#she took the opportunity to organise a date

[blaithnne]

Seeing Waddles’ sketchbook post and Kiki’s Lauren doodle comic in such close proximity made me think like god. If Kaisa and Johanna already have this sitcom ass confusion over Hilda IMAGINE the extra layer of Johanna having another daughter

Like, Kaisa is already mortified when she learns she inadvertently flirted/set up a date with Johanna’s daughter, and Johanna has a field day teasing her about it and ends up talking about Lauren a bit in the process and does so in such a way that Kaisa, understandably, assumes this is the same daughter she spoke about before.

Blue hair? Check.

Makes friends easily? Well she seemed to organise that date pretty quick so, check.

Always getting into wacky mishaps? she pretended to be her mother so she could set her up on a date, take the god damn check.

Bonus points if in attempt to make Johanna happy Kaisa tries to take a parental role with her daughter. Who is a grown woman

[mandoalorian]

delicate

Pairing: High honour Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: When Arthur and the gang are out in Valentine, you can’t help but notice that he left his journal by his bedside, unattended. You’re aware that Arthur is never careless enough to leave something so valuable to him in camp and see you see it as an opportunity. Upon reading his journal, you discover something that changes everything…

Word count: 2,000

Author’s note: My first Arthur fic! It’s been a long time coming. This is also cross-posted on my AO3. I do not consent to my fics being posted anywhere else, or translated without permission. If you enjoyed this fic please reblog as it helps increase support!<3

Masterlist 

You saw it as an opportunity.

Arthur, John, Micah, Javier and Sadie were out in Valentine, following Dutch’s well-convoluted plan to rob the local bank. They’d been gone for three hours already and with Micah part of the team, you dreaded to think how they were getting on. Dutch and Hosea had gone to scout out a manor northwest of Lemoyne, in Scarlet Meadows. Hosea was following a lead he’d heard from a guy at Emerald Ranch – that apparently, a well-off family were residing over there. An excellent opportunity for a cash grab, Dutch was also sure. Lately, any possibility of getting money, Dutch got excited over. You didn’t understand why because the ledger appeared more filled out than ever. Perhaps it was merely nothing more than a sin of greed, although you were in no position to question it. 

Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen were doing laundry as Miss Grimshaw supervised, and Miss Molly O’Shea was napping in Dutch’s cot. She’d been sleeping a lot recently, you’d noticed. Uncle was nowhere in sight, probably sleeping or drunk or getting himself killed by Raiders. And Abigail was with Jack, nursing him back to health as influenza he’d developed after your time in Colter hadn’t yet subsided. The camp was empty. Not a soul in sight.

There was a small crate in the corner of his tent and organised neatly atop was a framed photo of his mother Beatrice, a small vase of flowers that were native to New Hanover, and a beat-up leather journal that he kept close to his bedside. Arthur was so protective of his journal, you’d often tease him for it. Sometimes, you’d admire him from afar. After a hard day, he’d often sit by the lake, slumped against a tree, jotting down his thoughts or filling the pages with doodles of his ventures. 

And this time it was calling out to you.

You wondered why he hadn’t taken it with him. Had he really just ‘left’ it at camp? Forgot to put it in his satchel before he left this morning? You were hyper-aware that you’d more than likely never get this chance again. The curiosity was begging to be explored and you took one final glance around camp before slowly inching towards the crate by his bedside. Arthur’s tent was really just a canopy and once you were under you felt a pang of guilt in his heart. You shouldn’t be snooping around his business like this. He had done nothing to warrant you doing that.

It wasn’t malicious. It was harmless. Just a little peek…

You sat on the edge of Arthur’s cot and picked up the journal, feeling the worn leather between your fingers. Undoing the clasp, you pulled it open midway and were greeted with an illustration of a girl. It was the back of her, so there was no way of making out her face, but as you took a closer look at the pattern on her ranch boots, you couldn’t help but recognise the embroidered swirls and shapes. They were your ranch boots, and Arthur’s illustration was a depiction of you. It was dated noon, 5th July 1899, just a few weeks ago. It appeared to be a drawing from observation, and you were pictured helping Pearson put away an assortment of canned goods. 

It took a moment for it to dawn on you. He’d drawn you.

Now you were invested. You turned to the next page to see a verse of words:

‘Sometimes I wonder when she sleeps

Is she ever dreaming of me?

Sometimes when I look into her eyes

I pretend she’s mine all the damn time’

To the left of the words was another illustration of you but this one had a lot more detail. A delicate flower was placed in your hair and this time, you could see your face. You could see the shape of your nose and the creases in the corner of your eyes when you smiled. It had never been so clear. Your gaze flicked back towards the words as you reread them over and over again. Could they have really been about you?

Surely not. Arthur had never done anything to suggest that he’d had these feelings for you. As far as you were aware, he was still hung up on Miss Mary Linton. You’d never met her before. You’d only heard tales from Hosea, how Arthur was sweet on her and she broke his heart to the point he didn’t want to leave camp for days. You couldn’t imagine Arthur that way. You supposed that since then, he had changed, and maybe since meeting you, he’d changed again.

On the outside, Arthur was rough. His skin was sun kissed and his clothes were old, his boots were muddy and he could go months without shaving. You’d heard stories of his questionable temperance but with you, he was patient and soft and gentle. You’d seen him be kind around little Jack too, and that relationship spoke volumes since John was mostly absent from his son’s life. Arthur was a good influence on Jack. Hell, you could argue he was the best influence around camp in general. Although he was often gloomy and he would, on occasion, pick fights with Micah or Bill, you saw through that. He had a good heart, wether he believed it, that didn’t matter.

A loud cough interrupted your thoughts. You froze, and it was like you could feel time moving. Arthur’s journal was still in your hands and you could feel the eyes of a cowboy bore into your back. You hoped and prayed it was anyone but Arthur. At least then you’d be able to potentially mangle yourself out of the fact you went behind your friend’s back. You wanted to put the journal down, hell, you needed to, but it was like your feet were glued to the ground and your hands were locked in place.

“What you doing snooping through my stuff, girl?” 

Oh, it was Arthur. You winced under his question and took a deep breath. You carefully placed the journal back on his bedside, just as it was before you took it. Perfect. Like it hadn’t moved an inch. Not that it mattered anymore…

“Well?”

Fuck. You cursed under your breath. Say something. Anything.

“Arthur-I’m-so-sorry-I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking-I-just-saw-it-there-and-you-always-got-your-head-down-in-it-and-never-show-anyone-and-I-was-just-curious-and-I-know-it-was-wrong-but-I-just-“

“Now, why you talkin’ like that? Like I’m holdin’ you up at gunpoint? Turn around and look at me.” He cut you off, his question was rhetorical and his voice stern.

You immediately obliged and spun around on your heel. Your stomach was in knots. You wish you had never looked. Never betrayed him like this. Arthur’s eyes were a piercing blue like you’d never noticed, and his lips were curled into a frown. But still, he remained stoic. It’s like he was trying to appear unbothered, but you could see right through him.

“You know now why I let nobody look in here?” Arthur muttered, leaning over you and snatching the journal from his bedside.

You nodded apologetically and watched as he stuffed the journal into his satchel.

“I’ll be on my way now.” Arthur tipped his hat to you before turning around. He paused and when he was looking away he muttered, “’Am sorry if… you thought it was weird, miss…” 

Your mouth felt dry as you watched him walk away.

Weird? He was worried that you thought it was weird.

You chased after him and caught up pretty quickly, placing the palm of your hand flat against the broadness of his back. “Arthur, what you wrote in there was the sweetest thing… not weird at all, I promise.”

Arthur stopped and looked down at you, still frowning. 

“I just had no idea you felt that way,” You continued, shaking your head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I overstepped your boundaries and we can just forget about it if that’s what you want…”

To clarify, forgetting about it was the last thing you wanted to do, but alas, this wasn’t about you anymore. You would do anything for Arthur’s forgiveness and if that meant pretending like today never happened, then so be it.

“Forget?” Arthur whispered. “You really expect me to forget about this?”

You pursed your lips together, holding back a sigh. “I don’t think you should. I know I’d struggle to forget what I saw in there… but also, I don’t want to forget. I… I’ve been sweet on you since the moment I met you, Arthur. Tilly and Mary-Beth would always tease me for it. Abigail knew too, but she said you’d never be interested in pursuing someone in camp. Hosea made it seem like you were still hung up on Miss Linton, and so I never said anything. Oh Arthur, you’ve always been so kind to me. So gentle and soft, you’re different to the others…” You placed a hand on his bicep and Arthur practically softened into your touch.

“I’m a bad man,” Arthur shook his head gruffly. “I’ve done bad things.”

“Haven’t we all?” you snapped back, exasperated. “I may just do the chores around camp but you forget my history, Mr Morgan. All of us are Van Der Linde’s and we are not good people. Hell, I struggle to even tell the difference between good and bad anymore. But when I’m with you, I feel good. Really good. I feel safe and protected and God, Arthur. When I saw you felt the same way… that you think about me in the same way…”

Arthur cut you off with a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and contrasted with the roughness of his stubble and quick-growing moustache. You let out a small gasp when his lips crashed atop yours but quickly melted into it, bringing your hands up to his head and running your fingers through his dark blonde hair. His tongue tasted like fresh mint and other herbs you couldn’t quite recognise, and you had never been closer to his musky familiar scent. Arthur’s big arms wrapped around your body and he held you tight against him. When he finally pulled away, he nudged his nose against yours and lingered for a moment, staring into your eyes.

“Forgive me for saying miss, but if it wasn’t already clear, I think I’m in love with you.”

The revelation made you giddy, your heart racing in your chest with the thrill of it all. You couldn’t believe it. Abigail…. Hosea…. They were all wrong. Arthur actually felt the same as you.

“I’m in love with you too,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes as Arthur enveloped you in a hug.

When you finally pulled away from him, it was only to ask him another important question.

“Do you forgive me for what I did, Arthur?” you asked him sadly. Arthur could see the guilt; it was written all over your face.

“If you didn’t do that, none of this would have ever happened,” Arthur smiled, pressing his index finger to your chin and picking your face up so you were looking at him in the eyes. He was smiling. He was okay…

“I s’pose that’s true,” you shrugged. “I’m still sorry, and it won’t happen again.”

“I believe you,” Arthur said, lacing his fingers with yours. “Now let’s go grab some of Pearson’s broth and we can take it to the lake. I think we have a lot to talk about…”

You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. You and Arthur walked side by side to the campfire and the entire way you felt yourself bubbling with anticipation over what was to come next.

[vaguesxrrow]

Hello! Love your Edwin works!! Anyways, can I request a Edwin x alive!reader or ghost but they appear to be aloof 24/7 but has a soft spot for him, like it’s a complete opposite personality of them. For example they get flustered when they’re near him or being teased by him etc. It could be HCs or in fic form. Thanks in advance! -🖤

HELLOO loved this req ty sm, here u go xx

edwin / reader - soft spot

a/n: tried my best to not make reader seem mean, just detached but still kind

tags: gender neutral reader, alive reader, aloof reader

- you meet everyone when you move in to jenny's butcher shop

- really, you chose the place because jenny herself seemed about as non-invasive and private as you were - you just wished she'd warned you about her two (four, counting the dead ones) other tenants

- first, you met niko and crystal as they were exiting niko's room, both sipping tea from pink cups

- they were nice and all, but your responses were terse as they tried to break the ice

- niko asked you where you were from, you gave the vague response of "not far from here", and she then started talking about japan before remembering a detail she thought crystal would like

- you took that opportunity to slip into your room and lock the door behind you

- later, crystal and niko would tell edwin and charles about their new neighbour:

- crystal: they seemed... aloof. didn't seem very interested in small talk.

- edwin, of course, found this a bit suspicious and had to investigate

- what he didn't anticipate was you being able to see him as he walked through your wall while you were unpacking

- you startled when he stuck his head in through your wallpaper

- "i'm sorry, are you lost?" you exclaimed. "in what world is it acceptable to just- oh."

- your voice kind of gave way at the end as edwin fully stepped inside, an excuse already on his lips

- your first impression was god, he was cute

- of course, you already knew about ghosts from your near death experience; besides, it was hard not to notice them, as they seemed to walk through things very often without thinking. so you weren't fazed.

- in fact, you were the opposite - you smiled at him and asked his name after introducing yourself, still a bit breathless

- edwin was such a pretty name, you thought

- "so, uh... is this apartment building one of your usual haunts?" you cringed at the pun

- the corners of his mouth quirked upwards, but only briefly. you wondered how he would look laughing

- edwin, on his part, was also rather taken by you

- edwin: i must say, i find myself rather charmed by your unexpected friendliness

- you were nothing like the description crystal and niko had given him, and he would tell you so

- for the first time in your life, you would feel warmth rise to your cheeks

- "same.. i mean, it's nice to have a neighbour as cute as you-" you cut yourself off, even more embarrassed

- imagine edwin cocking his head to the side, eyebrow raised but otherwise silent, which just makes you ramble more to make it less awkward

- "it's just nice to have neighbours in general, and uh, i should really start organising so it isn't such a mess the next time you're over..."

- your rambling benefits you in the end, because edwin excuses himself with the promise he'll definitely be over again - this time arranged in advance

- did you just score yourself a date? who knows.

- as he leaves, he would definitely call you "interesting" and tell you he looks forward to talking in the future

- when he returns to his friends, he would tell them that you seemed completely pleasant and maybe even a bit alluring

- charles would definitely check him over for any signs of a hex, but it becomes apparent to all of them that he really just has a crush on you

- after you meet charles, too, he would definitely tell edwin, "everyone likes me eventually, but when is eventually going to happen with [name]?"

- edwin: they seem perfectly amiable to me. very thoughtful, too

- charles is stunned, because your first meeting consisted of you just staring at him as he explained he was best friends with edwin, leaving him with a "that's nice," and a pointed look as you left

- ofc there are many more moments where crystal, charles, and niko look at you around edwin and think, "what the fuck?"

- eg: after a few months of you living there, and after you've become accustomed to the town, edwin asks for your help on a case as it happens to be related to a library you frequent

- he approaches you together with crystal, niko, and charles

- you agree to helping with a small smile, touched that he trusts you enough

- when you traipse to the library, edwin teasingly asks, "so, is this one of your usual haunts?"

- you choke at the reminder of your tactless first attempt at flirting

- charles, niko, and crystal are a bit speechless at your reaction, to which you half glare at them and say "it's nothing."

- overall, though, everyone thinks it's cute that you're so flustered by edwin. at first, they're really just cheering for edwin to find a healthy relationship, but eventually everyone sees how good you two are for each other

- and you are - edwin sees how, despite your disinterested demeanor, you are a kind person and care about him a lot, your affection going beyond him being the only one to actually make you laugh

- he loves you just as much, by the way, and would be the first to vouch for your character as well as the first to greet you, with a hug and a cheek kiss

[currentfications]

Ocean Eyes | Part 4

Pairing: Bada Lee x Producer!Reader

Synopsis: At the dinner date with Bada, you discover an unpleasant truth.

Warning: Swearing, flirting, no angst (I know how the synopsis sounds but I can’t bring myself to write angst, at least not in this economy >_< let me know if y’all actually want something heart breaking and I’ll see if I can do some one shots for those of you who just want to see the world burn??¿)

AN: Thank you for reading >////<

Previous | Next

You’ve always been a safe rider when it comes to motorcycles, but this may be the safest you’ve ever drove in your whole life. Hands clenched, eyes straight ahead - you glided through the night streets of Seoul.

Bada throughly enjoyed the joy ride, sailing though the city with you like a raven. She was a little bashful at first, holding onto you from behind - but perhaps the adrenaline coursing through her help eased the anxiousness, as she soon settled into a comfort position to secure herself onto you like a backpack.

When you finally pulled into the destination, you finally relaxed your tense shoulder from all the concentration. It was then you realised just how tightly the dancer is clinging onto you - her thighs pressed against yours for warmth, her fingers laced together around your waist. You silently thanked Latrice for her service, before remembering why Bada was here in the first place.

When the dancer peeled herself off you, you missed the warm embrace as a gust of chilly wind brushed past you. Dismounting from the vehicle, you quickly unzipped your leather jacket and tossed it over her shoulder.

“It’s okay I don’t-” Bada was about to politely decline your offer, before the warmth engulfing her is so cozy she swallowed the rest of her sentence. Noticing the tank top you had underneath hugging your figure, she’s definitely not complaining about you losing your jacket at all.

“Sorry about this,” you gestured towards the bike, “didn’t plan for a date.” If only Latrice could’ve given you more than a couple hours to organise, you would have tried to get a more reasonable transportation; but still, she got you a dinner with the famous Bada Lee, so you couldn’t really get mad at her either.

“A date?” Bada chuckled, slowly getting used to your bluntness. It didn’t stop her cheeks from warming up though. “Okay then, what’s the occasion?”

You pulled out the keys to your recording studio, absolutely delighted. “I start work tomorrow!” You chirped excitedly, “they just finished setting it up this morning.”

“God! who gets this excited to work?” The blonde scoffed jokingly. Something about the way you get excited reminded her of a Doberman wagging it’s tail. She unconsciously reached over to ruffle your hair, immediately stopping herself when she realised what she’d done. “U-uh should we go in?”

You hummed and nodded at the suggestion, heart fluttering from the little touch.

Bada nodded approvingly at your choice of venue, “Oh this place is nice, you’ve been here before?”

You shook your head no, “Found it online. I took off running from my local guide, remember?”

Bada laughed and navigated you inside, “Now that you’ve stopped running, I can finally have the honour of showing you around. This place is a good find.” She handed you a menu and you slid the little sheet back to her.

“What does the local guide recommend?” You asked cheekily, noticing an opportunity to discover her preferences. The blonde smiled, thrilled to show you a few signature dishes.

While you waited for your food to arrive, Bada proceeded to list off a few more dining and event venues. You made a few mental notes to check these places out in the following weeks while admiring just how personable and adorable this famous dancer is.

Pulling out your phone, you snapped multiple photos of the dishes when they finally arrived, “Latrice missed out. Food looks amazing.” If Bada ever considers an alternative career path, she should really become a food blogger.

“Just the food?” Bada teased back.

You turned the camera towards her and snapped a few pictures as well. Of course she looked amazing as always, beaming a squint eyed smile at your camera.

Bada is right - the food is delicious. “I think I need to take you out for dinner more often,” you wondered out loud, nodding at your own ingenuity. The dancer raised you a thumbs up, delighted by your willingness to try out almost everything. Bada felt extremely accomplished as a guide for the night.

“Thank you for dinner,” the blonde looked up at you, and you noticed a tiny bit of sauce on the corner of her mouth. You hummed and gestured her forward.

Bada instinctively reacted to your two finger ‘come here’ gesture and leaned forward; her eyes widen when you gently tipped her chin upwards, wiping away the mark with a serviette. The blonde had to took a few sips of her cold drinks to regulate her breathing again after that. Not used to being the flustered one, Bada is determined to up her game on this date. “Careful there, or I’m gonna start thinking that you’re flirting with me.”

You tilted you head slightly in confusion, a slight pout taking shape on your lips. “I am flirting with you, for a while actually.”

Y/N: 1, Bada: 0. The blonde sighed and hung her head in defeat.

You smiled at the sulky choreographer, patting the top of head back. “Thank you for coming out tonight, lovely.”

Bada raised her head gloomily, sighing dramatically. “We have Latrice to thank,” she pondered for a moment as you hummed and nodded. “And probably Redlic.”

Your gaze hardened as you heard the last word. “What did you say?”

The tall dancer was confused at your sudden change in vibes, as there’s now something dangerous about the tone you’re taking, reminding her of the first night she met you. “Redlic, why?”

“What did that bitch do this time?” You tried to maintain your composure and keep your tone neutral, but no amount of self control can hide the poison dripping from your words.

Still confused by your change in demeanour, and frankly, offended by the word choice you’ve used on her colleague, Bada raised an eyebrow at you bemusedly. “What exactly is your problem with her?”

Knowing that the dancer in front of you is just collateral damage to your despise for the Mannequeen member, you took a deep breath and composed yourself. “She made Latrice cry, didn’t she?”

Bada’s expression immediately soften upon understanding your animosity against Redlic. “Ah that,” she sighed, running her hand over her hat, “yeah you right about that, she was a real bitch for that.”

You hummed and nodded, patiently waiting for Bada to continue dragging her name through the filth.

“Wait-” Bada suddenly perked up with realisation, looking at you with hesitation. “You… didn’t know?”

Your brows furrowed as it became your turn to get utterly confused. “What do I not know?”

Bada’s hand clasped over her mouth as she thought - fuck, “Latrice hasn’t… told you they’re dating, has she?” Bada trailed off, knowing that you probably should’ve heard this from Latrice yourself, but at the same time figured that it’s probably better for her to rip the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later. The silence was deafening as she mouthed a ‘sorry’ at you.

You shook your head at the blonde, understanding the predicament you’ve unintentionally placed her in. “It’s not you,” you sighed, rubbing your temple in frustration. “Latrice have a track record for going after assholes.”

“Is that where you learned how to beat up a-holes so efficiently?” Bada smirked.

You nodded in defeat, sighing once again. “Do you know any good remote places? Preferably one with little to no people and very soft soil. I may have to hide evidences of a crime after tonight.”

“Your local guide does not support criminal activities, unfortunately. Can I try to convince you to rethink your stance on Redlic?” Bada pressed timidly.

You rolled you eyes at her jokingly, “Thread lightly.”

“She fucked up, I’ll admit. We all gave her hell for it after filming actually, Harimu almost walked her like a dog. But-” she paused for a moment, tentatively sizing you up to make sure she hasn’t broken through that thin, thin ice into freezing water. You remained unreadable as a glacier. “But that’s just how she is, constantly blabbering first before considering her words, she has no ill intention.”

“That’s the best you could do? She’s not a cunt, just a twat?” You huffed and rolled your eyes, plopping your head onto the table. No wonder Latrice avoided talking about her date all day.

Bada shrugged in resignation, “How about ‘I don’t like prison food so you can’t commit crimes against Redlic?’”

You nodded, that’s a common ground you can agree on. “Yet. Second offence and I’m taking her for a swim with cinder blocks.”

The blonde chuckled at your fierce protectiveness, your guardian angel energy matching that to a hen shielding its chicks’. She’s heard people throwing around that phrase before, but it was then she realised what people meant by ‘mother is mothering.’

Tag list: @bada-lee-ily @lil-elliesgf @rubywonu @wiselight

[sun-and-moon-mushroom]

SY as the stalker in modern au??? please???

Ok, so let’s start with our setup.

SY and LBH went to the same secondary/high school, where LBH had a bit of a reputation for having a new girlfriend every other week. SY of course disapproved… of the girlfriends. Surely someone as handsome as LBH deserves someone who really loves him, instead of all these girls he breaks up with so soon after getting together! He might pick up a tendency to follow him on dates… and take photos… he really just wants LBH to be happy! Knowing all his favourite things is just a way to find the girl who would be perfectly suited to him!

A few years later, they’re all in university now — but different ones (same city though). SY is studying economics, LBH is studying law while living out of his cousins apartment because his father is still in jail for media piracy (and also some organised crime). LBH ends up taking a literature elective taught by SYs older brother, SJ, mostly so he could flirt with literature student NYY. SJ views this as harassment but can’t get him on it because NYY won’t say anything (she’s not interested, but also not really bothered and knows he’ll stop if she asked). Then SJ, already looking for an excuse to kick LBH out of his class comes across something interesting… evidence of plagiarism in his assignments. LBH ends up being kicked from the class, and eventually has to transfer to the law course in the only other university in the city… the same one SY goes to.

Of course, the entire thing was set up by SY. He’s friends with SQH, who happened to be taking the same class as an elective (studying accountancy for his parents), and who also happens to be in a relationship with a TA for one of his other classes. SY took the opportunity for blackmail, knowing that SQH has done similar things before (eg changing his own grades in the school system as a teenager). He’s realised that not seeing LBH every day is no fun, and going all across town just for a glimpse.. no, this is much better. And if he just happens to volunteer to show LBH around his new campus…

[footballffbarbiex]

player: Kostas Tsimikas words: 914 request: Kostas Tsimikas - no pref - 500 - 900 - So Kos and her have been dating for a few months now but no one at the club knows. So when, at the club Christmas party, they end up under the mistletoe (I'm sure Robbo decorated every single doorway with it) and he's like "let's give them a show" and kisses her in a way that steals her breath away

A/N: a huge thank you to @percervall for the help with this one. I am blowing kisses at you, I couldn't have done this without you.

This year, things are being done a little differently at the club. Usually, menial tasks were delegated to anyone and everyone in order to get them accomplished and it doesn’t usually matter who does them, as long as they do. The design of the room and organising it was left to someone that the club paid and it was usually done to the incredibly high standard that you would expect. This year, the players have been tasked with something each. 

Kos has the honour of placement cards. She watched him agonising over designs at home - wanting to make sure that the people he knew well enough had something that was tailored to them. He’d purchased a Cricut and made them this way, setting them all out across their dining room table to see how they looked laid out. He’d tweaked them, bought fancy pens and added small flourishes. 

It wasn’t something that took over, but he certainly took pride in the ones he made and it showed as he gently laid them out on the carefully decorated tables. The room looks amazing, Virgil and Alisson had done an incredible job, though she does suspect their wives may have had a hand in helping. The colour scheme was spot on and certainly provided the perfect photo opportunity that the club would no doubt be taking. 

Out of everything available, she expected Andy to be in charge of Secret Santa, or something fun. Upon finding out that he was in charge of flowers and in turn, mistletoe, she had mixed expectations of how it would end up. And yet, the bouquets that adorn the room and complete the tables are stunning. He walks around now, the usual “Robbo” grin upon his face as he interacts with everyone while wearing his flower crown of holly, berries, mistletoe and a few colour scheme flowers in there too. When he turns around, exposing his back to her, she notices a little sprig of mistletoe tucked in his back pocket for unsuspecting victims. 

“He’s going to get us, you know.” She comments, holding her wine glass closer to her chest as she huddles close to Kostas who has approached her far too quickly for her liking. He scrambled through the crowd of people who had been filing in now for the past half an hour and the once empty room they’d entered is now bustling with people and music is now being played through the speakers. 

“He doesn’t know. He won’t.” But deep down, Kostas knows that Andy knows. He’s seen the looks being thrown his way and he knows it’s a matter of time before they’re outed. It may not be tonight, but this was the start of it. Robbo would watch their reactions and slowly start to make little comments when they’re back in training. And Kostas knows he’ll struggle to hold it all together but Andy thrives on reactions and he’ll keep at it like a dog on a bone. 

“You know what he’s like.”

“I do, and he won’t.”

He wants nothing more than to pull her closer to him by the small of her back, his hand snaking to her waist and press his lips to any part of her that she’ll let him - whether that be her hairline, her temple, the space between her eyebrow and eye, her cheek, nose or of course, her lips. 

He tried to get as many kisses as he possibly could before they headed out in separate cars, not wanting to arouse any suspicion because despite the few blissful months of dating, it’s come at the cost of it being in secret. Kostas is certain that no-one at the club would have an issue with their relationship but he didn’t want it out there just yet and initially, she’d wholeheartedly agreed. She’d seen too many relationships collapse once it became public and yet, it was becoming harder to keep it a secret. Not because others were catching on but because neither of them wanted to stay away from one another any more. 

“Well, looky what we have here.” Andy’s voice sounds behind them and they both groan in unison. “My favourite “non couple but are so a couple” couple.” he grins as Kostas shoots him a look. “Oh come on. If you keep giving me that look I’ll be forced to bring out the gentleman doth protests too much, methinks line.”

“So leave and we won’t have to give you that look,” she comments, giving Andy a little nudge with her elbow and a crooked smile. 

“Oh it’s we now is it? You said that so naturally.” her smile falters and she realises too much has been said. She knows Robbo knows and the look that she spots on Kostas’ face confirms this. 

“Fuck it,” her beautiful Greek boyfriend hisses, downing the rest of his drink before he moves quickly, swiping the mistletoe from behind Andy’s back and holds it above her head. “One of the team’s biggest gobshites isn’t going to stop so what do you say? Kiss me?” 

“Where did you learn the word gobshite?” Robbo asks but his words are drowning out as she steps forward, toe to toe with her secret boyfriend. Her hands move to his waist and to his nape. When her head turns this way, his turns that way and they give a nervous chuckle to one another as they begin to lean in, noses rubbing together before their lips finally meet.

[shyvioletcat]

A/N: So my dear friend @mariamuses​ came up with a wonderful prompt (this one right here) that really took hold of my imagination and wouldn’t let go. I’ve been working on it for a while but finally got around to getting it done. @rowaelinprompts​ another one for the list. 

CW: A whole lot of banter, swearing and smut.

~~~~~

If Rowan Whitethorn was the main character in a novel, Aelin would most definitely be the antagonist in his tragic story. 

Their relationship hadn’t started smoothly, they had metaphorically been at each other’s throat from the moment they met. They were authors, both of them employed but the same publisher, and essentially rivals in every way. Rowan was an author of epic fantasy, the gritty you have to be fully awake to keep track of kind. Aelin wrote for the fantasy genre as well but her books were more of the romantic kind. There was a stigma attached to that and people like Rowan-holier-than-thou Whitethorn tended to look down their noses at such things. She wrote romantic fantasy, he wrote science fiction. They were at polar opposites on the literary scale.

The introduction had occurred in their publisher’s office. Aelin had gone in to renew her contract and Rowan had been in the office signing his first. They shared a manager and Fenrys had been very excited to introduce them. She had offered a charming smile and her hand, which to his credit Rowan had taken in a brief handshake. After that Rowan had barely given her a second glance. 

Aelin supposed that Rowan was just shy, and she tried over and over again to be friendly and get his attention. There were more than enough opportunities for it—the two of them were the shining stars of the fantasy world. They were always in on the big meetings together to organise release dates and press circuits. To keep the money flowing in smoothly the company usually alternated half yearly.

And it was unfortunate for him that there was very little in life that gave her as much joy as pissing him off did. He wasn’t all bad, their wits matched when they engaged in their battles of wills and he was devastatingly handsome. Maybe she was no better than the kid on the school yard picking on the person they liked because they didn’t know how to deal with their own feelings. Somewhere along the line, between the insane amount of grumpiness and quiet composure, Aelin had decided that she liked him. Like liked him. But that didn’t matter. Aelin could ignore all that for pure fun riling up Rowan Whitethorn gave her. It wasn’t entirely satisfying, but it was enough to keep her going. 

Today Rowan had to suffer through hours of it. The two of them were at a comic and pop culture convention; meeting, greeting and signing things for fans and for monetary gain. Seated next to each other it was all too easy to slip a comment over the few feet of desk between them. Or flick little bits of paper over that she took the time to roll into teeny tiny balls for a singular purpose amid the stream of fans. In fact one such fan had just left the signing table when a piece of Aelin’s ammunition hit Rowan’s cheek. That quietly enthusiastic book buyer was the last for that round and they would have about fifteen minutes until the next lot came through. 

He didn’t even flinch, he just sighed and clicked his pen, brushing the paper away with a casual hand. 

“Your fans are so much more boring than mine,” Aelin said, chin resting in her palm. 

“What?” Rowan asked flatly.

“Well, mine tend to go all out in their costuming,” Aelin replied. “Your’s

just put on a themed t-shirt and call it a day.” 

“Is that such a bad thing? It’s far more practical,” Rowan countered as he leant back in his chair. “They don’t have to worry about being the weird ones on public transport or having their boobs fall out of their tops.”

Aelin grinned. “Have you been paying special attention to the boobs on display?” 

Rowan didn’t answer but the blush on his was answer enough. 

“Well, well, well. It seems that my books have given you something to care about,” Aelin added.

“Stop it, I have not been looking… it's just a general observation,” Rowan insisted. 

“You’re welcome by the way.” Another ball of paper hit his face. 

This time Rowan sighed. “Aelin.” 

“Rowan.” Her voice was sickly sweet. 

He looked over at her and Aelin’s stomach flipped. He was too handsome today, all made up for the public. He’d shaved, and his hair was kept from falling into his eyes with just the right amount of product. It was such an unusual colour and not for the first time Aelin wished she could touch it. 

So caught up in her thoughts Aelin totally missed that Rowan had actually said something to her. 

“Hmm? Sorry I am just thinking about the poor unfortunate souls that have been ensnared by your sub par writing.” 

A familiar challenge flashed in his eyes and Aelin knew her little game was succeeding. 

“I was just saying it’s nice that your fans have so much fun with your work,” Rowan said.

“Wait, Mr Whitethorn, was that a compliment?” Aelin’s hand was on her chest like she might be about to swoon. 

He shook his head. “That was a compliment for your fans, not you. I’ll refrain from making a comment about their tastes in literature.”

Oh, he was ready to play now, Aelin thought to herself. 

“Insulting the fans is a little beneath you, don’t you think?” Aelin said, twirling her gold ink pen between her fingers. “They are our livelihood after all. I’m sure, despite how you feel about me, you wouldn’t wish for me to be destitute. You’re not that cruel.”

Rowan glanced down at his watch, probably checking for when the next lot of fans would start flooding through. “Of course not, a little humility wouldn’t go astray though.”

Aelin tipped back her head and laughed, when she was done she found Rowan looking at her, an odd look on his face. Not odd enough to dissuade her from her next comment. “You won’t have luck there.”

She could have sworn the corner of his mouth quirked up the smallest amount for the tiniest fraction of a second. “Why am I not surprised?”

Any further response was interrupted by an attendant letting them know it would only be a few minutes before the next round of signings would begin. Aelin smiled and nodded and waited for the blushing young person to turn around before she went through her pre-fan-meeting brush up. She fluffed out her loose hair, readjusted the straps of her dress. One of the knots at her shoulder was coming undone so she gave that a quick pull to tighten it. After that she took out the small mirror from her pocket to check her face. Everything seemed fine except for a loose eyelash. There were signs of commotion starting as the fans from the start of the line so Aelin snapped her mirror shut. Blatant vanity wasn’t good for her image, or something like that, according to her publicist. She’d have to get rid of the eyelash blindly. 

Aelin swept at her cheek, assuming it was gone, and put on her most charming of smiles giving those at the front of the line a quick wave. They tittered with excitement, copies of her books in their hands. Rowan’s fans, on the other hand, were far more subdued, but a few of them up the front were vibrating with nervousness. When they did sneak a glance in Rowan’s general direction Aelin gave them a smile and even a sly wink. Three of them blushed. 

“You missed it.” Rowan’s voice cut through her thoughts. 

“Hmm?” Aelin angled her chair so she faced him better. 

“Your eyelash, it’s still there.” 

She was surprised he’d been paying enough attention to her to notice the whole lash situation. Aelin swiped at her face again, fingertips dabbing along her cheek bone. 

“You’re completely missing it,” Rowan said. He scooted his chair over, nearly close enough that their knees touched, then he beckoned her with a hand. Aelin lent it, her breath catching as Rowan’s fingers touched her cheek. It was over in less than three seconds, and yet those few seconds without air were enough to make her completely breathless. He left his finger raised in front of her face and she spotted the offending eyelash on the tip of his finger. “Make a wish.” 

Aelin cocked her head, fighting a smile. This was straight out of one of her books, her debut novel in fact. The heroine and the soon to be love interest share a quiet moment amongst all the trials and danger that would eventually bring them together. It was sweet, and a turning point for those characters. There was no way Rowan would understand the significance of what he was doing. And that same peaceful outcome was highly unlikely in this situation. 

Playing along anyway, Aelin sucked in a breath to blow away the eyelash. Her wish wouldn’t be polite to voice in public, or to the man that it included. But when Aelin’s breath passed her lips she kept the vision of her and him very clear in her mind. Of her body pressed against the wall, Rowan’s hands holding her up by her thighs as her hands tugged at his hair, mussing it out of one perfection into another, and the heated kisses being pressed over every inch of uncovered skin. That scene right there—one she had thought of countless times, that was her wish. 

“What did you wish for?” Rowan asked, none the wiser over her depraved thoughts. 

Aelin tsked at him, shaking her head like she was annoyed at such a foolish question. “Rule one, you never say what you wish for out loud. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

He didn’t push it, instead he fiddled with the rolled sleeve of his shirt. That left Rowan’s tattoos on display—a design Aelin had traced over with her eyes numerous times. Something in the Old Language and she would be lying if she hadn’t thought about learning just so she could understand what is said. 

Footsteps and voices drew away Aelin’s attention and she turned to face the oncoming influx of fans. It was time to smile and put on a show. These were people who made her so successful, she owed them something. 

“Hi, how are you today?” Aelin said to the fan who rushed up, a shiny new book in their hand. “Shall I sign that for you?” 

That was essentially the same script Aelin used fan after fan. There were some variations when questions were exchanged. The fan in front of her at the moment had broken down in tears and Aelin had reached out to touch her hand, it only made her cry harder. Eventually the fan gathered herself enough to give a teary but very sincere thank you. Aelin grinned, giving a small wave, before movement in the corner of her eye redirected her attention. She peered over to Rowan’s desk, seeing that he was making a tally. 

“What are you doing?” She asked before she could stop herself. 

Rowan didn’t look at her, just clicked away the nib of his pen. “That’s going to tell me how many of your fans cried.” 

Aelin left out a short laugh. “You’ve been counting?”

“Had to find something to entertain myself,” Rowan replied. “She’s number eight, just for your information.”

“Maybe I should keep track of all your fans who flirt with you, I might need an entire notebook. Makes me think it’s not actually your writing that’s intrigued them. Whoever decided to put your photo on the back cover should get a cut of the money.” 

Rowan didn’t get a chance to reply because a pretty young woman wearing a t-shirt dedicated to one of his prominent characters approached his table. She gave him big starry eyes, her voice probably an octave higher than it needed it to be. To say Rowan was smiling might have been an exaggeration, but his face was pleasant. Aelin had her own fan to deal with so she missed whatever happened next in the interaction. When she glanced back at Rowan after sending that one away, he was still talking to the same woman. His elbows rested on the table as he looked up at her, smiling now. A real ‘you could see his teeth’ smile. 

Aelin’s gut twisted with jealousy. Not only was this woman flirting with him, but Rowan was flirting back. It would never be that way with her, he loathed her, hated her, the villain in his story. Any amiability they had at these things were short lived. By tomorrow the ice would reform under the cover of night and they would go back to the way they were.

Finally the fangirl left, throwing one last dazzling smile over her shoulder. Thankfully for Aelin’s own sanity, Rowan didn’t notice, he was too busy getting his desk back in order. 

“You know we don’t get paid to flirt with the fans, right? There’s no extra bonus for that,” Aelin threw at him, her voice sharper than it should have been. 

“She was flirting with me, I wasn’t flirting with her,” Rowan defended. 

“Yeah sure,” Aelin said, breaking up the conversation with another signing. “From where I sat, that looked a lot like flirting, so much so I ..would call it such.” 

Rowan sent off another of his fans with a signature before he turned to her. His green eyes pinned her in place, the unexpected intensity stunning her to utter stillness.

“Trust me, Aelin,” He gave a quick glance as he nodded for the next fan to come forward. “If I was flirting, you would know.”

Clearing her throat, Aelin took the book form yet another fan and signed her name. And she did, again and again. She hated that Rowan had got the upper hand on her, that he had been the one to ruffle her feathers. That was her job. She could feel the smugness radiating off him and in between smiles and fleeting hellos, Aelin was scrambling for a come back. 

When Aelin saw a small group of Rowan’s manly fans snigger at her fans and the adorable commitment they had taken to their love of her books, it came to her. 

“If you flirt as bad as you write…” Aelin muttered during a slight lull in signing, letting the comment fade out into the realm of interpretation. “You’re probably one of those male writers who creates one dimensional women whose ovaries tingle at the sight of a handsome man or boobs that move counter clockwise when they walk.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Rowan asked, conscious of his language as a particularly young fan walked up with his parent. 

“Female characters, Rowan. In particular, yours,” Aelin offered. 

Rowan’s laugh was humourless. “There’s only one way to find out for sure, Aelin.”

She ignored the way her name sounded coming from those full lips. “Never.” 

Aelin had declared numerous times that she had not read his books, she had sworn she never would. So she didn’t know for sure how Rowan wrote his female characters, regardless she wasn’t going to abandon her new line of attack. 

“I’ll start passing judgement on your faerie porn,” Rowan said to her, making the person who had just handed over a book snort.

Aelin signed her page viciously. Yes, her books were full of faeries, yes they had a lot of sex. There was nothing to be ashamed of about writing, reading and enjoying such things. The condescension and superiority that people held around romantic fantasy screamed of misogyny. As a predominantly female author community it wasn't at all surprising that the genre was looked down on. And faerie porn wasn’t necessarily a bad term, not when it was used lightly and lovingly, and by the right people. Rowan Whitethorn, with his know it all scientist and boring spaceships, was not one of those people. 

“A length as long as a forearm,” Rowan added. “Have you actually measured your forearm?”

Aelin couldn’t help it, she did look at her forearm, even subtly shifting it over so she could compare it to her body. She had never specifically compared a dick to a forearm but maybe she was prone to a little exaggeration. It was romance, it was fantasy, an extra few inches was a given. 

“Oh, please,” Aelin was glad that the end of the line was sight. “A huge penis is far more believable than a poorly contrived experiment gone wrong.”

“It’s science fiction,” Rowan said. 

“It’s fantasy,” Aelin shot right back. 

For a moment they just looked at each other, the challenge rising. If he wanted to play the euphemism game she would play. She was an expert. She had at least five alternatives for clit in her back pocket. 

“Feeling a little inadequate?” Aelin all but mocked in a sympathising and sweet voice. “I hear it's not size that matters.” 

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not talking about this.” 

If that wasn’t just an invitation. 

Work prevented her from answering right away, interrupted by what she was here to do. This was going to pay for another fancy bookcase in her home office and maybe some books to fill it. 

“I would bet you wouldn’t even know where to find that bundle of nerves,” she taunted. “And if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do.”

In turn, Rowan was delayed by his own work, but she could see the tightness working in his jaw as he withheld his answer. She wondered what he was spending his money on. 

When he was done he lent an elbow on his table and once again Aelin found herself rooted in place by his stare. Not to use a cliche but it was the very definition of a heated stare. She was starting to contemplate whether or not Rowan really hated her, because when his eyes took a casual perusal over her she was most definitely having second thoughts. 

“Are you sure about that?” His voice was low and rough. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was unfair that he could so easily start unravelling her with just a few words.

A very bright Hi snapped Aelin out of her trance and she went back to her job. She was distracted through that signing, barely remembering who had offered up the book or what they looked like, because she couldn't shake the distinct feeling that Rowan had just been flirting with her.

Maybe she could get him to do it again. 

“That one spot is a thing of complicated wonder, not everyone has the skills,” Aelin said, she was a free woman now with her line ending. Rowan had a few more to go. “I would begin to wonder if the women in your books even have one.”

Rowan actually muttered a curse under his breath and gallantly recovered by the time one of his few remaining fans came up to the table. 

When he had a moment he replied. “At least I keep the growling to a minimum.”

“Don’t mock the growling, my readers love the growling,” Aelin defended. “It’s a crowd pleaser.”

The last few of Rowan’s fans handed their books over and he gave them his full attention. It wasn’t until they were gone that he faced her. “Is that how you write, Aelin? Cheap cliches and tropes please the populace?”

“Excuse me?” Aelin said, playfulness morphing into anger. How dare he insult her or her writing like that.

“Can’t handle when the tables are turned, Galathynius?” Rowan was entirely too smug for her to handle. 

Aelin wanted to storm off, but she still had a few more minutes to wait here in case there were any late comers. All she could do is glare, eyes narrowing at Rowan who was busy looking at something on his phone and dream of all the painful ways she could use that pen on him. Maybe she’d start with stabbing him in the hand, slow down his writing a bit. Noise drew her attention away and she saw a few more people walking over. Regardless, she took the opportunity to fire another non violent shot. 

“I don’t know why I expected anything else, Sci-fi is such a boys club. I wouldn't expect you to think for yourself and think outside the preconceived sexist ideas against female authors. Romance, no matter the sub genre, is valid and worthy just as much as any other form of writing.”

Rowan looked mildly shocked, then affronted. “I never—“

A throat clearing had Rowan stopping, he looked down awkwardly and then to the fan who handed him a book. He stumbled over his introduction but recovered quickly and slipped on that charming mask. That’s all it was, a mask. He was a bastard, a pious, narrow minded bastard. It was very unfortunate Aelin was obsessed with him.

Rowan had a pair of women fawning over him and suddenly Aelin was filled with longing for that to be her. Not gushing over his work, because she hadn’t read it wouldn’t know where to start. But to be able to appreciate him in public. Not bottling it all up to the point that she felt like she was going to explode. 

Despite the fan in front of him, Rowan said, “You really think I’m one of those assholes that degrades their female characters to pandering damsels with no depth or purpose other than wives or the murdered?”

With no real evidence, Aelin just shrugged but a fan came to his defence. “He actually gave a really great interview talking about the depiction of women in media.”

“On how to do it wrong,” Aelin muttered, but each word was clear.

Rowan’s pen snapped down on the table but that was the only sign of his irritation as he thanked and said goodbye to the fan that had gallantly come to his defence. What Aelin had done was highly unprofessional and she just hoped the fan wouldn’t take to social media about it. She didn’t like her chances. 

The last of the stragglers came through and Aelin signed her last book, sending the fan off with a genuine smile and an enthusiastic wave, just waiting for the official declaration for this to be over. 

“Okay, you guys are done,” the attendant that was directing them around said, giving Aelin’s table a definitive ending of signing knock. 

“Thanks for that,” Aelin said brightly, thanking the gods this was over and she’d have some space to breathe. She went to offer some lighthearted celebratory banter but Rowan was already gone. He must have dashed out as soon as the attendant came over, his chair was still spinning. 

Aelin followed, eager to be out of the public eye. She’d messed up, and she should apologise, even if it meant swallowing her pride and admitting she was wrong. That left a very sour taste in her mouth and she sighed. She could do this, sorry wasn’t a hard word to say. 

Walking down the deserted hallway towards the VIP rooms, Rowan was easy to spot. This part of the convention centre was closed off from the public, only guests and workers were allowed back here. He turned a corner, right to where their dressing rooms were. With the need for solitude Aelin almost passed Rowan’s door to her own but she needed to do the right thing.

She hesitated at his door. Maybe. Aelin stepped back and raised her fist. Yes. 

Her knuckles were about to hit the cheap laminate when the door opened. Rowan was looking at his phone so nearly bowled her over. It took her touching his chest for him to notice her blocking the way. His eyes started on her hand and tracked up her arm to her face within a matter of seconds. He was most definitely disappointed to see her. 

“Hellas take me, what?” He snapped, taking a step back into his room. 

“Hello to you, too,” Aelin said sardonically, matching his mood. “I didn’t realise my mere presence was so offensive. Can’t say it’s unexpected.”

Rowan cursed under his breath before looking right at her. “How else do you expect me to react after you’ve spent gods know how long assuming the worst about me and my work? You’re judging me on my books which you haven’t even read.” He paused like he was considering his words. “I’ve read yours, all of them. And I will happily admit to everyone that they’re good, but you can’t afford me the same courtesy. I don’t understand why you have this gods-damned vendetta against me.’

For a long moment Aelin just stood there stunned, just processing the words he’d said. Then in her shocked state, it was her stubbornness that won out. “Nice of you to let me know you degraded yourself to the level of reading faerie porn, I hope it wasn’t above your reading level.”

She shouldn’t have said it, because Rowan got mad, unexpectedly mad. This wasn’t the playful banter induced irritation that Aelin liked to rile out of him. This was real anger, so fierce and sudden it left Aelin feeling flustered and way out of her depth. 

Rowan let out a short bitter laugh. “You know what, Aelin? I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of this.”

“Just admit—” Aelin had to clear her throat. “Just admit your institutionalised misogyny and distaste for my books. That should excuse you like every other man who can’t admit they’re wrong, you absolute asshat.”

“I don’t understand what I did to deserve your contempt, I’ve never claimed to laud my writing prowess over you.” He was fuming now. “If you want to talk about people admitting you were wrong, you might want to start with yourself.”

Aelin scoffed. “I think you’re threatened, and like any threatened animal you’re lashing out. Just like your writing, your words now won’t be enough.”

Rowan actually took a step back and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “You know what, I’ve had enough of your princess act. You’re a fantastic author but thanks to nepotism you’ve had to work nowhere near as hard as I have. Daddy’s money supported you, you can’t deny it. I wasn’t allowed that kind of time or freedom to hone my craft.”

Anger stoked, Aelin wouldn’t, couldn’t back down. “How dare you. How dare you insinuate once again my writing is so inferior to yours just because I don’t fit the idea of the tortured author. Although it's a relief to finally and openly admit your halfassery in your own work.”

“I never—” Rowan snapped. “You know what, fuck you!” 

The swearing took Aelin by surprise, flustered her and apparently scrambled her brain because she had no control or coherency over the words that flew from her mouth of their own accord. “No, you fuck me!” 

If Aelin had possessed lesser restraint she would have clamped a hand over her mouth to try and cram those damning words back in. Instead she just stood there dumbstruck, Rowan did too. Then his whole demeanour changed. The shock morphed into confident determination, like he was piecing together a riddle and had come to a sudden realisation. His green eyes locked onto her’s, taking the steps he needed so that he was leaning a hand on the doorway, close enough that Aelin had to look up at him. 

For a moment the only sound Aelin heard was the beating of her heart on her own ears. Then Rowan lent in just that fraction closer. 

“Do you want me to?” He asked, whisper soft but rough in a way that made Aelin’s gut twist. 

“I—“ her throat was so dry that her voice scratched it and caught there.

A smirk tilted Rowan’s lips, and he became handsome in a dangerous way. “Is this the truth of it, Aelin? You want to fuck me so bad that tease and taunt just to ease your frustrations? How’s that going for you?”

Aelin swallowed, hoping her voice would return with some amount of confidence so that she could admit to the contrary convincingly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Whitethorn.” 

Rowan stood a little taller. “That’s not a no.”

Oh gods.

Thoughts floundering, Aelin was looking for something to rescue her from the situation she had marched herself into. Now Rowan had called her out, and somehow he was able to see through the lies she tossed his way. 

“Have we argued enough that you’ll go back to your dressing room and smile at yourself in the mirror as you come up with clever little insults for our next round?” Rowan asked, reaching out and sweeping her hair over the knot of her dress that sat on her shoulder. “Or should we keep going and see what happens next?”

The gesture had almost been sweet, innocent, but then his thumb dragged down the side of her neck. 

“You’re teasing.” Aelin hated how breathless her voice sounded. 

His featherlight touch ceased, his hand withdrawing to a safer distance. “Am I?”

Mala burn her, what was happening right now? All of Aelin’s wit had deserted her; she stood there, no retort or scathing remark to put Rowan back in his place. The only thought that was rattling around in her empty head was that maybe Rowan wanted this too. It made her senses come alive, all too keenly focused on the man in front of her. Aelin could scent the fresh edge of his cologne, her eyes roved over him without shame or reserve. The brief touch he had given her wasn’t enough, and without her permission she found herself arching ever so slightly towards him in the wish for more. She wanted to feel his hands on her body— wanted to taste him.

“Well, Aelin. What’s it going to be?” Rowan no longer lent on the doorway, standing straight he just looked at her expectantly. 

The next move was her’s to decide. 

He’d outplayed her, Aelin hated it.

“You’re a bastard,” she half mumbled, all her usual arrogance nowhere to be found, she tried to save some face by putting a hand on her hip. An abrasive and hostile stance.

Rowan wasn’t discouraged. “We’ll see if I can change your mind about that.”

Aelin felt her face scrunch in confusion. “What is that suppose—oop!”

Rowan yanked Aelin into his dressing room by the brave arm on her hip, far enough that he could close the door and then press her into it. When she had time to catch her breath, Aelin found her hands bunched in the front of his pristine button up shirt. Their chests heaved in unison, neither of them making the move to take it further. 

“Rowan,” was the only word Aelin could manage, the only thing in her head. 

In response to his name he bowed closer, their mouths almost touching. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Rowan asked. “I need you to say it before I give you what you want.”

Aelin couldn’t say it, it was like the final barrier in admitting she was wrong. So instead she went to close the distance herself, but to her gut sinking disappointment Rowan drew back. 

“I’ve read your books, Aelin. I know you know how to use words,” Rowan made sure his know-it-all tone came through.

She was stuck, trapped and wanting so badly. And from the satisfied smile on his face, Rowan knew it. 

“Yes,” she predicted the insistence that would come from Rowan’s mouth and clarified. “Yes, kiss me.”

Surprisingly he sighed in relief. “Thank the gods.” 

Aelin gasped as Rowan closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to her mouth, then moaning as he didn’t hold back. That small sound was enough to snap just a little bit more of Rowan’s restraint and he crowded her fully against the door, pressing their bodies together. It felt close to heaven having his hard body on her’s like this with how perfectly they aligned. When Rowan’s hands dragged from her back down to her waist Aelin arched into him, bringing them that much closer. He held her against him with strong and insistent hands. 

“Is this all you wanted, princess?” Rowan asked, blessing her lips with another heady kiss. “Or did you really mean what you said?”

Aelin had two choices. She could hold to her stubbornness and pride, twist the door handle somewhere behind her and flee. Or… she could stay and have Rowan do exactly what she had told him to do. 

“Rowan I—“ she got distracted when Rowan kissed down her neck. “I want you to.”

“Want me to what, exactly?”

This was Rowan’s revenge. For every insult and teasing word that Aelin had thrown at him for years, he was dragging this out. Pulling drawn out confirmations and pleas just to see her squirm. He was going to make her say the words just for spite. It just made Aelin want it—him—more.

“Fuck me, Rowan,” Aelin said, a hand im Rowan’s hair to bring his lips closer. “I want it.”

He growled, something right out of her books, a sound low in his throat that had the blood in Aelin’s veins heating. Rowan abandoned his words, and let his actions speak now. He hooked a hand under her knee, spreading her legs wide enough that he could press between them. Once again, all Aelin could do was gasp as she felt the length of him press into her core, grinding against her. She still had a hand fisted in Rowan’s shirt and she gripped and twisted it tighter, moaning as her hips began rolling in time with his. 

Rowan was kissing her like he could swallow the sounds. It felt divine, and tortuous and not enough. She might have voiced it aloud because the next moment Rowan had a hold of her other thigh and was carrying her across the room. Aelin just looked at him, a little stunned by the brazen act as she was settled on a flat, hard surface. 

“You alright there?” Rowan asked with a kiss to her cheek and then the corner of her mouth. 

“Uh-huh,” Aelin nodded. “Just… unexpected.” 

“We’ll add it to the list for today,” was all Rowan said before he was kissing her again. 

With Aelin now seated on a steady surface, the bench below the mounted mirror, it gave Rowan’s hands newer freedoms. They started on her ass and then roamed back to her waist. Aelin could thank her dress for that attention. It had a flat panel that cinched in her waist above the skirt. The waist piece was cut to scoop under her breasts, almost like a corset, the top of the dress tying in knots at her shoulders. What that did was create a perfect path for Rowan’s hands to follow. 

Aelin looked into Rowan’s green eyes as she felt his hands move higher, stopping at the seams at the underside of her breasts. His eyes darkened as he took care in running his thumb along the line of the layered fabric, but it was enough sensation to fill her with a new wave of need. Her fingers went to the buttons of Rowan’s shirt, swiftly undoing it to, exploring the fevered skin beneath. 

With her bare hands on his skin Rowan leaned closer, drawn to her, and he tipped her face with his chin so that he could kiss her. His tongue ran along her bottom lip, asking for permission. Aelin gave it willingly, her tongue doing the same. She wanted more, she wanted everything. 

Just as eager, Rowan’s hands skimmed over Aelin’s breasts, heavy and nearly aching beneath the fabric. She wanted to protest at the lack of attention he paid them, she might have if Rowan’s tongue not flicked at the roof of her mouth at just that moment. But then his fingers stopped at the knots at her shoulders. 

“These have been distracting me all day,” Rowan said in between one kiss and the next. “Can I?”

The way Rowan asked for permission despite the frenzy of lust they found themselves was touching, but Aelin wasn’t going to bother to start a conversation about it and nodded. She could feel one of the knot’s loosening under Rowan’s fingers. It would have been easier to just slip it over her shoulder but what he’d said made her let him be. And if he kept kissing her like this along with that distraction, who was she to complain?

The pull of fabric on her skin disappeared entirely and Aelin knew he’d accomplished his task. Rowan let the fabric fall and when his hand met utterly bare skin he groaned, hand splaying on her collarbone. 

“I knew it,” he hissed onto the skin of her neck, his hand travelling lower in time with his kisses. 

“Huh?” Aelin managed, focus zoning on what his hand was doing. 

Rowan’s body shuddered as he cupped her bare breast, delicately catching the peak of it between his forefinger and thumb. “That it was just your dress holding these up.” His idle hand went to her ass and he squeezed. “Are you wearing anything under this thing?”

Aelin kissed just under Rowan’s ear so he could hear her whisper. “Why don’t you find out.”

In truth, Aelin did have underwear on but right now she was regretting not wearing something a little nicer. All it was was a beigey coloured thong, made for all day comfort. Not for an unexpected hookup with her authorial enemy. Rowan didn’t seem to mind though, his hand had travelled down her body and under the hem of her skirt. His fingers were tracing patterns over her thigh, inches away from finding out for himself what was hidden under her dress. All the while he pinched and rolled her nipple between his fingers, keeping her on edge. Finally his finger traced over the soft cotton of her underwear, starting on her hip and following it along the crease of her thigh. Her hips jolted forward when a finger skimmed over her clit, then lower.

Rowan groaned, resting their foreheads together as a knuckle dragging back and forth over her folds. “You’re soaked.”

The touching started to become the best kind of agonising, and Aelin was losing her patience. “Get on with it.”

“Aelin, that’s not you get what you want,” Rowan taunted, but his words didn’t match his actions. 

Not in the slightest as he pulled her underwear to the side and pushed a thumb on her clit. 

“Gods,” Aelin breathed, clinging to the man in front of her like a lifeline. “More.”

Rowan rubbed a slow circle around her clit and kissed her. What he was doing was driving her insane. Every touch was bliss, because Rowan gods-damned Whitethorn knew exactly what he was doing. He kept her right on the edge, playing with her to the point of just ready to break. Aelin reached for his belt, her hands weren’t gentle as he tugged the buckle loose and moved onto the fly of his pants. She could feel his hard cock straining against the dark denim. That broke the last of Aelin’s resolve—she was tired of playing. 

They both seemed to snap into a frenzy, Aelin yanking his shirt off his shoulder as Rowan attacked the other knot that held up the deep V of her neckline. Her chest was fully exposed now and the skirt of her dress was bunched at her waist. As Aelin looped her fingers into the belt loops of Rowan’s pants he pulled something from his pocket and slammed it on the bench beside her. They both worked to push his jeans down, Aelin making sure that his briefs went with them. 

He was glorious, her fantasies about him didn’t do him justice. There was a male kind of pride on his face when Aelin looked up at him with what might have been awe. She was going to wipe that look off his smug face. 

“Should I measure it,” she said, moving her arm towards his dick, forearm extended. But just when his appendage and her’s were about to line up she ran her fingers down the length of him, right down to cup his balls. 

Rowan bowed forward, keeping a grip on her hip and the other slammed down on the bench. Eyes down, he watched as Aelin worked him, his breath catching with every twist and pull. The sight of this man under her thrall was intoxicating—the tension in every muscle, pleasure rippling across his features. The fact she had been able to elicit this kind of reaction from him made Aelin moan as her core pulsed with need. 

“Stop, stop,” Rowan panted, putting a hand on her wrist. “Just… wait.”

“Oh?” Aelin said and released him. 

Rowan’s answer wasn’t verbal, instead his fingers traced a swirl on the inside of her knee. He didn’t linger there, only went higher and higher until he had hold of the waistband of her underwear and pulled them off. Aelin lifted her hips to help rid herself of them, scooting to the edge of the counter. Closer to Rowan. 

She went to reach for him again, but Rowan grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to the top of her palm before guiding it to rest behind her. Aelin had thought this was it. That Rowan would surge forward and fill her until she was screaming. She tried not to look too disappointed as a chaste kiss was pressed to her lips then her cheek. When those patient kisses reached her neck they changed, they were heavier, more insistent, full of heat as his teeth scraped across her skin. Aelin was so focused on the feeling of his lips, she didn’t know what his hands were up to until a finger softly teased her clit. 

Want rushed through her, pooling where Rowan’s hand began to tease with purpose. Aelin moaned, one arm kept her upright, the hand of the other dove into Rowan’s hair. That hold, with her elbow over his shoulder blade, became her anchor and the rhythm of Rowan stoking picked up. She was shuddering and gasping, lost in the feel of Rowan’s touch. When he slipped a finger into her, Aelin almost came undone. 

“That’s it,” Rowan whispered against her ear, nipping at it. “Don’t hold out on me now.”

“Oh gods,” Aelin gasped as the finger inside her crooked just right. “Rowan.”

“I’m right here.” He pressed and circled down on the apex of her thighs. “And I want you to come.”

It was a command that Aelin was powerless to ignore. Her core tightened and then the tension broke, she rolled her hips through the waves of pleasure taking over her body. All throughout Rowan whispered praises, kissed the flushed skin of her neck, rocked his fingers in a perfect motion to draw out her orgasm. Aelin felt boneless once she had caught her breath and she knew she must look a little dazed as she stared up into green eyes that were full of indecent intent and entirely self-satisfied.

“Does that answer your snide remarks about me not knowing how to please that bundle of nerves?” Rowan teased. 

“I’m going to have to admit I was wrong,” Aelin said. “It won’t happen again.”

That made him laugh, a short, pleasant sound that skittered across her skin. That sensation only intensified when Rowan angled her chin up to look at him. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he declared and Aelin couldn’t help her eyes dropping to his cock that still jutted out of his jean. Hard and ready for her. The denim was quickly shed from the rest of his body. 

“I thought we’d never get there,” Aelin quipped and she inwardly kicked herself. Rowan had just rocked her world and was potentially going to do it again, and she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut. 

Rowan didn’t seem to mind though, he just kissed her and picked something up from the bench beside her. When there was a crinkle of foil Aelin opened her eyes to see a condom caught in between Rowan’s fingers and his wallet unfolded by her thigh. Surprised at the preparedness, and honestly just the consideration of it, Aelin’s stupid mouth ran her into trouble again.

“Hoping to seduce one of your fans back here?” She said and instantly regretted it. 

“You’re such a smartass,” Rowan said, mirth dancing in his words. “You’ll be thanking me for always being prepared soon enough.”

“Awful sure of your—“

Rowan cut her off with a fierce kiss, his hands pulling Aelin’s hips closer and nudging the head of his cock at her entrance. Anticipation hung in the air as Rowan waited, whatever for Aelin didn’t know. His eyes took in her face before he lent in, lips hot on her neck. Aelin shuddered, ready to beg if he didn’t do something, and soon. Rowan saved her that profound embarrassment. 

He kissed over her pulse point, tongue flicking. It was then he pushed in, pulling Aelin closer, and filling her with a single delicious stroke. Aelin threw her head back, moaning loudly in relief. Rowan felt utterly perfect inside her, even more so when he started to move. The thick length of him drove in and out, feeling good but from this angle it wasn’t enough. Aelin started grinding forward to meet him, their gasps and moans filling the room. 

“Aelin,” Rowan groaned as she kissed her way up his neck. “I need more.”

Aelin met his lips. “Then take it.” 

The only warning she received were Rowan’s hands tightening on her thighs, and then they were moving across the room. Aelin held on, a slightly delirious laugh escaping her as he carried her so effortlessly. Then she was lowered onto the couch, her bare back meeting the soft cushions. Aelin’s dress was still bunched around her waist but she couldn’t care less. Not when Rowan was looking at her like she was the centre of his world. And she supposed that in this moment he might be. He was braced over her, surveying her with unfiltered desire. 

“You’re beautiful,” his voice was nearly reverent.

“I know,” Aelin said, her irreverence equaled the esteem of his sentiments. 

He laughed, something that seemed out of place considering the situation they were in. “The correct response is ‘thank you’. We’ll have to work on those manners of yours.”

Aelin keened as Rowan thrust into her, a lazy and thorough pace. He took the care to slip a thumb between them, exposing her clit, allowing friction to hit it with every thrust of his hips. Under Rowan’s ministrations it didn’t take long for the hot coil low in Aelin’s stomach to tighten again, craving the release she knew Rowan was going to give her. He bowed, putting his mouth on her breast, pressing an opened mouth kisses in time with the bouncing from the sharp thrusts. When he sucked a nipple into his mouth Aelin cried out, her core fluttering. This was euphoric, Aelin would crave this every day for the rest of her life. 

“You’re close.”

It wasn’t a question but still Aelin answered. “Gods, yes.”

Rowan kissed her mouth again, licking in and teasing her tongue with his. Then he angled her hips upward, grinding on her clit more earnestly. He was on his way to outdoing every other man she had been with. He would ruin her and she’d thank him for it.

“Prove me right,” Rowan breathed onto mouth. “Tell me this is why you teased me.”

“It is,” Aelin said, a moan catching her words. “Gods, please don’t stop now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rowan promised. 

Rowan gave her a hard thrust, followed by a steady drag of his hip and Aelin broke. Moaning his name like a prayer she allowed the pleasure to consume her wholly. She had little sense beside the feeling of Rowan driving into her over and over, heightening the peak of her orgasm. He didn’t last long after that, cursing as he came inside with hurried but thorough jerks of his hips. 

Aelin ran her hands over Rowan’s sweaty skin as they caught their breaths. He graced her skin with lazy kisses like he wasn’t quite done with her yet. Eventually he did pull away and out, walking across the room to dispose of the condom. Aelin fixed her dress and retied the knots on her shoulder. Without a mirror they must look a mess, but Aelin didn’t care. All her focus was going to the man who was dressing in front of her. 

“So, should we talk about it?” Rowan asked, picking his shirt off the floor. 

“I… what is there to talk about?” Aelin hedged. 

Rowan gave her a smile like he could read every one of her insecurities. “Maybe about how I’d very much like to do it again.”

“You would?”

Rowan left his shirt on the back of the chair and prowled over to her. She thought he might kiss her or pin her back on the couch, but Aelin was pleasantly surprised as he instead sat next to her and pulled her into his lap. 

“Why don’t we just admit that I like you and you like me, and we’ll go from there?” Rowan said, sweetly brushing hair out of her face. 

Aelin nodded enthusiastically, smiling as their lips touched. “Yeah, lets do that.”

They made out like teenagers, and it was just starting to get interesting when there was a knock on the door. They froze where they were, Rowan’s hand in her breast and Aelin’s mouth on his neck.

“Yes?” Rowan’s voice was strained.

“You have a panel starting in five minutes, Mr Whitethorn,” someone said through the door. 

“Thank you,” Rowan called back. “I’ll be right there.”

They both started laughing and Aelin stood. “They’ll be knocking on my door next and I won’t be there.” 

“Well, we have places to be,” he reminded, probably to them both. 

Aelin went over to the mirror and tidied herself up. She was flushed and she could only hope it would fade in the next five minutes, otherwise she’d be blaming the lack of airflow in the convention centre. Rowan came to stand behind her, sweeping a hand through his hair to make it neater and less like Aelin had been tugging her fingers through it. She turned, fixing his collar and kissing him once. 

There was a lot unsaid between them, but right now they had a job to do. Aelin wanted nothing more than to stay shut in here and have their own kind of fun.

“Come on,” Aelin said. “Once this is done, I’ll show some more things you’re right about.”

~~~~~

Fenrys checked his watch. The panel had started five minutes late apparently thanks to his two star authors. It was highly unusual for Rowan to be late, he tended to be early if anything. Aelin tended to be 50/50 on the matter. She was likely to appear just at the right moment after she’d worked everyone into a tizzy. It was quite a feat to be the manager of two authors who were such polar opposites. 

The host introduced them, and they both walked out on stage. Aelin gave the crowd a wave as they cheered, while Rowan just nodded politely. Unsurprising reactions from the two of them. What did surprise him was Rowan pulling out Aelin’s chair and tucking her in before he took his own seat. And there was the smile Aelin aimed at him. That was weird. Really weird. 

“What was that?”

Fenrys turned to see Lysandra who had appeared next to him. As Aelin’s publicist it wasn’t uncommon for her to be at these things, especially with how much of a firecracker her charge tended to be. 

“They were nice to each other,” Fenrys said lowly as the questions started. 

“Weird,” Lysandra concurred.

“Yeah.”

For a while they just watched the panel unfold and the host led the conversation. Aelin and Rowan did their job well, and for that Fenrys was grateful. It sure as hell made his job easier. 

“Aelin wasn’t in her dressing room, I wasn’t even sure she was going to turn up,” Lysandra muttered.

“Weird,” Fenrys said this time.

Lysandra hummed her agreement. 

The sound of Aelin’s bright laughter drew Fenrys attention and his mouth popped open when he realised she had been laughing at something Rowan had said. This was just progressively getting more confusing. 

“What… he’s not funny,” Fenrys whispered. “I would know, and Aelin knows. What the hell is happening?”

“What changed?” Lysandra added. “This morning she was ready to rip his throat out.”

Fenrys turned his attention back to the stage, just watching for further signs that his two authors who were self professed enemies were… friendlier. Giggling made him look away to a couple of fangirls just in front of them. 

“Look at them, they’re totally fucking,” one of them said.

The other tried to keep a lid on her laughter. “I swear he’s got a hickey.”

Fenrys’ eyes went wide and he turned to find Lysandra looking at him with a mirrored expression. 

“Nooooo,” Lysandra hissed. “When?”

“I…” Fenrys was too shocked and his brain scrambled for an answer. Then it hit him, loud and clear. “Right now!”

His voice was slightly too loud and drew some curious looks, he gave them an apologetic smile. 

“What?” The publicist demanded. 

“I saw them arguing,” Fenrys explained, recalling what he’d seen a little earlier. He’d been heading to Rowan’s dressing room to have a chat about his next publication date when he saw Aelin at his door, getting into another one of their spats. “I heard them arguing and I left them to it. I really left them to it. Because I came back later and heard some noises and thought maybe he was blowing off steam with one of the fangirls but, hey. Guess not.”

“Wow, good for them,” Lysandra said through quiet laughter.

A few moments of silence went by as Fenrys digested this turn of events and the complications it might pose for him. All and all it would be good, certainly a lot less tension in the room. 

“Did you know that Aelin hasn’t read his books?” Fenrys said, watching as Rowan sent Aelin a secretive smile that wasn’t all that secret in a room of one hundred people. 

Lysandra nodded with a wry smile. “Yeah, I keep telling her to. Maybe now she will.”

~~~~~

After the panel Aelin snuck away from Rowan and went to the booth that their publisher had set up. All his books were there and she bought every single one of them. With the animosity between the two of them well and truly burnt away to nothing this was the first task on Aelin’s list. She had avoided Rowan’s work out of stubbornness and spite, but now she was curious to see what he’s written. 

With a pile of books in her arms, Aelin returned to Rowan’s dressing room. He was seated on the couch looking at his phone and he looked up at the noise of the door snapping shut.

“What have you got there?” He asked, setting his phone aside. 

“I thought you could give me a private signing,” Aelin said. “The front page of each, please.”

“Is that so?” 

Aelin nodded, bottom lip tucked under her teeth. There was a small table beside the couch and she put the books there, pulling her gold pen out of her pocket. With it between two fingers she waved it in front of him, standing so she was between Rowan’s knees. 

“No matter what, keep signing,” Aelin told him, pressing the pen into his hand and then kissing him deeply. “No matter what.”

Rowan was breathing hard and Aelin’s hands raked down his chest and stopped at the waist of his jeans. 

“Grab a book, get started.” She popped the top button of his jeans only after he’d picked up the first book. “Now we can get started.” 

Rowan did well, despite the distraction. Every book was signed, but by the last one his signature was nearly illegible. Her mouth had been entertaining him while he signed and now while Aelin sat beside him so innocently inspecting his work it was very hard to ignore the very proud distraction for her. 

She tutted, determinedly glancing towards Rowan’s eyes. “Now you’ll have to start all over again.” 

Rowan was having none of that. The gold pen was tossed across the room and strong hands hauled her into his lap. Aelin laughed but that was quickly silenced by a growl and demand in her ear. “Later.”

When those hands began to wander, Aelin readily agreed. “Later.”

Maybe later she’d even tell him her wish had come true. 

~~~~~

Well... I think this might be my first official smutty oneshot. I hope it wasn’t half bad.

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[littlemissbumblebee]

The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction

Name: Phoebe “Bee” Silver (she/her)

Personality: Snarky - Cautious - Friendly - Pessimistic - Merciful - Shy

Traits: Heart – Cooperative - Resistant - Skeptic

Past Affinity: Music: Guitar

Primary Ability: Empathetic Impressions

Job (if asked): Barista

Past Susceptibility: Forward.

Social Dynamics (as of Book 1):

Becca Warrick:

The moment Phoebe told Becca about the letter, she immediately began to organise work leave so she could accompany her to Fernweh and show support. She would make sure her closest friend was cared for, no matter what.

Phoebe hates having to be back in Fernweh, and more or less clings to Becca at every single given opportunity. She is her lifeline, her reminder that outside of this Gods forsaken town, there is a life she built herself  that she will return to, and everything will be OK.

Phoebe and Becca have been close friends since the year Phoebe was sent away from Fernweh by her grandfather. Becca found Phoebe crying alone on Father's Day, and took it upon herself to befriend her, starting up a conversation about bees – the subject of her photography at the time. In the following years, the two would joke about that meeting, and began calling one another “Bee”.

While Phoebe has dated other women in the years since they first met, Becca has always been the constant person in her life through every high and low. Through her time at Fernweh, Phoebe slowly realised why her past relationships never worked out: She was in love with Becca, constantly comparing whoever she was with with her. She always had been, she just had never realised.

Phoebe feels absolutely, horrifically wretched for Becca being trapped in Fernweh with her, and entirely responsible for it. Every morning she wakes up to see Becca’s spot at the table empty, knowing its because she’s out walking the boundary, trying to find a way out, twists the knife. She’s worried her best friend, the woman she loves, might regret her. Regret ever coming. Maybe even hate her. She wouldn’t blame her, Phoebe’s own mind echoes those sentiments.

Sofia Dorran:

Phoebe never really knew much about Sofia, save for the facts that she was lovely, her mother was really nice, she read a lot, and she was her neighbour when she was little. While Mrs Dorran always doted on the young Phoebe, her daughter tended to prefer to read quietly, and Phoebe was entirely too shy to initiate any kind of proper interaction.

Since returning to Fernweh, and spending her time living in the B&B, Phoebe and Sofia have been getting along a bit better, with Phoebe having grown to be a little more assertive, and Sofia appreciating the genuine care Phoebe shows those around her – especially her mother.

This new closeness is nice – Phoebe may be a friendly gal, but she’s not very good at actually making new friends. Sofia is a lovely person, and even respects Phoebe’s wishes when she is asked not to refer to her as Bee (its just a her and Becca thing), something that skyrocketed Phoebe’s opinion of her.

Reese Verner:

This is a... complicated one. Reese has always been particularly hard for Phoebe to read. She could never be truly sure if he was her friend, her rival, or something in between. She certainly never liked his mother. Because of this, Phoebe treats most interactions with Reese tentatively, like someone approaching a scary looking dog.

More than once, her mother had suggested that maybe the reason Reese was so competitive and vaguely annoying with her, refusing to call her by her first name, was because he had a crush on her. Phoebe hates that idea, and not just because she’s a lesbian. She can’t stand the idea of being a part of that family, or having such a frustrating partner.

That said, Phoebe is a forgiving and friendly person, and it has been a long time since she was last in Fernweh. And, even if she was never sure if he was ever truly her friend, she does have good memories of the Verner heir, and is making a (very cautious) effort to try to befriend him. It’s not gone horribly, but it definitely needs some work.

James Corvin:

If Becca is Phoebe's anchor now, James certainly was when she lived here. He was her best friend, and Phoebe used to find herself at the Corvin farm, laughing and playing pretend with him and his sister Alina more or less every afternoon. She still wears the necklace he got her when they were little – a little sword that slots in behind the matching shield James wears on his necklace.

There’s a lot of reasons for Phoebe to hate Fernweh, to want to forget it ever existed. James Corvin is not one of them. Learning he had written her letters and they had never been delivered to her had been devastating, especially because she had assumed he hated her for leaving given the supposed lack of contact. If there’s a good thing about returning to Fernweh, its being able to see the Corvins again. She loves them both like family, and has gone out of her way to properly reconnect since she returned.

The Waitress:

Mal. Oh boy. Whatever magic is in that woman’s eyes that can cause Phoebe to freeze like someone pressed pause on her should be studied and weaponised because it’s potent.

She’s stunning, of course, but that’s actually not what’s gotten Phoebe so spellbound. It’s the mystery of her, the deep darkness of her eyes, the true care she shows for almost everyone she interacts with. How does she know her favourite food? How is she showing up in her dreams? How can someone so stunning and spellbinding have never stood out before now? Why does it feel like she can look right through every wall and mask she has and see the raw vulnerability inside?

In any other circumstance, any other, she wouldn’t feel so horrid for being so spellbound and smitten by the Waitress, but now she’s realised how in love with Becca she is, Phoebe is having a bit of a crisis. Becca isn’t poly like her, at least, she doesn’t think she is, and she would rather cut off her own leg than hurt her Honey Bee. But nonetheless, whenever Mal is in the room and fixes her with that look, it’s all Phoebe can do to not melt into a tiny gay puddle.

A bit about Phoebe:

Being “kicked out” (as she thinks of it) of Fernweh and more or less thrust into the foster system almost immediately after she lost her parents in a fire when she was still basically a kid really did a number on Phoebe. She has major abandonment issues, and is very slow to trust, despite being outwardly very friendly.

To her mind, she lost her parents, and all of a sudden absolutely nobody she cared about wanted her around anymore. Her Papa (grandfather) slowly cut himself off, and she never once got a single letter from a friend, or literally anyone from Fermweh until her Papa passed away. She might be friendly and forgiving, but that’s because she wishes the world had been more friendly and forgiving to her. She truly thinks her grandfather stopped loving her, and blames herself for it. She believes nobody could truly love her just for being her - the fact that Becca has seen her at more or less her worst and still stays around is baffling to her.

Because of all this, Becca being there for her for all these years, through breakups and breakdowns, and even coming with her to Fernweh has solidified her as a core pillar in Phoebe’s life. She’s shown time and time again that she will be there no matter what, which is something Phoebe feels she has never truly had before.

This doesn’t mean she doesn’t expect the worst the moment something she’s done causes Becca pain. The separation being trapped in Fernweh has caused feels like slowly drowning, and Phoebe is beyond worried that she’s ruined the most important relationship in her life.

She’s been through some doozies as far as relationships go, often falling for people that take advantage of her abandonment issues and clingy nature. As a result of the generally crappy experience her life has been, she tends to be sarcastic and make jokes out of everything – particularly at the worst time you could possibly make a joke.

She still plays her guitar, most often selecting songs based off of people she cares about. Given how distressingly short that list of people is, a very large number of these songs are romantic, cute or indie in nature. Her first instinct when she wants to show someone what they mean to her is to sing for them, and give them a personal trinket – though she is always surprised when people give her little trinkets, or do little performances for her. She does not value herself very highly at all.

Also, fun fact, Phoebe is trans! Something she figured out about a year before the fire. Since she didn’t have very long in Fernweh after coming out, Becca has been her primary support through the process (yet another reason why Phoebe thinks the entire world of her)

Last Thoughts/Ramble:

Golly I adore Fernweh. If you haven’t read it yet, I cannot stress enough how much you should. The first book is both on the Choice of Games website, and the Hosted Games app, and it’s written by the wonderfully talented and amazing Aelsa Trevelyan (who I definitely don’t have a massive crush on). Once you’re done reading and re-reading and re-reading it and are sufficiently obsessed, do yourself a favour and join her patreon. I guarantee you will not regret it.

Now, with that little plug out of the way, I wanted to gush a bit about this beautiful world and its amazing characters. The sheer page-turning grip the Fernweh Saga has on me is palpable. I adore horror, and the eerie, subtle, almost psychological horror themes, paired with cryptids and supernatural abilities, and some truly spectacularly written romance, make this series absolutely incredible to me.

I’ve played/read a lot of interactive novels, but none of them have ever wormed their way so deeply into my mind as TFS. The town of Fernweh is so beautifully rich with lore and intrigue that I just need to know. The imagery Aelsa portrays with her words is equally wonderful.

 But where this story really shines is the characters. All of them, not just the romance options. Every single one is so vibrant and rich, you truly do feel like they’re real people. I don’t blame Phoebe for falling in love with Becca, I think I might have as well. Every interaction feels appropriately weighted and realistic.

I adore this budding series with my entire heart (which the discord channel may be sick of, given how much I post fan art and fanfic 😅). The freedom to mould your character however you like, while also having a pre written origin story is so interesting, and makes me want to know more about the character I more or less created myself.

So yeah. Do yourself a favour. Read the Fernweh Saga. You will not regret it.

[chiefwritesbook]

WIP Intro: SOTAL

Hi hello this is my main WIP and book 1 is out and I'm !!!!!!

(have a moodboard first of all)

Series title: Stories of the Ancient Lands (SOTAL) Genre: Epic fantasy/romance Themes: Justice (and prejudice), power & leadership, morality, self-identity, friendship & love

Blurb for book 1: War rages across the elven kingdom of Kies Tor. In the capital, the exiled crown prince has returned, seeking to usurp the throne. Midst the bloodshed and chaos, Talin Zylvaris II must take her place as queen and lead the kingdom to safety. It’s a heavy weight for the youngest Torrian ruler in a thousand years.

There is, however, a glimmer of hope in an unlikely alliance to the west. Against her council’s advice, Talin rides out with her mysterious royal bodyguard to seize it, oblivious to the dangers stirring at home. Caught between a court conspiracy and advancing Hellhounds to the north, Talin has only one chance to save her people. If it is not already too late.

About the main squad: Talin: Queen of an entire kingdom, inherited a war, trying her hardest not to screw up and also keep her people alive while everyone at court plots things behind her back. Probably needs to be fished out from the increasingly large pile of other people's bullshit.

Red Wolf: Lord Commander of the Royal Guard. Not a Werewolf™️ and definitely not a simp for the queen, not at all. Prone to getting stabbed or slashed by various sharp and pointy things - it's an occupational hazard.

Ettrias: Talin's twin brother, crown prince of Kies Tor, also very much exiled for murder. May or may not be plotting to assassinate the queen. People tend to forget he's highly competent with a sword and attempt to kill him for some reason.

Captain Golmin: Army vet who became head of the royal guard because it pays to be best friends with the Lord Commander. Really just tired of everyone's shit. Always ends up caught in the middle of a court conspiracy or another, possibly because he's dating the crown prince.

Ashera: A 12yo child who wound up as the Lord Commander's squire because the guy felt guilty about failing to save her hometown and subsequently promised her mother that he'd look after her. Looks like a cinnamon roll, can and will commit crimes.

Book 1 excerpt to finish off: Talin tried a different tactic. “Why did you allow the assassin to scale the walls?”

“We needed a man for questioning.” Red Wolf took the torch from her at the bottom of the steps and led the way onwards, past endless rows of black-barred cells. She could see some were occupied, though none dared come close to them in Red Wolf’s towering presence. A straggly youth with rags for clothes spat on the ground when they passed. Her bodyguard slammed the bars with a gauntleted hand, and he jumped back, eyes wide.

“You and Captain Golmin set this up?” Talin asked.

“The plan was my idea. Captain Golmin only helped because he had an obligation to his lord commander,” Red Wolf explained. “We organised a new night shift that left blind spots on the walls and allowed the assassin to observe the pattern. We also leaked false information that I would not be guarding you at night. I had been asking you if you required me to guard your chambers only because I did not want to go against your word, but you refused each time. We were running out of opportunities.”

“You mean to say that I was bait,” Talin said.

“Not the word I would use, but in a way, yes,” Red Wolf confessed.

“Why?”

“You have been on the throne for less than a year. If someone wants you dead this quickly, something is amiss. I’d like to find out what.”

[sonic-love-island-official]

Tails' SLI Journey

Alright !! Lengthy Post Time. I was spurred to make this post by the person who mentioned on my character arc post that Tails was absent from it. And since I'm absolutely awful at clarifying anything unless prompted*, I thought I might do so here and explain the deal with Tails, considering his journey ended up being different in comparison to the rest of Team Sonic.

*Which brings me to say that my asks (under the "♡ Confessional ♡" tab) are open, and if anyone wants to ask anything regarding this AU, feel free to do so ! I know that we're so far into this project that some crucial details do go amiss when posting about it, so if you want to ask about particular characters, setting, lore etc., go for it ! Because it does help expand on the world and organise my thoughts a lot hehe <3

Tails... unfortunately did not have the easiest nor the best journey on the island.

He came in on day 1, along with Sonic, Knuckles and Vector, forming the og boys of the series. It's quickly established that Sonic and Tails know each other and are best friends on the outside (and had been since they were kids). Tails and Knuckles connected early on due to Tails' working in Mystic Ruins, a location with significant ties to Knuckles' culture.

Picked at random, Tails was coupled up with Honey and they did not get off to a good start. Their interactions tended to be awkward and forced, not to mention Tails' habit of being very unobtrusive came as a disadvantage to him.

Initial couple aside, Tails had his eye on Zooey, who happened to be coupled up with Knuckles. But, of course, Tails is a shy boy with low self-confidence and although Sonic encourages him to get out there, it took him a lot of effort to work up the courage to talk to a girl.

Tails sadly finds himself stuck in a loop of interacting with solely his friends (Sonic, Knuckles and Amy, primarily) when they're around, and attempting to pay Honey some respect.

Then, in comes the complications.

Honey has her attention on Sonic and Sonic entertains this interest (with Tails' reluctant permission), while Knuckles is cracking on with Zooey. The other two girls, Amy and Sticks, Tails paid no mind to, valuing them more as friends (especially Amy, who took on a motherly role for him).

Tails is left utterly disrespected in the face of both Sonic and Knuckles' actions despite the situations and feels hopeless, as his connections in the villa are being taken by two boys far more appealing than himself.

In later days, Tails continues to talk to Honey out of courtesy, but eventually begins to interact more with Zooey. And whilst Sonic and Amy are in the midst of a villa-typical drama, Tails is given the perfect opportunity to get to know Zooey more as a diversion from the chaos.

Tails spends the next couple of days chatting to Zooey, pushing past his meek nature and Zooey does admit she was interested in him from day dot but wasn't sure her attraction was romantic or platonic. She acknowledges and respects his slow-burning romantic style.

Tragically, Tails' story comes to a close at the end of episode 6, where he was voted off the island and he leaves with unresolved business.

Although, when he makes his return for the reunion episode after the season's end, it becomes known that Tails and Zooey did meet up on the outside and went on a few dates with one another, hinting at the potential of a relationship. All's well that ends well ?

Tails' journey did not quite pan out as best as any of them (or us) would have hoped, but hey, that's life. Sometimes things happen in their own weird way, in their own weird time.

Though your presence in the series was brief, may you, Miles "Tails" Prower, never be forgotten <3

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 23 (Ballet)

Day twenty-three of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "ballet"

Read on AO3

French Version

-----

Sherlock took a deep breath before taking his position and waiting for the curtain to rise. Applause greeted them before the room fell silent and the music began. Sherlock took one last look at the darkened room but could not find the person he was looking for. He ignores his disappointment and starts to dance.

***

John applauds, his eyes on the dancers, one in particular, until they disappear into the dressing rooms and the curtain falls. Next to him, Harry smirks at him, and as a response, John discreetly shows him his best finger. His parents are beside them, this is not the time to attract their thunder. 

"So which one was it?" Asks his mother.

"The brunette with the bobbed hair, a bit short. She was in the middle on the left." John replied without batting an eyelid. "That's Clara."

"She's cute, you're one lucky bastard, son." Congratulated his father with a pat on the back. A gesture from one manly man to another. John restrains himself from violently withdrawing his hand still on his shoulder.

John nods with difficulty, feeling Harry as uncomfortable as he is. 

"What about you Harry, was there a boy you liked?"

"Don't be ridiculous Beth," cut in her father, "they're just fags. Real men don't do ballet, they do sports. Like our Johnny, he understood. Rugby is a man's sport. Not ballet." He says, spitting out the last word. Harry and John glance at each other.

There is little audience left in the room, probably all gone to the bar or the exit. The dancers take the opportunity to sneak out and John signals to his parents that he has to go if he doesn't want to miss her. Harry says another excuse he doesn't hear, too eager to get away from them.

"If Dad finds out what we're going to do, he'll give us a heart attack." Harry laughed. But she was right, he could never survive such a thing. John smiled. Good for him.

They looked for Clara and found her in one of the dressing rooms, removing her make-up. 

"John! Harry!" She says as she notices them and gives a big smile before coming over to hug John. "So, did you enjoy it?" 

"You were great." John said.

She let go of him to hug Harry in turn. John looked away as they kissed. Harry whispered something but John didn't want to know what she said. 

Clara and Harry have been dating for three months, but because of their parents' homophobia, they have to find ways of seeing each other without raising suspicion. So John offered to play her boyfriend, at least for tonight. His parents had said yes when he had asked to go to the end-of-year show organised by the school dance group, saying that Clara was dancing in it. They had even insisted on going with him. Harry hadn't grumbled when they forced her to come.

"If you're looking for him, he's still on the stage. He was talking about a poorly controlled gesture or something." Said Clara before returning her attention to her sister.

John thanked her before walking towards the stage. 

John gets something out of this arrangement. Sherlock is part of this group of dancers and John wanted to see him at all costs. To his parents, he's just a classmate, nothing more. If they find out that his best friend is a dancing fag, as his father would say, he won't be allowed to talk to him anymore.

Sherlock is there, dancing in his prince's costume. The curtains are down, leaving him alone and hidden from the audience. Only one light is on, illuminating Sherlock like a divine glow illuminating his grace and talent.

Despite the hour-long performance, Sherlock still dances well, his tired muscles executing the gestures perfectly. His elegant arms pull outwards, before climbing towards the light, balancing on his pointe. 

John watches him, hidden at the side of the stage, admiring him without restraint. Immersed in his dance, Sherlock probably hasn't heard him, but John lets him finish before showing himself. He would never want to interrupt him, Sherlock is never so peaceful as when he is immersed in what he loves. He looks focused but serene, his facial features relaxed. Not many people get the chance to see him like this. John is one of the lucky ones.

Sherlock finished his last movement, before stopping elegantly. He immediately turned to John, the latter too mesmerised to applaud.

"John." Sherlock said simply with a slight smile on his lips.

"That was..." John searched for his words. "You were amazing. That was beautiful." John breathed. You were beautiful.

Sherlock's cheeks pinkened deliciously, making John want to run his fingers over them. "Thanks John."

John walked over to him, and handed him the bouquet in his hand. It was a simple mix of blue and green flowers. It reminded him of Sherlock's eyes.

"This is for you." He explained when Sherlock looked at the bouquet as if a monster was going to come out of it. 

Sherlock opened his mouth several times, searching for his words. He didn't seem to find them as he finally said nothing, shyly took the bouquet and thanked him in a low voice. 

"I would have thought you would give them to Clara." Said Sherlock after recovering from his emotions.

John frowned. "Clara? Why is that- Oh, I see. She explained our plan to you."

Sherlock smiled, "Ingenious, I must say."

John looked up, proud as a rooster. "I'm not so stupid after all." 

"You're not as stupid as you look." Sherlock said weakly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hey!" John took offence.

Sherlock laughed, and John couldn't help himself. How he loved to hear that laugh.

John calmed down, keeping an amused smile on his lips. "I would like to invite you to dinner." John said matter-of-factly. He knew he would never have the courage to ask him if he didn't do it now.

This surprised Sherlock, leaving him speechless for a second time. "Excuse me?"

John lost his courage, already regretting it. Stupid John, of course he would not want to. "Do you want to come to dinner with me?"

Sherlock looked as shocked as ever and John started to plan his escape when he heard him mutter something. John moved closer to him to hear him better and Sherlock realised he had to repeat himself.

"I said yes. Take me to dinner with you, John." 

His heart began to beat wildly, and John couldn't stop the smile that formed. "Really?" 

Sherlock nods before lowering his head, but John can see his blush. He lifts his face with an index finger under his chin. "Don't hide from me. I like it when you blush, it's adorable." John said in a burst of tenderness. His hand slid down to his cheek, his thumb caressing his blushing cheekbone.

"I'm not adorable." Sherlock weakly defended himself. 

John smiled. "No, you're right. You are beautiful."

Sherlock took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he leaned against his hand still on his cheek. The hand not holding his bouquet clutches his jacket, as if to keep it close. Anyway, John doesn't plan to go anywhere else.

Sherlock leaned towards him and rested his forehead against his, John putting his other hand on his arm. The latter closed his eyes to better enjoy their proximity. 

"I never did that." Sherlock murmured. "I don't know what to do."

John moved slightly away from him, just enough to look him in the eye without squinting. "Follow what I do." He said before moving closer to him. Sherlock bent down to fill the last few remaining inches and finally they kissed.

The kiss was chaste, John's hand sliding from his arm to his cheek to better angle his face. As promised, Sherlock followed what he did and pressed a little more into the kiss. John moved his lips, and Sherlock responded shyly before growing more confident. Sherlock clung to him, wrapping his arms around his torso, and John could only sigh with pleasure in the kiss.

"John." Sherlock whispered as he pulled away to catch his breath.

John ran his tongue over his lips, the taste of Sherlock still imprinted on them. Sherlock watched the movement with an eager gaze. 

"Let's go to dinner." Says John, even though separating from Sherlock's body will be difficult.

Sherlock nods and John takes his hand in his own. He kissed him on his fingers before pulling him off the stage.

As promised, John takes him to dinner before walking him home, like the gentleman he is. Sherlock kissed him one last time on the doorstep and went back inside his house, leaving a blushing and smiling John behind.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

[chellerbelles]

Rogue & Gambit Week 2023, Only One Bed

Gambit only half paid attention while Rogue checked them into the hotel that night. It was the usual thing, nothing he hadn’t experienced plenty of times before, so he mostly tuned it out. The words that brought him back into focus was when the concierge confirmed the “romance package.” He looked at Rogue out of the corner of his eye.

“And would you like a red or white wine?” The concierge asked.

“Red, thanks,” Rogue replied.

“On ice?”

“Oh, um, room temperature will be fine, thank you.”

“Very good. Someone will bring that around to your shortly. And here are your room keys.”

“Thank you.”

Rogue took the keys, and Gambit picked up their bags once more. Rogue strode purposely towards the elevator and Gambit followed thoughtfully, mentally reviewing everything he knew about this trip. She had planned this trip while she’d still been dating her boyfriend. She had expected this to be romantic. And she’d just gotten her powers under control, gaining the ability to touch people without hurting them.

They got out of the elevator and Rogue quickly found their room. As she opened up the door, Gambit was certain he knew what he would find in there, and as the lights were turned on, his suspicions were confirmed:

Only one bed.

The rose petals arranged in the shape of a heart were a surprise.

He said nothing to begin with. He merely followed Rogue inside and found a place to put their few bags down. There were a couple of chairs and a table in the room, but overall it was a fairly standard sized hotel room.

Rogue stared at the rose petal heart.

Gambit took closer look at what was on the table and found the details for room service. He picked up the menu and kept his eyes focused on it.

“So, I think we should probably order breakfast now, and then I think I’ll make up the floor,” he said. “I think I’ll have the scrambled eggs and sourdough—”

“Make up the floor?” Rogue cut in.

“Yeah, so I can sleep on it,” Gambit said simply. “And I think I’ll have coffee and orange juice.”

“You don’t want to sleep on the bed?” Rogue asked.

“I’d love to sleep on the bed,” Gambit replied as he handed the menu over to her. “But we’re only fake dating, chere. I’m not going to—”

“Don’t be silly. We’re both adults. We can share the damn bed.” She practically snatched the menu from him.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can sleep anywhere just fine, even floors. Believe me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”

“Well, you sleeping on the floor will make me feel guilty,” Rogue replied as she perused the menu. “I’ll have the same.” She handed it back to him. “I’m going to go change.”

She strode across the room to her bags, grabbed her pyjamas and then headed into the ensuite. Gambit sighed. He organised room service, accepted the wine when the attendant arrived moments later, and then went looking for his own pyjama pants and got changed for bed too.

He had a lot of mixed feelings. At first he saw this whole ‘fake dating’ thing as the perfect opportunity to finally get around Rogue’s “no dating clients” rule long enough to date her for real. Now all he saw was a woman whose half-healed wounds from her recent break up were opening up again.

Gambit sighed again as he flopped down on the bed. There was no point in trying to pursue a real romantic relationship with Rogue right now. She needed a supportive friend, not a new boyfriend. Any new boyfriend she got right now would just end up being a rebound. Gambit had been the rebound plenty of times before. Normally, he didn’t mind, but this was Rogue. He didn’t want to be thrown away by her.

Had he already set himself up to be thrown away by her by agreeing to this whole ‘fake dating’ thing?

Rogue emerged from the ensuite, dressed in her silk pyjamas that definitely got a second look from Gambit.

“You look nice, chere,” he found himself saying.

“Thanks. I like things that are soft on my skin.”

“I can be soft on your skin,” he replied automatically, and mentally kicked himself. Now wasn’t the time.

Rogue smiled and laid on the bed beside him. “I’ll bet.”

“Want a demonstration?”

Rogue was silent while he mentally cursed himself for digging himself in deeper.

“You know…” she said slowly. “That’s not a bad idea.” Gambit felt his heart skip a beat. “We should get comfortable making out in private before we start doing it in front of an audience.”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Gambit said as he slid towards her, while at the same time hoping this wouldn’t turn out to be a huge mistake. “We’ve been friends for years but we haven’t been physically intimate before. Wouldn’t want the first time to be awkward and public.”

“Right.” Her eyes dropped to his lips as she moved in closer to him.

His hand found her hip.

Her lips met his.

He kissed her back eagerly, spurred on by an electricity he’d never felt before. He kissed her like he would never get to again, and she melted into his arms.

[ukrfeminism]

TW: rape, institutional sexism

5 minute read

A serving Metropolitan Police officer can be revealed as one of Britain’s most prolific rapists after admitting more than 80 sex offences spanning almost 20 years.

David Carrick, 48, committed dozens of depraved attacks on at least 13 women, in Hertfordshire and London between 2003 and 2020, despite being employed as an armed officer responsible for protecting Parliament, government offices and other high-profile locations.

He used his position as a police officer to gain the trust of his victims, sometimes flashing his warrant card and telling them they would be “safe” with him.

But after attacking them Carrick would say they would never be believed, because he was a policeman and it would be his word against theirs.

Scotland Yard bosses have apologised to his victims after admitting missing numerous opportunities to prevent his offending and failing to act on repeated complaints about his behaviour.

It can now be revealed that Carrick came to the attention of the Metropolitan Police and other forces on nine occasions for a range of offences including domestic abuse, burglary, harassment and assault.

Three months before he was eventually charged, he was arrested on suspicion of rape but at no point was he ever suspended by his force.

Met 'truly sorry' after missed opportunities

Assistant Commissioner Barbara Gray said: “On behalf of the Metropolitan Police, I want to apologise to the women who have suffered at the hands of David Carrick.”

She added: “We should have spotted his pattern of abusive behaviour and because we didn’t, we missed opportunities to remove him from the organisation.

“We are truly sorry that being able to continue to use his role as a police officer may have prolonged the suffering of his victims.”

But Ms Gray stopped short of admitting that the Met bore some responsibility for Carrick being able to carry out his reign of abuse.

Last month during an appearance at the Old Bailey, Carrick admitted 43 separate charges but pleaded not guilty to a further seven.

He had been due to stand trial in February but, during a hearing at Southwark Crown Court, he changed his plea and admitted the outstanding charges.

In total, he has now pleaded guilty to 47 rapes, nine sexual assaults, three counts of coercive control, two of false imprisonment and a string of other offences.

Some of his attacks took place within relationships while others were against women he met socially or on internet dating sites.

'Prolific and callous'

Detective Chief Inspector Iain Moor from the Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire and Hertfordshire Major Crime Unit, who was the Senior Investigating Officer in the case, said the sheer number of offences Carrick had admitted demonstrated his “prolific and callous” nature.

He said: “Whilst he was not a man that stalked the streets scouting for victims – he invested time in developing relationships with women to sustain his appetite for degradation and control.”

As well as pleading guilty to 25 separate rape offences, Carrick sexually assaulted, beat, humiliated and controlled his victims, banning the from eating and even locking one, naked, in a cupboard under his staircase for up to ten hours.

Shilpa Shah from the Crown Prosecution Service said: “He controlled their daily routines, what they ate, where they slept.

“He would say they were fat so they were not allowed to eat that day, or that they could only eat a piece of apple.

“He would tell them to stay in bed all day, because they were going to be having sex all night.”

'He thrived on humiliating his victims'

Mr Moor added: “The coercive nature of his offending undermined his victims in the most destructive way. He thrived on humiliating his victims and cleverly used his professional position to intimate there was no point in them trying to seek help because they would never be believed.

“It is unbelievable to think these offences could have been committed by a serving police officer.”

Carrick, who spent a year in the Army, joined the Met in 2001 despite having previously been reported for domestic abuse and burglary.

In November 2002, just over a year after joining the force and while he was still in his probation period, he was accused of actual bodily harm following an attack on a girlfriend who wanted to end their relationship.

She reported the matter to his bosses in Scotland Yard but no action was taken against him.

In 2004 he was involved in another suspected domestic incident during an argument with a girlfriend, but the Met’s department of professional standards did not even look into the matter.

In 2009 he passed enhanced assessments in order to qualify as a firearms officer, but within months of being handed a weapon was accused of domestically abusing a girlfriend.

Hertfordshire Constabulary investigated the matter and spoke to the victim and the third party who had reported the offence, but neither wished to proceed and the case was dropped.

The Met Police was informed but took no action against Carrick. The victim is one of the 13 women Carrick has now pleaded guilty to attacking.

In 2011 he should have undergone his ten-year vetting refresher but extraordinarily this did not take place for a further six years - a period when he committed a string of offences.

In 2016 one of his ex-partners reported him to Hampshire Police after becoming convinced he was stalking her by 'ghost calling' her at work.

The matter was investigated but was dropped because he was not directly linked to the phone in question.

In 2017 he was spoken to by Thames Valley Police officers after being thrown out of a nightclub in Reading for being drunk and aggressive. 

Carrick showed the officers his Met warrant card and rather than being arrested was allowed to go on his way. No action was ever taken against him.

In 2017 he underwent enhanced Counter Terrorism Check (CTC) vetting but no intelligence cross-checks took place during the process and he passed.

In 2019 he was again reported to Hertfordshire Police over allegations of assault and criminal damage. 

It followed a row with a woman during which he grabbed her around the neck and dragged her out of his house. 

Officers from Hertfordshire Police spoke to the victim but no further action was taken against Carrick.

Scotland Yard’s department of professional standards was informed and the matter was sent to his own Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection PaDP unit to examine.

It was swiftly determined that the matter did not constitute gross misconduct and he was simply offered some words of advice, suggesting in future he told his bosses about such off-duty incidents.

Disturbing failures

One of the most disturbing failures in the Met’s handling of the case came in July 2021, when a former girlfriend made an allegation of rape against Carrick.

The complaint was made to Sussex Police as part of an unrelated matter and was passed to Hertfordshire Constabulary.

Carrick was arrested on July 13 2021 and Scotland Yard was also informed that one of its officers was being questioned on suspicion of a serious sex offence.

The victim later withdrew the complaint and no further action was taken by the Hertfordshire Force.

A misconduct investigation was opened by the Met but extraordinarily Carrick was not suspended but simply based on “restricted duties” for several weeks.

It was subsequently decided he had no case to answer and was cleared to begin carrying a firearm again. Carrick has now pleaded guilty to that rape.  

Carrick was eventually caught in October 2021 when a woman came forward to say she had been raped by him after they had gone out on an internet date.

He was charged with rape and, following publicity about the case, more women came forward with similar allegations.

Mr Moor said the investigation had “snowballed”, but he still believed there were more victims out there and he urged them to come forward.

The case raises serious questions for the Metropolitan Police coming just weeks after a review by Dame Louise Casey found huge flaws in the force’s misconduct system.

'Slipping through the net'

Andrea Simon, Director of the End Violence Against Women Coalition said: “This is an institution in crisis. That Carrick’s alarming pattern of behaviour was known to the Met, and they failed to take appropriate action, demonstrates just how broken the systems which are supposed to keep the public safe from perpetrators of rape and abuse are."

She added: “Police officers hold a particular position of power and authority over the public and as such must be held to the very highest standards of accountability and public scrutiny. Yet we see an institution that isn’t addressing the most serious sexual offending within its own ranks.

“Even when officers are reported for sexual misconduct they often evade disciplinary action and remain in their jobs. 

“The police are failing to look at patterns of behaviour, meaning repeat perpetrators slip through the net or can get away with a slap on the wrist. 

“It is imperative that forces do not sit by and wait for victims or witnesses to report - they must take proactive steps to prevent police officers abusing their positions for sexual purposes, which is shockingly the largest form of corruption in UK policing.”

'B-----d Dave'

Carrick boasted to some of his victims that his nickname among his colleagues in armed policing was “bastard Dave”, suggesting his reputation at work was questionable.

Born in Salisbury into a military family, Carrick never married but had dozens of short-term girlfriends, according to neighbours in the smart street in Stevenage where he lived.

One said: "I only spoke to him to say hello - he's always got a different girl around there. He's not married and has no kids, you just see different women all the time, no men.

"It's been years they've been coming around - one a month - they move out as quickly as they move in.

"He just seems to find one, one after the other - it was a standing joke among neighbours.

Another local resident said Carrick was into bodybuilding and had a home gym in his spare bedroom. He also had a large pet snake, which he used to pose with.

He said: "He's just a womaniser but I don't know much else about him. He used to say hello every now and again. The women were all different, short, tall - there was no one type - and around his age.

"I'm not being funny but he's a policeman - it's disgusting.  I wouldn't have thought that of him - he did used to big up that he worked for the Met and worked on big jobs. He used to come past with his rucksack on and talk about his day, 'I've been at the London Bridge attack', etc." 

[wetcatspellcaster]

Im curious about 2, 7, and 9 for the tav ask game :)

Hey anon! Thanks for playing with me :)

2. What relationship did your Tav have with their family/guardian(s) growing up? Has that changed with age?

So Rosalie is your stereotypical filthy only child lmao. She had a very good relationship with her parents (and also her aunt/aunt's children, as they all live on the same road in the same town!), although she is closer with her mother than her father because it's a pretty matriarchal family (it's the mother's line that's all based in the same place!). They paid to help her study magic in after school lessons the same way a middle class parent might pay for violin, etc.

This has changed with age - as of the game timeline she had not been home in two years due to the agoraphobia she is hiding from her family. She tends to write home regularly (lol she hasn't written yet in the adventure so that's a concern) but when her parents try to organise dates to come visit or for her to come home she invents extensive excuses to do with work, and then sometimes literally books extra work when her parents push her on it. As a result, they have grown increasingly distant.

7. What circumstances led to your Tav becoming their class/subclass?

Divination wizard - honestly, Rosalie isn't a Gale, she isn't a child prodigy or anything. I imagine her as a very intelligent girl who's parents decided to keep in school when she was shown to be good at it in the hope of bettering her prospects. She was essentially put into a 'gifted and talented' programme, and I imagine that in the D&D world a 'gifted and talented' programme probably involves some taster lessons/aptitude tests in magic. Rosalie enjoyed learning magic so it became her hobby, and it opened up opportunities for her to study a 'mundane' subject but at a magical university - she essentially did a History and Classical Languages programme, which is how she got into translation, but at a magical university like Blackstaff so there was a lot of minors in magic she could take and her classes in non-magical subjects were still considered magic specialisms: essentially doing history of magic rather than just straight history.

Not to build my OC's CV (lol) but it was only in her master's that Rose probably started thinking of her self as a 'wizard' rather than 'a scholar who does magic', as her translations became about very high level spells - even though she couldn't cast them herself, she understood them on a level that a hobbyist wouldn't. This is when she became a wizard, and joined the Watchful Order with the plan to become a wizard (kind of like a graduate programme or law conversion lmfao). But she starts the game at level 1 bc her agoraphobia prevented her pursuing that at all, and she became a scribe and studier of spells rather than a caster of spells.

9. What was your Tav doing when they were taken by the mindflayers?

oh! I actually nearly put this in a chapter but took it out! it's mentioned once or twice, but Rosalie was working on Deep Speech translations (in D&D Deep Speech doesn't have a written language, but it is often written in Undercommon or Elvish, so she's translation those into Common). This is the language of mindflayers, which is theoretically why she was susceptible to the ship's call. She was working late in the library, the last person left, and then felt compelled to go stand on the balcony outside, where she gets picked up! Everyone thought she disappeared because I decided that this happens in Waterdeep at like 2am, before the events of the game start in Baldur's Gate like 6hrs later in daylight.

30 questions for your Tav!

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you in the NHS, welcome to just another day!

Another brilliant weekend, if I say so myself, just the way I designed it! Having worked her arse off at a very emotional funeral all day on Thursday, The Trouble needed the night off. So, Friday: we took it easy! Always lovely to have The Mighty Josiah buzzing around the house. It’s a shame we don’t get to see our other grandchildren. (Don’t ask!) Maybe that will change this year?

After the radio show on Saturday, we got on the M25 and we were in Reigate by 5.00. Our beautiful friends are spread far and wide. After many, many months, we finally caught up with our gorgeous friend, Dolly a.k.a. Tash Tillyard. There is only one person we know that is as sarcastic as me: Dolly! That tongue is merciless (and not in a good way!)

In fact, we talked about friendships quite a bit. I try, to the best of my ability, to spend quality time with those I care about but, as you know, it is time consuming! Yes, maintaining friendships is hard work! Meeting people means organising dates and times and places but, even if I have to drive to Reigate, it’s definitely worth it! And we have another dinner with very beautiful people this Thursday.

While walking away from the restaurant, we passed a branch of Richer Sounds! A blast from the past! A shop selling hi-fi equipment to the people of Reigate. “I feel like buying one of those and getting all my vinyl out!” said Dolly. Well, that is exactly what people are doing! On my Twitter feed, I subscribe to someone called The Record Deck. The blurb reads, “A floating record shop. Find our narrowboat full of selected second hand and new vinyl travelling on the canals of England.” Love it! I always retweet his posts. And, on my Instagram feed, I keep seeing this advert for this dude that will send you quality vinyl albums to help you start and build your first vinyl record collection. Love it! This movement is growing back again. People want the sound of that crackle, they want to feel the bass, they want the cover artwork and the sleeve notes, they want to feel that thing between their hands! They want to hear and touch and be consumed by the music! Something real! And who can blame them?

The boat people thing upsets me greatly. These poor people don’t ask for much. Just the opportunity to live a decent life and raise their families. Much attention is focused on them. Our government are Zen masters at wasting public money, so they are not being processed in Essex or Kent, nor in Wales or Scotland, they are being flown to Rwanda, which is a horrendous waste of our money. And what of the evil people that sold them a ticket to paradise? There are these heartless, godless smugglers that sweet-talk these battered and bruised ‘refugees’, and promise them that the streets of the UK are paved with gold. Understandably, these people are so desperate to escape violence, harassment, persecution and possible death, that they pay these smugglers big money to endure the most dangerous journey of their life. Some make it, some don’t. Why are governments not pursuing these smugglers? These are the real criminals.

Many thanks to everyone that listened to the show on Saturday afternoon, and many thanks to those that will listen to any part of it on Mixcloud. Gayle Dumont did a great job, didn’t she? This coming Saturday is The Letter L (Pt. 4). Executive Producer: one of my oldest friends, known him 45 years, Stephen Conway.

Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

[desturnoska]

Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but  [ DESISLAVA SAXE-COBURG ], a [ 36 ] year-old [ CIS WOMAN ] has lived in [ WEST VILLAGE, MANHATHAN ] for [ ALL HER LIFE ]. This is the city of dreams and [ SHE ] knows it, because they came to NYC to be a/n [ LAWYER ]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [ TROIAN BELLISARIO ]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!

TW: DRUGS, ALCOHOL. CAR CRASH, CHEATING, FAKE DATING

      Desislava had never been an ordinary girl. Born in New York, in the family of Kaloyan Saxe Coburg, Knyaz of Turnovo, and Elizabeth Wilson, she was going to be an successor of the Bulgarian throne, if her grandfather Tsar Petar wasn’t abdicate in 1945 and Bulgaria became a republic. But even when she wasn’t going the rule the country, she and her sisters were raised as royals since the rest of the world still accepted them as royals, and because of the fact they still was in the line of the successors of British throne since their grand father was forth cousin of queen Elizabeth II.

      Desislava, as Knyaginya of Turnovo, didn’t have exactly carefree childhood. Yet, she was born with a silver spoon in her month, but this came with relevant responsibilities - she had to learn bulgarian and french before she even started elementary school, attending different dancing classes, and studied Bulgarian and world history in every free minute and this continue until her teen years, when she finally raise her voice and call it it quit, wanting to be a normal girl. Her parents wasn’t happy about it but at the end they didn’t have any other option but agree with her, hoping it would be just a phase and she would remember her responsibilities as Knyaginya.

     Finaly being able to live as an ordinary girl, Desislava was able to do whatever other oeople her age did - she started going out more often, had different friends most of which was not the best company parents wanted for their kids. The money of Saxe-Coburg family had attractive force for any freeloader who were able to do anything to be around somebody famous and rich. Soon the young Knyaginya started to downfall - the parties she attended became more wild surrounded by a lot of drugs and alcohol. Pictures of these parties started appear regularly in the tabloids and Desislava became a hot topic. Kaloyan and Elizabeth did everything possinble to cover the stories but when Desislava and her best friend became a reason for a huge car crash luckily no casualties, Saxe Coburgs had to do something and they sent the oldest Knyaginya to a rehab at UK and then for a year in Bulgaria where desislava had the opportunity to think a lot about her life and her role in the Bulgarian royal family realizing how much this meant to her but also that she needed to do something more with her life and when she returned to USA she started study law at Columbia University. Along with her education, she also took her role as Knyaginya of Bulgaria seriously becoming a face of few charitable organisations.

      Desislava met Aaron, a son of investment banker, when she was 30 and they started dating.They was like a dream couple abd few years later Aaron proposed and she was happy to say “yes”.  The newly engaged couple was favorite to tabloids and they followed them around but Desislava didn’t mind to show their love being sure they could be inspiration for other people, But it seemed the happy fairtail was not going to last long. The poltical crisis in Bulgaria and the fact the court gave back some of the lands in Bulgaria to Kaloyan led to some death threat to the whole royal family and they were forced to hire security guards. Desislava was not happy because it took away her freedome especially since she couldn’t stand her guard Alexander which seemed mutual, Her only consolation was her fiance but everything fell apart when one late night she came home only to found Aaron with another women in their own bed. Not knowing how to handle it, Desislava ran away only with Alexander by herself and she didn’t even know how she ended up in Las Vegas, but more more surprising was her marriage to Alexander. 

Wanted connections:

best friends

partying buddies ;; a friendship that relies on nothing more than  going out and having a wild time

assistant;; someone who could help her with her work and also the charities she works on.

frienemies ;; they’re nice to each others faces and act like friends but are constantly talking badly about each other

friends turned enemies ;; they have been pretty close, but something changed and they couldn’t stand each other

exes ended on bad terms

exes ended on good terms

neighbour ;; they could live next door, across the street. maybe they hang out? maybe not? maybe there is some attraction, maybe they just find each other annoying?

a new friends;; people Desislava recently met but they are pretty close

casual hook up ;; they aren’t friends, but will call each other whenever they need a lil sexual intercourse. basically like a booty call.

relatives of her husband ;; family, friends, ex-lovers; it’s going to be interesting interaction so plese give it to me

co-workers

gym-buddy

a sibling she had no idea about - could be on her mother or her father side