if you need anything I can be here in twenty minutes." she cautioned her as she got up. Before leaving, she turned to her sister and left a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry, everything will work out. I'll be back for lunch, okay?"

Feyre frowned, "Why do you always treat me like a child?" she suddenly asked her.

Nesta was caught off guard, "What do you mean?"

"I'll be back for lunch. I can be here in twenty minutes," she said imitating her voice, "I don't need you to tell me your schedule, I can cook pasta, I can take care of myself." she pointed out, looking Nesta straight in the eye.

"I don't- Feyre, I was just letting you know that I'll eat at home, I wasn't implying anything. We live together, it seems normal to me to tell you about my movements," she replied, being defensive, "I didn't call you a child."

"Get out."

"Feyre-"

"I said get out." sobbed the sister, "Please."

Nesta tried to get closer when she saw that Feyre was crying again.

"Go away!" cried the other one. Nesta stiffened and nodded just once, saying goodnight and leaving the room.

Cassian was staring at her from down the hall with a worried look. Throwing a quick glance inside Elain's room, she saw that Amren and Mor were helping her change and would put her to bed before leaving, as often happened during these evenings.

She reached her boyfriend and when he hugged her, she let out a deep sigh, resting her head against Cassian's chest. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing her hair and holding her tight.

"Don't worry, we both know she's not mad at us. She better than anyone else." she looked up to him. Cassian moved a strand of hair from her eyes, placing it behind one ear. "Maybe we made a mistake, though, letting Rhysand talk to her."

Cassian chuckled, "Maybe." He leaned over her and brushed his lips against hers.

Nesta yawned in the kiss and they both laughed.

"Okay lovebirds, it's time to go home," announced Amren, putting on her shoes and helping Mor tie hers. The blonde was also in terrible condition.

Cassian broke the hug, but followed Nesta to her room while she changed and took things so she could change the next day, and then followed her to the bathroom, where she took extra tampons in case the ones at his house had finished. She strongly doubted it, as Cassian always worried about having an endless supply every time, but it was better to prevent.

"You're such a lost puppy." Mor laughed, looking at them, "Disgusting."

"You're just jealous cause you can't be with Manon every day," replied Azriel, walking back into the house at the right time, followed by a quiet Rhysand.

Mor poutted in a way that would make a three-year-old child look a saint and her eyes filled with tears. Amren threw her arms in the air, "Was that really necessary?" she asked exasperated, turning to Azriel, who apologized to her friend.

They all left the house, leaving the kitchen and living room relatively tidy, nothing an hungover Elain couldn't handle.

When they reached Morrigan's house, only Azriel and Amren went to escort the blonde home and make sure she went to bed.

Nesta took the opportunity to say a few words to Rhysand.

"It's not your fault if she reacted in that way," she said, placing her hand on his arm. God, the drunk Nesta was so affectionate. Rhysand looked at her with a wrinkled forehead.

"I know." he sighed, running a hand over his face and looking older than he actually was, "I just wish she understood how much she's worth. That Tamlin doesn't deserve her." he looked out the window, waiting to see the other two appear so he could get home as soon as possible and pass out in bed. "There may have been a moment in their relationship where things worked, but now it's getting too much."

"I agree." Nesta simply said. Rhysand didn't need her to comfort him, no. He needed Feyre to realize how much the situation she was in no longer benefited anyone.

***

Cassian slipped into bed next to Nesta and laid his arm around her waist, pushing her flat against him. She immediately relaxed and intertwined their fingers, carrying his hand on her belly. Cassian started massaging circles on her stomach, applying a little more pressure at the bottom to help her with the pain.

"Better?" he asked her, placing his head in the niche of her neck.

Nesta nodded, "Much better."

They spent a few minutes in silence like this. If he managed to tell her that he wanted to enlist, if he managed to confess to her his plans for the future and she accepted him, there would no longer be so many times when he would cuddle her. They would no longer be granted.

When Cassian was on the brink of falling asleep, with a thousand questions in his head, she asked him something.

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow, you wanna go out for dinner with me?" she repeated, turning around so she faced him.

Cassian opened only one eye, "Like a date?" he asked, smiling tiredly.

"Sure, like a date." she answered him, tilting her chin up so that she could kiss him.

"Yes, I'll go out for dinner with you," he said returning the kiss.

"Perfect."

"I love you." he whispered to her, hugging her.

Nesta did not answer and Cassian fell asleep shortly after, dreaming of the day when he would make Nesta his wife.

acotar taglist (send me and ask or dm me if you wanna be added/removed)

@tottenhamboys20 @sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling

[highqueenofelfhame]

25 Days of Christmas: Rowaelin

Movement. 

you’re getting this early today since I missed one yesterday. enjoy. 

She stood centered in the room, eyes closed and completely still with her arms up in second position. Her head rolled around in a slow circle, lips falling open only just as she exhaled slowly. One last small warm up before she began dancing. It was what she did every time she began, always having a full routine to music that she used to ready herself.  Watching her move, no matter what she did, was absolutely stunning. It was fluid, beautiful, smooth and fluid like her limbs were ribbons of water. 

Watching her dance brought out something in him that he couldn’t quite place. It was the way that from her toes to the tips of her fingers conveyed emotion like no one he had ever seen on stage. To say Rowan Whitethorn was captivated by Aelin Galathynius would be an understatement. He was utterly entranced, completely unable to take his eyes off of her when she began dancing. 

The last two weeks had only heightened that for Rowan, after spending night after night with their bodies tangled and writhing toward an explosive end. Even then, maybe especially then, watching the way that she moved was intoxicating and left him breathless. Everything she did ruined him in all the best ways. Watching her move atop or beneath him while they made love and watching her now in the center of the practice room didn’t seem to be too different. Everything about her was raw and powerful and threatened to bring him to his knees. 

He watched from where he sat, leaning against a wall of mirrors as she sat down on the floor with ease and pulled her pointe shoes. Just earlier, he had already watched her prepare them for practice. They were nearly dead, he could tell, but he’d also watched her use a copious amount of super glue to into the toes to get as much life out of them as possible. 

Gods, even the way she tied her shoes with deft and nimble fingers was beautiful. 

As she tucked the ribbons under their eyes met and she offered him a shy smile, one that he usually saw in the morning when she rolled out of his bed and disappeared into his shower. Rowan smiled back, extending his legs in front of him as she walked over to where he sat. It was only them in the empty room, both of them wanting to practice their pas-de-deux for the Nutcracker, something that she made look so effortless and easy at each and every performance. Getting to dance with her was a dream, it inspired him in all the ways that a partner should.

Aelin’s hands landed with the lightest feather touch on either side of his face, two butterflies landing on his cheeks. Her eyes searched his and her fingers slipping into his freshly cropped hair. Rowan leaned up the slightest bit and she met him halfway. Aelin’s lips were so soft, her fingers against his skin were so soft.  A strand of her hair had managed to fall out of her bun, so when they pulled back he carefully tucked it behind her ear. With another grin, she made her way to the center of the room and hopped up onto her toes to begin practicing her solo once before practicing the duet with Rowan. 

So he sat and watched, watched as she pranced across the floor, watched the elegant and perfect lines and angles she managed to create with her body. Aelin made it look easy, made it look like anyone could do it. She looked like the ballerina in the music box as she turned on her toes. Each leap and extension was perfect, each turn light and airy. Rowan never got tired of this, of watching her do what she did best. 

She was Aphrodite, the most beautiful of the Goddesses down on earth. She was a titan, holding up the his world with so little effort that she did it in her sleep. Aelin was art personified, the stage her canvas, her body the paint brush. He would never tire of this, of watching her. He couldn’t wait for Giselle rehearsals to start in the spring to see what life and beauty she brought to that piece. Rowan wasn’t the only one eager to see what she did with the part, critics had been talking about her effortless grace and beauty for months since she was announced as a Principle Ballerina for Orynth Ballet Company. 

Rowan wasn’t the only one struck completely stupid by her dancing, she had managed to enthrall the entire world. 

In rehearsals, instead of the smile that she wore for her performance on stage, her lips were often in a pout and there was often a crease between her brows as she danced and criticized her movements in the mirror.  Rowan constantly wanted to kiss the pout away, to smooth the crease between her eyes away with his thumb. He wished she wouldn’t be so critical of herself, for she had no reason to be. Not when every move she made was technically perfect and all around stunning. 

He had never seen anyone dance like she did. No other dancer had ever made his heart ache with hope and skip so many beats it felt like a cardiac attack. Rowan had never seen anyone’s hands flutter like little wings quite like this, had never see the sharp lines her body made turn to soft ones with such ease. 

Aelin brought something in the Sugar Plum Fairy to life. It wasn’t a role. She simply was the Sugar Plum Fairy, dancing her way through her sugar coated candy life. Come spring, she would be Giselle, her ghost protecting her lover from anything that could come to harm him. Every role she took on, she became the character. Even when it had just been minor roles, nobody could deny that she was the one your eyes drifted to despite other dancers on stage. 

Watching her was a religion that he would worship until he was nothing more but dust in the wind. Watching her lift onto her toes with such ease and spin, her skirt a blur of pink and white, he came to the realization that this was all he wanted to be. This life, with her, dancing through it together. 

When she danced, he was in perfectly awe of how not flawed every movement was. So free, the way she moved, the way she made him feel. Like for the first time they were breaking free of everything that had held them back for so long. There was always a moment in rehearsals where he could physically see the action of her freeing herself from those moments, freeing herself from the things weighed her down. He watched her become weightless, watched her become water weaving in and out of a current. 

And it moved him beyond measure. 

tags: @starseternalnighttriumphant @mariamuses @keshavomit @faefromthenorth @ifyouwouldseemysoul @murlymoo150 @faerie-queen-fireheart @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyre-therabeaux @runawayrowan @someonemagical @stormymeow @singme-t0sleep @tswaney17 @shyvioletcat @city-of-fae @kandasboi @mynewdreamwasyou @tangledraysofsunshine @aelin-is-my-heart @empire-of-wildfire @mynameiscelaenasardothien  @schmlip-scribble @musicmaam  @westofmoon @aaronwarnvrs @acourtofrowaelinandfeysand @im-not-rare-im-rarr​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @vi0let-femmes​ @dressedindustandshadows @lowhangingtreebranches

[azriels-bitch]

This or That Tag

Thank you so much to @highladyofidris and @amusedowl for tagging me!

Rules: bold in what you prefer and tag ten people

Coffee or tea (I don’t normally drink either and stick to water though)

Early bird or night owl (Both; is this weird? I think it’s weird)

Chocolate or vanilla swirl

Spring or autumn

Silver or gold

Pop or alternative (my taste in music is all over the place)

Freckles or dimples

Snakes or sharks

Mountains or fields

Thunderstorms or lightning

Egyptian or Greek mythology

Ivory or scarlet

Opal or diamond

Butterflies or honeybees

Macarons or eclairs

Typewritten or handwritten

Secret garden or secret library

Rooftop or balcony

Spicy or mild

London or Paris

Opera or ballet

Vincent Van Gogh or Claude Monet

Denim or leather

Potions or spells

Ocean or desert

Mermaids or sirens

Masquerade ball or cocktail party

Tagging: @librarian-of-orynth @wendlyn-shadows @ladyhavilliard @huntress-of-velaris @acourtoffuckmylifeup @light-in-the-shadows72 @fair-y-child

[kagetatsumis]

tagged by @mooonbeam <3 you sam

RULES: Bold in what you prefer and tag ten people!

coffee or tea

early bird or night owl

chocolate or vanilla

spring or fall

silver or gold

pop or alternative classic & instrumental

freckles or dimples

snakes or sharks

mountains or fields

thunderstorm or lightning

egyptian or greek mythology

ivory or scarlet

flute or lyre

opal or diamond

butterflies or honeybees

macaroons or eclairs

typewritten or handwritten

secret garden or secret library

rooftop or balcony

spicy or mild

opera or ballet

london or paris

vincent van gogh or claude monet

denim or leather

potions or spells

ocean or desert

mermaids or sirens

masquerade ball or cocktail party

Tagging: @goldbooksblack @ladyvanserra @ladyhavilliard @librarian-of-orynth @perranth @adriata @elentiyas @athelwood @lunarwhich @poisonwhiterose and anyone else who wants to do it!

[leiawritesstories]

Masterlist

all of my work is tagged “my writing” so it can be found if it’s not on here :)

THRONE OF GLASS

EVENTS/COLLECTIONS

ONESHOTS

SAD SONG FICS

MULTICHAPTERS 

FLY THE BLACK FLAG (completed)

THE ASSASSIN AND THE PRINCESS (WIP)

UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY (WIP)

THE WHITETHORNS (randomly updated)

CHEF ROWAN (randomly updated)

THE COWBOY AU (randomly updated)

QUEEN OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS (WIP)

THE ONLY OPTION (abandoned?)

As I Am (hiatus)

The Orynth Ballet Collection

MISCELLANEOUS (other random works, a few drawings)

[leiawritesstories]

A New Partnership

Rowaelin Month, Day 12: Delayed Love Confession. Ballet AU :) Sort of played with the whole “love confession” thing.....

Word count: 1167

Warnings: Language, innuendo

After such a long and grueling day, all Aelin wanted to do was go back to the apartment she shared with two of her fellow soloists and crash. Fridays suck, she had decided. First company class at eight-thirty, then in-studio rehearsals until nearly one o’clock, followed by a break barely long enough to swallow some food and water, and then studio or stage rehearsals until seven. 

And because it was a Friday, there was a performance at eight-fifteen. Thank all the gods she wasn’t in this cast, but she was an understudy, so she had to be in the wings. 

She tugged off her rehearsal tutu and plopped it onto the rack, then dropped down onto the floor by her overflowing bag and untied her pointes, sighing in pure bliss as her feet were freed. And since her right shoe bent nearly in half when she pushed on it, the shoes were good and dead. Aelin riffled through the contents of her bag and located a new pair, sewn and ready for wear if she needed them. Good. One less thing to worry about on the off chance she had to perform. But gods, she hoped she didn’t need to. 

Because Don Quixote rehearsals that day had been hell.

When she first saw she’d been cast as one of the Kitris, Aelin had nearly passed out from shock. Then Dorian Havilliard, British soloist and a great friend of hers, had practically tackled her in the hallway, he was so excited to be cast as her Basilio, and the joy of a major soloist role set in. During the first rehearsals, the solos, that joy wore off real fast, replaced by an endless string of shit, that’s a lot of choreography, goddamn character skirts, that’s a sissone arabesque, not attitude, SPOT YOUR TURNS!, and stress. 

By the time pas de deux rehearsals started, she’d finally got most of her solo work down, but was nervous for the Act III grand pas de deux, given the lifts it entailed and how perfectly precise the timing had to be. She and Dorian had been partners before, so he knew how she adjusted to lifts, but fish dives were another beast. They worked at that particular pas for a solid week before learning the rest, and even spent some early mornings in the upstairs studio going over the lift sequences. 

Last week, Peter and Delaney, the pas de deux rehearsal coaches, had asked Aelin and Dorian to rehearse with Rowan Whitethorn and Nesta Archeron, the principals who were Basilio and Kitri in first cast. Peter and Delaney were notorious for asking partnered pairs to switch partners for a rehearsal, so Aelin braced herself for the potential that she could very well be stuck with Whitethorn for an hour and a half. 

Not that she’d mind being stuck to that piece.

But she was used to Dorian’s partnering. So, when the coaches announced a partner swap, Aelin’s usual rehearsal calm gave way to nerves, which she tried to squash down before dancing. Rowan, damn him, noticed her trying to steady her breathing, and whispered something to the effect of “I promise not to drop you.” She half-grinned, her nerves easing. 

“You do that and I’ll battement you with my pointes, Whitethorn.” He gulped. 

To everyone’s shock, Aelin and Rowan’s pairing had more natural chemistry that Aelin and Dorian, Nesta and Rowan, and Nesta and Dorian. The coaches held a quick whispered conference after watching the two run the grand pas, and then informed them that they would be making this swap a casting change. Aelin distinctly heard Dorian try to muffle his exclamation of “Bloody fucking hell!” 

So began her remarkably quick transition to a completely different partner. Rowan was twenty-three and had joined The Orynth Ballet last season, transferring in as a principal from Doranelle National Ballet. He and Aelin shared company class and little else, save a few rehearsals where she was understudying his cast partner. It was a shock to both of them how easily they clicked, both as dancers and in their roles. Aelin loved Kitri, loved the fiery, sassy Spanish personality she got to become, and she absolutely loved throwing a little bit of extra flirtation into her Kitri’s interactions with Rowan’s Basilio. 

After all, she wasn’t about to just admit she liked him.

So she threw the day’s dead pointes into her bag, pulled on sweats and a wrap, and made herself get up and walk back to the dressing rooms to change into performance tights and put on some makeup. As an understudy, she didn’t need to do full stage makeup, but some foundation and lipstick and false lashes would be good enough if she had to suddenly run onstage. Dressed and made up, Aelin made her way down to the stage entrance, smothering a groan before entering. She set her bag down in the back of the stage right wing and slid down onto the floor, stretching her tired legs. 

“Feeling the effects of the day, are we now?” drawled a low male voice from her left. 

“Shut the hell up, Whitethorn,” she grumbled, “but yes.”

He settled down alongside her. “Who’re you here for?”

“Technically, Alanna, but Brian had me learn all the corps parts so I can step in for anyone. Because he’s lazy.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

Rowan shook his head. “He really is a dick sometimes.”

Aelin snorted. “Sometimes, says the star transfer. Welcome to the company.”

They fell into silence for a while, just watching their company mates onstage. During an interlude corps waltz, one of the other soloists came over to talk to Aelin and made extra sure to cast a few appreciative glances Rowan’s way. He saw Aelin snicker and wiggle her eyebrows at one of her friend’s comments, and poked her arm once her friend left. 

“Care to share what, exactly, you found so entertaining?”

She smirked. “I won’t repeat her exact words, but let’s just say Cora wouldn’t mind a piece of your Spandexed ass.”

“She won’t get any of it,” he said dryly.

“Oh? And who would?”

“I’m looking at her.”

Aelin’s jaw dropped. “Rowan--I--You’ve literally been here for less than six months!”

“And head over heels for you for five, at least.” She just stared at him, eyes wide. “Shit, Ae, I didn’t mean to scare you or--”

“I’m not scared, Whitethorn, just...shit. I didn’t think you’d grow the cojones to admit it. Thought I’d have to tell you how I get myself off with fantasies of you before you’d ever say anything.”

Rowan choked on whatever he was about to say. When he finally stopped coughing into his arm, he gasped, “Gods, I love talking to you. Every time. Every time, you manage to shock me with something like...that.”

She grinned. “You do?”

“I do. Hell yes I do. Will you go to dinner with me after this show?”

“Only if you buy me chocolate hazelnut cake.”

“Deal.”

[leiawritesstories]

ACOTAR Masterlist

MULTICHAPTERS

As I Am

The Orynth Ballet Collection

ONESHOTS

NESSIAN

Yes, My Love (written for ACOTAR Secret Santa)

Burden

POTC AU

Battlefield Proposal

You Deserve It

Nesta Appreciation Week: Dancing

Nesta Appreciation Week: Inner Strength

NESSIAN WEEK 2021

Day 2: Sofas Shouldn’t Be Orange

Day 3: Piano For Relaxation

Day 5: Another Place

Day 7: Too Early For This

OTHER ACOTAR

The Chaos Trio

[highqueenofelfhame]

Like We Used To

There were spots starting to encroach on the perimeters of his vision from how long he’d been staring at the photo that had somehow wormed its way onto his Instagram feed: A golden blonde girl with a floppy hat and sunglasses, staring up at a brown-haired boy that had an arm slung around her shoulders. Both of them wore swimsuits, the backdrop a gorgeous expanse of turquoise sea. Turquoise that would match her eyes perfectly had they not been covered.

The last time he had seen those eyes they had been bloodshot with tears spilling over the rims, leaving nothing but black, watercolor mascara marks down her cheeks. The time before that he had been gazing at her from the doorway of his bedroom, her eyes closed while she sighed in a content sleep. It had been quick, the way she had gone from his to not his. Of his list of things to do that day, losing Aelin Galathynius hadn’t been one of them.

On that morning - one year, two months, and five days ago - Rowan Whitethorn had woken up with her cold toes wiggling under his legs. He had groaned, which only made her laugh and send the warmth of her breath over his neck that set goosebumps erupting over his skin.

“Gods above, woman,” he had said, reaching down to wrap his hot hands around her feet to warm them. Another quiet laugh from the woman he loved had him grinning as he rolled onto his side and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. It was still dark out, neither of them needing to be up for hours, and she had nuzzled her face back into his chest and swiftly fallen asleep to the beating of his heart.

Now, though, she was with someone else. Someone who was quite the opposite that Rowan himself was, and he hated that he was now scrolling through her Instagram feed stewing over the heart captions that Aelin had left below picture of her and this man. Chaol. A man who absolutely wasn’t worth a single second of Aelin’s time — Rowan could tell just by looking at him. His jaw clenched at a photo of the two curled up on the couch together, Aelin’s face pressed into his neck with a smile on her lips. Four months with this one, she had captioned it, complete with heart emojis. That photo had been posted two months ago. Aelin had now been cuddled up in the arms of another for six months, the last photo of the two posted two weeks ago.

Rowan was unable to stop himself from wondering if this new man did everything that he had - if he had let her quote the movies she no doubt begged him to watch with her. If he sang along with her to music he didn’t care for just because it brought her an inexplicable joy while she danced around the living room, using all that ballet training she’d ditched after eighteen years.

More importantly, did he comfort her through the nightmares, did he hold her while she cried about lost love and her parents untimely and violent deaths? Had she felt comfortable enough to even confide in him? Was he making sure she saw her therapist once a week? Did he go out of his way to make her laugh, even when they were fighting, if she looked too close to breaking? Did he do any of that? Did he make her happy?

“Rowan, man, you’ve got five minutes to curtain,” Fenrys said, poking his head through the door to the greenroom. Rowan locked his phone and ran his hand down his face, willing away the tears that pricked at the edges of his vision.

“Yeah,” with a head nod was all he was able to muster and his head of security frowned as he stepped into the room.

“You okay?”

“Yeah just…” Rowan shrugged, scrubbing at his face with his palms.

“Did she…?”

“I knew she was probably seeing someone else by now but seeing it on her page suckerpunched me about eighteen ways I hadn’t expected. Not that I blame her. It’s my fault. All of it is my fault. I couldn’t do the one thing she asked me to do.” Sighing, Rowan got to his feet and grabbed a bottle of water out of the ice chest by the door before they started walking down the hall toward the stage. “It just gets worse every time I’m back in Orynth and I have to go back to my stupid fucking apartment alone.”

“We could go out after,” Fenrys suggested with the shrug of a shoulder. Rowan contemplated, offering his friend a nod just as he hopped up onto the completely black stage. The part of the night he always hated was when the opening visuals started firing off with a version of one of his songs he’d mixed just for Aelin. It started slow until it built to an epic peak with his stage name - Hawk - flashing on the screens behind his head. He’d never been able to get himself to change the opening song, though. Couldn’t be bothered to drop the stage name that she had helped him pick out. His friends claimed that he was pining.

He was.

The longer his set went on, the harder it was to keep his eyes from scanning the crowd. Just in case she had shown up with her friends like she had so loved to do. Aelin had been his biggest fan his entire career; she had been there from the very beginning and if she was able to make a show, she was there. She had gently forced all of his music down her friend’s throats, had blasted it in her car, had requested it on radio stations not just because she was dating him and wanted him to succeed. But because she genuinely loved the music he put out into the world, because she was so proud of him that she wanted everyone to know how talented she thought him to be.

A flash of golden hair in the crowd had his fingers slipping on one of the buttons he was moving to press but he didn’t care. Another head of blonde hair with lips pressed to her beau’s had his heart faltering all together. It wasn’t Aelin, but that didn’t keep his mind from wandering while his hands stayed autopilot, carrying him through the set.

One year, two months, seven days ago. Rowan, down on one knee with a glittering emerald custom created just for her, Aelin with sparkling tears in her eyes while she pressed a thousand kisses to his mouth while murmuring the three letter word he had been hoping for against his lips - yes. It hadn’t taken him long to have her pressed against the window of the balcony, to be buried inside her with whispers of his love and affection for her dancing across her skin. Even the next morning, despite their lovemaking having moved to the bed, the fingerprints and smudges left perfect evidence of what he’d done to her against the glass. They had laughed about it.

Now she was likely tangling in his sheets. It shouldn’t be someone else’s hands on her skin. It should be Rowan’s, like it was supposed to be. Rowan’s hands on her skin, Aelin’s hands on his heart.

Still, despite his feelings, he found himself hoping that she was happy, that he made her feel as loved and cherished as Rowan had always tried to. That this other man would tell her multiple times a day that he loved her. That he told her with words and with flowers, with silent actions and huge gestures. He found himself hoping that if this was the man she was supposed to be with, that nothing would lead her to throw it away. Because despite himself, Aelin deserved everything. She deserved the world handed to her on a diamond platter, to be happy, to be loved. And regardless of the way his heart ached when he thought about her, he so desperately wanted her to just be happy.

By the time his show was over, his mind was wandering aimlessly over memories and moments he’d shared with the woman he would never stop loving. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up back in his greenroom with his phone in hand, staring at old photos they had taken together. The photos they had taken days before she broke up with him of her crying happy tears over the ring on her finger.

“Another tour? Are you fucking - we talked about this last week, Rowan.” She was livid, the golden core of her iris dancing like lit flame as she shouted at him. “The one thing I asked. I asked you to take a break. To spend some time at home with me, to take off the long distance strain. That’s all i asked you to do.” By then, she was already working the emerald ring off her finger, so quickly he hardly had it processed before it was knocking him in the forehead.

“What are you doing? Fireheart, I -”

“I’m going to go find someone that actually wants to spend his fucking time with me Rowan since you clearly don’t. What do you even see when you look at me? A joke? Because it clearly isn’t your future,” she hissed. By that point, mascara was tracking down her cheeks and she was sobbing - horrible ripping sobs that cracked Rowan’s heart in two. Everything had been fine this morning, everything had been -

“Rowan?” His eyes shifted from his phone to Fenrys’s face, who had a slight smile to his lips. “You’ve got a VIP, man.” Rowan nodded once and stood, shaking out his arms and running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t particularly care that his face was red and feverish, or that his hair was sweat-soaked. Not until he opened the door anyway.

Before him stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on, her eyes a bright turquoise ringed with gold. Eyes he had spent five years looking into, five years memorizing. Her hair tumbled down her back in golden waves, one side pinned back by numerous pins. The outfit she wore was simple, but a favorite of his: black jeans, white tee, black leather jacket. A necklace he’d bought her dangled between her breasts. The longer he stared at her, slack-jawed and in awe that she stood before him, the more her eyes began to fill with tears of their own.

“Rowan,” she said softly, her voice breaking in two. “Hey.”

@musicmaam @starseternalnighttriumphant @myfeyrelady @kandasboi @tinywolfofeyllwe @empire-of-wildfire @nalgenewhore @shyvioletcat @the-regal-warrior @city-of-fae