#( ROWAN HAS HALF A MIND TO BLOCK HIS ASS )

[myxrowan]

text to { little red hood ❤ } -> "water your plants? not exactly the best excuse to run away from me after our really sweet kiss, little red berry. 😉"

[ text → underworld prince 💕 ] did i say that? i don’t recall saying that.

[ text → underworld prince 💕 ] pretty sure i said i left the oven on! 

[ text → underworld prince 💕 ] scone?

[rhysismydaddy]

The Bodyguard (Elorcan)

MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE SHIP.

I wrote a lot of Elorcan a while ago on my phone and realized I’ve literally been posting Nessian nonstop, so we’ll take a little break. 

I have no idea how many parts this is going to be, but it’s a bit more of a slow burn than my usual fics, so probably 5ish. Not much happens in this part, but it get’s more interesting lol. Let me know if you want to be tagged :)

Part 2 | Part 3

______________________________________________________________

Elide rolled out of bed Monday morning to the sound of a loud, incessant banging on her front door. How someone was managing to put that much aggression and frustration into a simple knock baffled her. 

She swung it open and yelled, “What the hell do you want?”

When she looked up--and up and up and up--to the man standing in front of her, she instantly regretted her choice of tone. 

This was not a man you yelled at. Hell, this was not a man you poked with a very, very long stick. 

The stranger towered above her, making all five feet of her feet insignificant. He had long dark hair pulled back in a bun, tan skin, and eyes that looked almost black. Chiseled cheek bones, a jaw set in a scowl, and head to toe black clothing completed the look. 

Elide didn’t know how to feel about his appearance, actually. 

It was definitely abrasive and intimidating. Or to most it would be. She’d lost her fear of “scary” men a while ago. She knew firsthand the most innocent looking man could be the most sadistic. 

And yet, beneath all the black clothing and deep scowl, the man standing in front of her was also attractive in a dangerous, rough way. 

But what the hell did he want?

“Elide Lochan?” he asked, his voice conveying everything written across his face effortlessly. 

“Um, yes?” How did he know who she was? 

“I’m with The Galathynius Guarship. I’ve been assigned to watch over you.” He seemed satisfied with that explanation, but she sure as hell wasn’t.

“Galathynius? As in Aelin Galathynius?”

If possible, his scowl got deeper. “The one and only. But more specifically, I owe the whipped little bitch who calls himself her husband a favor.”

“Hold on,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Rowan sent you?”

This was beyond weird. Aelin was one of her best friends, but she didn’t spend all that much time around her husband. 

The man in front of her sighed, so much aggression in the one simple sound. “I suspect that he was told to cash in the favor in this specific way by a certain fire-breathing bitch queen, but yes, he was the one who called me.”

“Okay, but why?”

His eyes met hers, and she somehow knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. It didn’t soften the words in the slightest, though. 

“He found you.”

Fuck.

An involuntary shiver ran over her, but she hid it behind a stretch. “How do they know?”

“Rowan said they’ve been watching your uncle for a while, and that he just bought an apartment in the city. He’s also made inquiries into this complex about you, and a black sedan has been spotted canvassing the building you work in.” 

He said it all in that same cold, almost bored tone, and for some reason, that kept the panic at bay. 

Elide straightened her spine and put on her best smile. “Thank you for telling me. I don’t need a bodyguard, though.”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “I don’t care.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I owe Whitehorn a favor, and this is what the bastard asked for, so I don’t particularly care if you think you don’t need a bodyguard, although I expect that to be false.” He looked her head to toe as he said that last part, and her blood started to boil. 

She wanted him gone. Now.

Glaring at him, she snatched her phone and dialed Aelin’s number. 

“Hi, Elide. You know it’s like six in the morning, right?”

“Believe me, I’m not happy to be awake at this hour, either. I was woken up by...” she realized she didn’t know the man’s name. “someone pounding on the door. He says he’s my new bodyguard and that you had something to do with it.”

“His name is Lorcan Salvaterre.”

She sighed, continuing to glare at him. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but tell Lorcan Salvaterre to piss off. I’ve been on my own my entire life, and I’m fine.”

“Barely,” Aelin said quietly. 

She paused, ignoring that train of thought, then tried a different tactic. “You know he’s like ten feet tall right?” Lorcan rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to keep a low profile with him following me?”

Aelin laughed softly. “He’s a tall, insufferable bastard, but he’ll keep you safe. At this point, your uncle’s seen where you live and work, so keeping a low profile doesn’t exactly matter.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But-”

“Listen.” There was a little fire in her best friend’s tone now. “I do not plan on repeating what happened two years ago. Ever. So until we figure out how to throw Vernon in a deep, dark hole no one will ever find him in, Lorcan stays. Just ignore him.”

“Easier said than done,” she muttered back.

She could practically see Aelin’s smile. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

The line clicked dead, and she threw her phone on her couch in defeat. 

“Your powers of persuasion are truly something magnificent,” Lorcan Salvaterre told her in a mocking tone. “I’m tall? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“It’s 6 AM and I’m tired,” she defended, suddenly annoyed. “But I’m already up, so I guess I’ll just go to work early.”

She shut the door in his face so she wouldn’t have to even think about inviting him in.

Damn.

Damn damn damn!

This was so frustrating. She felt... helpless and desperate and trapped. Everyone in her life was trying to keep her safe, but she found herself wanting to be alone and independent for once in her life. 

And she was afraid. 

After finally escaping her uncle’s country estate and moving to the city, she’d sworn she’d never let him make her feel like this again. 

And yet, just the mention of him being in the same city as her made her tremble with fear. Fear, and more than a little rage.

Elide stepped under the shower spray, closing her eyes. Images from her lifetime of misery flickered through her mind, and unlike usual, she didn’t even bother blocking them out. 

They played like a montage in her head, showing her all the reasons she had to be afraid of her uncle. 

Her parents funeral. The first time Vernon had asked her to come to his office. The hidden bruises. The ruined ankle from the time he’d refused to let her go to the doctor and get the bone set. The scars on her wrists and ankles from her chains. 

The emotional scars from everything else.

She squeezed her eyes closed, shut off the onslaught of memories, and stepped out of the shower. 

As usual, she put on jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, even though it was almost summer. Even though she’d made peace with her scars, she didn’t want people to see and gawk. She got a few odd looks for being dressed so heavily, but it kept her more comfortable, so Elide didn’t care. 

She straightened her dark hair, swiped on a little makeup, and grabbed her bag. 

When she opened the door again, Lorcan was still standing there, leaning against the wall across from her. He didn’t even seem to notice her very conservative apparel, but his eyes swept over her face, studying her closely. 

“Ready?”

She nodded, a little nervous by how observant he seemed, but followed as he turned and walked towards the stairs. 

Living on the second floor had a few advantages, but the biggest had to be that she didn’t have to wait for the slow ass elevator that almost never worked. Soon, they were out on the street, walking towards her building. 

Feeling like a million eyes were on her now that she was in public, she tugged on her sleeves and ducked her head. 

“They’re probably staring at me, not you,” Lorcan said with a grimace. 

Oh, there was no “probably” about it. 

Everyone--everyone--was looking at the man strolling next to her. Some with blatant fear on their faces, some just in shock. 

She supposed she couldn’t really blame them. He was large and imposing and looked like he could snap anyone in half who dared to cross him. 

The attention still made her uncomfortable. She preferred to go through life unnoticed, and Lorcan was like a magnet to both men and women’s attention. 

Spotting her favorite coffee shop, she almost cried in relief. She tugged on Lorcan’s arm, and he followed her inside, dark eyes scanning everyone there for signs of a threat. 

Considering this was the most hippie, backwater place in the city, it was a short search. 

“Hey, Elide,” the woman behind the counter said with a smile.

Elide smiled back. “Hey, Asterin.” 

Asterin was one of her best friends in the city. They’d met in the hospital’s mandatory group therapy for people who had suffered certain times of “trauma” and had instantly bonded over their shared hate of one of the nurses. 

“Same as usual?”

She nodded, then turned to Lorcan. “Do you want anything?”

“No,” he responded, eyes hovering on Asterin as if she were a threat.

Granted, her friend was in her usual all black, mostly leather attire and had multiple piercings gracing her beautiful face, but this was Asterin for crying out loud. She was more than a little protective of Elide.

“Who’s the mutt?” the object of his attention asked in a too-friendly voice. 

Elide sighed, unsure how to explain. If Asterin knew her uncle was in town, things were bound to get a little haywire. 

“It’s a long story,” she dodged, sliding a bill across the counter. Her friend looked at her like she’d grown two heads. 

“When’s the last time I charged you?”

Never. 

She stuck it in the tip jar, making Asterin roll her eyes. A moment later, she brought back her vanilla latte and said, “I’ll see you Friday, right?”

For a moment, she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but it came rushing back a second later. Friday. Concert. Asterin’s band. “Yeah, sure.”

She could feel Lorcan’s eyes narrow, but she pulled him out before he could cause a scene. 

“What’s happening Friday?” he asked as soon as they were outside. 

Taking a deep drink of her coffee, she replied, “Asterin’s band is having a concert at MSK.”

He brooded for a minute over this information. “No. A crowded area is not exactly safe for you right now.”

Elide stopped walking, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “No? No?”

He was fucking crazy if he thought she’d do whatever he wanted just because he’d been assigned to follow her around. 

Lorcan repeated the word, and she saw red.

“You are not going to tell me what I can and cannot do, you stupidly large bastard. I’ve spent my entire life with someone who did that for me, and I won’t put up with it for a second longer.” 

He sighed, and that just pissed her off more. 

“If you’re not confident in your skills to guard me in a crowded area, then maybe you shouldn't be here,” she snapped. 

His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m more than confident in myself, Elide. That doesn’t mean it isn’t stupid to put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

She just rolled her eyes and stormed away, well aware his long legs would catch up to her in a second. “I’m going.”

“Fucking hell. You mean we’re going,” he corrected with a gruff. 

She smirked. “At least you won’t have to buy any new clothes. They’re a pretty goth band.”

Elide didn’t need to look to know his scowl deepened, and the thought brought a bright smile to her face as she walked into her office building. 

“Morning, Elide,” the receptionist, Tom, called. She waved back.

Lorcan did not. 

He just followed her down the hallway to the suit labeled Perranth Wellness Center, through the lobby and staff kitchen, and into her office. When she tried to shut the door behind her, his hand shot out above her head and stopped it. “I’m coming in.”

“You most certainly are not.”

He showed her she was, in fact, incorrect in that statement by pushing her out of the way and strolling in. Her office was exactly what it was supposed to be: calm, relaxed, covered in plants, and home to a comfy black sofa, two chairs, and a desk. 

As a therapist, it was all pretty much standard. 

Lorcan dragged one of the chairs into a corner near her bookcase, then sat down. 

“You can’t stay in here! I have appointments today!”

He gave her a strange look. “I assumed as much. I’m fine here.”

Elide pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from strangling him. “I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. You legally cannot be in here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not leaving you in here with a bunch of crazy people.”

“They aren’t crazy! They just talk about their problems.”

The look on his face said that statement proved his point. “I can assure you I won’t care what they say.”

“I am not losing my license because you have some insane idea that my clients are violent!”

Suddenly he was on his feet, towering over her, looking at her as if she were a naive little girl. “Elide. Has it not occurred to you Vernon could send someone as a fake client to get to you?”

No. 

“I’m safe here,” she lied. She wasn’t safe anywhere.

“If you actually believed that, then why do you have a knife strapped under your desk?”

How the hell had he found that? He hadn’t even searched the place!

She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to diffuse this situation. “I’m getting the idea you’re not up for negotiation on this point.” He shook his head like the stubborn asshat he was. “Fine. You can stay as long as you tell people you’re shadowing to become a therapist yourself.”

His dark eyebrows shot up. “I don’t exactly fit the bill for a therapist.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” The dark attire and permanent scowl were sure to raise some brows, but it was the only option. Elide rolled her eyes and tried to calm down. “Try smiling or something.”

He looked as if she’d suggested he run naked through the city in the dead of winter, but before he could argue, a knock on the door sounded. “Dr. Lochan? Your eight o’clock is here.”

She shoved Lorcan to the chair in the corner, and he plopped down with a sigh. 

“Send him in!”

This would be interesting. 

Twenty minutes later, Elide corrected her statement from interesting to big fat mistake. 

Her client, Wayne Jefferies, kept looking towards the corner Lorcan was situated in, eyes wide. As someone who had a strong fear of practically everything that moved, this situation was less than ideal. 

He tilted his ear toward something she couldn’t see, then whispered, “He’s here to kill me.”

Wayne was also a raging schizophrenic. 

“No one is here to kill you, Wayne. Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice.” Once he did, she turned around and shot a glare over her shoulder at the hulking brute. Stop it, she mouthed. 

His brow scrunched. Stop what? 

Scaring him! 

Before he could mouth something back, Wayne’s eyes shot open. “They’re saying I should kill him first.”

Oh, good gracious. 

“Feel free to try,” Lorcan said in a low voice. 

Wayne jumped to his feet, thrusting an accusatory finger towards the corner. “See! He’s after me!”

“If I was after you, you’d be dead,” her very helpful protector reasoned. 

Wayne paused, then opened his mouth to shout something else. Before he could, Elide said gently, “Sit down, Wayne. No one here is going to hurt you. I promise. Shut the voices out and imagine a wall being built around your mind, keeping you safe.”

Her client was silent, so she turned around and glared at Lorcan. He just rolled his eyes, then leaned back and closed them.

This was going to be a long day. 

~

After three other appointments, which had gone a little smoother actually, Elide was exhausted. Hearing about other people’s problems both helped rationalize hers and drained her. 

She walked to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Lorcan following behind dutifully. 

“Dr. Lochan! Got a package for you,” Tom said, handing her a thin package. 

Before Lorcan could snatch it up, she grabbed a knife and cut it open, revealing what was inside. 

Yet another mistake. 

A handwritten note in beautiful, recognizable calligraphy, read: I’ll see you soon.

It was a promise, threat, and taunt all in one. How like Vernon.

Knowing he would never send just a little threat, she ignored the dread unfurling in her stomach and flipped the card over.

And stared down at a black and white picture of herself, asleep in bed. 

The covers were thrown back, exposing her bare legs, and her shirt had ridden up while she slept. She looked young and innocent. Vulnerable. 

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that it had been taken from directly in front of the bed. Inside her room. 

The angle of the camera made that obvious. It also revealed that the person who’d taken the picture had done so with painstaking care, getting just the right angle to make it look as if a lover had taken it. 

Bile rose in her throat as she stared at it, trying desperately to figure out how they’d gotten inside her apartment. 

And why hadn’t they just taken her then and there?

Lorcan snatched the note and picture out of her hands, jaw locking tightly. He studied the photo, the note, everything. “I’ll search the apartment when we get back. They can’t get to you with me there.”

His confidence was unwavering and let her relax a little. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

But somehow, in the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t. This was just the beginning for Vernon. 

He’d always enjoyed the thrill of making her as terrified as possible before finally unleashing whatever sick desire he had planned out. The waiting was half the fun for him. 

And he’d just let her know he could get to her whenever, wherever. No matter who was around. 

It was a strong opening move, she had to admit. The obviously-desired fear was there, pushing on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. 

But there was something else, something new. Something that had only developed in the year she’d been free. 

It was rage, sure. But it was a cold, calculated rage that only came with one thing. 

Revenge. 

______________________________________________________________

ooOOooh dramatic ending for the win. 

Part 2

@ladywitchling @perseusannabeth @studyliketate @cursebreaker29 @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Sneaking Around | Chapter Eight

Ansel looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown. “OHMYGODSAREYOUFUCKINGROWAN?!?!”

Aelin grabbed her phone from Ansel. The message read, Would you like to go out to dinner tomorrow?

Ignoring Ansel’s screetching, she replied, sure. im free anytime after six. That would give her almost a full day to convince Ansel to keep her mouth shut. Easier said than done. you might as well pick me up at my door. Ansel found out

Shit. was his response.

yeah i have to deal with that now

Have fun.

thanks for the support, jerk

Aelin then set down her phone and looked at Ansel with a calmness she didn’t even know she possessed. “Yes,” she said simply.

Ansel’s mouth dropped open even farther. “But. You. Hate. Him. And what about your secret lover boy?” When Aelin didn’t reply to this, Ansel yelled, “WHAT?!?! ARE YOU DATING ROWAN?!?! IS HE-”

Aelin just said, “Chill.”

“CHILL? HOW DO I CHILL RIGHT NOW?”

“You could start by stopping with the screaming.”

Ansel glowered at Aelin. “I think I know I know exactly how this is going to go. You’re going to do everything in your power to silence me. Begging, blackmailing, whatever it takes. So I have a proposal for you.” To Aelin’s questioning look she added, “I will not tell a soul about this if you tell me everything. I want the details.”

Aelin sighed. Of course she did. There really was no way to get out of this. “Sit.”

They sat on the couch. Ansel was still staring at Aelin like she had grown a third eye. “How the hell did this happen?”

Aelin explained the hookup, the morning after, and the ride home. The flirting at work, the date. Meeting at his place after hanging out with everybody. Going there after work yesterday, sending him to spy on Lys and the twins, and then this morning’s awkward “I like you.” It was surprisingly nice to get it all off her chest.

By the time she finished, Ansel appeared to have entered a state of shock. “But. Wait. Oh my gods. You. What. Oh my gods.”

Aelin suppressed her sigh this time. “Ansel... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, truly, I am. But I really like him.”

Ansel sobered. “You like him,” she whispered. Having seemed to have finally wrapped her mind around it, she squealed. “Aw, you guys are so cute together! This is fate. I am involved now and you can do nothing to get rid of me.” Great. This would be fun.

-

Ansel insisted on preparing Aelin for her date the next day. As fussy as she was, she knew how to pick an outfit. Aelin was dressed in a deep green, velvety, flowing dress. It showed a fair amount in the front and back. A light layer of makeup was applied, including a cherry-red lipstick. Aelin’s hair was done up in a simple but pretty style, flowing around and then down her back.

It was six on the dot when there was a knock on door. Before Aelin could do anything, Ansel ran over and opened it. “Rowan, what a lovely surprise. Come in.”

“Ansel, butt out.” Aelin pitied the man on the end of Ansel’s prying.

Rowan smiled, then stepped inside. “Hello, ladies.” He was wearing a nice suit, not the same one as last time, though. Aelin was pleasantly surprised to find he had more than one. Rowan raised an eyebrow at Ansel.

Ansel smirked. “We made a deal. Silence for information.”

Rowan grinned. “Any interesting details?”

“Well, from what I hear, you’re rather good in bed.” Okay, maybe she had mentioned that to Ansel at one point.

Aelin’s face reddened. “Gods help me,” she muttered, glancing upwards.

Rowan’s grin widened. “Is that so?”

“We should be off,” declared Aelin, avoiding Ansel’s triumphant stare and Rowan’s self-satisfied gaze. She walked forward, grabbed Rowan’s arm, and dragged him towards the door.

“Now hold on a minute,” said Rowan. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to Ansel?” He had an innocent expression on his face. She was going to murder him. Both of them.

“You two are so cute together,” Ansel said. Rowan blushed too at this. Serves him right for not walking out the door when he had the chance. “I can’t believe this didn’t happen sooner. You’re so in love.” Ansel lived to stir the pot.

Rowan placed a hand on Aelin’s lower back and guided her to the door before she could pummel Ansel. He couldn’t stop her from flipping Ansel off, though.

Once the door was locked and they were a safe distance away, Aelin burst into laughter. Rowan gave her an incredulous look before chuckling. “This is what I have to live with, Ro.”

He smiled at his new nickname. The stood waiting for the elevator. “I’m glad to hear about my prowess in the bedroom, at least.”

Aelin stopped laughing. “Shut up.”

“I wonder what else you told Ansel about me.”

“Shut up,” she repeated, “before I kick your ass.”

The elevator opened and they stepped in. Rowan’s hand was still on her back. The doors closed and Rowan raked his gaze over her, lingering on the especially exposed areas. “You look beautiful, Aelin.”

She couldn’t prevent the color from rising to her cheeks, and after it had finally faded, too. “And you look very handsome.” Before either one of them could lose their self-control, the elevator opened with a ding.

In his car, Rowan asked, “Ansel won’t tell anyone, will she?”

“You know her. She talks, but she keeps her word.”

“Good. Not that... I mean...” Rowan stopped talking.

Aelin was very curious about what he was dancing around. Was this what he’d been avoiding yesterday? “Tell me,” she demanded.

“You’re going to the Christmas party.” Not a question.

“Yes...”

Rowan furrowed his brow. “Would you like to go to the party with me?”

Aelin blinked. “What, like together? As dates?”

Rowan sighed. Before he could make some comment about how she should just forgot it, Aelin said, “Rowan Whitethorn, are you proposing that we tell the others that we’re involved?”

“Maybe wait until the party, but yeah, I thought maybe we could.” He glanced over at her then quickly back at the road, avoiding her gaze.

Aelin smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Really?”

Aelin laughed. “What happened to your arrogance, Rowan? Of course we can tell them.”

Rowan chuckled. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“I try. We don’t tell them until then, by the way. I need at least a few more weeks of peace.”

“Or as much peace as one being constantly pestered about their mysterious paramour can get,” Rowan added.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to call it, yes, you’re right. Hopefully they’ll lose interest soon.”

“Doubtful. They’re like piranahs.”

“How true. We’re not much better, though,” Aelin responded.

They pulled up at a restaurant. It wasn’t the same one as last time, though it was still very nice. Rowan had good taste.

Upon entering, they began walking towards a table. Before they made it, something caught Aelin’s eye. Glancing over, she saw it wasn’t a something. It was Elide and Lorcan.

“Rowan!” Aelin whisper-yelled. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed his arm and dragged him back through the door, attracting a few odd looks.

Rowan was looking very confused. “What’s happening?”

Aelin didn’t say a thing until she got him out of sight of the windows. “Look at that table, the one near the kitchens.” She was still whispering, though totally unnecessarily.

Rowan finally caught sight of their two friends. “Oh. Well, that was unexpected. What are the chances?”

Aelin scowled. “I don’t give a shit what the chances are. Why didn’t Elide tell me she was going on a date?”

“You didn’t tell her about your date,” he pointed out.

“Oh, yeah. Well, let’s go to McDonald’s, then.”

Rowan choked, actually choked. “Tell me you did not just say that.”

“It’s good!”

“It’s disgusting, not to mention about as unhealthy as it gets.”

Aelin sighed. “Live a little, Whitethorn. Or just get a salad or something. Come on.” She pulled him to his car.

Muttering obscenities about the chances of an early death, Rowan reluctantly got in the car.

“Just so you know, I am not kissing you if you have chicken nuggets on your breath.”

Aelin gasped. “Not McDonald’s, then!”

Laughing, Rowan suggested a small restaurant a few blocks away. They drove in silence, Aelin mourning the lost opportunity of French fries.

They resumed their banter after ordering. Aelin got a large French-style sandwich. They moved to the topic of Elide and Lorcan, and how serious it was.

“If Elide didn’t tell me, it’s definitely a big deal,” was Aelin’s input.

“I agree, if only because they’re perfect together.”

Aelin mock-gasped. “Since when were you such a romantic?”

“Since your poisonous influence has spread, apparently. You’ve destroyed me.”

Aelin fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve got quite the skills when it comes to men, don’t I?”

Rolling his eyes, Rowan said, “If you say so.” The nonchalant tone didn’t match his pick ears, though. Score.

The rest of dinner morphed into an insult match. Nice insults, though, if those were even a thing. Aelin loved fighting with Rowan.

Due to having work tomorrow, she didn’t drink too much wine. Why couldn’t it always be the weekend? When Aelin voiced her thoughts, Rowan rolled his eyes. They did that a lot in each other’s presence.

Dinner was soon over, and they walked back to his car. Once inside, Aelin leaned over the emergency brake and planted her lips on Rowan’s. She grabbed the lapels of his suit and pulled him closer.

Rowan pulled his face away long enough to chuckle and say, “Well isn’t someone-”

Before he could comment on her desperation, Aelin yanked him back to her lips. Her tongue parted his lips and she definitely felt him shudder. Rowan nipped at her lower lip, earning a reprimand that turned into a moan as his hand grasped one of her breasts through the fabric. His other hand ran through Aelin’s hair.

They didn’t separate until Aelin’s elbow hit the horn, scaring them both half to death. Once they recovered from the fright, they both burst out laughing. “Very suave, Aelin.”

“Shut up.” Aelin was so clumsy around Rowan. She thought back to when she woke up in his bed and ran into the door on the way out. Yes, quite suave indeed.

Rowan drove Aelin back to her apartment. “You know, next time I should drive. I get tired of having to look at you every ride,” Aelin declared, earning her yet another eye roll. She was probably setting a record.

He walked her to the elevator, in which they made out again. There really never was too much. It was quite an effort to detach when the doors opened. Aelin’s arms were looped around Rowan’s neck, and he laughed when she sighed disappointedly as he removed his hands from her body. “You’ll have plenty more chances to get your way with me,” he whispered in Aelin’s ear.

Aelin’s breathing was ragged, but she whispered right back, “Don’t doubt that.” Then she turned and walked towards her door, Rowan following.

Aelin unlocked the door, then gave Rowan a quick kiss. “Goodnight.” She opened the door and entered to find Ansel sitting on the couch. Surprise, surprise.

Aelin dropped down on the couch next to her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on her lap. Ansel took in her lack of lipstick, ruffled dress, and messy hair, and smirked. “A successful night, I’m assuming?”

Aelin grinned. “I’d say so.” Their little agreement hadn’t stated she needed to tell Ansel about things that happened after the initial conversation, but it still felt good to gossip. She mentioned seeing Elide with Lorcan, to which Ansel squealed, then spilled the details of the hot make out session.

Ansel beamed. “I know I already said it, but you two are so cute together. Why did it take so long to happen?” Aelin did not respond to this.

That’s when Aelin realized she forgot to tell Ansel about the conversation in the car. “We’re going to the Christmas party. Together.”

After another round of shrieking, gods help them all, Ansel asked, “So are you just going to show up holding hands or something?”

Aelin blinked. “Um, I guess so. At least not everyone will be there.” A lot of their friends went to visit their families during Christmas. “We’ll only have to deal with a few annoying idiots, not the whole group.”

Snorting, Ansel said, “You have such a high opinion of our dear friends.”

“We’re all losers and we all know it. Let’s not deny it.” Ansel snorted at this too.

Aelin chatted for a few more minutes, then got ready for bed and went to her room. Once there, she layed down and pondered her situation.

She and Rowan were getting serious. They were going to tell people. Aelin couldn’t bring herself to feel any anxiety at all, just excitement. Now she just had to pray to the gods that no one passed out from shock - or that nothing else could go wrong first...

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 11

Hi all,

Chapter 11 is here. So far this is my favourite. Rowan and Aelin go on the adventure he promised her and... well... there is fluff. Almost 5k words of fluff.

Aelin get to listen to Rowan's favourite groups. One of them is called Peat and Diesel. The guys are from Stornoway and I LOVE them. Their music is super original and fun. In this youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZM6qAiZZKA you have an introduction of them. Listen to their accents and you have an idea how people on the Western Isles talk and the guy with the red jumper (Innes) has the kind of accent that Rowan has in the story. 3 of my favourite songs: Western Isles: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zo2zuDxqf6A This video is hilarious and the guy go around Stornoway. My Islands: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EoLBnk05ris&t=89s Stornoway: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efx_4YxLFRc

Peat and Diesel have been a constant soundtrack while writing this fic.

The second group are Runrig. Alas they are now retired but they have been playing for decades and they are the first Scottish group I have discovered once I moved to Scotland. I have seen them live and they were incredible. They sing in both English and Gaelic.

Happy reading and for once may the fluff be with you <3

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At 6am next morning, Aelin was in front of her house with her backpack strapped on her shoulders and all ready to go. The forecast for the day was meant to be wonderful with really high temperatures for Scotland. A heat wave, the meteorologists had announced. She was wearing shorts and a nice polo shirt and a baseball cap with a Saltire on that she bought at the tourist office. She probably looked ridiculous but she did not care. A text from Rowan came, announcing that he was on his way and five minutes later his car finally arrived. “Took you long enough.” Aelin commented while jumping in the car. “I was my aunt’s place to gather food. And knowing you, it had to be a lot.” Aelin punched his arm and he laughed in response. Once at the terminal they parked at the front and they both went inside the terminal to buy the tickets. Aelin was about to go ahead and order them but Rowan blocked her “my treat.” He said. With tickets in hands they returned to the car and joined the queue of vehicles ready to check-in and board. “This is so exciting.”

“Only a tourist like you would find the embarkation process exciting.” He joked and flipped her hat with his hand, making it fly. “And this tourist here is going to get a fridge magnet as well.” She replied while putting her baseball hat back on in defiance. Around 7.30 it was finally time to get on board. After they left the car on the car deck they climbed back on the passenger deck and Aelin dragged Rowan outside. “No way I am staying cooped up.” “It’s going to be cold.” He told her zipping up her jacket in a very protective manner. “I spent the entire journey here on the deck. And it was a bit cooler than now. You point is not valid.” He raised his hand in defeat “It’s your freezing ass.” He removed his windbreaker and Aelin noticed that her was wearing the university of Glasgow hoodie that she had stolen from him. “That’s my hoodie.” She protested. “You asked me to make sure it smell like me again. I am just following procedure.” She snuggled to him and inhaled his scent “A couple of more days, then it’s mine again?” Rowan laughed “Fine.” The ferry finally started to move and Aelin turned to the aft side of the boat and very dramatically she started waving at the people at the pier. Rowan followed her. He hadn’t been this excited by a trip in ages. And it was all thanks to her. Aelin leaned against the handrail, her face half turned and her hair flowing freely and in that instant Rowan took his camera out and snapped some picture of her. “Someone had a fancy camera.” She took a step to him to have a look at the picture he had just taken and was impressed. They were super good. “I am just the modern brat who uses her phone.” And she snapped a picture of him smiling. “Yes! I got a good one.” She was planning to take a lot of pictures of Rowan. Lysandra had asked her for some proof that this mysterious man existed and she was going to show her friend. An hour and a half later land was in sight again and they got ready to disembark and Aelin could not contain her excitement and not a long later they were on the road again. Rowan had attached his mp3 player to the car stereo and started playing some music. “This band is called Peat and Diesel, they are from Stornoway and they are one of my favourite groups. I met them once and they are hilarious and very down to earth and their music is brilliant if you are from there, you can relate.” Aelin listened to the tune and had to admit the songs were great. She started to dance in the car and Rowan laughed. “They are awesome.” “They are playing this year at HebCelt I have tickets for their concert…” he offered. “I am coming.” Then she stopped herself “If you want me, of course.” “I’ll think about it.” And he gave her a huge grin. “This song is called Stornoway….” He told her. “I love their style they add the accordion added to rock music. This is brilliant stuff.” “Good,” and his hand went on her knee. They drove for about five minutes, just enough to get out of the town and Rowan pulled over. Aelin was speechless the landscape around her was of barren mountains and in front of her lay this amazing beach. She got off the car and ran out and sat on the bench on the side of the road. The silence around her was incredible. Rowan was at her side a minute later. “This is Ardmair beach.” The he took her arm and pointed ahead “Those over there are called Summer Islands. You can take boat trips to visit them.” Aelin leaned against this shoulder and inhaled his scent mixed with the one of the sea. For ten minutes they sat in silence staring at the sea and listening to the seagulls. “Come on… we still have a bit to drive.” While on the road Aelin’s phone rang and was happy to see it was Lysandra. “Hi darling.” “Hi babe, quick call because I don’t have much time. Aedion and I have a surprise.” Exclaimed the woman at the other end. “Lys, please don’t tell you are pregnant already.” Lysandra laughed “No, Aedion and I have taken holidays.” Aelin grinned “So you are phoning me to tell me that you and mister hot hands are taking two weeks off to have crazy sex? Gee stop bragging.” She turned her head and noticed that Rowan pretended not to listen. In response she put a hand on his leg and his breath hitched at the contact. “No. We re coming to see you. We want to see all those amazing places.” Aelin screamed and almost gave a heart attack to the man at her side. “Ae, I have two minutes. We are coming up soon. I will text you all the details but we are staying for two weeks.” “Good text me everything and we’ll get some adventures organised.” Lysandra squealed on her side of the phone and then hang up to go and have fun in surgery. Aelin looked at Rowan “Lysandra and her boyfriend are coming up for two weeks.” “Given your screams I guessed it was something like that.” She squeezed his leg again and went back to admiring the landscape being amazed at every single corner. An half an hour had passed when Rowan stopped the car again and parked in a small car park. Aelin’s mouth fell open when she noticed the ruins of the castle on the loch. “That is Ardvreck castle.” He told her, getting off the car. Aelin followed and took the hand he offered. “When will this country stop to surprise me?” “Never.” Admitted Rowan “and this part of Scotland is one of the most stunning and the northern we get the wilder and unspoiled it gets.” “Ro, this is incredible.” She left his hand and started walking to the ruins. For a moment he just stared at her in admiration. Stared at her legs and the rest of the ensemble. Lyria had called her a stick, but Rowan disagreed. Aelin had curves and he was dying to get his hands on every single one of them. She turned around and called him and he woke from his revelry. Alas, they did not have the place to themselves and a group of tourists was walking around the ruins as well. “What do you think?” He asked joining her. “I want to climb on it.” “Well, you can’t.” Aelin grumbled something and Rowan let her explore the site. Five minutes later he noticed her talking happily with the group of German tourists. He was jealous of the simplicity with which she could talk to people. When she came back to him she had a smug smiled painted on her face “what did you do?” Asked Rowan expecting the worst. “One of the lady was asking about books. They are coming to Stornoway next week so I told her about our shop.” Our. She probably didn’t even notice the pronoun she used but Rowan felt a deep sense of pride and joy and his traitor mind reminded him that Lyria never called it like that. It was always your shop and when they had fights she would add a damned for emphasis. “We don’t have books in German.” He whispered. “Oh no, she is looking for books in English to practice.” Aelin took his hand “thank you for taking me here.” “The adventure is nor over yet.” He started walking. They crossed to road and he started to walk on the grass and followed the small river. They walked for a bit and then Aelin spotted some small waterfalls. The land was on different levels and the path of the river was broken, thus creating a small series of waterfalls. Rowan sat down on a rock and began opening his backpack. “Lunch time.” Aelin was at his side in seconds. He had made sandwiches for both. That morning he had woken up early and he had prepared a lunch for both. “It’s not a lot but we’ll eat when we get to Lochinver. There is a place where they make the most amazing savoury pies.” “You really know how to woo a woman.” She grabbed the sandwich he passed her and sat down in silence and stared at the water flowing down from the mountains. “Do I get to meet Lysandra?” Aelin munched faster and nodded “She will kill me if she doesn’t get to meet you.” Once done eating Rowan stood and offered her his hand “Come, let’s go. We can a have a long break after we arrive at our final destination. And we need to stop for pies too.” In a second Aelin was up and they walked back to the car. It took them fifteen minutes drive to reach their next stop and Aelin was giddy. Rowan had put more music on and she had discovered another of his favourite groups called Runrig and she fell in love with them. They also sang in Gaelic. She made a mental note to get all this groups from him once back home. Home.Because that’s where she was. And it felt right. A few houses and the hint of a village appeared out of the window and Aelin guessed they were arrived. Rowan pulled into the petrol station “Sorry. My car needs to eat as well.” And he gave a wonderful smile. He was always smiling to her recently and she wished he could do it all the time because it was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. Five minutes later they moved to the car park next to the petrol station and Rowan again offered his hand to her. The Larder was the name of the bistro they were going to. They went inside and sat at a table. “This one is on me. In the end we didn’t finish the meal after winning the bet, so that’s me now buying you the meal I owed you.” “Ro, you don’t have to.” He put a hand on hers and squeezed gently “I know, but I want to.” They were eating their meals when Rowan broke the silence “The local high school asked me to join them on a part time basis as swimming instructor.” Aelin’s hand stopped half way to her mouth and looked at him “No way.” He nodded and she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. “How do you feel about it?” His hand deposited his fork on the plate and he leaned back on the chair sighing heavily “Torn.” A hand ran through his hair “I want to. I miss it so much. But I don’t know if I can.” Aelin grabbed her chair and moved closer to him and grabbed his hand in hers “Give it a go. Tell them you want to do a trial lesson. See how it goes. How you feel. Then decide.” “It would be for just two mornings a week, and the extra money is a plus.” He gave her a faint smile. “And I will look after the bookshop, so don’t worry about not being able to open. If you trust me, of course.” His face leaned closer and for a brief moment the space between them was very minimal. “I trust you.” Her hand all of a sudden had a life on its own and she found it going straight for his head and ran it through his hair. At the touch he closed his eyes and hummed very lightly. A second later Aelin retracted her hand and blushed furiously but he did not seem mad at the gesture. Quite the opposite, he had a very satisfied grin on his face. She was probably beetroot red just now, but it felt so good. They left the bistro and walked a bit along the promenade in the village, but she was dying to see the next stop and Rowan noticed her urgency. “Fine, fine we’ll go.” She ran back to their car while Rowan took his time walking just to annoy her. “You are such a grandpa.” Fifteen minutes later they stopped in car park and once out of the car she could spot a beach in the very distance and excitement cursed through her. She grabbed her stuff and was all ready to go while Rowan was doing his best to move so slow that a sloth could beat him to it. “Whitethorn!” She barked through gritted teeth. “Such an impatient woman.” He finally locked the car, picked his backpack from the ground and joined her. “I can see a beach. I have no patience.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him. Once they finally reached the sand, Aelin stood transfixed. In front of her opened a bay with sands so white it hurt her eyes and with the waters of a turquoise that could not be real. She was speechless. Also the beach was empty and they were the only two there and that was a bonus. “Welcome to Achmelvich beach.” She finally managed to move, dropped her backpack, removed her shoes and ran to the water. Rowan grabbed her stuff and moved it closer. He lay down a towel and sat down watching her play in the water with the unbridled joy of a kid. She was carefree and she was beautiful. “This is amazing.” She shouted at him while walking the length of the beach. Ten minutes later she was on her way back with a smile that melted his heart. “I just wish the water was not so cold because I’d die to have a swim in those waters.” Rowan patted the towel beside him. Aelin sat and then lay down with her head on his thighs and looked up at him and wondered if she had gone too far but he didn’t seem to fussed. They had been getting much closer but she still wasn’t sure how far she could go with her affections. She almost had a heart attack in the bistro when she brushed her hand in his hair. “Ro…” “Hm?” His voice sounded peaceful and she looked up and noted that his eyes were closed and he had a peaceful smile on his face. “Where do we stand?” “What do you mean?” “You and I. What is this?” Rowan sighed. He had been asking himself the same question for a few days now. There was definitely something there. Something more than friendship, but he could not define what it was exactly. “Are we friends? More? A couple? Because we have been behaving like one.” His hand brushed her hair and traced the line of her forehead “I don’t know, Fireheart.” She sighed and felt the same frustration as him. “You still have Elias. You two are still going out.” “We are not…” she paused “I mean, we are not a couple. And I need to talk to him.” She lifted her hand and with the back of it she brushed his cheek. “Why don’t we take it slowly. See how it goes, figure out our feelings and not put a label on it just yet?” He looked down at her. He could do that and it was probably the best way to go. Not rush things for once. Take their time. “But can I still do this?” And his hand traced her arms then reached her neck. His thumb continued his journey to her lips and brushed them gently while the hand cupped her cheek. Then he bent over and placed the chastest kiss in history on her lips and Aelin’s heart raced madly in her chest. It was brief and barely a kiss but it sent shivers all down her spine and she wanted more but she didn’t press. The hand left her cheek and moved down again tracing the length of her arm, until his fingers twined in hers “I like doing this.” “We can just be Aelin and Rowan for now. Status undecided.” And he heard her chuckle. Aelin nodded “A Buzzard and his Fireheart. What do you think? Way more epic.” She offered as an alternative. He brought her hand to his lips while still in his and kissed it “I love it very,” a kiss “very,” another one “much.” Aelin giggled and then her stare turned serious again “I am not going back to London.” And he stared at her almost understanding the weight of her admission. A selfish part of him had been hoping for that. Another reason why he didn’t want to make things official with her. He could not bear the idea of getting into a relationship and having to let her go back to her old life. And the idea of a long distance relationship was out of the question. “I feel like I don’t belong there anymore.” She continued and he let her “Not when I am currently living in a corner of paradise, where life seem to have slow down to a point that on the islands everything is closed on a Sunday. Where there so much nature around me and I feel like a can breath again. After a month I crave all of this desperately and the idea of going back to my old frenetic life… I don’t think I can do it anymore.” She closed her eyes and a pained expression was on her face “I can’t go back to all that. And definitely not to my old job.” Another deep breath “I have been looking for jobs here, at the hospital, but there is nothing at the moment.” “Aelin, that’s great.” He caressed her head “Something will come up. There is always a shortage of doctors on the islands.” “Will you be mad at me if I leave the bookshop?” Rowan gave her a huge smile “No. You go and follow your dream. If a job comes up you go for it.” And he meant it. Lyria had left him because she was bored and the job was only a way for her to make some money. Aelin was different, she would be going back to her dream job. And the fact that she asked meant she cared. “I can come and help from time to time, you know? Your display need my mastery touch.” Rowan erupted in laughter “My displays were doing okay before you arrived.” “Aye, but now they are doing great.” She sat up in front of him and resisted the urge to kiss her, more deeply this time. He shook the thought away and stood “Come, there is another thing I want to show you.” They grabbed their stuff and Rowan began walking on the rocky formation until they reached what looked like a small fortified construction. “That’s a weird building.” “That’s Hermit’s castle. Europe’s smallest castle.” He helped her navigate safely the rocky formation. “Gee, that is small.” He came behind her and his arms went around her waist “it’s quite a fun place and the views are incredible.” He grabbed her hand and pointed at the mountains at the horizon “that peak over there is called Suilven.” Aelin turned to face him “Can we go inside this castle?” “I knew you were going to ask it.” He took her hand and guided her back to the entrance “Be careful, it can be slippery.” She followed him into the entrance and noticed that he almost had to bend over to get access and laughed at him. “The joys of being short.” She mocked him. They spent a bit of time exploring the ruins “This is one of the weirdest places I have ever been to.” Once they were out Aelin sat on the cliffside and enjoyed the view. Rowan towered over her and was taking pictures, mostly of her when she was not looking in his direction. When her expression was natural. He sat beside her “You have three options now: one, we go to Clachtoll beach nearby, a bit smaller but still super lovely. Option two we get back into the car and we drive to a lighthouse, three we do both but we can’t linger too long because we have to drive all the way back to Ullapool for our ferry back home.” “I’ll take three.” “Good. So, get your arse of this rock and let’s go.” She jumped on her feet and followed him back to the car. Five minutes later they had reached their next destination and she was glad Rowan was the one driving. The roads were far too small for her and although she was getting used to it, she was still very apprehensive. He, on the other hand drove with the experience of someone who had driven along those small roads all his adult life. They took a nice stroll on the beach and Aelin again had to walk in the water and Rowan followed her. “We should come back to this part of Scotland… for… a longer vacation.” His eyes bulged in surprise and his heart fluttered. She was already thinking longterm and he realised that probably they were more involved than either of them had the guts to admit. Truth was… he had been thinking about something like that all day. Having a proper holiday with her and show her the north west of Scotland. Show her some of his favourite spots. “If you are deemed worthy of having me as a tour guide.” He joked and with his foot he splashed her on the legs and as revenge she did the same. “Such a mean old man.” “And you are a brat.” But you are my brat. “Come on menace, out of the water. I want to go to the lighthouse and then on our way back.” “Yes, sir. At your orders, sir.” She gave him a military salute and in her response he pushed her out of the water . “You will be the death of me.” And shook his head on his way back to the car. Twenty minutes later they reached the lighthouse and its position was just as dramatic as the one at the Butt of Lewis, with the Minch right in front of her. The wind had picked up and it was cold again. As if on cue Rowan arrived with her jacket in his hands “Put this on,” he pulled the jacket around her and zipped it up “Don’t get sick because I am not playing nurse with you.” And he grinned at those words. Mean her lips mouthed to him while he worked on the zip and for a second he stared at those lips and thought about the chaste kiss he had given her on the beach. He had a different idea altogether about what he would do to them. They reached the edge, and Rowan pulled her against his chest “Be careful, it’s quite a drop and the wind is savage. Stay away from the edge.” “You don’t need a jacket?” “I am used to this, I am fine.” He hugged her tighter and she enjoyed the heat emanating from his body. “See over there? That thin stretch of land?” He pointed at the horizon. The wind had cleared the sky so much that she could see land on the other side of the Minch. “That’s home.” At that word she put her hand on his and squeezed. She was enjoying the view but when she started shivering Rowan pulled her to the car “It’s cold. Plus we have an hour and a half drive back to Ullapool and I want to be there in good time for the ferry.” The drive back felt like it took longer than on the way out, probably because she knew the adventure was almost over and she wanted to spend even more time with him exploring. They made it back to Ullapool with a few hours to spare and Rowan showed her around the town and he took her to the town’s bookshop and they both ended up buying some books, like the two book addicts they were. Then Rowan took her for a coffee when he noticed her shivering and bought her a slice of chocolate cake. An hour later they were back in the car and in line to get on the ferry. “I really like these Peat and Diesel guys.” She commented while listening to his music. “They make me want to dance.” Rowan in response extended his arm and caressed her head and she almost purred. Once on the boat they stayed inside. The weather had turned all of a sudden and the wind had become quite bad and it was far too cold to be on the deck and Rowan convinced Aelin to take a seat and stay inside. He took a book out while Aelin leaned against his shoulder and almost instantly fell asleep. An arm went around her shoulder and pulled her closer to a more comfortable position and relished in the beauty of her body against his. The book forgotten, he now stared at her and her face was one of pure bliss. His thumb very gently stroked her cheek and then turned his neck and kissed the top the her head and lingered there for a moment inhaling her wonderful scent. She had been so cold that she had reclaimed her hoodie back and he was more than happy to oblige. He was tired of restraining himself. He realised sometimes that day that he was done pretending he did not feel anything for her. He wanted her. Badly. But until she had sorted her situation with Elias he could not do anything. And a pang of jealousy surged through him. He tried to read one more time but his mind could not concentrate, so he closed the book and decided to take a nap as well.

“Aelin,” he shook her gently as soon as the boat had started the docking procedure “we are almost home.” “Hm?” Then Aelin looked outside the porthole and noticed the familiar image of Stornoway’s marina. “Shit, did I sleep the whole time?” “We both did.” Rowan stood and gathered their stuff “Let’s go.” Rowan drove her home. It was past 9pm by the time they got back but it was so bright it was day but she felt exhausted. She had the most amazing day with him. “Rest, and I will see you tomorrow.” She brushed his hand and wished him a good night. Once back in the house she collapsed on the sofa exhausted. She finally remembered her mobile and when she looked at the screen she noticed two missed calls from Elias and a few text from him. It was Sunday for him as well and he was exploring the city and he had sent her some picture of places he had been and the complained that he missed her and that adventures without her were boring. Then she read the last message and her heart sank. He was coming back in a few days in the afternoon and he had invited her to dinner.

She threw the mobile on the sofa and went for a shower. And the more she thought the more she could not find a way to leat him down without hurting him.

[creampuffqueen]

Deep in the Heart of Texas - Three

a/n: Sorry, y’all! This took a bit longer than expected as I’ve been having some bad writer’s block recently. But, I’m getting back into the swing of things and this chapter is pretty long! Hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is ready for the best summer of her life. She’s home from college for the summer, and so are all of her friends. Even her cousin is on a break from the military. Everything is set up to be perfect. Until... her mother decides to let the son of an old family friend stay with them while he grieves the loss of a loved one. And Aelin is not going to let a party pooper ruin her summer.

Rowan Whitethorn has just suffered the biggest loss of his life: the death of his long-time girlfriend, Lyria. His family is sick of him moping around his tiny New York apartment, so they ship him down south for the summer. The last thing Rowan wants is to spend his vacation in Nowhereville, Texas, but he has little choice. Not to mention, the only people his age seem to hate him. How on earth is he going to survive 3 months of this?

Normally, Aelin isn’t a morning person. Really, she’s quite the opposite. She’s lost count of all the nights she’d stayed up until midnight or later. Sometimes working, but usually reading. 

But today is different. Different, because Aelin is awake with the sun. 

To be fair, it’s kind of hard to sleep through the Texas sun. By seven in the morning it’s too hot to keep the covers over her. And that’s when Aelin is only under the sheets, and clad in a nightgown so short she should probably go to confession as well as church today.

Plus, the sun is in her eyes. Aelin rolls over with a sigh, kicking away the cotton sheets. She smacks her lips a few times, noting how awfully dry they are. 

She doesn’t bother with a bathrobe as she slips out of the room, headed for the bathroom across the hall, desperate for a glass of water. Her hair is probably a mess, but it’s too early for her to really care.

It’s when she’s busy gulping tap water from a cup near the sink that she hears someone else getting up, walking out to the bathroom. Aedion, she assumes.

Someone knocks, and Aelin calls around the cup at her lips, “Coming! Just one second!” She finishes her drink and sets the cup down, striding over to the door.

But instead of her cousin standing outside the bathroom, the glowering face of her guest greets her; the one and only bastard Rowan Whitethorn. Aelin’s grin turns into a scowl.

She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, for a long second. Aelin doesn’t miss the flicker of his gaze at her body, and she has half a mind to shove him out the nearest window. However, repairing the glass on this old of a house would cost more than Rowan’s funeral, so she decides against it. 

All of his looking is making her far more flustered than it should, and Aelin curses the feeling of a blush working its way over her face. Before either of them can say anything, she shoves him out of the way and escapes back to her bedroom.

Leaning against the closed door, Aelin resents how her heart is pounding. It’s almost enough to make her forget why she’s being mean to him in the first place.

But as she cools off, the fan on high, it all comes flooding back. Right. He’s going to ruin the best summer of her life. 

If Aelin’s being fair (which she isn’t), he hasn’t really done much so far to ruin her summer. Mostly just sat in his room alone and made dinner awkward.

So she decides that he’s probably an asshole. He’s a yankee, of course he’s an ass. Hell, she heard him talking shit last night about her town. Rowan Whitethorn is an asshole yankee.

Rolling her eyes at that, Aelin moves away from the door to get ready. Two hours should be more than enough time to get herself looking presentable for the Lord, but with the amount of humidity in the air, even so early in the morning, it’s going to take so much hairspray that God himself will be choking on it in heaven.

Aelin finds a dress that is sure to be approved by her aunt and mother; a flowing, floral patterned thing with short sleeves and a very respectable neckline. She can’t help herself but spin around in it for a second, loving the feeling of the dress twirling around her bare ankles.

She’s deep in the process of taming her mass of golden hair when Aedion practically knocks the door down, not even bothering to knock. 

“I can’t believe you told him he could borrow my clothes!” Her cousin demands. “I hardly have any clothes to begin with!”

“And I can’t believe you just burst into my room without knocking, asshole! What if I’d been getting dressed?” Aelin snaps back. 

Aedion just pulls a face at her. “Don’t swear, it’s the Lord’s day.” He imitates his mother’s judgemental voice perfectly, sending Aelin nearly into hysterics.

“I told Rowan to dress nicely for church.” She says innocently. “Besides, you’re not going to wear two collared shirts outside, are you?”

“Maybe I wanted to try out a new fashion trend.” Her cousin retorts, though he can’t keep the grin off his face. 

Aelin rolls her eyes at him, yanking her hairbrush though her hair. It’s getting frizzier by the minute, and it looks like the only way to save it is going to be straightening it. 

It’s already eight thirty (okay, maybe Aelin spent nearly an hour reading, but it’s not her fault for the author making the book so damn hard to put down.), and she really wants to eat before church. She can already smell eggs and bacon cooking downstairs.

“Aedion, since you’re already dressed, can you please find my shoes?” She asks sweetly. “The rosy-colored sandals, you know the ones. They’re in my closet, top shelf.”

“While you do what, use that medival torture device on me?” He snorts. “I’m not turning my back on you while you have something hot in your hands.”

Aelin throws her hands up. “I am not a pyromaniac! Just find my shoes, please.”

“I never said you were a pyro, but-” Aelin fixes her cousin with a glare before he can finish the sentence. “Fine. I’ll find your stupid shoes.”

As Aelin pulls the straightening iron through her hair and sprays it liberally with hairspray at the same time, she hears Aedion fumbling around in the closet, probably making a huge mess.

But at least he has the shoes for her when she tucks the last piece of wispy hair in its place with half a gallon of hairspray. 

“Your head is gonna light on fire.” Her cousin warns. Aelin just rolls her eyes. 

“C’mon, loser. I need bacon.”

Downstairs, Evalin gladly serves them both, and it takes everything Aelin has to not completely lose herself in the sheer glory of eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Instead she takes dainty bites, using her napkin, and keeps her elbows off the table, keeping Evalin out of her hair. 

“Is Rowan coming to church with us?” Rhoe asks from the living room, waiting for everyone to get finished so they can leave. 

“I told him we leave at nine,” Aelin says through a mouthful of food. Evalin turns her head around fixes her with a stare until Aelin swallows and repeats her sentence, clearly this time. 

And sure enough, the heavy footsteps coming from the stares announce Rowan’s presence to the gathered people. Fleetfoot, who is beneath the table and begging for food as usual, thumps her tail against the hardwood floor. The only sound in the room.

Aelin hates, really hates, how attractive Rowan Whitethorn is. Seriously, did God just create him to torment her? And seeing him in Aedion’s too-tight shirt… it’s doing things to her. She has to look away.

“Would you like some breakfast, Rowan?” Evalin asks sweetly. 

“No thank you, Mrs. Galathynius. I’m not hungry.” Rowan responds, looking more uncomfortable than he was the day before. Evalin looks like she wants to argue, but Rhoe nudges her before she says anything.

“Then let’s get going. Who’s going in which car?” Aelin gives Fleetfoot her last piece of bacon before putting the plate in the large farmhouse sink and heading over to her aunt.

“Aedion and I will go with you, Auntie El,” Aelin purrs. Eleanor and Gavriel drove their small car down, meaning there’s only room for four inside. Which leaves Rowan with her parents and uncles.

She can tell Aedion knows what she’s doing, and feel his disapproving glare, but she ignores him. Eleanor, oblivious to Aelin’s plans, just smiles at her niece and walks with her outside to the cars. 

~~~~

Rowan can think of at least ten different places he’d rather be than here. Sitting in the backseat of a cramped truck, having squeezed himself into the collared shirt belonging to Aedion, sweating like a damn pig. And on the way to church. 

He hasn’t been to church since Lyria died. Not that he frequented it before, but still. The painful tugging in his chest only worsens as the memories come up, clear as day. 

Lyria laid in the open casket, her face as beautiful and serene as it always was. Her brown hair was loose, and the freckles on her face were stark against her pale skin. 

Lying on her back, nobody could see the broken spine that had put her instantly to death in the car crash. Rowan’s only consolation was that she had died quickly, with no pain. She had broken ribs as well, but according to the doctors, the injuries had been sustained after she died. After that drunk driver rammed directly into her car, so fast Lyria hadn’t had time to react, to get out of the way. 

The church around him was beautiful. Wood paneling on the walls, stained glass windows letting in the sun that somehow still dared to shine. This was the church that Lyria had said she wanted to get married in. 

Instead, this was the church she would be buried at. And Rowan couldn’t stand it. 

“Rowan?” He looks up as the surge of terrible memories fade, to find Evalin looking at him, so concerned, from the passenger seat. There’s more worry on her face than Rowan found from his own mother. 

“I’m sorry, did you ask something? I was… thinking,” Rowan scrambles, because the last thing he wants is to upset Evalin Galathynius. She’s taken him in, given him a place to stay, no matter how hot and humid it is. 

He just wishes he could say the same for her daughter. 

When he ran into Aelin the bathroom that morning, he’d hated himself for the way his eyes were immediately drawn to her figure. For the way his gaze landed on her legs, in that nightgown so short it rested right at the tops of her thighs. And her breasts, hardly covered by that plunging neckline and thin, silken straps. 

He’d spent a good portion of the morning trying to erase that image from his head. And the stupid feelings that came with it. 

Nobody says anything more as they continue to drive through the small town. At least the AC is on full blast, but it isn’t doing much since Rowan is squeezed in between Orlon and Weylan. 

It’s a small mercy when they finally pull up to the church. It’s a small thing; quaint, tiny. Exactly the opposite of that church in New York. Rowan lets out a small sigh of relief.

When they meet up with the rest of the family, Rowan has to try very hard to hold in his chuckle. Aelin’s hair, despite having smelled strongly of hairspray, is frizzy from the humidity. And her makeup is on the verge of melting off. Rowan can’t meet her eyes, lest he starts laughing hysterically in the parking lot. 

Aelin gives him a seething look that just dares him to try. 

The inside of the small church looks pretty similar to the outside. It’s pretty enough, if you squint. Everything looks worn and used, so unlike the picture-perfect places of worship up north. 

Rowan isn’t sure what to do. The Galathynius and Ashryver families split off, one by one, to embrace and talk to friends like they haven’t seen them in years. 

So Rowan finds a pew in the back and sits, pulling out his phone. He tugs uncomfortably at the tight collar, made worse by the sweat he can feel starting to coat his whole body. 

He has some missed texts, again. After Lyria’s death, he turned off all his notifications for everything. He hasn’t decided if he wants them back or not yet. 

Enda: Hey, Ro. How are you doing today? I know you’ve read all my texts, but I haven’t heard anything from you. Please at least let me know you’re okay?

Sellene: I miss you, Rowan. Please stay safe down there. Call if you need anything.

Fenrys: Getting on the plane in a minute! We’re gonna see you soon, hang in there man

Lorcan: I hope Fen hasn’t been spamming your phone. Just tell him to fuck off if he has. We’re on our way.

Enda and Sellene’s messages were from late last night, things Rowan had ignored as he fell into restless sleep. Fenrys and Lorcan’s texts, however, were dated from an hour ago. A quick google searched determined they’d arrive in Houston sometime in the next 2-3 hours. 

Before Rowan can decide how he feels about that, the preacher stands up on the raised stage area of the church, calling the people to attention. Everyone takes a seat as the man begins to speak, praising God for a wonderful day. 

And as if God had it out for him, of all the people he could have been stuck next to, it’s Aelin who sits down in the pew beside him, the rest of her family following her or finding other seats. The only consolation is that she’s looking at the preacher, and not paying any attention to him at all. 

“Let us bow our heads in prayer,” the preacher calls, and every head in the room dips low. Rowan, unsure of what exactly to do, copies Aelin’s stance. 

“Today we pray for those who have been lost to us. Remember they are in heaven now, and will not be forgotten.” The man’s words strike a chord in Rowan’s heart, hard, and he grits his teeth against the mental pain so strong it actually hurts. 

He hardly hears the rest of the preacher’s speech, doesn’t bother repeating words and phrases with the rest of the congregation. It’s taking all of his focus to just breathe-

A tiny, almost unnoticeable nudge on his thigh, and Rowan glances up. Aelin, the contempt and annoyance gone for just a brief second as their eyes meet. He can feel the words in her eyes.

Are you alright?

No. He’s not alright. He doesn’t think he ever will be again. 

Everything passes in a blur, and Rowan isn’t sure how he’s still sitting up straight, not choking on his tears. The shirt is constricting and hot, so hot, and yet he still sits, stoic and silent. 

Someone plays a few riffs on an acoustic guitar, and Rowan has enough strength left to look up, to see a young woman with white-blonde hair start to play. And a red-haired man beside her to start singing, praising the Lord. 

Sitting next to him, Aelin is close enough that Rowan can hear her singing along under her breath. Her voice is reverent, strangely so for a woman who swears and drinks and wears properly sinful things to bed. 

But hearing that voice on stage, the gentle thrumming of the guitar, it’s enough to bring Rowan back down to earth. Set him back into his own body. 

And his collar is still too tight and his body too sweaty, but something about sitting there, with that guitar music, and the quiet reverence of the church, somehow makes it all okay. 

~~~~

Back at the Galathynius house, Rowan takes a long, freezing cold shower before returning Aedion’s dress shirt to him. Going outside has drained all his energy, and not having eaten any breakfast made it worse. All Rowan wants right now is a nap. 

But old habits die hard, and Rowan finds himself laying in bed, squinting from that patch of sunlight, and scrolling through his phone. 

Fenrys: We have landed! Heading down to Orynth on the first taxi that will take us, and I found a motel right outside the city limits. It’s called the Terrasen Motel.

Rowan had seen it on his way in, slouched in the backseat of the Uber. He doesn’t feel like telling Fenrys about the whole no-taxi thing, instead deciding to finally take that nap. He sets his phone alarm for an hour from now, and is asleep the second his rolls over. 

“Mama, I’m going to head over to Lys’s for a while!” Rowan groans awake, scrubbing at his eyes. Aelin’s voice is so loud that he can hear her perfectly clearly even while she’s downstairs.

He’s about to go back to sleep, when he notices his phone, buzzing near-silently, on his nightstand.

Shit. He forgot to take it off silent. And it’s a full hour later than he intended to sleep. Shit, shit, shit. 

Rowan stumbles off the plush bed, reaching frantically for the first clothes he can find. When he opens his phone to turn off the alarm, he sees that his text messages have been blown up by Fenrys and Lorcan.

So he calls Fenrys as he pulls on a t-shirt, his friend thankfully picking up on the first ring.

“Hey, Ro,” Fenrys cackles. “We’re here, we thought you’d come and meet us for lunch or something.”

“Yeah, I’m heading out right now,” Rowan says. “I just wanted to make sure you all got here okay. See you soon.”

He doesn’t wait for Fenrys’s goodbye before he hangs up, shoving his feet into his tennis shoes. He has a terrible case of bedhead according to the mirror, but he ignores it, hurrying out of the room. 

“Be home by dinner!” That’s Evalin’s voice, shouting back to her daughter from wherever she is. Rowan dashes down the stairs, coming to the landing right outside the living room.

Aelin is in the living room, dressed completely differently from that morning. A light blue t-shirt and jeans tucked into a pair of leather cowboy boots. She’s humming to herself as she braids her hair, heading for the door with her dog by her side. 

“Aelin?” Rowan really hates asking her this, but he doesn’t have a car. And at least she’s going somewhere, so it’s not like he’ll drag some other poor soul away just to drop him off a motel. 

However, her glare makes him rethink it all.

“What?” She all but hisses. “I’m busy.”

“Aelin! Don’t be rude!” Thank God for Evalin, listening in from what sounds like the kitchen. Aelin lets out a dramatic sigh, finishing off her braid and tying it with the hairband around her wrist. 

“Can you drop me off somewhere? I’m visiting some friends.” He explains. 

“You have friends?” Aelin snorts, and Rowan sees red. Before he can snap back, her mother walks into the living room, a dishtowel in one hand.

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, you apologize right now! Rowan, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She would be delighted to take you to see your friends.” Evalin Galathynius’s stare could level a damn mountain. 

Aelin mutters a half-assed apology, her glare not letting up. But she doesn’t say anything else, just gestures for Rowan to follow her outside.

It’s sweltering outside, in the heat of the day. And yet, Aelin is somehow wearing jeans. That dog- Fleetfoot, he remembers now- is prancing along beside her, pink tongue lolling out of her mouth. 

Aelin fishes some keys out her back pocket, unlocking the same truck that Rowan rode to church in. She opens the passenger door, and Rowan is just about to thank her, when Fleetfoot jumps inside instead. 

And Aelin just smirks, gesturing for Rowan to climb into the backseat. She’s letting her dog take the passenger seat.

The leather seats feel like the fires of hell against his legs, and the seatbelt nearly gives him a third-degree burn. Aelin just cranks up the radio and the AC, grabs some sunglasses and a hat from the center console, and pulls out of the driveway. Once again, not affected. 

“Where do your friends live?” Aelin asks him, probably the first civil thing she’s said all day. She rolls down Fleetfoot’s window, letting the dog stick her head out while they drive.

“They don’t live here, just visiting,” Rowan explains. “They’re staying at the Terrasen Motel.”

“Alright, we’ll pass it on the way.” She doesn’t offer as to where she’s going, and Rowan’s curiosity sparks, just a bit. All he knows is that she’s headed to go visit someone called “Lys” and will be home before dinner.

“Where are you going?”

Aelin doesn’t answer for a minute, humming along with the guitar on the radio. But finally she shoots him a glance in the rearview mirror, showing him she heard.

“Caraverre. It’s about thirty minutes away. We have a little cluster of small towns around here, they’re all super close together. Lys has some horses and she and I are going riding.”

“You know how to ride a horse?” the question sounds even stupider out loud, and Rowan braces himself for a smart retort.

“‘Course I do. I’ve been riding since I could walk.” Aelin reaches over to stroke Fleetfoot’s fuzzy ears. “Everyone around here rides.”

“Does everyone around here drive a giant truck?” The conversation is calm, civil almost. Rowan tries to get as much information before Aelin turns on him again. 

“Yeah. Everyone’s got a truck, everyone rides horses, everyone hunts.”

“Wait- can you shoot a gun?” Rowan knows the answer before Aelin even speaks. 

“There are so many guns owned in Texas that every single person, including babies, could have seven guns. So yeah, I can shoot.”

Shit. Rowan does not want to get on her bad side. Or… he’s already on her bad side, so he really does not want to get on her worse side. 

The rest of the drive is silent, until Aelin pulls the truck into the parking lot of the Terrasen Motel and all but shoves him out of the truck. 

Walking inside, pulling up Fenrys’s number to call him, Rowan again wonders just how in the hell he’s supposed to survive three months in this sate.

----

a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed! Yay for more characters getting introduced next chapter! And also, that fact about the number of guns in Texas is completely true. No I am not kidding. 

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MASS EFFECTYRATH???

So when I play ME sometimes my partner hangs out in my room with me and I commentate to him, and he was hanging out with me while I was doing the Reaper IFF mission in ME2. And if you click around during that mission you can find the journal fragments from the scientists who boarded the dead Reaper and fell under its indoctrination, which features one of the most DOWNRIGHT CHILLING lines of the entire series: "Chandana said the ship was dead....but even a dead god can dream. A god--a real god--is a verb....it's a force. It warps reality just by being there. It doesn't have to want to. It doesn't have to think about it. It just does."

And I paused the game, abominations and husks all over my team, and turned to my partner who knew nothing about the Kencyrath, and said very intensely "I AM GOING TO WRITE A KENCYRATH AU OF THIS WHERE TORI IS SHEPARD AND THE REAPERS ARE PERIMAL DARKLING AND JAME IS THE VANGUARD OF THEIR INVASION WHO BROKE FREE AND RAN, AND I AM GOING TO TITLE IT 'EVEN DEAD GODS DREAM'"

And now I am doing exactly that. Some high points below the cut, in which I approach Mass Effect canon with my usual tender disregard for the rules and Kencyrath with an uncommon disregard for spoilers.

High Councillor Gerridon was one of a long-extinct, broadly human-like alien species, looked to as brilliant scientists and the creators of the mass relays and the Citadel by the current Council races.  His people, the Shanir, were wiped from existence mysteriously about fifty thousand years ago, and no one knows why.  The truth of the matter is that Gerridon betrayed the previous Citadel to the Reapers in return for immortality.  He sort of got it--he's the heart of the Master, a Reaper made from the genetic material of his people.  Jamethiel Dream-weaver was his twin and consort, who aided him in the annihilation of the Citadel and everyone aboard by using her species' natural biotic abilities to hold the entire populace in thrall until the Reapers came.  For this service, and for the potential she showed to be a weapon in future cycles, she was spared.  However, this massive expenditure of power began to erode her control over her abilities, and in turn her mind, and so Jamethiel was placed in stasis when it became too much for her to bear, until the next cycle came to an end and the Master decided to try a new method of harvest.

The new method of harvesting a cycle is named Jamethiel, for her mother, and when she's seven years old, the blood of her mother's ancient race finally comes to full bloom.  Jame sees her father, the disgraced general of the First Contact War who has been court martialed and drummed out of the Alliance for his recklessness that obliterated the Fifth Fleet, point a gun at her nursemaid's head, and without help, without an implant, without anything, she throws up a suddenly clawed hand and hurls Ganth into a bulkhead with a biotic shove.  The explosion of power is gone as quickly as it appears, and when Ganth picks himself up, he drives his daughter out into the void in an escape pod.  Aliens are less than animals, in Ganth's opinion, and while lashing out against him might be an unforgivable betrayal, it's the new, strange claws on Jame's hands that earns her exile.

Jame hasn't lost all her memories entirely, although they're horrifically hazy for the first decade and change after her escape pod is lost in the black.  Something about indoctrination at such a young age seems to have eaten away her ability to form memories at the time, although she's retained quite a few skills whose origins she's not quite sure of.  Somewhere in that fuzzy time period, she was given a biotic implant lightyears more advanced than anything the Council races can boast, so that she could focus her abilities with more ease--the splice of human and Shanir is dicey at times, and she seems to have gotten all the power and none of the biological road blocks that would normally keep her from becoming a living supernova.  It took a long time, the labor of years, for Jame to pull herself out of the endless black water of indoctrination.  One breath at a time, building biotic walls around herself.  It was impossible.  She did it anyway.  Then she heard that the latest cycle was almost ready for harvest....

Back on Ganth's ship of exile, Torisen grows up.  People die.  Torisen is not a biotic, is not an alien, is nothing like his sister.  He is a loyal and obedient son.  Until he's not.  Torisen Talissen, possessing the clothes on his back and not a single credit more, finds the turians before he finds the Alliance, and it's Primarch Adric Ardeth who sees to it that this young boy doesn't starve before he's old enough to become a soldier.  It's also Primarch Ardeth who gets him into the Alliance.  There are more strings on that arrangement than Torisen knows.

His father's name is Torisen Talissen's greatest secret, when he finally reaches Earth, the Alliance, because Ganth Knorth is a war criminal whose methods in the First Contact War were notoriously brutal, whose final stand with the Fifth Fleet cost thousands upon thousands of lives and left every ship under his command shattered and drifting.  Only a small handful of his commanders know the truth, and then Torisen is hand-selected for N-7 and half his life is classified anyway.  He's not a biotic, he's not an alien, he's a good soldier and the most stubborn bastard any of his comrades have ever seen, and the mystery of where he came from fades under the glamour of his exploits.  The Urakarn colony is the one everyone knows about.  No one questions why Torisen fights tooth and nail to take Burr, his most trusted lieutenant, and Rowan, the medic he dragged from the sand, everywhere with him, after Urakarn.  Even when he's assigned as XO on the Gothregor, second in command to Captain Sheth Sharptongue, they go with him.  

On the Gothregor's maiden voyage, they're assigned to Spectre Ashe, no last name given, an asari that Torisen knows as a friend of a friend (the friend is Harn, he's already on board because Ashe requested some muscle), and orders to take her to Eden Prime.

While the Gothregor plots her jump to the first mass relay, Jame steals a data chip and her armor and the first assault rifle she gets her hands on, and runs, not stopping even when she blunders into a Beacon that the Master has been experimenting with.  Her shuttle's navigation doesn't survive her rather explosive escape from the Master, so she slaves the thing to the first geth ship she sees and hopes for the best.

The geth ship is headed for Eden Prime.

Other highlights:

Tori actually super is a biotic, don't tell him, Shanir bloodlines allow limited biotic use without an implant and he's been unintentionally using it for years

I wanted Harn to be the captain of the Gothregor before she's given to Tori, but then I realized that the Best Outcome here is that Harn and Marc are both krogans but on diametrically opposed ends of the Self Control Spectrum.  Harn is your classic krogan berserker, Marc is a really good cook who is also prepared to fuck you up with a shotgun if you mess with Jame.  Also I just.  Really love Sheth and wanted him to be here.

Pereden is Saren, the Ardeths are all turians, you know I'm right

Torisen is the first human Spectre

The first narrative arc here (the contents of the first game) mostly feature Tori's in-group as squad mates, ft: 

Lt Burr, a sniper/assault rifle specialist

Kirien J'ran, an asari biotic who specializes in the history of the Shanir

Harn Griphard, a krogan mercenary whose record is actually pretty legit, shotgun specialist and berserker

Lt Cmdr Donkerri Caineron, disgraced grandson of an Alliance admiral, assigned to the Gothregor as a spy, pistol/shotgun specialist, he dies on Virmire

Grimly nar Weald, an upbeat quarian machinist, a friend of Tori's who's been on his Pilgrimage for a bit, a shotgun/tech specialist

Not a squadmate, but in the whole first arc the pilot of the ship is very quiet and unwilling to talk but over the course of the narrative Bel-tairi warms up to people a little

Jame is not a squadmate, she and Tori are both main characters in the first arc and if this was a game you'd have to take both always, but Jame is a biotic powerhouse and Tori is an assault rifle/melee specialist, don't question me

Tori and Jame stop Sovereign the Horde and still no one believes them about the Reapers, even though they make Torisen a whole-ass Council member and Jame a whole-ass Spectre (she doesn't even HAVE a military rank, she's not even PART of the Alliance, everyone on her ship calls her "boss" or "Jame")

It somehow does not improve things, re: Jame and Tori's relationship, to be more or less imprisoned on a ship together fighting the geth, and they'd die for each other but also everyone learns real quick to keep their heads down when they start fighting, until....

The Gothregor is destroyed not long after the Horde, and Jame Knorth (Tori and Jame take their real last name again, after everything, might as well redeem the family line while they're at it) is one of the casualties, killed saving Bel-tairi.  Tori has two years to become intimately familiar with the fact that he may, actually, have fucked up.  Then his sister shows up in his office with a new ship called the Tagmeth, new scars lacing her face and shoulder, and new horrible information about the fate of the galaxy.

Admiral Caineron is not actually running nearly as much as he thinks he is, he is being puppeteered by Matriarch Rawneth of the asari, but he's the one bankrolling the Tentir program and technically speaking Brier and Rue are his spies.  In the second arc, squadmates include:

Marcarn, an unnaturally calm krogan mercenary who's an intermittent presence in the first game and takes an intense interest in making sure Jame eats regular meals, shotgun specialist and Local Tank

Brier Ironthorn, genetically engineered perfect soldier, stolen from her father by her mother at a young age, orphaned not that much later (Tori brought her mother’s tags back to her), Tentir officer assigned as Jame's XO who turns on Caineron pretty quick-like, biotic mostly specializing in your standard push/lift/slam assortment rather than Jame's more intense reave/warp/singularity skillset, she refused to place a control chip in Jame's implant during the resurrection

Rue Mindrear, Tentir officer and self-appointed quartermaster of the Tagmeth because Jame has no idea what she's doing, assault rifle/tech specialist

Bane, ex-prisoner with unusually erratic biotic abilities (Jack, okay, he's Jack, Ishtier tried to replicate legends of Shanir biotic powers and Bane hates/loves Jame enormously even before they figure out that they're related, he dies on the suicide run no matter what)

Grimly again, he and Jame are kinda tight by now and she politely pretends not to know that he's keeping Tori elaborately posted on their activities

Timmon Ardeth, grandson of the Primarch, looking to prove his father's ultimate innocence, sniper/electronics specialist, insufferable due to constantly hitting on Jame

Kindrie Walker, not a squadmate but the new medic, who grows a spine over the course of a year of yelling at Jame to sit down and let him look at her broken ribs, Rowan got a job at Huerta so she could be close to Torisen

Aerulan, a geth mobile platform named after the quarian word for Legion, sniper/electronics specialist

Probably some other people but Jesus this is long already

Tori comes back to the Tagmeth for the third arc, after the Reapers start to hit hard, because he's in some minor-to-moderate hot water with the Council on account of using his accesses to help Bel steal the Tagmeth and break his sister out of her own trial.  This is also where they finally get to make full use of the datachip Jame stole waaaaaay back at the beginning, because the Reapers are here and she is the only person in the galaxy who has a record of previous cycles, including some odd schematics they can’t unravel.

They find a Shanir in stasis, his name is Terribend, and while he's too weak to fight for them, he might be able to help decode some of those schematics...especially the one labeled as the Ivory Knife.

The third game includes a Greatest Hits squad assembly of those left living and also features Jame and Tori actually functionally working together for once.

Um...I have no idea if I'll ever write this whole thing because I’m realizing it would be forty bazillion words, but I'll probably yeet snippets of it into the void from time to time.

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 19 - 20

The last few chapters utterly spoiled me with good content in form of the witches.But everything good, sadly, cannot last forever.

Elide Lochan kept quiet during the two days she and Lorcan trekked through the eastern edges of Oakwald, heading for the plains beyond.

*groans* Elide, I love you, but your POVs are just not fun to read, I’m sorry. Maybe because my instincts are telling me we might get a Lorcan POV too, and I’m starting to be irked by this guy.

But [Elide] still slept soundly these last two nights—thanks to the belly full of meat courtesy of Lorcan’s hunting. He’d scrounged up two rabbits, and when she’d devoured all of hers in minutes, he’d given her half of what was left of his. She hadn’t bothered being polite by refusing.

Girl, you were kept prisoner for how long? Don’t feel sorry for eating. Besides, Lorcan is an immortal warrior, yeah? So he probably doesn’t need to eat as much as you do during a day.

So they make it to a city, and Elide, being one of the few smart characters in this book, realizes Lorcan needs a disguise.

Elide surveyed herself, and set down her pack. First, she removed the leather jacket, even though it left her feeling like a layer of skin had peeled off, then she rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. But without the tight leather, the full size of her breasts could be seen—marking her as a woman and not a slip of a girl that people assumed she was.

I say once again; full grown women are not the only ones with huge breasts. You  can be a teenager with big breasts. Hell, I’m a young adult woman and I don’t have large boobs at all! Your breasts size have very little to do with your age once you hit puberty.

[Lorcan’s] eyes traveled from [Elide’s] feet to her head, and he frowned again. “Bigger tits won’t prove or hide anything.”

See, even Lorcan understands this. Also really, Lorcan says ‘tits’? 

They roll up to town and there are soldiers checking wagons and inspecting people, searching for her. Since Elide’s limp gives herself away, Lorcan fixes it temporarily with magic.

[Lorcan] opened the door, and by the time [Elide’s] eyes adjusted to the glow of the wrought-iron chandeliers, Lorcan’s face had changed. His eyes might never be warm, but a bland smile was on his face, his shoulders relaxed—as if he were slightly inconvenienced by the wait but eager for a good meal. He almost looked human.

I know I said I despised Lorcan, but at least he’s willing to listen to Elide and make an effort to disguise himself. Maybe these chapters won’t be too painful to read.

“Brother,” Lorcan murmured so no one else could hear. “I am your brother.” “You are my husband,”  [Elide] said with equal quiet. “We have been married three months. Follow my lead.”

I see your “pretending to date/be married’ fanfic trope, SJM. I see you.

[Elide] said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.”

Jesus, way to throw men under the bus. Why is it that all unnamed and minor male characters in SJM’s books are addicted to rape and sexual harassing women? Like I know it happens in this time period ( and today) but Christ, all of these men are just frothing at the mouth to claim a woman or some shit.

Elide listens to the next table, which turns out to be a traveling carnival group.

Elide lifted her eyes to Lorcan’s—he gave a nod. She took a sip of her stew, steeling herself, thinking of Asterin Blackbeak. Charming, confident, fearless. She’d always had her head at a jaunty angle, a looseness to her limbs, a hint of a smile on her lips. Elide took a breath, letting those memories sink into muscle and flesh and bone.

Awww, I love little tidbits like this, showing how much of an impact Manon and her Thirteen had on Elide. Girls supporting girls is so important and precious.

Elide manages to convince the carnival group that she and Lorcan are traveling performers, and they are allowed in. I’m starting to warm up to Elide again - she uses her intelligence, he speaking skills, and her wits to solve her problems. It’s refreshing compared to the other characters always using magic and strength.

His wife. Gods above.

Unghhh, Lorcan’s POV.

Lorcan ignored the hand the bearded man offered and jumped into the back of the wagon, reminding himself to sit close to Marion, to put an arm around her bony shoulders and look relieved and happy to have a troupe again.

But again, he’s making an effort at least. That’s more than Aelin would do; she’d just threaten to burn everyone in her path until she gets her way.

Marion rolled her eyes, patting Lorcan’s knee. He nearly cringed at every touch. Even with his lovers, outside the bed itself, he didn’t like casual, careless contact. Some found that intolerable. Some thought they could break him into a decent male who just wanted a home and a good female to work beside him. Not one of them had succeeded.

Christ Lorcan, she’s just patting your knee. Right after I gave your kudos for putting effort into your disguise and everything.

“I want to see life—see the world,” Marion said, her voice softening. “I want to see everything.” Lorcan wondered if Marion would even get to do that if he failed in his task, if the Wyrdkey he carried wound up in the wrong hands.

Like I said, gonna be a doozy when Lorcan finds out his Wyrdkey is a fake.

Does it sound like I’m stretching for things to say? Because I am. Honestly this subplot is just.... really really boring. It’s just Lorcan being grumpy and brooding and while Elide is a nice and interesting character, SJM just isn’t doing anything cool with her aside from the occasional little moment here and there.

“But Aelin Galathynius,” Nik mused. Marion’s hand went limp on Lorcan’s knee. “Who knows what she will do. She has not called for aid, has not asked soldiers to come to her. Yet she held Rifthold in her grip—killed the king, destroyed his castle. But gave the city back.” The bench beneath them groaned as Marion leaned forward. “What do you know of Aelin?”

NO NO I’M SORRY I TAKE IT BACK THIS SUBPLOT IS INTERESTING PLEASE NO AELIN GUSHING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

“Rumors, here and there,” Nik said, shrugging. “They say she’s beautiful as sin—and colder than ice. They say she’s a tyrant, a coward, a whore. They say she’s gods-blessed—or gods-damned. Who knows? Nineteen seems awfully young to have such burdens … Rumor claims her court is strong, though. A shape-shifter guards her back—and two warrior-princes flank her on either side.”

Aedion is the one who came up with the guarding her sides/back thing. How the fuck do other people know about it? Also unghhh everyone in this book just has to be royalty don’t they.

Some soldiers stop them and order them all out, presumable looking for Elide. Then they fuck off and Lorcan angsts about happy endings and how Elide’s goal is foolish.

There was no such thing as a better world—no such thing as a happy end. Because there were no endings.

Don’t be like that Lorcan, you’re a hot attractive magic dude in a shitty YA book. Of course you’re gonna get a happy ending. Next chapter!

Rowan Whitethorn just needed a place to rest. He didn’t give a shit if it was a bed or a pile of hay or even beneath a horse in a stable. As long as it was quiet and there was a roof to keep out the driving veils of rain, he didn’t care.

Dorian and Rowan have made it to Skull’s Bay.

But [Rowan] and the young king had chosen another route, during the many hours he’d made good on his promise to teach Dorian about magic. They’d worked for only minutes at a time—since it’d be no use if the king wrecked their little boat should his power slip its leash. So it had been exercises with ice: summoning a ball of frost to his palm, letting it melt. Over and over.

Aww, this is nice. I kinda wish we could’ve actually seen this, but it’s a nice mental image nonetheless.

But as if the gods themselves wanted to test him, a gust of rain-cooled wind sprayed into their faces, and some sense pricked in its wake. A shift in the air. Like a great pocket of power gathered close, beckoning. The knife at his side was instantly in his soaked hand as he searched the rooftops, revealing only plumes of rain. Rowan quieted his mind, listening to the city and storm around them.

So Rowan’s magic picks up some shady shit. What, pray tell, could be after them in Skull’s Bay?

Rowan sheathed his knife. “Then stay close and keep alert.”

Oh. Never mind, then. We transition then into Dorian’s POV.

Aelin had once confirmed that Rolfe was indeed soulless and indeed tattooed. As for the map … She’d shrugged, saying Rolfe claimed it stopped moving when magic fell. Dorian wondered if that map now indicated that he and Rowan walked through his city—if it marked them as enemies.

Seriously, Rolfe is so cool. A pirate damned without a soul with a magic map on his hands? Gimmie that novel! I wish SJM actually did something with the cool concepts she makes.

Two guards stood halfway down the block—guards not for any uniform, but for the fact that they were standing in this storm, hands on their swords. Rowan angled his head in a way that told Dorian the prince was likely contemplating whether it was worth it to chuck the men into the roiling harbor.

Rowan: How dare Darrow imply that my gf and I can’t be proper leaders? We are extremely talented in diplomacy!

Also Rowan: Hmm I’m gonna toss the guards of the guy I arranged a meeting with into the ocean lol.

Storm-Chaser. Lady Ann. Tiger-Star. The sterns of ships. Every table was made from them. They hadn’t been taken from wrecks. No, this was a trophy room—a reminder to those who met with the Pirate Lord of how, exactly, he had gained his crown.

Seriously why are SJM’s side characters so awesome and bad ass and intriguing but her main cast is so boring and lacks any development? Cut out Aelin and her court and give me a novel about Darrow, the witches, and Rolfe’s pirate army. I’d pay good money for that fic.

A door behind the bar opened, and a slim, brown-haired young woman stepped out. Her apron marked her as the barmaid, but her shoulders were back, head high—gray eyes sharp and clear as she scanned them and remained unimpressed. “He was wondering when you two would come snooping,” she said, her accent rich and thick—like Aedion’s.

Aye lmaooo you call them out girl.

Dorian nodded, something in his chest easing. “And you—your magic is … better?” That hard face yielded nothing. “I’ll manage.” Not an answer.

Lmao don’t worry Dorian, as soon as Rowan needs his magic he’ll be able to shoot frost balls out of his ass. Because what is a magic system?

Dorian didn’t know what he expected from the Lord of Pirates. But a dark-haired man, a day past thirty if that, lounging on a red velvet chaise before the rain-splattered curve of windows was not it.

Damn, SJM, you gonna leave me hanging just as soon as we get to an awesomely built up character? Apparently so.

[queen-archeron]

Wildest Dreams // Part 1

Summary: Nesta has finally gotten the chance to get away from her small hometown of Prythian, and move to the big city of New York. She knows it won’t be easy to adjust to this new, independent life of hers, especially with an overprotective boyfriend constantly stressing her out. Cassian has lived in the city for a little less than a year, along with the rest of his Inner Circle of friends, and life couldn’t be better. When Nesta moves into the apartment next door though, many things change.

Tags: @highladyfxyre @fiery-feyre @justasimplereader @my-life-is-a-drama-book @eternally-reading @rhysand-and-rowan

(Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

Nesta let out a loud grunt as she dropped the last three boxes out of her arms and onto the spotless wood floors of her new apartment. Feyre and Elain walked through the door and both collapsed on the couch set up by the large windows overlooking the city. Both sisters looked exhausted, and Nesta wiped the sweat from her forehead as she collapsed in between them on the soft cushions.

“Well…” Nesta started, looking around at the open space of the room. It was so much bigger than their small house in Prythian, one in which they all had to share a room. “It will take some getting used to, but I like it.”

Elain smiled and turned behind her to look out the window.

“You have an amazing view,” she murmured, lost in thought as she gazed out over the city.

Nesta had to admit, this apartment truly was incredible. The living room—which they were currently in—had an entire wall covered with floor to ceiling windows, giving the perfect view of New York City. Central park was only 5 blocks away, and having the corner apartment meant that she didn’t have to deal with neighbors on both sides of her. 

She hadn’t met the person next door yet, and quite frankly, she didn’t want to. Nesta preferred to be alone and reserved, even if it meant people calling her shy and antisocial. She didn’t care what others thought, and she never would.

The three sisters stared out at the beautiful view in silence, simply enjoying each others presence. Nesta knew they would have to leave soon, especially if they wanted to make it back to Prythian by morning. It was a thirteen hour drive into the town from the city. 

Small droplets of water began to slide down the windows, and soon enough, it was raining outside, the grey clouds slowly blocking out the light from the setting sun. 

Elain sighed, her chocolate brown eyes wide as she observed the city. “Since you have everything finally packed, we should probably go…”

She glanced at Nesta with a sad look in her eyes, and Nesta gave her sister a soft smile. “Don’t get all sappy with me now.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but smiled anyways. “Will you be okay?”

Nesta groaned, sliding a hand down her face. “Yes, mom, I’ll be fine. I’m older than both of you, you do realize right?”

Feyre and Elain gave each other a look, but shrugged and smiled. “We know.”

Nesta stared at them for a moment, and then Feyre and Elain stepped up to her, wrapping their arms around her in a tight hug. They remained like that for a few moments, because they had no idea when they would see each other next. Elain was looking for a house of her own in Prythian, and Feyre was in the middle of applying to New York University’s Art School, which meant they both had to be home.

With a loud sigh, they all pulled away, sniffling. Well, Elain was sniffling as her eyes began to water. 

“Elain…” Nesta started, but Elain held up a hand. 

“I’m fine, I promise. It’s just…going to be weird without you at home with us.” She gave Feyre a look, and Feyre nodded in agreement.

Nesta smiled at them and they all slowly made their way towards the door. “I’ll be fine guys. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Feyre grabbed Nesta’s hand and squeezed, a small smile on her face. “Have fun. Just don’t party too much.”

Nesta started to scowl, but Feyre only snickered and headed out the door, Elain following shortly after giving Nesta a quick kiss on the cheek. When the door shut, the only sound that could be heard was the muffled raindrops against her windows, and the sound of the elevator closing down the hall.

She turned around to take in the apartment fully now, figuring out how to get to work on putting things into place. To her left was a large kitchen with marble counter tops and a nice sized island in the center. She headed towards the living room and grabbed a box labeled ‘plates and bowls’ and got to work unpacking.

~

Cassian pulled his hood over his head as it began to rain, watching Rhys and Azriel do the same next to him. They had just finished eating at Rita’s, since Mor decided to finally get a job there, after lots of persuading. She got free drinks, which may have been a large factor, even though him and his brothers knew she was always checking out the waitress who worked the night shift.

Cassian sighed, glancing at Az and Rhys. “I have a new neighbor moving in today, so let’s hope it’s not another crazy cat lady like the last.”

Rhys chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets as they walked towards Cassian’s street. “That lady was insane. I remember when she knocked on the door asking us to turn down the TV so her kids could sleep. Azriel fell on his ass right in front of her from laughing so hard.”

Azriel quickly shook his head. “I didn’t fall on my ass.”

Cassian and Rhys gave him a look, and Az sighed in defeat. “Okay, but in my defense, it was really funny.”

“You never know,” Rhys drawled, giving Cassian a suggestive glance out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe it’s a super model.”

Cassian burst out laughing, and even Azriel chuckled. 

“I wouldn’t complain if that were the case,” Cassian snorted.

The sound of squeaking breaks filled the air around them, and the rain was beginning to fall harder. People were rushing to and from taxis, covering their heads with whatever they could. He was always intrigued by everyone else when he walked through the city. 

He had been living in the city for about a year now, and being so close to his best friends was the best part. There were eight million people living here, and yet Cassian still hadn’t met his soulmate.

He knew it was stupid--believing in a soulmate--and Rhys and Az made fun of him for it, but deep down, he knew everyone had one. Rhys was seeing some girl named Feyre, who Cassian and Az had yet to meet, but the way he spoke about her…it made him jealous at times, if he was being honest.

They reached Cassian’s apartment building after a couple more blocks, and Cassian pulled his hood off as he headed towards the door. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” He asked, glancing back at his friends.

“Of course,” said Az and Rhys almost at the same time. They nudged each other with an elbow and waved goodbye to Cassian before heading to their own apartments a few blocks over.

Cassian made his way inside, savoring warm air, and hurried into an elevator, pressing the button for the fifteenth floor. He leaned against the wall and sighed, exhaustion taking over. When it stopped at his floor, Cassian stepped out just as two girls walked past him and entered the elevator as he left. They were most likely sisters since they looked so alike, and Cassian wondered why he’d never seen them before, until he passed his next door apartment.

The sound of boxes moving around through the door caught his attention, and he debated knocking to introduce himself, but instead continued to his own door. For all he knew, it could be a ninety year old man with anger issues, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with something like that.

Unlocking his door, he tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter and made his way to the couch, where he collapsed with a small groan. 

If there was one thing Cassian hated about the city, it was walking everywhere. Of course, he could get a cab anytime he wanted, but in New York City that meant waiting for what felt like two years.

He grabbed the remote off the coffee table that was in between the couch and TV, and switched the channel to some sports network. 

Glancing around his apartment, he took in all the empty space. He was beginning to get lonely, coming up to a boring apartment with no one to talk to, unless Azriel or Rhys came up, but they had their own lives to live. None of his neighbors acknowledged him, and he was pretty sure half of the people on his floor didn’t even know who he was, although he couldn’t complain since he was the same towards them.

He could faintly here the sounds of boxes still being shifted around in the apartment next to his, thanks to the thin walls. He knew he should introduce himself, because it would be the polite thing to do, but at the moment, Cassian wanted nothing to do with anyone else.

Leaning back, he nestled into the couch, and sleep soon found him.

~

Nesta wanted to ignore her phone as it rang for the third time. Wanted to, but couldn’t. She knew he’d be mad at her for ignoring him the first two times, but she would brush it off and act happy, like always. 

No, not act. She was happy with Thomas. He made her feel loved and cared for when her father couldn’t, he made her feel like her own person, like she didn’t have to rely on anyone else. He made her feel…stressed, and miserable, and angry. 

Nesta shook her head, ignoring the thoughts, and closed the cupboard door, now filled with food. She took a deep breath as she picked up her phone, swiping to answer her boyfriend’s call.

“Hey, Thom-“

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Nesta froze at the tone, at the demand in his words. She swallowed, leaning her back against the island counter.

“W-What do you mean?” She refused to let her voice come out shaky, because she knew it would only make him even more frustrated with her.

“I called you twice before, why didn’t you answer?” He was speaking fast, and the sound of traffic drifted through the phone. She erased the possibilities of why he was in traffic from her mind, and focused on calming him down.

“I was unpacking some boxes, and I didn’t hear my phone. I’m sorry.” Though, she wasn’t truly sorry. She never was with him.

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m about ten minutes out of the city,” he muttered, and her heart froze.

“You’re what?”

“I’m coming to see you. I figured you could use some company.”

Nesta turned around and rested her elbows on the marble surface, her eyes roaming everywhere, making sure things were in place, making sure there was nothing he could call her out on. This was the last things she wanted right now.

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” she replied in an anxious tone, even though the look on her face was anything but. 

“I love you,” he murmured, and waited for her response.

“I love you, too.”

The call ended, and she tossed her phone across the counter, burying her hands in her hair, squeezing her eyes shut.

She knew she needed to end things with Thomas, because he had too much control over her and she hated it. If she ended things though, he could hurt her or her family, and she needed to make sure her sisters were safe, that they didn’t need to worry about this mess on top of everything else. 

She tried to convince herself over and over that he did everything for love. He loved her, and told her that every day. Maybe she was just paranoid.

Quickly, Nesta grabbed some pillows and sheets, made her bed, and worked her way through every room, making sure the essentials were in place. 

After ten minutes exactly, there was a knock on the door, and she quickly fixed her hair and smoothed out her dress. When she opened the it, Thomas looked her up and down, then past her shoulder into the apartment.

“It looks nice,” was all he said as he walked passed her, placing a kiss to her forehead. Shutting the door behind her, Nesta made her way over to him, watching his reaction.

“So, how does it feel to be independent now?” He asked, still looking around at the scattered boxes. 

Nesta smiled a little, taking in the apartment herself. “It’s great. I don’t have to worry about taking care of my father anymore, and Elain and Feyre will have more room to themselves back at the house.”

Thomas glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I must say, I’m not a huge fan of you being here by yourself. A lot of guys are probably going to try to get with you and-“

“Thomas.” Nesta held a hand up, and he rose a brow at the sudden change of attitude. “I can handle myself. I won’t let any guys hit on me or-“

He grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her towards him until she was pressed against his chest. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart practically beating out of her chest.

“I don’t want you seeing any guys while I’m away. Is that clear?” He gave her a hard stare, daring her to argue, and instead she only nodded quickly.

“Thomas, I do have a life-“

She let out a whimper as his grip on her arm tightened to the point of pain, and her eyes were wide as she tried to pull away. Thomas only chuckled, releasing her roughly and taking a few steps back. She stumbled, but regained her balance and stood her ground.

“I’m just trying to protect you. You know that, right love?”

Love. He loved her. Nesta’s mind repeated the thought over and over.

She ignored the pain on her arm and nodded. Of course, he was protecting her. Even though she didn’t need protecting, she couldn’t complain about this. 

Thomas stepped towards her and took her face gently in his hands. He brought his lips down to hers, and she tried to release the tension in her body to make herself seem relaxed, but she couldn’t. Thomas didn’t notice though, he only pulled away and gave her a small smirk.

“I missed you.” He murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I missed you, too.”

But as Nesta said the words, she knew she didn’t mean it.

[rowan-buzzard-whitethorn]

Control- Rowcan Part III

I was finally able to finish this bad boy. Fun fact: did you know what I literally look at every single reblog of these fics and see if anyone says something in the tags? That’s how much of an attention whore I am. I have a problem.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Kinkier and Kinkier

Word Count: 4.3K

Part 1, Part 2

AO3

Rowan jerked awake, immediately stiffening and hissing in a breath at the sharp agony in his arm. He forced his body to relax, to not pull against the chains. He had somehow succumb to the weight of exhaustion, falling into a form of unconsciousness that was in no way restful.

The iron was wrapped around his neck, his chest, each thigh, each ankle, each bicep and each wrist. It felt like a castle was resting on his chest. He couldn’t lift his head, but he had a shadowy sense of awareness toward his right arm. He couldn’t see what they did, but considering the tools they had used and the cut they made... the sounds- the cracking and squelching, the grinding sensation, the screaming of his muscles- he knew that both of the bones in his forearm were bulging from his skin, twisted far past their normal rotation. That was where they had started. They had done the same thing to the left calf. His torso and thighs were striped with welts, burns, and cuts. Though both of his eyes were almost completely swollen shut, they opened just enough to look over to the nearest lantern. He stared at the flame. Begging it to flicker, to bend under the force of a breath, a whisper of wind. Nothing.

His vision swam and he knew that in a moment he would succumb to another round of fever induced nothingness. His heavy lids had almost collapsed when the door to the dungeon slammed open, nearly coming off the hinges. He didn’t bother trying to turn his head. He expected a taunting voice, a cold sneer to enter his vision, but instead he saw the faces of Lorcan and Gavriel. He must be hallucinating- he knew the fever would develop into madness at some point but this seemed far too soon. They were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. His lids were about to close again when he felt a hand smack his cheek. Hard.

“Don’t you dare, asshole."

“Rowan, we’re getting you out of here, we’re going home.”

Home. His home was gone. He hadn’t had a home in over one hundred fifty seven years.

Gavriel, Vaughan, and Lorcan sat in the back of a wagon. Gavriel and Vaughan trailed their fingers over Rowan’s wounds, methodically addressing the infection swimming in his blood. They left the bones alone, the damage comprehensive enough that they wanted to wait for the professional healers to address them when they got back to Doranelle. Lorcan had half a mind to stay behind. They had destroyed the fort, leaving a river of blood behind them. This Eastern kingdom was already weak, grasping at scraps of power already, and Lorcan had a foggy plan in his mind to come back and wipe it entirely off the map. For now though, they had to get back to his Queen as fast as possible. Rowan was still unconscious on the bench, and Lorcan resisted the urge to wipe away the hair sticking to his face. He was not a whimpering nursemaid and he refused to worry. They were going to go home, Rowan would heal, and they would both be back to bring this kingdom to its knees. Everything would be fine.

The carriage gave a harsh jerk to the left, and Rowan’s limp body listed to the side. “Watch where you’re fucking going will you?!” Lorcan snarled.

Gavriel glanced up from his work, giving Lorcan a look. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

“Yeah and preferably in one piece,” he growled.  

Gavriel’s tawny eyes slid down to Lorcan’s hands, which he then realized were holding the grip of his axe, rhythmically pounding the head on the floor of the wagon. He chucked it aside and kept his eyes on the road.

Six months later

They did return to that kingdom. Rowan had spent two weeks with the healers, repairing his ribs and the bones of his arm and leg. Replacing the missing bits of muscle. Restoring joints. A week after that, Lorcan showed up to Rowan’s door to drag his ass to the yard. They worked to restore the strength in those new muscles, had ensured that his wrist and ankle had returned to their full strength and range of motion. Being blessed with fae blood didn’t mean that there weren’t consequences from being tortured for two weeks. The rest of the blood-sworn had helped. And they had decided to go together, regardless of the fact that the whole lot of them was more than enough to cripple that little Eastern kingdom. Maeve had given them leave to do as they wished. She had no interest in the east. By the time they were done, they were absolutely no threat to anyone.

After they had decimated the army, they had all celebrated. However, Rowan only showed a grim sense of satisfaction that had barely lasted. Even during the journey back to Doranelle, Lorcan had noticed that Rowan’s eyes seemed somehow even deader than before. His face was set in a constant mask. His lips and shoulders all set in tight, fixed lines. When they returned, Rowan said the bare minimum in every meeting they had before immediately returning to the yard or to his quarters. He could only be seen during mealtimes, where Lorcan tried and failed not to notice that he was eating less than usual.

It was during one of these meals, dinner at the table they always shared, that Lorcan noticed that Rowan kept bouncing his leg under the table. In the many years that Lorcan had known Rowan, he had had never seen him without a tight sense of control over every movement he made. He might use that control to train for hours on end, to use the last dregs of his magical reserves, or even to lash out in rage, but the sense of ownership over every muscle remained. This bouncing thigh showed a crack in that command. He shared a look with Gavriel who just shook his head. Gavriel had told him that he tried to have a conversation with Rowan several of days ago and it had...not ended well.

When Rowan stood from the table, leaving almost half of his food on his plate, Lorcan counted several breaths before standing up to follow him. He caught sight of him when he turned down an empty corridor.

“Whitethorn.”

“Whatever it is it can wait until tomorrow.”

Lorcan caught up to him and decided to be at least somewhat smart about this and abandoned the urge to grab Rowan by the arm and spin him around. Instead, he sped up so he could stand in front of Rowan to simply block his path.

“What.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“Since when has being alone ever worked for you?”

“It’s gotten me through this far.”

Lorcan dared a step closer. “No, it hasn’t. The only thing you’ve had under control is your own body. And even that was taken from you.”

“So what- you think fucking you will help?” Rowan sneered.

“I think you need a better way to get through immortality. But I also think you need to gain back that sense of control.”

Rowan considered him for a moment, distaste still painting his features. Then, something shifted, and he almost smirked. He closed the distance between them, every movement predatory. “You know what, Commander? Fine. You think i need to feel in control again? Come to my quarters tomorrow night. And you better come prepared, inside and out.”

The next night, Lorcan made his way to Rowan’s quarters, walking at a deliberately slow pace. When he got to the door, he paused for a moment, steeling himself. This might not work. Hell, Rowan might decide to punch him in the face and slam the door. He may stay the same way he’s been. Present in body but not in mind. Lorcan knew that if Rowan actually followed through with… whatever this was, that Lorcan could take it. He was used to being the one in charge of these types of situations, so he felt the awkwardness of putting himself out of his comfort zone. But he was willing to accept that Rowan needed to have an equal and opposite experience to drown out the mental warfare that occurs after going through the type of torture he went through. So, he lifted his fist and gave two swift knocks on the door.

He only had to wait two heartbeats before the door opened and he was dragged into the room by the front of his shirt. Rowan pulled him inside and shoved him against the door. Their mouths crashed together and Lorcan opened his mouth immediately. Rowan lifted Lorcan’s arms above his head and devoured his mouth, his teeth scraping against sensitive flesh.

When his mouth moved down to his throat, Lorcan said, “is this what your control looks like? It looks a lot like more of the same.”

Rowan squeezed Lorcan's jaw and snarled in his face. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

He spun them around and began pushing Lorcan towards the bed. His legs hit the edge of the mattress and Rowan shoved him down onto his back. Rowan climbed on top of him and they slid their way to the head of the bed. Rowan straddled Lorcan’s hips, occasionally grinding against him as their tongues entwined again. Rowan’s hands slid up under Lorcan's shirt, pressing up his torso until Lorcan lifted his arms to allow Rowan to yank the shirt over his head and throw it behind him.

“I know what I want. What I need to get past this,” Rowan breathed.  

Lorcan’s eyebrows lifted, waiting. Rowan reached over to the bedside table and held a rope in front of Lorcan’s face. He looked Rowan in the eyes. They both knew that this kind of rope would offer resistance, but that Lorcan could break through bonds like that if he wished.

Lorcan just nodded and Rowan began looping and wrapping the rope around one wrist until he was able to drag Lorcan’s arm across the bed to secure the end of the rope to the bedpost. After Lorcan watched him finish with the first one, he focused instead on Rowan’s face. It was set in a mask of concentration, but his breathing was ragged and uneven. No doubt thinking of a different set of bonds. Iron ones. No doubt the very reason he chose to do it this way. He was still trying to analyze Rowan’s features, to figure out where his mind was at, when his other arm is stretched towards the other post and secured there.

Rowan slid down his body, resting between Lorcan’s legs. Quickly, roughly, and efficiently, he pulled at the ties of his trousers and yanked everything off him until Lorcan lay there naked and ready. He grabbed Lorcan under his knees and spread his legs. Rowan ignored his cock completely as his mouth dove for Lorcan’s hole, licking and probing and devouring him. Lorcan’s eyes lost focus as he stared at the ceiling, luxuriating in the touch, feeling Rowan’s breaths through his nose tickle the hair of his seam. He lifted his head only to be able to see the top of Rowan’s head, his long hair tied at the base of his skull. He wanted to reach down and grab it, to pull it free and wrap it around his fist, but instead all he got to do was pull against the ropes.

Rowan pushed himself up and started to come towards him again, only to reach across him again to the bedside table. Lorcan finally took a moment to look over to see what else rested on the table and his jaw dropped. There was a jar of oil...and…

The wood was polished to a perfect sheen, making the fire light dance off the conical shape- perfectly round in the middle and narrowing to a soft point at the top. The bottom narrowed quickly before flaring again to the base which held the piece upright. A plug.

Lorcan’s eyes snapped back to Rowan’s, but the male didn’t even look at him, just opened the jar of oil, smearing it on the plug before getting another generous dip on his fingers and leaning back to reposition himself between Lorcan’s legs. This took a turn.

“You do enjoy surprising me don’t you, Prince.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never used one before.”

“Oh i have, I’m usually the one using it on other people...but I’m more scandalized by the image of you going out and purchasing one”

Rowan just snorted and began rubbing his slick hand against Lorcan’s puckered hole, circling the edges with the tip of his finger. “Did you prepare like i asked?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Rowan placed the tip of the plug against Lorcan’s skin and pressed lightly, no preamble. It was a good thing that Lorcan did indeed follow his orders, and did some… preliminary stretching. Then again, Lorcan had only used his fingers. So, as the widest part of the plug pushed past that ring of muscle, Lorcan had to devote his concentration and control his breathing to slightly push against that wide end, allowing it to be fully engulfed before resting against his skin. It had been quite some time since he used one of these and… he had forgotten. Forgotten how mind numbing the constant pressure was inside him. How that wide end pressed against that one spot every time he shifted or clenched. He widened his legs and grunted at that sensation, trying to get his breathing under control, but Rowan moved his still slick hand up to Lorcan’s cock and gave the head a hard, tight squeeze that had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It didn’t escape him that he was laying here in Rowan’s bed, completely naked, tied and helpless- with a plug inside him- while Rowan remained fully clothed.

“And here I thought that preparation was so that you could bend my legs up to my ears and fill me yourself. What’s your plan now?”

“You aren’t the only one who prepared.”

Rowan allowed himself a brief moment to take in Lorcan’s wide eyes, the utter stillness of his features, before he ripped off his own clothing in rough tugs. Once naked, he straddled Lorcan's hips again and reached for the oil, bending awkwardly between his legs to swipe the oil across his entrance.

“Rowan…” Lorcan growled and Rowan looked up to his face. He gazed at him while he reached again between his legs, taking hold of Lorcan and guiding him, sliding him up and down his cleft, breathing in rough gasps as he started to slide down onto his cock. He paused for a moment to relax into the blunt, wide head of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, needing this and only this right now. This moment. He was eager to return to that memory of bliss, that all encompassing sensation of being filled, stretched. Fucking was one thing. But this... It was like a flood, drowning every thought, silencing the words in his mind: that he was alone- that he deserved nothing and no one. That thought had echoed and reverberated in his mind for those two weeks on that table. He didn’t understand it. He had been tortured before. Why had this time been so different?

He sank lower and lower onto Lorcan’s cock, until he was sitting again on Lorcan’s hips. He sat there for a moment, bracing his hands against Lorcan’s chest, feeling the powerful muscles and bones expand with each gasping breath. He looked down at himself, at his hard length aching and throbbing. When he mustered the strength to move, he lifted up slightly, shuddering at the smooth glide of their skin against one another. The movement felt foreign and uneasy. He hadn’t considered the fact that this position meant that each movement of his hips was different than what he was used to.

His mind drifted to memories of women atop him, their hips grinding and bouncing against him and he suddenly had a moment of doubt. He had meant for this to be a moment of power, of taking, and suddenly he felt very vulnerable and out of his element. His eyes found one of Lorcan’s wrists- his arm straining against the bonds, hand in a fist. He reminded himself that every sensation and movement was under his control. This moment belonged to him and only him. He forced his muscles to move, to grind against the fullness inside him. He registered that Lorcan was growling and grunting on each exhale, and he used the sound as a measure, a way to modulate each movement of his hips- finding a way to teach his hips and legs how to seek out his pleasure this new way. A harsh breath gusted out of him and he picked up his pace as he threw his head back and groaned.

This was quite possibly the best view Lorcan had ever seen in his gods-forsaken life. Segments of hair had fallen out of Rowan’s tie and hung in his face, tucked hastily behind an ear, and clung down the side of his neck, sticking to the sweat running down him. Every muscle was taut and rippling with each movement he made. He couldn’t remember a time when he had every one of his senses under such assault. His arms were under continual tension, feeling the slight panic at not being able to reach out and touch. Deep inside him, he felt the plug pressing with constant demand against the base of him. And Rowan’s ass was squeezing his dick so hard he was certain that if rowan lifted off him for a moment he would be able to see that it was alarmingly red and full.

His neck was straining but he didn’t care, not as he watched Rowan’s cock bob up and down, feeling his sack press against him every time that Rowan fully seated himself against his lap. Rowan continued to neglect himself, his hands having moved to brace against his thighs, his head still tilted back, exposing the strong column of his throat. Gods, Lorcan wanted to lick that neck.

Through the haze of sensation, his instincts began to pick up on an insidious undercurrent in the room. Rowan’s hands were pressed against his legs so hard that the fingertips were wholly white. His shoulders were locked and bunched. When he looked again to Rowan’s throat, he could see that his jaw was wide open and he was panting like an animal, seemingly unable to take in a full breath.

“Rowan.” He didn’t respond, didn’t look at him.

“Rowan,” he snarled. “Look at me you bastard.”

He was still rocking his hips, but Rowan looked down at him like he was just remembering he was here.

“Where the fuck are you.”

“Nowhere,” Rowan responded, and then his hips finally stilled, the words sinking in.

“Be here. I’m right here. You aren’t alone."

The words hit like a physical blow. Rowan fell forward, his hands braced on either side of Lorcan’s chest. He bowed his head, long hairs hanging in Lorcan’s face.

“Rowan. Come here,” he commanded. Rowan fell to his elbows, allowing his chest to fall against Lorcan’s. They sat there like that for a long moment, their sweat sticky and hot between them, Rowan’s breathing was possibly even more labored and fast than before.

“Rowan, my hands.”

He lifted just far enough to allow one arm to reach over and tug against the knot, sliding it along the length of the rope far enough that Lorcan could slide his right hand through. Then Rowan shifted his weight to do the same to the other side before falling again, his forehead braced on Lorcan’s shoulder. Lorcan wrapped his arms tightly around the Prince, crushing their bodies together, a part of him still registering the way they were still joined. He lifted his head, almost alarming himself at the gentleness of the kisses he placed against Rowan’s neck. They were in foreign territory, neither knowing the words to say in this moment but both feeling the tide shift, feeling their bodies no longer in a state of primal need but shifting into something more subtle and layered.

He ran his hand up Rowan’s back, grabbing a fist full of ponytail and gently tugging Rowan up to look him in the eye. The Prince’s eyes searched furiously between his own, clearly at war with his desire to appear the master of himself and this new sense of vulnerability. He settled somewhere in between as he said, “kiss me.”

Lorcan only need to lean up a little further so that their lips could touch. The kiss was slow at first, only the tips of their lips brushing against each other. Then Rowan’s hand slid up and he grasped the back of Lorcan’s head, his fingers sliding into Lorcan’s hair as the kiss deepened.

This heat was different somehow, a silent conversation. Lorcan’s other hand moved down his spine to stroke one cheek, barely lifting his hips to slide a little deeper. Rowan lifted his head, his eyes blazing as he rocked his hips back, a counterweight to Lorcan’s movements. They did not look away from each other as they found a slow, luxurious rhythm. Rowan’s eyes drooped, his forehead coming to rest against Lorcan’s, sharing breath.

“Like this,” Lorcan said, softer now. “Stop fighting everything. Just let go and be here in this moment.”

Rowan groaned, keeping their heads together as his hips responded in a deep grind. Lorcan made every push a focused communication, gaining speed without losing purpose. Rowan’s cock was a solid weight between their bodies, sliding between them easier and easier as each bead of precum slicked their skin. His head dropped to Lorcan’s neck- seemingly unable to continue holding it up, directing each moan and intake of breath directly to Lorcan’s ear. Lorcan felt every ounce of tension from the night begging to release, his body roaring at him to let go, but he wouldn’t allow himself to until Rowan did.

“Rowan, come with me.” Rowan lifted on his elbows again, arching his back only enough so there was a bare separation between their torsos.

“Do it for me.”

Lorcan eased a hand between them, grabbing Rowan’s cock and stroking him the exact way he had seen Rowan do it, eager to get him to come quickly. He was focused on his task enough that he was surprised when Rowan’s lips found his again, his tongue sliding into his mouth. He could feel the vibrations of Rowan’s groan against him, and then Rowan pulled his lips back a hair’s breadth away to sob out his release, coating both of them in wetness. Lorcan kept up his stroking as his hips finally faltered under the weight of his own release, the plug making his climax even more intense. They both collapsed, Rowan’s full body weight pressing against him.

Rowan finally felt his breathing slow, his body and mind still under the effects of euphoria. It was different this time. Instead of the silence he had been hunting, he was overcome by a sense of calm . He felt calmer and more at rest than he had… in a long time. It wasn’t complete. No, he would never feel complete again. He knew that. But still, this was like blessed relief. Like coming up for a breath of air while in the throes of a harsh current.

He brushed his lips against Lorcan’s one last time- the only gratitude he could offer, before rolling to the side. Lorcan rolled towards him, reaching behind himself to gently ease the plug out, then he turned and slid out of bed.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he said. Not a question.

Lorcan snorted. “Of course I am.”

He got up and walked towards the bathroom and Rowan felt a smirk tug at his lips at the sight. When lorcan was done, they passed each other in the center of the room while he was making his way to bathroom as well. A loud smack reverberated against the stone walls as Lorcan smacked his ass.

Rowan didn’t even turn around, just said, “you’ll pay for that,” before closing the bathroom door behind him.

Lorcan lay in the middle of Rowan’s bed, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself, as he usually did after nights like this. He watched as Rowan made his way back to bed, enjoying the ability to see him naked this way- casually and without the cloud of lust around him.

“You’re in my spot,” Rowan said as he climbed on the mattress, and Lorcan shifted away from the middle only enough so that Rowan could lay down before falling against his chest, throwing a leg over him. They lay there in silence for a good while, neither wanting to disrupt the peaceful quiet they had found somehow. Eventually, Rowan’s arm came up and rested against Lorcan’s back. There were no sweet nothings whispered, no idle stroking, just their bodies relaxed against one another, their breathing synced.

Lorcan felt his eyes droop at the sensation of their chests rising and falling in unison. The sound against Lorcan’s ear like a gentle tide. It was enough to pull him under into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

[ofwolvesandshatteredshields]

Rush

Drabble about Hawke’s early days in the Iron Ring plus Athenril (she’s trans here). Explicit. 

——

The needle jabs into him again and Hawke tries not to flinch.

Stupid, really. To have just fought a champion bout against Cutter Sel and now it’s the bloody needle that’s making him wince and squirm. He grasps his shoulder, careful to keep his fingers off his shoulderblade and out of the tattooist’s way.

He can’t leave until they’ve put the tattoo on him. That’s the tradition, their way of digging their claws into him, a permanent reminder. If you need money you can always come back. Jobelle stands in the corner of the shabby room, watching the progress with a satisfied smile on her face. Of course she’s satisfied. Whatever money he made, she’s just made a hundred times that. “So how does it feel, Rowan?” she asks.

He shrugs with his free shoulder and then winces as the needle pierces his skin again. Doesn’t want to ruin her mood with the truth. She likes him and it’s good to have powerful people who like you, especially in this city. “Felt good putting Cutter on the mat. He’s insufferable.”

She sighs, pushing back her greasy blonde hair. “You’re absolutely right. Honestly, though, the way he hits, I thought we were never gonna get rid of him.”

Hawke smiles slightly. “Lucky you.”

“After he knocked you out back in Firstfall, I was afraid you wouldn’t come back. But I knew you could do it. With time.”

The needle again. Hawke grits his teeth. “It’s good money.”

Jobelle chuckles. “And you like it. I can always tell when my fighters enjoy their work.”

Hawke makes no remark on that. Behind him the tattooist announces, “Done,” and dabs Hawke’s back with a cloth.

He rises and it all hits him then, every hit he blocked or took during the bout, and he spends the strength not to buckle but still bends and wraps an arm around his middle. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“Take a break for a couple of weeks. You’ve earned it.” Jobelle claps a hand on his arm. “I’m excited to watch you fight again, though. Love seeing how much you’ve improved in such a short time.”

“Right." He limps for the door. No bout has ever left him with this much pain. At least it was worth it. Or something. Hawke rubs his forehead—until he finds the enormous cut in his brow and stops, wiping the blood off on his trousers. There’s a near-full bottle of liquor sitting at home with his name on it, which should solve the problem with the pain. Now where’s his shirt again?

He hopes Bethany hasn’t stayed up for him. She’ll be furious when she sees him like this.

“Well, look who it is.”

Oh. There’s his shirt.

Athenril leans up against the door to the antechamber, Hawke’s shirt dangling from her fingers. “When I told you about this place I always knew you’d do well for yourself, but taking the title in six months flat? That’s impressive.”

He holds his hand out and she gives him the shirt. “Got a bit of an unfair advantage."

“Hey, I’ve seen guys your size fall to fighters my size plenty of times,” Athenril replies. “It’s all about skill. Wow, you really look like shit, don’t you?”

Hawke rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“No, it’s not an insult. Kinda hot, actually.” She shrugs. “How do you feel?”

“In pain.”

“Obviously. I mean about winning. Your new title.”

Hawke stands there staring at a spot just to the left of her. How does he feel. Is there any harm in telling her the truth? And she’ll know if he’s lying.

“That good, huh?”

His eyes flick up.

Her coy smile has faded. “I get it. You and your sister never…fit in, really. With the rest of my crew.”

Hawke shrugs dully.

“This might not be what you want to hear.” Athenril leans up against the door. “But whether you like it or not you’ve adapted well. Really well. Ah…scary well, if we’re being honest.”

Hawke lets out a low chuckle. “Well, that’s comforting.”

“You gotta stop putting yourself down like that. Adaptability is a good quality. Kept you and your family safe, hasn’t it?”

That sounds well and good but Hawke thinks of the terrible sadness in Bethany’s eyes whenever she sees him come home with his face bruised and swollen, regardless of the outcome, and it’s hard to make himself believe what Athenril’s telling him.

“Hey, do you want to come back to my place? I’ve got some good booze. Better than that piss I see you buying from Tomwise.”

Hawke blinks. Back to her place. He may be a country boy but he’s not dense enough to be ignorant of what that means.

“Oh—not part of the contract. Obviously. You can turn me down, I don’t care.”

Hawke starts to laugh but winces and holds his ribs. “You know I’ve just got the shite beat out of me. I’m not good for much of anything.”

“I’d venture there’s a few things you’re good for.” She grins. “And anyway, like I said, it’s pretty hot. Kinda why I asked in the first place, to be honest.”

Well. Her liquor probably does taste better than his. And if he goes back to her place he can put off facing Bethany for another few hours.

He shrugs the shirt on, feeling it stick a little to his new tattoo. “All right.”

Her booze is Tevene and sour, but together they finish the bottle fast and by the time the dregs are swilling at the bottom they've already got their clothes off. The fucking dulls the pain in his flesh and bones in the same way fighting does—the rush of excitement, of action, a distant soreness in his chest with each harsh breath but he moves without wincing or groaning. Beneath him Athenril grabs his ass and hisses, “Harder, harder, come on,” so he fucks her harder, sweat running down his spine, the taste of blood still on his split lips when he licks them.

“Fuck.” Athenril squeezes herself, then slaps his ass. “Lie down, I wanna ride you.”

Hawke pulls out of her and lies on his back. She straddles his hips and guides him into her again, sinking down with a snarled curse. Hawke’s fingers sink into her thighs, his jaw clenching. She’s hot and tight.

When she fucks him each impact shakes up a shock of dull pain. Cutter was wearing gloves (they both were) but Hawke still thinks he’s got a couple of broken ribs, and his fist balls in the sheets. Athenril leans over him, planting a hand on his chest. There's a bruise there, deep red and purple in the candlelight. Hawke moans, pain pulsing under her palm.

"Hurts?" she breathes, her hair stringy with sweat.

Hawke nods, squeezing her thigh.

"You want me to stop?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

She flashes a grin at him, a glint off her teeth, and fucks him harder. Hawke grunts, his hand finding hers on his chest, pressing down. Fuck, that hurts. "Oh, yeah," she whispers, jerking herself faster now. "Oh yeah, I'm close. You gonna come?"

Hawke nods again, and when she throws her head back and tightens around him he comes in her, her ass squeezing him so hard it's almost painful. She lets out a string of curses, her climax splattering onto his stomach.

They fall asleep with the sheets piled up between them, Hawke on his back, Athenril on her stomach with one leg trailing off the bed. Hawke means to leave but he's too exhausted to stand, let alone walk home through Lowtown in the middle of the night.

Is it really so bad, anyway? If he doesn't go back?

He shuts his eyes.

——

The sweet scent of Rivaini pipeweed hangs in the air.

Hawke takes a deep breath, lets it pour into his lungs. Doesn't mind a little buzz at the back of his mind. He rubs his eyes, squinting. Morning, barely. Wan, bone-yellow light filters through the lacy curtains.

"Hey." Athenril taps her pipe. "Wanna suck me off?"

With barely a thought Hawke crawls sluggishly down the bed. Athenril uncrosses her legs for him; she's half-hard, and he takes her into his mouth.

"You ever thought about sticking around?"

Hawke sucks her, feels her growing firmer against his lips.

"After your contract's up. I'd be happy to keep you on. You're good for business."

He comes off, glancing up at her, over the gentle rolls of her stomach. "Haven't really made a decision one way or the other."

"Think about it." She grins at him. "Guy like you? You'll go far."

Hawke doesn't want to think about it. He returns to what he was doing, capturing her in his mouth, tonguing her tip.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Athenril says. "It feels good to come out on top. Same goes for anyone."

He thinks of the bout with Cutter for the first time since he left the ring, the knife's-edge rhythm of the fight, the balls of his feet pivoting on the canvas, his eyes catching each dip of Cutter's shoulders and his legs bend minutely when he shifts his weight. The knuckles scraping past his cheek, the punch landing in his stomach and how he bent and launched himself forward to put Cutter on the mat. The grin that rose to his face when he straddled Cutter's hips and belted him across the jaw...

"Ah—yeah, that's good."

Hawke realizes he'd been taking her deeper, pushing her into his throat. He backs off and coughs. Athenril runs her fingers through his hair. "Looks like your talents include more than fighting, huh?"

Hadn't meant to do that. He sucks her, laving the underside of her shaft with his tongue.

"Yeah, yeah," she murmurs. Her fingers ball in his hair. "I'm close."

He thinks of coming off but she's holding him where he is and he doesn't really care anyway so instead he sucks her harder and she groans and tips her head back and finally comes. The taste of salt spills over Hawke's tongue as she pumps into his mouth.

Athenril finishes her pipe while he dresses, smoke hanging thick and white-purple in the air. He feels her eyes on him but makes no remark. His shirt is spotted with red where his nose dripped on it last night.

"Hey," Athenril says. "You ever want to do this again, you just let me know."

"Right," he murmurs. When he leaves he catches his face in the mirror. One half still painted in dried blood from the crusted cut in his brow, dark red and cracked.

Nobody bothers him on his way back to Gamlen's house. The soreness is worse this morning, and he sort of staggers through the streets, upright but weaving, holding his ribs. Some people grin at him as he walks by. They must have been there last night.

The steps to Gamlen's house. His thighs ache from all those kicks Cutter put in them, but he makes the top, gasping; then takes a minute to collect himself. Bethany is on the other side of that door.

He traces the cut on his brow. The scab is finger-thick. She won't care that he won.

Hawke takes a deep breath, wincing at the twinge in his ribs, and turns the knob.