#it might be. if the treatment works out. but it might also not be.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ stick with me ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. kang sae-byeok x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ finding out you’re also participating in the games & staying by your side throughout┊1.6k words

contains: mentions of canon-typical violence, open ending, season one spoilers, headcanons mainly, established relationship, sunshine (& kinda naive) x grumpy trope, sae-byeok being protective & the best gf, all of this is a little rambly like word vomit i hope you don’t mind

➤ author's note: squid game felt so empty without her like i adore all of the new women in season two but i missed her so much T-T

╰₊✧ even if she doesn’t show it through her expressions, she’s really upset to find you in this situation— not because she’s mad at you, but because she’s mad at herself. she wonders what kind of awful girlfriend she must be not to have noticed you were struggling through debt like she was. now that she thinks about it, she realizes how painfully obvious it was with your strange behavior when it came to working any freelance job you saw a sign of (you weren’t a pickpocket like her, you would never commit any crime intentionally), and being overall stingy when it came to spending money on yourself. she might unintentionally give you the silent treatment for the first few hours simply because she feels terrible about it all but still doesn’t want you to leave her side despite that.

“are you mad at me because i didn’t tell you?” you whined, sticking by her side like a baby duckling with its mama and gently holding on to her arm because she wasn’t looking at you. “sae-byeok… i just didn’t want you to worry about me when you already had so much on your plate…”

she merely blinked in response, stone-faced like usual, making it impossible to determine what was going through her mind. there was a sinking feeling in her chest, the feeling of failing one of the few people she cared about.

“it’s okay… i get it… i’ll give you some space— just come look for me when you wanna talk, i’m going to talk with some of the other people here…” 

she suddenly grabbed you by the hand and dragged you back before you could move away, wrapping her arm around your waist in a protective manner, “no, i’m not mad at you, i promise. just stick with me, okay? i wouldn’t trust anyone here if i were you.” yes, the majority of people here seemed to be middle-aged people who were simply down on their luck. no, she didn’t believe there weren’t any bad ones who would easily take advantage of your kindness in such a large group of people.

you didn’t seem to quite understand what she meant in the last part, but you still cheerfully pulled her in for an embrace once she confirmed she wasn’t upset as you always did when a miscommunication was cleared up. (you didn’t see it, but she cracked a little smile when she hugged you back.)

╰₊✧ pushes you away the second she spots deok-su and quickly tells you to stay away while he confronts her about a past you didn’t know much about, making a scene in front of everyone and progressively getting more aggressive towards her. of course, once he makes his first swing, you immediately run in and start yelling at him to leave her alone when there were clearly more pressing issues at hand. when gi-hun interrupts because he wants to also confront her about something, you had to restrain yourself from pushing him away because you were a pacifist at heart and had been taught to respect your elders no matter what all your life. 

╰₊✧ later when you two join the little alliance gi-hun formed, she makes them keep an eye on you if she has to part from you for any reason. she knows that bastard would make a beeline for you the second he sees you alone, and that bastard isn’t above playing dirty by hurting you or holding you hostage to get leverage on her. the guys find this to be so goddamn adorable and frequently tease sae-byeok for her obvious soft spot towards her girlfriend because they can tell she’s flustered despite how indifferent she may look. listening to you talk about her reminds them that she’s just another young woman who is trying to care for her loved ones and not the shady thief who works with gangsters they once thought she was. they also defend you guys from anyone being homophobic and swear that they will attend your wedding once they get out alive, noting they likely won’t have money for gifts after all the reward money goes toward paying off debt, but you tell them you would appreciate their presence anyway!

╰₊✧ after the first game when they vote all go home, she wants to make you swear on your life that you don’t ever go back to that dangerous place, but she knows how unrealistic that is. she now knows about the crippling debt you both have and it wouldn’t be long before the loan sharks will hunt you down to force you to do terrible things to pay it back. so on the last day of staying on the korean mainland, she coughs up the money to pay for a nice last date before the two of you willingly enter what you believe to be the closest thing earth has to hell.

╰₊✧ instead of the dangerous, loner vibe she has in the original, when she has you by her side, she has the aura of a mama bear— which is fitting considering you’re like a little cub. she’s very protective of you and gives everyone a look that says “hurt her and i’ll kill you” to shut down any possible schemes before they start and helps you out during all of the games because she doesn’t want to risk anything happening to you. it might feel a bit infantilizing to you, but she’s just so terrified at the concept of you getting injured or worse.

red light, green light - keeps you behind her at all times, verbally reminding you not to panic even though she can sense you freaking out. might even hold your hand and guide you through it all, telling you to close your eyes and ignore the sound of bullets as she pulls you through the finish line. 

sugar honeycombs - tells ali to keep you company while she goes into the bathroom to sneak around the vents (he’s your best friend, by the way, the energy is immaculate) and immediately has you pick the triangle shape when lining up (there isn’t too much she needs to do because it’s one of the easier games for you to do).

special game (night of murder) - wants you to hide under the bunkbeds at first, a good idea until people started tipping them over. it’s difficult to find you with the lights flickering and with deok-su after her, so she has you met up with everyone else at gi-huns bed to protect each other. this battle is also likely the first time you cause bodily harm to someone else in self-defense, which will probably fuck you up especially if they are found dead later on. you’ll have some minor injuries, maybe a fractured rib or some cuts, but you’re still alive and that’s all that matters to sae-byeok.

tug of war - might look annoyed at your optimism to win with all the women and the old man on your team, but trust me, she really appreciates it since she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you suddenly shut down and because you seem to keep their heads ups with your infectious smile. there’s not much she could do to help you out here as it’s a team effort, but she was half-tempted to bribe you into a team with all men just in case (and also because you looked like you were about to start a fight with sang-woo over him insisting that they needed more men and wanting to kick ji-yeong off the team) yet ultimately decided against it which turned out to be the best decision. 

╰₊✧ the games strengthen your relationship through all of the blood and trauma, sticking together through it all and taking care of each other in the lowest moments. you two often share food and sometimes even sleep in the same bed if the other needs comfort, which would be very cute if your hands weren’t constantly trembling from fear and your skin didn’t have little specks of dried blood all over. sae-byeok is tough and has seen her share of violence, but it was all things she was trying to hide from you and keep you safe from ever since she entered this relationship with you. no matter how much you try to assure her that you can handle it, the sinking feeling of failure never leaves her.

“i’m… i’m really scared…” you sighed, cuddling yourself into her side. the barracks were so quiet you could hear a pin drop, yet there was the almost suffocating looming fear of death haunting the place knowing so many souls died within these walls. it always felt so cold even under the blankets with the powerful air-conditioning, but the warmth radiating off of sae-byeok’s body felt like a sanctuary. 

“i know, i know,” she assured. there was a part of her that wanted to admit that she was scared too as she rubbed circles into your back to ease you to sleep, she didn’t dare to even think of her biggest fear in case it manifested into reality. she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in case it came true, so she chose to bury the thought of it deep down where she prayed it would never show itself again.

she dreams of winning these games with you, using the money to pay off all your debts, helping her mother escape north korea, to go towards her brother’s future, to helping the both of you start new lives where you both were accepted— all things she thinks of to push back all of the dark thoughts and help her sleep in your arms, forever by your side.

request was [ Please could you do something about saebyeok x gf!reader? where they both went to the games 😪😪]

[mariaofdoranelle]

Stay a Little Longer - part 3

Fic masterlist

Written for @tomtenadia as part of the 2024 Rowaelin secret Santa!

In the last scene, I used some lines from canon and mixed it with my own! Hope you guys like it <3

Warnings: Implied sexual content

Words: 4,5k

The explosion erupted with a thundering roar, overpowering the hiss of the water as flames blinded the view of the target and engulfed the air with heat.

It was only their second meeting, and Rowan had given up on fixing his hair after the explosions. Aelin also noted that the targets were progressively getting less hard—the blocks of ice increasingly bigger, and her goal went from slowly melting it to merely making sure he saw some of the water before it evaporated.

“You should take a break. I’ll reinforce the magic barriers in the meantime,” he said.

Every day, he did it repeatedly. As if it meant nothing that Aelin’s magic could wreck barriers this strong in a few blows.

In fact, in all her clumsy explosivity, Rowan had never shied away from her magic—he seemed to be almost drawn to it, which made her relieved and scared at the same time. Relieved because, after witnessing so many people become terrified of her after displaying her magic, her name was thrown around in a way that portrayed her as either a god or a monster—but not with Rowan. With Rowan, the first teacher who wasn’t even remotely scared of her, Aelin was just herself.

But what did it mean?

That’s the part that got her terrified. Because something—whether it was a bond or a tendon—snapped in that drawing room when their magics touched, and it was with the sole person in the world that felt completely at ease with her magic.

Rowan felt it too. He got the types of bond mixed up due to some physical attraction he might be feeling for her—could she blame him?—but he’d figure it out soon.

In desperate need of a deviation from her own thoughts, Aelin said, “It’s hard to believe you’re this patient in the military.”

“That’s because I’m not. My mate gets a special treatment.”

“Would you stop?”

“The bond will still be there whether I stop or not, Princess.” Rowan tilted his head and stopped his work to peer at her. Something about her expression made him sigh. “But you’re not comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable because we’re not mated.”

Rowan nodded, and a flash of disappointment and longing passed in his eyes, quicker than she could register, and he said, “I shall stop, then.”

The ache in her chest felt foreign, since he was finally granting her wishes. Aelin just wanted for Prince Rowan to forget about this without hurting him in the process.

“C’mere,” she said, tapping the patch of floor beside her. “In your many, many years, have you ever met a mated demi-Fae?”

“Just once, this couple from Mistward,” Rowan said as he sat next to her. “But my experience in Doranelle isn’t a good standard. I hear that things are less… segregated in Terrasen. Better.”

She frowned. “You guys truly don’t mingle with demi-Fae?”

“That issue is both social and personal, I’m afraid. Indeed, the demi-Fae that are allowed inside Doranelle don’t get to frequent the same places I usually do—which are among the high command of the military and in sporadical nobility parties my family coerces me to attend. With that in mind, I don’t mingle,” he said, using the exact wording of her question, “I constantly avoid social interactions—full-blooded or demi-Fae.” He sighed at her aghast expression. “Therefore, the only demi-Fae I see on a daily basis, unfortunately, is Lorcan.”

Doranelle’s one and only Grand General, while Rowan was “just” a regular general.

“Unfortunately because you’re from a deeply prejudiced land, or because you don’t wish to interact with Lorcan?”

“Both.”

“I see.” Aelin blinked, her gaze unfocused as she processed what she heard. She knew what the demi-Fae’s situation was in Doranelle, but it was always presented to her during meetings, as an statistic. Listening to Rowan’s point-of-view on the matter felt like a punch to the gut—while Aelin herself was a queen in the making, the kitchens were the furthest her own people could get inside Doranelle’s castle.

Once more, Aelin was glad she wasn’t Prince Rowan’s mate. As decent as he appeared to be, she did not want to be associated with the likes of him—personally or politically.

Aelin straightened, her chin high as she snarked, “At least you have a diversity token. I guess being the most powerful demi-Fae male alive is enough for Maeve to look past his unclean blood.”

Rowan shifted, still sat on the floor, his eyes careful as he analyzed Aelin’s expression. “To ensure there’s no misunderstanding…” he trailed, “I’m throughly repulsed by Maeve’s policies against the demi-Fae—which Sellene is already rectifying.”

“Oh, yes, and I’m throughly moved by your silent disagreement.”

His eyebrows rose up. “I beg your pardon?”

It hadn’t been even half an hour after Rowan’s calming exercise, but she could already feel the agitated fire beneath her skin, boiling the blood in her veins from indignation alone.

“How dare you imply that you were not complacent, in your mulberry silk tunic that was most likely stitched by an overworked demi-Fae seamstress. Your aunt,” Aelin spat the word, “built an empire founded on the exploitation and degradation of people like me, and yet you want me to believe you’d ever spare me a second glance, were it not for my title?”

“I would.”

She frowned, trying to see through that fog of anger. “What?”

“You doubted I’d look at you twice, and I’m telling you I would.” Rowan sighed. “As an unessential prince with no decision-making power,” he said with a pointed look, “I find it most practical to make changes from within. Small and well-measured acts of rebellion tend to be the most effective when you’re close to the people actively making the decisions.”

Aelin examined his open expression and wondered if he was trying to deceive her, or if he truly believed himself. “But it was not you who rebelled against her, was it? Maeve was killed by the people you vowed and failed to protect.”

“I suppose she was.” Rowan locked his jaw, his eyes growing distant.

˜˜

Their next few encounters got a lot less awkward once Aelin got those opinions off her chest, thank Mala.

Once she had learned the basics when it came to intensity, range, aim and everything else, she asked to pick the lesson’s activity for once, just in time to get the materials ready before they met again at The Dueling Hall.

“Easy,” he warned when her flames got too hot, too fast.

“Hush.” Aelin wiped the sweat off her brow, fatigue weighing down her limbs each minute she had to keep the flames at a controlled and gradually higher intensity—she wasn’t melting ice anymore, the stakes were too high. “I’ve got it under control, you Buzzard.”

“The same way you did when you shattered my mug?”

Aelin rolled her eyes at him, and her flames got involuntarily higher after his jab, making a shard blow off her candle holder, ruining its practical use.

She groaned and tossed it aside, along with the other overburnt ceramics. “This one was your fault. Don’t suffocate the artist!”

“It was useless before you ruined it. You’re a fire-wielder. You don’t need candles. Why on earth would you make a candle holder?”

“Because I have the fire, not the scented beeswax.”

“I’m not following.”

“You’ve never lit up a scented candle before? Those ones that release a fragrance when you light them up.”

Rowan stared at her, seemingly struggling to process this information. “But candles are for light. Why are you adding smell to the light?”

The brute. Aelin wouldn’t even bother with him this time. She threw a piece of clay at him for another round—she refused to leave this place without a clayware creation of her own.

“Don’t make anything too intricate in case you burn it again.”

“You are the worst teacher ever. You’ve got absolutely no faith in me.”

“I have faith that you’ll become a proficient wielder someday, not immediately after you overburned four pieces of clayware in a row.” He pondered over his next words while opening a hole into the ball of clay. “Think about it this way: this is a safe space for you to make mistakes. You’d rather learn from them here than when the stakes are high.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Rowan tilted his head, his hands pausing their work as his gaze grew unfocused. “Nothing ever happened at work, though my family does like to recall some embarrassing stories from time to time.”

“Do tell!” she asked with a little too much excitement, wide-eyed.

Rowan chuckled and looked back at his mug-to-be as he recalled. “In my pre-teen years, I used to practice my healing magic with animals. This one time, my mother’s Asterion mare was having a difficult birth. It took ages for the veterinarian to arrive and she was under so much stress, so I decided to send a soft breeze towards her and—“

Rowan winced.

“And what?” Aelin set aside her chunk of clay and leaned forward, unashamed to show her eagerness.

“I blew down the entire stable.” He looked down, the slightest hue of pink tinting the tips of his ears.

Aelin cackled, her shoulders bending forward as her laughter filled the dueling hall. Rowan regarded her with a funny expression her aching ribcage didn’t allow her to decipher.

“It’s not that funny,” he said with mock-indignation.

“Were any animals hurt?”

“Just a few scrapes I healed immediately after.”

“Then it is absolutely hilarious.”

Chuckling, he shook his head and shaped his mug’s handle with a string of clay. “I’m sure you have even worse stories.”

“Worse? Yes. But not funnier in a million years.” Aelin looked down to her work and resumed shaping it. She needed something to do with her hands if she was going to talk about it. “The extent of my power was supposed to be kept a secret until I was of age, but it was impossible to do it when I couldn’t control it at all, so soon I was being watched by the entire world. If I accidentally blew up a wing of the castle, shortly other kingdoms would fund local rebels or demand restrictions on my use of power in treaties. Or maybe Maeve—the creepiest of all—would send my mother another letter requesting to meet me. The pacing and worrying was a constant in my youth—will she try to kidnap me next? How much power can I wield without having other kingdoms trying to harm or kill me?”

To her relief, Rowan didn’t show any pity. “It’s twisted and messed up. If anyone can learn how to navigate this, it’s you.”

Aelin didn’t feel like there was anything else to say, so she didn’t. Her soon-to-be ceramic was already shaped, and so was Rowan’s—she couldn’t tell by how done it looked, but by how equally ugly it was from the others he gave her to fire.

Aelin appraised it while starting with a low intensity of her fire.

While she tried to achieve the best shape she could for her work, Rowan’s mugs were done as soon as it looked useable enough. If the handle fits his hand, the bottom is flat enough to stay still and the hole is deep enough to hold his coffee, it’s done.

“Easy,” Rowan warned when her flames grew a bit higher.

“Shut it,” she hissed.

They were both kneeling, one on each side, hovering over their potter’s work.

“I better have a new mug after this lesson, Princess.”

“You could’ve had three new mugs by now if you’d help me out a little.”

“If I were helping you out ever since the lessons started, you’d be turning the clay into dust, not merely shattering it.”

Aelin wanted to sneer back, she absolutely did, but she was halfway into it and not a single shard had popped off the ceramics. As if Rowan had sensed it too, his attention was now wholly on their work.

A bit more. Increase just a bit more intensity, slow and steady—

A small, outer piece of Rowan’s mug handle fell off and, without thinking, he lowered down her flames.

“Gods,” he said, stupefied with his unintended help. “I wasn’t thinking—“

She shushed him, still focused on the flames. Now that he had set the perfect amount, she’d just have to keep it.

Keep it

Keep it

Steady

Rowan breathed, “Just a bit more and—“

A small shard of Aelin’s own piece fell off.

“Don’t,” he said. “It was nothing. Minimal damage. Just keep up like this.”

She did exactly that, rubbing her face as she swayed on her knees from fatigue; still, she willed her fire to stay and act exactly as she commanded.

“Do you think it’s done now?”

“Don’t hush it.” His eyes were glued to the nearly done clayware. “We’re almost there.”

Aelin couldn’t bear to count the time. The amount of time she had to spend burning these things, controlling the fire so it wouldn’t break, was tiresome in the least. This was the longest she stayed without seriously tearing their work, and her other two attempts weighed down on her now.

“I think you can put it off now—slowly,” Rowan said.

Aelin complied her shoulders relaxing each time she decreased her fire, but still trying to maintain a steady rhythm.

She heaved a loud sigh and threw herself on the floor.

“Congratulations, Princess.” Rowan beamed at the ugliest mug she’s ever seen. His fingers wrapped around the gap in the handle as he mimicked lifting it to his mouth and said, “You’ve just burned functional enough clayware.”

She ignored his sass and grinned to herself, facing the ceiling. “Thank you.”

He laid as well, beside her, and handed her his mug. “You should have it. It’s your accomplishment.”

“But you wanted your mug so bad!” She said as she turned to face him. He did the same.

“I didn’t want the mug itself as much as I wanted for it to be whole by the end of the lesson.”

“Thank you,” she said, holding the mug with both hands with a small smile, as if it was something precious. She set it down and reached for her own creation. “You shall have mine, then. It’s only fair.”

Rowan chuckled. “Thank you for the lovely… miniature wand?” He laid it on the palm of his hand—his very large hand, in her defense.

Aelin gasped. “It’s a spoon!”

“A spoon,” he trailed, saucy yet cautious with her gift as he gently trailed his finger along it.

“Of course. You always carry so many knifes around, but I’ve never seen you carry a spoon,” she teased.

“How wise of you.” The corner of his lips twitched, but he was the kind of man that clamped down even the tiniest of smiles. “I’ve gotten too comfortable with my weapons lately. Finding a way to harm someone with this will be a good exercise.”

She didn’t doubt he would.

˜˜

In all her twenty-one years, Aelin had never grown to love her flames.

She’d feared them and their potential to harm.

She’d felt amused by them at the time she’d accidentally set some of Lord Suria’s papers on fire, when he drafted a proposal for a law that pissed her off.

She’d embarrassed herself among burnt books and under the gaze of an enraged librarian.

At best, she respected herself and her gift.

But right now, Aelin loved it.

The wind blew away her hair as she ran and twirled around the beach, the sand soft and loose under her feet while she opened her arms wide for the flames to dance on them.

Her chest felt so big and wide it didn’t feel like that at all—it felt as if it’d opened itself to welcome the entire world inside of her, and Aelin and this beach were one and the same.

I love this. I love this. I love this.

And Aelin wasn’t the only one affected. For the first time, she’d seen Rowan allow a full grin to sneak past his grumpy defenses. He sat on the sand the entire time, but Aelin could feel him sending more wind towards her when nature slowed it down.

She couldn’t tell how she was able to discern which particles of the wind were his and which weren’t, but some primal part of her did—a concern meant for the four walls of her room, not the beach.

She’d never felt as carefree—it felt as if her entire existence narrowed down to this, and she was made to feel to the bone the magnificent synchronicity between the wind and her fire.

Aelin opened her arms wider and ran where Rowan was, laughing at his antics when he played with the wind against her.

Rowan. He watched her every move—today, always—and she knew it was all because of him. Aelin wouldn’t go so far as to claim that her new newfound skills and confidence with her flames were his accomplishment more than her own, but it was impossible to deny that she wouldn’t be like this right now if it wasn’t for him. Her training wasn’t even complete, but she felt so grateful already.

Aelin laid on the floor beside his seated figure, but she couldn’t bring herself to put her fire down—it stayed low atop her body, like a small, living bonfire.

Rowan put one hand through the flame, unafraid and without touching her body, the way one did with steam before a hot bath.

“People usually make camp fires at night,” he teased, “not when the sun’s still high.”

“It’s so windy.” She smiled, her eyes closed. “I like how it tingles the flame.”

Rowan immediately sent more her way. She gave him a close-lipped, grateful smile.

Then he threw the smallest, most obnoxious block of ice at her. It turned to steam before it grazed her skin.

“You brute!”

He did it again.

Aelin frowned and grew the flames higher.

He chuckled. “I won’t bite.”

“I find it hard to believe you.”

Rowan’s expression slacked, the awareness of their exchange’s underlying meaning all over his face. He swallowed. He gave his eyes one second to wander over her before he turned to face the sea.

“We were supposed to be in the middle of combat training by now.” He gave her a pointed look. “You haven’t even crafted a passable sword yet.”

“Gods, s’fine.” Aelin lifted her forearm and waved a fire sword.

“A minimally passable sword is much sharper”.

“Isn’t it enough that the sword will be burning things? You also want it sharp enough to cut the fabric between the realms?”

“I actually wanted it to look like a sword more than a pole, but I wouldn’t object it if you made it happen.”

Aelin groaned and put her fire sword down. Despite his own insistence that they get some work done, Rowan laid down beside her, on the sand. They silently enjoyed each other’s companies, keeping that same dynamic where their magics gently played with each other like rippling sea water blending into the sand.

As a princess of a ruthlessly cold kingdom, if Aelin had known beaches could be this fun, she would’ve come here as soon as she landed in Wendlyn—it was either Rowan’s doing, or beaches in Suria were extraordinarily lame. Perhaps both.

He didn’t bring her here for fun, but to make her ready for adverse circumstances. Beaches were made of sand, water and wind, and all three of them could change Aelin’s fire, so she was supposed to be getting acquainted with those changes and reshaping her powers to accommodate them without losing efficiency in battle. A very important exercise, one she’d completely focus on was she not having the time of her life today.

It seemed like he was willing to forgive her for it, by the way his calls to continue the lesson progressively decreased once Aelin tugged her tunic off her pants and started to run with the wind.

Every time he ignited her flames further, Rowan’s scent came with the breeze, as if it didn’t unsettle her by default. At first, she thought that it was part of a cheap ploy to win her, wearing a cologne that smelled like pine and snow, two of Terrasen’s symbols. But then the scent lingered after he got wet or sweaty, and her theory fell apart because no cologne could withstand their training sessions.

Rowan naturally smelling like her home was a disfavor to her attempt to ignore that tug in her chest when he was near.

When Aelin rolled to her side, he was already watching her.

She watched him back, unabashed.

She watched how the sunlight made his gray eyelashes look holy, and how it blessed his skin in the form of a tan. How beautiful that skin tone looked along with the pink of his pillowy lips.

“Do you ever feel as if our magics are kindred?”

Rowan reached for Aelin’s aflame hand and stroked its back with his thumb.

“All of the time,” he said in a tone that was too quiet, almost muffled by the waves on the shore.

She traced her thumb along his palm. “I do too.”

“We could try.” He closed his hand, keeping her thumb trapped inside it. “We’d cross out one out of two.”

Mates or carranam, is what he didn’t say.

He never freed her from his palm. The one place most Fae used to test a carranam bond. She wasn’t ready to do it yet, bare her mind to him, stay at her most vulnerable, then face the consequences of having two bonded royals from kingdoms that antagonize each other.

But when it was just the two of them in a little breakable heaven, she almost followed the commands from her aching heart to just do it and get it over with.

“I—“

Rowan let go of her hand after the silence that led to a stammer.

“You don’t trust me,” he said. Not a question nor an accusation, though it pained her to see the crestfallen look in his eyes.

“There’s different ways to trust someone.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Aelin lifted her hand to his cheek, her thumb moving in idle circles against it. “I trust you, but some things are bigger than that,” she whispered.

Rowan didn’t look convinced, but didn’t want to argue or demand anything from her. She scrambled her mind for other ways to get her point across, but all it did was pause on the very method she hopelessly tried to avoid.

She kept her stare locked on his as she let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step of the way, tilted her head back until her throat was arched and bared before him.

“Aelin,” he breathed. Not in reprimand or warning, but… a plea. It sounded like a plea.

Ever so tentative, Rowan slowly wrapped a hand around her neck, letting his thumb trace the length. She briefly closed her eyes and arched it further, a silent invitation.

He lowered his head to her exposed neck and hovered a hair’s breadth away.

Rowan let out a soft groan and grazed his teeth against her skin.

One bite, one movement, was all it would take for him to rip out her throat. His elongated canines slid along her flesh—gently, precisely. In order to keep from running her fingers down his back and drawing him closer, Aelin clenched the sand like she’d do to her bedsheets, but all it did was slip through her fingers and leave her with nothing to hold on to.

“No one else,” she whispered. “I would never allow anyone else at my throat.” Showing him was the only way he’d understand that trust, in a manner that only the predatory, Fae side of him would comprehend. “No one else,” she said again.

He let out another low groan, answer and confirmation and request, and the rumble echoed inside her. He reverently trailed pecks from the spot below her ear to her collarbone, and Aelin’s whole body was aware of it, from her agitated core to the goosebumps breaking through her skin.

Rowan closed his teeth over the spot where her lifeblood thrummed and pounded, his breath hot on her skin.

She shut her eyes, every sense narrowing on that sensation, on the teeth and mouth at her throat, on the powerful body trembling with restraint above hers. His tongue flicked against her skin.

She made a small noise that might have been a moan, or a word, or his name. He shuddered and pulled back, the cool air kissing her neck. Wildness—pure wildness sparked in those eyes.

Then he thoroughly, brazenly surveyed her body, his nostrils flaring delicately as he scented exactly what she wanted.

Aelin threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his lips to hers—once she did it, Rowan didn’t hold back. Every flick of his tongue was demanding, the fingers on her waist near crushing, as if she’d escape his grasp any minute.

This… Aelin couldn’t say she never saw it coming. She’d been attracted to Rowan ever since she first laid eyes on him, even though attraction on itself doesn’t dictate her actions, and the situation they were in complicated things.

However, in that moment, there were no kingdoms or ghosts to haunt her.

There was no avoiding Rowan or the way his nearness messed with her mind and body, so Aelin’s new vow to herself was that whatever happened now stayed between them, the sand and the sea.

His touch boldened, reaching up to her side boob and breastband as he ravaged her neck. One lewd whimper, and Rowan used his wind to block any noise from leaving their little bubble—every sound she made for him was his alone.

Aelin tucked his tunic off his pants and sneaked her hands inside it. His heated skin was barely noticeable compared to when Aelin felt muscles she hadn’t known existed.

His abs felt so hard under such soft skin, it reminded Aelin of the most delicious chocolate bar, with smooth lines dividing neat ridges—

Stop it, a voice that sounded akin to her conscience interrupted her thoughts.

She shook the comparison aside and guided his mouth back to hers. Fae males—once Aelin allowed him on her neck, he hang onto it like his favorite toy.

Aelin lifted her hips, and the way his own ground back against where she was sensitive the most tore a moan out of her, even with her clothes on.

“Are you sure?” Rowan rasped quite gentlemanly, given the state they were currently in.

In response, Aelin burned his linen tunic into ash.

And then loved her—maybe not with his heart, but with his teeth, tongue and other body parts that fit even more perfectly, which felt just as nice for now.

In fact, it felt so good even the gods might envy her choice of lover.

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[aft3rhrs]

Angle are you alright?

Xxx

hi sweetheart, yes! thank you for thinking of me 🩷🫂

I just couldn't get myself to write anything, but I tried not to be hard on myself, I had a lot to deal with.

still, writing has been a constant part of my life for years (just more private), so it's been bothering me a lot. especially since I'm in treatment and trying to tackle stuff and get better.

so, I tried to figure out what's been blocking me, apart from maybe my mental state.

and I asked myself: if I were to make another blog, or account somewhere else, and be completely anonymous again, no audience... what would I write?

and ideas started pouring in.

that made me realise tumblr just became a really toxic place for me.

but tumblr is just an app. it's the people that make it, and I participated in this toxicity. I accepted everything that was given to me by strangers, thinking I was standing up for myself just because I spoke out – when in reality, I still let their negativity and criticism affect this blog brick by brick until I was suffocating. I let them build my experience instead of doing it on my own.

I guess it's the work I put in that made me realise I had no self confidence, really. I saw no worth in my own writing, so it was OK doing it for fun, but when I gained an audience I let their opinions soak every work.

mutuals and lovely readers tried to give me kind advice and tell me not to forget about myself. I thought that's what I was doing. but in reality, I wasn't writing for myself anymore at all, I kept trying to write what everyone else wants, just in MY own way, and I thought that's the same thing.

I'm sorry for how things turned out, guys. and if you're reading this post and rolling your eyes thinking "omg no one cares" well, then this post isn't for you, all the love tho <3 and whatever else anyone else might be thinking, I don't care about that anymore either. we're all just strangers here, I won't be apologising for how I am or how my life is. if you can afford to spend your whole time and energy on tumblr, that's great, I can't. I also won't be spending all my time and energy to please people I don't even know who in a second turn around and throw a fit, because my fic is late, or too short, or boring, or too similar to another. I wasted so much time and energy already, constantly explaining myself and apologising.

to my mutuals and readers who are sweet, thank you so much for all your support! you helped me grow so much. thank you also to those who were rude, hateful, and horrible because that also helped me grow and realise your personal problems have nothing to do with me. I'm just a person, I can't cater to everyone and that's OK. some people will hate my work and that's OK. I hated some fics too. I had the decency not to harass authors but hey. you do you and I'mma do me.

I made a new blog but so far, I haven't posted anything and when/if I decide to, I will let you guys know. I love you so much 🩷 always 🩷

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

i never really understood why people always say there's a shame involved in like. chronic illnesses. but i think i get it today. i'm just like overcome with shame every time i write a sub plan bc of how many i've written and how shitty my work has become bc of the amount of sub plans. the way i haven't been able to get any consistency in my fucking english lessons bc i keep having to be home sick. anyways.

[lazylittledragon]

oK so after like?? 3+ years of trying to treat my IBS i just found out i almost DEFINITELY actually have RCPD??? no wonder nothing was working it's not the food it's my FUCKING BODY that's the problem!!!

[please-let-this-work-oh-my-god]

One thing I find very interesting, as a learner of German, is Isolde's usage of du when speaking to Kakania. In German, there are three main second person pronouns: du, ihr and Sie. The first two are mainly used in informal and casual settings or when talking to people you're close with (with du being singular and ihr being plural sorta similar to english's y'all) while Sie is used in more formal situations (or situations which require some form of formality) such as talking to strangers, customer service or when you're talking to a doctor/patient. Kakania abides by this and uses Sie when talking to Isolde (such as in her speech at the end of chapter 6) but interestingly, Isolde doesn't reciprocate this and instead uses du when conversing with Kakania in German.

This is super fascinating to me because it implies different levels of closeness within their relationship. Isolde's usage of du implies a level of closeness and intimacy to Kakania as Isolde herself saw Kakania as a close friend (most likely due to the fact that Kakania was once of the few people in Vienna who actually sympathized with her and saw her as a human being) but Kakania's siezen suggests a certain level of estrangement or distance between her and Isolde. Of course. this could just be her maintaining her professionalism as doctors normally use Sie when talking to patients but with how things turned out after chapters 6 and 7, I'd like to think this goes deeper than just formality standards.

[blorbologist]

Pacing faster.

Caleb's the one who owns the sheep, not Yasha (her shearing work has her travelling around, but she does help Caleb out often). He inherited the farm from his parents and Guilt probably keeps him there instead of becoming a teacher.

There's this recent-ish trend of having sheep come into vineyards to graze on excess leaves and weeds... r u thinkin what I'm thinkin...

Beau gets sent to the countryside to straighten herself out. Take the family biz seriously. You know?

There's no partner waiting for Beau back at home because as we all know she's a fuckboi. Either her dad tries to set her up with Caleb and they both recoil in disgust or we ignore homophobia for this one lads

Yasha going around to different farms to shear means she can fuck off for long periods of time just like canon! A win!

Fjord owns and runs the local marina on the lake (undecided if I make it like my hometown's or set this on the equivalent of a Great Lake) where ships rent space and people have damn good food and beer besides.

Beauyasha might have a date on Fjord's ship idk

it's hallmark but like. long-term hallmark. go through a season or two so we have the lush summer vineyard and Yasha's services eventually being in less demand due to the oncoming weather so she has more time for dates (and knitting something cute for Beau). And maybe Caleb is short on hands so Beau and Yasha help with some winter lambing idk?

Veth is... probably an alcoholic. So Beau being responsible for a lot of booze is sure to go well!

IDK if Cad is either the local livestock vet, the one (1) therapist for several hours drive, or he manages the local cemetery.

NO fucking clue what Jester does. Maybe nothing, if her mom is rich enough lmao. Also tempted to include the 'everyone is in love with Jester' thing but idk if a short chapter fic would be the place for it.

Is Essek here? Who knows! I don't! I'd love him to be but he wouldn't be caught dead in a small town like this.

... Sequel fic where CALEB gets the hallmark movie treatment?

Pacing my cage. Beauyasha hallmark movie AU.

Yasha is like that hot butch shearing sheep. Big city wine heir Beau comin down to the countryside to check out the vineyards. Fall in love, idk if the Cobalt Soul is a big city thing or the local library. Strong urge to make Caleb a sheep or constantly be compared to sheep as a gag. Something something Wine and Wool Sweaters

Is this anything

[dangerous-advantage]

(Image description below 'read more' line.)

[Image ID: A four-by-four alignment chart on a white background with text descriptions to the left and to the top of the squares.

The top left description reads, "seems like they'd be good at parenting." The top right description reads, "seems like they'd be bad at parenting."

Then, from the top down, to the left of the squares, the other set of descriptions reads: "excellent child rearing instincts," and "never trust them with a child in your life."

Each of the four squares contains an image of a different character. At the top left is an image of Lan Wangji of the Mo Dao Zu Shi donghua. He sits between the descriptors "seems like they'd be good at parenting," and "excellent child rearing instincts."

In the top right square sits an image of Wei Wuxian, also of the Mo Dao Zu Shi donghua. He sits between the junction of "seems like they'd be bad at parenting" and "excellent child rearing instincts."

In the bottom left square is an image of Xie Lian from the Tian Guan Ci Fu manhua. He occupies the square with the captions, "seems like they'd be good at parenting" and "never trust them with a child in your life."

Finally, in the bottom left square, sits an image of Hua Cheng from the Tian Guan Ci Fu manhua. He occupies the junction between "seems like they'd be bad at parenting" and "never trust them with a child in your life". /End ID]

[twinsoftriumph]

i know i haven't been very active here or on my non-sky account in the first place, but with bisan calling for a strike, i thought it would be worth at least making a post about her message here:

pressure against israel's war crimes and their acts of ethnic cleansing + genocide is building, and there is always a way to contribute to this pressure. let's continue listening to and amplifying palestinian voices!

[possiblyfunny]

Hey, look guys, more art-

HOPE.

I’ve been wanting to draw him like this ever since I first saw him smile, but my will to draw eluded me until now! This started off as a doodle, so, please excuse the messiness. I drew this to de-stress.

“Fire” Red belongs to @creatively-cosmic. They have a blog called @themissingnumbers, which is really good! Go check it out if you want to see more.

[Sketch + Colored Version below the cut!]

[sleepyjim2]

incomprehensible yap in the tags tldr im just not doing well i guess

[the-busy-ghost]

British publishers seem to have a strange habit of classifying nineteenth century French novels as children’s books (a nebulous category I know- children are often more than capable of reading so-called ‘adult’ books but I find it odd nonetheless). 

Jules Verne is the first one that springs to mind, but the one that always confuses me is ‘The Three Musketeers’. Yes it’s got all the swashbuckling ingredients that make up a good boys’ own story, but I’m really not sure that it’s strictly a ‘children’s’ classic.

This brought to you by the fact that I’m trying to sort all my other Dumas books into order when I realised that the ‘Three Musketeers’ wasn’t among them, even though it’s part of a wider ‘series’, the other books of which are in my ‘adult’ books. But because my copy of ‘The Three Musketeers’ was part of a set of ‘children’s classics’, it’s languishing in a box somewhere, alongside The Railway Children and the Secret Garden (great books both, but very different in tone I think). I don’t want to break that set up but I also don’t see why the story of Milady de Winter is more child appropriate than the Count of Monte Cristo.

[deva-arts]

She's corrupting him with brushed hair, skincare and head scratches. Soon he might actually be tolerable.

On a side note who gave him that smarmy shirt. Someone, anyone. Go compost it.

Bonus scribble and speedpaint under cut!

Making the ratman want to go back to the sewers

Video!!! A video!!! I love ibispaint's niche little features <3

[camping-with-monsters]

🌻“Promise?”🌻

[daiseukiis]

hii how have you been?

i miss my family 🧍‍♀️

[galariangengar]

My only goal for today is to work on, finish and submit my post on this week’s discussion for my online class and respond to 2 people