#tfd fic

[kaitaiga]

Smoko 🚬

Just another sleepless night for Archie.

I was writing something for this but it turned into two separate story ideas 😂 so maybe next time.

tag list (in/out)

@alypink @efingart @revnah1406 @eccentrcks @welldonekhushi @islandtarochips @breadtheend @sleepyconfusedpotato @deadbranch @mortal-kombattore-115 @justasmolbard @imagoddamnonionmason @chichinu @itsastronxmy @cloudofbutterflies92 @alexa-mwll @shinmiyovvi

[swifty-fox]

two fingers down. a Mota/Bikeriders au (8.5k)

Gale grunts, grips the back of John’s neck, and yanks him around by the curls until he’s satisfied with the angle of their kiss, “I don’t like liars.”

“I’m an honest liar,” John whispers against his lips

“You cheated.” Gale accuses.

“Cheating implies I was playing to win. Throwing the game to lose on purpose is different.” his free hand fumbles at Gale’s belt buckle, the metallic sound of it undoing loud in the alleyway. Gale sucks in a ragged breath.

[sillyfairygarden]

the first disciple

Summary:

Joel snorts. “I didn’t carry you out here to leave you to die, did I? You’re in no shape to go out there again, even if you are a stupid god.” He stands carefully, cursing at the noise his joints make. “So do me a favor: don’t die, mister Winter.” “It—It’s Etho,” the god says, feeling something settle in his chest that is not fear nor pain, not resignation nor the crushing cold of snow. “My name, it’s Etho.” Joel looks down at him, and now Etho can see the fire in his eyes, burning like a hearth instead of a man. “Alright then, Etho.” The knife catches the gold of the firepit, dancing with gold. “No dying, y’hear?”

[growup-thatbeautiful]

hellooo, hi, im not sick anymore (more or less) and in surprisingly great spirits! i was thinking, if you wanted to write more Zeffirelli and absolutely and i mean ABSOLUTELY no pressure maybe we could have some sort of university themed kinda fic? not an AU just kind of widening the lens of The French dispatch to see Zeffirelli as a students not just his after school activities. im thinking like a philosophy student poet boyfriend x art and film theory painter reader kinda situation. studying and going to interesting lectures and to cinema in the evenings..idk it would be lovely to have some nice uni vibes to motivate me. also if you don't feel Zeffirelli now Timothee himself would be very much okay too i feel like. it is all up to you. sending you great energy, love you, message me if you want to brainstorm this story or want to talk literally about anything xx

omg hiiii!!! it’s fall now!! zeffirelli would be living his best life. i was really missing zeffirelli and timmy. timothee always renters my brain this time of year so be prepared. it’s movie szn brainrot time, my friends.

coincidentally enough, this happens to be my 700th follower celebration as well! yay!

uhhh so usually i write the translations at the bottom but i didn’t keep up this time i’m so sorry 😭😭

zeffirelli masterlist

ensoleillement (sunshine)

“You’re late,” you say, looking at the clock in the corner of your living room.

“I brought compensation.” Zeffirelli holds up a brown paper bag from the pastry shop down the street as an apology. “There's a pain au chocolat in there for you. I also got you a coffee.”

“I hope it’s not in the bag,” you respond drily, but take the bag nonetheless and rifle around for your breakfast. “Where’s the coffee?”

“Here,” he says absently, placing it on the kitchen counter.

“Dieu merci,” you sigh, taking a sip and shouldering your bag. The leather strap digs into your shoulder through the fabric of your coat.

“Thank me, not God,” Zeffirelli complains, ushering you out the door.

“You’re still the reason I’m late.” There’s a warning in your voice, but you can’t put any real venom behind your words. You never can, with him.

“Oui, but you’re not going to any important classes right now.”

“I’m going to math,” you protest. He reaches across you and takes your coffee, sipping it and grimacing. You slap his hand away and retake the coffee. “No matter how much you try, you aren’t going to like the way I have my coffee.”

“That’s because you have terrible taste,” he complains. “Why are still taking those bullshit classes? There are so many better classes to take.” It’s a conversation you’ve had many times, mostly out of jest, but there is some seriousness behind it.

“You mean math?”

Zeffirelli hums. “That’s the one. Why would you waste your time with math when you could be going to philosophy at noon?”

“Because I’m not some poet revolutionary, Zef,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder with his. “Not everyone is as successful as you.”

“Nonsense. You just haven’t shared any of your ideas with other people. Come on, amor, let me know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Right now there are a few things, but I don’t think you want to hear them,” you deadpan, gathering your books in your arms.

“Don’t get shy on me now, ensoleillement.” The endearment falls easily from his lips, his favorite term for you, meaning, quite literally, sunshine.

Ironically, you got the nickname on a rainy day when you had been giving him a hard time about his tendency to walk in the rain.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you reply, knocking your shoulder against his as you both try to go out the same door to the street below your apartment.

“All that math is filling your brain with nonsense,” he complains, his shoes scraping against the worn hardwoods. “I can’t have a good philosophical conversation with a mathematician.”

“Just because I’m taking the class doesn’t make me good at it,” you correct absentmindedly. He huffs and steps into pace beside you, his hand brushing against yours. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet, warm red and orange bleeding past as you make your way to class, the air crisp and the sun slinking behind the clouds. You really should be trying to make it to class on time, but you know you’ll regret it if you leave Zeffirelli out here alone with that rosy color on his cheeks from the cool air. Fall suits him well, and he wears the chill running through your fingers well.

It’s better to be here, your hands skimming against his, knuckles red and electric when he touches them than it is to be sitting in a class. Especially because he isn’t in the class.

The walk to your school isn’t much further. Just through the town sits a two-storied brick building where you’ve devoted hours to studying, crying, and trying to get Zeffirelli to take breaks unsuccessfully.

The cobblestones underneath your feet are consistently unsteady, and you find yourself, as usual, looking in awe at the quaint town that wakes up as you walk through.

There’s the flower shop on the corner with the green and white striped awning that gives out free roses on holidays. Next to it, stands a stationary store where you go more days than not to get a hand-pressed piece of paper to write home on. Across the street is a cafè where you and Zeffirelli have spent countless sleepless nights discussing movies and poetry when you should be studying,

This isn’t your hometown, and it isn’t his either, but you both know it more than you ever could know any other place on Earth. Zeffirelli’s American rouge, prophetic attitude couldn’t come from a town this small, but that doesn’t stop it from thriving. Here, nothing can stop him. Not living with his parents, which he does on purpose, or not knowing how to start a manifesto. Those things are trivial and unimportant because this place reveres every waking and sleeping moment it has with him. You and

You, well, you can’t claim this place as your home, but you’ve fallen in love with its poetically simple lifestyle. The two years you’ve been here as an exchange student has been the best you can remember, and you aren’t sure how much of that is related to the boy next to you.

A gut instinct tells you that he might have something to do with it, but you would be drawn into the charm of this town anyway, probably. He’s just an added bonus.

Zeffirelli takes the cup of coffee out of your hand and tosses it into the trashcan before you enter the towering, gray stone building that is your school.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks, walking backward down the opposite hall that you’re traveling. “My mom packed cookies.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you can tell you’re grinning like a fool. You genuinely don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you don’t doubt the truth of his words. “I can’t even make fun of you because your mom’s cookies are so good.”

“That’s the sweet spot.” His arms are outstretched wildly as he turns back to go to his class. “I’ll see you later, amor. Don’t have too much fun in math without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Zef.” There’s still a grin on your face when you walk into class, and you take your seat next to your’s and Zeffirelli’s friend, Mitch Mitch.

Mitch is radically passionate like Zeffirelli, but, as obvious by his presence in a math class, he’s less utterly devoted to the revolution. Which is to say that he’s still deeply invested.

“Did l'auteur make you late again?” Mitch reaches over you and slides today’s work to you. “I swear, you need to stop waiting for him in the mornings.”

“He did indeed.” You lean back in your chair and try to listen to the lecture, and you think you retain about half of the information.

The teacher at the front of the room drones on for half an hour about something you don’t understand, not that you care enough to pay attention. Despite the nature of his ideas, Zefrilli is correct about the fact that math isn’t your thing, nor is it going to help you at all. Especially not when you don’t have a clue what’s going on. Based on the look on Mitch’s face, he understands even less than you do, which is comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Why did you convince me to take this class?” Mitch groans, flopping onto the desk and banging his head on the wood. “I’m too pretty for math.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with it.” You pat him on the shoulder consolingly and gather your things together.

“Peut être pas, but it makes me feel better about myself.” You walk side-by-side to the next class. You have film studies with Zefirelli and Mitch has some economic class.

Zefirelli is waiting by the door for you, and, when he sees you, he pushes himself off the frame and asks, “How was the waste of time?”

“It was a waste of time,” Mitch confirms, bumping shoulders with Zefirelli, who looks at you for confirmation, which you readily give.

“Let’s do something worthwhile then, mon chéri.” Zefirelli holds out his arm for you, and you take it easily. “To the magical world of film we go.”

“Onwards we go.”

*

Lunch doesn’t come soon enough, but, slowly, it comes. Mitch, Zefirelli, and you usually eat together, but today Mitch is going to the cafe down the street with a girl in your class named Layla. She’s sweet, and you hope she’s enough for Mitch.

You and Zefirelli find your normal spot in the corner of a courtyard hidden away in the twisted cobblestone streets. It’s nothing special, just a park bench pretty much, but you wouldn’t eat anywhere else. Not when Zefirelli is sitting close to you.

“What are you writing about?” he asks, leaning over your shoulder to try and read the words in your journal.

“How much I hate math,” you deflect, shutting the small spiral and stuffing it into your backpack.

“That’s not what looks like when you write about something as trivial as math. I’ve seen your math face, and it is much more détestable.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t write enthusiastically about math?” you joke, hoping to deflect the attention.

“Only about my manifesto.”

“Yeah, well you have your manifesto, and I have my movie.” It slips out easily like things usually do around him. You’re so used to telling him everything, so it comes as no school that you’re unable to keep this from him.

The thing is, he isn’t supposed to know about the movie you’re writing. Not because he wouldn't support it, which you’re sure he would, but because there’s no doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. You try to backtrack. “I mean, I have the movie that I’m studying for class-“

“-You’re writing a movie?” he interrupts, his hand frozen where it’s reaching for his food. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not writing a movie,” you attempt. “It was a slip of the tongue. Fourchement de langue.”

“No it wasn’t,” he denies easily. “You’re writing a movie.” This time he doesn’t ask, but he does return to his previous action, splitting the pink-colored cookie in half. He offers one half to you and you take it. You decide not to respond and focus on the cookie instead.

“So, what is this secretive movie about? Hopefully something dashingly bohemian and revolutionary.” You know he’s tuning down his excitement for you, which is nice. At least he’s trying. Hopefully, he knows that you would never keep something like this from him if you weren’t embarrassed.

“Those are your interests, not mine,” you sigh, despite the deception behind your words. Truly, you do care about those things, maybe only because he cares so much about them.

“Yeah? Then why do you work with me on my manifesto so much?” he prods, a grin on his face. Everything about him screams “got you” and you have no choice but to accept his meaning.

“Maybe I like being around you, connasse.”

“That could not possibly be it,” he dismisses easily. His cookie gets placed on the floor beside him and he leans into you, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re much too talented to be hanging around me all the time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you chastise, your hand running through his hair. “Zef, you’re the most talented person I know. Not only are you some sort of chess wizard, but you also have such a passion for life that I don’t see anyone else. I’m lucky to be around you as much as I am, honestly.”

“You’re just saying that,” he sighs, but there’s a blush rising to his cheeks that fits him so beautifully.

“We’re poets, Zefirell, we only say things that we mean.” He leans heavier into your side and you relax against him, taking his weight happily. The rest of the world passes by, and time passes by, but you don’t care. This is where you want to be, by his side.

You would lift the sky for him, but right now all he needs is a shoulder to lean on. It’s something you’re ready and willing to give.

“You know,” Zefirelli starts, “there are stories about people like us. You know, people that want to change the world. Usually, they have someone by their side, a second-in-command. Napoleon had Josephine, Pierre Curry had Marrie, Sintra had Garder.”

“I think it be more reasonable to say that Marrie had Pierre, given that she was the one who did most of the research. And you’re forgetting that Sinatra and Gardner broke up after 12 years.”

“But she was the only woman he ever loved. Come on, amore, you know that. Anyway, what I was trying to say-” he looks up at you, smiling softly- “before I was so rudely interrupted, is that most people have someone beside them when they start their journey sur le chemin de la révolution. The road to revolution can be lonely.”

“Everything must start in love,” you agree. “Nothing comes out of nothing.”

“Précisément. Would- would you like to be my second-in-command? We have a long way ahead of us, and I think it would be easier if we stuck together.”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” you breathe, laying your head on top of his and reaching for his hand. “Promise you won’t leave me for someone more antagonistic?”

“You’re enough of an antagonist for me,” he responds in an overly-sweet voice. “Not sure I could handle much more.”

“Good. I prefer you waking me up in the middle of the night rather than anyone else.” You also prefer his head on your shoulder, his hand in your hand, and his figure in your bed, but those are things you keep to yourself for now.

You’ve already got enough of a win for today.

*

A banging on your door is an unfortunately common event to wake you up. Without checking, you know who’s on the other side of the door. That messy black hair and those piercing eyes are waiting impatiently for you to make your way across your cramped apartment, you’re positive of it.

The floor is cold underneath your socked feet as you make your way over the piles of books, papers, and clothes strewn everywhere across your room. While the trek is short, to your sleep-addled brain it feels like it lasts forever, with you in a dreamlike state of confusion and agitation. You can hear the sound of rain pounding against your apartment roof, a steady rhythm in time with your slow breathing.

With a deep breath, you open your door and you’re met with the familiar, tall form of Zeffirelli. “I have an idea for the revolution,” he says, out of breath, soaked from the rain. “And I need your cinematic expertise.”

“So that’s why you’re at my apartment at three in the morning?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yes. And it’s only two,” he says as he brushes past you and goes straight to your tiny kitchen. Absentmindedly, he rifles through your counters and grabs the first food he finds; some untrustworthy brown biscuits. You don’t take any when he offers. “I needed to talk to you. Son affaire sérieuse.”

“Right, I’m sure it is. Tell me, what exactly do you need my help with? I’m not sure I can be of much help.” You shuffle into the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, accepting the fact that you’re probably not going to get any sleep tonight.

“Absurdité. Who else is going to shut down my best ideas ruthlessly?”

“I would do that in daylight too,” you accuse. He fits beside you at your counter and reaches across you for the sugar bowl, taking a sugar cube and putting it in your cup. Two more are added to the cup that he’s claimed as his own from your array of delicately painted teacups.

“But you admit to having shut down good ideas?” A twinkle in his eyes tells you to give up now and accept your defeat.

“Sure.” It’s worth it to see the victory smile break across his face, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “I am obviously the bane of your existence. Je suis ta couverture mouillée.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” His consolidation is quick and filled with a teasing lightness that you’ve long since accepted as his trademark. A lot of people would look past him for it, and call it arrogance, but you know it comes from a loving place.

“Don’t make me send you to Mitch Mitch’s apartment instead,” you warn, waving a spoon in his direction. “I would do it in a heartbeat.” It’s not true, you would much rather he be here with you, instead of at Mitch’s. Despite the entertainment that comes with Zefirelli and Mitch’s back and forth, you’re feeling selfish tonight.

“Empty threats.” he tisks. The kettle whistles from its spot on the stove and you both reach for it at the same time, your fingers brushing against his. It’s terrifyingly electric, but you push past the feeling. Zefirelli withdraws his hand hesitantly and you busy yourself with pouring the tea.

He’s come over in the middle of the night enough for you to know how he takes his tea by heart. Two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, no more, no less. He claims that you make it better than he does, which you choke up to him being unable to boil water without making a mess.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “So, what’s this big idea? Care to fill me in on why I’m awake at this time of the night.”

“What’s your movie about?” he fires back immediately, settling into your beaten blue couch.

“Did you come here to pester me about my future?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “Because I will kick you to the curb.”

“No, no,” he laughs, “you wouldn’t do that to me. You have no resistance to my pretty face.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve figured out my one weakness. It seems as though you’ll be taking advantage of it forever.”

“Of course, ensoleillement. What would I do if I didn’t have you to manipulate?” He sits across from you on the couch and grabs one of the blankets you have thrown around. It goes over his shoulders and he huddles into its warmth.

“So what did you come here to talk about?” you ask, taking a sip from your tea and placing it on the side table.

“Oh, right!” His eyes light up as he sits up straighter, splashing tea all over himself. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to care very much. “I thought that I would have my mother’s friend, some writer, is coming into town soon. I was thinking that I should ask her to help me. At the least, she can write about us, no? What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea. What does she write for?”

“The French Dispatch. You know, the one with all the stories they put out once a month or so. I hear that she’s looking for something out here in our petite ville.”

The conversation shifts and he talks about his big ideas and how he’s going to get them done. You could listen to him talk for hours, and, by the time he’s finished, you have, not that you have anything better to do. Not even dreams of him are this real. You could never make up in your mind the way his eyes sparkle and his hands flutter with excitement, or the way his hair falls in front of his face when he’s moving too fast.

Eventually, sleep takes him over, comically mid-sentence. He’s propped up against the side of the couch in a very uncomfortable looking way, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’ve known him to fall asleep in worse situations,

When his breathing stills and his eyes close, you allow yourself to look at him as he is without fluttering hands and excited eyes. He’s calm and motionless, except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Everything about him is usually coiled for action, an easy tension running through his hands and his eyes, but now, now he’s undistributed and serene, laying with his hair splayed like a dark halo around his head.

Before you close your eyes, you tuck yourself close to him, fitting against his warmth like you’ve done so many times in the past, just like this, on deep-silence-ridden nights.

“You’re my movie,” you whisper into the dark, towards his sleeping figure. “You’re the one I write about.”

But of course, he doesn’t hear.

*

“Medre,” Zeffirelli swears, hopping around and trying to get his shoes on. “I have a test today.”

“You should have thought of that before you came over that early,” you admonish, watching him with amusement. “Why you didn’t think you would oversleep, I have no clue.”

“We’re in this class together, ensoleillement. You’re going to burn with me,” he warns, rushing a hand through his hair carelessly. It sticks up widely in every direction, but you know better than to try to fix it. Nothing can convince his hair to do anything except chaos.

“Yeah, but it’s so much more fun not to think about that.” Begrudgingly, you start to get ready as well. The floors creak under your feet as you shuffle to your bedroom, where a clean outfit is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, you let yourself think of the wild-haired, cigarette-smoking, arrogant person in the room next to you. His infuriating charm and charismatic persuasion captured you years ago, and you haven’t been able to get out of his orbit since then.

You may be his sunshine, but he’s your gravity, keeping you centered but tipping you over and surprising you at times.

“Dépêchez-vous,” Zeffirelli calls, rapping his knuckles against the wall. “Hurry up.” You know he doesn’t really care about making it to class on time, despite the panic, but you also know that he understands you well enough to know that you want to make it on time.

The film class you have this morning is one of your favorites, and you try and avoid missing it as much as you can. While your film studies class is more focused on the aspects of film, this class advises it’s students on the writing and cinematography that you need to make something truly special.

To make something worthy of a manifesto.

“Mon chéri, we have to go,” Zefirelli warns one last time before giving up and aimlessly wondering around your room.

“Don’t touch that,” you sigh, not having to look at Zeffirelli to know that he’s touching something he shouldn’t be touching. When you do look over, you see him flipping through your journal.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Zeffirelli defends, hiding something behind his back. You send a glare in his direction and lean back in the chair by your mirror. The wood creaks underneath you and you stretch out your back, satisfying pops cascading up your spine.

“You have some deep dark secrets written in here?” His tone is joking, and he waves the journal in the air, taunting you.

“Grocery lists and middle-of-the-night thoughts,” you dismiss. “If you want to know when I forgot to pay the electricity bill, look on the fifth page.” You hope with everything you have that he’s going to let it go, but you have no such luck. He’s nothing if not absurdly relentless.

“I know for a fact that you don’t write anything like that down, it’s not worth the time. You just forget things like the rest of us.”

“Peut être. Still, put it down.” He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps reading with a grin on his face that slowly falls as he makes his way through the rest of the book.

“Is this- is this written about me?” he asks, disbelief written on his face. “Is this your movie?”

“I asked you to stop reading,” you defend miserably, hiding your head in your hands. “I know it’s strange, and I know I shouldn’t be writing about you like that. You don’t want to be heroic or some great leader, above everyone else, but I cannot help it if that’s who you are. Please understand, I only wrote what I saw.”

“I’m your movie? I’m what you have been furiously scribbling away at, working on late at night?”

“You’re my everything,” you admit honestly, softly, “How could you not be the plot of my movie too?” Zeffirelli walks slowly towards you and drops the journal on the floor. “I’m sorry, Zeffirelli.”

“Why?” he asks breathlessly, standing in between your legs and settling his hands on your shoulders. “What have you to be sorry for? You have immortalized be forever with your words. How can I be anything but grateful. If- if I ever gave you the idea that I do not burn for you- that I do not turn towards you in every room like you are the sun and I am a flower, then I can do nothing but apologize profusely. There is more than one reason that you are my ensoleillement. You are grumpy and rude and you give me shit for everything I do, but you also light up my days and nights. You are warmth and home. You are everything.” Zeffirelli’s voice is breathless and rushed, his hands coming up to cup your face. They’re shaky and the calluses on his fingertips are rough against your cheekbones, but you lean into them anyway.

“Zef,” you whisper, like it’s the only word you know. Just as soft as his words, his lips come down to yours, hesitantly at first, but more sure as you don’t protest.

He truly is your everything. That’s the only thing running through your mind as he kisses you with everything he has.

“We’re going to be late to your favorite class,” he gasps in between frantic kisses. “Don’t be angry at me when you have extra homework.”

“I make no promises,” you laugh, pulling him back into you. “But I’ll try my best.” For him, you’ll do anything.

He’s your ensoleillement, your sunshine, just as you’re his.

[roseglazedlens]

thinking about nanami again 🤭

if you have any nanami requests, please send it into my inbox thank you I would really appreciate it <3

[mobbothetrue]

part of updating the five dragons means that the chapter count of the original fic keeps going down as short-ish chapters get subsumed into larger ones. Originally the chapter count was at 30 something but now it’s at 25.

I have picked up an extremely funny guest reader with an excellent commitment to the bit. As far as I remember, fanfic dot net doesn’t send out emails when chapters are replaced, and also, this is a guest, so it’s not like they’ve got an email tied to their account anyway, meaning it’s very impressive that they manage to be there pretty quick whenever the chapter count goes down again.

The first review they left was on chapter 27, and they said ‘excited for chapter 28’. Then the chapter count went down. So on chapter 26 they said ‘excited for chapter 27’. I updated again last night, taking the chapter count down again, and true to form 3 hours ago they said they were excited for chapter 26.

I think what I’m getting at here is you really don’t have to say much in a comment. This guy hasn’t said anything about the chapters I’ve been posting! But they manage to be there really fast anyways, every time the chapter count goes down, continuing a bit and also expressing excitement for the future. It… kind of means a lot. They have to be checking pretty often to catch my updates.

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You

After many months of inability to write I think I am back. The path to this fic has been one long detour... This is based on the original version I started writing a while ago... then I stopped and stupidly binned it. I had tried something else but that story will remain in my wips. Then I had a chat with @backtobl4ck and it rekindled the will to go back to the original story. I have been writing for the past few days and this time I feel good about it.

It's basically a single parent au/ secret child trope/ second chance romance/ firefighter Rowan and Bookshop owner Aelin.

There will be fluff and some angst too.

The title is from a song by Jordan Davis called Detours (thanks to @leiawritesstoriesfor the obsession)

I only have the prologue for now

Hope you will enjoy it

The house was a mess. Rowan stared at his living room and all he saw was a sea of boxes. And  tripping hazards. His entire house was a trove of safety red flags and the firefighter in him was trying to tackle one mission at the time and get the house back in order. He had moved back to Orynth after a five years absence. A painful spell back in his homeland in Wendlyn after his father passing. His mother fell deeply into depression so he had decided to go back to be with her.

The entire clan had been shocked shook by Alasdair passing. So Rowan had moved back to be with her, put dreams on hold for his family.

Until one day his mother told him that she was sick of having him around and begged him to go back to Terrasen and live his life. And when the job opportunity of a lifetime was served on a plate for him, he knew what to do. A month later he had found a house and had started the slow painstaking back and forth on the ferry between Wendlyn and Adarlan to move his life back.

Now, looking outside the floor to ceiling window at the white landscape outside he finally felt at home. He was born in Wendlyn but his family had moved to Terrasen when he was about ten for his father’s job. He had grown up there, made friends and then joined the TFD as a firefighter as soon as he was done with school, after Lorcan dragged him to an open day at one of the local firehouses. They went through academy together and became best friends. And it was during one of those nights out that he met her. Aelin. The woman of his dreams and the love of his life. They had not started with the right foot but slowly a tepid friendship had began to blossom until it became more. So much more. Until his dreams and his life fell to pieces. 

And now five years later he was ready to start again. 

He had bought a house at the edge of Orynth, very near the boundaries with the mountains. His father had left a substantial amount of money for him and his mum and he had saved it until he moved back to Terrasen and decided to buy his dream house.  Two storey house with green wooden walls, a front porch and gardens back and front. At the back he had a path leading to the woods. It was the perfect place for a family.

Rowan finished folding another empty box and stopped to stare at the snow that had started to fall outside. He had missed it. Wendlyn was warm and it never snowed and Rowan had longed for the cold dark winter months. 

After a moment he went back to his job and kept unpacking. The following day was going to be his first day at his new job. While still in Terrasen he had raised to the rank of Captain, in Wendlyn he had been promoted to battalion chief. Surprise hit him when he had started looking for jobs in Terrasen and the commissioner had contacted him and offered him the job of Chief for the whole of Orynth. Apparently Lorcan, who had succeeded him as captain, had let it slip that he was coming back and a day later he got a phone call for a new job. He was nervous but he was looking forward this new challenge. 

An hour later the living room had started looking a bit more liveable and the only boxes left to unpack in that room were his books. He had to build the bookcases first. And that’s when he realised, shelves spread on the floor, that he had no tools. 

Rowan swore mentally, then forced himself to get changed and dragged himself out to an hardware store. The house had come furnished and he had little to build. He had just forgotten the bookcases.

The trip to the hardware store had been fruitful and now he was walking back to his car. The city was crowded as it was the beginning of November and the winter festival was already underway, shops full of patrons picking gifts for the solstice.

It was at the end of the busy road that he spotted a head of blonde hair he hadn’t seen in five years. She was facing a piano shop and her usual smile lit up the evening.

Aelin was a mere ten metres from him and all he could do was stare. And when she turned, his world stopped. Aelin was holding the hand of a little girl with the hair as silver as his. 

Rowan stood, incapable of thinking or move. Silver hair. It was not a common trait in Terrasen. It only ran in his family, a genetic mutation on his father’s side.

Which meant…

A daughter.

The girl looked towards him and he froze when she waved at him with a big smile on her face.

“Let’s go Maya,” he heard Aelin say.

The girl waved back at him and they disappeared.

Rowan stood still on the pavement.

The image of a little girl with silver hair etched in his mind.

taglist

@swankii-art-teacher @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

Me: *listens to Toss A Coin To Your Witcher*

Me: :)

Me: *remembers the scene in Spider's Thread where he started singing it as loud as he could before The Stitches happened bc he wanted to spite Arachnir for insulting Geralt (and also bc he was Scared and trying to stop himself from panicking)*

Me: :(

[natures-marvel]

Now that I am not nervous bout posting this :

@wedgeantill left a comment on The Fake Husband (like almost 10 days ago, but I was bit too shy 😅) and...

Watch me brag to everyone and their dog bout this cause TFH is the 1st fic he commented on! 😎

That excludes the TFD discussion from our dms. I am very proud to say the only one who likes TFD more than me is him!

Max?! Commenting on MY fics?! Its more likely than you think! 😉

[renmorris]

AUs where Coop isn’t lost to the red room or AUs where s3 ends differently just...they really do nothing for me? Idk what’s wrong with me but what happened feels so very real and in character to me that I can’t really connect to them at all.

I’m much more into fics about Coop learning how to come home then fics where he’s just okay because reasons...you know?

I think it’s because Twin Peaks is, at its heart, always first and foremost a show about trauma. Removing the trauma from these characters instead of having them confront it just...hhh feels hollow.

S3 and TFD are very much about how you can’t do that. You can’t go back in time and save Laura. You can’t go back in time and save your mom to give yourself the childhood you should have had. You can only go forward. Whatever direction that really is.

I love AU fix-it fics in other canons. But...here? It doesn’t work.

[laughingpinecone]

TP request for Every Woman Exchange because an “or” matching signup with 10 characters or groups is bound to be a wordy business!

Doris Truman

Group: Audrey Horne & Laura Palmer

Group: Laura Palmer & Donna Hayward

Group: Laura Palmer & Sarah Palmer

Group: Norma Jennings & Shelly Johnson & Heidi & Miriam Sullivan

Denise “fuck you AO3 canonical” Bryson

Diane Evans

Laura Palmer

Lucy Moran

Margaret "The Log Lady" Lanterman

Tamara "Tammy" Preston

Feel free to mix and match these characters, anything from Tammy interviewing Doris to Denise getting Lucy a drink would be amazing. I also love all their usual cohorts, so Doris and Harry in the woods or Diane and Albert - or heck, Diane and Phil, unanimously voted Philadelphia's Most Glamorous - or Tammy and her FBI dads is all cool as long as the focus remains on the girls. Tammy regrets in TFD that she couldn't meet Margaret? Let Tammy meet Margaret somehow, by golly! You can't really go wrong with gen combinations if you get any cool idea you want to explore. All these prompts are just suggestions. I like magical realism and American Gothic and flat-out surrealism so anything canon-like is great, but also a sitcom take on any group of colleagues, or a smarmy moment played teeth-rottingly straight (which is also canon-like, hah), some found family feels, you name it.

(the order is just me copypasting the tagset)

Doris: I wish her the best and hope that she'll find a way to amicably divorce Frank, or take a deep breath away from each other, heal through other people... there was also a message on Hastings' website from a regular reader that was just signed "Doris" so I headcanon her as an UFO enthusiast, if you want to play with that. I like to think that Albert will drop everything and stay in town after TPTR, and I swear by the fact that both he and Doris need a lot of cathartic shouting, for opposite reasons (she has a lot of pain and frustration to let out, he needs to stop being dead inside). So a good, cathartic shouting match could be a fun fic or art if you like the idea.

Laura & Donna: post-canon meetup post-canon meetup post-canon meetup!! Somehow. Dreams, shifted realities, straight-up 'Carrie' driving up to Vermont to find her Donna again. Shippy or not, I just want closure for them. Or any kind of Laura&Donna fic is great, I've loooved basically everything I've read for them.

Norma&Shelly&Heidi&Miriam: I love the RR microcosm! Sweet and supportive and just so /good/. Good for Norma for snatching the ever-so-rare happy ending and I'm glad Heidi got painted in a much more positive light this time round! And our heroic Miriam! My first thoughts go to either Shelly working through her Red problem with the help of the other girls, or Miriam triumphantly getting the pie Shelly and Heidi wanted to get her. But anything RR-centric is great. idk, a collection of drabbles with different customers (established characters or otherwise) coming in? Or something else still!

Denise: she was FBI all along so she can be friends with all the rest of the FBI cast! What a wonderful retcon. So tell me everything about Denise and Diane, Denise and Albert, Denise and Tammy... Denise and Cooper in the hopefully-not-so-distant future... she's so warm and charming, she just lights up any scene. Denise in Twin Peaks during s2 or Denise back in Twin Peaks years later for whatever reason is also great!

Diane: putting herself back together? I'd love a post-finale journey of self-discovery (or an episode thereof, for shorter fic or single pieces of fanart), slipping out of the Linda identity (whatever that's about), accepting/reclaiming her tulpa, and even that split self we saw outside the motel... or! Fun times with Janey-E! Why can't they stand each other? Is it because they're both kind of complicated people to be around? Is it because Janey was the only one who figured something was wrong when Diane got tulpa'd? Diane and Albert's frendship warms my heart, and it's fun to imagine Tammy trying to connect with her even after she got barked at. Or Void Club with Annie and Audrey, where they're not gonna talk about Dale Cooper, in fact they're not gonna talk about Dale Cooper at all...

Laura: finding her angels again please? Or in any situation - in the Lodge or in whatever sort of surreal road trip she and Cooper ended up in - that's closer to the Laura in Between Two Worlds, the woman who's walked through fire and made it to the other side, Laura with her eyes sparkling and that impossible Mona Lisa smile. Any moment where she gets to shine and tower over everything and everyone else. As an aside: I did not request Laura&Audrey because I figured that anyone offering it would ship it, and I very much do not, and I didn't want to inconvenience anyone who hoped to match on them because of the ship. BUT I came to the realization that I am in fact pretty invested in s gen reading of what Audrey saw in Laura, how she resented her but also idolized her and tried to follow in her footsteps until she got burned at One-Eyed Jack's. So what if they met after canon, how would a grown-up Audrey confront her old idea of Laura, would she see the real person behind that image, and would it help her come to terms with some of her own crap?

Lucy: Kimmy Robertson said she would like to be the color blue in Lynch's palette, if the prompt works for you. I love Lucy taking her time to understand and organize the world around her, I love her with Andy, with Wally, with Maggie Brown and the rest of the new sheriff's station cast, and I love it when people who don't usually appreciate her (both sheriffs and Albert come to mind) have to come to terms with the fact that she's amazing. I also like that Hawk is a first-class gossip, apparently, and so is Lucy, so if THAT prompts works for you...

Margaret: Margaret and the woods, Margaret and Hawk, Margaret and Laura always... Margaret and Shelly, Margaret and Audrey!, Margaret trying to impress Norma as per that one Log Lady intro... young Margaret and the Truman boys, or an older Margaret still with the Trumans, and sometimes maybe there's only one Truman and sometimes they are very distinct, oh well c'est la vie.

Tammy: I like to take the difference between her book self and show self as a straight-up character trait, that she's way more reserved in person than she is in writing. Any fic based on this duality would be great for me. Other than that, throw her at literally any character and I'll be thrilled to read it. I love how she looks up to Albert and just kind of follows him around like a baby duckling, I love the possibilities of Denise mentoring her, I love how she's the next generation of Blue Rose and hopefully the first one that won't fuck up majestically and I wonder if Gordon realizes it as he lets her learn the ropes at her own pace, I love possible "passing of the torch" scenarios with Cooper where he's so proud of her, or Laura sharing her secrets. Or let her be lace buddies with Shelly or look into a supernatural case with Cynthia or find Audrey or whatever! Yay Tammy!

Ship-wise, my big ships are Laura/Donna, Laura/Ronette and the Brennans. I also ship Shelly and Bobby and hope they can sort it out. And I'm curious to explore Tammy/Cynthia, /Audrey, /Candie, and/or getting a supernatural smooch from Laura. And while it's got zilch to do with this exchange, for the sake of full disclosure, all sides of Dale/Albert/Harry.

DNWs: unrequested ships, especially my NOTPs (Coop with Audrey, Annie - she’s a bit more complicated than NOTP but for the sake of a clear signup let’s just veto it..., Janey-E, Diane and Laura. Shelly/Gordon, Tammy/the rest of her coworkers twice her age), character bashing, s3 negativity

[wolfwhiteflowers]

‘TWD and The fumbling dead’

*anti OUAT and I’m a Neal fan.

- check my tag /tagged/*twd for other ranty posts of mine.

*I’m assuming Rick and Maggie will die in s9. And perhaps Michonne too.

*posts about Michonne too and fandom stuff

vvvv

Since the news of AL and LC will leave the show in s9, and that Daryl will become the leading character, I want to say TWD ended in s8 for me. I don’t think I will watch the show live in s9 and on. It depends..but I know it’s not TWD to me.

It’s weird but after calming down a bit, I guess, I’m starting to think maybe I would follow the story in s9b or after Rick’s death. I’m feeling better because I realized we’re all into this together experiencing this. Fans could keep watching TWD or not, we’re still part of the TWD fandom and we’re still appreciate the good times. Like other fandoms, in old shows, some fans still make fanart and fanfictions. Stories are still with us. We’re still a fandom.

Some could still follow TWD show in s9, and take it seriously and some could like hate-watch it and I guess just make the rest like some AU fic. What is it like TWD-after Rick’s death/no Grimes boys (main protagonists).

I could watch s9b and I’ll just say it’s the spin-off show and ignore Rick’s death. s9 and on, is Dixon spin-off show. But the thing is if and only if Caryl will be/is canon and Carol still be interesting (doesn’t only interact with Kingdom folks)/good writing that I would be into it. I think it’s because Carol is my top fave of the show and I love Caryl, so yeah. I would love it if s9b and on was like a Caryl show. However, I don’t think I would watch it live. I’ll just look at gifs and videos.

Idk. s9 and on, better set the tone differently for me to watch it or for me to care. Ugh I just wish it’s a spin-off show. I noticed from other people’s reactions, it’s hard for everyone to decide to quit or not. We’re all invested in this show.

So I could just keep watching s9, (caryl still caryl-y) and just ‘hate-watch’ the alternate universe of TWD with no Grimes boys. Watch Michonne grieve, Maggie dies too(?), and idk Michonne leaves with Judith to somewhere. No more Grimes in the TWD. Then it’s like I guess it’s fully a Dixon show..till the end. Whatever the ending is. But the real TWD ended in s8, imo, or whenever people want it to be.

*Ugh I don’t think TWD can feel different. Everyone’s gonna mention Rick’s death(?) and Michonne’s grieving and leaving(?), and Maggie’s death(?).Everything is still gonna follow what TWD was. S9 is crazy.

-With the show OUAT, Neal/Baefire was fave and others were inconsistent and the writing was always meh. It was easier to just stop it after Neal’s death. Plus, notp and just bad confusing writing. Henry interacting with Hook was the worst. But hey I’m over it. It’s not in my headcanon story. I get what others feel about Judith being taken care of from other characters/Daryl. But hey TWD imo is already done in s8.

Why TWD ended in s8. They killed off Carl in s7.  (or writers didn’t know/idk show business) I thought they killed Carl off because they want Michonne to stay longer and live past the comic-Andrea death moment -after whisperer war. I was ok with Carl’s death because TWD also follows Rick’s story. So I figured TWD would end with Rick, instead of like what the comics might go..end with Carl. Happy ending or not. TWD tv show should end with Rick and that the ending be very meaningful. So with AL news, I doubt we’re gonna get a satisfying ending to Rick’s story in s9a 6(?) episodes, while the show keeps going on in s9 with 16 episodes in total. The show keep going on and Daryl as main character. So, I just don’t like how it is. S9 is all AU to me. #tfd twd.

I’m assuming Rick and Maggie dies, well I just have low expectations from TWD writers. (LC is leaving too) I speculate in s9, they die like based on the gory comic moment. Killed by Alpha (whisperer) and their heads on pikes. It’s like the easiest way to just end their stories. But it’s also cheap and not meaningful. I also speculate that Ezekiel will die too. There’s like this parallel with communities’ leaders dying (Rick and Maggie), so I think Ezekiel will be part of that. Idk about Oceanside and Sanctuary. (Cyndie and Rosita and they will die too?) Unless something else happens and maybe Rick and Maggie’s exit of the show will be different. * IDK ..if Rick just goes missing then TWD still can be TWD but ..on a break/Daryl’s show. We just wait till Rick comes back ..in finale to end TWD.

So, S9 is all AU to me. The best AU version on without Rick/ s9, is to have Michonne leading the group and be the main character, and on the rest of s9/or and on, is Michonne and Judith’s adventures. (It would be like TWDG Lee and Clementine or any parent-figure and child stories). But it’s not gonna be that or that what it seems like rn. It’s Daryl who leads the show.

*If Danai only gonna be there till end of s9. Then I have the is AU/headcanon for Michonne. Rick didn’t die but gone missing (ep 6 or whenever he’s done) and then MIchonne and Judith deal with it throughout s9. They search for Rick, and the end of s9 (or whenever Danai leaves the show) Michonne...being like comic-Michonne, Michonne and Judith go on a boat to search for Rick. So then The Grimes are outta of the TWD show. If TWD got s10 and on, then they finally be a spin-off show. I wish we got a good TWD ending and then a spinoff. And if they want to in the series finale, the Grimes reunited and they came back to finish the TWD story.

Michonne can be very much like comic-Michonne s9/TWD AU. losing loves, searching for someone (Rick/Elodie), and my headcanon of finding him -like in whenever TWD series finale will happen. Idk just something I thought of recently. She might be like comic-Michonne. But who knows what s9 is like and I just doubt it would be satisfying.

-----------------

why not michonne & why Daryl? how long ? and TWD=Rick. (why not Carol/Maggie/Michonne?)

-First off, I think when AMC or the rumor say Daryl is leading the TWD show now. I think they meant Daryl will be the main character. It’s doesn’t matter who leads Team Family. There’s different communities and their leaders anyways.

I would want Michonne to lead team family and being the leading character of TWD. She’s already a leader in ASZ and she’s like the last Grimes that do stuff. (not Judith) But I think she gonna leave the show soon. Danai’s contract ends in s9. So I think she’s gonna leave/die in s9. It’s really rough with TWD story. Grimes die and Michonne too? What about Judith? It’s all really depressing.

Also, it’s a weird feeling on that when Rick’s gone, I want Michonne and Judith gone too. TWD is all about the Grimes boys, imo, and I want Michonne gone too because I don’t want to see her mourn again. I think in a way it would be better to have all the Grimes gone so then TWD s9B can truly feel like a spin-off show and distant from the real TWD/Grimes show. Maybe it’s easier with Daryl to be the main character then. Ukno? He’s not a Grimes. It’s easier to distant from the Grimes story. Whatever, I say s9B is all AU.

Idk about Judith. If TWD really thinks now the main point of the story is always about Judith, then so be it ..whatever. ….Then they should make it more about Judith and it makes sense to have Michonne there. But …Daryl is the lead so…idk just have the Grimes go on a trip. sigh. It’s always about Rick and/or Carl.

But it’s weird for me to think of wanting Michonne (and Judith) to leave TWD s9, because characterwise Michonne can have her own story and stuff. Make it TWD s9B the Michonne spin-off show. She can do her thing and her story isn’t about Rick. #Girlpower.  But Michonne is so involved in the Grimes story and ….also I feel like it really messes up Michonne’s story arc too,imo or that I don’t like the arc. She started the story as losing her lover and son and then learning to love again with new lover and son(main characters!). She got a new family and leading ASZ. Now she loses them again. It’s so depressing and feels like pointless. It’s like WTF is her ending to her character’s story now?

…Michonne raising Judith? It’s still not good enough for me….still feels AU story.Judith is a baby and we always think of TWD about the Grimes boys. uhh. Idk. It would be better if it’s like Lee and Clementine (idk like 6 yo) situation. Ok ..it does sound better than the Dixon spin off show. But it’s all depressing to see Michonne all alone…Always a reminder that Grimes boys are dead. And Judith doesn’t do much or that we won’t be able to see Michonne and Judith leading the show (unless we get another big time jump.) Heck this sounds cool. But it’s not gonna be like that....

Anyways, I don’t think Danai will stay that much longer in the show. AMC is already saying Daryl is the lead. I guess one of the reasons its Daryl because he really separates from the Grimes family/TWD story, the whole Daryl vs Negan arc,…and obviously he’s popular and $$$. blah

[growup-thatbeautiful]

zeffirelli x m reader where reader is zeffs muse.Reader can't do anything without being stopped by zeff.Anything reader is stopped.Getting a book, eating, playing chess,sleeping, bathing, changing clothes.Whatever zeffs boyfriend does zeff tells him to stop and pulls out a sketch book.

A/n: hey! thank you for the idea ♥️ i just did gender neutral no pronouns, hope that’s okay! no other gender related stuff.

“Hold that pose,” Zeffirelli says. You hear it every day from him, that phrase, but it never fails to make you grin. He’s sitting across the room from you in a green velvet armchair that you’re sure his parents bought for you, and he looks every bit the part of an artist. His hair, usually wild, is somehow sticking up even worse than usual, and there’s pencil marks all over the pads of his fingertips. You know the callouses on his hands well, and you can see the angry red blisters forming where old ones were peeled off. It’s a habit of his you’ve been trying to break to no avail.

“I’m reading a book,” you remind him, “I wasn’t planning on moving, love.”

He huffs an annoyed sound before reaching for the sketchbook that he keeps in his bag. “You don’t have to be smart about it.”

“I do if you keep asking me to pose for you. I can’t do a single thing without you stopping me.”

“That’s not true,” he defends, his eyes switching rapidly between you and his sketchbook. When he’s drawing, his hair flops down in front of his eyes and his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. It’s endearing, and you have it memorized from the amount of times you’ve watched him like this.

“Zef, you drew me while I was cooking breakfast and we almost burned the apartment down.” Despite your protests, you don’t move like he told you to. As annoying as it can get, you don’t hate being drawn by him anymore. “And we’ve never made it through a game of chess.”

“I would beat you anyway, amor.”

“I know you would.” You continue flicking through the pages of your book in comfortable silence, the only sound being the occasional scratch of his pencil against the paper. You tell yourself to stay put and look as natural as possible, which you’re still working on.

“I’m done,” he says after a while. You mark the spot on your page with a slip of paper (Zeffirelli refuses to call it a bookmark) and make your way over to sit on the arm of his chair. “What do you think?”

It’s a lovely drawing. The light, made of black and white shadows, catches your eyes in an enchanting fashion, and the pattern of your pajama top looks so incredibly soft and textured. It makes you look like a vision, sweet and still and beautiful.

It’s the way he sees you when you aren’t paying attention. Before you get dressed and before you’ve tried to care about what you look like.

Through the drawing, you see why he’s in love with you. Through the drawing, you remember why you’re in love with him.

“It’s beautiful, Zef,” you whisper with a kiss to his temple. “Thank you.”

He leans into your touch. “No, love, thank you. What would I draw without you, hm?”

There are a lot of things he could draw- you’ve seen his drawings of buildings and animals and cups of coffee- but the idea is flattering.

It’s not so bad to be his muse. Especially when it ends like this; you, curled up next to him, listening as he talks about your plans for the day, your fingers carding through his hair.

Yeah, there are worse things to be.

taglist: @shawnieeboyy @itshellinthereitshorror

[oceangirlfriends]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

TFD: I’m hugely biased, as the person who wrote the prompt that led to this fic, but HOLY WOW it is absolutely amazing. Ariel and Moana are sweet and IC, Maui is absolutely fantastic, and the conflict that drives the story feels both believable and understandable. The tying together of the mythologies is also fantastic, and I love the background feeling that it gives to the story.

(It was also the first story for this pairing on AO3. There’s now another one! But there need to be more. Hint hint. Hides own half-finished drafts.)

______________________________

submitted by @texts-from-disney 

[tomtenadia]

Detours to you - ch 9

Good evening... I am here with a little present for those few readers who follow this fic. As I mentioned, the fluff has for now reach it's temporary end and we are having a bit of angst... Sorry....

Sunday evening finally came and Rowan was getting nervous. He and Maya had the greatest of the weekends. On Sunday afternoon they had gone to the aquarium and Rowan quickly realised that such places were much more fun with kids. His daughter had a limitless well of energy. She had dragged him in every possible corner of the venue and then asked for a second tour of the sharkies and squishies, her own way of calling jellyfishes and sharks.

They were now back at home. Aelin had texted him that she was on her way to him and Rowan had given her specific instructions to reach him. The GPS struggled to recognise his address when he had people over he had to write down specific directions to reach him. In addition, the last part to his house was not fully covered in tarmac and was easily missed in heavy snow conditions. 

Aelin had already called him twice when she took the wrong turn down in the village. As on cue she called him again at the last point people struggled the most. She had taken the wrong turn and ended up on the path to his neighbour’s house.

“Ready to see mum again?”

Maya jumped in excitement and joined him on the door.

The headlights of her car finally appeared after the bend and he relaxed. He should have met her at her place. Aelin was not used to that road and to make it worse it was evening too.

“Whitethorn, I thought I was climbing on the Staghorns.”

“Mama!” Maya screamed and ran for her mother who hugged her fiercely “I missed you so much, baby.”

Rowan encouraged them inside and they greeted each other properly “Did you have a nice time with Rowan?”

“Yes, mum, he is the best.”

Aelin looked up at Rowan “Nice digs Whitethorn. This place is stunning.”

He smiled “I am proud of it too. It’s finally starting to feel like home.”

He did not mention that having Maya’s toys around was helping towards that too.

The two girls went to the sofa and Rowan let them catch up. Maya showed her mum all the hockey presents he had bought her and the TFD puck.

Aelin turned and looked at him with a strange expression and he nodded.

“Maya, could you stay here while I talk to Rowan for a moment?”

“Okay, I have a book to colour.”

Aelin indicated to the kitchen with her head and Rowan followed her inside.

He leaned against the counter, his arms at his chest “She survived the weekend. Did I pass the test?”

“She seemed to have fun.”

“Yes, we had a great time and she likes it.”

“It’s not enough, Rowan.”

The words hit him like a train wreck “What do you mean?”

“You just spent a weekend with her, that is not enough to prove that you can be her dad.”

Rowan felt rage rising fast but reigned it in. He could not scream, Maya was in the other room.

“You promised.” He hissed.

“I know, but it’s too early.”

A savage curse left his lips and he started pacing “I want to be her father.” His voice full of pain and  disappointment “Do you know what she asked me yesterday?”

Aelin shook her head.

“She asked me if I could be your boyfriend, like in the stories. She wants me to.”

“Rowan, she is five, everything is a fairytale for her.”

A loud groan escaped him “Our daughter is not stupid. That was a clear sign that she wants a father figure in her life.”

“I am scared.”

“Damn it Aelin, I am scared too. This is big but hell, I don’t think I ever wanted something this bad.”

“We need plans, and rules,” she added while leaning against the counter “This cannot be decided in one night, Rowan.”

He was silent and Aelin could see pain etched in his features. She hated what she was doing to him, but her priority was Maya “I am not risking Maya’s welfare only to satisfy your ego and get called dad.”

Rowan’s hands fisted at his side “Me selfish? You had her for five years and decided not to tell me.”

“I can’t believe we are having this fight again. I told you why.”

“You never gave me the chance. You just assumed just like you are doing now,” he almost roared in frustration “Aelin, please…” his voice full of agony “Let’s tell her.”

Aelin stiffened “No, Rowan. Not yet. I am her mother and it’s my call.”

Rowan left the room and stormed in the living room where Maya was playing on the carpet. He kneeled at her side and hugged her “It’s time to go home with your mum,” Maya threw her arms around his neck “I had an amazing weekend with you, little tornado.”

He heard her sniffle and he was positive his heart was breaking “You can come and visit again. Your room will always be here.”

“Okay.”

Rowan could not pull away from his daughter and fought hard the tears threatening to break. In a burst of courage he stood “Do you have all things ready? Elf?”

Maya nodded quietly and hugged the toy then hugged Rowan’s leg “Love you.”

He lifted her up and kissed her hard on her cheek “You are my favourite person too.”

Aelin grabbed the bags and then Maya’s hand.

“Text me when you are back safely, the road on the way down can be quite bad.”

Aelin nodded “Night, Rowan.”

He walked them outside and on the porch he watched Maya climb in the car then turning and waving at him. He remained outside until the lights disappeared.

Then he walked around the house collecting the toys scattered on the carpet. He grabbed the shark soft toy she had left behind and hugged it and finally let the tears flow.

*

On the way home Aelin called her mother and asked if she and Maya could visit.

“Fancy going to say hi to grandma and grandpa?”

“Okay.” Answered a very quiet Maya.

Her parents were waiting for them at the door when they arrived. Maya walked quietly to her grandparents and they knew right away that something was wrong “Hello Maya.”

“Hi nana.”

“She is tired, she had a fun weekend with Rowan.”

“Come in both of you, it’s cold outside.”

Evalin who had the radar for her daughter’s worries pulled Aelin in the kitchen “Maya, go and play with grampa.”

Rhoe took his granddaughter away and Evalin shoved Aelin inside “What happened?”

Aelin burst in tears and flung herself in her mother’s arms.

“Was the weekend with Rowan a disaster?”

“No,” she sobbed hard “It was perfect.”

“So why is Maya sad?”

“Because she had to leave him.”

Evalin pushed her daughter on the chair and sat on the one opposite from Aelin.

“And?”

“And we haven’t told her he is her dad and Rowan is now furious at me, but I am scared, mum.”

Evalin patted her daughter’s leg “Of what? Talk to me.”

“What if he leaves again? What if he finds another woman and Maya becomes just a passing thought? If he and I can’t make it work and we make things worse for Maya?” Her tears returned in full force “And all he wants is to tell her the truth to satisfy his ego.”

“I doubt it Aelin, that is not Rowan’s style.”

“He is just so pushy.”

Evalin hugged her daughter “I think he just had a taste at how it feels to be a father and wants to feel that for real and wants to be called dad.” She kissed her daughter’s head “You put his name on the birth certificate, you wanted him to be Maya’s dad.”

“Am I being unreasonable?”

“No, you are just protecting your daughter,” added Evalin quietly “But Maya is smart and will soon start asking question. Soon she will ask why she does not have a dad like the other kids.”

Aelin let out a ragged breath “I know, I have been preparing myself for that.”

“Aelin, you don’t have to do it alone,” she added “and you don’t have to lie. Be candid with your daughter she will appreciate it when she is older.”

“Rowan said that she asked him if he was my boyfriend.”

Evalin was pensive for a moment “which means she has picked up on something.” She added “You never let her stay with anyone apart from us, and all of a sudden Rowan can have her over for a whole weekend?”

“He has bought a car seat, decorated her room, bought her toys and books, childproofed the house.”

Evalin let out a small chuckle “he is whipped already.”

Aelin nodded.

“And the fact that Maya was sad to leave him means that she feels comfortable with him.”

All of a sudden the door of the kitchen burst open “Mama, nana! Grandpa and I are hungry.”

Evalin burst out laughing and went to grab her granddaughter “You little hurricane, what do you want for dinner?”

“Mac and cheese.”

Maya ran away again announcing to her grandfather that they were having Mac and cheese.

“She seems fine again.”

Aelin went to the living room and watched Maya chatting happily with her grampa. Maybe she was being too harsh on Rowan. She should talk to him and try to set out a plan to peacefully share custody of Maya and eventually tell her the truth.

*

The following morning Rowan was in a foul mood. He hadn’t slept at all during the night. He kept going to Maya’s bedroom and seeing it empty hurt too much. He had tried over and over to text Aelin but after a while he gave up. He had spent the night reading all the letters she wrote to him and looked at the pictures of his daughter growing up. His feelings were a mess. He was mad at Aelin for accusing him of being selfish, resented her for five years of silence and for all that he had missed. But, a treacherous part of his brain focused also on the family that they could have been, at the hole that Aelin had left in his life. He wanted Maya in his life, but deep down he wanted the whole package, his heart longed for Aelin, but was just too scared to listen to it.

A deep sigh.

Now he was at work and the cup of coffee on his desk was not enough to keep him awake.

He struggled to start a new report when a knock came to his door “Yes?” He added annoyed.

Lyria popped inside “Chief, another unannounced visitor, she is quite stubborn.”

“It’s fine.” He added quickly and Lyria disappeared.

He was getting ready to see Aelin but the woman who walked in his office was the older version of Aelin. Evalin waltzed in the room “Hi Rowan.”

He stood and shook her hand “Evalin, please sit.”

The woman took the seat and he knew she was getting ready for battle.

“Welcome back.”

Rowan signed “I am not sure I am that welcome.”

“That’s where you are wrong.” The woman added sternly “There is a little girl who is already in love with her dad. Last night Maya did not stop talking about the weekend she had with you.””

“But her mother does not want me to be a father.”

Evalin sat back on her chair “Aelin is scared and is being very protective.”

“Of me? Why would I ever hurt Maya?”

Evalin shook her head “Rowan, it’s not that she thinks you are going to physically hurt Maya,” she explained “You need to understand this is an adjustment for Aelin too. You two have separate lives and she is just afraid that if you find another woman, then Maya would become an afterthought or even worse that the other woman will try and become another mum.”

“I…” he sighed “I haven’t dated in ages,” he confessed “I had a few dates back in Wendlyn but they did not work out.”

“You are still love my daughter, aren’t you?”

He stood and paced, his hand raking through his long hair. He had thought about his feelings a lot recently, trying to make sense of a past life that was trying very hard to break free. Memories and old feelings begging to be let free. But there was a five years abysm between them and he had no idea how to close it. He wasn’t even sure if she wanted to.

“She is the love of my life, Evalin. I thought I had buried my feelings for her but now that I returned, they are slowly coming back,” he looked in the eyes of the woman so identical to Aelin’s “I don’t want another woman. I want a family with her and Maya, but I don’t think Aelin feels like that about me anymore.”

Evalin looked up at Rowan and saw pure anguish in his eyes. “I never liked that Aelin kept you in the dark. We had arguments about it. But my daughter is stubborn so her father and I had just to let her to make her choices.”

Rowan stood shocked at the admission “What do I do? How do I convince her? She accused me of wanting to tell Maya I am her dad just to satisfy my ego.”

Evalin noticed the frustration rising in Rowan “She told me and I don’t believe it.”

His pacing resumed “I do not want to go the legal way to have the right to see my daughter.”

“I know,” the woman admitted “But I think you and Aelin need to sort first all your unresolved problems and then concentrate on Maya only.”

Rowan nodded and Evalin continued “I am on Maya’s side on this. You two are adults and can resolve you businesses between the two of you, but with Maya’s welfare in mind. Her grandfather and I are very protective too of that little girl. Don’t forget that.”

Evalin stood.

“Thank you Evalin.”

“Go and get your family back, Rowan.”

He watched the woman leave his office and realised that it was nice to know he had another ally in this fight.

taglist

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[aplaceofstone]

AO3: faceofstone 

All prompts and ideas are just suggestions, if you are the kind of person who likes to follow them. If not, cool, they are certainly not the end-all of what I love about these fandoms and characters.

If we matched on something that’s more on the surreal side of things, this blog is mostly aesthetics and could offer some visual prompts as well.

I like found families, oddball friendships, sympathy toward outcasts, characters who fully embrace being outcasts, melancholy, a sense of place, bittersweet accomplishments, and a stubborn flicker of hope in an overall bleak world. Dreamlike atmospheres that aren’t necessarily scary, some sort of reassurance that can be found in the weird and the profoundly unnatural.

All fic formats, tenses, povs and roughly canon-appropriate levels of grimdark are fine.

Myst: Anna, Atrus, Calam, Catherine, Marrim, Yeesha

Any missing moment for any of these characters, cranking up the spookiness or fluffiness factor to 11 for tricks or treats respectively. What does a Myst fic fit for Halloween look like? What does “$mystcharacter has a very nice day” look like, for that matter? The multiverse is the limit. I love D’ni as a setting and it’s full of possibilities (I got great D’ni fic last Yuletide and there’s always place for more!) but there are infinite Ages out there too! What happened one day in the desert? Did Catherine experience some major foreshadowing? Did Yeesha link to Riven at some point? Did Marrim play aunt to little Yeesha? Did Anna know Calam? What hobby do Marrim and Catherine share? Did the bahro keep an eye on Atrus? What’s the riskiest thing Atrus ever wrote (and did Yeesha jackass her way into an even stranger iteration of it years later)?

Ghost Dog: Ghost Dog, Pearline, Raymond, Samurai in Camouflage

I’m an enthusiastic new viewer and I would very much like to read more about these characters and/or the connections between them. I love character studies with a slice of life backbone and I love new interactions and anything that could be classified as a cute missing moment. A day in the life of Ghost Dog (may or may not include actual dogs or other wildlife). Grownup Pearline taking up his mantle, finally understanding his death. The Samurai in Camouflage doing whatever it is that he does – I don’t know the first thing about RZA but if you want to base some part of the character off him, it works for me, all I know is that his cameo is so striking. Raymond persistently (and adorably) at the center of it all. Any Hagakure quote that hasn’t already been used by the movie could be a great jumping-off point, especially for the samurai characters but Raymond has been dragged into this as well so he better deal with it. Art-wise, any illustration of any of them doing their thing would make my Halloween.

The Wire: Gus, Cedric, Lester, Bubbles, Omar, Brother Mouzone

These are my favorite characters. They do not interact a whole lot, if at all. I would really, really like them to. Could you make it happen, dear author? They all have such strong personalities and their arcs are driven by themes that could work well with each other, any combination looks to me like it could lead to something great. They could be looking for each other because of their jobs or interact by chance (at the pub, on the street…) or even have some hitherto unsuspected connection, like when Wilson contacts Gus in s5. I don’t have preferences for a point in the timeline, I’d love to read fic set before, during or after – of course postcanon Omar presents some complications but nothing fanfiction writers haven’t written their way out of before. But I also like canon’s framing of his death, so if you want to have other characters focus on Omar’s legend one way or another, I would love it too. Just pick your faves among this crop and run with it, I’ll love it! For fic or art of a single character, I would like to see them doing something we haven’t already seen them do – for example a hobby you headcanon them having. For art of two (or more?) characters, seeing them sitting somewhere and talking to each other – the visual counterpart of the “just make them interaaaaact” fic prompt…

Twin Peaks: Albert, Tammy, Cynthia, Hawk, Harry, Frank

For the federal side of the cast, I’d like to see what life has in store for them after that mess. Albert got a heavy emotional fallout to deal with, and the realization that Gordon lied to him in a major way that’s connected with Cooper’s disappearance, speaking of whom, he’s off again, taking what was left of Diane with him to boot. Is it enough for a person to be fractured, could he be split in two? Who is left for him? (Shipping-wise I’m very partial to Harry, platonically I like him and Denise, again Harry, Tammy, Constance, Diane should she be back. But if you think he could be good friends with any other character, for example Cynthia or Hawk, do surprise me!) Tammy is the face of Blue Rose now. What about a little spookiness in her life? What happened when she was stationed in town writing The Final Dossier? Does she team up and/or go on a date with Cynthia, what’s their dynamic, how do they play off each other? Do they sit down to talk about what they want to make of this new Blue Rose, to make it work when all the previous generations failed? What creepy event could showcase Cynthia’s position on the supernatural, the human drive to look beyond and beyond until you get burned and all the themes of TSHOTP and TFD? Or what’s her relationship with Colonel Davis like? Does Garland appear to her at some point to guide her, looking for all intents and purposes like Mufasa but having died too soon to get the reference (tragic)? Hell, does Laura?

For the Sheriff’s Station people, I’d be interested in their relationship with the mystery of the woods. They’re all Bookhouse Boys, they better act like it, that’s my basic prompt. Did Harry cross a threshold looking for Cooper? Did he get the sword mentioned in the script for the s2 finale and what deeper meaning would it have? How did Deputy “I’m a skeptic, but-” Hawk recount a weird encounter in the woods (and to whom? Margaret? Lucy?)? Did he ever climb either peak, or if not, why not? Was Frank born with that no-nonsense attitude of his or is it more of a fake it till you make it situation? What about his chevron-lined, bullet-deflecting hat? Did he go for a walk with Doris and something happened that made them realize what kind of mess their marriage has turned into and they can still live better lives (together or separately. I love them both)? Do they all carry the woods with them in some ways? If you don’t have anything plotty in mind, something strange and almost nonsensical like Becky’s last scene would be great. Or you could focus on the literature enthusiasts aspect of the Bookhouse Boys and write or draw something cute based on that. If you like, Cooper can tag along in any scenario in presence or in spirit.

It’s easy to think about spooky supernatural business when it comes to Twin Peaks but treats are the other side of the same coin – there can be a gentle angle to all this, hope for the future, nurturing woods, genuine comfort after all of canon’s hurt and I would love to read about it. Sometimes the right thing happens at the right time and they can be happy, for a while.

Please, no mentions of Dale/Audrey or Shelly/Gordon.