#sorry for this word vomit i have just been thinking about maeve! what's in a name...

[homielander]

the most interesting character detail about maeve through which i have extrapolated at least half my understanding of her is that she prefers to be called maeve. i frequently see "maggie" pop up in meta and fic as her chosen name, but quite literally nobody calls her that, including (and most significantly) elena. elena is maeve's tether to her humanity and her refuge away from vought, yet even elena only ever refers to her as maeve. (and in season 2, we learn that maeve started dating elena before she joined the seven -- before queen maeve's popularity would have become so inescapable that she would feel compelled to introduce herself by that name.) it's especially notable that in her final scene, maeve refers to starlight as annie for only the second time, but she is still called maeve by both annie and elena.

here's what we know about maeve's life as maggie: she had a rocky relationship with her father whom she doesn't seem to speak to anymore, she's from a "cousin-fucker hick town" as described by homelander -- i can't imagine this place being terribly lgbt-friendly, and she generally lacks connection with anyone she would have known before becoming queen maeve. she doesn't have fond memories of this time of her life, and perhaps that extends to all associations with it, including the name maggie.

i tend to think that becoming queen maeve was, in many ways, self-actualizing for her. the act that garners her national attention and earns her a ticket to vought is a heroic one -- she breaks every single bone in her right arm to save a school bus from falling off a bridge. and i know madelyn says she is responsible for the mythos of queen maeve, but this character was still aspirational, and likely someone maeve wanted to live up to. in any case, this new identity gave her a purpose and tools to achieve it: she wanted to help people! by her own admission, maeve enters vought bright-eyed and hopeful, not far off from annie. (maeve is also one of the only supes in the seven not to know about compound v -- she doesn't strike me as religious but believing she's among the very few born with powers would have strengthened her internal drive to be a hero.)

it's for the same reason that i think maeve actually... liked having powers? of course she says otherwise in her last season, but season 3 maeve is cynical and weary from about two decades of dealing with vought and homelander's abuse. they've used her first as the token woman and then the token gay person of the seven. after growing largely passive to the brutality of the job, the flight 37 incident forces her to confront all of the violence she's witnessed and tolerated. she's given pieces of herself away and she loathes the husk of herself that's left. i don't find it surprising that she would want to relinquish every single connection to vought, including her powers.

assuring herself that she will be better off without her powers comes with an added benefit: she gets to distinguish herself from homelander, who would be lost without his powers. and i think she is eager to make this distinction in her mind because there are some uncomfortable similarities between their initiations into vought. the mantle of homelander allows him to exert agency for the first time in his life, just as the mantle of queen maeve endows her with purpose for the first time in hers. (crucially, none of his current circle call him john, either.) they both enjoy being the most powerful superheroes in the world, the unending public adoration, and (in my interpretation) each other. they're also both overwhelmingly lonely and they know it -- homelander teases her multiple times about how she has no friends with a bit more bite in every passing season, while maeve is keenly aware of his isolation and exploits his yearning for love pretty effectively.

maeve steadily grows disillusioned with her position at vought because she still has a moral code, suppressed though it may be. even so, she nearly relents to homelander's vision: that they will be lonely at the top but lonely together. she's pulled out of her miserable state of inaction by annie and elena. annie reminds her of what a hero should be (what she was, once); elena offers her a way out of vought, serving as maeve's light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.

she escapes that tower as maeve, not maggie. she rejects homelander's god complex which engenders his cruelty towards regular people and 'lesser' supes -- no one will call her queen maeve ever again, at least -- but it is still important to her to be a hero, and for better or for worse, she found that as maeve. i feel like she'd struggle to exist without her powers (possibly the self-awareness hasn't settled in yet) for all the reasons mentioned above. i like to think that eventually, she'll circle around to helping people and resisting vought however possible -- albeit on a smaller, more covert scale so she can continue living a peaceful life with elena.

[acourtofthought]

I’m back with my thoughts. I’m sorry for the delay, life’s been crazy and I have many many many thoughts, but I wanted to make sure I get them to you. So forewarning I’m going to word vomit 😅

My main takeaways from HOFAS-as it pertains to acotar-are about Azriel. I know he gets a lot of hate and isn’t your favorite, but I’ve been curious about his powers from jump, and have drawn many hypotheses based on similarities between him, Cormac, and Lorcan. And whilst he and Cormac have mystery surrounding the origins of their powers, we known that Lorcan is watched over by Hellas, God of Violent Death and the Underworld. 

“Bryce could have sworn that shadows wreathed [Azriel], like Ruhn’s yet…wilder. The way Cormac’s had been.”

Cue the Michael Scott voice because IIIIII knew it!! There’s a clear distinction between Rhy’s & Ruhn’s shadows and those of Azriel and Cormac (+ the murder twins and Morven—maybe. I still have questions about them). But how, and why?

It would appear that the shadows Rhys and Ruhn possess are those of Starborn heritage, those which Silene had. But then this:

 “Hunt opened his mouth, his last bit of bravado before the shit-show began, but in the shadows behind Pollox, beyond the fireplace, something dark moved. Something darker than shadow.  Not Ruhn’s shadows. The prince didn’t seem to be able to access those when constrained by gorisan shackles. Only the prince’s mind speaking abilities remained.  This shadow was different—darker, older. Watching them. Watching Hunt…  …Across the room , the thing in the shadows moved. Just slightly. Like it had crooked a finger at him.  Death. That was that thing in the shadows. And now it beckoned.”

Is TEA!!!! We know that these passages are in reference to Apollion, the Prince of the Pit who cam to visit Hunt. And I’ve long suspected that the forces of Hel and Death have some ties to Azriel’s shadows & shadowsingers in Prythian. I think Sarah is dropping hints at the true nature of Azriel’s abilities, or at least to provoke questions about the forces at play in this universe she created. I'd be shocked if we didn't learn more about Shadowsinging in his story, especially because she teased Illyrian history in HOFAS. 

We learn that the IIlyrians were creations of the Asteri. Could the forces of Hel have mingled in their creation, as they did in Hunt’s? We don’t know if shadowsining is exclusive or dominate in IIlyrians, so I’m not too convinced of that. Truthfully, it’s why I’m not yet convinced that Azriel’s heritage is key to his powers. And something to just really tickle the brain is this passage from EoS:

“Lorcan’s magic was that of will - of death and thought and destruction. There was no name for it. Not even his queen had known what it was, where it had come from. A gift from the dark god, from Hellas, Maeve had mused - a dark gift, for her dark warrior. And left it at that.”

Not even his queen—Valg Maeve—knew what it was. Now, considering how the Valg were not native to the ToG world, would it really be a stretch to consider that the princes of Hel helped another world before? And then, again? What if, for whatever reason, Hel has taken to watching over their universe? What if Hel paid a visit to the little boy being horrendously abused by his family, and saw within them to help him? That they knew the most powerful high lord was also just a boy, and would need a right hand who could wield the dagger, similar to how Enalius commanded it at Fionn's side? If we learn Enalius was a shadowsinger in future books....I will squeal.

PS--

Something else from the HOSAB passage is that Ruhn’s shadow abilities disappear when shackled. I cannot remember if Morven was ever shackled, but Cormac’s ability to teleport/winnow was hindered by the gorisan bullet in HOSAB. An injured Az would certainly be hindered as well, but I wonder if it would be to the same degree considering how the Midgard fae are much weaker. Does the bullet hinder him just because he was shot, or does it specifically drain his magic?

I still have many questions, like if Cormac, Morven and the murder twins share the same shadows. Their inability to teleport inclines me to think no, but another major indicator of Cormac & Azriel’s difference is that Avallen magic is actually earth magic. I suspect the shadow powers Avallen have are because they’re the descents of Helena and/or fae of the "Night Court" bloodline (I cannot remember if this was explicitly explained or not lol). 

But that's all I have for now! Super curious to hear what you think :)

🧼💖

Despite my dislike of Az's behaviors at the moment I definitely know that when we get it, his story will be an interesting one! And I am curious why Rhys says it was Az's time in the dungeon that helped her learn the language of the shadows versus someone like Cormac who has a similar power but doesn't necessarily have quite the same tragic backstory. Does that mean it wouldn't have mattered whether Az had the childhood he did or not but that he would have always developed the ability to talk to the shadows? I agree that there's a good chance we're going to see a strong connection to Hel and Az in later books. Nesta is Death, both Cassian and Az had a strong reaction to Nesta in her Death form and she hears the lowest level of the library whispering to her. Since Gwyn felt a presence like a cat down there I do think it's going to turn out to be a portal to Hel and Aidas. I think with Bryaxis gone, the portal is no longer guarded which means whatever was in there can now reach out. I also think that because we learn the other "brothers" of the Princes of Hel are off helping other worlds, we'll see that set up for future arcs for Az, Gwyn, Nesta, etc. where they too world walk to protect their world from outside threats. My one big question from HOFAS was why did Vesperus bleed black (like a Valg) but the Asteri on Midgard bled red? If Vesperus was an Asteri, shouldn't they bleed the same color? Thank you for putting together all your thoughts for me!!! ❤️

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 19: Floral Bouquet

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid, jennifer jaraeu | ship: past spencer reid/maeve donovan | trigger warnings: vomiting | content: set at the beginning of 8x16, 'carbon copy,' spencer & jj friendship | word count: 372.

The bouquet of flowers is addressed to JJ, but with a card reading ‘Zugzwang,’ Spencer’s the one that feels like he’s been slapped in the face, knifed in the gut, and like his breathing isn’t coming out quite right. Penelope runs to Hotch’s office as fast as her sparkly heels will carry her to tell him what’s happened, that the replicator has struck again, and Spencer sinks into his desk chair numbly. 

Images of Maeve, shot in front of him a mere few months ago, swim before his eyes. If it wasn’t Diane Turner on the phone, it was the BAU’s stalker, which means that - what? What? The idea that someone outside of his team knew about Maeve, could have done something to save her but didn’t makes his skin crawl. Of course, he knows logically that the replicator is a psychopath, just like Diane Turner, but his heart screams that Maeve was so good, so pure, even psychopaths should have wanted to save her. 

His head spins as JJ comes and sits on his desk and starts speaking softly to him. 

“Spence,” she says gently, “are you okay? What do you need?” 

“I-,” he says, his skin hot and itchy and his eyes are prickling with tears he refuses to shed. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

He’s grateful for JJ’s maternal instincts, surging for the wastepaper basket under his desk and holding it beneath him as he pukes into it, and even more grateful that the bullpen is empty at this time of night. JJ rubs soft circles on his back as he vomits up stomach acid and coffee, but her voice is distant in his ears. It’s like his brain is chanting, screaming at him: Maeve, Maeve, Maeve, with no real rhyme or reason. Not even the usual you could’ve saved her and it’s all your fault and she’s gone she’s dead she’s shot she’s bleeding out before your eyes, just her name. 

“Maeve,” he chokes out, the stench of his bile burning his nose. Tears drip down his cheeks, and he doesn’t even remember starting to cry. 

“I know,” JJ says, voice soothing, but he can hear her holding back tears. “I know, Spence. I’m so sorry.” 

[spacedikut]

lockdown lovers ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: lockdown!au. spencer goes from expecting his days to be filled with books, books and more books to books, an asshole cat, and a cute anonymous neighbour. 4857 words

a/n: i was so excited about this and stayed up writing it so i hope you like it too :)

masterlist

It’s three days into lockdown when Spencer notices the cat.

It’s a Maine Coon, he recognises instantly, but there’s this distinctive… dead look in it’s eyes. The body is huge – so fluffy it looks like the cat has a mane, ears invariably up straight and large enough that the eyes look beady in comparison. A mixture of white and grey throughout, the cat spends its days lounging across the windowsill of the apartment in the building next to Spencer’s.

He’s fascinated. How can a cat be so big, so ugly, yet so lovely?

He has to know more.

If he was anyone else, he’d argue the obsession is the fruit of going stir-crazy in his apartment. A lack of seeing his friends combined with having to work cases from home would be the perfect justification for Spencer to move his work station to the window facing the cat.

But this is Spencer. He’s happy being stuck home. He just likes the look of the cat.

He spends a good twenty minutes rifling through his stationary to find a piece of paper and the appropriate pen to jot a note for the cat owner. He thinks the owner must be stuck home, too, so if he sticks the note to his window and waits a day, he could know the cat’s name within twenty four hours.

They’ve had plenty of staring contests. Spencer should know his rival’s name.

So he does. He takes his time writing out the words “I like your cat. Do they have a name?” clearly on the paper, then spends a good five minutes deciding where on the window to stick the message.

He decides on the upper left corner. You won’t miss it.

The cat blinks sleepily at him as they watch Spencer tape the question up.

There’s an answer within three hours.

Spencer is too excited to be embarrassed at how enthused he was when he noticed the response.

Or when he saw the name.

Hi there! His name is Mr Darcy :) He’s a dick x

Spencer can’t help but profile the writing, the syntax, the grammar.

The first thing he notices is there’s a feminine lilt to the way you write – you’re a woman, most likely. The writing is slightly messy, indicating high intelligence, and the use of a smiley face and a kiss makes him think you’re younger in age. If you live alone, which you must because you live in a one bedroom apartment, he can safely guess you’re around his age.

And Mr Darcy… you’re a bookworm. At least for romance and the classics.

Spencer likes Mr Darcy. He has so many questions, suddenly, like how is Mr Darcy a dick and how old is he and why does he never seem to move from his position by the window and what is your name and who are you and do you happen to read a lot of books? Like Ray Bradbury? Please say yes.

He shocks himself. Maybe this quarantine is getting to him more than he realises. He hasn’t felt this excited since Maeve.

He hasn’t been this intrigued since Maeve. And the circumstances are similar, he realises.

No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Spence.

He worries himself into a spiral when he begins thinking about how to reply. As if she can hear his whining, Penelope calls him.

They’ve made it a habit to call one another a lot. She recently taught him how to use his webcam and has been encouraging him to write more on his computer, rather than by hand.

“Good afternoon, my favourite Doctor.” She sings. He hears some shuffling in the background and can tell she’s baking.

“I need your help with something.” He cuts straight to the chase.

Her interest is piqued, “Oh? I am all ears.”

“Remember the cat I mentioned?”

“The ugly-but-beautiful majestic beast that, if you believed in reincarnation, would’ve been a high class gentleman in his past life? Yes. I think about him every day.”

“His name’s Mr Darcy.”

She lets out a screech, a mixture of a groan and moan that is filled with pure glee. “Of course he’s called Mr Darcy! Tell me everything. How do you know?”

He’s clearly impressed with himself when he says, “I asked.”

“Whoa.” Penelope freezes in her kitchen. “Are you, Doctor Germaphobe, breaking the lockdown rules?”

Spencer feels insulted. “No! Never! I stuck a note to my window, like in that viral tweet you sent me.”

She chuckles, “Well, I already told you I could’ve told you everything about Mr Darcy and the owner if you wanted me to. I am incredible.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Garcia-“

“But it’s morally wrong. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. What have you said back?”

“That’s what I need your help with.”

Garcia is only a little surprised he’s asking her and not Derek. But, then, as much as she loves Derek, he’s a bit too.. much for someone like Spencer when it comes to love. Spencer approaches people gently, hesitantly, often giving the impression he doesn’t even want to be there.

Derek can have anyone on their knees within minutes.

Different tactics, that’s all.

“Alright, pretty boy. How long have you been talking? Purely through window messages? What else has been said?”

“Well,” He begins, clearing his throat, making eye contact with Mr Darcy, “We’ve only spoken once. When I asked for Mr Darcy’s name. You know, studies have shown that animals can form lifelong friendships with other animals, even if they’re not from the same species.”

“Spencer.”

“Most research has focused on chimpanzees, baboons, horses, hyenas, elephants, bats, and dolphins - but there’s no reason to think that friendship is exclusive to these species.”

“Spencer!”

“What?”

“You’ve spoken to them once?”

“Her. Spoken to her once. And it wasn’t speaking, it was writing.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone. “First of all, how do you know the owner’s a girl?”

There’s movement in Mr Darcy’s apartment. Spencer stares. “The way she writes.”

“Uhuh,” Spencer can hear her stirring something through the phone, “And what was the last thing said?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow – is that a person? Is that the owner? Is that her? Oh my god.

“Spencer? You still there?” Garcia looks to her laptop, checking the call is still connected.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. The last thing she said was his name is Mr Darcy and he’s a dick.”

“Oh,” Garcia smirks, “It’s sexy hearing you say dick.”

In normal circumstances, Spencer would register her comment and give a very distinct huh, but he’s distracted.

He sees Mr Darcy meow. A hand appears, petite, with fingernails painted yellow that have smiley faces on them. She brushes Mr Darcy’s fur back, pulling so the skin around his eyes tugs up high and he looks stupid. He seems to like it, though.

She must like smileys, he thinks.

Mr Darcy stands and stretches. He’s alarmingly long.

It’s silent on Garcia’s end, where she looks confused at the sudden silence. She checks again that the call is still connected.

“Spence?”

“Still here. Sorry. I thought I saw her.”

“Oooo,” She’s all giddy, “What does she look like? Is she pretty?”

“I couldn’t see her properly. I can tell she’s too cool for me already. This was stupid.” He sighs, “Forget I said anything. I’ll take knowing Mr Darcy’s name and move on with my life.”

Spencer moves to hang up, but is interrupted by a loud “No!” being shouted at him by Garcia.

“No, Spencer! No! You write something back to her right now and you form a friendship with someone that isn’t one of your colleagues. I love you with my whole heart, and you know that, but it would be good for you to expand your social circle!” She grins and bites her tongue between her teeth, “Aaaand.. this could be the start of a quarantine romance. God, I miss dating.”

At the mention of romance, Spencer visibly flinches. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go, Garcia, thanks for calling.”

“Love you. Please marry her so Mr Darcy can be the ring bearer.”

And she hangs up. He’s left contemplating whether he should respond, and what he should respond, as he watches the empty space where Mr Darcy is absent.

It must be dinner time for him.

+++

I’m curious as to how someone named Mr Darcy can be a dick.

That’s a good response, right?

Right?

It lets you know he gets the reference, he knows who Mr Darcy is named after, and leads you to continue the conversation. It’s perfect.

It’s taken him nearly two hours to come up with it. He feels exhausted.

He sticks it on the window, where Mr Darcy has returned to, and huffs out a breath.

He reminds himself to be calm and cool. This is simply a way to pass the time during quarantine, there’s no need to put too much pressure on himself to think it’s anything more or to put more effort than is necessary (he says, after spending two hours formulating a response).

Calm and cool. Cool and calm. Neither are words Spencer would ever use to describe himself.

Spencer stays up until nearly 1am reading. Just before he sleeps, he walks to the kitchen to get some water, and can’t resist checking to see if you’ve responded.

You have. He ignores the way his heart speeds up.

He used to share the windowsill with my other cat and a bunch of plants. Now he bites anything that attempts to move near him. He also likes to vomit on my pillow. My single pillow.

Spencer chuckles as he reads it. He remembers when the window was full of plants, and how one day they all just… disappeared. He assumed the person moved out, but now it’s funny to think that you had to move them all because Mr Darcy demanded he own that space.

He doesn’t recall ever seeing another cat.

Well, now he has to respond. He needs to know about the other cat!

He imagines Derek coming to him in an apparition, like some sort of angel, and saying, calm and cool, kid. Calm and cool.

Spencer decides he’ll reply in the morning. Cause he’s calm and cool, and totally doesn’t want to know anything and everything about you and the two cats you live with.

+++

The messages continue for days. Spencer learns a lot, despite his “attempts” to not profile you (“attempts” as in there was really no attempt).

He learns you were given Mr Darcy by a friend, he’s two years old, and your other cat is the recently adopted, affectionately named Stupid Sally. She’s a ginger cat, estimated to be at least four years old, and you refuse to believe there’s anything going on in that tiny head of hers.

Spencer catches a glimpse of Sally a couple of days after he learns her name. She jumps up beside Mr Darcy, bonks her head on the window, then is whacked by Mr Darcy and falls from the windowsill. Sally doesn’t make another attempt.

He still hasn’t seen you, though. The longer he talks to you, the more he wants Garcia to send him everything she can find on you.

But he has restraint. And fear.

He wants to know more, wants to learn more about the anonymous girl in the opposite building. He doesn’t even know your name, and he assumes you don’t know his, and he’s not entirely sure what number apartment you live in.

He considers asking to convert your conversation from post-it notes on windows to hand-written letters, but that reminds Spencer too much of Maeve and he can’t handle that.

Do you know how difficult it is for Spencer Reid, with all his knowledge and facts and ramblings, to limit himself and how much he says?

It’s torture.

The sun is blinding when Spencer pulls his curtain back, eyes navigating to see if there’s a new message waiting.

I haven’t asked, do you have any cats? Any pets? Mr Darcy would be a terrible boyfriend but Sally could use a lover :)

Before he can stop himself, his mind is whirring with the possible implications of your message. Does this mean you want to meet? You want to know about him as much as he wants to know about you? You’re interested?

He needs to call Penelope. He wants to talk to you so badly, learn everything there is to know, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The situation reminds him of Maeve and, although it’s been so long, he’s still mourning. He’s not sure he’s ready.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry. You’ve got your own plan.

+++

“So,” Your friend sighs, flopping onto the couch, “You got his number? His name? Anything?”

“No,” You pout, “Not even sure he’s a guy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You playfully gasp. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am insulted.”

She chuckles. She knows all about your curious neighbour - she’s the one that encouraged you to reply and keep replying. And now she’s the one trying to convince you to form an actual friendship.

“Just put your number on your window.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?!” You scold, “Anyone could see it!”

“Yeah, but neighbour guy could see it. And text you. And be really cute.”

You can’t help but glance behind you, into your bedroom window, where the infamous window is. Mr Darcy lounges, completely zonked out with the sunshine keeping him warm.

“What’s the worst that can happen? Some random people text you and you, what, block them? That’s it. Easy.”

Life is so easy for extroverts, you think.

You grab your notebook, rip a piece out and jot down your number before you have a change of heart. You’re essentially double messaging through the medium of your window messaging. But who cares?

What have you got to lose?

+++

Spencer stares at your phone number for way too long. Mr Darcy, as if sensing Spencer’s battle, lazily lifts a paw and rests it against the paper, pushing it into the window.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number straight from memory.

“I was beginning to think you’d died, Spencer-“

“Is it a terrible idea to start texting with Mr Darcy’s owner?”

“What?!” She exclaims, “No! No no no no no! That is an incredible idea! Spencer, please tell me you’re texting her!”

Penelope’s excitement gives him a rush of confidence. She’s always so supportive, so encouraging. Penelope is the best.

“I’m staring at her phone number. I just- we know what happened last time..” He trails off, voice meek. He wants to pretend he isn’t constantly thinking about the worst outcome, but he is. He’s scared.

Penelope’s voice is soft down the phone, “Spence. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? I’m so proud of you for even considering texting her. But if you truly think you’re not ready, maybe you’re not. But remember, this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to. You can keep the conversation to cats and cats only.”

Spencer smiles even though she can’t see him. She’s right. It doesn’t have to be anything and, honestly, it’s likely it won’t be anything – after all, Spencer isn’t exactly confident when it comes to women.

She might also have a boyfriend. A husband. A wife. He doesn’t know.

He realises he’s started thinking way too deep about someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

“Does that silence mean you’re gonna text her?” Penelope questions, suspense and hope clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” He replies, glancing at Mr Darcy, “I am.”

+++

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Hello. I’m Spencer.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner] hello??????? do i know a spencer?

Embarrassment flushes through him. What a weird way to introduce yourself, he chastises himself, Great first impression.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s owner]: Sorry. I’m the one that’s been asking about your cats through the window.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: really? prove it

He wants to feel insulted that you’re so suspicious, but is simultaneously impressed that you’re so cautious. It makes sense to worry after posting your number for anyone to see.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Of course. I’ll put a note on my window with my number now.

He does just that, shuffling quickly and frantically like he does when his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute during a case. He slaps the note against the window, unable to resist hovering on the off chance he spots you.

His phone buzzes.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: oh hi spencer! im Y/N, owner of Mr Darcy and sally :)

He can’t help but chuckle at the sudden change of tone. You take stranger danger seriously, it seems.

Why does he find that so endearing?

He’s getting ahead of himself, again. Calm and cool.

They pick up the conversation from where the last note left off, where you asked Spencer if he has any pets of his own. He finds it much easier to talk to you like this, rambling and all, which you don’t seem to mind. Your texting style is distinctively different to his, making his phone vibrate multiple times as you send each sentence of your message separately. He prefers writing chunks full of information, all with perfect grammar and punctuation.

You teach him what ‘wtf’ means and when he sends a meme to Penelope with that caption she loses her damn mind.

She decides she loves you there and then.

A friendship blossoms. It’s odd, he doesn’t know what you look like and you admit to catching a glimpse of him when he showed you his number through the window, but other than that you have no idea what the other looks like.

You know so much about eachother’s lives, though, and so much about eachother. You know which apartment you both live in, he’s got a whole list of reasons why Mr Darcy is a dick and he kind of agrees, you even know that he’s an FBI agent.

Then it happens.

He discovers what you look like.

He wants to play it off as an accident, he really does, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

The area under the window opposite yours has become his new sanctuary. He spends way too much time there, reading and whatnot, and he tries to pretend that it’s so he can watch Mr Darcy all day every day, but there’s always been a part of him that wants you to walk by. Maybe stop right in the centre of the window, pause, let him get a good look.

That’s exactly what happens.

He’s doing some “light” reading before he moves to his bed, where he will continue to read, and he sees the main light in your bedroom switch on. You always have a light on – you’re scared of the dark, just like him, but the main light catches his attention because Mr Darcy looks back and meows.

Someone’s in the room.

For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not the first time he’s noticed someone flutter around the room, never managing to really show themselves. It could the best friend you told Spencer about, the one that you’ve been stuck living with the past month or so.

But it’s not.

A girl appears, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts with still-wet hair. She dangles a cat toy before Mr Darcy, which he swipes at twice, then looks away, uninterested.

She rolls her eyes at that, then starts dancing and mouthing along to a song Spencer doesn’t recognise. Now he can’t stop staring – she’s captivating, whoever she is, as she prances around her room, arms flailing around and serenading a very unimpressed Mr Darcy.

This has to be you, he thinks. He doesn’t know why, but this has to be you.

Your passionate singing dies out. It’s the end of the song. Before the next one can begin, you happen to look up and through the window, straight at Spencer.

And you disappear.

You collapse. You definitely scream a little, dramatically falling to the floor and hiding under the window with your back to the wall.

Holy shit. You think. He’s cute and he saw me singing to my asshole cat.

He must think I’m crazy.

Spencer keeps staring at the now empty space of your window, Mr Darcy having been spooked by your exit.

He thinks he might be in love.

+++

Neither of you know what to say to one another after what transpired.

You’re too embarrassed, Spencer feels a little star-struck, and you’re both speechless.

Neither of you expected the other to be so.. attractive.

Your phone is thrown in your lap. “Do it. Do it now.”

In a daze, you blink up at your friend, “I can’t.”

“Don’t make me threaten you.”

You blink.

“I know where he lives. I will obliterate the lockdown rules to go talk to him and drag him here, then you can deal with this face-to-face.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you insane?”

She unlocks your phone, opens your conversation with Spencer, and places it in your hand.

“Yes.”

+++

[From: Y/N :)]: did you at least enjoy the performance…..

Spencer’s whole body prickles when he sees you’ve texted him.

Maybe Penelope’s manifesting did work.

[To: Y/N :)]: I did. I didn’t expect our face reveals to be so…

I honestly don’t know what to say.

[From: Y/N :)]: s doctor reid speechless? am i that talented?

Spencer lies back on his couch, beaming at his phone like a teenager in a cheesy chick flick.

[To: Y/N :)]: You’re very talented. Mr Darcy clearly disagrees, but don’t listen to him.

And just like that, you’re back in the flow of things.

+++

When July rolls around, you and Spencer have been talking every day since March. Despite the monotonous, repetitive days, Spencer wakes up giddy when he sees you’ve texted him. He usually wakes up earlier than you, you have a habit of playing games or watching television until the early hours of the morning, and he loves to send you a fact to wake up to.

Your favourite are the animal facts. He got Amazon Prime just so he could buy a plethora of animal books and watch animal documentaries. All for you.

At one point, you evolved to phone calls. They don’t happen often and the first one was while you were drunk, but they’re fun for the both of you.

It had been a Saturday, you and your friend were having a movie marathon with wine and of course she brought up Spencer. She choked on her drink when you told her you haven’t heard his voice or seen him since the incident.

“You should call him,” She slurred, “Tonight.”

“He’s working on his jigsaw. I’m not going to interrupt.”

She gave you this incredulous look, asking Really?

“What?! I have respect for him and his jigsaws!”

“Have respect for yourself and how cute he is!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

She sighed, placing her glass on the coffee table with a clunk, “Picture this: you’re helping him with the jigsaw.”

You couldn’t hide the slight upturn of your lips at the thought. You both love jigsaws, doing one with him would be stupidly romantic to you.

“Yeah.” She nodded ridiculously, “That ain’t gonna happen if you don’t call him!”

In your drunken state, you realised she’s right. You called him that night for a total of ten minutes before you passed out after calling him super handsome.

You both went to sleep feeling warm inside. Spencer called you again the next day, where the call lasted nearly two hours, and it went from there.

But now the lockdown rules are being eased. People are going back to work, meaning establishments like restaurants and hairdressers are opening up with limited capacity, all breathing beings expected to wear a mask.

Neither of you have mentioned actually meeting one another. You’re too nervous. What if he doesn’t like you? What if the image he’s created of you in his head is way better than you are in real life and he’s disappointed? What if he doesn’t want to meet you?

Spencer worries about the exact same things.

So neither of you say anything.

+++

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Spencer’s mail gets sent to the wrong address. Perhaps to his neighbour, the person living across the hall, or someone on a completely different floor.

Twice, Spencer’s mail has been delivered to the apartment building next door. The building he now exclusively calls “Y/N’s building”.

Now it’s three times.

Unphased by the mask on his face, Spencer glances around the lobby of your apartment building and wonders what your routine is when you get home. Do you immediately check for packages? Look at the noticeboard? Or do you go straight up to your apartment?

Spencer walks to the reception desk, smiling politely even though the person can’t see it.

“Hi, I’m from the building next door. I think my mail was accidentally sent here?”

He clicks a few buttons, types a few things, then flippantly asks, “Apartment number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Let me go get it.”

He takes his time leaving his chair and wandering through a door. Spencer glances around. There’s a few people, all wearing masks (Thank God), doing their own thing.

There’s two girls next to him. He eavesdrops, because he’s bored.

“I’m too used to living with you now,” The girl facing him pouts, “I don’t want to go.”

The girl with her back to him laughs, light and sweet, “You live a block away.”

“You know Sally is gonna miss me.”

Sally? As in…

“She’s gonna miss you only because you feed her too much and now she’s fat.”

Wait.

“C’mon, Y/N-“

Spencer blocks out the rest cause holy hell. You’re right there. You’re standing right next to Spencer, in all your glory, and you have no idea that he’s right there, too.

Should he say something? Should he introduce himself? Should he..

“Here, sir. My apologies for the mix-up.” The receptionist re-appears, handing Spencer his mail.

“Thank you.”

And Spencer leaves.

Except he doesn’t.

He stops outside the reception entrance, takes out his phone, and texts you.

[To: Y/N :)] This is weird but I’m right outside your building. I think you’re in the foyer and I’m too scared to approach you.

Two minutes pass before the building doors fly open.

Your head swivels back and forth. When you find Spencer, adorable and awkward Spencer, he can tell you’re grinning from the way your eyes bunch up under your mask. God, he knows you have the most beautiful smile. Everything about you is beautiful.

“Hi,” You breathe.

Spencer mouths a silent hi. You’ve taken his breath away.

“I-um. It’s good to see you in person.” Your voice is soft. It’s soft, and smooth, and so much prettier in real life. It’s already pretty through the phone, but the real version shoots straight to his heart.

He gulps, “Yeah, it’s.. Unexpected, but nice.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he can’t tear his eyes away from you, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

The compliment rolls off his tongue naturally because it’s true and from the second he spotted you he’s lost all logical thinking.

“I am?” You ask, gentle and hesitant, almost asking are you sure you mean me?

Spencer blushes, somewhat embarrassed by his confession. But he meant it, Spencer’s not the type to say things he doesn’t mean, and you don’t give him time to regret it-

“Would you like to get some coffee? If you’re free now?”

Would it be too much if he screams Yes?

“Yes. I’m free,” He ignores the mail in his hands, stuffing it in his satchel, “But let’s avoid Café Nero, I assume you still haven’t recovered from the nightmare latte you had there.”

You grin, which makes Spencer feel fuzzy, flattered that he remembers anecdotes from your texts.

Of course he remembers. You remember he has an eidetic memory.

You shyly brush your hair behind your ears, both sides, and Spencer spots the bright red of them. You’re flushed, just like him, and it fills him with confidence to know you’re the same mixture of excited and anxious about meeting him in person.

“W-what about your friend?” Spencer gestures vaguely to where he assumes she’d be, “Would she mind?”

“She’s the reason I ran out here, so… I think she’d be mad if we didn’t leave her behind.”

You smile at one another, a few feet apart. Spencer’s bumped into by the opening door of your apartment complex and stumbles, apologising profusely to the unimpressed woman that just stares at him.

Through the entire ordeal you watch Spencer, only him, and can’t stop the radiant, love-filled look on your face.

Maybe Mr Darcy isn’t such a dick when he’s the reason Spencer came into your life.

[house-of-galathynius]

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

@jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @tomtenadia @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival 

Chapter Fourteen ~ Secrets

Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fifteen

The snow came soon enough. It covered everything in it’s white blanket and brought a bitter chill to the air. Aelin had lived through twenty-one of these winters, but every time the weather turned, taking the last remnants of autumn with it, she found herself mourning the loss. 

She surveyed the snow covered courtyard from her window, watching as the staff in charge of the garden swept the snow from the paths, small mounds of it building to the side. She could remember the times her and Aedion would push each other into them, making forts and snowmen from the massive mounds and when spring would begin to emerge those forts would be the last thing to disappear. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a winter like this.” Rowan had snuck up behind her, his arms coming around her in a loving embrace. “I suppose I will have to get used to them if I’ll be living here.” 

Aelin huffed. “If it was my choice I’d spend my winters somewhere hot and sunny. The cold is horrid.” She rested her hands on Rowan’s, snuggling closer. “I know you said Doranelle never felt quite like home… but do you think you’ll miss it?” 

He seemed to think a moment. “No. I don’t think I will.” 

A knock at the door had them breaking apart. 

“Aelin? Are you in there?” 

Lysandra’s voice was shaky on the other side of the door. Aelin looked to Rowan who had also noticed the slight tremor in her voice. 

Aelin strode to the door and opened it to find a teary Lysandra, her face red and blotchy. She was clutching a handkerchief and sniffling as she looked at Aelin. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course, Lys.” She beckoned her in, leading her to the bed, Rowan exiting the room as she did.

“I need your help.” She let out a small hiccup and fell back onto the pillows. She wiped her nose and sniffed, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. 

“You’re starting to scare me.” Aelin crawled beside Lysandra, crossing her legs and watching as Lysandra held back the tears. “What is it?” 

Lysandra hesitated for a moment, wiping more tears from her face. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Aelin tried not to let her shock show as she struggled to find words. Despite Terrasen being one of the more forward-thinking territories in Erilea… unwed mothers were still a taboo and Aelin hated to think it, but with Lysandra being so close to the royal family… it would make the situation more difficult. Not to mention how Aedion would react— assuming it was in fact his, Aelin hated to even think those thoughts. 

“I wanted to tell you sooner… but I had hoped it wasn’t true.” Lysandra brought the handkerchief to her nose once more. “The healers confirmed this morning.” 

“I don’t… have you told Aedion?” 

Another sniffle. “I don’t know how.” She sat up, turning to sit knee to knee with Aelin. “I’m terrified because once he knows we have to tell everyone else, and then there is going to be a huge debate on how it’s dealt with, and I just—“ Aelin leant over and held Lysandra and began stroking her hair as she cried. 

“We’ll figure it out Lys. Whatever happens.” 

“I’m so scared.” 

Aelin held her tighter. “I know. But you’re a member of this family and you’ll have all our support.” She let go and faced Lysandra. “Do you want me to be there when you tell him?” 

Lysandra hesitated and then nodded. 

“Today?” 

Another nod. 

“Okay. Stay here whilst I organise a couple of things. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

Aelin hopped off the bed, tucking Lysandra in. She threw on the nearest dress and combed through her knotty hair before heading down the breakfast room. 

When she entered the room her family were already sat there. She could see the snow clouds rolling in through the windows, small flakes already floating down. Her father greeted her as she came to stand at the head of the table. Aedion was flicking through some papers, uninterested in her arrival. 

“I’m not going to be able to meet with the planners today. Lysandra isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to look after her.” 

Orlon paused his sipping. “We have healers, Aelin. There’s no reason to abandon your duties.” 

“She doesn’t need the healers. It’s more of a woman thing.” She had used this card too many times to count— trying to get out of royal duties and snag a few extra hours in bed. 

Her mother gave her a knowing look. 

“I promise I will put in extra hours tomorrow to make up for it.” 

Orlon didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyway and went back to sipping his tea. Aedion had not looked up once from his papers, completely unaware of the shitstorm that was coming his way. 

Rowan on the other hand was giving Aelin a curious look. 

Is everything okay?

She gave a subtle nod. Lysandra just needs me. 

Did I scent what I think I did?

Shit. She had forgotten about the fae sense of smell. The castle was still crawling with other Whitethorns, not to mention Aedion who had been gifted the fae abilities too, if any of them got close enough to scent Lysandra…

“Aedion?” 

He finally looked up. 

“Can you come up when you’ve finished? Lysandra wants to see you.” 

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Does she need a reason? She just asked me to get you.” 

“I’ll be up soon.” 

She stole a couple of pastries and walked back up to her room. She found Lysandra in the same spot she had left her in, her body curled into a ball, the sheets tightly pulled over her. 

“I asked Aedion to come up when he was done.” Aelin stroked her hair, placing the stolen pastries on the side table. “Do you want anything?” 

Lysandra shook her head. 

Aelin left her and went to sit on the sofa instead. She used her flame to light the fire, filling the room with a comforting warmth. Neither of them said anything, Aelin picking up discarded papers from the day before, trying and failing to read what was on them. The words blurring into each other the more she tried to focus. 

Trying to keep a pregnancy hidden in a palace full of humans was hard enough, but in a palace full of fae… it was going to be impossible. Aelin glanced to Lysandra who was still hidden beneath the covers. She knew what her parents would want, and she knew what Orlon would say needed to happen. But Lysandra was a free spirit, and the options she would be given in order to remain in the palace would not be desirable to her. 

She nibbled on the stolen pastry, barely tasting it as she swallowed it down. She should’ve told Aedion it was urgent and dragged him up with her, waiting for him was unbearable. Aelin picked up and immediately put back down the book she had been meaning to read. Her mind too worked up to focus on anything other than Lysandra. She stood up, going to the window and watching the snow fall, heavier than it had been earlier. The paths that had been swept clear only thirty minutes ago, were now covered with a white blanket. From her window she could almost see the city beyond, then the mountains in the distance which were layered with clouds. 

Aelin tore her gaze from the outside and back to Lysandra, who was know sat up and stating right back at her. 

“Your fidgeting is making me nervous.” Lysandra patted the spot beside her. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, stop worrying so much.” 

She huffed. “You’re one to talk — coming in here crying and then hiding under the covers. Of course I’m going to be worried Lys.” 

“I just found out I’m pregnant, I’m pretty sure my reaction is normal.” She brushed her hair to the side. “I’m pretty sure if you found out you were pregnant right now you would react a similar way.” 

“My situation is slightly different.” 

“But it wasn’t a year ago.” 

Aelin felt the words like a punch to the stomach. “Was that necessary to bring up?” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” Lysandra sighed and laid her head back on the pillows. “I’m just scared and I’m acting out. I didn’t mean it, Aelin.” 

“I don’t want anyone else knowing what happened last year, okay? With so many Fae in the palace, anyone could hear.” 

“You mean Rowan could hear?” 

She shrugged. “Any of them. If just one of them found out, there’s no doubt in my mind they would tell Rowan.” Aelin went to the door and peaked into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when no one was to be seen. “I’ll tell him eventually, I’m sure.” She pressed the door closed quietly and went back to the chair. 

“What do you think Aedion will do?” 

“I think he loves you and he’ll support you in any way he can.” 

Lysandra thought for a moment. “I don’t want people to know, Aelin. I can’t deal with the stares and the whispers. People already think less of me because I don’t come from noble blood… I don’t think I can deal with the looks that I’ll get.” 

Aelin’s heart squeezed. Lysandra was right. She had always been looked down upon from the other nobles in the palace, and in Orynth in general. People were cruel and this would fuel their dislike for her even more— especially since Aedion was seen as one of the most sought after males in the city. 

There was a knock on the door and Aedion strode through, assessing the two of them as he did. 

“I don’t have long, I’ve got a meeting with Lord Allsbrook in ten minutes.” He took another look at Lysandra who had paled in the face and looked like she could pass out any second. “Is everything okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

Lysandra jumped from the bed and half ran to the bathroom. Aelin tried not to wince at the sounds of her vomiting. Aedion started towards the bathroom, but Aelin stood to stop him. “Leave her for a moment.” 

“What is going on? Should I get a healer? If she’s sick she should be getting help.” He moved around Aelin’s hand. Aelin slipped in front of him, her hands going to his chest, pushing him back towards the chair. He narrowed his eyes at Aelin. “You said it was a woman thing, but that does not sound—“ 

“For the love of God, please would you just do as I say.” Aedion backed off slightly, his brows furrowing as another bout of vomiting could be heard. 

“If she’s not sick then why is she—“ Realisation dawned on his face as he put two and two together. He stepped back and slumped into the chair, his eyes glossing over. “Gods almighty.”

“Aedion, please don’t freak out yet. Lysandra needs you, and if you’re freaking out it won’t help anyone.” 

The sounds of shuffling came from behind and Lysandra chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. One hand rested on her still flat stomach, her gaze on Aedion. He didn’t move as she made her way towards him, eventually coming to crouch in front of him, her hands gripping his own. 

“I found out this morning. I had suspected for a couple of weeks… but the healers confirmed it.” 

“I thought you were taking a tonic? I mean… this is not possible.” He shook his head. “The healers told you it was effective, that the chances of conceiving whilst taking it were low.” 

“Low, but not impossible.” 

Aedion turned to Aelin. “And you knew about this? For how long?” 

“I found out this morning. I haven’t known much longer than you.” She put her hands up in defence. 

Lysandra stood from her crouch and went to the bed again, her hands immediately going back to her stomach as she sat. “I don’t want anyone to know yet. Not until we figured out the next moves.” 

Aedion shook his head. “You’ll never be able to keep it a secret here.” He stood too, starting to pace. “We could go to the cabin in the mountains, or go to the summer palace.” 

Aelin shook her head. “The cabin is too far and too isolated. If she needs healers it will take too long for them to reach her, and the summer palace is impossible to reach during the winter.” 

Aedion groaned. “So we find an apartment in the city and stay there. The healers can get there easily and its safe.” 

“What are you going to tell everyone, Aedion? You can’t just leave the palace for nine months without a valid explanation.” Lysandra’s voice cracked as she spoke. 

Aedion went to her side, his arm snaking around her waist as he pulled her in closer, Lysandra’s head resting on his shoulder. He placed a kiss on the top of her head before he looked to Aelin. “I’m not leaving her alone. What if something happens?” 

Aelin hated the thought of Lysandra being alone too. But it would be too suspicious if Aedion suddenly left the palace, and she couldn’t even begin to think of the complexities of trying to find an apartment in the city without someone catching on. 

They all looked to the door as someone knocked. Aedion went white as he started to panic. Lysandra quickly crawled back under the covers, hiding her non-existent bump. 

Aelin got up and opened it, the tension in her shoulders easing when it was just Rowan. She ushered him in and Aelin saw Aedion and Lysandra relax. 

The four of them remained in silence until Rowan cleared his throat and started to speak. 

“Should I be congratulating you?” 

Aedion glared at Aelin. “You told him?” 

“I am a full-blooded Fae male. I scented it on her when she came here this morning.” 

Lysandra groaned into the pillow. “If Rowan already knows, then how many others do you think can scent it on me? I can’t stay here!” 

“Could you and Rowan not say you want somewhere private to stay? Then Lysandra could stay there and if we visited it wouldn’t be as suspicious.” 

Aelin tried to hide the blush that crept up her cheeks as thought of it. She cleared her throat. “It would never be approved, Aedion. You know we couldn’t do that before a mating or wedding ceremony. The Lords would go crazy if they knew Rowan and I were living away from the palace alone.” 

They fell into silence again as they all thought. The only sounds came from the crackling fire and howls of the wind from outside. 

“What about asking Sam?” 

Aelin’s head shot up to stare at Rowan. 

“That’s out of the question. He won’t speak to me.” 

“Lysandra is still friends with him. I’m sure if you explained the situation, he would let her stay. It would be perfect. It’s somewhere close by, she wouldn’t be alone and it would give us good excuses to go into the city to see her.” 

Aelin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Except no one would believe me if I said I was going to visit Sam. My parents know everything, they would know something is up.” 

“Then we tell your parents about Lysandra. Then the four of us and your parents will be the only ones to know. And Sam.” 

“The last time I saw him he told me I was dead to him.” Rowan brushed his hand against her own. A silent gesture of love between the two of them. “It would be better if it came from you Aedion.” 

Aedion froze a moment. “I don’t think Sam will want to see me either. I may have paid him a visit after everything happened.” 

“Aedion.” Lysandra swatted his head. “You idiot.”

“I didn’t realise we would need his help. I’m sorry for defending my cousin.” 

Aelin shushed him and hesitated slightly before speaking, her hand rubbing her forehead. “I’ll go. If he knows it’s for Lysandra maybe he’ll feel more inclined to help.” She turned to Rowan. “You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” 

“I guess it’s settled then. I’ll go into the city and try and see him today.” 

Aedion gave her a smile and helped Lysandra out of the bed. “We’ll go and get her things together.” 

Aelin nodded. 

She remained in the same spot, picking bits of lint from her dress; unsure of what to say to Rowan. She felt the need to explain herself to him, but there was nothing to explain. Rowan knew most of the history between Sam and herself, and maybe that was it. He didn’t know all the history, and after Lysandra’s comment this morning… well maybe she did owe an explanation before they left.

“You don’t need to say anything, Aelin. I trust you.” 

“I know. But Lysandra said something to me earlier and now I feel the need to tell you because you’re my mate and I don’t want secrets between us.” She couldn’t look at him as she continued. “Last year during autumn I found out I was pregnant.” 

Rowan sucked in a breath. Her chest tightened as his eyes met her own. “I assume it was Sam’s?” 

Aelin nodded. “I didn’t tell anyone other than Lysandra and Aedion. I had planned on telling my parents when I began to show… and then I guess I would have either renounced my claim on the throne or Sam would have been given some fake title and we would get married.”

Rowan sat on the small couch, his hands clasped in front of him. “You didn’t tell Sam?”

She shook her head. “I was terrified of what he would do or say and then I got more scared of what other people would think and I just felt stupid that I had put myself in that position.” Aelin tipped her head back and leant it on the back of the chair. “It had been about a week since I had found out, and I was preparing myself on what to say to Sam, when I woke in the night and found a pool of blood on my sheets and I knew what had happened.” She wiped away tears. “The worst part was that I felt relieved. And maybe that makes me an awful person, but when I saw the blood… I really didn’t feel anything other than relief.” She sniffed, remembering the night it had happened, the wetness of her nightgown and the sheets around her, the momentary panic and then the weight lifting from her shoulders when she realised what had happened. She hadn’t hesitated before cleaning herself up and burning the sheets and replacing them herself before someone asked questions. She hadn’t shed a tear the entire time, not even when she told Lysandra who sat there and cried enough for the both of them. Perhaps she was an awful person, but even now, she still feels relief when she thinks back.

Rowan interrupted her thoughts. “You’re not an awful person.” Rowan still hadn’t looked at her, his gaze focused on the fire. “But you’ve never told Sam?” 

“I didn’t know how. He already had these grand ideas of us running away together and starting new lives away from Orynth, if I had told him I was expecting his child he would have got carried away and I— I don’t know. I just didn’t want that.” 

“You’re not an awful person for feeling relief. But if it was me… I would want to know. Sam deserved to know, Aelin.” 

Her voice wobbled. “I know he did.” 

Rowan shifted in his seat, finally meeting her eyes. “I will never question your past because I did not know you then, and you knew what was best for you at that time. But please, Aelin, as your mate, don’t keep me in the dark.” He came to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I love you unconditionally and I will support you through everything. But never be afraid of sharing things with me. Whatever is thrown at us we will manage together, as a pair. There will never be a burden too heavy that I can’t help you carry, okay?” 

Aelin could only nod as she brought her mouth to Rowans, holding his face in her hands as she poured her love into the kiss, hoping that Rowan would know what she was trying say. Rowan pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you, Aelin. No matter what happens.” 

“I love you. Thank you for being patient with me, I know I’m a handful and come with a lot of baggage for someone so young.” Aelin let out a laugh.

Rowan grinned in response. “I don’t care about the baggage, Aelin. We all have it, it’s just part of life.” He kissed her forehead once then pulled her up out of the chair. “Let’s go do this before you overthink it all.” 

She laughed and swatted his arm, the two of them heading for the door. 

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 1: Return to Mistward

Here we go! the first chapter of my rowan POV of Queen of Shadows! Please let me know what you think!

tw for thoughts of self harm, very minor

word count: 3832

Masterlist / Ao3 / Next Chapter 

Rowan awoke abruptly, gasping and retching over the side of the bed. Bile pooled in his throat, and it was an effort to keep from vomiting up the meager contents of his stomach onto the cold stone floors of the fortress.

It had been the dream, the same dream. The visions that had tormented him for what now felt like months – though it had barely been a week since they had begun.

Aelin on her knees. Maeve towering before her, darkness wafting in deep pools around her feet. Black iron everywhere, keeping her chained to the floor. Keeping his queen locked in place.

Lorcan and Rowan appeared beside Maeve, whips clutched between their fingers. Aelin looked at him with betrayal in her eyes, and Rowan had to watch as he and Lorcan cut her skin to ribbons. As they cut her just like the men of the salt mines had cut her. As her master had cut her.

Maeve just laughed.

And that was usually when the screaming began. They were Lyria’s screams, but they fell from Aelin’s lips.

Rowan knew they were loud, knew the sounds coming from his queen were enough to echo through the castle, to shake its very foundation. But somehow, in the dream, he felt distant. Removed from them.

The sounds of her agony brushed his face like rose petals. Like a silver mist.

Cool. Soft.

And yet they made his heart pound through his chest, hammer and chisel on stone, splintering it apart. Piece. By. Piece.

Even now, he could still feel those screams radiating through his very being. Rippling through his soul like a rung bell. It felt as though their tender sound would never leave him.

It made Rowan want to tear out his own throat.

But instead, he slowly sat up, taking in slow breath after slow breath. Trying in vain to calm his pounding blood.

Rowan had been in Mistward for eight days now. Eight long days, and eight even longer nights. And he still hadn’t gotten used to sleeping in an empty bed. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it again.

It felt wrong to sleep in this bed without Aelin by his side. A bed they had shared for months, long enough for Rowan to get used to balancing himself on the edge of the mattress. Long enough for him to get used to hiding his desire from her, particularly in the mornings.

Her scent still lingered, almost like a friendly ghost haunting the stone alcoves. But soon, even that would be gone. Along with her muddy boots and lent garments.

Rowan had always slept on the side of the bed facing the door, providing Aelin as much protection as he could – even in his sleep. Aelin got the window side, where often, the moonlight would stretch its fingers across her golden hair, marking it with silver.

Now, it felt like an invasion to spread out, to brush against her side of the bed. To touch her moonlight.

So Rowan kept to his edge, and let the moon mark the empty space where his Fireheart used to rest.

For a while Rowan just lay there, letting himself be completely useless. Wallowing. But as the minutes slid past like hours, and Deanna finally slipped below the horizon to allow Mala to stretch her golden fingers over the land, Rowan dragged himself out of bed and prepared to face the day.

Each piece of steel he strapped to his clothes felt heavier than the last.

Rowan wandered down to the kitchens, his boots silent in the fortress corridors. It was still early, and Mistward was quite awake yet. But the kitchens, as usual, had been bustling with energy long before dawn.

From the top of the stairs, Rowan could hear chopping vegetables, the quick opening and closing of the bread ovens, the cursing of burnt fingers. The melody of Luca and Emrys preparing for the breakfast rush.

Rowan slid in as quietly as he could, grabbing a mug of stew and snatching a loaf of bread when Emrys’ eyes were averted, then retreated to a back corner to wolf it down.

“Hurry up with those vegetables, Luca! No time to waste – the stock should have started simmering over 15 minutes ago!”

“I’m sorry Emrys, it’s just that Elentiya used to deal with this.” Luca frantically shoved the mixed vegetables into a pot, and moved on to carving at a mysterious slab of meat. Roast duck, perhaps?

“I know I know.” Emrys said, exasperated. “Just get it done. Malakai will be down in a minute to take you away, and then I’m going to have to finish this all myself.”

As if the old male had summoned him, Malakai appeared in the entranceway, his lined face haggard with missed sleep. He nodded at Rowan, then snuck behind Emrys to embrace him.

“See? What did I say,” Emrys teased, a smile in his voice, “Now I’ll be without both my helpers to get breakfast on the table.” He snuck a kiss on his mate’s cheek, then twisted out of his grip to stir a massive vat of scrambled eggs, grabbing a handful of chopped chives from Luca’s cutting board and tossing them in.

Luca started working more furiously than ever, cutting bread into slices and portioning soup into bowls. Malakai reluctantly let go of his mate, then, surprisingly, looked up at Rowan.

“Prince Whitethorn,” he cleared his throat lightly. “Thrain has asked if I would join him beneath the fortress today, to help install the new iron gate. And Randall is over at the healer’s compound this morning, so – ”

Rowan frowned. He thought he knew where this was going. “ – would it be alright if you took Luca on patrol this morning?”

Rowan sighed. It wasn’t like he had anything more important to do. He gave the male a small nod, then said, “Emrys, if you need him this morning, it can wait until after breakfast is done.”

The old male didn’t even look up from the stove. “Thank you, Prince Rowan. Now Luca – ” Emrys gave the young male a daunting list of instructions, the boy’s face noticeably paling.

Malakai nodded at Rowan once again, kissed his mate, grabbed one of Luca’s slices of bread and cheese, then disappeared out the kitchen door, presumably to head for the tunnels beneath the fortress.

Rowan finished eating just as the demi-Fae began to arrive, told Luca he would be back in an hour, then left out the back door and headed into the forest, his limbs stretching into a slow, loping run.

This wasn’t the first time he had taken charge of Luca’s training since his return to Mistward, and he was starting to realize that he rather liked the young demi-Fae. No matter that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was almost like a very, very young Connall – always full of questions, and going around with that naïve, bright-eyed innocence. So impressionable.

His run slowly transformed into a sprint, his muscles burning with exertion.

It was strange to feel the boy beginning to warm up to him after all these months. Finally opening up, and asking all those questions burning on his lips. And it was nice that Malakai and Emrys seemed to trust Rowan with him, even if it was just to guide him through the basics of sparring, or run with him around the borders of the fortress’ lands.

Rowan knew that Malakai and Emrys were at least a little bit confused as to why Rowan was back, but they hadn’t asked too many questions, for which he was grateful. Malakai and the other leaders wanted an update on the events in Doranelle and to know the Queen’s response to the Adarlanian attack, but all Emrys wanted to know was whether Elentiya was all right.

Rowan told them as little as he could, saying that he had informed Maeve of the details of Adarlan’s attack on the fortress, that she was responding accordingly and would keep them informed through the usual channels. He told them that Elentiya was on her way back to Adarlan, and that he was here on his queen’s orders.

Rowan just didn’t specify exactly which queen had ordered him to return, and they did not ask. But somehow, he thought that Emrys suspected. That male seemed to be able to see through anything.

Rowan felt that Emrys and Malakai were wondering why he hadn’t gone with Aelin, but they didn’t say anything. And for that, Rowan was even more grateful. Because he didn’t have an answer to give them. He barely had an answer to give himself.

Rowan knew that Aelin hadn’t been telling him the whole truth on that pier, but he hadn’t wanted to push. She deserved her space, deserved to go back to Adarlan alone, with a clean slate and without a hulking ass like him hanging on her coattails at every moment. Even if it drove him completely insane.

Rowan’s feet pounded into the earth as he sprinted through the trees. Maybe this morning he would reach as far as the sea.

By the time they said goodbye, the captain’s scent had completely left her own. There was no trace of him left. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t still want him, or that when Rowan saw her again, the scent wouldn’t have returned.

There was also that prince, the Havilliard boy. They were friends, at the very least. And surely a match between their two houses would be politically advantageous. The first daughter of Brannon Galathynius, and the first son of Gavin Havilliard, combining their houses? Certainly something Aelin would be considering.

Rowan ripped past a patch of thorns, their barbs digging into the skin of his forearms. He didn’t pause.

Aelin had only mentioned her cousin a few times, just in passing, but Rowan had heard of Aedion Ashryver. Knew all the stories about the wolf of the north. Even knew about the rumors that had circulated, several times over, that a marriage would be arranged between the two of them.

It could be a smart match, the two cousins. Aedion was respected and admired throughout the western continent, and beloved by his people. It would solidify Aelin’s position within Terrasen, and secure her more support within her nation. He even had his own legion of soldiers he could promise to her cause.

Rowan’s breaths were sharp in his throat. He pushed himself even harder.

Then there was the matter of her former master. Aelin had never been clear about her relationship with Arobynn Hamel, whether he was father, brother, or…lover. The word turned Rowan’s stomach.

He was now practically flying through the trees.

Aelin had told him that she needed to go to Adarlan alone because Rowan would be too much of a distraction, that he would only make things harder for her if he went with her. And that was true, at least in part. But Rowan thought that the real reason she wanted to go alone was because she needed to deal with Chaol and Arobynn without him there to complicate things.

Arobynn… Rowan sighed, gritting his teeth. Rowan wasn’t sure he had ever desired the death of another human being more than he had Arobynn Hamel’s.

Aelin had been so hesitant, so reluctant to say anything about her former master. But those scars spoke volumes.

He had chained her, had abused her, manipulated her, and then beat her bloody. He had tortured and killed her lover. Her Sam. And then he had sent her to the salt mines, where she was whipped and starved and had nearly been destroyed.

Rowan wanted to tear Arobynn limb from limb, wanted to rip out his fingernails and chain him up in the dark and leave him there until he started to lose grip on what was real and what wasn’t. There was no torture too extreme, no punishment that he didn’t deserve.

But if Aelin decided to forgive him, decided to let that monster back into her life, Rowan would have to live with it.

And it killed him.

Killed him to have her headed over that sea, towards enemies who had already nearly succeeded in killing her, and who had tried over and over and over again. And most of all, it killed him because he had no idea when he would see her again. No idea if he would ever see her again.

His legs kept pushing him forwards, his lungs fighting to keep up.

She didn’t want him. Aelin didn’t want him by her side.

Another ragged breath.

He would learn to live with it. Would learn to deal with that burden.

In. Out. Forwards.

Aelin would marry another, be it for love or politics. And Rowan would be there for her no matter what. That was the promise he had made, and that was the promise he would keep.

So he ran, pushing through the undergrowth until he could feel the sea air on his cheeks, until the wind whispered of caves and sand and foam and spray. Rowan sprinted right up to the cliffs, jerking to a stop.

He looked out over the deep blue water with sharp, determined eyes. As if he looked hard enough, he would be able to see her on her little ship, sailing away from him across the blue ocean.

But of course, the sea was as empty as it always was.

His breaths ripped through his chest, but before they calmed, Rowan had already shifted into his hawk and was soaring through the sea-tossed air. Heading back over the trees he had just run between.

This run had become a part of his routine. And while he told himself it was just exercise, he knew that it was really so he could run over the paths he had spent so much time with Aelin on. So he could feel like she was still with him, even fleetingly.

What had taken him nearly an hour to travel on foot took him barely minutes in the air. And soon, he was swooping down over the fortress and shifting to land on his feet outside the kitchen door to collect Luca.

Ever since the battle, the ward stones had been useless and silent, the barriers permanently fallen. Rowan had spent some time examining them, and though he could find no obvious flaw in the ancient stone, he also could find no remedy. Their magic was simply spent, and it would not come back.

As a result, the residents of Mistward had spent a significant amount of time and energy on designing replacements to secure the fortress; higher walls, stronger battlements, sturdier outer gate, larger drawbridge. These improvements were well underway by the time Rowan had returned a week past, and he had gladly thrown himself into the effort.

Even now, as he waited outside the kitchen for Luca to arrive, he could see various workers laying the foundation for the new gate and battlements, and others pulling a large wagon filled with quarried stone for the outer wall. Rowan would likely spend his afternoon among them, either with the men in the small quarry a mile or so away, harvesting stone blocks, or with those who were currently building the scaffolding to contain the stones as they were laid in place.

He wasn’t exactly looking forwards to it. The days were getting hotter as summer grew nearer, and though the day had barely begun, it already was promising to be sweltering.

Luca finally appeared at the door, Emrys’ voice calling from across the room reminding him to be careful, and that he would see him in the evening for the dinner rush, and to stay safe. Rowan disguised a small smile.

Luca glanced up at him briefly, then jerked his eyes away and skittered out of the entrance, making for the fortress gates. Rowan followed without a word.

“Malakai told me I was supposed to run the southern perimeter, and then work on my sparring forms.” Luca’s eyes met his, then flitted away again. Luca’s scent was mellow, buttered toast and apple slices, but right now it was sharp with anxiety and excitement.

Rowan nodded at the boy, and they took off towards the south, passing by sentries who waved and smiled at Luca, but didn’t seem to know how to greet Rowan. Most looked down and away, or raised their hands in half a wave which they quickly gave up on. Rowan ignored them.

Public opinion of him had shifted since the battle, but not by that much.

They ran in silence for a while, Rowan alert and watchful, though they found nothing of interest. Luca was demi-Fae, but since he couldn’t shift, they were confined to a much slower pace than Rowan was used to. Meaning a run that would have taken him minutes, took them over an hour.

By the time they stopped for water, Luca was panting, but determined. Rowan handed the boy the water skin, which he eagerly gulped down. Rowan stripped off his light cotton shirt, now soaked in sweat, and hung it up on a branch at the edge of the clearing.

Luca’s voice floated over to him, “Do you think Elentiya is ever going to come back?”

Rowan paused for a moment. “I don’t know, Luca. But I don’t think so.”

His brow was furrowed. “How long are you going to stay here then?”

“I don’t know that either.”

The boy almost laughed. “I used to think that you knew everything.”

“No one knows everything.”

Luca shook his head slightly, glancing around the forest, his lips curved upwards into a sly grin. “But I still thought you did – well, if not everything, then at least everything important. Bas – ” Luca’s voice stumbled a bit over the other boy’s name, “he tried to tell me different, but I refused to listen to him.”

Rowan’s heart sunk. Bas. He had been so young, only a little bit older than Luca. He hadn’t known any better, had just wanted what everyone did – to be accepted. To be safe.

“I killed him, did you know that?” Luca’s gaze turned to Rowan’s. “I was the one who killed him.”

Rowan nodded. “I guessed.”

His eyes jerked away again, his feet scuffing the earth. “I still forget that he’s gone, sometimes. But it was the right thing – what I did. Wasn’t it?”

Rowan sighed, frowning slightly. Luca looked back up at him, worried. “The world is a complicated place,” Rowan said finally. “Answers are almost never as easy as that. But yes, Luca. I think that you did the right thing.”

The boy’s face darkened, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Rowan let the silence continue, just waiting. Knowing that he might be the only person who could soothe this ache for the young demi-Fae. It was a responsibility that he didn’t take lightly.

“Sometimes – ” he broke off, and though his face was turned away, Rowan could see that his eyes were lined with silver. “Sometimes I wonder whether I still want to become a warrior.”

Rowan considered his answer carefully before he responded. “Warriors are many things, Luca, not just soldiers. Malakai has been a warrior all his life, but his days are filled with the duties of a leader, not with violence.”

“That wasn’t really what I meant.”

Rowan waited.

“I meant – I’m not sure why I’m doing this anymore. I mean why do I even want to be let into Doranelle? It doesn’t seem much better over there than it is here.”

“Then let me ask you a question in return,” he said plainly. “Do you think that what you’re learning is worthwhile?”

Another pause. “Yes…” Luca said slowly. “Or at least I think so.”

“Then I would say don’t worry about whether or not you will pass your tests, and be let into Doranelle.” Rowan turned, and began walking through the clearing, scanning it over. “Many demi-Fae come here, and spend all of their time wishing to be somewhere else. Then when they don’t achieve that goal, they end up lost, and angry.” Rowan grabbed a long, sturdy stick from the ground and turned back to the young demi-Fae. “Instead focus on what you are in control of.”

Rowan threw the stick over to Luca, who caught it just before it smacked him in the face. The boy wiped at his eyes, then nodded.

“Are you ready?” Rowan asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Rowan guided him through the basic sparring forms, grabbing another stick for himself as they staged mock battles. They exchanged choreographed blows until the sun began to pull them into midday, and they returned to Mistward.

Luca traipsed off to join the other young sentries, and Rowan spent the rest of the afternoon toiling over a ten-foot section of the new outer wall, laboriously hauling piles of stone and fitting them into place with smeared vats of pale-grey grout.

It was hard, physical labor. The kind that filled your muscles with a satisfying soreness at the end of the day. But it did not fill his mind.

Instead, Rowan spent the afternoon mulling over his conversation with Luca.

That boy really did have a way of worming through other people’s barriers.

But it was more than just that. It had almost reminded Rowan of living in his uncle’s house, when he was still learning the fighting arts and was recovering from the deaths of his parents. He had been surrounded by cousins, both younger and older. And today with Luca – that is what it had been like back then. Learning and teaching alike, giving comfort and advice when asked.

It was a time so distant, it felt strange in Rowan’s mind. Like they were the memories of another, completely separate person. Someone who didn’t exist anymore.

But this morning, he had reappeared. If only for a moment.

It was like putting on old clothes, made unfamiliar by time. The memory stretched tight over his new frame.

Rowan realized that he missed Sellene and Endymion and all the rest, missed their mess and chaos, and the countless children underfoot. It wasn’t likely he would see them again anytime soon. Nor that their meeting would be under anything resembling decent circumstances.

When they ate dinner that evening, Luca sat at Rowan’s table. They didn’t say anything to each other, but Rowan recognized the gesture for what it was.

And that night, when Rowan finally curled up at the edge of his mattress, his thoughts fell to family. To children. And what they would look like if he shared them with Aelin.

Rowan gritted his teeth at the idea, but he was unable to banish it. And so those thoughts coaxed him slowly to sleep, where he lay in the fortress of stone, surrounded by silver mist.

Just barely out of reach of the moonlight.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Next Chapter

···

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[lost-inyourwords]

bad ideas can have good endings (Maeve Wiley x F!Reader)

Request: “Hey! if you are still taking requests could i please have a maeve x female reader where maeve gets outed by Otis when he’s drunk and tells everyone that she likes R? maybe angst with some fluff? Thank you!!!!!!!” @onehellagaykid

Warnings: minor angst, underage drinking, minor retching/vomit mentions

Word count: 1849

A/N: thank you so much for your request! I had such a blast writing this and I hope it’s everything you imagined :) feedback is mega appreciated and requests, as always, are open!

This party was a bad idea. Maeve knew it, Ola knew it, Otis had yet to figure it out and Eric was too busy inviting people to stop and think about it. As [Y/N] put on her outfit for the night, she was looking forward to the carnage that a party brings but there was dread in the back of her mind. What if she got too drunk and accidentally told an Untouchable to shove their million-pound attitude up their ass? What if she blacked out and ended up missing school? Who has a party on a Thursday anyway? Pushing her apprehensions to the back of her mind, she fastened her necklace; a simple silver chain with a small bee-shaped pendant. 

 “Where are you off to then?” Erin drawled once again. Maeve could swear she felt the headache arrive moment by moment, “Nowhere,” came the quick reply. The faster she got out of the caravan, the less questions she’d get. Erin, ever the supportive mum, scoffed dramatically. “Fine, don’t tell me. Is there at least a boy involved?” she pleaded. Fine, Maeve would indulge her for the 20 seconds she had left of lacing up a boot. “No, there isn’t. I keep trying to tell you that boys have never - and will never - be involved,” she reprimanded. Erin did her best not to look wounded but Maeve could tell there would be no further conversation. Pulling her tote over her shoulder, she left the caravan and waved ‘bye-bye’ to Elsie though the window. Turning toward the exit of the park, she sighed. This was a bad idea. She heard Isaac trying to taunt her again but decided she didn’t want to potentially get involved in an assault case, so she simply sped up and put her mind in a different place. 

 Otis Milburn is not what you would describe as a “frequent drinker”. In fact, many people wouldn’t describe him as a “drinker” in the first place - not even himself. This Otis, though, would say something very different. That is, of course, if he could get the words out without burping obscenely or choking back a bit of sick. Yes, Otis Milburn - sex kid, Moordale’s very own urban legend - was drunk. Not just drunk, but positively wasted. [Y/N] wondered if he thought this was a bad idea. She found Eric among the heaving crowd overtaking the house. 

“What is he doing? I’ve never seen him like this,” she said, unable to contain the concern in her tone.

“Relax! He’s fine, just enjoying himself and letting loose a little. Speaking of which, can I get you a drink? You look so wound up,” he slurred slightly.

“Yeah, alright. Just a cider or something though, I have to walk home after this,” she replied, conceding that she was a little high-strung by the stressful week behind her. Maeve had come back to school. Yes, Maeve, the one and only girl who had ever made [Y/N] think about love outside of the fairytale bubble containing a white picket fence and 3 kids whom all look too similar to truly pick a favourite. That word hadn’t even been in her vocabulary until she came to high school and met the smartest person she knows. She’d read so many great books thanks to the once pink-haired rebel. Had enjoyed so many hours of amazing music both with her and because of her. She’d been devastated last term when everything went down with Sean. She’d sounded so sad over the phone. They’d tried to keep in touch but there was only so much that they could do until the horrible drift happened. [Y/N] would actively avoid the pretzel shop at the local shopping centre because she knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold back her pity. Despite how strongly Maeve carried herself, [Y/N] knew what happened behind closed doors. The breakdowns, the empty laughs, the glazed over eyes at 2am when sleep evaded her. Besides, [Y/N] had started talking to Otis after Maeve disappeared. He’d confessed about how sorry he felt for the way things ended and all he wanted was to see her again one more time to just apologise and tell her how proud he was of her. It was sweet. Perhaps he was thinking about that right now and needed alcohol to numb the pain. Maeve had just strolled in the door, after all.

 Upon stepping foot inside, Maeve recognised that this party was already a disaster. Not 30 seconds had passed before she saw multiple people drunk off their faces and at least one person puking in a bin. Charming. Eyes scanning the crowd, her gaze fell lovingly upon the makeshift bar in the kitchen, which she made a quick beeline towards. Pouring a too-strong drink, she let herself drift. She didn’t need to think tonight; maybe she’d let herself get blackout drunk for once. Losing control could be good. Feelings were too complicated anyways; especially those involving other people. Like [Y/N]. Especially [Y/N]. Maeve’s thoughts and dreams had been overtaken by visions of the girl; from daydreaming about going on cheesy dates to nights spent dreaming about… more inappropriate activities. She longed to feel [Y/N]’s hand in her own, to kiss her in the morning at school, even to watch her fall apart underneath her when she finally gives her what she begged so sweetly for. Having gotten lost in her own thoughts again, her eyes drifted towards [Y/N] and Eric, standing next to someone hunched over a bin. Again, she contemplated, charming. 

 Otis retched once again, the sound ripping through [Y/N]’s ears despite the blasting music flooding the house. Eric tutted softly. 

“You are such a lightweight, man. How can you not even hold down a shot?” He pleaded, clearly exasperated. Rahim seemed to apparate out of thin air and dragged him away with nothing but a suggestive look that he hoped [Y/N] didn’t see. She did, but elected to ignore it. If there was anything she wanted to avoid tonight, it would be a horny and impatient Eric without his best friend by his side. Otis finally straightened up from his shameful hunch over the bin and swiftly headed back to the kitchen for a refill. Would he ever learn? She decided not to think about that and instead let her eyes scan her surroundings. So many teenagers - so many insecurities in one room. How many of them were getting completely wasted to forget about their feelings or their home life? How many were looking for a random hookup just so they could brag to their friends about losing their virginity? She silently hoped that Maeve didn’t fall into that last category.

 Maeve pounded her second shot. “Fuck it,” she murmured to herself. Making her way across the room to where [Y/N] stood, a wave of confidence flowed through her. Even though she knew that was simply her blood flowing faster due to the booze, she still felt empowered. She was finally going to do it. After a year of looking away right before she got caught staring, a year of daydreaming, a year of pining, she’d finally let her true feelings be known.

Otis had poured his fifth drink for the night and set his sights for [Y/N]. He needed to apologise. He didn’t know what for, but [Y/N] had such a sad look in her eyes some days - Otis definitely knew it was somehow his fault. Swishing the plastic cup in his right hand, he contemplated what he would say before getting to her. His train of thought was interrupted when he felt the sharp-smelling liquor splash and land on his shirt. He turned rapidly, ready to throw venomous words at whatever clumsy asshole wasn’t watching their step, but his sentiments died quickly in his throat when he saw Maeve’s brown locks. She swivelled on the spot. Paused for a beat too long.

“...Oh. Hey, dickhead,” she said, straight-faced and terrifying as ever.

“Hey. Wa- watch… where you’re going, maybe?” Otis replied, bold, and suddenly really feeling that fourth shot.

“Yeah, sorry,” she brushed him off and tried to continue on her way to [Y/N]. 

“HEY! Don’t walk away,” he shouted, unfortunately loud enough to catch the attention of pretty much everyone downstairs. 

Shit. Why was he trying to make a scene? Is this just what he’s like when he drinks? No-one should have ever let him near any alcohol in the first place. God, she could punch him right now.

“Sorry, Otis. Do you have something to say?” she spat, quickly losing her nerve.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, okay? I’m- I-” he stuttered, retching a little. 

“Go on then, spit it out!” someone yelled before turning the music down. Oh great, Maeve thought. So we’re involving everyone in this then? 

“I’m sorry about all the shit that went down with you and Jackson last term. I’m sorry you have to live alone and all your family left. And I’m sorry that.. that you’re in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way. Trust me, I know the feeling, Maeve,” he finished, his eyes landing directly on [Y/N]. She backed away slowly, her eyes never leaving Maeve’s, and disappeared upstairs.

 Maeve could feel tears forming in her eyes. The quicker she found [Y/N], the better. 

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Otis. Oh and by the way, I’m sorry that you can’t wank or hold a girlfriend down for longer than six months,” she uttered, before running after [Y/N].

Maeve eventually found [Y/N] in the bathroom after very unfortunately stumbling upon Eric and Rahim’s… activities in Otis’ bedroom. She’d never closed a door so fast in her life. Sitting opposite her on the floor, [Y/N] took a deep breath. 

“So… is it true?” she asked. No point beating around the bush. Either she denies it and they continue this weird song and dance or this ends happily ever after.

“Is what true?” Maeve parrotted. This wasn’t happening. [Y/N] forced out a huff.

“Fine. If that’s what you want to do, then there’s no point of me being here. I’m leaving,” she snapped. She didn’t need any more bullshit tonight. Anger flared through her as she stood and made for the door. 

“Wait!” Maeve called out, reaching the door before [Y/N] and putting her weight against it. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? It is true. I… I have feelings for you. It’s really hard because I know you’d never feel the same so I’m sorry that he embarrassed you like that, I’m gonna go kick his arse-” she rambled before being cut off by [Y/N]’s lips on her own.

“Shut up,” she mumbled against them. “I like you too, alright? Have for a while. Been thinking about doing this for a while, too,” she confirmed.

“Me too,” Maeve said, pulling away slightly. “Can I kiss you again?” she asked softly. Turning them around so that [Y/N] was backing her up against the wall, she replied, “Of course”.

[imaginedisish]

You Only Live Once (Otis Milburn x Reader) (Sex Education)

A/N: AHHHHH HEY GUYS!!! Sorry for the long wait :( Babysitting, dance, friends...its kinda hard to live a life and write 2,000+ words a day lol. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. So this is based on a request I got from an anon and I really love this one. It’s pure fluff!!! (don’t worry...smut is coming soon. Stefan x Reader (Bandersnatch) and then maybe some Adam x Eric stuff...) Anyway, the title is based on a The Strokes song of the same name. I really love that song, and I think it goes great with this imagine, as well as Sex Education as a show. ANYWAY, ENJOY!

Summary: You’re in love with Otis, but you don’t know how to tell him. So, you concoct a plan to do so through the sex clinic with some help from Maeve. 

Warnings: Some language, fluff!

Word Count: dear god 2,366 

“You do understand that this is most likely the stupidest idea you’ve had yet, right?” Maeve says, cocking a brow in your direction.

You shake your head in disagreement. “This is all I’ve got Maeve. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

“I have an idea!” Maeve sarcastically shouts with fake excitement. “You can tell the bloke how you really feel, to his face.” She takes a long drag from the cigarette in her right hand as she tucks her pink hair behind her ears with her left. 

“I’m convinced that if I tell him how I feel, it’ll all just blow over,” You explain, attempting to justify the unconventional aspect of your actions. “And since it’ll just blow over, I don’t want him to know how I feel. That’s why the whole ‘bathroom sex advice’ thing is perfect.”

Maeve takes another long drag from her cigarette, staring into your soul, a judgmental look plastered across her face. “Love doesn’t blow over, (Y/N). That person stays imprinted in your brain for all of eternity. You need to tell him how you feel. After all, you only live once, and you don’t want to live with regrets.”

You laugh awkwardly as your right hand comes up to scratch the back of your neck. “Who said I was in love, Maeve?” You laugh some more, trying to brush off her incredibly accurate assessment of the situation. 

“I know that you’ve been pushing Otis away because you’re in love with him,” Maeve says matter of factly as she casually crosses her right leg over her left, leaning against the concrete wall behind her. “And you think that by telling him, or,” She puts quotes around her words this time, “‘telling him’, it’ll all go away.”

You’re speechless. How could she possibly know that? You think to yourself. It was almost as if she had been researching your inner most thoughts. You had been distancing yourself from Otis over the past few months. You were so scared that he would figure out your feelings for him, so you put up a brick wall between you and him. 

“H-how did you-,”

Maeve cuts you off. “We’ve been friends for years, and so have you and Otis. It’s obvious to me, but the boy is completely oblivious.” She flashes a smirk in your direction, and you can’t help but laugh. 

For a sex therapist, he is pretty oblivious to what’s actually going on around him, You think to yourself. 

After one more drag from her cigarette, Maeve drops the bud to the ground, crushing it with her black Doc Martins. She then extends a hand out towards you. 

“17 Pounds, girlie,” She says, curling her fingers towards herself rapidly, waiting for you to put the money in her palm. 

“Maeve, really?” You ask, looking at her in disbelief. “We’ve been friends since, well, forever! You’re really going to make me pay?” 

Maeve pushes her hand closer to you. “Yes, really. You want this not only to be realistic and to stay a secret, right? You don’t want Otis to question why he didn’t get his cut for the session, don’t you?”

You scoff in response, reluctantly swinging your backpack to your front so you can search for your wallet. After a few seconds of riffling through your bag, you find your wallet. You pull out the money, hesitating slightly before placing it into Maeve’s hand. 

She clasps her hand around the money, quickly shoving the cash in her pocket. “He’ll meet you in the old bathroom at one o’clock, got it?” Before you could protest, Maeve turns her back to you and begins to walk away. 

“But I have class then, that’s seventh period! Otis has class too!” You shout to her. “And isn’t there asbestos in that bathroom?”

“Tough shit!” Maeve remarks, not even bothering to turn back around towards you. “This all sounds like a you problem. I’m just the middle man.” She continues walking off into the distance. She then turns a corner, leaving your line of sight. 

The rest of the day seems so slow as you wait desperately for one o’clock to come around. You see Otis every now and again throughout the day, and each time you try your hardest to avoid him. Your heart flutters in your chest, simply at the sight of him. 

Oh God, I’m really, really screwed, You think to yourself.

You sat in your biology lab, fidgety and nervous. This was it, just a few more minutes until you had to talk to Otis. Finally, you look over to the clock. 

12:55 it reads as the bell for seventh period rings. You quickly pick up your things, rushing out of the classroom and towards the nearest door. You wanted to get to the bathroom before Otis did, so he would have absolutely no idea who you were. Once outside of the school, you break out into a full sprint to the bathroom. 

You approach the dilapidated building, and you slowly open the door, a loud creek echoing in the air as you do so. It smells horrendous throughout the entire space, but you make your way into a stall anyway. You prop your feet up on the seat so that you're squatting on the toilet. You didn’t want Otis to see your shoes, as to not take any chances with him figuring out who you were.

Suddenly, you hear the bathroom door open. 

“Hello?” A familiar voice croaks. 

It was him. Otis was here. Fear fills your gut, and butterflies violently crash agains the walls of your stomach. 

You let out a small cough as you try to lower your voice. “H-hello,” You whisper softly. “I-I’m in the last stall to the right.” 

“Do you want to come out?” Otis asks, his voice is reassuring and calm. 

“No!” You shout, terrifed. 

“Oh, alright, sorry…” Otis trails off. You hear the stall door next to you open. “Listen, I’m not so good at this whole ‘Priest’ thing, you know what I mean?” You can’t help but let out a small giggle. It was a bit like going to confession. 

“I-I’m sorry, I just d-don’t want you to see my face,” You stutter, occasionally choking on your words. 

“No, no, I understand completely,” Otis says. “So, what seems to be the problem?”

“Well, I think I’m in love…” You pause, shaking your head. “No, I know I’m in love.” Otis collects his thoughts, waiting a second before saying anything. 

“Love isn’t a problem, it’s just a challenge. I’ll be honest,” Otis pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m in love with someone, someone I’m friends with. I care so deeply for our friendship that I feel like I’ve been pushing them away for quite some time.”

He’s in love with someone? You think to yourself, wondering who it could be. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. Could it be me? You shake your head, realizing how impossible it would be for Otis to be in love with you. He’s probably in love with Maeve. 

You knew he and Maeve were incredibly close. If he did love her, it wouldn’t be a surprise to you. She was witty, smart, hilarious, and gorgeous. 

She’s everything I’ll never be, You think, tears slowly filling your eyes.

“Well the problem is…” You trail off, coughing once again in an attempt to keep your voice low.  “We’re friends, and I’m worried that this is going to ruin our relationship.” Otis hums in response, taking in what you had said. 

“It’s funny, I’m going through the same thing,” Otis says, laughing a bit. Your jaw drops. Was this really happening? You didn’t know what to say or do next. You anxiously bite your lower lip, realizing that you needed to tell Otis how you felt. 

It was now or never. You only live once, You remind yourself, and you didn’t want to live this life with any regrets. 

Just like vomit, the words all came out at once. “I’m in love with Otis Milburn!” 

The bathroom went silent. It was so quiet that you could hear a microscopic pin fall to the ground. You held your breath, wanting the world to stop. Otis said nothing as a million thoughts rush through your head. 

Does he know it’s me? What if he tries to come into the stall? You were panicking. It felt as though the graffiti covered walls were closing in on you. You quickly take your feet off of the toilet seat, and stand up. 

You throw open the stall door, and sprint towards the exit.

“Wait!” Otis calls out from behind you. You hear his stall door creek open just as you make your way out the door of the old, grotesque building. 

You don’t know what to do, so you continue to run as far as possible from the bathroom. Your heart beat intensifies as you turn a corner, and find Maeve smoking a cigarette, sitting down on a bench. 

“I-I told h-him.” Your breath is labored, and you can barely get your words out. She stands up, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it lightly. She walks over to you. 

“Are you alright? You look terrible.” She giggles a bit as she brings a hand to your shoulder. You nod in response. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” You reply. “I ran out before he could say anything.” Maeve shakes her head in disapproval, moving back over to the bench to sit down. You follow her, sitting down with her. “He said he was in love with his friend, though.”

“Well how do you know that he wasn’t talking about you?” Maeve asks, crossing her right leg over her left, leaning back slightly. 

You can’t help but laugh. “Otis would never like me. We’ve been friends for, well, ever, honestly.” Maeve looks off into the distance, her eyes suddenly widening. 

“Speak of the devil,” Maeve whispers, nodding her head in the direction that she was looking. 

There was Otis, walking towards you and Maeve. He lifts his hand and waves to you. You wave back. After a few seconds, Otis finally reaches the bench. 

“Hey (Y/N),” Otis says, sitting down next to you. “Maeve, I need to know who I just talked to. You know, the sex clinic. I just really need to know.” His words are rushed, his breathing his heavy. 

“So I don’t even get a hello? It’s only work, work, work?” Maeve was clearly trying to stray Otis away from the topic. 

“The girl I talked to said she’s in love with me. I think I deserve to know,” Otis says, laughing a bit. You flash an awkward smile in his direction. 

“Can’t do that mate. Confidentiality agreement,” Maeve says, pulling out a new cigarette. Otis shakes his head, his fluffy brown hair flopping as he does so.  His blue eyes intensify with confusion. 

“Since when?” He asks, his voice cracking a tad. Maeve lights her cigarette. 

“Since just now, Otis. I can’t tell you, but maybe (Y/N) can.” Maeve stands up, slipping her lighter into her skirt pocket. She takes a quick drag from her cigarette. “See you two later.” Maeve waves, and quickly walks away. 

“Oh, and (Y/N)?” Maeve calls out, her back facing you as she continues to walk on. “Remember, you only live once!”

You and Otis sit in silence, watching Maeve walk away. Of course she had to leave, You think to yourself. Maeve had right, your plan was a failure from the start. It truly was the "stupidest idea” you had yet. 

“So, Maeve said you know who told me they loved me?” Otis asks, his ocean eyes meeting yours. You nervously look away from him. His stare was too much for you. 

“Well, yeah I guess you could say something like that…” You trail off, your right knee bouncing up and down nervously.  

“Are you alright?” Otis asks calmly, resting a hand on your knee as to comfort you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and heat rises to your cheeks at the feeling of his touch. 

“I-I’m fine,” You stutter, looking back up at him. “B-but about who told you they love you…” You couldn’t say it, you just couldn’t. Your heart was beating so intensely that it hurt. 

“Who was it?” Otis questions, now rubbing your knee softly. 

“I-It w-was,” You pause, taking a deep breath. “It was me.” 

Silence fills the air as you wait for Otis to respond. His hand remains on your knee. 

“Look, it’s fine if you don’t feel the same,” You say finally. “I threw this on you, when I should’ve said nothing. We can just go back to being normal fri-,”

You close your eyes shut as you suddenly feel Otis’s warm lips come crashing down on yours, cutting you off before you could say anything else. Otis’s lips move languidly on yours, and you can’t help but smile against them. This was what you wanted. 

This was what you had dreamed of. 

Otis pulls his lips away from yours. “I’m in love with you too, (Y/N). You could’ve just told me, you didn’t have to go through so much trouble.” Otis beams with joy as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I was so nervous, I thought you would never feel the same,” You say as your stomach bubbles with excitement. “I thought you loved Maeve, or someone else, but not me.”

Otis smiles widely. “How could I not be totally in love with you? No one else compares to you, (Y/N).” He says, bringing his hand up to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. You internally melt at the sound of his words. “In fact I thought you’d be the one to turn me down.” You shake your head in disagreement. 

“I would never, ever turn you down Otis Milburn. Never.” 

You only live once, You recall in your head. And as long as you were with Otis, you were okay with that. 

Because you got to live once with him. 

[onthepageoftears]

Worth It (Maeve Wiley x Reader)//Sex Education

A/N: Leave it to Maeve Wiley to get you out of your writer’s block…this took a bit longer than I would’ve liked but I hope you guys like it!

Requests:“loveeee your account btw :D imma request a Maeve x reader where the reader’s parents are super strict on her and don’t let her go out or drink or anything, and they say she isn’t allowed to go to the prom. So, Maeve and r make a plan to sneak r out, and they get drunk/high together..but r’s parents find out and are furious. maybe like a few part series?”

“hiii, Request for Mave x reader where they both get drunk and are super sweet to eahciher and reader goes on about maeve’s smile etc! maybe it’s at Aimee’s party n everyone is shocked to see maeve being all soft!”

Warnings: underage drinking, partying, language, flufff

Words: 1,172

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

“We’re going to get caught.” You said, eyes lingering on the house behind you, your house, the one you just snuck out of.

A grin played on Maeve’s lips, the twinkle in her eye shining brighter in the night. “You’ve never done anything bad, have you?”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the smugness laced in Maeve’s words. She was right. You never did anything to go against your parents, and this was a clear break of their rules. You snuck out of the house. To go to a party. On a school night.

You were screwed.

“It’s this way,” Maeve said, grabbing your arm to tug you down a small path that lead to Aimee’s house. You nearly forgot that your parents would probably have your grave ready by the time you got back, instead focusing on the way Maeve’s fingers wrapped around your skin, on the way your cheeks flamed and your stomach churned.

By the time you made it to the house, people were already smoking and drinking outside, slurring their words as you and Maeve passed. You two walked through the door, greeted by the familiar top artists blasting from the speakers, making your way to Aimee’s impressive kitchen. In there it was quiet, but not by much. You watched Maeve grab you two some drinks, anxiously tapping your foot on the ground.

“Here.” Maeve pushed a cup towards you, her eyes soft. “You need to relax.” You nearly rolled your eyes at the cup. Wasn’t this so cliche? But with the way Maeve looked at you, you didn’t care. You grabbed the cup, taking a tentative sip, before scrunching up your face in disgust.

“This is awful.” Maeve shrugged, letting the corner of her mouth lift as you took another sip.

Ever since you met Maeve, life seemed a little brighter. Okay, much brighter. She made something spark in you, something that felt dangerous. She felt dangerous. And you loved it.

But your parents didn’t. They thought she was trouble, thought she would hurt you. They told you you should know better, that you would ruin your life by hanging out with her. But in your eyes, you would ruin your life by staying in your house every night studying things that didn’t matter to you.

And soon, you felt even lighter than before, the alcohol finally buzzing through your veins. Your body felt warm as you leaned into Maeve’s side, giggling about something dumb you just said. The room was smaller, somehow, and you felt like the two of you were so, so close. You looked at Maeve, who was smiling at you, and you couldn’t believe how pretty she was. You loved her smile, and how warm it felt.

“You love my smile?” Maeve watched you with an amused smirk. You just laughed, not realizing you had said it aloud. “You must be really drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you snorted, lolling your head onto Maeve’s shoulder with a smile. Instead of moving it, you kept it there, snuggling into the warmth of her body without a care in the world. You closed your eyes, focusing on the soft heart beat that echoed in your ears. Your face was flushed; your whole body was, to be honest, and even more so when Maeve trailed her finger along the side of you cheek to get some hair out of your face. You probably blushed, too, but your thoughts were too busy to be embarrassed. It was only when you felt yourself fading into a slumber that Maeve decided it was time to take you home.

She slipped her hand around your waist and pushed you gently, smiling at the way you frowned at the sudden movement. “Come on, love.” She whispered, tugging you by her side towards the front door of Aimee’s house.

“Leaving so soon?” It was Aimee, and her eyes flicked between the two of you, a knowing smile forming on her lips.

“Curfew.” Maeve answered shortly, hoping that her clenched jaw would make up for the blush that inevitably formed on her cheeks. Unlike you, she couldn’t blame her flushed face on the alcohol: she hadn’t been drinking that much, because she wanted to make sure she got you home at a reasonable time. Your parents hated her enough already, and sneaking you out was a bad idea in itself; but this way, if they caught you, they couldn’t be angry about the time. Maybe.

“Where are we going?” You slurred, eyes slowly taking in the surroundings as you leaned on Maeve for support.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Ew.” She laughed, at both your words and the way you scrunched your face up in utter disgust. You were drunk, but not really drunk, because she had only given you a small amount of alcohol. But with the amount of drinking experience you had, it was no doubt that what you had was enough to give you a hangover tomorrow.

Maeve suddenly felt guilty. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She already knew your parents hated her, but they would be even more mad at you for going through with this. Before she could think any further, you were tripping over your own feet, nearly falling face first in the dirt. “I’ve got you,” Maeve chuckled, keeping her arm firmly around your waist for the rest of the way back.

When you two got back to the house, your drunken haze came to a halt. Your parents. How were you going to get in the house past them?

“I feel sick.” You held a hand to your stomach, silently wishing you would vomit, but nothing came. You cursed to yourself, turning to Maeve with wide eyes. “What do I do?”

She bit her lip, shifting her eyes to the house and back to you. “Walk through the front door?”

You laughed abruptly, surprising yourself by how loud it was. But you didn’t care. “They are literally going to kill me.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not.”

Maeve glanced at you, and suddenly, you two were in hysterics. You were laughing for what seemed like hours, pushing each other in an attempt to stop the breaths that escaped your mouths. But once you start laughing with someone, it’s almost like you couldn’t stop.

You wiped the tears from your eyes and looked at Maeve, whose smile turned to a look of concern.

“I’m sorry if I get you in trouble.”

You didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or just a surge of energy, but you walked over to Maeve, placing your hands on her face and lay your lips softly on hers. She grabbed your hips, pulling you closer, and you hummed lightly at your closeness. After a few moments, you pulled back, smiling wide at the girl in front of you.

“It was worth it.”

And it was. Even though your parents had a near stroke when you returned, and you were grounded for three weeks, you couldn’t have asked for a better night.

[thatbitchydonutcollector]

Where the Wild Things Are

Fenrys x Vaughan Fic : Part VI

Kam’s Masterlist : Aly’s Masterlist (which she is making so stay tuned)

Note: Co written with @aly-of-the-wildfire, she deserves half of all credit and she is fabulous... As of this part, we’re sorry.

Word Count: 1,097

Part VI

It was getting warmer. The sun was beating down on the land, making the snow look like tiny diamonds as they melted in the sparkling sunlight. Fenrys was beside him and it felt like everything was right in the world.

Maybe he would just be happy with the pieces Fenrys gave him. Would he be satisfied with friendship? Vaughan supposed he would be. With how many were lost in the war, he was glad that his mate was even alive and standing beside him. He had lost so many, Connall, Gavriel, almost his new queen… twice. The hell he survived just to have breath in his lungs right now was a great tragedy.

So Vaughan swore to himself, then and there in the outskirts of Perranth, that if Fenrys did not want him as a mate, he would try to take the fractured pieces he was given and move on with his life.

“What are you thinking about?” Fenrys drawled, snapping Vaughan out of his glum musings. “You had that look in your eyes, you’re either about to vomit or kill something.”

“You haven't been much better. You're absolutely stir crazy.” It was true, Vaughan had thought the male was going to wear a whole through the floor with his pacing, or Lorcan was going to pummel him. He couldn't tell what had made Fenrys jumpy, but it had become far more noticeable within the past few days. “Maybe sinking your fangs into something will cure that.”

“Indeed.” Fenrys opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“What?”

He gave a sorrowful look that shook Vaughan to the core. “Why were you gone for so long?”

Oh. Oh. He didn’t know what to say. He was suddenly aware of his every movement,  where he put his hands, the way his heart beat against his ribs. “I was protecting something.”

Fenrys’s eyes flashed, “And what might that be?” He did not want to push, it seemed.

“Something I care greatly about. Something I could not bear to lose.”

Fenrys licked his lips, a gesture more canine that he would ever admit. “I would have come with you.” What had the golden warrior endured when he was so selfishly away from Maeve and her clutches? What had he suffered? “You know I would have.”

This was a vulnerable side of Fenrys, one Vaughan had never truly seen before. His brother had died—he almost died. Fenrys had surely suffered much more than he ever should have.

If he had stayed—maybe he could have protected him…

No. It was useless to think that way. The White Wolf was staring at him as if he knew this was excruciating to speak of. He had played it out in his head a hundred ways, scenarios in which he could have done things differently. If he had not left, not have taken every liberty to escape her, he might have been there by his mate’s side as he was tortured with his new queen.

He could have endured it next to him, taken his place.

They trudged through the snow in silence. There was something dark in the snow. A claw mark, the surrounding virgin-white shimmer sullied by thick drops of blood.

“Vaughan.”

He whipped his head to his mate, who was staring intently at the ground. At first glance, Vaughan thought it a log, or maybe a dead rabbit. But to his dismay, it was a human arm severed at the elbow. The wound was fresh, the blood still flowed out of the appendage in a slow trickle. “Someone is having a very bad day,” said Fenrys.

Almost on cue, a roar sounded from the cliffs above them. Some inhuman, monstrous call that had even Vaughan’s bones rattling. “Please tell me that was your stomach, Vaughan.”

“Would you like me to tell you the truth, or lie to you?”

“Lie.”

“It was my stomach.”

Vaughan’s light shimmered around him in waves, his hair whispering on phantom wind, his breath coming out in long and flowing strides. He breathed in his magic and smiled as it graced the ends of his shimmering blades. The look Fenrys gave him was something like awe, he shook his head, deciding not to oggle as beasts tumbled out of the cave above.

Vaughan hissed as a human-like, hairless, and vile creatures lurked towards them. Black blood oozed from their giant maws, teeth shimmering with human flesh and slime. They were in action the second they saw the two muscular males, excited to have another meal.

“What are these?” Vaughan yelled.

“Ridderaks.” Vaughan raised his brows. “Aelin can explain later.”

The Wolf of Doranelle unsheathed his sword, causing the blade to make a sharp whine against the sheath at his hip. He smiled at Vaughan, who replied with a small chuckle before his blade went down to meet flesh.

The first bite of his twin swords decapitated the beast, its head spraying ichor onto the snow. Another beast licked its lips, swiping over those rotten teeth and lunged. He stepped out of the way and slashed the blade over the creature’s stomach. It fell with a scream against the wind. Vaughan smiled at his felled opponents.

Fenrys was making quick work of the beasts, his sword swinging out to cut them down as gracefully as a dancer.

“BEHIND YOU!”

He whirled, but too late as a ridderak descended upon him. He twisted his swords out, trying to impale the beast before it got ahold of his neck. He pushed his magic out, scorching the beast with light until it was a charred mess. Vaughan gasped, glancing to Fenrys with wild eyes as another ridderak lunged.

He hissed as its razor-sharp claws raked down his shoulder, cutting it to bloodied ribbons. Fenrys howled across the clearing.

More and more ridderaks surrounded him, a dozen of the at least. Two lunged, felled by his blades, but the third broke through and sunk its rotten teeth into his neck.

Vaughan went down, the creature lapping at his blood.

Everything appeared in double. Blurriness creeped through the edges of his vision, the ridderaks made horrible snarling sounds, their maws coming down to feast upon his flesh. His only thought was of Fenrys. If he got out of here alive, everything would be well.

Everything was burning. The ridderak’s venom coursed through his veins, scorching them, setting his body into flames of agony.

The beasts disappeared, replaced with a black, bloodied mist that covered him where he lay in the freezing snow.

The golden warrior roared as Vaughan slipped into the awaiting darkness.

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[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 73-75

When I die, I want S*JM to lower my iron coffin so she can let me down one last time.

We open up with Manon making a run for it , revealing Alien gave her the Wyrdkeys before confronting Maeve.

Elide stirred, at last coming to, just as they were nearly out of hearing range. She began thrashing, and Manon dumped her behind a dune, gripping the back of her neck so tightly Elide stilled at the iron nails piercing her skin.

I mean yeah, Elide, what the fuck do you want Manon to do about it? Have you all die rather than letting Alien be captured and the rest of you get away with the Wyrdkeys? God, I think I’ll have to disown Elide at this point, she’s been reduced to nothing more than a tool to prop Alien up.

No one healed [Aelin’s] ravaged back, barely more than a bloody slab of meat, as they guided her into the iron box. Made her lie upon her wounds.

Yeaaaaaaaah, with the iron coffin blocking all of her magic, she’s gonna be dead come the end of the day. There’s no way she’s surviving the journey back to Maeve’s place after being whipped hundreds of times, her ass is grass.

Maeve disowns Lorcan for betraying her and peaces out. You go, Maeve, even if you didn’t actually get the Wyrdkeys, you’ve been more badass and intimidating in two chapters than Alien was in an entire series.

A roar grumbled on the horizon. Abraxos.

MY BABY DRAGON BOY!!!!! HE’S SAFE AND ALIVE!!!!!!!!

The chapter ends after Maeve leaves with Alien trapped in the iron coffin. A satisfying conclusion, indeed. Next!

Thunderous, swift steps. Then a hand gripping [Lorcan’s] hair, yanking back his head as a dagger settled along his throat. As Rowan’s face, calm with lethal wrath, appeared in his vision. “Where is Aelin.”

After this, Rowboat calls Alien his wife and Lorcan cries for some reason??? He hates Rowboat and Alien, why would he feel sorry for them??

The rest of the gang rolls up to the party to discover Alien is missing. Oh no, do you see it coming over the horizon? It’s a shit load of Alien splooging!

Rowan breathed, “Aelin would die to forge the new Lock to seal the keys into the gate—to banish Erawan. But no one would know. No one but us. Not while you wore her skin for the rest of your life.” Aedion dragged a hand through his blood-caked hair. “But any offspring with Rowan wouldn’t look anything like—” Lysandra’s face was pleading. “You would fix that, Aedion. With me.”

....Wow.

I mean really. Wow. That was Alien’s plan. To force Lysandra to abandon her identity forever to become Alien 2.0, and for Assdion to be forced to have children with Lysandra to keep up the lie. All without asking any of her friends for their consent in this plan.

She really is an awful person. There is no defending this shitty behavior. Literally nothing you say about her will change my mind; Alien is the worst YA main character I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading about. She can eat shit for all I care about.

Aedion flinched as if he’d been struck. “And when were you going to reveal this? Before or after I thought I was taking my gods-damned cousin to bed for whatever reason you concocted?”

I mean yeah, I don’t blame him for getting pissed! This is Alien basically dictating his entire life and role to him and he gets no say in this. What utter bullshit!

Everyone gets all pissy and stomps away from each other but I don’t care, Manon POV and the 13 are alive!!!!!!

Asterin was alive. The Thirteen were alive. And it was joy in Manon’s heart—joy, she realized, as she beheld those smiling faces and smiled back.

PROTECT MANON AND HER 13!!!! THEY DESERVE THE WORLD!!!!

Asterin brushed a hand over Elide’s hair as the girl wept into her shoulder.

Lowkey ship? Either way, girls supporting girls is so precious I love this unghhhhh it’s so pure.....

“What are you going to do?” Asterin breathed, her eyes so bright. Manon looked behind them. To the north. “I am going to find the Crochans. And I am going to raise an army with them. For Aelin Galathynius. And her people. And for ours.”

Not happy Manon is lowkey gushing for Alien rn but she’s also looking out for her own kind, so I’ll accept it.

Everyone angsts over Alien and how selfless and noble she was to give her life up for theirs, blah blah blah, whatever. Manon gives the keys to Dorito and the chapter ends.

This is it. The last chapter. Holy shit we’re almost done with this flaming turd!

Rowan had married Aelin before dawn barely two days ago. Aedion and Lysandra had been the only witnesses as they’d awoken the bleary-eyed captain, who married them quickly and quietly and signed a vow of secrecy.

I love how this is only revealed now because the plot demanded it, rather than having it happen beforehand so it didn’t seem so out of place. I’m smelling something..... begins with ‘a’ and ends with ‘ss pull’.

[Rowan]’d leapt in front of [Aelin] at Skull’s Bay knowing [they were mates], deep down. Knowing mates aware of the bond could not bear to harm each other

Love how SJM lowkey realized “Oh shit, mates can’t harm each other and I had Rowboat and Alien physically abuse one another in the third book! Eh, they have to be aware of it to not abuse one another, so that makes it okay!” Very classy, SJM.

Aelin had known, though. That he was her mate. And she had not pushed it, or demanded he face it, because she loved him, and he knew she’d rather carve out her own heart than cause him pain or distress. His Fireheart.

Footage not found. Also, I can’t even bring myself to find the “special nicknames for each other” trope cute because these two are such raging assholes. I’m glad this book ends with them miserable and separated.

[Aelin]’d tried to tell [Rowan]. Right before the ilken converged. Tried to tell him she’d vomited her guts up on the ship that day not because she was pregnant but because she’d realized she was going to die.

Hmmm, seems quite convenient. Also damn, does SJM have a vomiting fetish or something because Alien pukes her guts up in literally almost every book and that’s like, the only symptom of PTSD SJM ever shows with her characters. Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just saying.

[Aelin] did not think she’d ever see [Rowan] again. He did not accept that. He would not accept that.

Please spare us the misery of another book of you finding her, Rowboat, literally nobody wants it.

Fight it, [Rowan] willed [Aelin], sending the words down the bond(...). Fight her. I am coming for you. Even if it takes me a thousand years. I will find you, I will find you, I will find you.

So many concepts and quotes I should be getting feels over, but they’re squandered on such asshole characters. Seriously, someone write this but like, with a good ship, I’d read the fuck out of that.

Ansel and the other armies Alien collected roll up also, and a new challenger approaches!

“Who are you,” Rowan ground out. But the young man was now close enough that Rowan could see the color of his eyes. Turquoise—with a core of gold. Aedion breathed as if in a trance, “Galan.” Galan Ashryver, Crown Prince of Wendlyn.

Here’s a guy who showed up in one scene in the third book with no lines and barely any screen time but we’re supposed to be awed at his appearance. Lmfao.

So yeah, because every fucking person in this universe apparently owes Alien a life debt for gracing them with her presence, a billion fucking ships are here to serve her and Assdion and Rowboat cry over how uhmayzing and uber special Alien is and kiss her ass even though she’s not present. I’ll spare you the details.

And the last piece of it … if Chaol Westfall and Nesryn Faliq could rally forces from the southern continent …

Chaol and Nesryn deserve so much better......... I don’t think I can read T0D because I hear my poor Chaol got butchered as well and reading Dorito’s character get murdered in cold blood hurt so much.

Lysandra strolls out shape shifting as Alien. I’d point out that SJM has made it clear shifting exhausts Lysandra so logically she couldn’t keep up the appearance of Alien for long but who cares, the book’s almost over.

Everyone agrees to put aside their fighting and differences to save Alien, because the world can’t survive without her. Gag me with a spoon.

Rowan clasped Aedion’s forearm. “The lines have to hold. Buy us whatever time you can, brother.” Aedion gripped his forearm in return, eyes burning bright.

@ SJM let them hug you fucking coward

Rowan brought [Aelin’s] shirt to his face and breathed in her scent. Felt something stir in him—felt the bond flicker.

You just had a somber moment of all the characters saying goodbye to each other and then you ruin it with Rowboat getting a boner at Alien’s blood shirt holy fucking shiiiiiit no we’re moving on this novel is almost over

Unleashing a cry that set the world trembling, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.

Who cares, not me!!!!!! Because this piece of shit is over!!!!!!

I’d like to make a well written and neat essay to sum up my thoughts, but really, everything is just Bad. Real Bad. Shitty writing, shitty plot that was just an excuse for huge amounts of porn, and the characters. Holy fucking shit. Never have I wanted to strangle a character as much as I want to strangle Alien. Worst YA protagonist ever, imo.

Now it’s time to take a break after the horrors this book has put me through, and to decide what horrific novel I expose myself to next. Don’t buy SJM novels, kids.