#IF WE KEEP THIS UP DORIAN'S GOING TO COME BACK TO ONE OF THESE ASSHOLES ASCENDING TO GODHOOD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leiawritesstories · 2 years ago

Note

Omg game night with the Galathynius-Whitethorns and company would be so chaotic 👀

it really would be 👀👀

word count: 2.3k

warnings: language, chaos, naughty jokes, alcohol (they're all adults)

enjoy!!

You Little Cheater

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

"Are you serious?" Aelin propped her hands on her hips, raising both brows at her husband. "You do remember the last time we did this, yeah?"

"It was fun!" Rowan protested, winking snarkily at her. "Just because you lost at poker doesn't mean--"

"All right, Mr. Bragger," she laughed, "you can stop there."

He grinned. "But I won bragging rights, Fireheart."

"Gods," she groaned. "I've married a child."

"But you love me," he crooned, coming over to slip his arms around her waist.

"But I love you," she agreed, lips curving into a soft grin. "All right, you can tell everyone we're hosting game night."

"Yes!" Rowan kissed her quickly. "Oh, love, this is going to be so fun!"

"You keep telling yourself that," Aelin snickered, kissing him back. "I'll go make sure we have enough beer to placate Fen when he inevitably loses every single round."

"WHO'S READY TO LOSE?" Fenrys crowed, bursting into Aelin and Rowan's house with a huge grin plastered on his face and a bottle of tequila in each hand. "I brought presents!"

"Thank you, Fen," Aelin deadpanned, swiping the liquor from him and passing it to her husband, who prudently stored the tequila in the kitchen. Away from Fen's impulsive grasp.

Fenrys beamed. "I'm gonna win this time, I just know it."

"Bullshit!" Lorcan called from the living room, where he was already settled on the couch with a beer in his hand and Elide comfortably tucked into his side, eyeing that beer hungrily.

At twenty-three weeks pregnant, she'd finally gotten over the nausea, but the lack of alcohol was really starting to get to her.

"Thought you were going sober with me, babe," she teased.

Lorcan huffed a laugh. "Yeah, well, that was before I realized Moonbeam would be here."

"Fair enough," Elide snickered.

"I heard that!" Fen screeched. "Asshole!"

"Kinks to yourself, Moon Moon," Lorcan drawled, tipping his beer at the blonde.

Fen's tanned face flushed red and he whirled around to grab himself a beer from the kitchen, grumbling about stupid fucking drunk decisions.

"Wouldn't have to worry if you weren't a stupid drunk, Fen," Aelin crooned, handing him a drink.

"Fuck off," Fen groaned, laughing through his fake irritation.

"We'll save that for later," Rowan smirked, resting his hand dangerously close to his wife's ass.

"Fucking gods!" yelped Aedion from the doorway, where he and Lys and Dorian had just arrived. "At least wait five fucking minutes before tormenting me!"

Aelin responded to her cousin with a silent, single-finger gesture.

"Love ya too," Aedion smirked, blowing her a kiss as he headed into the living room with the others. "Lochan, how's sobriety?"

"Piss off," Elide snorted, tossing a pillow at him.

Aedion smirked. "Okay, okay, I'll stop."

"Damn right you will," she returned. "And you'll shut the hell up about it when I kick your ass at cards."

"So certain you'll win," Aedion drawled.

"Remind me again who's got the longest losing streak out of all of us?" Lys hummed, raising a knowing brow at her boyfriend.

"Shut up," Aedion groaned, flopping against the couch cushions.

Lysandra snickered. "That's right, darling, it's not the pregnant lady."

"I hate you," Aedion mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow his face was buried in.

"Love you too, babe." The brunette blew him a flirty kiss, resting one hand on his sloppy half-bun.

Aelin waltzed into the living room bearing cards and poker chips and a broad, slightly insane grin. "All right, idiots!" she crowed. "Who's ready to watch Fen and Aedion lose again?"

It wasn't even ten o'clock, and almost everyone was tipsy and giggly.

Probably because they'd played their very own version of drinking poker, where whoever lost had to take varying degrees of drinks ranging from a sip from their cup to a shot to chugging an entire beer.

Out of everyone sprawled around Aelin and Rowan's living room, Rowan and Elide were the most sober, followed by Lysandra and, surprisingly, Aelin. Lorcan was buzzed but not into drunk territory, Aedion was slurring every word he spoke, Dorian was currently laying on the floor crossing his eyes at his cards, and Fenrys was draped all over an armchair with his legs halfway over the armrest and a bright green pillow clutched to his chest, giggling uncontrollably.

In case anyone in the room wasn't aware, he'd lost more than half the hands. And subsequently consumed several beers, a healthy dose of wine, and probably too many tequila shots.

"Lorrrrkyyyyyy," Fenrys sang, his slurred voice warbling over the syllables, "whas'thish shay?" Blearily, he fumbled with his cards, dropping them all over himself as he attempted to show Lorcan the card he was trying to decipher.

It was a five of clubs.

"It's a two of hearts, Fen," Lorcan grunted, snickering to himself at his own little joke.

Fenrys grinned a huge, drunken grin, throwing his cards down onto the coffee table. Attempting to throw his cards down, at least; not a single card made it close to the table before landing on the carpet. "I WIN!" he yelled, kicking his feet like a schoolgirl on the phone. "I WINNNNNNN!"

Ever the voice of reason, Rowan punched the blonde on the shoulder. "What ya got, Fen?"

"Full"--*hic*--"house!" Fen declared, managing to collect his cards and fan them out, displaying two sixes, two twos, and the five of clubs Lorcan had informed him was a two. "Six an' twos!"

"Moonbeam," Rowan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "why the fuck do you even listen to Lorcan?"

"Cause he knows I'm smart," Lorcan snorted.

Rowan flipped off the dark-haired man. "Shut the fuck up, Lor."

"Cause he's riiiiiight," Fen beamed, his gaze completely unfocused. "I win!"

"Bitch, you do not!" Dorian elbowed the blonde enough to send him flopping out of his chair and onto the floor. "Tha'sh two pair, I gotta three'kind!" He eagerly displayed his three tens, smirking in triumph. "I beat you!"

"Not here, ya don'," Fenrys giggled, smirking up at Dorian from where he was now lying on the floor.

Dorian's whole face turned crimson. "FEN!" he screeched, smacking the blonde upside the head. "NO!"

"Yeah, yeah, not here," Fen giggled, patting Dorian's ass.

"Get a room!" Elide hollered, throwing pillows at both of the drunk, horny, overgrown children. "Gods, you two."

Dorian hiccupped. "Shoundsh like a good idea," he slurred, grinning down at Fenrys, who just beamed right back and made no attempt to get up off the floor.

Probably because he knew he wouldn't even be able to stand up.

"Hmm, pretty boy--"

"All right!" Lysandra, bottle of wine in her hand, interrupted before either Dorian or Fenrys could actually make good on their drunken promises. "I've got a new idea..."

"Please tell me it involves wine," Aelin smirked, swiping the bottle from her friend and pouring herself a healthy measure.

Lys's grin was borderline sadistic. "Everyone get your asses off the floor!" she commanded, clapping twice. "Ae, go get Twister."

"Fuck yes!" Aelin crowed, hurrying off to the hallway closet to grab Twister from one of the shelves.

"Love," Rowan interrupted--obviously the overbearing buzzard had followed her--"are we sure that's a good idea?"

"It's a fucking wonderful idea," she assured him, beaming proudly. And a little tipsily, if she was being perfectly honest.

He sighed heavily, smothering his soft chuckle. "No more tequila while you're playing, though, okay?"

"You ruin all my fun," she griped, but she nodded.

His lips twitched. "Oh, love, I don't think I ruin all your fun, do I?" That godsdamned look of his, it would be the end of her.

"Perhaps not," she murmured, sweeping her darkening gaze up and down his form.

Then dodging him and hurrying back out to the living room, her giggle echoing in his ears.

Lys and Aedion and Elide and Lorcan had moved the furniture out of the way, creating a space large enough for the seven or so adults to play Twister without fearing they'd break something--body or furniture--when they inevitably fell over. Aelin plopped the box atop the couch, pulling the well-loved vinyl mat out and shaking it out over the floor.

"Gimme the spinner," Elide demanded, grabbing the box and settling herself in the relocated armchair. "This pregnant lady isn't going anywhere near you idiots."

"Then why the hell are you by Lorcan?" Aelin snickered, earning herself a rumbling growl from the hulking brute in question.

"I swear to all the fuckin' gods, Galathynius..."

"Hush, you," Elide chortled, nudging her giant of a husband. "Go on."

Lorcan stared at her. "Absolutely the fuck not."

She stared right back. "Go. On."

"No."

"Yes."

The couple stared heatedly at each other for another thirty seconds before Elide pulled her trump card and settled one hand atop her bump. "Your son wants you to have fun with your friends, Lor."

"Gods fuckin' dammit," he mumbled, conceding in an instant. And turning a sharp scowl at everyone else. "Say something, I dare you."

"Such an old softie," Rowan snickered, obviously enjoying the sight of his best friend being complete putty in Elide's petite hands.

"Fuck you."

"Not my job."

Despite himself, Lorcan released a dry laugh, draining the rest of his beer. "Godsdammit, Whitethorn."

"Come on, old men," Aelin interrupted, prodding both of them towards the Twister mat. "No shoes!"

"So bossy," Rowan griped.

"You love it," she hummed, winking lewdly at him.

Dorian's loud wolf whistle was interrupted by Lysandra swatting Aelin. "Get a fuckin' room!"

"Hell no," Aelin retorted, "I've got a game to win!"

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Elide snorted. "Y'all ready?"

Sometime long after anyone had stopped looking at the clock, Aelin and Rowan waved goodbye to Aedion and Lys, the last two to leave their house. Elide and Lorcan went home first, once the round of Twister that of course ended with everyone a tangled mess of drunken and tipsy limbs and indignant squawking had ended. Though nobody could protest that it had been immense fun, what with the alcohol livening things up and the constant stream of hilarity that was Fenrys trying to position his face as close to Dorian's ass as possible.

For obvious reasons.

Despite all attempts to sabotage her, Aelin had prevailed eventually, using her years of dance and athletic training to keep her balance even when both Rowan and Lorcan were pressing into her space, the former trying to kiss her into falling over and the latter just shoving his shoulder into hers. She'd retaliated by walking her hand into the closest green space when Elide had called it, which conveniently required Lorcan to try and reach behind himself to complete the move.

Which resulted in the massive man tumbling all over himself.

"Ouch," she heard him mumble to Elide after he'd extricated himself and gone to curl up at her side.

"Poor baby," Elide crooned, laughter twinkling in her eyes. "Right foot, yellow!"

Aelin shot her foot to the yellow circle, "accidentally" tripping Fenrys in the process.

He flopped onto his stomach, pretending to be mad while being completely unable to smother his giggles. "You little cheater!" he squawked, hiccupping.

"You're a little drunk," Aelin snickered, nudging his side with her foot.

Fen yelped in outrage. "AM NOT!"

She raised a brow. "Dorian? Got something to say about that?"

"You're a lightweight!" Dorian grinned, winking at Fenrys.

"LIAR!" Fen screeched, sloppily pushing himself up off the ground and lunging for Dorian, half-tackling him to the carpet.

"Whoa there!" Aelin called, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the two drunkest people in the room "brawling" with each other. "Save the roleplay for later, boys!"

Fen shrieked in protest.

Dorian's whole face burned scarlet.

Beside Aelin, Aedion groaned. "Every single fuckin' pershon here's fuckin' hornyyyy," he slurred.

Lysandra's muffled response to that had resulted in Aedion tripping over himself as he tried to move to the next place Elide called and sending everyone on the mat toppling to the floor as he went sprawling. Only Aelin managed to somewhat escape the chaotic collapse, keeping herself stable enough to declare that she was the winner.

"Want your prize now?" Rowan smirked, wickedness written all over his face.

Elide threw a pillow at him. "Gods above, you two!"

"Love you too, Ells," Aelin crooned.

Shortly later, she and Rowan were waving at Aedion and Lysandra as they departed, leaving their house quiet, the beer bottles in the bin and the glasses in the dishwasher and Twister safely stored back in the closet.

Rowan yawned. "Gods, I'm exhausted."

Aelin snickered. "Putting up with Fen and Dorian wear you out, old man?"

"Hardly," he promised, closing and locking the front door.

She raised an unconvinced brow. "Mhmm."

"I'll show you old man," he purred, effortlessly hoisting her over his shoulder and striding up the stairs with far more stability than she'd expect from someone who'd drunk as much as her darling husband had.

"Please do..." she murmured, deliberately making her voice soft and breathy, "sir."

The growl that rumbled low in his throat at her teasing abruptly cut off into a jaw-cracking yawn.

Terrible timing, given that he was right in the middle of splaying her out on their bed.

Both of them burst into tipsy laughter, Rowan letting his head drop against his wife's chest. "Sign from above, I guess," he laughed.

Aelin kissed her husband's messy hair. "Guess so. I love you, buzzard."

"Love you more, Fireheart."

Neither of them had time to do more than change into comfy pajamas and halfheartedly brush their teeth before sleep claimed them. Still, just as Aelin let her dreams take over her mind, she couldn't suppress the way she grinned at Rowan pulling her into his warmth, ever the big spoon.

Gods, she couldn't wait to make him a dad.

~~~

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#my writing #answered prompt #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #and friends #fenrys moonbeam #lorcan salvaterre #elide lochan #aedion ashryver #lysandra ennar #dorian havilliard #all the idiots #we love them

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mpregstory · 3 years ago

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A ceo has been a asshole to all his employees. One employee has had it. During a work party, him and the boss had sex, which lead to the ceo pregnant with his quads, forcing him to give birth in his office to all of them

The CEO (Zack's POV)

It was the last hot summer day in the office. The air conditioners were once again out of order and the mood was tense. Zack Novak, 23, one of the 14 senior staff, was already waiting in the meeting room with his colleagues and an intern. You could already hear him in the hallway. Dorian Hoyos, 37, for everyone Mr. Hoyos, threw open the door annoyed and looked very stressed. He was always a real asshole to everyone, but today things were much worse.

"Okay you office rats…then put your ideas forward. More quickly! I don't have all day!" Mr. Hoyos rolled his eyes and tapped the table impatiently as the drafts and ideas gathered around him. Meanwhile, the intern whispered in Zack's ear: "He's always such an ass?" Then Zack answered back in the quietest tone: "Today is still one of the good days…He may not have any character, but he's hot, tho" The intern had to giggle a little at that.

"Quiet! Let me see through it…trash…trash…not quite that trash…okay guys what's this about? Do I have to do all the work again now? Because Mr. Novak had the best idea of all of you, and that doesn't mean it still sucks, please, Mr. Novak, take care of the rest of the business. I want the finished ideas on my desk before the end, yes? As an exception, we close 30 minutes earlier so that the other team can prepare the party early enough. I think then that I have to put up with you all again around 9 p.m. Happy anniversary..or something. 20 years of Hoyos Corp. and still only idiots here!"

Zack was in control. He not only took care of the remaining ideas, but was even able to keep the intern busy with other stuff full-time. Everything was ready at the right time and he said goodbye to his colleagues to go home and change.

The Anniversary Celebration

With two other colleagues, Zack was the youngest in the office or at the level of the other employees. He wore a black, semi-transparent shirt to celebrate. He was young enough that the whole 'showing his muscular torso' act didn't seem out of place. He also wore black suit trousers and Doc Martens in the same color spectrum. Like all other employees, he was punctual, but once again there was no trace of Mr. Hoyos. In general, it was always the case that no one but he was allowed to be late, but if he is late, everything is fine. And with this train of thought, he then entered the stage in the foyer:

"Hello everyone. Welcome to the 20th anniversary of Hoyos Corp. We've been setting trends for 20 years with our 34 different trend magazines. I joined as an intern at the time. I have inherited the leadership for 6 years and today I would like to thank you all (for once) for all the work! Let's have a pleasant evening together."

The celebration was a little sluggish in Zack's eyes. At some point he had plundered the bar and got himself drunk.

1 a.m.

Zack ambled to the elevator to go home and get on with his life. He had taken a slightly longer break from alcohol but had completely overdone it again today. When he got in, he hadn't even noticed that Mr. Hoyos got into the elevator, too. They both let the door go and Mr. Hoyos murmured, "That's a really nice…shirt". At this, Zack laughed a little, realizing that Mr. Hoyos was also totally drunk. "Thank you," he replied. There was a long eye contact and then suddenly Mr. Hoyos pulled Zack to him and kissed him intensely on the mouth for a few seconds. After Zack didn't react much, Mr. Hoyos then said: "Please come to my house. After show party just the two of us haha."

It wasn't the first time Zack had accepted such a favor and knowing that Mr. Hoyos owned a large property with a pool there was no reason in his condition to refuse. He already saw himself making out with Mr. Hoyos in the pool.

The Morning After

It was his cell phone that suddenly woke Zack up. Still completely dazed, Zack tried to open his eyes for more than a second to see where he was. The first thing he recognized was a large window front of a large house. What happened yesterday? I was at the anniversary party…then in the elevator and then…oh yeah. OH FUCK! Zack jumped up. Luckily for him he was completely naked and stood in a large bedroom with a huge bed. In a panic he looked for his clothes but he only found his retro shorts from yesterday. He then opened the door and found himself in a large hallway with a staircase to the lower floor. His clothes and a letter to Zack Novak lay on a large couch.

To Zack Novak, Nobody will find out about this! There's $300 in that envelope. Keep them and keep your mouth shut. See you tomorrow at work.

Apparently Zack was alone at Mr. Hoyos' house and so he didn't get dressed straight away but instead searched the kitchen to make breakfast. Only then did he go home.

The CEO (Dorian's POV)

He knew full well that it was a mistake. Not only had he slept and fucked with one of his associates, Zack Novak, but now he was allowed to carry his children. He couldn't realize it himself when he was told on the ultrasound that he was going to have quadruplets and then the idea of having to tell everyone? He was in the 14th week of pregnancy and everyone could already see a sufficient increase of his belly.

The News

Stressed out, Dorian drummed the team together again and Zack was there too. He couldn't say it to himself because he was speechless himself.

"Hello everyone. I got you all together to announce something. I'm pregnant." The whole office was clapping but Zack Novak looked at Dorian with a completely shocked face. After the announcement, he followed him straight into the office. "What the fuck?! Are you kidding me? Pregnant?! Fuck! Couldn't you have told me that sooner?" Dorian was speechless for a moment. But then he offered: "Sit down."

"Fuck, sorry! I was really shocked. Tell me, how did you imagine that?! We have a very big age difference. May I see your belly?" Dorian stood up again and lifted his top, revealing his stomach to Zack.

"Wait…why has it grown so much already", Zack asked.

"Because you got me pregnant with quadruplets."

"What the...! You're joking?! Oh my god! What should I do?! That will not do! This is too much! I have to go!" Zack didn't even let Dorian answer and stormed out of the office.

The CEO (Zack's POV)

Zack had to distance himself. There was silence between him and Mr. Hoyos. They saw each other occasionally at gatherings, but Zack mostly avoided him. For months.

End Of Spring

He stood in front of his property. Should I really go in? Zack took a deep breath and entered the property. It was one of the first really hot days of the year and he only had to walk around the house to see Mr. Hoyos in the big garden. He was obviously in the pool in this warm weather.

"Hey! Hey Mr Hoyos!" he called to announce himself. Mr. Hoyos held himself to the edge of the pool with the water up to his neck and watched as Zack stepped closer. The last time they two saw each other was two months ago, since first Zack and then Mr. Hoyos were on a company trip. "Sit down. I'm coming out," Mr. Hoyos offered.

First Zack saw the water beading off Mr. Hoyo's shoulders, but then he lifted his huge pregnant belly out of the water with a huge groan.

"Oh my god you're still pregnant! I thought you already had the babies." Zack said in a slightly shocked voice. "The four are very stubborn to be honest", Mr. Hoyos explained. Zack got up and grabbed Mr. Hoyo's stomach. "You should be in your…40th week by now…fuck."

I don't own the rights of the upper picture. You can find the original one here

"That's right." Mr. Hoyos grabbed Zack's left shoulder. He then leaned forward with a painful expression on his face: "Ouch! I have to sit down."

Completely overwhelmed and in a panic, he gave Mr. Hoyos assistance and got his two on the couch. "Is it starting!?"

"I don't think so. It's Braxton Hicks. I've had them for weeks. Bring me a glass of water", Mr. Hoyos begged.

Start Of Work

Zack is still concerned. That Mr. Hoyos still hasn't given birth is stressing him out. Yesterday evening, however, was still quite relaxing. Zack stayed for a few more hours and they swam in the pool and, with a few breaks in contractions, had sex in the hot tub. All relaxation at the memories, however, was completely shattered when Zack sees Mr. Hoyos enter the meeting room. He should actually be at home and resting. At least that's what Zack told him yesterday. It's quite hot in the building again and that's really getting to Mr. Hoyos. He's totally stressed out and drenched in sweat, which Zack doesn't like at all. "Mr. Hoyos, can I talk to you privately for a moment," he asks.

After Mr. Hoyos has closed the door behind him, Zack shoots out: "You should stay at home! You're heavily pregnant! Should I look at how you're exposed to all the stress here?!" Zack is on fire. "Mr. Novak. I can do whatever I want! I've been an adult for a long time and I don't have to let YOU tell me what to do and what not to do! I'm…very…fine, and I Got work to do now! Go back to the others! I'll follow you!"

Zack can't understand how Mr. Hoyos got so callous after yesterday. After sitting down again, Mr. Hoyos comes back into the room and takes a seat at the end of the table. The next half hour consisted of briefings around the company, Mr. Hoyos overheated getting upset about everything, Braxton Hicks moaning and other details of the day.

The CEO (Dorian's POV)

But when the meeting ends and Zack storms out of the room, Dorian convulses on the table and realizes in a strong contraction that his waters breakes. While Dorian groans, the staff ask if something is wrong?

"God, call an ambulance! My waters broke!"

All of the staff, except for Zack who left the office earlier, are still there giving instructions to Dorian to track the contractions and help him. One helps Dorian take off his pants as he is begging for them as the first baby is coming. Even if Dorian's feeling of charm has already set in, he sees no alternative and no way back than switching it off completely and concentrating on the birth. Everything goes so fast. In the meantime, everyone in the room has realized that this must be a sudden birth. Even before the emergency services enter the building, Dorian has his first baby. When the second is born, the emergency doctors come to the door and help Dorian to bring the baby into the world. The doctors are quickly told that they are quadruplets and so they all make an effort to bring the other two into the world as well. After the birth, however, the emergency doctors find out that Dorian has lost a lot of blood and since he faints, they immediately take him and the healthy quadruplets to the hospital.

#mpreg #malepregnancy #pregnancy #fiction #birth #giving birth #givingbirth #labor #labor pain #contractions

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sylvanfreckles · 2 years ago

Text

No. 25: "Shouldn't You Be Happy"

Part 25 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: G Warnings: none

Summary: When Orym's sleep is disturbed by a nightmare about his husband's death, his friends rally around him to offer their support. (Read on AO3)

...

Orym snapped awake, breathing heavily in the silence of the night. He’d never been one to thrash around or cry out during a nightmare, and this time had been no different. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to shut out the fading images of his dream. That awful day, six years ago…the sun high above Zephrah, the youthful splendor of the Tempest, Will at his side as they stood watch over her. Then the attack. Shadows striking without mercy. Finding Will’s body among the slain, but when he rolled his husband over he found Dorian’s face.

He slowly sat up, studying the faces of his sleeping companions. They were here, alive and safe, camping under the wide night sky of the highlands.

“Everything okay?” Ashton whispered from their place near the fire, where they’d been keeping watch.

“I’m fine,” he whispered back.

Ashton stared at him for a long moment. “It’s just you and me now, man. Come on.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Orym shuffled over to sit on log next to Ashton. “I dream about that day, sometimes.”

“When your family…?”

“Yeah.”

Ashton blew out a breath. “That fucking sucks.”

Orym tried to laugh, but his chest was too tight. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

He didn’t mention the part with Dorian. The past was complicated enough, no reason to muddle it with anything else. And it wasn’t like there was something there, not really. Things were…complicated.

“Anyway, it was a long time ago,” he added lamely, staring into the fire.

Ashton hummed. “I don’t think it works like that,” they said, after a few seconds had passed. “I mean, it’s never worked like that for me, and I don’t think I’m that different.”

“It’s been six years,” Orym whispered, voice on the edge of breaking. “Shouldn’t I…I don’t know.”

“What? Shouldn’t you be happy?” Ashton snorted. “I might be the wrong guy to ask about that.”

“Maybe no happy, but…used to it?” He risked a glance at Ashton, making eye contact with them.

Ashton studied for a long moment, then sighed loudly and held out an arm toward him. “Come on,” they said, gesturing with their fingers.

Orym raised his eyebrows. “Are you gonna hit me?”

“No, you’re not an asshole,” Ashton shook their head. “Look, I know I’m not really a hug guy…but you obviously are, so come here.”

He almost resisted, but there was a lonely ache deep in his soul that needed the physical comfort. He shuffled sideways along the log until Ashton could loop their arm around his shoulders and tug him against their side.

“There ya go,” Ashton murmured.

Orym hesitated. “Can I…?”

“Go for it.” He gently wrapped his arms around Ashton’s chest, mindful not to hold too tight. Ashton patted his shoulder, holding him close. “Better?”

Orym nodded.

“Pff! You call that a hug?” On the other side of the fire, Chetney was standing with his arms crossed, glowering at them.

“Did I wake you up?” Orym whispered, pulling away from Ashton.

“Never mind that,” Chetney declared in a stage whisper. He marched around the fire to stand in front of Orym with his arms out. “Let me show you how a real man hugs someone.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to say no to a second hug. Orym stood up and let Chetney pull him into his arms. He wasn’t entirely used to hugging someone close to his size. It was kind of nice.

“Thanks, Chet. This is—whoa!”

Halfway through the hug, Chetney shifted, and Orym found himself crushed against a furry werewolf chest.

“This is what we call a wolf hug,” Chetney growled in his ear. “Better than a bear hug.”

Orym laughed at that. He wrapped his arms around Chetney as far as they could go and held on tight, as the werewolf nearly squeezed the breath out of him.

“Oh, are we hugging Orym?” Fearne had come up to stand at Chetney’s elbow.

“Fearne,” Orym gasped. “Did I—”

“Sure,” Chetney replied, cutting off Orym’s question. He turned Orym around and handed him down to the faun, who gracefully knelt with her arms around Orym.

“Sorry, Fearnie,” Orym whispered in her ear.

“I was gonna take next watch anyway,” she replied, giving him an extra squeeze. “Just wake me up next time, okay?”

“Ooh, are we having a party?” Laudna asked, creeping up to Fearne’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Fearne replied. “It’s a very special party where we all give Orym a hug.”

“Why, that sounds delightful!” Laudna wrapped her arms around Fearne’s shoulders, sandwiching Orym between them. “The best thing about giving a hug is that you get one back. Well, unless the person you’re hugging is all ‘ugh, hag, go away’, then you kind of miss out.”

“I didn’t mean to wake everyone up,” Orym mumbled, face squished into Fearne’s shoulder.

“I think it was Chetney that woke us up,” Imogen commented dryly. She waited for Fearne and Laudna to let go before pulling Orym into another hug. “I’m sorry about your dreams,” she whispered in his ear.

His hands tightened in the back of her shirt. “You see them?”

“Little bits, now and then. Just enough to know they must hurt.”

He nodded, and she pushed him away to give him a sympathetic smile. “FCG? Have you ever given someone a hug before?” she called.

“Of course he has,” Fearne replied. “He hugged the Changebringer.”

“Fearne, that was just a beetle.”

“Well, one woman’s beetle is another woman’s goddess.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Fresh Cut Grass said, interjecting before the conversation could get too out of hand. It was awkward, cold, and stiff, but it still brought a smile to Orym’s face.

“Thanks, Letters,” he said as he pulled back.

“Is that everyone?” Imogen asked.

“Not quite,” Chetney grumbled. “Hey! Blue boy!” he kicked Dorian’s leg.

Orym wanted to protest—if Dorian had slept through everything this far, maybe he deserved to stay asleep. Besides, he’d put his friends through enough of an inconvenience tonight.

But it was too late. Dorian was already stirring under Chetney’s less-than-gentle attentions.

“Chet?” Dorian blinked, rubbing his eyes, staring at the rest of the group. They were probably a strange sight, gathered around the fire like this in the middle of the night. “What’s wrong?”

“Orym needs a hug.”

“No, that’s not…” Orym began, but Imogen was already pushing him toward Dorian. “I’m okay, this is all a little much.”

Dorian had sat up and was staring at him down, eyes narrowed. “Orym?”

Ears burning, mindful of everyone staring at them, Orym nodded. Dorian’s eyes widened, and he rolled up to his knees and pulled Orym close.

“You’re all right now,” he murmured, resting one hand on the back of Orym’s head. “It was just a dream.”

Orym closed his eyes, tucking his forehead against Dorian’s neck. He fought back against the memory of his dream, of looking for Will’s body only to find Dorian’s. “I’m okay,” he muttered. “Just a rough night.” He was acutely aware of everyone watching them and felt his face heating up in a blush.

“All right, people,” Ashton announced, clapping their hands. “Who’s got next watch? I’m fucking exhausted.”

That set the others to discussing watches and settling back down in their own bedrolls. Dorian didn’t let go, and when the camp finally quieted again, he tugged Orym down with him.

“You’re all right,” he repeated, tucking Orym’s head under his chin. “Get some rest. I’ll look after you.”

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bindi-the-skunk · 2 years ago

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There are other ways to make LxG film fics "closer to the comics" other than making Hyde a rapist, which, in the end, was done for no reason but to make Hyde seem more evil, heck, freaking Griffin in the comic was a pedophile raping schoolgirls and shit.

It serves no purpose, especially if you want us to at least partialy stomach them as part of the hero group and comic!Jekyll seemed like the type who couldn't even take a piss without asking permission first, much less have RAPE fantasies he wishes to live out through Hyde.

Hyde IS Jekyll, don't give us this weak and pathetic worm of a man and expect us to believe a rapist cannibal erupted from him! (And no just because Movie!Jekyll has more agency does not mean he can be labled a better canidate for a rapist, when sources say it is his TEMPER that made Hyde, not lust or anything like that) it serves no purpose to do this and should only be reserved for characters who will later get their testicles burnt off in a beaker of acid.

Nemo's comic version was very much a psychotic blood knight, perhaps have him enjoy fighting a few baddies a bit TOO much and start to slip back into his own ways and has to be pulled back by the rest of the League.

Heck, this could even apply to NemoxJekyll fics, Henry is BRITISH, from a people who Nemo spent almost his whole life despising and wanting dead (women and children might be an exeption to this given his movie reaction to the idea of using them as hostages as "monsterous" but movie!Nemo has a moral compass that seems like it would work most of the time)

Since even comic!Nemo paid Jekyll a compliment on his genius (and I don't think Captain Nemo of all people would use that word lightly) but I can see him sometimes slipping back into old habits on bad days, not out of malice, but old habits die hard as they say, and book!Nemo already suffered from a mental break once, so he could have moments of coldness despite legitamitly loving his new friends or drama from Jekyll thinking he might just be a replacement for Ishmael (or in MinaxHenry fics thinking he is a replacement for Jonathan) instead of being loved for himself

Movie!Quartermain could have had a drug habit after losing his wife and son, but got clean by the time of the movie but someone tries to lure him back into that life by bringing up bad memories

There are ways to make the story itself "darker' without having to go the rape route, or if there is rape, kindly do not make it someone we are supposed to ENJOY watching or reading about.

Or if you did wanted to toe other issues, Sawyer could mistake one of Nemo's crew for Injun-Joe in the dark and panic, having to explain the story and maybe bringing up his friend Huck helping a runaway slave (Sawyer did not seem racist in the film despite when he was supposed to come from so PTSD not racism would be the cause of the fear)

Or Nemo letting Janni think he is dead because he feels she would be happier that way (do people just assume ALL foriegn parents are sexist assholes to their girls? I do admit that several families are awful to girls, but I'm sure not ALL were like that even back when the story takes place, and especially not in modern!AU) And Movie!Nemo did not seem to mind Mina at all even before she revealed the ability to rip out necks, and even saved her life in the library scene )

Tom seems like the sunshine child, but he would be a PTSD ridden MESS after what he has gone though in both the book and in the canon backstory of his best buddy Huck finn being KILLED pre-movie )

Mina has lost EVERYTHING, her husband, her humanity and perhaps even her child and other friends from either time, illness or wanting to keep them safe from her condition, her taking Dorian and possibly others as lovers admittedly sounds on the surface like a woman embracing her sexuality and not fearing it.

And yes that can be seen as true, or you can look at her like another version of Nora Fries from the Harley Quinn show, as in taking lovers as a way to disconnect from the pain of losing her husband

So many ideas but people just choose to fall back on rape…ughhh

sorry just needed to rant...

#lxg

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demigoddessqueens · 3 years ago

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DJHAVGJHDGJSHG , I HAVE AN IDEA!! Well two to be honest. Character Idea: You are a disgraced noble. Through some sort of act you committed (or whatever you can decide) you were disowned by your family. You were mocked and humiliated for being a nuisance/unfit to your family's line. JOKES ON THEM THOUGH, because later after your departure your city was taken over by cultists obsessed with releasing their deity to rain destruction. Your entire family's legacy was thrown out. Of course, finding out this news was a heavy blow to you, and started to twist you inside out. With the mix of guilt of not staying and the humiliation you faced for years by distant relatives and close family, it all formed into your ruined ego. You on one hand wanted to get your revenge but on the other hand, you wanted to leave that behind you (intense stare at Percy) At a first glance, you can come off as a bit of an asshole. You very much frame yourself to be a stubborn prick. Though there are moments when your cocky facade wavers and you show your more loving side (I can see this showing more once you've made good friends.) Normally you let that torment bubble up inside of you and make sure to push it down with certain stunts. Your mind morphs how people perceive you, making you wonder whether they truly like you or are just keeping you around out of pity. Of course when realizing your connection to the massacred nobles.

PLOT IDEA (Woop woop!!): Due to your stuffed in feelings, this equals to you being cursed with vicious nightmares. Of your family, your appearance, whatever your mind could conjure up. Any soft spot in you your mind space would try to hit. Though they were never that bad, I mean as in you would never wake up a vulnerable shell of yourself, until one night. The flashes of some dreading imagery you couldn't take, it was haunting. You sprang up from wherever you were sleeping, a cold sweat running down your back. The feelings of somewhat dried tears would stain your face.

Thankfully you are able to hold in your cries for help, and you quickly go to scramble outside to take in some fresh air. What if one of the party members heard you scrambling out of there and got the courage to go ask if you were alright. BRING THE DRAMA IM READY!

(Sorry if this was super long, I just need to spread it so bad. Any group is fine!!)

Your mind, anon! Your mind 😳🤯💕👌

I’m gonna do a brief one liner for all three groups, and how the other would react to all your inner turmoil

Percy de Rolo - “I know how those types of days and nights can be. I’m here if you need to talk”

Laudna - “Dearie, you sound frightful. Is everything all right?”

Cadeuces - “Are you ok? I’m here if you ever want to talk”

Vex’ahlia - “Is it a bad night for you, darling?”

Beauregard - “Hey…are you ok?”

Vax’ildan - “If there’s anything you want to say, you can speak freely. I’m here if you ever need to talk or anything”

Jester - hugs you tightly with sweet words “you can tell me what happened”

Fearne - “is it ok if I sit here….? and you can yell if you want”

Imogen - “I know how that feels and all…with how my head feels. Do you want to sit?”

Orym - “Will and I used to talk about our feelings

Pike and Grog - “Sometimes Grog/Pike and I used to talk about our feelings if it got a lot…do you want to?”

Fjord - “darlin’/love you look as pale as a ghost. You know you can trust me to talk, if you want”

Essek - “I’m…not the best at these kinds of things, but I’m willing to…”

Dorian - “I know it might not be much…but I am a good listener”

Caleb and Nott- “I’ve had a many sleepless nights such as yours, but I’ve learned not all have to face it alone”

Chetney - “you’re not a burden, and you don’t have to feel like one to keep it all in”

Yasha - “I know exactly how that can be, more often I would like”

Scanlan - “you know sometimes I use composing to help me…if you want, we could figure something else out”

Mollymauk - “Bad night for you too, eh? I know how that can be”

Fresh Cut Grass - “Keeping your feelings inside for too long may hurt…and I’m a good listener”

Keyleth - “Are you ok? Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”

#critical role #headcanons #inbox asks #inbox answers #inbox requests #vox machina #bell’s hells #the mighty nein #critical role x y/n #critical role x you #critical role x reader #exandria unlimited #the mighty nein x y/n #the mighty nein x you #the mighty nein x reader

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captainsspnanon · 3 years ago

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C3E15 - reaction

A quick write up of my thoughts the day after I watched it

I’m surprised that there wasn’t more of a RP moment playing off of Dorian not being there any more, but I’m also not complaining? Robbie was great and I, like everyone else in the world, really enjoyed him being there, but with it just being the main crew now, it just feels GOOD. Hard to explain.

Cuddle piles are becoming even more canonized. I love this with my whole heart.

WOODEN HAND!!! I feel like it’s one of the things that artists get for reference poses? But this just makes me love this group of friends so much.

OH SHIT the Green Seekers. And yes, a description of a lanky half-orc did 100% make me wonder if they were running in to Fjord, which would have been SUCH a surprise!

A druid and a ranger?? Coooool.

This whole scene did not go ANYWHERE that I thought it was going to go! I fully felt like the Green Seekers were antagonists! Silly me for forgetting that Essek was supposed to be an antagonist and how the crew doesn’t care about that XD. Now I’m fully on board with the Green Seekers becoming allies. In that vein though, it’s actually really nice how the party is confronted by people that are designed to not be trustworthy, and rather quickly ends up trusting them, at least to some level. It’s a very big change from the M9, and I really am enjoying it. It also feels very natural for the party, very in character, and doesn’t feel like the players are thinking ‘oh we have to act differently from the last campaign’

Speaking of, this episode is once again just full on silly and chaotic out of character. Matt mentioned in his interview and I 100% agree, the players just feel like they are full on shaking off the M9’s darkness and grasping the goofs with both hands. I really am loving it! As much as I love the M9 (and I DO), it’s delightful to see everyone just completely giddy CONSTANTLY. Even though it’s the same group actually sitting down and playing, it almost feels like a new one, just from the out of character tone that they have.

Bell’s Hells has grown on me. It didn’t take anywhere near as long as I expected for that to happen XD

Gus and Ogdes, OMG. (no crew, don’t try and force them back together, let exes be exes) this is actual couples therapy happening right now and I CAN’T. SAM. Massive kudos to Matt, which they even give him ooc, for RPing that entire scene so incredibly well! Though I will say! First introduction to Ogdes and that’s one of the very very rare time that Matt introduces an accent and then falls out of it very quickly. Got it fixed over the break though, and then Ogdes stayed in his accent.

The way they ‘interrogate’ Shotan makes it very clear that while VM, M9, and BH are all levels of fuckery, it’s very different FLAVORS of fuckery and fucking up.

Combat! Not much to say, it’s combat. Gus feels a little more wizard and less druid, but I think that’s just because I equate fireball and fire bolt so heavily to Caleb.

Aura of Vitality is fucking AMAZING, and holy shit Laura is living her best life ragging on Sam. She’s been holding in these cleric comments for aaages and finally has the chance to dish them out and I love it!

CLIFFHANGER with what will probably be a 2 to 3 hour combat next week.

Controversial stuff below, stop now to not read wank/discourse

Taliesin, stop being fucking ‘coy’ and just come out with what the rages are already. I’ve lost my patience with him keeping them so secret.

Ashton is also losing me again. They’re falling into Taliesin’s comfort genre-aware characters. Which wouldn’t be a problem except he’s always playing his PCs as genre-aware. This is SUPER controversial to say, I know, but I feel like Taliesin’s PCs are pretty consistently style over substance. And I’m starting to wonder if it’s just an RPing weakness on Taliesin’s side. Even though I adore Caduceus, I’m really starting to feel that most of his PCs are very ‘samey’. Percy, Molly, Ashton, The Owlbear, Mallory, his teenage asshole elf from the Critmas oneshot, they are different flavors of like, one to two types of characters.

I always thought that Ashley was the weakest for the RP (and that’s not a dig at her by any means! The table is filled with fucking AMAZING Rpers!) because she tends to ‘stutter’ on her thoughts, lots of ums and ers, but Pike, Yasha, and Fearne are very different PCs with very different feels! I’m now wondering if Taliesin is actually the weakest because it’s hard for him to step outside of his comfort zone of RPing. He’s good at what he does! But he doesn’t change it up. Cad was the biggest change, and there’s definitely aspects of Cad that are similar to Percy and Molly.

I still love Tal, I just want him to bring in something new, something that really feels new.

Granted, we’re only 15 episodes in. We’ve got a full campaign for Ashton to grow, but this is just my feelings for now.

@suicidallyreckless

#critical role #campaign 3 #bell's hells #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers

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snelbz · 4 years ago

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Light Up the Ice - Chapter 10

Summary: Aelin Galathynius has never really been into sports. Yes, she likes to keep in shape, and she works out, but watching people run up and down a field, trying to keep a leather ball away from each other? It’s always seemed a bit childish to her, and decidedly NOT a way for a grown adult to make a living.

Rowan Whitethorn has recently been drafted by the Terresen Staghorns, one of best teams in the EHL (Erilean Hockey League). And since he moved to Terresen from Wendlyn, it’s been hard for him to get more than 30 seconds alone from someone demanding a picture with him. Getting drafted straight out of college wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he’s not complaining. Until he accidentally meets a girl. More specifically, until he accidentally meets his neighbor. She seems to have no idea who he is and for some reason, that’s refreshing. But will she still want to be with him once he shows her the truth?

Light Up the Ice Masterlist

My Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Co-written with @tacmc.

Warnings: language, smut - this chapter is 18+.

Rowan’s phone rang for the third time since he’d made it home from practice less than an hour ago. He had two papers due in the morning and his professors didn’t give a shit if the Warriors were heading to the finals in less than a week. They cared about the history of Wendlyn and its allies.

His girlfriend, however, clearly didn’t give a shit about either.

He answered, his tone clipped. “Hello?”

“You never called me when you finished up.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed, before returning it and saying, “I’ve only been home for about fifteen minutes. Coach made me spend some extra time in the weight room.”

“You’re going to put on too much bulk if you keep going to the gym,” she said, pointedly. “You won’t get drafted into the EHL if you don’t have the speed, babe.”

Another heavy sigh. “I’m just doing what my coaches say, Maeve. They’ve gotten me this far-.”

“No, Rowan, you’ve gotten yourself this far, with your ability, not your coaches,” she said, and he could hear her getting into the car. “You need to quit going to the gym and focus on your puck-handling.”

When Rowan had met Maeve his freshman year, after Lyria’s accident, he thought dating someone in the sports medicine program would make his life easier. A good distraction from life and his feelings, but the longer they stayed together, the more Rowan regretted ever asking the dark-haired beauty out to dinner.

She’d been great at first. She was as interested in hockey as he was, so he didn’t feel like he was bothering her by asking her to come to his games. But as she inserted herself into his life in more and more ways, Rowan knew that they weren’t going to last.

“I’m leaving my apartment now, I’ll be there in just a bit,” she said, completely ignoring his lack of reply to her suggestions.

He sighed. “I’ve got a lot of homework, Maeve, I really think I should-.”

“You’re in college to play, baby,” she replied with a scoff. “You need to focus on your future, your studies are just a stepping stone.”

This was becoming a frequent conversation between the two of them. Maeve was adamant that Rowan should drop out and see if he could get drafted as soon as he could. Rowan knew that even if he was to get drafted early, one game, one bad hit, one concussion, one injury could end his career. He didn’t just study to ensure he could play for the University of Wendlyn.

He studied because he wanted a backup plan.

Maeve, as single-minded as she was, didn’t understand that. She didn’t understand a thing, not about Rowan, anyway. All she saw was a man that made her look good, a guy that was well-liked around campus and in his hockey community and their group of friends.

“I need to-.”

Maeve was already interrupting him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She hung up.

With one last heavy sigh, Rowan closed his laptop and prepared for her arrival.

Rowan pulled out his phone the moment she left. It was on his ear, ringing, as he checked the stovetop clock to see if it was too early to be drinking.

Brello answered on the third ring. “Whitethorn.”

“Hey,” Rowan began, hesitantly. “I-.”

“Did you see the new therapist?” Brello interrupted. “Havilliard mentioned you were planning on getting started today.”

“Aye, coach, I did, but there’s a minor problem-.”

He was cut off again. “You can’t get back on the ice for at least two games, Rowan, I’m sorry. Those are the rules. Just follow the at home therapy routine Dorian left you and you can come back to practice on Sunday.”

“The problem isn’t me not getting to play.” He rushed the words out, not meaning to sound disrespectful, but wanting to speak before Brello hung up the phone. “It’s with the new sports therapist.”

Silence met him on the other side of the phone. “Give her a couple weeks, Whitethorn. I know you were used to Sorscha, but even she says Maeve is highly qualified, and highly recommended.”

“I’m sure she is, but it’s more of a, ah, personal conflict,” Rowan said, pacing around Aelin’s apartment. He’d come back after Maeve was done. Dorian had left a note on top of the stack of paperwork he assumed was his therapy, letting him know he’d headed back to the arena and to call him with any questions.

Another pause. “A personal conflict?”

“Maeve is my…” Rowan cleared his throat. “Maeve is my ex, sir.” Brello was once, again, quiet on the other line. “Sir?”

Brello sighed, long and heavy. “Look, Whitethorn. I respect you, and you and I have never had any real issues. You’re a great player, and a great asset to the team. Because of that, you need to get the hell over your personal issues and keep your eye on the end goal here.”

Rowan closed his eyes. “But-.”

“You need to take the treatment being given to you or you won’t be playing any time soon and that’s final,” Brello said, his voice conveying one thing: that his words were very much final.

When Rowan didn’t answer, Brello’s voice filled the silence, yet again. “Is that clear?”

Rowan’s voice was strong but quiet when he replied, “Yes, sir.”

Brello hung up without another word, which left Rowan standing there, his phone still held up to his ear. After a moment, he pulled it away and looked down at it, at the ridiculously adorable selfie Aelin had set as his lock screen . He wasn’t sure when she’d done it, but he couldn’t help but smile as he looked into her gorgeous eyes.

He froze.

Shit. How was he going to tell her?

Good news, babe, I called the team therapist. Bad news, she’s my ex.

His phone lit up in his hand, taking Rowan by surprise. “Hey, man,” he answered, falling back on the couch. Which was a mistake. He immediately groaned.

Lorcan snorted. “I take it you saw Maeve. I have the same reaction when she puts her hands on me.”

Regardless of the fact that he loved Aelin, regardless of the fact that he could hear the joking tone in his teammate’s voice, Maeve was still his ex. And Rowan hated the feeling that rose in him at the thought of her hands on someone else’s body.

When Rowan said nothing, Lorcan followed, “That was a joke, asshole.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I know, I was just thinking of how I’m going to tell Aelin.”

Lorcan snorted. “Tell Aelin? Tell her what?”

Rowan blinked, even though Lorcan couldn’t see him. “About Maeve.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Lorcan asked, without missing a beat.

“Because I’ve learned my lesson about keeping things from her,” Rowan snapped. “Last time it didn’t work out so well for me.”

“Didn’t it?” Lorcan chuckled. “You got the girl, I think it worked out alright.”

Rowan was about to reply, about to tell him that Aelin wasn’t a prize to be won and that he was lucky as hell she decided to forgive him. But Lorcan cut him off. “On top of that, all it’s going to do is make the princess pissy and jealous, which is only going to make her hate hockey more. And I don’t see that working out well for you in the long run.”

Lorcan had begun to call Aelin the princess and Rowan sighed as he used the nickname. “Shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“Exactly. You gotta think long term. You tell Aelin that your ex is your massage therapist and she’s going to be so jealous, she can’t see straight,” Lorcan said, and Rowan could hear the beeps of the treadmill as he picked up the pace.

“Are you at the arena?” Rowan asked, praying that they weren’t having this conversation while Lorcan was around the rest of the team.

He sounded offended when he replied. “Hell no, I’m at home. You know I don’t run at the rink. But speaking of being at the arena, we need you there. Not in the box, not suspended on the bench, and sure as shit not on the injured list. You need to quit this dumb shit with the fighting.”

They’d had this conversation once before but rather than over the phone, they had been in person.

It ended in a fist fight.

Rowan sucked on his teeth. “I promise, it’s done with. Now that I have Aelin back, I just-.”

“Stop, stop with the mushy shit, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Rowan frowned. “You’re a jackass, you know that?”

“I do,” Lorcan said, between heavy breaths. “A fact that I’m proud of.”

Rowan just shook his head. “Of course, you are.”

“Be at the game tonight?” Lorcan asked.

“Yeah,” Rowan replied. “With Aelin.”

“Good,” Lorcan huffed. “Bond, keep her happy up in that box of yours. Keep Maeve to yourself. Trust me.”

Trust me. Those words from Lorcan Salvaterre typically didn’t sit well in the pit of Rowan’s stomach, but Rowan had to admit that this time, Lorcan had a point.

He just got Aelin. He didn’t want to ruin it with petty jealousy coming between them.

Besides, it was just a little, white lie.

Right?

When Aelin got home, she found Rowan on her couch, wearing a very nice suit, that was tailored to immaculately accent his muscular form, watching highlights from the games the night before. Her eyebrows rose as she took him in. “I already feel underdressed and I haven’t even changed yet.”

Rowan chuckled as she set her purse down on the kitchen counter. “If I didn’t have to wear this to games, I wouldn’t. Unfortunately, I don’t get much of a choice.” He stood and met Aelin in the middle of the room. “How was your day?”

“Insanely busy,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling up at him. “But that meant it flew by. So it was good.”

Leaning down to kiss her, he replied, “Good.”

She raised up on her tiptoes and met his lips with hers before pulling away and heading for her bedroom. “I need to get ready, come tell me about your therapy appointment today. You look like you aren’t hurting as bad.”

Rowan rubbed at the back of his neck, but waited until she had rounded the corner to answer. “Nothing of consequence happened. Got the massage, my trainer gave me some physical therapy exercises to do at night, and relaxed the rest of the day. Just like I said I would.”

Rowan walked into her room and found her in the bathroom, piling her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. She looked at him in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing of consequence? You sure about that?” She asked, before reaching for her makeup bag underneath the vanity.

Rowan swallowed hard, the abrupt change in her tone having immediately put him on edge.

How had she found out? Lorcan was the only person he’d told about Maeve. Rowan was fairly sure that he hadn’t said anything, since Lorcan didn’t even want him telling her himself.

“No, nothing,” he replied. “A pretty boring day, honestly.”

Aelin ran a spoolie brush through her brows, but smirked and said, “Liar.”

Rowan’s blood went cold.

The smile on her face surprised him until she said, “You didn’t tell me Dorian was your trainer!”

He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He chuckled and scratched at the stubble on his jaw.

“We’ve known each other for years,” Aelin went on, checking herself out in the mirror. “He’s such a good guy. I didn’t even know you knew him, which is ridiculous, considering how often I talk to Dorian.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Rowan said, nodding along. No more questions, please, no more questions.

“Maybe we’ll see him at the game tonight.” Aelin reached up on her toes and gave Rowan a kiss on the cheek. “Let me change and touch up my makeup, then we’ll go?”

Rowan cleared his throat. “Sounds good.”

Rowan had hung his jersey on the door so Aelin could wear it, but after holding it up to her frame, it was agreed that it was far, far too big.

“We’ll get you another one from the Pro Shop when we get to the arena, get one in your size, yeah?” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she pouted about being unable to wear his.

She tossed on a light jacket and they were out the door. True to his word, as soon as they emerged from the stairwell leading from the staff and player’s garage, Rowan took her into the Pro Shop, much to the amazement of the crowd inside. They were hardly stopped though and a handful of minutes and one Jersey purchase later, they were all alone. The privacy of the box was a nice reprieve for Aelin. She was not used to being stared at for such long periods of time and she found she didn’t much care for it.

“Is this always how it is?” Aelin asked, as she sat her purse in one of the chairs. “Everyone being starstruck?”

Rowan shrugged. “Only when I’m here. I’m rarely recognized elsewhere. You know, unless they’re diehard hockey fans.”

“Which explains why I didn’t know who the hell you were,” Aelin chuckled.

Rowan grinned. “I liked that about you.”

Aelin smiled and walked toward the open end of the small room, facing out over the ice. The plush chairs were set far enough back that unless you were standing right on the railing, you couldn’t be seen. But the railing is where Aelin ended up and she whispered, “It’s so much to take in.”

The arena opened up before them. He knew exactly what she meant, but on a completely different scale. He’d ruined two hockey games for her though, and he wanted her to enjoy this one.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked, brushing a long, loose strand of hair behind her ear

“Yes, please,” she smiled. “A Jack and Coke.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before placing their order on the small iPad on the counter. A beer for himself and her drink, plus miscellaneous things they could snack on.

“So what do you want to know about hockey? He asked, after they’d sat down on one of the many plush loveseats. The box could seat as many as twelve, but Aelin and Rowan weren’t complaining about their privacy. He wrapped his arm around her and drew small shapes on her shoulder as he watched his teammates warm up.

She shrugged, snuggling into his embrace. “I’m more of an ‘ask as you go’ type of person. I’m sure I’ll think of something though.”

Rowan snorted. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t five minutes later that someone showed up with their drink order and appetizers, then politely left them alone.

Aelin took a sip from her drink as she watched the players skate gracefully around the ice. Aelin could faintly remember the last time she had been on ice skates, she couldn’t have been older than ten.

And she hated every second of it.

She had constantly fallen down and her ankles were sore as hell afterwards. After that, she had never wanted to go ice skating again. Even if she found the sport beautiful.

Hockey players skated in an entirely different way, though. They were brutal, ruthless, but still so graceful with every glide of their skate.

“You look mesmerized,” Rowan muttered, cup of beer tipped against his bottom lip.

“It’s…intense,” she admitted, trying to follow just one of the little black pucks sliding across the ice as the players warmed up.

“It is,” he said, focusing on the activity below. He watched as his line followed through the warm ups he did with them every night. It felt so foreign to be up here, so far from the ice, instead of with them.

Aelin’s hand rested on his arm. He tore his eyes from the ice and the figures gliding around.

“You really do love this game, don’t you?” Aelin asked, smiling at him.

He paused and gazed back out over the ice. “More than I can explain, Aelin. Hockey… It may just be a game to some people, but it’s my entire life. Everything I am, everything I have, I owe to this sport.” His pine green eyes caught hers when he turned back to look at her and he cupped her face with one hand. “You have no clue how much it means that you’re here with me, darlin’. Thank you.”

Aelin melted. “Thank you for asking me to come with.” He took her hand in his and she chuckled as she ran her thumbs over his knuckles. “I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have come to a hockey game with anyone else.”

Rowan snorted. “Fair enough.”

The game began and Aelin wasn’t ashamed to say that Rowan had to explain every little thing that happened.

When the crowd would cheer, she’d try to decipher what had happened. When they’d yell and boo, she’d try to observe the game. It didn’t help that she couldn’t see the puck, sliding across the ice at ridiculous speeds. More often than not, she’d have to ask what caused the reaction from the crowd. And the goal horn nearly made her spill her drink the first time it rang out, after Gavriel scored a goal on the power play.

He never acted like her questions were a bother, though he may hold up a finger to indicate he needed to watch for a second longer to process what had just gone down. But then he’d grin and explain what happened, or if it wasn’t in the Staghorns’ favor, his brow would crinkle and he’d tell her what went wrong.

Then he’d tell her what he would have done that would have kept it from happening and wink at her, and she’d shake her head, laughing quietly.

She understood the basics of the game, but after her third stiff drink in the first period, Aelin wasn’t really worried about learning the in’s and out’s. There was time for that at a later game and the way Rowan’s warm hand was resting on the inside of her thigh had her focused on something else entirely. His calloused thumb rubbed small circles into the denim of her jeans, but even that touch was enough to ignite something within her.

All the while, her own hand was resting on his leg. Through those expensive suit pants, she could feel his muscular thighs and every time something major happened, he’d scoot forward. The first couple of times, Aelin would write it off as something from the game, but she knew what lie beneath those silk-spun slacks, beneath the boxer-briefs.

Right before the end of the second period, Aelin turned towards Rowan right as he turned to ask her a question, and she felt it.

Rowan’s cheeks were heated. He stammered an excuse out. “There’s a lot of adrenaline running through me, Ace,” he breathed.

He was rock hard inside of slacks.

It may have been because of the game, he may have not been lying, but Aelin couldn’t resist.

“How private is this box,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along the definite bulge in his pants.

Rowan hissed quietly, his pine-green eyes went wide, but his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “No one can get in unless we open the door. No cameras either.”

“Hmm.” The response was quiet and Aelin went back to watching the game, sipping on her drink.

For another few seconds, Rowan watched her, all too aware of the ridiculous hard-on straining against his slacks. The regulation clock ticked down to 0:00 and as the players skated towards the benches for the intermission, Rowan was about to suggest ordering one more round of drinks, when Aelin slid off the couch, settled on her knees, and started undoing his belt buckle.

He didn’t dare move, didn’t breathe. He was perfectly aware of every one of her movements, perfectly aware of where her eyes remained as she unbuttoned his slacks, and moved down the zipper.

Rowan’s jaw hardened as those slacks slid down, just to the tops of his thighs. His cock stood proud.

Her hands were like ice, frigid, thanks to the arena being, well, literal ice, but he didn’t care. Not when her touch made him feel like he was on fire. She stroked him, slowly, carefully, but not like the other night, when she’d surprised him after the shower.

Her grip was more firm, and Rowan could see the lust in her own eyes.

“Does this happen every game?” She crooned, spreading his legs wider and scooting in closer.

His eyes fell closed of their own accord and he nodded. “Mostly all of them, aye.”

“Hmm.” Once again, a short, quiet answer. He didn’t have to press her through. She continued, “And you usually take care of it yourself?”

His eyes opened and he looked at her. He nodded once.

“Maybe I should come to more games then,” she said, smirking. He groaned softly, and she leaned and pressed a soft kiss to the tip, before looking up at him again. She was almost sure he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes… His eyes burned for her.

He cleared his throat, and his voice was husky when he said, “I can get pretty…rough after games, baby. What we do out there, it’s a pretty aggressive sport.”

Aelin ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, from the base to the crown at the top, which glistened with Rowan’s precum. It was practically begging for her lips around it. “What if I told you I like it pretty rough?”

Rowan had to fight the urge to take her then and there.

“Nothing to say to that?” Aelin crooned, her grin wild and mischievous.

“Wouldn't be the first time you’ve left me speechless,” Rowan answered, attempting a joke, but his voice was far too rough for humor.

“I call that a success,” Aelin breathed, her breath warm against the tip of his cock.

Rowan fell back in his chair as her lips wrapped around him, and he couldn’t stop his hand from slowly reaching out and gripping the back of her head, her fingers tangling themselves into her golden locks.

Twice now, he’d had Aelin’s mouth on him, and twice now, he felt as if the blood in his veins had turned to fire. He tugged on the strands and Aelin’s turquoise-and-gold eyes opened, finding him gazing down at her. As she bobbed her head, taking him deeper and deeper with each pass, a quiet whimper left Aelin and Rowan’s grip tightened on her hair, groaning as Aelin began to work him with her hand as well.

Rowan had the vague recognition of the teams retaking the ice and roar of the crowd, but his sole focus was the woman on his knees before him, worshipping his cock.

He began to hope that his words before had been true. Hopefully no one would walk in. Hopefully, no cameras would find a way to catch them. Then again, did he truly care?

No.

The feeling that swept through his body made him not care a single bit.

“Aelin,” he breathed.

He could feel her lips curve upward as she worked him.

He growled, “Fuck the rest of the game,” and pulled himself from Aelin’s mouth.

He quickly resituated himself and Aelin, bless her, had the foresight to sit back in her seat before standing up. She adjusted her hair and grabbed her purse, asking, “You don’t have to stay the whole time?”

“Didn’t have to come at all,” Rowan said, coming up behind her. He turned her around and tilted her chin up so that she was looking up into his handsome face. “But you do, so we need to go, and we need to get home as quickly as possible.”

Aelin blinked, staring up at him for a moment, shocked by how upfront his words were. The grin that graced her lips though, was one of wicked delight.

“Who says we need to go all the way back home for that to happen?” Aelin whispered, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand.

Rowan looked around the box, even though they were alone. “Are you saying what I think you are, Galathynius?”

Her grin only grew more feline.

Licking his lips, watching Aelin, Rowan warred with himself inside his head. But he wouldn’t fuck her in a private box at a game.

Not the first time, at least.

He leaned down, his lips at her ear, and breathed, “I want to take my time with you - to learn…every inch of you. And this box doesn’t have the thickest walls. I don’t want to have an audience,” he added as he pulled back and let his lips just barely brush against hers, “when I make you moan, Aelin.”

#snelbz lui #light up the ice #toab lui #rowaelin hockey fic #rowaelin #throne of glass #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab

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deiliamedlini · 3 years ago

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Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 5

I’ve Got Red In My Ledger

betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next

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

The Yiga complex was… well… complex.

All of the halls looked the same, and Zelda backed up against her destroyed door and tried to remember which way she’d come in days ago.

But she was drawing a blank.

“Which way did you come in?” Zelda asked.

Link shook his head and fiddled with his staff weapon, his blue eyes trained on the ground by the tip of the staff where there was a sharp point tied onto the end. It wasn’t even a staff. It was a makeshift spear.

Some rescue party he was a part of.

She stared at him for a long moment. Was he even real? He didn’t know where they were, or where to go. He had a sword on his belt, but he was favoring a giant stick.

Goddess. She was going to die on her way out of here.

“Okay,” she muttered, looking around again. She had to remember something.

The cells were in a long hall. She’d gone through several other small hallways. She’d come out into a large room. She’d been thrown in here.

“Were you in a series of hallways to come in here?” Zelda tried again.

“No. We came from a large, open room.”

Helpful. Finally.

“Okay, which direction? That way, I can rule out one of these paths.”

Link sighed and ran his hand along the wall until he reached the door, and then slid his palm around until he touched the handle. Jerking his head to the left, he turned. “We came from that way.”

Skeptically, she looked between him and the door. Did it just tell him that? He didn’t even look at the room. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Okay, come on. Your guy should be this way.”

Zelda took a few steps that echoed through the large room, steps that were alone, and unfollowed. She turned to see Link, unmoving.

He sighed. “Urbosa and Daruk. We need them.”

“Who?” Zelda asked.

“The woman who was with me, and a man we’re with. We can’t leave without them, because once we get Revali, we have to move quickly.”

“Are you saying we should just stand here and wait for them? We could get killed.”

“Can you fight?”

Zelda crosse her arms indignantly. “If I have to.”

Link reached for his sword and held it out by the hilt. “You’ll have to. Take it.”

Zelda made her way back towards him. “I fight with a bow, so I don’t know… besides, isn’t this yours?”

“It’s for emergencies.”

“You trust a stranger with your weapon?”

He smiled, soft and gentle before calmly shaking his head. “Not much other choice though. I’m going to have to.”

“You can keep it, you know? Just use it on me if I’m evil.”

He kept his arm out. “You’re making me trust you more and more, Zelda. Take it.”

She reached out and took it from him, the heavy metal dropping her arm quickly before she adjusted to the weight. “Do you fight with that stick or something?”

“If I have to.”

“I don’t understand. Are you a pacifist? Do you only attack doors?”

Link chuckled and spun his staff around in his hands before tapping the point on the ground, the point with the makeshift spearhead tied on. “Doors are terribly dangerous. You should always be ready to attack them.”

“Goddess, you don’t give straight answers, do you?”

Walking ahead of her, he simply grinned. “You’ll get it eventually.”

She was going to follow him before remembering that she was the one leading the way, so she hopped in front. “Get what?”

“Hey!” a new voice called. It was familiar, and Zelda turned to see the tall woman from before returning with an older man in tow. “Where are you two going?”

“Urbosa, she knows where Revali is.”

The tall woman, Urbosa, turned to Zelda. “Is this true? Where?”

“He’s this way,” she said, gesturing back to the hall.

“Nice! Let’s go get ‘em!” the older man said, a bit more excited than Zelda imagined he’d be. He had a white beard that tipped up, wrinkled brows scrunched in excitement, and a toothy grin. He halted when he saw Zelda, and pointed at her. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

Link scoffed. “This is Zelda. She’s a prisoner here, and we’re getting her out too. Zelda, this is Urbosa and Daruk.”

Urbosa gestured to the path. “Pleasantries can wait. Lead on, Little Bird. Show us the way.”

Slowly, carefully, Zelda took the lead and began traversing the winding corridors, trying to remember her last trip through with Ganondorf. The problem was that everything looked the same here! Every hall, every corridor, everything looked the same, even the people in their silly costumes and indistinguishable masks.

“Why did you give her your sword?” she could hear the man asking Link in a hushed voice meant for a private conversation. “She could be one of them.”

“My instincts are better than yours, Daruk. She’s not. Does she look like one of them?”

Daruk sighed. “No. But it doesn’t matter. Under the masks, they’re anyone.”

“So are we.”

Zelda didn’t dare turn around, lest she give herself away. They spoke soft enough that she was straining her ears, and there was an annoying, rhythmic tapping that she couldn’t figure out that kept throwing her off her eavesdropping game.

“Here,” Zelda said, pushing open a door. She peered inside, breathing a sigh of relief to see it empty, and then stood aside to let everyone else through. “Straight down. You’ll see him.”

It was the right room for sure. Even being in here gave Zelda the creeps, and her throat hurt with phantom pain from days before.

She followed the group as they glanced inside each cell before stopping.

“Well, it’s about damn time!” the man said, standing up. “I’d think you almost forgot about me but… that’s just not possible.”

“No matter how hard we try,” Link muttered.

“You brought him?”

“I can leave,” Link offered, gesturing to the door.

But in doing so, he gestured to Zelda, and the blue haired man stuck his head through the bars while Daruk worked on the lock with Urbosa over his shoulder.

“You? You didn’t die. Good for you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Zelda murmured, rolling her eyes, earning a snort from Link.

There was a loud clack, and the lock sprung open.

The man burst out and hurried down the hall past everyone. “Come on!”

“Wait, Revali!” Daruk called, struggling to catch up.

“Ass,” Link breathed, and Urbosa hummed in agreement. “He has no respect. Let’s go.” She grabbed his arm and they ran down the hall, leaving Zelda to catch up with all of them.

Revali seemed to have a better sense of the Yiga hideout than Zelda did. He brought them through a few rooms, ducked around patrols, and ended up in a room with several crates.

“I stashed it all here.”

Daruk, Urbosa, and Link all opened up backpacks that were flat against them, and pried the crates open, reveling packets of rations and emergency on-the-go medicine. They stuffed their pockets full with as much as they could carry before Revali led them back out.

Literally.

Out.

Standing in the middle of a rocky plain, Zelda breathed in the fresh air she’d so desperately been missing.

“Where did you park?” Revali asked.

“Down the road a ways. We’ll have a little hike.”

“Good. I have a little surprise for these assholes.”

Zelda watched on, curious. Revali took something out of his pocket and flashed it to the group.

“What is that?” Urbosa asked.

“A detonator. Before I got caught, I set everything up, and hid it with our things. Let’s clean this place out.”

“No!” Link called, stepping forward, his hand out. He wasn’t quite near Revali, but the man got the message regardless and stopped. “If you do that, we become targets. They know who we are. They’ll find us, and they will kill us.”

“They can’t do that if they’re dead, can they? Ganondorf is in there. Astor. Kogha. All of them. We have to take it down.”

“And what if they’re not? What if they aren’t here? Then we’re the targets. They’ll target home, Revali. Don’t. Don’t hit that button.”

“It’s a switch. And killing hundreds of Yiga in one fell swoop? That’s a win, no matter how you want to swing it.”

“No!”

But Link’s final protest went unheard, because the only sound in the entire valley was the deathly ringing of a chain of explosions, leaving smoke to rise into the air.

Zelda covered her mouth. Dorian was in there. As much as she hated him, he had been her friend for years. And years worth of respect and friendship and history didn’t disappear completely in a matter of days.

“Oh Goddess, Revali,” Urbosa whispered. “What have you done?”

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years ago

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Thank-you for 100+ followers! Here’s a little thank-you fic, I so appreciate the the support. ~5.7k words. Rowaelin.

Sometime Around Midnight

Three years ago when he would have a day off, Rowan found himself hiking in the mountains. Two years ago when he would have a day off, Rowan found himself pacing the hospital halls.

Currently when he would have a day off, Rowan found himself at work.

He no longer knew what a day off actually looked like and that was fine with him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rowan looked up to see his longtime friend and co-bar owner, Fenrys come in from the storage room. He had a clipboard in hand, his gold-blond hair hanging in long, loose curls around his shoulders.

“Working,” Rowan replied. He wiped down the metal table before him where he’d accidentally upended an entire tub of maraschino cherry juice. Thankfully there’d been no actual cherries left so there wasn’t much lost there, but the mess was still annoying.

“Go home, Rowan,” Fenrys said. He jabbed the clipboard his direction as he came behind the bar and examined the on the floor stock. “You haven’t taken a day off in two years.”

“Not true, last week you and Lorcan forced me to go camping,” Rowan said.

“Forced being the choice word of that sentence,” Fenrys replied. He leaned back against the bar and examined his friend. “C’mon man, she wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Rowan slapped the cleaning rag down on the counter and scowled. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

It didn’t take much else for Fenrys to surrender. But Rowan could see the mixed look of anger and disappointment in his friend's eyes. It was easy enough to ignore when one of the regulars came in and ordered his drink.

Rowan poured the man his whiskey, neat, and went back to cleaning up behind the bar. It was only eleven in the morning and it was already proving to be a miserable day. Especially given the fact that Rowan was haunted by that damn piano with it’s strange cadence. And even though Rowan knew next to nothing about classical music there was something about the way that the chords were struck that told Rowan someone one was sacrificing their heart and soul to whatever god might be listening.

And Rowan found himself wishing that he could be the one to say that he was there.

Not long after that, Lorcan came in for the start of his shift. It was a strange time, but he was taking classes at the local community college and the later afternoon and evening shifts worked best for his schedule. Not that Rowan minded working around his friend’s schedule. It was what he did. What they all did for each other.

With his ever-present scowl Lorcan shuffled behind the bar and pulled his shoulder length hair back into a bun. He greeted Rowan with a grunt and started on making sure there were plenty of clean glasses to be prepared for the rest of the night.

“You could go home man,” Lorcan said quietly as he leaned against the bar. “You’ve been working non-stop all week.”

All week. All year.

It all rolled together in one fat miserable existence.

Rowan merely shrugged. “Nah. I can’t leave you here alone.”

“It’s a Tuesday,” Lorcan said. He rolled his eyes. “What’d’ya thinks going to happen?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But if Rowan went home all he would do is stare at his phone, the tv, the wall. He didn’t sleep much anymore despite how exhausted he was. Besides, Rowan didn’t want to owe Lorcan anything.

“Shut up and go wipe down tables,” Rowan growled. He leaned down and grabbed a bowl of limes from a mini-fridge beneath the bar. He had a feeling they would need them at some point that night.

And hours later, he was right.

It was near closing time, one in the morning, and a woman with golden hair twisted into an intricate braid atop her head stumbled in. She slid into a barstool with easy grace and immediately ordered an entire bottle of tequila.

Rowan stared at her.

She was beautiful, there was no mistaking it. With her large, golden blue eyes, full lips, and sexy black dress that dipped into a sinfully low v--Rowan had a hard time looking away from her.

“You do know we’re closing soon, right?” he asked even as he lined up a few shot glasses.

“Shut up and pour,” she said.

Rowan was never usually one to take orders from someone else, particularly when that someone was out looking to get blackout drunk. And yet, when she stared at him with those sharp eyes and hard tilt of the chin, he decided that listening to her might not be a bad thing. So, he poured.

The woman slammed back two shots before snatching the bowl of limes he’d cut earlier. Without even hesitating, she began sucking the slices dry.

“Feel better?” he asked.

She flipped him off and grabbed a third shot. She didn’t seem at all affected by the tequila which in and of itself was a phenomenal feat. But Rowan recognized the drinking and the behavior for what it was. She was trying to forget.

One o’clock in the morning in the middle of the week and she was ready to lose herself to anything and everything.

“Riddle me this barkeep,” the woman said as she twirled one of the shot glasses between her fingers. “Why do men make promises they have no intention of keeping?”

Rowan watched her, somewhat concerned.

She truly seemed far to put together for a bar like this, a neighborhood like this. Far too attractive to be alone, even pontificating on the idea of being alone. And yet, as she downed another shot and sucked on another lime--Rowan had a feeling that this was who the woman really was. Confident and self-assured.

He poured her a glass of water just to be safe.

She scowled and glared at the offending drink.

“I do know how to handle my liquor,” she said. She gave him a pointed glare.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” he replied with a growl. “I’d just rather not spend half my night cleaning up after you.”

“You are a cranky old buzzard,” she said. Her full lips jutted out in a scowl and Rowan had a hard time tearing his gaze from them.

He needed to focus on something else. “Buzzard?”

“Your shirt,” she said pointing with a lime rind. “Those look like hawks. And hawks are assholes that pick and mother-hen everything. Buzzard.”

Looking down at his shirt, Rowan frowned. Indeed, the button up had birds in the design, but he didn’t think it was that noticeable. Or at least not enough to comment on. Even for a woman who most certainly was well on her way to getting wasted.

She grinned at his silence and plucked a cherry from behind the counter. Watching him, the woman ate the cherry and kept the stem between her fingers.

“But I really would like to know,” she said, “why make promises that you don’t keep?”

Rowan shook his head. Maybe he should just let her drink herself to oblivion. It would make it easier to call a cab for her. And he had a rule not to get involved in these deep philosophical-like talks. They never served anyone well.

“It’s probably just me,” she said, so quietly Rowan almost missed it.

But her phone buzzed from where she set it beside her. She glanced at it, laughed loudly, and shoved it away.

“Maybe I should try celibacy for a while,” the woman said. She stole another cherry and sighed. “Because this dating thing is not working very well.”

Rowan waited until she’d gulped down half the glass of water before pouring her another shot.

“You don’t talk much do you?” the woman asked.

Rowan noticed then the distinct tint of her eyes. Gold rimmed with blue. Or blue rimmed with gold. One of the two. Whichever it was it was distinct enough that Rowan had a much harder time looking away this time.

“I try not to mingle with the crazy.”

She gave an affronted huff.

“Or the emotionally distressed.”

A snort. She dropped the cherry stems into one of the shot glasses. “Cranky old buzzard.”

“I’m not old,” Rowan said.

She laughed at him, a triumphant sort of gleam in her eyes.

Rowan wished he’d carded her just to prove a point. But he recognized her now, at least partially. She’d come in once before months ago with someone that could have been her brother. Lorcan had carded back then. He carded everyone mostly so he could have a greater opportunity of throwing someone out.

The last time she was here this doom and gloom cloud raging over her had been absent. All she’d been was carefree.

She finished her water and nodded to the tequila.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said, “besides, I should be finishing closing.”

Rolling her eyes, the woman picked up her phone--a call flashed on the screen and whoever it was had her grinning broadly.

“Dorian!” she cried into the phone with a happy lilt to her voice.

She was definitely drunk.

Rowan grabbed the dirty glasses he’d poured her and collected the lime rinds and cherry stems.

“Where the hell are you?” A voice demanded on the other line. Loud and on speaker. The woman made no effort to take it off speaker.

“Ugh, you’re too loud, asshole,” the woman groused. She tried to snag the unattended tequila, but Rowan managed to slide it out of her grasp. It earned him a pout, but he didn’t really care.

“Where are you?” the man on the other end repeated.

“The Cadre.”

A loud, very crude curse sounded. “Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning? This is how you get alcohol poisoning.”

“Buzz kill,” the woman sang into the phone. She grinned at Rowan. “You should come get me. It’s way past the bartender’s bedtime.”

She hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

“You know,” she said, “this place is so close to my apartment. But I never come here.”

“You must live in a crappy part of town,” Rowan said before he could stop himself. But she didn’t seem to be at all offended. In fact she laughed.

“If only you knew,” she laughed. Her demeanor turned serious and for a moment, Rowan thought that she might say something more profound, something that would help him better understand her. Because there was something entirely different about her. And not just the confident way she held herself or overtook a room. But something.

It wasn’t long after that when the door to the bar opened and a young man entered. He was tall with thick black hair and a lean build. He held himself well though and the well-tailored suit only helped exude more confidence. Or perhaps it was the woman at his side. She was shorter, lean, and had long bone white hair that curled in loose waves. Her golden eyes examined the bar with amusement.

“Dorian!”

Slipping out of her stool, Rowan’s once companion, ran over to the man with surprising agility for how much she’d been drinking the past hour.

“Are you kidding me?” Dorian groaned as he caught the woman. “I thought you were with Sam.”

“Nope,” the woman popped the “p” with a loud smack of her lips and giggled. “But I found another broody man to keep me company instead.”

The woman cast a bright, beaming look over her shoulder to Rowan. And in all honesty, he didn’t know what to make of it.

The man, Dorian cursed, and passed the tipsy blonde over to his companion who rolled her eyes and said something softly to the other woman.

Dorian approached the bar and pulled out his wallet and handed Rowan several bills. More than enough to cover the drinks and a tip.

Rowan glanced at Dorian more than ready to tell him off for whatever statement he wanted to make in front of the women.

“Thanks for letting her in,” Dorian said, his voice soft. There was such sincerity in his words, that Rowan accepted the cash without realizing what he was doing. “And making sure she was safe.”

Rowan shrugged. “I was about to call a cab.”

“Still,” Dorian said. He knocked his fist on the bar and backed away. “You’re a hopeless drunk Galathynis.”

“It fits, seeing as how I have a hopeless fiancé,” the blonde replied. She paused. “Ex-fiancé.”

The doors of the bar shut behind them as they left and Rowan followed after making sure to lock up. It had been a long night and he had no idea what to make of the woman who’d just left.

Once on a dare, Rowan shaved his head. He’d been drunk when he actually did the deed because being sober for the event was not an option. His fiancée had asked him to shave his head for her. No. That was a lie. She would have never asked him to do that for her. But he knew he should have. She would have loved it.

Two years after, Rowan still kept his head shaved.

If pestered about it, Rowan would just say it was easier and more manageable this way. Anything to get out of mentioning Lyria. Anything to get out of thinking back on her.

When he saw the woman from the bar next it was at the bar. At a decent hour this time.

Well as decent as the hours could be for a grunge bar such as The Cadre.

It was nearing ten o’clock on a weekend and all the usuals were there. Rowan expected it to be another regular night without anything exciting happening.

But then he spotted the woman with golden hair and distracting eyes come in. She was alone, again. But this time she wasn’t in a black dress with her hair perfectly braided in that crown along the top of her head. Tonight, she wore black leggings and a long flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. Her blonde hair hung in loose curls down her back.

And again—damn him—Rowan about found himself speechless. It wasn’t something he was used to. Not since Lyria.

“Well, if it isn’t the Buzzard,” crooned the blonde as she sidled up to the bar.

“Are you going to drink me out of tequila again?” Rowan asked warily.

She flashed him a grin. Yes. She probably would.

Because Rowan had learned a long time ago how to read that grin. Ferocious and cold. The kind of grin that would take no prisoners and show no mercy.

As she ordered her drink, Rowan quickly became distracted by the late-night rush. A college game had just finished up and post-drinking was required. Not to mention it was the middle of the summer and everyone seemed desperate for escape. Even to a place like the Cadre.

And still, all through the night, Rowan found his gaze wandering to the end of the bar where the woman had set up. She spent her time nursing a drink, taking shots, and declining any offers to join anyone.

“You’ve been staring at that woman all night,” Lorcan said, coming up beside Rowan. The broad-shouldered man edged a palette of clean glasses onto the bar and began putting them away.

Rowan grunted and looked distinctly away from her. He threw a towel on his shoulder and sidled past his friend to grab a new bottle of vodka from a shelf behind him. Lorcan rolled his eyes but said nothing. Nothing until the woman changed seats and came to an open space near the center of the bar.

She leaned against the bar and examined both men.

“Well you both seem to be enjoying your night,” she said dryly.

“It’s a Saturday with a bar of grumpy old bastards,” Rowan replied. Lorcan snorted back a laugh. Whether in agreement or making a statement, Rowan wasn’t sure. Either way, he’d make sure to punch his friend later.

“Then you’re right among friends,” the woman said. She looked so serious as she said it that Rowan almost missed the sarcasm lacing her words.

It was Lorcan who laughed first and helped himself to a tequila shot before pouring one for the blonde. She offered him a silent toast and downed the drink.

“I’ll get you another drink in a minute,” Rowan told her. He still had to finish a few orders for another table of some ass-hat executives at a table near the back corner.

“Okay,” she said.

And then she was swiping cherries. Again. Perhaps it was Rowan’s fault for leaving the container up on the bar. Rowan narrowed his eyes at her. She smiled; her lips stained with that saccharine syrup.

She said nothing else, but leaned against the bar with nonchalance and yet her eyes seemed glazed over as she watched people slowly filter out. It wasn’t that late, barely past midnight and a Thursday. Yet as the hype simmered out from the baseball game, the bar still remained busy.

As she nursed her second drink--despite the gleam in her eyes at the start of the night, she’d paced herself very well—the woman finally accepted a glass of water.

“I do not need any food,” she told him after he’d asked again. Her lip curled a moment. “Unless you have cake.”

“Cake?”

“Cake.”

Rowan stared at her. She puckered her lips.

“No,” he said slowly, “no cake.”

“Then no food.”

“You’re just going to sit here and drink all night?” Rowan asked.

“I’m in good company.” She turned those brilliant eyes on him and for a moment Rowan felt as though he were staring through the universe as it collapsed in on him and he were left bereft in that unknown sea.

And then she blinked.

“Besides, it’s not like there’s anyone waiting up for me.” She threw a cherry stem down on the bar with a scowled. “Sorry, I’m sure you love hearing about everyone else’s problems.”

Rowan shrugged indifferently, even as she leaned forward on her elbows to watch as he shook drinks for a couple a few spaces down.

“You’re the perfect bartender,” she declared, “you don’t talk, you’re surly, and that whole brooding bastard look is working really well. And I could say anything and not even faze you, couldn’t I?”

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Rowan said. He delivered the drinks as he finished them and returned to find her with more swiped cherries while texting someone.

She quirked an eyebrow at him before finishing the last of her drink. She slipped out of her stool with much more ease that he would have expected.

“I wonder if you have it worse or better than the rest of us,” she said, smiling around a cherry stem.

And that image of her imprinted its self in Rowans mind long after she left.

Maybe, Aelin realized, she had an addiction. The kind that made no sense. The kind that gripped her with nothing more than coincidences and overthinking. One that didn’t even require her to consume anything other than the sight of one person.

And she did not like it.

She didn’t even know the bartenders name. All she knew was that he worked practically all the time at the rundown bar down the street from her apartment. It made sense that she’d never been there before. Sam didn’t really like the bar scene after all. Said it was just too much. And Aelin had known that. Hadn’t really minded it because they had other ways of spending time together.

But that damn bar was like a stain on her mind. It would not leave her alone.

So yet again she found herself there.

Too late or too early, she didn’t know which. What she did know was that she probably shouldn’t have gone to the bar. It wasn’t anything more than the fact that she really should be sleeping. Or pounding down Lysandra’s door demanding a last-minute slumber party and not taking no for an answer.

But here she was instead.

When he looked up and found her entering the bar, he gave her a trademark scowl. Aelin told herself that there was softness to his eyes. No brief flicker of joy. Just a scowl. Because she was a pain in the ass.

His silvery blonde hair was styled to stay out of his eyes and Aelin found herself desirous to run her fingers through it and see it messed up from it’s usual grace. He wore jeans and a non-descript black shirt. The style, combined with the lighting of the bar made his green eyes all the more vibrant.

“If you’re here to swipe cherries you can leave now,” he said.

“Just as cheery as ever, eh Buzzard?” she said.

He gave her a glass of water and left her alone for a few minutes. It wasn’t much longer until he came back and began slicing limes.

Aelin watched him work in silence. Despite his large hands he handled the knife deftly and cut perfect slices. Aline was tempted to ask him how he’d learned to handle a knife, but figured he’d make her drink more water.

“Can I get a real drink now?” she asked.

“No.”

She scowled at him. “Why not?”

“It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“So?”

He looked up and stared at her. His pine green eyes were unreadable pools.

Whatever he saw in her was enough for him to grab a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He set the items before her silently.

Of course, as soon as she got what she wanted she didn’t want it.

Again.

Aelin stared at the amber liquid in the carefully cut glass jar.

“Do you think we have multiple shots at happiness?” she asked.

The man grunted.

“You’re as interesting as your friend.”

“I’m not having a conversation with a drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Aelin said defensively.

“You’re in a bar at three in the morning,” he replied, “besides, I don’t do soul searching conversations.”

“Oh of course,” Aelin said, “because that would mean actually connecting with someone. I forgot; men don’t do that.”

He scowled at her. “I barely know you. Besides, I make it a general rule not to cross the bar like that.”

Aelin ran a finger over the rim of the empty glass, eyes still set on him.

“I’m hardly a stranger, I’m here often enough,” she said.

“And yet I don’t know your name,” he said. He tilted his head just barely to the side and Aelin found that the angle exposed his collar bone. Black ink swirled along his tanned skin. She thought she recognized some of the symbols as Celt or some sort, but then he shifted again and her view was lost. Which was highly disappointing. He had nice skin.

“You already act like you do,” she said, finger still gliding over the glass cup. “Princess.”

He snorted, unconvinced and rolled his eyes. Aelin found herself grinning. She didn’t know what it was, but she liked being able to make him break that stoic wall of his.

“Aelin,” she said finally. “My name’s Aelin.”

He blinked those glorious pine eyes at her. When he said nothing, Aelin wondered if he would go back to ignoring her or whatever it was he did.

“Rowan,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on her.

“Hello, Rowan,” she said, “now tell me. What is your understanding of finding happiness?”

For reasons that she could not explain, Aelin found herself returning time and time again. She pried information from Rowan like she was trying to pull lies from a faerie. Impossible.

But how she tried.

She learned his last name was Whitethorn. His tattoos were in fact Celt. He co-owned the bar with a friend. All of his friends worked at the bar at one point or another, one night or another. He didn’t tell her what the tattoos meant—though Aelin had an idea of who they were about. Based mostly on what Rowan didn’t say and how easily he avoided certain conversations.

She learned other things too. He was left-handed. He had a dimple on one cheek. There was a freckle on his ear. He knew the words to most of the 80’s songs that blared on the speakers. He had secrets. He wanted to believe in happiness for one.

And she wanted to know more.

“You jumped out of a two-story window?” She asked in disbelief one night

Throughout the summer when she wasn’t at work or handing out with her friends, this was where she was. Far more often than she wanted to admit. Especially the fact that being here around him made Aelin feel...safe. And far better than that first night she had stumbled across this place.

“You would have done the same thing,” Rowan said. His eyes were far too wide that Aelin couldn’t stop laughing despite the somewhat serious nature of his story. “I’m pretty sure my Aunt has murdered someone before.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to break into her house?” Aelin sputtered. Tears of mirth were brimming in her eyes as she stared at him.

“I really didn’t want to streak through the college quad,” Rowan said with a grimace. “It was below freezing that night.”

Cackling loudly, Aelin took a slow sip of her plain orange juice. It was ten in the morning and she wasn’t needed in work until after noon. Oh the joys of a damned internship. It was better than the old place, but certainly not as reliable.

“Your turn,” Rowan said, pulling away from the bar as he grabbed a clean rag to give a general wipe down to everything. “Stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Aelin hummed. “I don’t know…”

He pointed a finger at her. “We had a deal.”

“Well when you put it that way,” Aelin drawled, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “I accidentally started a brush fire out behind my house.”

“Now the question is if this happened years ago or last night,” Rowan mused.

“Buzzard,” she said.

“Fireheart,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes at him as her phone buzzed with a text and her boss's name popped up on the screen. Aelin sighed, knowing just what it would say. “Well, as much as I enjoy telling you all my darkest secrets, they need me to go in early.”

“Told you the plain orange juice was the better idea,” Rowan said.

“A lot less fun,” she muttered and dug a few bills from her purse. She met his eyes and smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

Her heart fluttered when he smiled, briefly, back.

When Rowan realized that Aelin was probably destined to never leave him alone, he resigned himself to that fact.

Really it wouldn’t be bad.

Not with her smile. Her laugh. Not with the insistence she had that he and Lorcan add chocolate cake to the bar menu or make the bar pet friendly. Not bad at all when she would come simply to talk. Simply to sit. Simply to be.

Until one night she came in, far too close to closing. It was too the point that Rowan had been about to lock up that she came up to the doors, reaching for the handle. They stared at each other for far too long before Rowan let her in.

He said nothing as she made her way behind the bar and grabbed the vodka and went to her usual stool. He said nothing as she took a swing, cursed, and drank again.

Despite everything that he knew about her--she was ambidextrous, her parents were dead, she loved playing the piano, she couldn’t her tongue--despite all of this he had never seen her like this.

This was different from that first night she came tumbling into his life, nearly six months ago now.

“I should be getting married,” she said after a third drink.

She set the vodka down heavily and leaned her head against the bar and sighed heavily. Slowly, Rowan came to sit beside her. The first time really that he had done so. They usually spent their time separated by the bar with enough distance that he could keep his emotions at bay.

Now, Rowan was far too close to her. He could smell the lotion she used, smell the night on her, see tears in her eyes when she finally looked up.

“Or, I would already be married,” she amended. “Married and on my way to Mexico, though I wanted to go to Ireland. I’ve never been and I think I have family still out there, but going to Mexico would be cheaper and warmer. But Ireland has the ocean too, and history, and…well it’s different. Apparently too different.”

Her words stilled as her chest heaved from everything that came tumbling out in too quick in procession like a piano solo that raged out of control and now that she’s finally caught up to herself, she doesn’t know where to go.

So she looked at him.

“He broke off the engagement without really telling me why, other than it was too soon and too much and everything else he could think of.”

The tears rolled slowly down her cheeks and she looked away from him, out over the empty bar with its scuffed floor and mismatching furniture. There was a bulb out over head that cast them in semi-shadows, enough that things feel quieter and gentler.

Rowan waited as she collected her words, her thoughts. He waited and remembered all the questions she’d asked him in the past about broken promises and happiness and everything in between. He wished he’d answered her sooner.

“Aelin,” he began slowly.

“Was I not worth it?” She whispered. Her words were aimed at the empty space. At the nothingness of the bar that reminded Rowan of how long the nights could get. “Was I not worth the fear and change of it all?”

Between the wondering of how they came to this and the wondering why she trusted him with her fragile words, Rowan was convinced he would do something entirely too stupid for words.

But when her gaze returned to his, Rowan found he didn’t care.

So he reached out, cupping her cheek with one of his hands. He could feel her tears on his skin and could feel how her chin trembled with restrained sobs.

“I thought, I thought,” she said. Her voice was ragged, abused and the words fused together. It was enough to make Rowan lean forward, enough for him to lean his forehead against hers.

They sat that way for a long time. Long enough for Aelin to get a hold of her staggered breathing and reign in her thundering heart.

Rowan remained silent not wanting to disturb the silence that settled around them. He ran his thumb across her cheek, catching all the tears that fell from her eyes. Aelin didn’t reply immediately. She merely closed her eyes and learned further into his touch. The soft sigh that left her lips was almost Rowan’s undoing. How long had it been? Only a few months and he was already enthralled by her and the way she had held herself together for so long.

“Aelin.”

Her eyes fluttered open and Rowan was convinced she could have petrified him with that gaze. The tears that lingered there only enhanced the gold rimming her pupils.

For a moment, Rowan thought he had overstepped his bounds, had done something she wasn’t comfortable with. Hell, he was just a bartender. Did she even consider him to be a friend? She probably didn’t even reciprocate the feelings that he had been developing for her. He made to pull away when she snatched a hand up to hold his hand in place where it still rested against her cheek.

Rowan’s heart stuttered in his chest at the movement and continued to stutter the longer they remained there. He wet his lips before speaking, knowing full well that it could potentially be a terrible idea. She’d never talked about that first night she came in. Never explained much about her ex-fiance or why they’d split up. And Rowan never pried. Mostly because he didn’t feel like it was his place.

“You’re worth all of it. All of it and more.”

He watched as the words sunk in, as she slowly blinked.

“You barely know me,” she whispered.

“I know enough,” he answered honestly. “You have a heart of fire. You’re strong. Confident. Unforgettable.”

Still clutching his hand, Aelin turned away from him, gnawing on her bottom lip. When she looked back at him, Rowan could see uncertainty in her eyes. The same uncertainty he felt in his own chest.

Rowan leaned forward, drawing closer to Aelin. They were separated by mere centimeters. All it would take was for Aelin to tilt her chin up and capture his lips with her own.

The uncertainty that had been in her eyes was wiped away with determination and she rose up to meet him with a firm press of her lips. Rowan could still taste the vodka lingering on her mouth as she opened to him.

Her hands immediately went to his hair, pulling through the strands. The touch sent a shiver of pleasure through him as his own hand wandered down her waist. They didn’t break contact as they rose from their seats and in a fluid motion, Rowan lifted Aelin onto the bar top.

Aelin arched into him as Rowan explored the planes of her skin with his mouth. There was something electrifying about this woman, about being so near her, kissing her. And he would be perfectly willing to spend the rest of his life doing this.

When they finally broke apart, both out of breath, they touched foreheads and merely stared into each other’s eyes.

Until Aelin hummed, fingers threading through his hair again.

“You know, you should at least buy me a drink first, Buzzard,” she said.

Rowan chuckled lowly. “Whatever you say, Fireheart.”

thanks for reading dears! my ask box is always open. I’m probably going to try and bust out some holiday drabbles for the next two weeks then move on to my other updates.

tags: @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow@ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan

#aelin #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #rowaelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #appreciation fanfic #thank-you #aelin and rowan

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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Yeah, so I read your HP headcanons/analysis and I found it really well put. I was wondering about your thoughts on Dumbledore and who he really was as a person. (It’s okay if you don’t really want to reply :> )

We’re just getting all up into The Carnivorous Muffin headcanon land, aren’t we?

Well, this one’s probably obvious to anyone who reads my work.

I fall on the manipulative Dumbledore side of things and then some. Dumbledore is not only a bastard man but is a raging misogynist and extremely classist (which is funny because I don’t see too many people calling him out for those last two when to me canon all but shouts it at you).

Basically, what it comes down to, is even taken in very good faith I simply cannot read Dumbledore’s actions as benign in pretty much every single goddamn decision he makes ever.

God, where do I even start here? I guess we can go chronologically.

Well, there was Dumbledore’s Wizard Nazi youth with an oddly Dorian Gray flare to it with Gellert. I think it’s fairly obvious why Dumbledore’s not exactly... good there so I’m going to skip past it. Suffice to say, it took his sister’s death (and maybe murdering his own invalid sister) for Dumbledore to stop planning world domination. Even then it wasn’t so much that world domination was wrong, but because his sister died and he was an asshole.

I’m going to go ahead and include CoG and Fantastic Beasts because I can (CoG, while a terrible movie, actually does entertain me in many ways). Anyways, before the films came out I always considered the younger Dumbledore far more stoic and brooding. He doesn’t get his eccentric persona until after the defeat of Grindelwald and was before then angsty mcangsts and an academic at heart.

Well, per CoG, apparently he was a budding spy master long before defeating Gellert/Voldemort popped up. We see him manipulating Newt, sending him to Paris as his own agent, WHEN NEWT DOESN’T WANT TO GO AND HAS ACKNOWLEDGED THAT DUMBLEDORE USED HIM INTHE LAST FILM. Dumbledore writes off having used Newt for his own agenda with a charming smile but none the less it paints a pretty grim picture that Albus has always been... Albus. There has always been a greater good out there somewhere and the man is always using someone as a pawn.

Cut to canon and his treatment of Tom Riddle. Frankly, Dumbledore’s treatment of the young Tom Riddle, and even Tom Riddle just before he came Voldemort, is insane. The thought experiment I like to run is “replace Tom in those scenes with Harry Potter”.

Harry was a poor orphan, whose guardians would more than match what Mrs. Cole said about Tom Riddle, who had spurts of accidental magic now and then and enjoyed when his bully cousin was discomfitted. Now, imagine Dumbledore giving Harry his letter, and then pretending to light all of Harry’s possessions on fire to “teach him a lesson”. What the fuck?

Now, am I saying Tom Riddle wasn’t creepy here and that killing a rabbit was terrible. No. But I am saying Dumbledore had a horrible reaction to it and is proud of it years later. (Also, the fact that he uses this memory to convince Harry of how evil Tom is, is hilarious to me. Dumbledore, you were the shit that lit people’s wardrobes on fire. If I was Tom, I’d be upset too).

Dumbledore is always like this with Tom Riddle. He thinks the worst of Tom even in points where Tom hasn’t done anything. I’m not talking about later when, yes, Tom did live up to Dumbledore’s fears but when Dumbledore treats him like garbage and actively sabotaged Tom’s career.

Anyways, cut to later when the Marauders are in school. One of the big things is that Dumbledore puts up a guerilla resistance gang OF SCHOOL CHILDREN. While most members are older, James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter are all only just out of Hogwarts. “Well,” you say, “It’s their choice and they did graduate. Surely Dumbledore wasn’t actually recruiting school children.” I point you towards canon, where Dumbledore convinces three actual school children that the fate of the nation rests on their shoulders and to go fight the good fight. So yes, Dumbledore canonically uses child soldiers and has no regret for doing so.

The other is letting James and Sirius off the hook for the Lupin incident. While Dumbledore talks the talk this showed that he was not willing to walk the walk. True, while getting them into major trouble would have involved outing Lupin (who was innocent in all of this) at the same time they were nearly responsible for the murder of another student. It’s very convenient that Dumbledore lets off the rich son of a lord, two individuals who later end up in the resistance movement (Potter likely funding part of it), and tells the impoverished half blood to sit down and shut up.

And in canon, yes, I believe that Dumbledore absolutely knew what Harry’s home condition was like. While the blood wards are an excuse they aren’t a particularly good one as for most of Harry’s childhood the Death Eaters were all accounted for. Harry was in no extreme danger from them. To not have had an inkling of Harry’s home life (when Harry even hints at it when wanting to stay over the summer, Harry runs away from home in third year, Fred and George see the bars on the window, and he even visits Harry’s home in sixth year) would be such laughable incompetence and stupidity it’s right out.

With that, I absolutely do believe what Snape showed us in the memory, the Dumbledore behind the scenes as it were. That Dumbledore knew fairly early that Harry Potter was a horcrux and began grooming Harry for suicide. Specifically, that’s what sixth year really is. All those memories of Tom Riddle, the pretext to get some memory from Slughorn, it’s an excuse for a smear campaign designed to convince Harry that Tom Riddle is inherently evil and must die at all costs, even Harry’s own life.

Dumbledore didn’t need that Slughorn memory. Sure, it was useful to know Tom intended to make seven but think about it. How did Dumbledore know there’d be anything remotely useful in there? He doesn’t know that Tom actually drops a number on Slughorn. Even then, he doesn’t know whether Tom actually goes and does it. All of it felt like, “Harry, I have a super secret important mission that only YOU can do. Can you handle it, Harry? Because without this the country is surely doomed” And in that I mean it was an effort to win back Harry’s favor after the previous year meltdown, keep him busy, and start in on the excuse to show Harry some pretty damn innocuous memories of Tom Riddle and go, “See, HE IS EVIL!”

Due to this, I frankly think that the train scene was a hallucination on Harry’s part. Wishful thinking for some gentle explanation of how Dumbledore had not cruelly used him for years and intended his death.

Well, that and it never made much sense that Dumbledore could predict Harry’s a) becoming the master of death b) miraculous second resurrection.

In the first case, Harry becomes master of death because of wand lore bullshit and happenstance where Harry happens to save Draco’s life. Dumbledore had no idea such a thing would happen. Dumbledore’s plan was for there to be no master of death, as the wand would default to having no owner when Snape defeated Dumbledore on Dumbledore’s orders. That Draco got the wand is a sort of Deus ex Machina. Sorry guys, Dumbledore intended Harry to die.

More, even then, while Dumbledore was very into the occult of these things we leave canon without any idea if these things are even responsible for his resurrection. They’re just relatively nifty objects with a legend behind them. There was nothing concrete to suggest that, should Harry happen to get all of them, he would be able to rise from the dead.

Otherwise onto the misogyny and classism parts.

In terms of misogyny this is from every time Dumbledore talks about Lily Evans or Merope Gaunt. In the case of Lily, she’s this weird Madonna figure whose love for Harry was so powerful it saved his life. That she also happened to make these blood wards Dumbledore cannot reproduce and extended her protection to Harry wherever he went is irrelevant. It’s her love that counts. That feminine, maternal, love purer than all others.

Basically, Dumbledore seems to be of the belief that women are flowers. The best of women are these demure, selfless, brave women who sacrifice themselves for their children. Yikes, Dumbledore.

Merope’s the really bad one though. Merope’s tale is how she drugged and raped a defenseless muggle for months and then he escaped. Dumbledore spins it into this Victorian tale of woe where Tom Riddle Sr. THE KIDNAPPED RAPE VICTIM is the asshole here who abandoned Merope to the merciless cold world. How dare he.

It’s very clear that Dumbledore doesn’t see Merope, or women in general, as people. Instead these weird Victorian ideals who can be tragic victims of circumstance.

As for the classism.

While Dumbledore’s very against the pureblood culture we see in the Malfoys a lot of his treatment of Tom Riddle feels very... classist. The big one, which is a little tangential but I say it counts, is Dumbledore’s theory that children of rape are incapable of love. Granted, he’s saying this while convincing Harry to kill himself for the good of the cause and there is a real world parallel in that alcohol/drugs while pregnant is a very bad idea that can lead to extreme mental and physical health disorders. That said, we’re talking love potions at conception, and it always read more as “rape babies” vs. specific drugs. And that is... just yikes on so many levels.

Now, do I agree with manipulative Dumbledore we see in many fics? No, because Dumbledore’s not that stupid.

He doesn’t need to borrow money from Harry’s vault, he doesn’t need to pay off Hermione and Ron to be Harry’s friends, he doesn’t need to choose Harry’s friends for him, he doesn’t need to manipulate Harry’s memories directly. He doesn’t need to do any of this because he got what he wanted just fine in canon.

Dumbledore is one of the smartest characters in canon, far smarter than Harry, and he doesn’t have to stoop to such outrageous schemes to get what he wants. Poorly concealed smear campaigns convincing Harry to commit suicide are more than enough.

#ask #anon #headcanons #albus dumbledore #manipulative dumbledore #dumbledore is pretty damn evil guys #as in there is pretty much not a single action you can point to where i'll say it was reasonable and not in some way underhanded #except maybe his choice in wardrobe #the man has some elton john style

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charincharge · 4 years ago

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Person A and Person B are co-workers who hate each other. They’re always competing with each other at work and they’re always getting into arguments. Then one day Person A is leaving an appointment with their therapist when they happen to see Person B waiting to see the same therapist in the lobby. I think one is perfect for rowaelin.

This was silly but fun. Word Count: 1,757

Aelin pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, a horrible mannerism she’d picked up from her least favorite person. She could see her boss bite back a smirk as he noticed Aelin’s mirrored position from across the table. Aelin leaned back, removing her hand from her nose, refusing to have anything in common with the man who made her life a living hell. Fucking Rowan Whitethorn.

When Aelin had first joined Rifthold Marketing, she’d been excited to meet her team. She’d been warned she would be the first female to be hired as a senior account manager, and that it was a bit of a boys’ club. But Aelin could handle herself. She was fierce and opinionated and refused to be bowled over by any sexist asshole. But it turned out she didn’t need to be worried, the team of managers, who referred to themselves as The Cadre, invited her to their weekly happy hour her first day on the job, welcoming her with open arms.

Well. All, except one.

Rowan Whitethorn was a prick extraordinaire. He scoffed as Aelin sipped her chardonnay at their happy hour, frowning into his beer unhappily at her presence, and he hadn’t warmed to her since. It’d been four months, and every day he’d made Aelin’s life a living hell. Which is why for the life of her, she could not understand why Dorian, the company VP had asked them to work together on a new account pitch.

“This is insane, Dorian,” Rowan grumbled from his side of the table, his fingers ever present on the bridge of his nose, between his furrowed brow.

“As much as I hate agreeing with him,” Aelin said, clearing her throat. “Rowan is right.”

“I am?” he asked, straightening up slightly.

“Of course,” Aelin scoffed. “Us working together is ridiculous. I have an existing relationship with the account. Orynth Hotel Group is only taking the meeting because of me. They want to rebrand with me. Rowan has no business pitching whatever nonsense ideas he has to them.”

“Except Rowan also has an existing relationship with the client,” Rowan said, speaking of himself in the third person. It was something he did all too frequently, and it made Aelin’s skin itch every time.

“The existing relationship should not count if it’s not professional,” Aelin jeered, and Rowan’s lips curled into a sneer as his fist pounded on the table. “Who is she? An ex? You screw your way into all your accounts?”

“Excuse me?” Rowan gaped. “Dor, come on, she can’t say that. Not only is it not true,” he ground out. “But it’s grounds for harassment. I’ve worked with Maeve on three campaigns, and she specifically reached out to tell me she’d just joined Orynth.”

Rowan glared at his boss, who looked far too amused at his discomfort. Dorian sighed loudly.

“Which is why I need you to work together,” he said, giving the pair a small smile. “Orynth is a huge account, and we would be idiots to lose out because you two couldn’t come up with a cohesive pitch. I know I can count on my two best account managers to come up with something spectacular, yes?” He paused and looked at them. “By Friday, please.”

Aelin groaned and slumped back into her chair, nodding feebly at Dorian as he left the two in the conference room.

“Coffee?” Aelin offered, hoping to thaw the icy glare from Rowan’s eyes, but it hardened even more as he shook his head.

“While you waste time on that, I’ll gather my notes for you.”

Aelin tried her very hardest not to roll her eyes as she made her way across the hall to pour herself a cup of coffee. She could get through this. It was one week of her life. Just one fucking week where she’d have to spend every minute of her day with Rowan. She paused. Thank gods she had therapy tonight. Her therapist had heard far toto much about the infamous Rowan Whitethorn, and she had a feeling she’d be hearing another earful tonight.

When she made her way back into the conference room, Rowan had spread out a series of boards he’d drawn up across the table. The intricate pitch proved he’d already put a lot of work into it, but Aelin had done the same prepping for this meeting. She knew it was going to be a long battle between them. As she glanced at the boards, she couldn’t help but admire some of them. She hated that he was actually pretty talented. If only his attitude didn’t suck so badly, they might actually be a pretty great team.

“So?” Rowan asked expectantly as Aelin took a sip of her steaming mug.

“Your illustrations are beautiful…”

“But,” he ground out between his clenched teeth.

“But,” Aelin continued. “Orynth has worked incredibly hard to launch themselves as a luxury hotel brand. Cozy, family stay doesn’t exactly say – luxury to me.”

“I don’t know,” Rowan countered. “Taking time off work. Having a family. Sharing a meal. Feels like a luxury to me.” His eyes were suddenly sad, and Aelin felt slightly uncomfortable seeing it. She looked down at her coffee and when she looked back up, his eyes were back to their usual cold glare. “I suppose you have something much better?” he asked, his voice defensive with sarcasm.

“In fact…” Aelin laid out her own papers. Her boards weren’t anything close to Rowan’s meticulously drawn illustrations, but they got the point across. Rowan’s eyes flicked across them quickly, and she could see the eye roll he barely restrained.

“What?” she snapped.

“It’s just… sex?” he scoffed. “It’s so overdone. This isn’t a seedy Vegas hotel for a forbidden affair.”

“No, it’s… a staycation for an overworked couple who deserve time to relax. Away from their family. Time for themselves. Between sheets or otherwise. The luxury of being yourself.” Aelin used her best pitch voice and watched as Rowan barked out a loud laugh.

“You think that’s going to sell?”

“You’re infuriating!” Aelin said.

“You’re not much better yourself, Ace,” he spat, using Dorian’s nickname for her.

“Fine,” Aelin sighed. “Let’s scrap them both.”

“Fine,” Rowan agreed, pushing all the papers off the table and making room for new scratch. She was in for a long night.

Luckily, at seven on the dot, Aelin called it for both of them. They’d made a list of general areas to explore and a few sub headers without murdering each other. She deemed that extreme progress.

“Where you going?” Rowan asked as she gathered her things. “Hot date?” he asked, glancing at the clock.

Aelin snorted, thinking of her weekly date with her therapist. “Something like that,” she answered.

Rowan stretched, clearly annoyed. “I would have put in another hour, but who am I to judge? It’s not like we have to pitch something to Dorian in four days.”

Aelin didn’t dignify his taunt with a response, her fury rising up in her as she sped off to therapy.

“I wish I didn’t have to work with him. He’s just… rude,” Aelin concluded for her doctor, who sat listening to her intently. “All the time.”

“And you’re not?” Yrene probed. Aelin rolled her eyes.

“He started it!”

“Aelin,” Yrene sighed. “We’ve talked about this every week for months. Someone needs to be the first to extend an olive branch, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be him.”

“Well, it’s not going to be me, either.”

Yrene gave her a warm smile. “Did you think maybe that you two spar because you’re so similar? Obviously, I only know what you’ve told me, but maybe Rowan needs you to be the first to reach out.”

“Unhelpful session, doc,” Aelin laughed as she stood, the timer beside Yrene beeping softly.

“It’s going to be a stressful week for you, I understand,” Yrene said. “But, you can do it.”

Aelin walked all the way down to her car with Yrene’s affirmations ringing in her head. Should she reach out? Say something kind? It would maybe make this week better. Or maybe not, she sighed.

As Aelin reached for the car door handle, it didn’t open. She dug through her purse only to quickly see her key wasn’t there. She realized she’d left her car key on the arm of Yrene’s couch. She’d been in such an infuriated rush when she got there she must have forgotten to put it back into her purse. Yet another thing Rowan Whitethorn was to blame for.

She stalked back upstairs to the second floor, and saw that the light on Yrene’s door was on, meaning she was already in another session. Damnit. Aelin couldn’t wait around for another forty five minutes while Yrene’s eight o’clock appointment received their therapy.

Tentatively, Aelin knocked on the door. The chatter stopped from inside the office as Yrene opened the door a crack.

“Hi!” Yrene said, her voice high with surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aelin began, “But I left my car key on your couch.”

“Am I hallucinating?” a voice called from within the office. Aelin would recognize tthat voice anywhere.

“No fucking way…” she mumbled as she pushed the door open wider.

There, on her spot on her favorite couch in the room, sat Rowan.

“Did I conjure you? Said your name three times, and you appear like Bloody Fucking Mary,” he scoffed. “Date went badly?”

“I forgot my key,” Aelin said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. All those times Aelin had complained about Rowan, and here Rowan was probably doing the exact same thing. Aelin couldn’t bear it.

Rowan’s eyes widened as he realized where Aelin had been. He reached over and grabbed her car key and walked it to her, handing it over.

“You know,” Yrene said softly. “You two are the only clients who sit in that spot.”

“Great,” Rowan sighed. “I’m going to need a new therapist,” verbalizing the thoughts that Aelin had just had.

“No!” Yrene called out as Rowan grabbed his jacket off the couch. “Rowan, don’t…”

“At least I get to keep something this week,” Aelin smirked, putting her key back into her purse. At her smug smile, Rowan growled and stalked back to the couch, plopping down on the opposite side. He flicked Aelin off, and Yrene gave her a soft smile.

“See you next week, Aelin,” she said, closing the door in her face.

No fucking way, thought Aelin. Never again would she be seeing the same therapist as Rowan fucking Whitethorn.

~*~

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#rowaelin #prompt #charincharge writes

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